#and cinder too for that matter

[onewomancitadel]

I've never even been that mean about ships I really don't like or find morally repugnant. At most I think they're tremendously boring and banal.

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ preface ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of burned bodies, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, stream of conciousness, mdni — notes: shout out to @alfredosaws, @cheshireworld, and @midiplier for inspiring this! thank you for reading! here's a playlist to keep you entertained! edit: part 2 can be found here. — now playing: abracadabra - brown eyed girls

“Did you see that?!”

A smirk crooks your lips. 

You watch the source of excitement in your peripheral, her mirth infectious. You pat the space between her shoulder blades, the other hand stuffed in your pocket, pride swelling in your chest. The SUV eases into focus, a sleek outline of black, haloed by the sun’s deceptively innocent glow.

“I did.”

Her eyes brighten like stars shining through the inky night. She punches at the air—a reenactment of the moves she displayed during your scuffle inside the warehouse. It burns a pretty blend of orange and yellow behind, flames licking a cyan sky, smoke billowing from squealing metal. Carnage you left behind after a deal gone sour, structure and bodies turned to cinder, courtesy of one nefarious mafioso with a bomb fetish. 

She flexes her bicep, fixing you with a grin that’s all canines. “I was pretty badass, huh?”

You quirk a brow, quietly giving her props. 

A chuckle erupts from behind you both. You don’t look back—don’t have to. His presence is ever-looming. Imposing, towering over your shoulder, oozing smugness. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kitten.” 

He says it to humble her. To keep her head from overinflating, but you don’t miss the affection surfing in the undercurrents of his voice. It always lives there when he chides her. 

You can’t blame him. She’s come a long way: Ms. Hunter. 

Initially, she feared being roped in with the lot of you. Rejected the lifestyle of doing very bad things to equally bad people. She eventually found her niche, and you unconsciously took her under your wing, treating her like something of a sibling—a friend.

You knew she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Sylus made that clear. Cryptic as ever, forcing her onto you, refusing to tell you everything. Only that she owed him a debt, and he brought her around to collect.

At first, you despised the arrangement. She was a thorn in your side, the bane of your existence. Her very presence threatened the hodgepodge life you constructed with your makeshift family—Luke, Kieran, Mephisto, Sylus.

She was too nice. Reckless. Too self-righteous, where you were calculative. A manipulator, a killer. Your hands dripped red while hers were delicate as orchid petals. But she had Sylus wrapped around her finger—a feat you struggled to conquer for years. The man was playing Kitty Cards and sneaking plushies into the manor, for crying out loud. Besides, you couldn’t deny how she squirmed her way through the fissures of your own heart, nestling between atriums and ventricles like she’d always belonged there. 

You found yourself quietly rooting for them—your big, bad wolf of a boss and his precious little lamb. The affection blooming between them was palpable, like datura petals drifting in an errant breeze. Though an official title never revealed itself to you, you sensed whatever bond they shared was cosmic. Something you couldn’t touch or disrupt no matter how much you willed yourself to. So you wordlessly conceded, bowing out of a competition you constructed in your mind. 

You were content with protecting her. Showing her the ropes, knowing in the back of your mind she would one day replace you. You were slowly becoming old news, no longer the center of Sylus’ orbit. It was fitful, but it was nice to see him smile like that for a change. To see this side of him, smitten with his defenses buried beneath the rubble, and you supposed that was enough for you. 

At least this way, you could remain by his side. Fulfill your own obligations, continuing to serve him, even if it means watching the world you’ve grown so accustomed to slowly fall away from your feet. 

“You did a good job,” you say, disrupting the slurry of your thoughts, a fond hand ruffling her hair, eyes creased at the corners. 

You usher the hunter into the passenger seat of the SUV. She’s still buzzing in the aftermath of your fight as you shut the door, a chuckle roiling in your chest. You turn to ease into the backseat, but Sylus is there, wearing that customary smirk, holding the rear door open for you instead. 

“You both did well.”

The look you toss at him is suspicious. Raised brows and a sardonic curve to your lips. There’s more to his praise than he lets on, handing it out like a rare bouquet, usually reserved for her. Sylus merely shrugs, feigning innocence, his intentions shielded behind dark lenses. You ease into the chilled leather seat, the swell of noise from the fire traded for Ms. Hunter animatedly recounting the day’s events when the door shuts beside you.

You lapse into monotony, watching plumes of smoke fade in the rearview mirror as the three of you ease onto the highway. Sylus’ hand is tight on the steering wheel. Long, spindly fingers wrapped around coarse leather. His voice is bold like black coffee, warming your innards on a wintry day, as he and Ms. Hunter exchange words you can’t be bothered to follow up front. Occasionally, scarlet eyes catch yours in the mirror. It’s as if he’s keeping tabs on you, ensuring you’re still here. Like you’re poised to tuck and roll out the backseat, driven by how comfortably they speak with each other.

Physically, you’re present. Mentally, you’re drifting off. Watching power lines skate by, blurring with the skyline and mountains as the vehicle slides downhill. Maybe you’re more exhausted than you initially thought. You’d taken a hit or two in the fray earlier. Have blood speckling the ivory collar of your shirt, a scrape lining your jaw, and you’re sure you’ll have pretty splotches of blue and purple staining the corner of your mouth come tomorrow. 

Pain is usually an afterthought. You’re so used to shielding, so accustomed to recklessly throwing your body around, and the adrenaline’s ebbing, making way for the dull throb of a migraine and sleepiness dangling like sandbags from your upper lids. You lean against the door, propped on your elbow, temple roosted on swollen knuckles. You blink slowly, your heart beating steady until the scenery beyond the window makes way for darkness. You won’t be at the hotel for another hour. A little catnap won’t hurt. 

Before you fully relinquish yourself to the pretty girls of sleep, an enthusiastic voice peels through the inkiness. Static against a violet backdrop, tugging a quiet smile onto your lips. Ms. Hunter.   

“We should celebrate!”

We should, you muse, sinking below the shadowy depths of sleep, lured there by the bumping of the SUV against the road and Sylus fondly teasing the source of your envy.

masterlist | conflict

[arc-misadventures]

Himmel Logic

Nora: You can't tell me what to do, Jaune! I don't wanna eat my vegetables!

Jaune: But, this is what, Himmel would have done.

Nora: ...

Nora: Yeah... it's what he would have done.

Nora: Nom!

Nora: Hmm. You know what... they're actually not that bad!

Jaune: Atta girl~!

Yang: What the?

~~~

Blake: I can't go to sleep yet, Jaune! I need to find out what the, White Fang are up to!

Jaune: It's what the hero, Himmel would have done.

Blake: Yeah... Yeah, it's what, Himmel would have done... Imma.. Imma go to bed now...

Jaune: Good night, Blake.

Blake: Good night, Himmel...

Yang: What? There's no way that would...?!

Blake: Zzzz...

Yang: The hell?

~~~

Cinder: I have done it! I finally have the, Maiden powers! And, at last I can finally act my revenge upon the world!

Yang: Shit! She's too strong! What are we going to do.

Jaune: I know what to do!

Yang: That's great! What are you going to... Wait?! You're not going to say...?!

Jaune: Cinder!

Cinder: What do you want you fool! Here to play the white knight!, and be a hero?!

Jaune: This isn't what the hero, Himmel would have done!

Yang: Oh come on! That's not going to work!

Cinder: ...

Cinder: (Sniff.)

Cinder: Your right... this isn't what he would have done...

Yang: Excuse me...?

Cinder: I surrender... I'm sorry for what I've done...

Jaune: Himmel would have been proud of you.

Cinder:(Sniff) Y-You really think so...?

Jaune: I know he would have.

Yang: ...?!

Yang: What the hell was that?!

~~~

Yang: Jaune?!

Jaune: Oh hey, Yang. What's up?

Yang: Okay! Explain yourself! Why are you always saying, 'This is what, Himmel would have done!' You've said that to so many people, and they've actually done the thing they were ignoring! You got, Nora to eat her vegetables, Blake to get some sleep, you used it to get a terrorist, Cinder fall to surrender. Hell, you even used it on yourself when, Cardin was beating you down to get back up, and fight!

Jaune: Is there something wrong with that?

Yang: He burst into tears, and gave up the match! I don't get it, what's going on?!

Jaune: 'Himmel Logic.'

Yang: 'Himmel Logic?'

Jaune: Yeah, 'Himmel Logic.'

Yang: The hell does that mean?

Jaune: It's simple, 'Himmel Logic' is a simple thing: 'This a what a hero would do." Seldom is it a grand thing such as defeating a monster, and saving the day. It's the simple things such as eating your vegetables, helping out someone in need, getting some sleep. Simple things that anyone could have done. The phrase: 'This is what Himmel would have done.' Is merely a catalyst to inspire others to do the right thing.

Yang: That's... That's stupid.

Jaune: It may be, but it works. Look, why don't you try it out on, Ruby. She's been evading her homework for working on, Crescent Rose. Maybe, if you apply, 'Himmel Logic' to it, she'll go, and do it.

Yang: There's no way that will work...

Jaune: Perhaps, but this is what, Himmel would have done.

Yang: Ughh... fine! Fine, I'll try it out on, Ruby. But, if this fails you can never use... 'Himmel Logic' again!

Jaune: I'll take that bet.

Yang: Haa... Okay, here goes nothing...

~~~

Yang: Ruby how goes your homework?

Ruby: Homework? Pff... I haven't been working on that. my baby needs work done! I finally figured out how to make her a semi-automatic rifle!

Yang: But, it's important that you get that done, Ruby.

Ruby: Pff... Who cares about that silly report when I have this beauty before me!

Yang: But it's worth three percent of our grade!

Ruby: Who cares.

Yang: But... Oh gods... The hero... Himmel would have done so...

Ruby: ...

Ruby: That's true.

Yang: W-What?

Ruby: Crescent Rose, can wait, I got to finish my homework.

Yang: ...

Yang: What the fuck?!

~~~

Yang: Jaune?!

Jaune: Hey, Yang. How did it go?

Yang: It worked?! It fucking worked! I said, 'The hero, Himmel would have done so. And, she put, Crescent Rose to the side, and is working on her homework! She never puts her baby away when she's working on it! No matter what we do, she won't put that thing away when she starts working on it! But, I say that one stupid line, and boom! She put her gun away, and is now doing her homework! What the fuck?!

Jaune: Himmel is a hero. A true hero. His actions were noble, pure of heart, and always done out of a sense of selflessness. Because of this he became such an great example of what a true a hero is. That his example inspired others to do what is right. As I told you before: Even if it's the little things, it's what a hero would have done.

Yang: Grr...! I hate the fact that you are right about what you said... It's stupid, and makes no sense!

Jaune: Yes it does.

Yang: I know it does! That's why I hate it!

Jaune: Ha-haha~!

Yang: Well, you know what, Himmel would have done, Jaune?

Jaune: What?

Yang: Himmel would have done her~!

Jaune: Ahh.. Yang... This is what, Himmel tried to do so... He showered her in love, and affection, it's just that she never knew what love was until it was too late for them to experience it together... But, I have time... Plenty of time to make her understand, that she is loved, and that I love her.

Weiss: Hmm?

Weiss: Why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face, Jaune?

Jaune: No, there's nothing on your beautiful face, Weiss. Nothing at all, but perfection,

Weiss: Oh good.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Haa... You know, the guy isn't always the dense one.

Yang: It's rare, but it's been know to happen...

Yang: ...

Yang: Wait, hold on...? You used, 'Himmel Logic' on me to convince, Ruby to do her homework!

Jaune: And, it worked.

Yang: You bastard!

[apoemaday]

the lesson of the moth

by Don Marquis

i was talking to a moth the other evening he was trying to break into an electric light bulb and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows pull this stunt i asked him because it is the conventional thing for moths or why if that had been an uncovered candle instead of an electric light bulb you would now be a small unsightly cinder have you no sense

plenty of it he answered but at times we get tired of using it we get bored with the routine and crave beauty and excitement fire is beautiful and we know that if we get too close it will kill us but what does that matter it is better to be happy for a moment and be burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all the while so we wad all our life up into one little roll and then we shoot the roll that is what life is for it is better to be a part of beauty for one instant and then cease to exist than to exist forever and never be a part of beauty our attitude toward life is come easy go easy we are like human beings used to be before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him out of his philosophy he went and immolated himself on a patent cigar lighter i do not agree with him myself i would rather have half the happiness and twice the longevity

but at the same time i wish there was something i wanted as badly as he wanted to fry himself

[xotaemintol]

ᯓPhone sex HC with- MKL•NJM•PJS ᯓ★

ᯓ“All you gotta do is say yes…”. ᯓ★

WARNING: This fanfiction includes; Phone Sex, Masturbation, Guided Masturbation, Praise, Suggestive content, Cursing, Dirty Talk, and more. If you are a minor, GO AWAY. If you are triggered by any of these things, kindly look away •u•

|asfab reader//fem pet names used ‘pretty girl’ ‘good girl’ ‘special girl.’ Plus size friendly, poc reader in mind ᢉ𐭩|

ᯓFeedback,notes, and reposts are always greatly appreciated and constructive criticism is always welcome, enjoy ᯓ★

ᢉ𐭩NA JAEMINᢉ𐭩

You can hear him breathing, his voice is like honey. His words dragging as he purrs soft commands in your ear.

“Just like that baby, ooohhh my pretty girl, I bet you look so pretty for me right now.” He doesn’t touch himself, just enjoying the sounds you make. From the sound of your breathing to your slightly muffled moans.

He doesn’t want to be too mean tonight. Jaemin knows just how much his special girl misses him, so when you get close he asks you to wait. “Can you do that for me baby, can you hold it?” You reply in a whiny and desperate tone saying yes, but your whole body jolts when he calls you a good girl for being so obedient.

“I want you to tell me just how much you miss me, tell me how badly you wish I was there and I’ll let you cum, okay?” Although he can’t see you, your head nods frantically.

You don’t notice until youve started spewing lewd cries of love and desperation, but he’s finally started touching himself. Getting off to the sound of you telling him that you just can’t live without him, how you miss the way he fills you up and how tightly he holds you.

But he doesn’t cum, if he was trying to get off then you’d be on the phone for hours because he’d never feel satisfied.

“You gonna cum baby? Hm?” He knows you’re there when you stop replying, all he can hear is faint slapping sounds—he loves the way you fuck yourself crazy for him.

It’s not until you hear his voice telling you that it’s okay to cum that you finally let go, letting out sweet cries of his name as you do so.

ᢉ𐭩JISUNG PARKᢉ𐭩

Jisung wasn’t sure about phone sex, despite the hotel walls being as thick as a cinder block—Chenle was next door and there was no telling when he’d pound on the door or if he could hear. But when you called his name in that coaxing voice Jisung couldn’t stop himself from slipping his hand underneath the band of his adidas pants. You giggle at the sound of him shuffling around in his hotel bed, knowing that he likely has anything and everything on it. He misses you so much, he knows that just jerking off wont be enough and he’s not afraid to voice that. “I want to kiss you so bad baby, I wish you were here right now.” He swallows thickly, asking you if you’re touching yourself too. His awkward question and shy laugh is so enduring. “Go slow…I want our paces to match.”

You follow his request and melt into pleasure. There isn’t too much talking at first, Jisung is listening for you and you’re listening for him until you ask him to talk. “Uhm, what-what do I say?” His brain is so foggy, his slow movements up and down his cock feels so treacherous. But with a push he gets the hang of it, muttering soft praises—his deep and soft voice is dripping with lust. Every word coming out slowly, so full of passion and unfiltered desire.

“I…I wanna be inside you so bad baby…” Every thing he says, no matter how sweet or how dirty pushes you closer and closer.

It takes him a moment to realize, but when he does he encourages you to finish for him. “Cum for me baby, I wanna hear your voice…mhm…I-I wanna hear you say my name and-and feel you, feel you so…so fucking deep.” As your voice grows louder his does the same, the sounds of your voice and his fill the hotel room as euphoria washes over you both.

ᢉ𐭩MARK LEEᢉ𐭩

You called him late at night, he was still in the studio and his voice sounded so tired. “Hey baby…” he purred in a sleepy tone, it was bad enough that you were missing him so badly. But he was so carelessly turning you on—you felt guilty for the way you asked him to keep talking as you slipped your hand into your underwear. “What are you doing up late baby, you couldn’t sleep without hearing my voice?” Of course he knew what you were doing. Youve told him too many times that his voice turns you on for him not to know you’d be touching yourself to it.

Luckily for you he’s so vocal and instead of shaming you, he eggs it on. “Baby, you know it’s dangerous for you to call me like this while I’m working.” He said playfully in a low and soft tone, you could hear him smiling as he spoke. He was obviously entertained by how little he had to do to get you off, the way you shamelessly moaned into the speakers made him feel so proud. “You sound so pretty for me baby, you missed me that much?” His question only made you feel lightheaded with desire. “Ooh, baby, I know you missed me more than that, right? Show me how much you missed me.”

Your shaky voice is so cute to him, the way you helplessly call out his name and beg for him to come over—pleading despite knowing he’s half way across the world for another week.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll be there soon. I’ll take care of you just like you need, you want that baby?”

When you don’t respond he just chuckles, knowing from your sudden heavy breathing and broken calls of his name that you’re about to cum.

“Be as loud as you want baby, it’s just me.”

Finally when you release he’s laughing to himself, praising and comforting you—wishing he wasn’t working and that he could’ve gotten off too….

[mellaithwen]

Haunted by the ghost of you 7,080 words. buddie spec fic for 8x18 "Seismic Shifts" aka the ghost!bobby fic.

Buried alone under his grief, his guilt, and, now, the debris of a collapsed building, Buck isn't even sure if he has the strength to move. He definitely has no idea which way to go. Then, out of the darkness, someone unexpected arrives to help him find his way out. His way home.

The aftershock hits hard and fast and with a chorus of “go, go, go!” Buck urges Ravi forward, to scramble over the debris that had almost buried them alive mere moments earlier. The already bowed walls are shifting inwards—cracks like fissures growing and growing as the concrete structure buckles under the onslaught of not only the initial explosion but now the seismic shift underfoot. Buck can’t imagine how much the running must be hurting Ravi if his suspicions are correct—he’d seen only too well how the younger firefighter had been cradling his arm close to his chest, desperate to keep the pain of the fracture at bay, and convince Buck that he really was fine.

There’s a roar from above, like an awful beast is hunting them, snapping at their heels in a dogged pursuit of another victim. 

The garbled static from their cracked radios gives them no indication of what’s going on outside, but the only play they have is to get the fuck out of dodge. They had already successfully extracted two of the victims trapped on the fourth floor landing, and had been frantically searching for the third missing person when the already unstable building had begun to shift once more. They had no choice but to go.

Buck shakes the thought off before he can spiral further; there’ll be time for that later—for the guilt, and the heartache—but right now he’s determined to get himself and Ravi out of this hellish crawl-space before it becomes their tomb. The rumbling at their backs grows louder still; the building barely hanging on. Buck calls out for Ravi to keep going, to hurry, but he can’t even hear his own voice over the din.

As they round a corner, light shines up ahead, an end to their miraculously brief ordeal. They’re so close; Buck can feel the air shift and something other than pulverized cement dust filling his lungs. His relief, however, is short-lived when he ends up slamming his knee into a half cracked cinder-block. He feels something shift that really should not be shifting, and finds himself biting back a scream as he tries to get back on his feet. 

Up ahead, Ravi has all but made it out, and even with a suspected broken collarbone, he’s still reaching back to assist instead of diving clear. Buck tries to make up ground but no matter how hard he pushes his body to the limit, he just can’t move fast enough. Every step, every shuffle, sends a ripple of agony up and down his calf and thigh and that’s when he makes a huge mistake. 

He looks back. 

He looks behind him only to get a horrific close-up of what’s coming. An awful billowing cloud of grey dust is heading straight for them—like a tsunami of ash devouring the shore—and all at once Buck knows this is it.  There’s no way to escape the groundswell. From above there’s an ominous groan, as though the building itself was enraged at the damage being inflicted on its precious girders; enacting its revenge on anything and everything in its path as it trembles in its own death throes.

Buck knows if he tries to lunge the rest of the way he won’t make it; and, worse still, his back will be exposed to the torrent of debris. The weight of the upper floors would surely crush him—not to mention the very real risk of dragging Ravi down with him. 

There’s no time. There’s no time to give him a message, no time to reassure or apologise, comfort, or lament. No time at all. He thinks he sees Ravi waving at him, but he can’t hear anything over the deafening roar of rubble rushing towards him. 

“Go!” He orders before diving to the left of the corridor in search of cover. The concussive force of the secondary collapse bowls him over. The floor gives way, and as the rest of the building rains down on him, he thinks about the family he has waiting at home, and realises that even if the building collapsing doesn’t kill him, then Eddie surely will—

But then a huge piece of rubble cracks his helmet clean in two, and the darkness swallows him whole.

[keep reading on ao3]

[juanarc-thethird]

Identity theft #1

Cinder: Okay, here's the plan: Neo will impersonate Pyrrha and enter her room to sabotage her weapons, so no one will know.

Emerald: Ok, but what would happen if her teammates show up?

Cinder: I wouldn’t worry about that. Nora and Ren are spending all day searching for the golden pancake, thanks to my amazing ingenuity.

Neo: "And what about the idiot?🤨?

Emerald: Yeah, what about Jaune? Is he busy too?

Cinder: Do you think that Dunce would question Pyrrha? Knowing him, he'd leave her alone while she "works on her weapons."

Neo: "But what if it does?🤔"

Cinder: So you deal with it, but under no circumstances should you throw away your cover, understood?!

Neo: "Yeah sure🙄"

Cinder: Good, now get to work.

Later that day.

"Pyrrha" enters Team JNPR's room, and begins searching through the closets for the real Pyrrha's weapons.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Which one is her closet?😒 I've only found bottles of maple syrup, tea herbs, and comic books. Don't tell me she doesn't have her…👀 Jackpot😎)

In the last closet, she finds Pyrrha's weapons, right at the bottom. She bends down to grab them but is surprised by a somewhat unusual touch.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Is someone touching my ass?!😡)

Jaune: Hello my love, did you hear that Nora and Ren won't be here all day?💕

Pyrrha(Neo): (Wait? They're a couple?! Wow... but I need to leave now. I'll just step aside and leave before anything else happe-AaaH~💕)

Neo feels Jaune's fingers slide inside her. His movements are slow and very stimulating.

Pyrrha(Neo): (God~, this is it, I need to get out of here before…😳!!!)

Suddenly she feels something hot and big between her ass cheeks. She looks back and sees a tremendous, well-endowed piece of meat looking at her directly.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Holy shit! Is fucking huge!😨)

Jaune: Sorry, I know you prefer it in bed, but you've made me so mad for you that I can't control myself. Is it okay if I put it inside you?

Neo can't stop looking at his member after he asked her that, and a silly idea popped into his head.

Pyrrha(Neo): (Well, Cinder did said to do whatever it takes to not blow our cover😏)

She looks at him and gives him a nod.

Meanwhile...

Cinder: Why is Neo taking so long?

Emerald: Maybe she stumbled upon something that can't get out yet?

Cinder: Maybe. Whatever it is, I hope it's a matter of life or death. Because if it isn't, she's going to get it.

Back to Neo...

Still wearing the "Pyrrha" disguise, Jaune has her on all fours, hitting her from behind with his tremendous meat stick, and choking her by the neck gently but firmly.

PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!PLAT!

Pyrrha(Neo): "💕😮‍💨💕🤤💕‼️"

Jaune: Oh god💕! You're tighter than usual! I think I'm gonna cum!

Pyrrha(Neo): (YEs!💕 Cum inside me!💕 I want to feel your delicious warm milk inside me!💕)

Jaune: Oh Fuck💕! Im close!

Pyrrha(Neo): (Do it! Make me yours!💕💕)

Jaune: Oh Pyrrha!!💕

At that moment she can't feel her insides filling with cum, so much that some of it comes out.

Pyrrha(Neo): ( FUuUCk YEeeEes!💕💕)

They both take a breath. Then Jaune pulls his cock out of her, and it all spurts out like a champagne bottle. Staining the floor with his creamy milk.

Jaune: Oh god, I didn't think I'd cum that much. Well, how about a shower and then we go work out a bit?

Pyrrha(Neo): *Nods back*

Jaune: Excellent, I'll wait for you inside.

He says and gets up to go straight to the bathroom. Neo looks at Pyrrha's weapons and thinks for a moment.

Pyrrha(Neo): (I guess this is my only chance to finish the job🫤)

She then hears the sound of the shower running.

Jaune: Pyrrha, come on. I need you to clean me very thoroughly~💕

Pyrrha(Neo): (Well, I can't say I didn't try☺️)

She gets up and heads towards the shower.

But in the midst of all this, she never realized that a person was watching them from the shadows, one very happy to see such an event.

??????: *Giggles* Interesting

To be continued…

[cat-mermaid]

the second job i ever had: worked at this place that was a big old fuck off, once upon a time warehouse turned office space. Located in a downtown area that was once all industrial, but now a scary crackhead zone, right by the train tracks and everythang

but that doesn't matter, what matters is that a previous and very short lived company that did whatever moved out and left behind this motherfucker:

it was a Netherland Dwarf Rabbit and the bastard of the earth

it looked just like this:

and it was this big:

but this thing was a goddamn force of destruction

one day its owners were gone, its cage was the only thing left, wide open and empty. very soon we were finding power cords severed, boxes with huge holes chewed in the sides, electronics ruined, paper work shredded and more

the guy who ran things but wasn't necessarily our boss (but not a manager either??? he was like a really put upon IT guy) was losing his mind. Before this he was a reasonable, slightly dramatic dude but now he was foaming at the mouth and flailing around because this was costing us so much money and he was the one getting yelled at by our (never physically present) real boss that i think i met once

finally we figured out it was the fucking rabbit. Somehow it was still here and thriving, a whole month and a half after its owners had bounced

IT guy went out to the street and brought back a huge cinder block and was like I AM GOING TO SMASH THAT FUCKING THING and we were like NOOO THE BUNNY and he was like IT DESERVES TO FEEL EVERY KIND OF SUFFERING A RABBIT CAN FEEL and had to be talked out of buying glue traps and poison

we (specificcaly I) went out and got a live trap but this damn bun was too smart, it never went near the thing. What kept happening tho, was every now and then you'd walk by IT guy's desk while he was working and the fucking bun would be hunkered down right under his wheely chair. You'd be like ITS THERE ITS THERE and he was like, without even moving, i know shhhhhh i'm lulling it into a false sense of security so i can grab it

and it worked cos finally one day he nabbed it and was like HAHAHA YOU GOIN TO RABBIT JAIL (the SPCA) but then we all went on a christmas break and come back and theres the fucking old cage that got left behind, sitting under his desk and the rabbit is sitting on his lap all wrapped up in a blankie

and this guy was all no see this thing is really under socialized and needs to be reminded that its a domestic rabbit since its been on the loose for so long, otherwise its gonna keep getting adopted and returned by people who don't know any better because its being all shitty

and i was like, but you said it deserves to feel all the suffering and he goes a bunny can only suffer so much before it pops (whatever that means? maybe Buddha said that) and proceeded to spoil this thing for the next two months, carry it around like a baby, buy it a new bigger cage and then some

that damn rabbit was still there when i left that job and i'm pretty sure it never left ;)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Pact 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, size kink, blood, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your city has been ruined by goblins and must make a deal with a different sort of beast to save your people.

Characters: orc!Steve Rogers, orc!Bucky Barnes, human!reader

Note: here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The mist wafts around the mountain pass, the dulled glow of firelight speckled through the camp. As the sky dims, bodies shiver, with more than the cold, and voices lower as ears listen for the howl of wolves or winging of fanged bats. You hunch down between your sisters, Medra and Castina, holding your hands up to the flame above the kindling and cinder. Your brother, Ralf, whets his blade, as your other, Frin, chips stones to points for the tips of arrows. The same labour can be heard from around the encampment.

Your mother and father are in the tent already. The rest of you are sleepless. You don't think they are dreaming peacefully, only hiding as their aging bones ache from the damp cold. You glance down and scratch away the dry blood around the linen wound tight around your hand. Castina reaches to pet your arm as she notices the movement.

"I can smell the smoke from here," she whispers.

"The foundation will hold," Ralf intones, always the one who knows. "It's stone. The pillars are strong. There won't be much to rebuild."

"Only goblins to chase out," Medra, the youngest retorts. "Ugly creatures."

"Beasts," Frin agrees. "But we will regroup and we will reclaim the city."

"Will we?" Castina asks. "Or shall we perish here in these crags? A fortnight now and we only move between the same caves."

"What do you know of war, hm?" Ralf challenges. "Here, take my sword and go down there. See how far you get, girl."

She frowns and rescinds her hand from your arm, pulling her cloak tighter, "I don't not reproach, I only wonder."

"You speak too much," he snorts.

You lean into her as she wipes her nose and her teeth chatter. You open your cloak and spread it over her shoulders. You are the middle of your sisters, of all of you. She is the eldest girl and yet she is so thin she cannot stand the frost. Her nose has been dribbling for days. You hear her trying to clear it at night. That and many noises which trouble you more.

"It is late, arguing cannot do us any good," you gird as you welcome Medra under the other wing of your cloak.

"Then go and put your head to rest, sister. Hide in your fancies as the men tend to the real world," he scoffs.

Frin tosses a stone at him. "Don't be such a mule. Did you not snore until midday?"

"I was on night watch last eve," Ralf hisses.

"Yes, I'm certain your rumbling scared away the night creatures," Frin chuckles.

"At arms!" The holler brings both your brothers to their feet and you squeeze your sisters. "At arms! At arms!"

Footfalls sprint in all directions as the men stir to action, each quick to man the border of the encampment with steel and hide. You shudder as Medra whimpers and Castina wipes her nose. Your father pokes his head out and hacks into the dirt.

"Have the come to finish their work?" He asks dryly and pulls on his pointed helm. "Aditha, my sword."

He turns back at the rustling within. You stand and Medra clings to your arm. You tug on Castina as she struggles. She needs to keep warm.

"Halt!" The echo rolls around the stone wall of the mountain and sends a ripple through the women and children as they recede from their fires, clustering against the stone. "Men, to your lines."

The bodies in armour, leather and otherwise, form a boundary around the camp, locking together in formation. Shields at the front, arrows to the rear. Yet, you do not hear marching in responses.

"A shadow--"

"Shhhh---"

The voices hush as the collective draw in a terrified breath. Your father emerges and scrambles to join the ranks. A child cries and their mother cooes. An infant begins to fuss. You squeeze your sisters' wrists.

"You should only draw steel if you mean to use it," a sonorous voice carries as if from the heavens.

"East!" A soldier hollers.

"No, west," another claims.

"Well, city of man, is it blood you search for in these mountains?" The voice bounces off the walls once more.

"Show yourself!" The general demands. "What foe hides himself like a snake?"

A rock tumbles down the rock face and lands in the midst of the camp, sending dirt up at impact. You cry out in surprise and turn to look above. Tall shadows loom on the narrow ledges. You back away with the rest of the women in children, likes tides off the coast. The men redirect their bows.

"Ah, now, you will not fire," the beast above proclaims. The mist slowly clears. "For your women and children are not behind your shields, rather at my mercy." The large figure lowers himself to sit, with his legs hanging over the rock face. He is not spindly and sickly like the ravenous goblins, rather thick as a great oak. His dark hair hangs past his shoulders, his beard thick around his square jaw, two teeth poking up from beneath his lower lip. Orcs.

"Beasts! You would savage the defenseless," The general accuses.

"If I wish to do so, so I would," the orc replies.

"Knock," the general calls.

The orc shows a palm, "loose your bows and I shall loose hellfire." He closes his fist and lets it drop.

"You are upon orcish lands. We only wonder why." Another appears behind him. His skin is a fairer shade, yellowish green, and his hair is gold, a braid on each side of his head against his loose locks. He looks over the edge.

"We men do not fear monsters," the general calls.

The soldiers break out into a rabble, clanging their shields and swords, shouting to the sky. The orcs laugh. Both of them.

As silence casts back upon the men with the weight of their fear, you peer between them and the creatures above.

"There are only two," you say. Medra squeaks and Castina hisses as she tugs on you weakly.

"Who speaks?" The general snarls. "This is no business of women."

"Sister," Ralf booms, "silence."

"Is sense not in a woman's domain?" You return. "There are two against you all. Has enough blood not been shed?"

The dark-haired orc scoffs, "your wench speaks sense, does she not?"

"It is not her place." The general snaps.

"Nor is this yours," the blond orc insists. "Though we can see that your own is in ash."

"Are orcs and goblins so different?" Another man shouts. "It is a trap!"

"Goblins," the brunette spits at the very word. "Those mongrels."

"I'd listen to the woman. She speaks wisely," the blond adds.

"We would not let ourselves be seen if we meant harm," the other adds.

"Then what is your meaning?" The captain barks.

The dark-haired orc laughs, the blond puts his hands on his hips.

"The goblins are a plague and we mean to cut the disease out of these lands," the golden-haired orc declares. "So let us agree over a keg of ale, lest we drown in blood."

"And how do we know you are not the ones to hold our heads under?" Another accuses.

The rumbling from above is like an avalanche. More laughter. Medra nestles closer and Castina groans. Her hand is clammy in yours. You let go of your younger sister to untie your cloak and slip it fully around the eldest.

"Let us hear them out," the captain counters, then moves closer to the general to speak unheard.

"We will feed your masses. Your stores will have been raided by the heathen," the blond orc avows.

"A discussion might be held, beyond our camp." The general agrees. "My people are tired and scared."

"I do not blame them," the dark-haired one returns, reaching up as the other helps him to his feet. "There is a pass, west from here. A series of stones jutting out like a great wave. We will await you there."

The orcs disappear as swiftly as they appear, the mist curtaining their departure. The general convenes with his officers as the soldiers exchange looks of concern. The women and children wail and whine in a tempest.

"You," a captain approaches, "since you do think yourself fit to meddle in the affairs of men, you will attend to pour the ale."

"My sister is sick," you hug Castina.

"You have another," he grabs your arm and tears you away. "You undermine not only the general but the city with your tripe. Come, lest you bring further shame to your father and brothers."

Ralf lashes your name out and you wince. You turn and bring Castina's arm around Medra, "take her to mother."

You face the solider and let him lead you away. You knew better than to speak up and yet you could not witness any more blood. You cannot stomach it.

"Churlish girl," the man grips his sword as you follow at his heels.

A party forms near the edge of camp. The general leads four captains and a dozen common soldiers. You walk amidst them with your hands clasping your skirt. Your father will have another reproach waiting.

You shiver without your cloak as you walk along the craggy ground, stones skittering away from your shoes and bouncing off the soldiers' boots. The scout ahead whistles but you can't see much beyond the wall of bodies around you. There's a grunt and a loud thump as the party comes to a halt and you nearly stride into the back of one of the men.

"As promised, fine orcish ale," the voice carries on the wind. "We will light a fire to keep warm and speak."

The soldiers fan out in a line. The general keeps to the head of the pointed formation. Your sights are obscured.

"We've brought a wench to pour serve the ale," a captain declares.

You are thrust forward suddenly by your arm. You scramble to keep up and are hurled ahead. You stagger and crash against the tall barrel before the two tall orcs. You catch yourself on the slats and peek up at them meekly. The dark-haired one reaches for you and you exclaim and collapse to the dirt, shielding yourself in fear.

He is unexpectedly gentle as he lifts you to your feet, "only meaning to keep the lady on her slippers."

You steady your legs as he releases you. The other reveals a wooden tap and shoves in into the barrel. The men reach for their belts and free their bone cups and brass flasks. The orcs reveal long tusks hollowed out for drink.

"General," the blond orc stands patiently.

You pour for the general first, then the orcs, and finally the assembly of men patiently approach and claim their frothy prize. The general and his captains stand in a half-circle as the dark-haired orc strikes a fire over kindling and stone. He stands and claims his ale from his companion.

"A truce between man and orc," the general mulls as he eyes the ale. The orcs drink.

"A pact which might prove fruitful to both," the blond suggests.

"You offer homecoming and food, but what do you ask?" The general growl.

"Let us introduce ourselves, first, eh? Let us meet with more than suspicious. You may call me Steve, my companion is Bucky. We hail from the Stonehead horde." The blond declares.

The general clucks, "General Howler," he returns. "The Duke was slain in the fire. His son is but a lad."

"Tragic," Steve replies with no lack of pity. "You require to rebuild, to feed those who will soon starve in theses passes. And labour to aid in all that. We have many who are strong who might bring timber and fortify your city anew. We have stores of stock to share. We do so with open hands in exchange for one thing."

"One thing?" The general repeats warily.

Steve and Bucky share a glance. The latter beckons to you and hands over his empty cup. You fill it and return it to him. His thick fingers brush yours. He is gargantuan compared to you. His brows are heavy, his jaw is square and stone, and his skin has a reddish undertone. His blue eyes gleam as he looks upon you, he cheek twitches. The other orc skims you with a glance.

"Daughters," Steve says at last.

"Daughters," the general echoes.

"Aye," Bucky says. "Women."

"For what purpose? You think we would let you desecrate our wives?"

"Wives? Not your wives. Ours," Bucky argues.

"Can not you lay with your own kind, cretinous beasts," a captain snarls.

"A plague," Steve intones. "A plague has swept through us and it took as many mothers as it did their babes. My own beloved among them. There are few left, not enough."

"It's... no, it cannot be done."

The orcs look to each other again then to the men. They dip their chins. "Enjoy your ale then. Go back to your people. Batter down and pray."

The general winces. The other men whisper and the captains drone behind their gauntlets. You skirt toward them.

"One daughter," the general says. The crowd grows silent. "Her." He points at you. "Prove that it can be done. That your seed does not split her in two and you will have more. And you will deliver us food enough for the winter to come. Should you bear fruit, you will have more and you will help us rebuild in the spring."

The orcs shift and turn to each other. You back away from both monster and man, pressing yourself to the rockface. The dark-haired one spins around and gestures to you.

The blond presents his sword. "On my blade, let it be done," he declares.

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 10 (Final)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Despite ForestClan's best efforts - the Living Tendrils appear when Cloudthunder gives birth. The tendrils steal two of Cloudthunder's five kits. Redstar latches onto a tendril and tried to sacrifice herself to save one of the kits. She can only return to camp with a body. Redstar now has 7 lives left.

(Redstar, leader, female, 68 moons. Strict.) (Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 43 moons. Adventurous) (Shiverpaw, medicine cat apprentice, female, 10 moons. Loving) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 24 moons. Lonesome) (Living Tendrils. Gnashing, shifting roots. Without age. Cruelty incarnate.) (Warblerkit, male, 3 moons. StarClan cat.)

---

ForestClan tried. They really, really did. It's why it hurt so much when they failed.

They piled cold snow around their walls. They lit fires, and preserved them with pine resin. They even gave a crash course to the former outsiders on how to use half-burned sticks that were still white with ash and flashing red with the heat of cinders. Windfur had given Shiverpaw detailed instructions on how to assist a queen's delivery, and even used a dummy made of deer hide, dried straw and newborn-sized stones to let her practice. They were prepared, and ready to be quick and efficient with repelling the dangers.

It hurt so, so badly when it was not enough.

Cloudthunder thought she had mentally prepared herself for this. For three moons, she desperately tried to pretend she wasn’t pregnant. If she could pretend she was never going to be a mother, then she wouldn’t get attached. After all, it was true. It was fully possible that she was never going to be a mother, and that was alright. This was an accident, anyway. She expected nothing, and if she ended up with something - well, that was a pleasant surprise. She talked to Iciclepool, and Olive, and even Riversnow offered a few words of support. Sure, she had to ignore the shards of worry that scattered their expressions every now and again, but that was alright. Of course they'd be worried - she was their Clanmate. But it would be alright, no matter what happened.

This was a complete failure.

She gave birth to five kits. Five. It took everything in her to not grow attached to every single wriggling kit that Shiverpaw and Windfur helped her deliver. She saw the mounting dread in their eyes as she gave birth to her third kit, and yet she wasn't done. Cloudthunder felt terror surge through her as she heard violent yowling and the crackling of roots snapping the ice off of their ends.

She yowled in despair when Windfur and Shiverpaw were assaulted and thrown to the back of the nursery, and then she found herself with two less kits.

Her heart was carved in half. She wailed, and wailed, and wailed.

*******

Redstar's jaw was locked on one of the tendrils like a bear trap.

She refused to let go.

Not even when she knew it was too late. Not even when she felt her leg shatter again. Not even as the tendrils started retreating, and the vine in her jaws writhed and hissed and pulled her with the strength of rabid dogs. She barely heard the cries of Iciclepool and Hopechase as her body was dragged over the camp walls and through the cold woods. She was filled with indomitable fury. Her claws flailed as she sought to grasp anything to stop its movement.

She grasped on a tree's trunk, and felt her claws rake across the bark uselessly as the tendrils pulled her. She snarled as she felt twigs and snow pelt her eyes. The tendrils wrapped tightly around her muzzle, and grasped for a way to wrench her mouth open to free itself.

It would never find a way. Its disgusting attempt reminded her of Lakestar begging for her life before her death. Ruthless murderer, pleading for mercy. Redstar bit down harder until her gums went numb.

It had no right to demand mercy.

She felt pain surge through her as her broken leg was now mangled thanks to the forest floor. She wouldn't be able to use her body to slow herself down - she had to trap it. Force its hand. Her eyes darted as she saw other tendrils retreating in the distance, coiled around the stolen kits. She could do it. She could force them to choose her. She just needed -

She grunted as her head hit a branch. She hissed, then felt her body moving…at an incline. Her eyes widened. She frantically tried to readjust her eyes. She was being dragged down a hill, down a center path, towards a Woodcrawler den she was all too familiar with.

That's it! Redstar knew where a large oak was - that was how she'd do it. She held her breath and shifted her entire weight towards the right, forcing the tendril's path with her. Her eyes narrowed and her body tensed as they approached the tree, and she braced herself. The tendril hooked itself around the oak tree, and Redstar's weight prevented it from untangling itself, pulling taut. Redstar raked her claws around the tree's trunk, anchoring herself to it. The tendrils thrashed as something from the den was desperately trying to retrieve its appendage. Its writhing became more and more desperate, like a fox bleeding out in a fox trap, and Redstar had no mercy.

She glanced to see one of the coiled tendrils in the distance buckling and writhing in the snow. It twitched like an insect's dying throes.

Come on, she thought. Kill me. Let it go and kill me. Do it!

The last thing she remembers is the coiled tendril releasing its former prey, and diving towards her. She felt the tendrils wrap around her neck, and she wanted to gasp as the air was stolen from her lungs. But no. She would not. She could not release it. She would die. She had to die. She allowed her heart to beat with overwhelming terror, and she felt her vision leave her as nothing could enter her body. Then, she felt surprised when the pain was instantly gone, replaced with blackness.

Redstar gasped and felt air return to her lungs. She swallowed the oxygen around her as relief and life coursed through her again, and she found herself lying on pale, blue grass, painted over an endless sky of stars. He allowed her heart and lungs to slow, and she slowly turned her head around.

Her eyes fell on a grey and white kit, his hazel eyes twinkling with starlight.

"Warblerkit," she rasped.

"Hi Redstar," he meowed. "Icypaw told me that you're losing a life. I, um…I didn't know you could do that." Warblerkit's eyes beamed excited awe. "That's really cool."

If Redstar hadn't been filled with adrenaline, she might've laughed. But instead, she just swallowed.

"How…is my body right now?"

"Um…" Warblerkit stared out into the distance, and his starry eyes glowed. He winced. "Well…the tendrils slowed down. I think you made them really tired."

"Good," she huffed. "But my body, Warblerkit, please."

"I think it's trying to heal your leg. I can't really tell. And your eyes."

"Eyes?"

"Um…tendrils went in it," Warblerkit winced again. "I-It's out now, but…"

"That's alright. Thank you, Warblerkit," Redstar sighed. So that's why she didn't suffocate to death.

"Oh, hello!" Warblerkit chirped. He pranced behind Redstar suddenly, and when she followed him with her gaze, her heart dropped as she saw the truth. Two small, newborn kits, the center of their lucid bodies bright and compact like dense, forming stars. They let out confused mews, and yet their cries went quiet as they found each other and huddled together with security and comfort. Wablerkit pressed his nose against their pelts, and said cheerfully, "It's okay, you'll be safe here. You can try again some other day, okay?"

"Warblerkit," Redstar breathed, confusion and grief filling her.

"There's this really nice molly named Whiteflower that said newborns haven't fully lived, so sometimes, their stars go in other kits when they're born." Warblerkit looked up at Redstar, his hazel eyes flickering. "...I, um…I know you wanted to save one of them." His ears folded sadly. "I'm sorry."

Redstar felt her heart sink. She knew that it was too late. Deep in her heart, she knew.

She hated that she hoped she was wrong.

"You're waking up, Redstar," Warblerkit mewed. "Good luck!"

Redstar's vision turned black, and the next moment, her eyes flew open.

Warblerkit was right. The tendrils were dragging her body very slowly towards the den, like a snake trying to constrict its prey. But the speed it had while trying to escape their camp was spent. Redstar remained still, playing dead to not alert the tendrils. Her gaze darted around. She saw that they were wrapped around her active legs…and they left her broken one alone. A mistake, as it had now healed.

Redstar took a deep breath, and slowly dragged her back paw to her other, and unsheathed her claws.

She yanked the tendrils off the back and scrambled up, pulling her front legs out of the wrappings before dashing up the hill, and looking back.

Just like that time last newleaf, she watched as the tendrils grasped more firmly around a fading, grey echo of her former self, and dragged it more aggressively into the den, until it was wrapped in roots.

Redstar let her heart beat rapidly. She stood, and waited, until everything fell quiet, and only the leaf-bare gale remained.

She stood still for a short while, until she jumped back down the hill and rushed towards the direction of the bundle that the tendril released. Her pawsteps slowed as she found what she knew she would, and she felt tears well as she saw the limp, suffocated form of a white and silver kit.

Redstar stared up at the stars and released an angry caterwaul, then buried her nose in the pelt of the tiny kit.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm so, so sorry. I failed you. Please forgive me."

******

It didn't take long for Tree and Hopechase to find Redstar. When Hopechase saw the limp body of the newborn being carried by her leader, she glanced at Redstar's now-healed leg, and her gaze softened.

Tree was solemn, and somewhat wary at Redstar's now-healed form. Their tail flicked once, and that was enough for Hopechase to quietly explain.

"Redstar has nine lives, blessed by StarClan. We spoke of it before."

"...And StarClan can heal injuries like this?" Tree's voice was trembling.

"If she dies…yes."

"...Can they…" Tree trailed off, staring at the small body. Hopechase's ears folded back, and she shook her head sadly.

Redstar's gaze remained distant and exhausted. She gently put down the body, and kept her head bowed. "...I tried. I tried to save them. I'm sorry."

Hopechase sighed deeply and brought her nose to Redstar's head. "No one expected you to, Red."

"But I should have. I should have done better."

"Redstar." Hopechase's tone forced the calico tabby to look up. Hopechase's blue eyes were firm, then softened with kindness. "You did more than any cat could've ever done. You retrieved a body. Denied the woods another catch. I know it'll never be enough, in your eyes." Hopechase placed her tail on her leader's shoulder. "But I promise that it means something."

Tree nodded slowly. "...The roots take everything. But Cloudthunder can grieve this kit, at least."

Hopechase purred in approval. She paused, then asked, "It's only this one you retrieved, yes?"

Redstar nodded weakly.

"Let's not be here for longer than needed," Tree meowed.

When the three returned back to camp, Redstar felt her stomach turn to stone again as she saw Cloudthunder's eyes widen with hope from the nursery, until she looked closer, and her heart broke all over again. Windfur trotted across camp, prepared to treat Redstar, only to stop and his expression faltered when he saw her walking. He looked down at the dead kit, then sighed.

"...I'm sorry, Redstar," he said glumly. "I thought…I thought I could work faster…"

Redstar merely shook her head. The world around her moved as Iciclepool gently took the weight from her. Shiverpaw tended to Cloudthunder, sympathetically pressing her head against the queen's. Windfur quickly treated everyone's injuries. Barleywave and Hopechase started gathering larger branches, preparing a small funeral pyre.

Redstar went through the motions as her clanmates gathered around the pyre. Cloudthunder forced herself to walk out of the nursery and sit vigil for the body of one of her two kits. Redstar recited the Rite of the Lost, partook in the ritual meal, and allowed cats to grieve in silence. Branchkit seemed distraught, and Perchkit was staring vacantly at the fire, her pupils mere slits. Redstar felt her heart sink for the two kits. Was this...their first experience with death? Yes. It had to be. This would've been so hard for them both, especially after the noise and the chaos.

Riversnow's cream pelt was grey with mud and soot. She must've tried to grab the hot cinders when her stake broke in the battle. A heavy emptiness rested in her eyes. She didn't touch the funerary food before her. It was only when Barleywave quietly sat beside her and whispered something, did she reluctantly bite off a corner of the jerky.

Iciclepool's expression was distant. Hopechase sat next to her gently. The white molly let out a sigh, and pressed her head against Hopechase's shoulder. Hopechase rested her chin on her head in response, her blue eyes filled with sympathy.

When the ritual was done and the body was burned, Redstar helped Windfur gather the ashes, and carry it to the graveyard. The process was heavy on her heart. But she bore it. It was the least she could do.

By the time she returned to camp and cautiously approached the nursery, she heard Shiverpaw and Cloudthunder speaking.

"...The other was a white and light grey one. It…it had a white patch over its ears and eyes," Shiverpaw said quietly.

"...Like flower petals?" Cloudthunder's meow was small.

"Yes…I would say so." Shiverpaw's voice tightened.

"Magnoliakit." Cloudthunder said, wavering. "Thank you, Shiverpaw. It hurts. But…" Her voice tapered into a sob. "I can't forget. I just can't. Never, ever, ever…"

Redstar closed her eyes tightly as she fought back her own lump in her throat. She named her lost kits. Oh, StarClan, she named them. How she wished she brought them back alive. She wished she was stronger, more powerful. Why? Why this?

"Redstar?"

Shiverpaw must've seen her. Redstar swallowed down her sorrow and gently peered into the nursery. Cloudthunder and Redstar's eyes met, and there was a shared understanding of pain between them.

"I'm sorry," Redstar said.

The gray and white molly shook her head sadly, wordlessly grooming her still-living kits. After a long moment of silence, she said, "...At least, I'm still a mother…right?"

"You always would've been one."

"...I understand that now." Cloudthunder looked back up at her leader. "...Thank you for trying. Thank you for bringing…for bringing Bearkit back," she whispered. "So I could say goodbye."

"He should've been with you," Redstar retorted. The words held no teeth.

Shiverpaw stared at the floor during this exchange, until finally, she uttered, "I'm sorry that I didn't work faster. I learned as much from Windfur as I could. I didn't know it would be…"

"No, Shiverpaw," Redstar interjected. She rested her tail on the apprentice's shoulder. "No. This isn't your fault. You did what you could."

Shiverpaw took her blue eyes to her leader. There was an innocence and a level of wisdom that Redstar couldn't identify. "...So did you."

---

Redstar retrieving one of the bodies of Cloudthunder's kits provided her with some closure. She names her stolen kits Bearkit and Magnoliakit, to not forget them. Then, she names her living children, praying that they outlive her tenfold.

(Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 43 moons. Adventurous) (Deerkit, kitten, female, 0 moons. Brown and high white tabby. Know-it-all.) (Cottonkit, kitten, female, 0 moons. Chocolate tabby. Fearless.) (Airkit, kitten, male, 0 moons. Grey and white tabby. Polite.) (Bearkit, male, StarClan cat.) (Magnoliakit, male, StarClan cat.)

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[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green

WC: 1329 Masterpost CW: stitches, blood, canon typical violence, history of experimentation, bad (lbh evil) parent Fentons “I need to get to Bruce Wayne.”

“We should be able to arrange a conversation,” Tim said immediately. None of the shock and concern that Tim must have been feeling seeped through into his words. Jason always admired how even keel Tim could seem.

The kid’s eyes snapped to Tim, brow furrowed in confusion.

Tim just shrugged. “He does good in the city, so do we. Besides, his kids are targeted a lot and sometimes we get involved to help out with that. There’s a line of communication that we can use.”

“So what?” They rasped. “You let every kid who wants to talk to Bruce Wayne get to just ‘cause they’re bleeding out?”

“He’d say that was a good enough reason,” Jason said with certainty. He knew how much money and effort Bruce poured into Make a Wish and the children's hospital.

The kid squinted at him before glancing away. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him… like this…”

“Then a safe house for right now,” Tim insisted. “Just like the name says, it’s safe. We can get you patched up and you can rest somewhere you don’t have to look over your shoulder. When you’re feeling better, we’ll set up that meeting.”

“You’ll let a stranger stay at your safe house, just like that?”

“Kid,” Jason said with a sigh. “I don’t think you’re getting it. You’re a very hurt kid. You’re exactly the type of person that we’d do that for. We’re the Bats of Gotham and we protect her people.”

There was that ugly laugh again. “I’m not even from Gotham.”

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters in Gotham,” Jason said. He took the risk and held out his hand. Jason didn’t pray anymore, not since his mother died, but he still silently hoped that the kid would take it. Jason felt certain they wouldn’t make it if they didn’t take it.

The fingers braced against the grimy cinder block wall twitched. Then the hand reached out. The kid collapsed forward into the motion and Jason lunged to catch them. He lifted them gently, worried about how light they were.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

The kid hid their face against Jason’s jacket. Their words were almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Never underestimate what a stubborn Bat can do, Kid.”

-

The kid passed out halfway to the safe house. It was probably for the best. Their injuries were… extensive would be too kind of a word.

Tim laid down a plastic sheet on the bed before Jason deposited the kid down on it. The hoodie, which couldn’t be the kid’s at that size, had to be practically peeled off. The main wound that must have been the blood splatter he noticed was the immediate concern, but it was everything else that worried Tim more.

This was more than signs of abuse, this was torture or experimentation. Those scars and wounds cut into the kid’s arms and torso was far too even and controlled. There were other, messier scars that looked like burns and stab wounds. The inside of their elbows were littered with track marks and their hands bruised from what must have been IV ports. The worst for Tim was seeing the metal collar around the kid’s neck, but he knew that wasn’t what was getting Jason. He didn’t need to see Jason’s eyes to tell they were glued to the track marks.

“Go take five and fill a bowl up with warm water,” Tim said.

“Red—”

“Hood,” Tim snapped, cutting off Jason’s growl. Tim had suffered Jason’s bite, the bark didn’t scare him anymore. Besides, they understood each other these days. They were the Bats will willing blood on their hands. “Go take five. They’re not going anywhere and I need your help to patch them up, so go take five and get your head on, okay?”

The fight drained out of Jason like a string had been cut. He nodded and stalked off to the tiny kitchen that was basically an afterthought to the living room. It was hardly their most glamorous safe house but it was close, had two bedrooms, and was secure, despite it’s shoddy appearance.

Tim had the old bandages and scraps of cloth peeled off by the time Jason came back to start cleaning away the green blood.

“We need to get antibiotics for them from Leslie,” Jason said after the worst was cleaned up.

“Definitely. This new wound is from a knife and some of these were wrapped with what I think was an old hospital scrub.”

“Lends credence to…”

“Yeah.”

Jason nodded stiffly. “This needs stitches.”

“Luckily I think bandages are fine for everything else,” Tim said.

He snapped off the nitrate gloves and put on a fresh pair. He carefully numbed the skin around the wound while he waited for Jason to be in a spot to hold the kid down should they wake up. The first few stitches went fine. Tim took the time to be extra neat. The kid didn’t need any worse scars because of his sloppy work.

Tim had just started on the forth one when the kid started to stir. They twitched and whimpered in their sleep. Jason pressed down carefully to keep them from moving too much.

“No, Mom, please, I’m your son! I’m not— Don’t… not again. I’ll be good…”

Tim looked up at the impassive red helmet.

“I’m good. I have him. Just keep stitching so we can get him tucked in to bed.”

“Okay,” Tim said and got back to work. It was hard to ignore the whimpered words and everything they implied, but Tim needed to focus. There would be time to start looking into everything after.

It was as he was cleaning up that Jason threw a wrench into things.

“Don’t run his DNA.”

“What?” Tim hissed, rounding on Jason. “That is clearly Bruce’s kid in there!”

“Exactly. It’s obviously his kid, there’s no doubt in that with the way he looks. And just as obviously he’s been tortured or experimented on. Don’t you think he’s been stripped of his privacy enough?”

All the fight bled out of Tim an instant. “Fuck. I didn’t think… I just wanted to…”

“I know. You wanted to help by solving this, but that’s not what this kid needs right now. So hold off until he feels safe enough to consent, okay?”

“Okay, no, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Red,” Jason said, ruffling Tim’s hair with a wet hand. “Creepy stalking is just your way of caring, I get it. Just pull back a little this time. You can focus on that collar he’s wearing right now.”

Tim shuddered. “That thing needs to go. Am I staying on watch then?”

“If you’re fine with that. I’ll get Oracle to call the others to the Cave.”

“Sure,” Tim said. He didn’t want to miss that conversation, but someone had to stay with the kid and he was a better choice to get the collar off. “Just make sure I have a comm line in.”

“Of course. Can’t have you missing out on us discussing the old man’s sex life.”

“Ugh, never mind, I don’t need a comm line!”

“Too late!” Jason called out with a laugh as he headed for the door.

Tim flicked him off just to do so.

After double checking that the place was secure, Tim pulled out a tool bag. At least he could start by testing the collar for explosive residue or other traps that would keep Tim from taking it off. The thought of the collar being rigged made him sick to his stomach, but it fit too well with the canvas of scars that the kid bore.

“Who did this to you, Kid?” Tim asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t get a response. “And how soon can Hood put a bullet in their head for you?”

--- AN: So here's a little more of this for Trauma Tuesday! The Reds are very concerned! I'm still having fun writing a Jason and Tim who get along and understand each other in a way the other 'we don't kill' Bat's don't, threats of murder and all.

Sorry if there are lots of mistakes (I don't need them corrected, ty), it's been a bad fatigue spell here. Still hope you enjoyed it and stay delightful, darlings!

(Oh, and there's another continuation to the OG threaded to it by chroma if you want a different take!)

Masterpost you can subscribe to, as I no longer tag people!

[1800titz]

I’M IN MY PRIME | Best friend's dad

age gap. 4.8K on patreon

Third and final part to LIQUID SMOOTH & COME TOUCH ME TOO

Fucking an older man feels like every ugly, broken part of you shuddering to the surface. Buoying, dredged up from his broad hand on your shoulder, lugging you down to meet his pelvis in a wet slap. It feels… Heavy. Overwhelming. Raw— your rim smarts on the sheer stretch, and every bludgeon into you (you, being yanked back to envelop the root of his cock, again, and again, and again) feels like it’s cudgeling something sharp and deep. Bruising something awful. And you like it. Chase it, the same way you’ve been chasing him. Because when he resorts to softer grinds, just as deep, and palms at the sides of your skull, thumbs prying into the soft flesh under your cheekbones, with his fingers interlocking in the gentle arch of your nape— And he holds you like that, by the back of your neck, by your face, all withered adoration, lust in worn fatigue, it feels like he’s piecing you back together. Like he can cup his hands around you and make you whole. Your lower lip quakes. “There you go,” Harry tells you, hardly over a whisper (a rasp in ironclad passion), like he’s breaking with every rut, like this moment— fragile, flimsy— will break apart in his hands if he speaks any louder, “There you fucking go. Take it, baby. Just like that.”

preview

You don’t ask him about nice boys. What he meant about nice boys, and what it means for him now. Now, that you’re naked, and bare, and sweaty, stretched across his chest, tracing ink and freckles with your fingertip like coasting the shape of a foreboding asterism. 

Those constellations, spelled out in the horoscopes, on a webpage that was laid out like it was scraped straight off the wayback machine from the windows 2000 era, made your brain rot for years. Cheap, flimsy justification in the shade of cobalt blue and the distant sister of comic sans. You always reverted to the same page because it told you the pretty things you needed to hear, or rather, gave you enough space to pick out what you wanted to see; digging diamonds out of kimberlites. Because the brecciated rock was the bigger picture, maybe— mundane, aversive, your eyes listed, gnawing into the core— but if you picked in enough—

It doesn’t matter anymore. Not with his heartbeat humming in your ear like a perfect iambic pentameter. An unspoken love sonnet. 

(Your naked leg slotted over his bare thigh tells you as much.)

He laughs when you roll your hip forward and grind your wet cunt into the smattering of hair there. Your slick coagulates against his thigh. He feels it, and gives you this low, airbrushed sound in the hummingbird angel choir rippling across the little, vibrating bones in your ear. You hear it under his soft chest before you hear it from his mouth. Then, he tells you something about his knees not being what they used to be. 

Don’t start. Don’t start again— 

You feel like you’ve got your fingers on a winding key. You’re playing with cinders. Rolling live coal in your palms, but you’re waiting for the firework of the blaze reigniting. Waiting for the gear to click. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Push and pull. 

(You wonder if he’ll break. If the flame will swallow you whole, if you’ll hump his leg like a pitiful dog long enough, and he’ll lug you over his lap to bounce you dumb all over on his fat cock again. You wonder if he’ll give in when your knees start to ache.)

Undying devotion doesn’t get crushed under a maelstrom, never mind under a coasting cumulonimbus. You rock your hips a little, more into him, against him, so he knows you don’t care about his knees, or what they used to be, so he doesn’t think that you regret the disconnect in timelines; that yours didn’t overlap with his, enough, to indulge in what his knees used to be.

(You think you’re getting somewhere when he shifts his thigh against you, rigid musculature, granting you access to a better ride. And you wonder if, instead, he’ll mistake your placation for misbehavior. The thought knocks something ugly and wanting up from the settled sediment of your hunger.)

[rachetmath]

Jaune No Joke No More Arc

Cinder: Jaune Arc.

Jaune: Cinder Falls. Why am I not surprised?

Cinder: I didn't think you would agree to my terms so easily.

Ruby: Jaune, it's a trap.

Jaune was soon surrounded by bandits.

Cinder: You made such a foolish mistake Mr. Arc. Now prepare to die.

Jaune: *kills a few of them*

Cinder: What the?

Jaune: *kills a more*

Cinder: I'm sorry what the f-?

Jaune: *kills even more bandits*

Cinder: Okay hold up. Hold up! Everyone stop!

Everyone stops fighting.

Cinder: Okay, Jaune, what the hell are you doing?

Jaune: Fighting for my life and my friends.

Cinder: You're killing people though.

Jaune: So?

Cinder: Why? And how?

Jaune: I'm not following.

Cinder: You are a healer.

Jaune: No. I'm an amplifier.

Cinder: Regardless how are you murdering these people with no hesitation? Or remorse.

Jaune: I killed Penny.

Cinder: What does she-

Jaune: Penny was the most innocent person in the world of Remnant. She has done no wrong unlike the six girls you have hostage.

RWBYN: … …

Jaune: I have also been betrayed multiple times. By Ozpin. By Lyon. By James. Hell I met Alyx and the Cat who both turned on me.

Cinder: Wow.

Jaune: My kindness and patience have been taken for granted. I have always been the butt of a joke by everyone. I'm a little tired of that, you know. Especially after so much trauma, betrayal, and abuse. Again not just by the villains' side but the heroes too.

Cinder: O.

Jaune: I have to carry this group of trauma, parental issues, emotional problems, and identity crisis invested children, for a long time, I carried them through thick and thin. With nothing in return.

Cinder: O!

Jaune: I get no respect. And you know, my bet is that they did something stupid and got caught. And Ruby was the leader. Right?

Cinder: Yeah.

Jaune: See my f****** point?! Even though I may not be leader of the year, I made better choices and they went well for other people's benefit. Not only that back in Atlas I was the only one not repeating my mistakes.

Cinder: I do. Umm let them go.

Jaune: Really?

Cinder: Yeah… umm… do you have or need a girlfriend?

Jaune: I have 99 problems and a girl ain't going to be one of them.

Cinder: Damn.

Jaune: Like come on, would you date either of those girls? Or Ren. Or Oscar

Cinder: *stares* No. Like I would stab myself- matter of fact I would let Tyrian get it before any of them. Even Qrow.

Jaune: Damn you let the psycho hit first?

Cinder: You have to admire his dedication.

Jaune: Shit, you are right.

Cinder: Plus you were my first pick.

Jaune: Wait what?

Cinder: Till we meet again.

[neurotica-tales]

Yandere Cinderella (Edric) Headcanon (Part 2)

For Part 1, click HERE.

For other yandere fairytales: A Merman's Forbidden Love (Yandere Male!Ariel x Reader)

To find my master list, click HERE.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The days that followed were oddly silent in the house. Anastasius and Drisden didn’t mention the plaza incident. They didn’t bring you up. They didn’t make jokes. That, in itself, told Edric everything he needed to know.

They were planning something.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew them. Knew how cruel they could be when they wanted to shatter something pure just to see it broken. And you—you were the first good thing in his life. You were kind. Unassuming. Gentle with your hands and words. He’d tasted a life worth living the moment you smiled at him like he mattered.

And now they wanted to taint it. To steal it.

No.

He’d promised to remain pious. To be good. But even the most devoted saint can be driven to sin in defense of something sacred.

And you—you had become sacred to him.

One night, as Edric sat alone beside the dying hearth once again, his fingers idly toying with a half-burned cinder. He watched the ember crumble in his palm, the warm glow turning to ash. He whispered the words again, like a prayer. A mantra.

“Remain pious and good.”

The words cracked on his tongue.

How could he remain good when evil pressed its hands on you? How could he stay pure while they plotted to soil the only pure thing left in his world?

His hand curled into a fist, crushing the coal. The ember hissed against his skin but he didn’t flinch.

“I’ll stay good,” he whispered. “But they… they won’t.”

He couldn’t kill them. He couldn’t bring himself to stain his hands that much, even in rage. His mother’s voice was etched too deep. It clung to the core of him like a ghost. But there were other ways to protect what mattered.

Other ways to punish.

So Edric started to scheme.

He didn’t go for vengeance immediately. No, he was careful. He was clever in a way no one had ever given him credit for.

The next morning, he greeted Anastasius with tea—tea a little too sweet, spiked with crushed herbs that left him sluggish and confused for hours.

When Drisden wandered into the stables later, he found every saddle strap cut, the tools rearranged into a chaotic mess that left him shouting for hours. Edric apologized so convincingly that no one suspected him.

But beneath his lashes, Edric watched them unravel, thread by thread. Let them suffer. Let their own arrogance eat them from the inside out.

He would not kill.

But he would let the world close in around them until they suffocated under the weight of their own cruelty.

As for you, he grew closer by the day.

Every time he saw you, he offered a new carved trinket—birds, flowers, once even a little figure that resembled you, though he played that one off as a coincidence. He knew what days you went to the market, when you preferred to take the forest path, when you hummed under your breath without noticing.

But he never made you feel watched. Never made you feel afraid. That would ruin it.

He wanted you happy.

He wanted you safe.

He wanted you his.

But even though he desperately wanted you to become his, he refused to use intimidation or anything remotely hurtful because he didn't want to inflict upon you the harm he has suffered all his life. Out of everything in life, the one thing he refused to become was like his stepfamily.

And so, he decided that the best way to make his dream come true was to be charming in your eyes.

Edric didn’t need chains or cages. No, he built a prison far more subtle—one made of favors and familiarity. Every time he helped you, you relied on him more. Every time he saved you from inconvenience, you thanked him with such warmth that it made him dizzy.

And one day, when he offered to carry your baskets, and you simply smiled and said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” something in him clicked.

That was it.

You needed him.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.

But it wasn’t always perfect.

There were moments—small ones—when the weight of what he was becoming nearly broke him.

Once, he overheard two villagers whispering about him and you. Saying how it was “sweet” that the soot-stained cinder boy had found someone to smile at him.

One of them laughed.

“I wonder how long it’ll take before they leave him. I mean, come on. His family is a disaster. No woman will want to marry into a family like that, especially since he has nothing to offer!”

And so once again, Edric sat by the hearth, face hidden in his hands. He didn’t cry—he never did—but his shoulders shook like the world itself was pressing down on him. The memory of your laugh warred with the memory of their scorn.

His hands trembled.

"How dare they."

The thought echoed in Edric’s skull, loud and vicious like a hammer striking iron.

How dare those villagers speak of him like that.

As if they knew anything—anything—about the pain he'd swallowed down every single day. About the sleepless nights spent scrubbing soot from floors that would never shine. About the lashes of cruel words and the invisible wounds that festered in silence.

They didn’t know a thing.

And yet, they laughed.

They gossiped.

Right there, in the middle of the plaza, in open daylight. As if their words weren’t venom. As if their voices didn’t carry, didn’t twist the air into something poisonous.

His hands clenched until his knuckles blanched.

What if you heard them? What if those ugly little words wormed their way into your head, painting him in the same filthy light his stepfamily always had? What if you started to believe he was pathetic—unworthy of your kindness?

What if you walked away?

No.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't.

You were his one good thing. His guiding light in the soot-choked dark. The only person who ever looked at him and didn’t see dirt or servitude—you saw him. You saw Edric.

If he lost you, what would be the point of anything?

His heart thundered in his chest. Each beat a warning. A threat.

A thought slithered up from the deepest part of him, too quick to stop.

“Should I just... get rid of them?”

The idea didn’t arrive as a shout, but a whisper—soft, seductive, almost reasonable. And for one horrifying moment, it made sense.

But then— His mother’s voice.

“Dear child, remain pious and good, and I will look down on you from heaven and be near you.”

The whisper was smothered in an instant.

Edric staggered back from the thought like it had burned him. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. His heart pounded, not with anger now—but with guilt.

What was that?

What kind of person even thinks like that?

He pressed his knuckles hard against his lips to keep from sobbing, from screaming, from doing something irreversible.

“I can’t,” he whispered, almost pleading. “I won’t. That’s not who I am. I’m good. I have to be good…”

But the rage didn’t disappear. It coiled tighter, sinking its teeth into his ribs like a starving animal.

“I’m still good,” he whispered.

“I haven’t hurt anyone.”

But his gaze flicked to the broom propped beside the fireplace. He imagined breaking it across Drisden’s back. Imagined dragging Anastasius by the hair and locking him away somewhere dark, somewhere forgotten.

No.

No.

He clenched his jaw and forced the thoughts away.

He couldn’t give in.

He wouldn’t.

Because if he became a monster… you wouldn’t love him.

And he needed you to love him.

But you didn’t say it. Not yet.

So he waited. And watched. And every time you glanced his way with a smile or touched his arm when laughing, he carved the moment into his memory like scripture. The little touches, the soft hellos—those were his altar.

And when the day came that you finally hugged him without hesitation—just a quick, warm embrace in the middle of the street—he felt something burst in his chest. Something light and terrible and final.

It was done.

You were his.

He didn’t need a vow or a wedding band.

You had touched him first.

And in Edric’s world… kindness was covenant.

[eintausendschoen]

They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-sith for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

[rosewood-cafe]

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand's sister.

AN: Omg, I have never written for Eris before, and I am so nervous. Sorry if the ending seemed rushed, I am planning for a part two, but it will take me a long time to do lol.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The sound of blood trickling down your back and onto the cold stone floor filled your ears. Drip Drip Drip. Another involuntary back spasm had you writhing with pain. Bile burned your throat as you empty out the contents of your stomach onto the floor next to you. Not having enough strength to move further away nor care to. Your cell was dark and cold. There was a small metal fireplace in the back. The fire was down to cinders and ash mocking you with false hope of warmth.

You were going to die here, you thought. Your wounds still have not healed yet. You had no proper clothing to fight off the cold, and you were stripped bare except for a pair of raggedy trousers. Shame hit you, clawing its way up through your chest. If the wounds would not kill you, you would surely die from the embarrassment alone. Being put on display in front of everyone, stripped, and had her wings taken. Even someone as powerful as the 'Princess of the Night Court' could not have saved her wings.

You wanted to laugh at the irony. You fought against Tamlin and his father to keep your wings, only for them to be ripped away years later. A small laugh escaped your throat at the cruel twist of fate. Hours had passed, yet you still bled, your fingers growing numb. Unstoppable tremors racked your body from the shock and cold still running its course. This must be what Hell is, you just knew it.

"I am going to die here." You finally admitted to yourself, tears collecting in your eyes. Dripping down your face in a steady stream, no matter how hard you tried to stop them. Screams echoed through the cell bringing you back to the harsh reality, you are still under the mountain, and you are going to die here.

'Where is Rhy's?" You thought of your older brother, surely he would gave come to help you out by now? No, you thought. There has not been a scrape at your mental sheilds, or no quick visits like times before. Just absolutely nothing since the... latest punishment. You trembled harder, knocking your upper back into the makeshift bed making you cry out in agony. Your wounds bleeding harder from the force, making you dizzy. A scrape of metal on stone grabbed your attention, and your eyes snapped up to the intruder.

"Hello, little Fawn." You looked towards the intruder with wary eyes, desperately trying to stay awake and aware. Your eyes caught the signature fiery red hair and those piercing amber eyes. Eris Vanserra was in your cell. You threw your arms over your bare chest, feeling the sharp claws of embarrassment digging into you once again. His eyes raked over your body, sending icy chills down your spine. A small whimper of pain escaped your lips at the slight movement.

"What are you doing here?!" you all but growled at the Autumn heir. A smirk formed on his lips as he stepped further in and shut the heavy door. You retreated further back into the cell, "G-Get out!" you hissed, venom laced in your voice. He ignored you, his eyes raking over you once again, noticing the blood pooling underneath you. Too much blood, he thought to himself. He wondered how you had even lasted this long bleeding out. "Where is Rhysand?" he asked. "Or does being Amarantha's whore take more priority than his dying sister?" You narrowed your eyes in warning. You knew of Rhys's sacrifices and the game he has to play. Amarantha's whore is a title he will bear for the rest of his life. Your eyes fell towards the stone floor before answering.

"I do not know where he is," you finally say after a few seconds of silence. He lets out a humorless laugh. "His precious little sister, Princess of the Night Court, lies on death's door, and he doesn't even bother to show up for your last moments?" You huff in annoyance, "Don't act like the Vanserras are anything but cruel. I would be careful, Eris. You have a mighty fine bounty on your head. I'm just waiting to see which brother takes it for his own personal gain."

"I doubt you'll get to see it, considering you'll be dead before the morning rises," he stated, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. As if on cue, another tremor hits you full force, and you scream out in agony. "If you only came here to insult me and my brother, You. Can. Leave." you gritted out slowly, the pain seeping back into your body. You let your arms fall from your chest, leaning over to your cot to rest your aching head. Eris studied you for a moment with a calculated stare. "I can help you if you like." A flame appears in his hands, its light casting eerie shadows on the cell walls. "I am no healer, but I can at least stop the bleeding with my flames." You remained quiet, until a scoff interrupts the stretched silence. "Unless you rather die? Let me see your wounds." Not a request, but a demand.

"Why do you care? I'm almost dead anyway," you ask, tears lining your eyes once again. He takes a tentative step towards you, his mask of indifference faltering. "Because you do not deserve to die here." Another step closer. "Because you deserve a better fate than this." He was in front of you now. "Because you do not yield, not now, not ever." Seeing you in this vulnerable state unnerved, Eris; he didn't know why he had offered his help to you. It was, as if he was under a spell, a string tied to his rib, drawing him towards you. Perhaps witnessing you this broken, stirred an emotion he thought had been snuffed out years ago. He did not, could not dwell on the feeling now. A frustrated tear steamed down your face as you let out a shaky breath. "Okay." You said, you feel like you shouldn't trust him, but the way his words seem so sincere... fuck it. You put your trust into Eris Vanserra, and hope it wouldn't bite you in the ass later.

His shoulders sagged slightly with relief as you turned your back to him, revealing your wounds. Eris walked over to the fireplace and with a flick of his wrist, ignited a small fire. "This will not last long; it's nearly all ash," he said. "But I need the light to see your wounds." He moved behind you. "May I?" he asked before touching you. You let out a small hum. "Words, Fawn." You let your head drop, "Yes." You stated weakly, the adrenaline, finally wearing off. He puts his hands on your shoulders and gets on his knees.

"I have dreamed of burning you and your Court with my flames, but never like this," he said, his voice carrying an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "Forgive me Y/n, for, my flames aren't so forgiving." He places his large calloused hands onto your back. Your back was ablaze with searing flames, the agony so intense it made Aramantha's torture seem like child's play. A guttural scream tore from your throat, accompanied by scalding tears streaming down your face. You were engulfed in unbearable torment. "Stop moving so much," Eris grunted, firmly pressing an arm across your chest to keep you still as he continued his grim task. Your throat felt raw from the incessant screaming, the pain blinding and merciless. The acrid stench of burning flesh was so overwhelming, you feared you might vomit. You gripped onto Eris's forearm as a sob fell from your lips. "Stop! I-I Can't!" You almost pleaded with him, Eris let out a curse under his breath as you bucked against his hold.

"You can, and you will," he snapped at you, his brow furrowed in concentration, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Blood smeared his hands and stained his clothes. "I am almost done," he muttered, more to himself than to you. The cell door suddenly swung open, crashing against the stone wall with a resounding thud. Eris froze, his eyes darting towards the door. Finally, he released his grip on you, and you exhaled in relief.

"What the hell are you doing to my sister?!" Rhys's voice thundered through the room, his fury radiating like a palpable force. "Rhys..." you whispered weakly, your strength ebbing away. You collapsed onto your side, letting the darkness envelop you completely.