#crying tears over trying to remember how to spell his last name

[killakalx]

17+ content, ageless blogs dni

here’s more head. overstim, spit, mild manhandling if you wanna look at it like that, poorly proofread

jason todd could spend hours lapping at your cunt. it starts as him prepping you for his cock, scissoring you open and dipping deep inside you until he’s sure he could bury himself to the hilt. but after your third orgasm, he’s given up on that excuse.

“jay- jason,” you cry, foot desperately shoving his shoulder as he sucks on your clit with a hum. you’re overstimulation is easily disregarded, as if you’re not the one he’s torturing right now, and it’s almost embarrassing how deterred he is. instead of pushing him away, you try pulling yourself up, letting go of jason’s hair to tug at sheets.

“the hell are you going?” he scolds with an offended face, drawn out of his spell and following without a second thought. you can’t even answer through heavy breaths, but you curse when you realize you’ve only trapped yourself between this mad man and the headboard.

“no more, jay,” you plead, “‘s too much…”

“I don’t think you’ve had enough,” jason retorts in the most factual tone he has, calloused hands snaking up the back of your thighs and holding both legs against your chest. “I gotta get you ready, remember?” you whine at him weakly and his eyes almost roll at the sound. helplessly, you rest your head against pillows, arm hanging over your face.

a thick glob of saliva leaks from the bundle of nerves to your hole and he groans, and he still feels the need to drool over your cunt as his hooked nose nudges at sensitive skin. “‘s too fuckin’ good,” jason insists, using one arm to keep your thighs folded so fingers can prod at your pussy with his tongue. you’re inclined to agree with him. still, he promises to pull out one more state of bliss before he properly fucks toy. “y’know i don’t lie to you,” he warns, “one more.”

he gives you no choice but to comply, legs twitching and breath hitching before a high keen once he gets that last one out of you. “that’s it, doll,” he praises between thirsty licks and slurps, “there you fuckin’ go.” much to your dismay, he wastes little to no time cleaning you up. deep groans vibrate up your spine as he swallows every bit of your slick and cum before he lets your legs go.

“fuck, jason,” you whimper into your elbow and he forgets to hold in his snicker, open mouthed kisses are scattered up your body as he positions his hips against yours.

“hey, pretty,” he huffs after swatting your arm away to look at your face, admiring the glow he’s given you just from his mouth. jason grabs your face before your gaze loses him, rosy cheeks squished and making you that much louder when he buries himself inside with one agonizingly deep thrust. incoherent cries fill the room and it has jason craving more that he’s sure you can give him.

“y’can’t blame me, can you?” he husks, and the hand holding your jaw jerks to make your mouth fall open. a thick glob of spit lands on your tongue as it lols out, debauched and shameful once you’re fully dazed. “that’s yours,” he reminds you as if you’d forgotten, “that’s you all over my fuckin’ tongue.”

his cock twitching at the whorish moan you give, setting a brutal pace to make up for the time he’s missed between your quivering thighs and tight cunt. tears form under your lashes and fall each time his heavy balls smack against your ass, legs wobbling around his torso as he traps you under his weight. weak babbles of his name only drive him impossibly deeper inside you, and the rude bruise that’s sucked into your neck says he’s far from done breaking you. ❧

[runwiththemagick]

Death Becomes Her | Prologue: immortal by design

An ENHYPEN x fem! Reader fanfic series

Series Summary: Millenniums after her death, a vampiric sorceress finds herself to be brung back to life by the hands of naive college students. Little did the students know that they knew her in their previous lives.

Main Keywords: College AU!, Vampiric sorceress reader, fem reader, role reversal relationship, polyamorous relationship, and college students ENHYPEN

Warnings: Death and dark themes

Sacrifice (eat me up) by ENHYPEN

Is this how it ends? The most powerful sorceress this poor world has ever seen, slayed by the hands of scared, foolish mortals. How could that be?

You look out into the large sea of people before you. They booed and screamed unpleasant names at you, wishing you a painful death. Yes, this will be very painful but not for the reason they think.

You cast your gaze over at the men who waited in front of the stairs of the gallows; waiting for their turn to face death. A death that’s been brought upon them for sympathizing with a so-called cold-blooded demon like you. You could see the tears in their eyes, some on the verge of breaking down others already inconsolable from having to watch the person who rescued them so long age to be killed by the hands ignorant mortals.

You look up to the bright sunny sky, feeling tears of your own slip from your eyes; guilt weighing heavy on your chest. If only they never met you, then they wouldn’t have to have their last breath taken from them in front of such a sadistic audience. Though would they still be alive now if they never met you? Is this death far worse than what they could’ve had?

A rough hand forces you down to your knees, making the crowd cheer and your partners desperately scream out your name. They know their words and thrashing in their chains won’t save you. But that didn’t stop them from hoping there was some way out of this cruel ending.

You look at them one last time, trying to give them a reassuring smile that looked more sad than comforting. You know giving them comfort in a moment such as this is near impossible. However, one by one they do their best to muster up a smile of their own. It was enough to give you some kind of hope. But hope for what?

What were you hoping for?

For this to be a nightmare? That any moment you’ll wake up? Wake up and be in the loving embrace of your partners? As if! If only that could be true…

Could it though?

That single thought sends a bolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

What if this doesn’t have to be your ending?

What if you can rescue you them one more time?

“Alrighty, we’ve waited far too long to see you and your little followers die! Haven’t we?!” The mortals’ “hero” shouted, making the crowd cheer. You can hear your partners cry and scream for you, but you didn’t dare to look. Not because you couldn’t stand the sight, but because you were trying to remember that one spell. That spell that was hidden away in your father’s books kept under lock and key. You know that these chains that bind you repel your magic. Though they may not be strong enough to stop this spell.

As the “hero” hyped up the crowd with his long speech of how he captured you and your partners, you took a deep breath and tried to ground yourself. If this spell is going to work, it’s going to need all your focus, energy and… life.

You close your eyes and do your best to focus on that familiar melody. As you muster up all your magic and hum the tune you could feel the chains around your wrist burn like hellfire. Though you pay no mind. This pain is temporary and so will be this reality.

The wind around you starts to pick up as if you were in a small hurricane. With every ethereal note the wind became stronger, so strong that people in the crowd noticed the strange occurrence.

“Magic! Witch! Demon! Stop her! Stop the demon!” They scream, looking at the “hero” for help. Though even he was scared and confused.

As you sing the lyrics you can just barely hear the cracking of your chains as they break and fall apart.

It’s working

With the chains now gone you could feel your power increase tenfold. Now with nothing to repel your magic it’s near impossible for anyone to stop your spell.

Your feet leave the stage of the gallows as the wind whisks you high up into the air. Some citizens shouted and screamed while others ran in fear of what horrid spell you were about to cast. As for your partners, they stared in awe, speechless at your power.

“(Y/n)!” You hear one call out to you, causing the others to do the same as if cheering for you. You wish you could look at them and tell them you love them one last time though that’ll ruin everything. So you use that energy to power the spell instead. Thinking back to all the happy moments you spent with them, how you saved them and how much happiness they gave you in your darkest moments.

As you reach to the end of the song you could feel all your energy draining from your body. Your soul slowly leaving to the spiritual realm so that it may be called upon to come back in the future. In a future where you and your partners will live again and can finally peacefully exist.

“Jungwon, Heesung, Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo and Niki, I’ll see you all again soon. As I was there to bring you back to life. I hope you’ll be able to bring me back to life as well. But this time nothing will be able to stop us.”

;

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought and if you’d like me to continue with this idea. I’m not very sure if I will make a whole series out of this since this was more of like a test but we’ll see! Thank you again! You’re all so fangtastic! 🩸

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can you write about the Last Ronin where we were his girlfriend before everything went to shit and we meet him again but he also get to meet his child as well? Btw I frickin' love your fanfiction, I hope you keep expanding you work.🥹

16 Years: part 1 (Angst)

TLR!Michelangelo x reader

Part 2 (18+) Part 3 (18+)

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A/N: Thank you so much🖤 I feel like writing for TLR has opened whole new world of writing for me, and I will love to do more, even if I cry every time😭🖤 I had “Tout L'univers” by Gjon’s Tears playing on repeat as I was writing this, so when I tell you I was bawling my eyes out, I was BAWLING. For some reason I just had to make everything worse for poor Mikey😭

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Warnings: Spelling, The Last Ronin and The Lost Years spoilers, loss of loved ones, loss of child, mentioning of suicide, trauma, self hatred, crying (not just in writing, omg), and probably a lot more.

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For 16 years, Mikey had tried to live with the spirits of those he had lost. Trying to find peace with them, and let them be. But he just couldn’t. Mikey just couldn’t rest with all these faces he used to love surrounding him, knowing that he could not help them. Raphael, Leonardo, Casey, April, the Fugetoid, Master Splinter, Donatello, Gerel, Shaka. All of them haunted him, speaking to him, telling him what to do. His brothers even went so far as to belittle him for his actions and failures. Every. Single. Day.

But if there was one face that Mikey couldn’t handle around him, it was yours. He dared not to look at you, nor the child you carried on your hip. The pain from seeing the two of you, in complete silence, not speaking a single word, being the only ones that actually did as he asked - staying quiet and letting him think. He looked at you once, the pain of seeing you and the young child in your arms, was almost enough for him to end it all before he even made it to Korea.

But though Mikey never looked at you, he felt your presence with him everywhere he went. You always followed closely behind, carrying your little bundle of love, just like you did the day he lost you…

Mikey hated how clearly he remembered it. It had been absolute chaos. They never had a chance. Leo had told him to bring April and the Fugetoid, all making sure nothing happened to you. You, Mikey’s girlfriend, who had been in the second stage of your first pregnancy. You, the only woman that Mikey had ever loved. You, the only person who was willing to let him think of something, other than his horrible war of a family feud, and his so-called destiny. You, the love of his life, and the only reason Mikey has seen a reason to fight in the first place…

Mikey had lingered for too long. That’s at least what he told himself. He should just have done as Leo had said, and gotten you out of the building. He should never had hesitated. If he hadn’t, then maybe you wouldn’t have been caught in the explosion. Then maybe you, April… and the kid would still have been alive.

Mikey still remembered how strangely numb he had been when he woke up from the explosion. His body ached all over, but it was as if he felt nothing. You were all gone. There was no way any of you could have survived that explosion. Leo, the Fugetoid, Casey, April, you… and them. That was what Mikey referred to the long lost life as - them. Giving them a name would just slowly kill him over time, making everything harder than it needed to be. Almost as hard as it was so leave the ruins of your grave, without trying to look for your body. But as much as Mikey wanted to stay and look for you, he had to leave for the last family he had left, before they too were gone.

But like always, he was too late for that too. Donnie and Master Splinter was already far gone when he made it to Japan. That was Mikey’s breaking point, and the first time he wished to end his suffering. Everyone was gone. His friends, his brothers, his father, the love of his life and his unborn child. Mikey was angry. Not just at the world around him, but himself. He could just have stayed with the two of you. He could have found you and laid you to rest. Giving you, his brother, his friends and his child a proper burial. But he didn’t, and he hated himself for it.

Mikey hated himself everyday. He hated himself for not being able to protect you, and he hated himself for not taking care of you. And taking care of his own damn child. As he forced himself through the snow of the Japanese mountains, as he trained under Master Yip, when he momentarily went blind in Mongolia, and when he had to fight for his life in Ukraine, before finally defeating Death Worm in Italy, all Mikey could do was think about you and how hate himself. But soon he learned that there was only one way to make up for his mistakes. Revenge. Revenge for all that had been done to his family. Oroku Hiroto would have to feel the pain that Mikey had been feeling for the past 16 years. And that was what Mikey came to New York for. Revenging all of his family, especially the one that didn’t even have a name.

But as it has happened so many times, Mikey’s plans did not go as he intended. His first assault on Oroku Hiroto was a failure to put it frankly, leaving him wounded as he had to retreat to the sewers he once called his home. Here he intended to do what any honorable ninja would do - take his own life before the enemy could get him. But then, for the first time in 16 years, life had better plans for him, the universe deciding to keep him alive once more. Mikey’s wounds were so great, that he passed out of blood loss before any harm could be done to him. That was when Casey Marie found him, calling out for her mother, telling her to help.

Mikey woke up in a warm bed a few hours later. Confused, he scanned his surroundings, wondering if he was dead. It looked like the lair - his old home. But then he saw April, and for the first time the world shone a light upon him. April, his dearest friend, was alive. In all these years, she had been alive. He learned that she was not alone. Her daughter was there too.

“Is it just you and your daughter down here?”, Mikey asked as he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“No”, April answered calmly, a smile spreading over her face. “We do live with two others. I really think you should meet them, Michelangelo. Right now they’re out in the sewers, looking for stuff to bargain with on the Black Market, but I think they could be home any time soon”.

And as if April’s words were magical, distant clatter of metal could be heard, alerting them to people entering the lair.

“Aunt April!”, the voice of a young man yelled, the volume of his voice getting stronger as he approached the room. Then he barged in, proudly holding up something in his hand. It looked like a little metal lump with wires sticking out all over the place. “See what I found! Can you believe it?! Someone just dropped this into the sewer! Don’t they know how much this is worth?! Idiots! Imagine the comic books I can get out of Tinker with this! I can finish father’s old collection!”

Mikey froze at the sight of the boy. It was not his impressive height he had for a teenager, nor the muscles on his arms that shocked Michelangelo, but it was the color of the boy's skin. It was green. Light green to be specific. Mikey’s eyes wandered over him, taking him in, ignoring the growing smile on April’s lips, or how the boy suddenly seemed to notice the large turtle’s presence in the room. Mikey’s mouth was dry as he saw the three slender fingers on his hands, his lack of hair, the outline of what looked like a plastron on his front, and the unmistakable shell-like shape on his back. And his eyes, strangely recognizable.

The boy’s hand fell to his side, the metallic object suddenly not seeming interesting anymore. His eyes wide as he took the stranger sitting on the bed. Mikey in turn just stared. The two of them looking with their mouths agasp.

“Yoshi”, a voice sounded out in the hallway, breaking the silence. Mikey’s heart almost stopped. He knew that voice. It was the voice he had longed for so long. The voice he had blamed himself for silencing. Yet there it was. Just outside the door. “Be nice to your aunt. She might be working…”

You froze in the doorway. Mikey almost broke down. It was the face he had forced himself to look away from for 16 years. The face of the silent woman that used to carry a baby around wherever he traveled. You looked older, but still as beautiful as the day he first met you. Your eyes sparkling with the same light he fell in love with, all those years ago.

“Mikey?” you whispered, holding back a sop as your eyes began to water. The mentioning of his name caused the boy’s eyes to flicker.

Mikey could only nod, feeling his heart pump his blood so fast that he was starting to get dizzy. You ran to him, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. His hands tightened around you, his throat knotting up, making him fight for air. He buried his face against the crock of your neck, feeling all of your muscles move as you sobbed against him. You cradled his head against you, holding him against you, tracing his head, shell, shoulders and arms.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mikey”, you sobbed, bringing his head up to look at you, before placing a quick kiss on his lips. That was what broke him. He returned your quick kiss with urgency before he broke down in tears, hiding his face against you once more. 16 years of fear and pain finally boiled over, Mikey could finally let it go. At least for a short while. He almost clawed at your clothes in order to get you closer to him. It was as if no physical connection was enough.

“I’ve missed you too, (Y/N)”, he choked out, letting the tears fall as your comforting hands made shapes on his skin.

“Mom?”

Still holding on to Mikey, you turned to look at the boy. The poor guy looked so confused, but Mikey had a feeling. The boy most likely also had. Both of them just waiting for her to confirm what they had already guessed.

“Yoshi, sweetheart”, you said, wiping a tear away, before reaching out a hand to him. “Come and say hello to your father”.

Neither Yoshi or Mikey said a word, staring at each other as he made his way over to you. April wiped one of her own tears away, before she left the room with a smile, closing the door behind her. It was time for the three of you to catch up.

You slowly moved out of the way, letting Yoshi stand in front of Mikey. None of them knew what to say. All they could do was look at each other, trying to calm their erratic breathing. Then suddenly, Yoshi launched forward, wrapping his arms around his father in a tight embrace, the tears rolling down his face. Mikey hugged back immediately, finally getting a chance to hug the kid he thought he had lost.

“I’m sorry, Yoshi”, Mikey choked out, trying his best to keep calm. “I’m sorry I couldn't take care of you and your mother”.

“It’s okay, dad”, Yoshi said, smiling even though his eyes were overflowing and his body was shaking. “I took care of her while you were gone”.

[tr-mha-fan]

🥀 You promised... Baji K. 🥀

"If you ever need me, I'll be there for you!"

Baji Keisuke x gn!reader

⚠️Warnings⚠️: death, mentions of blood, grave yard, angst (duh)

Inspired by this

You stood in front of the grave, wearing the white jacket that was once his.

"If you ever need me, I'll be there for you!"

His words played in your mind over and over again.

"How can you help me now?"

Baji Keisuke

The big letters that spell his name on the stone made you sick. You never wanted to see this.

What hurt you most wasn't not being able to see him again. It wasn't not being able to cuddle with him after a nightmare, not the late night 'good night' meassages.

What hurt you most, was the fact that you weren't with him in his last moments.

~

You were sitting on the couch, snuggling in a blanket, rewatching your favorite movie, when you heard the three knocks on the apartment door

Knock knock knock

Letting out a heavy sigh, you paused your movie, getting ready to scold Keisuke for getting into yet another fight. He told you that morning that he'd be with his gang, and you knew he'd come to your house afterwards, just wanting your comfort.

You swing the front door open, words almost leaving your mouth before stopping them when seeing a beat-up, bloodied, and crying Chifuyu at your doorstep.

"Chifuyu, what's wrong?" You reach your arms out a bit, not knowing what to do. He doesn't look up at you, he doesn't have the courage to, all he does is raise his arms, handing you a bloody white sweater. Keisuke's Valhalla jacket.

You eye it in worry. "Chifuyu, what happened? Why are you giving me this?"

The blonde male finally raises his head, his unbandaged eye meeting yours, tears streaming down his cheeks like a waterfall. "Y/N-san, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I wasn't able to protect him! I failed at my job. Baji-san, he-he's not coming back!"

~

You don't remember what happened afterwards, it's all a blur, crying yourself to sleep in Chifuyu's arms, the funeral, everything went by so fast. Too fast.

What you do remember, is how hard you washed his jacket, trying to clean out the blood stains before giving it back to his mother.

But Ryoko-san told you to keep it. A memory of your loving boyfriend, a piece of him for you to keep.

And now, here you were, sitting cross legged in front of his grave, having a one-sided conversation with him. You knew he couldn't reply to you, but if he was able to hear you, then that's all you want.

You once again found yourself bawling.

"Keisuke! You promised! You promised to be here! So why aren't you?! Why are you not with me?! I need you right now! You said you'll be there for me if I need your help! Come back, please!" You knew there was no way for him to come back, it's impossible, he's not here anymore, but you couldn't help the hole in your heart.

You were never the same after his passing.

Hey there hoomans! I feel like this is all over the place but whatever, it'll do. Hope you liked the angst 😉

Kazutora out!

[arandomexistantbeing]

Wow ! I never expected that people will like this cookie run kingdom au that I made , but thank you very much everyone !!

I suppose I should write something about the Legendary cookies now ... I'll try my best !

Also , I just want to say that I'm very bad at the lore so please forgive me if I get anything wrong

...

Let's start !

Moonlight Cookie

I remember that in the game , they talk about magic from the dark side of the moon , so I'm gonna use that

Moonlight Cookie's staff is a key, right ? Well that key locks the gates to the dark side of the moon . But from time to time , the magic of the dark side of the moon tries to come out.

Moonlight Cookie was fighting the magic of the dark side of the moon with all her strengh, but she failed once , and that day was fatal . But she managed to close the gates so the most dangerous spells of the dark side of the moon can't get out.

The Key staff then breaks and turns into golden dream dust and floats away with the wind.

The dark side of the moon magic took possession of her body , using her magic to become stronger . Moonlight Cookie has no longer control of her body now , like if another entity was there instead of her

Now all the City of Wisards is under the control of that magic .

The 'entity' inside Moonlight Cookie is still trying to figure out how to open the gates in order to get all of it magic

Stardust Cookie is also possesed by that magic and he no longer control his body, it's a similar case with his sister

And the travels across space are impossible to archive

And most of the dreams are now turned into nightmares ...

Sea Fairy Cookie

Sea Fairy Cookie became sad when she found out about what happened to Moonlight Cookie. And this sadness affects the sea.

The storms get more and more frequent around . It gets really dangerous when you start to get away from the shore.

Sailors say that in the night , they can hear a voice crying far away... And every full Moon, there's a huge storm the whole night , once you far away for the shore , there's no escape from the storm .

Sea Fairy Cookie somehow became stronger , she can't get cursed easily or she can't be turned into ice .

But now , all she can do is to protect Tearcrown considering it the last thing left for her to love and sherish

She became over protective over the inhabitants of the sea. She hardly evere lets them see the surface of water ...

The sailors say that the sea became less vibrant than how it was back then , it doesn't reflect the colors of the sky like it used to ...

If someone could see her face , they would tell you that she has a look full of sadness and regret and her eyes sparkling with strong tears...

Black Pearl Cookie

Black Pearl Cookie is still White Pearl Cookie here ( maybe it will change )

Crimson Coral Cookie got really sick making it impossible for her to lead and protect Tearcrown . She became really pale and almost lost all of her colors ( like sick coral turns white )

The Sea has decided to name White Pearl Cookie to replace her older sister .

It is a very task in hand for her , but her sisters will help her , right ... right ... ? ( I have no idea how did the color change )

Of course they will help her ! But nothing is free in life . In exchange of their help , White Pearl Cookie' sisters always force her to give them some power in decisions to their favor

White Pearl Cookie live in constant pressure from her sisters and the mercookies of Cookies of Tearcrown

White Pearl Cookie can't really handle the pressure , she tried to swim away multiple times. But it seemed like Tearcrown was kind of envelopped by a kind of force that let nobody leaves.

Also there are very strong sea currents around Tearcrown, making it harder to everyone to swim . It has also caused a lot of accidents among the mercookies, adding another problem to the list

White Pearl Cookie is so trapped to face the pressure , sadness and the harsh truth of life .

Maybe , she will one day snap and turn into a harsh cold ruller ( grey )

Frost Queen Cookie

As a protector of the cycle of nature , Frost Queen Cookie can sens that the world is more and more turning into a chaos , with dark energy emerging from everywhere

She then got convinced that in order to get the order back , she had to firstly fight off the ancients cookies then put the world under a thick layer of snow ...

But the ancients cookies managed to cast a spell on her that removes most of her powers , and then they defeated her

Frost Queen Cookie is now aweakened and lost her role as a protector of the cycle of nature

She's now cursed, cursed to walk around the continent while she brings a blizzard anywhere she goes

A lot of innocent people get stuck in the blizzard and there's hardly any chances to escape .

When a cookie gets stuck in the blizzard and they're about to pass , they can hear a faint sad whisper " I'm sorry I failed you ... "

The souls of the cookies who passed in the blizzard stays in there floating in the cold forever , and their past bodies turn into frozen sculptures.

The more the hatred of Frost Queen Cookie for the ancients cookies grow , the harsher the blizzard becomes.

Frost Queen Cookie walks around all of Earthbread near the kingdoms to make them suffer from the blizzard

She's now just the shadow of herself , she's almost unrecognizable . Blinded with revenge and hatred ... ( She looks like a fusion of her past self [Frost Cookie] and [Frost Queen Cookie] with glowing and percing blue eyes )

Thank you everyone for reading , I hope you enjoyed reading this . It took me a lot of time to write. And for some reason it got deleted so I had to write it again . Thank you tho !

[melanieryssel]

Can't let you know he's a puppet | P2

*Scaramouche x reader*

Summary: Scaramouche/Wanderer is injured seriously after a mission but refuses to let you help him because the last thing he wants is to let you find out he's heartless puppet.

Note: This happened after Sumeru archon quest, so no one remember "Scaramouche" as a villain who tried to rule over Sumeru anymore. But I still use the name Scaramouche because it feels more familiar for me. And I'm not a English native speaker so I'm really sorry (in advance) for any grammar or spelling mistakes.

Part 1 | Part 2 (end)

You are overreacting

Clenching your fist, the sudden spurt of unnamed emotion rises in you while you stand still in front of the shutting door. You weren't even given a chance to respond or explain yourself. The words that he threw at you, the troubled expression on his face that you saw right before the door was shut replay in your mind like a record.

You are overreacting

What if I really am overreacting? Gods know how desperately you want to excuse your behaviors by saying it's because you were worried about him. But deeply, you know that you have crossed the line. 

You claim to be his friend and as you can remember, Scaramouche has never once corrected you when you referred to yourself as "his friend" or "his companion". He is never the nicest or sweetest person, in fact, people are more likely to consider him rude and mean because of his cruel words. However, it's never something that bothers you. Scaramouche might say mean things and be stubborn but you know that is just his way to word it because, despite all the impolite things he had said to you, he protects you, listens to you, and goes along with whatever you want.

Maybe this is why you started to think that if you keep on pleading with him a bit longer he will definitely give in and let you take care of him. The moment Scaramouche looked at you in annoyance, you knew you fucked up this time.

When you are lost in your thoughts, Scaramouche, on the other side of the door, wonders why you haven't left yet. It would be a lie if he said he didn't feel happy seeing you concerned about him. It would be a worse lie if he said he felt just fine after shutting the door right in your face. It must be so much better if you just leave already. 

That's a lie obviously. He wants you to stay even when he told you to leave. 

He hears the sound of footsteps, smaller and smaller then fade away. Scaramouche assumes you run out of patience for him. 

Well, nothing new, he really screwed up here. He wishes he could just admit to you that he is a puppet.

After a while when he finished treating his wound, he hesitantly opens the door just to see no one. He sighs defeatedly. 

"Fuck you Scara!" 

Your loud yet pleasant voice successfully catches him off guard. You use all your muscle strength to push him back into his hostel then pin him down to the floor. You intertwine your fingers with his, and stare directly into him, leaving Scaramouche speechless.

He intends to say something but looking at your face, he stops himself.

Your eyes are now leaking acid rain.

"Sorry" You say quietly.

"After you knocked me out onto the floor?" He didn't mean anything rude this time, he said it in a rather impressive tone. You look hot, Scaramouche thinks. 

"Yes, this is the only way I can think of. I'm sorry for forcing you to do what you don't want to. I don't want to excuse my unthoughtful and careless behaviors but I swear I mean no harm!!! And by the way, I bought some food and medicine in case you need them." The more you speak the louder you cry. Scaramouche can tell you're trying your best to muffle your hiccups. He doesn't dare to look away from your watery eyes while feeling your hot tears fall on his cold, lifeless puppet skin.

Do you notice how abnormally cold he is? He questions as he tightens your hands. Because of surreal moments like this, he gets more uncertain about how to tell you the truth about his identity. 

Right now, Scaramouche feels a sense of panic, he doesn't know what to do or say. He has never comforted anyone, he wasn't as well taught to say sweet and kind things to people. 

"Okay okay, it's okay. I get it so stop, your tears will make my clothes dirty." It doesn't work, you still cry uncontrollably. 

Scaramouche hesitates for a moment.

"It's not your fault." he says, avoiding your gaze.

 "I should not have said those things." He trails off in embarrassment and guilt, a catch in his throat. 

"Sorry" he mouths. 

His eyes meet yours. Scaramouche quickly turns his head away.

"Scara" You softly whisper.

"W-what?" He responds

"You're blushing" 

"What?! A-are you blind? What a pity that now your stupid head becomes delusional" 

"You're still blushing Scara"

"Fuck you y/n" He says out of frustration.

[no-see-um-incorrect]

Remember when

Charlie/Casper  as middle school babies❤️ very fluffy 

⚠️middle schoolers⚠️bullying⚠️ 

No proofread 

Idea from @irrelevant-system

“Oh my god…CHUCK, BABY!”

“YEA CAS?” He sounds like his face is full

“COME CHECK THIS OUT!”

Charlie enters the living room and. Yup he’s got a sandwich. “what’s up babe?” With a very large bin in front of them Casper pulls out a photo album that’s practically bursting at the seams. with large newspaper cut letters spelling Casper’s name on the cover“it’s my scrapbook  journal from when we were younger!” “I didn’t know you kept a scrapbook!” He glides his hand across the plastered letters “of course you didn’t know! No one was supposed to know is was SECRET. And if I’m correct” They quickly skimmed through the pages before landing on one that was titled First Day “………FOUND IT” “Found what?” They pull him closer and lay their head on his shoulder “the Day we first met” they adjust themselves so Charlie is laying against them and they are resting against the couch armrest and start reading “September 20”

——————————Flashback—————————-

It was an early Monday morning the first day of school for many and as it goes trouble was already starting amongst them.

“What’s the matter chuck!” The bigger kid shoved the blonde boy to the ground and started hitting him “OW! That hurts!” ““OW! That hurts!” What are you gonna do about chuck? huh? Gonna cry Chuck? Is the little rat gonna cry?! I’m gonna give you a reason to cry little punk!” Before the kid could swing his fist again it was stopped  by an unfamiliar hand  “you wanna try that shit again Ass!” “who the hell are you!?” “i’m gonna be your worst nightmare if you don’t stop beating on him!” he rips his fist back with a smug face  “oh yeah? What are you gonna do if I don’t?” in response  The kid raises their bat  and with an expression on their face that you’d see in the exorcist  “i’m going to turn your brains into maggot food” the bigger kid stammered back before running away.

they turn around to the blonde boy on the ground behind them  “hey there. Are you OK?” The Blonde boy was hyperventilating, quickly trying to wipe the tears off of his face “yeah yeah I’m fine.T Thanks for that. B by the way” the kid pulls off their backpack and takes a few things out  “hear you got a cut on your face let me get it” they take a hello Kitty Band-Aid out of a little red pouch and carefully place it over the cut on his cheek  “here have a sip” “Are you sure you wanna let me Drink outta ya water bottle? Ya never know what someone eats for breakfast” they shove the plastic bottle in his hands “I’ll take my chances”

They both start walking to school

“So what’s ya name freckles?” “O oh uh Charlie..what’s yours?” “[Name]….I never liked my name though…Always preferred nicknames” “Well all be sure to think of one to call ya if ya ever wanna see my Sissy face again” they looked at him puzzled “Charlie. Why would I not want to see you again?” Charlie looks down at his shoes “well that’s some first impression….getting the snot beat outta me…and tearing up like a baby” they grabbed his hand and held it “I never believe in first impressions. Because that’s all they are. first. the most important part of a first impression is making sure it’s not your last impression” Charlie laughs and holds their hand a little tighter  “where’d you learn that?” “I don’t really know….maybe just in the air”

Weeks went past as they often do. And the Two were as buddies as buddies could be.

“CHARLIE! Look what I got for my birthday!” “A new skateboard! I know you were really upset after ya last one busted” they Dropped the board on the ground “you wanna Try?” “OH! No no I’m tooo clumsy for that maybe some other time” “I can show you how to Casper! It’s one of my favorite tricks!” “yea. Maybe you could show me how to Casper”

———————present —————————————

“damn. that feels like for fucking ever a go” “….do you think anyone ever predicted that we’d be like this?” “um. No I don’t think urban exploration, untrained animal rescue and you railing me was ever on anyone’s Charlie&Casper bingo card” they both laugh, and Casper hit him in the leg with a couch pillow  “NOT What I meant. I mean, do you think anyone ever saw us together?” “well I did get a good old fashion. I told you so from my folks not too sure about anybody else though” “well freckles, if you really look at it..only a couple things have changed. I’m still patching your clumsy ass up!”  Charlie rolls over and sits up on his knees  “ew! Don’t call me freckles you haven’t called me that since high school it feels weird” “oh, and what would you prefer me call you~” “baby, sweetheart, love, Charlie the pizza rat, maybe~” Casper threw a pillow decking Charlie causing him to fall back on the couch  “i’ll stick with baby girl. Thank you”

The two spent the rest of the night. Looking through the book as well as looking through any of the other old memories Casper had in their box from home. a few home videos they had filmed on whatever camera they could find. a few Polaroids of them on a field trips, or at the skate park. Old memories. 

Grateful that now they have the chance to make new ones.

This is small. But decent.  I need to see canon little Charlie more than I need life 

[oh-three]

PJO S1E5:

Oh fuck, this is the Ares episode.

Ooooh, the old ladies and the threads of fate.

is poisoned and nearly falls to his death, shows up perfectly fine: "Hi! :)"

And of course they decide to walk along the side of the road, where the cops will recognize them immediately if they drive by. At least the grass is tall.

"We're like friends now." - Percy "I didn't think we could ever be friends" Jackson

Go away, Ares.

"That's my cousin???" Don't seem so surprised.

Lmao Ares would totally start fights online, that's so in-character of him.

Fucking Gabe.

No one: Ares: on the verge of happy tears about a war because he's the God of War

I like how Ares just has beef with Annabeth for being Athena's daughter.

Percy over here making movie dates already ❤ Oh, only if Grover were here right now.

I did not expect Grover being a fan of Ares.

Grover, now is not the time to make friends. You should not have said anything.

"We just...gotta go get it." Easier said than done.

Okay, one thing I didn't expect was "Baby, Don't Hurt Me" to start playing.

"She was trying to keep me away from you guys." 😭

Well, that was abrupt lmao.

Oh. Athena is Ares's sister. I didn't realize that. Or, I knew but forgot.

GROVER, WHY DID YOU PHRASE IT LIKE THAT.

SHE CALLED HIM SEAWEED BRAIN.

"When I was choosing my team, I told Chiron I needed someone who wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice me if the quest required it. He agreed. That was you." Nooo, but the way he whispered the last part 😭

The way they were trying not to be friends and now they're both crying because he's sacrificing himself for the quest. 😭

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm-" Stoppp 😭

Not fucking Hepa-how-the-fuck-do-you-spell-his-name heading back to the amusement park to keep Annabeth from undoing Percy's sacrifice.

"I won't be like all of you." Someone give Annabeth a fucking hug please.

Holy shit, she convinced him. I mean, obviously. I knew she'd have to because Percy doesn't die this early on, but yeah, he's a God, so.

Well, at least both of them two Gods are impressed.

Fuck, next episode is the Lotus episode.

I don't know what I was expecting Grover to say, but it was not "I think I know who stole the master bolt." I don't remember this part of the book- it's been like eight years after all- but yeah. Did he figure out it was Luke??

THEY'RE GONNA STEAL A CAB NEXT EPISODE?

[orangesideirrational]

ghosts cant hug

ghost!jon, eudardjon, eddsworld, 1.5k words, eduardo, jon

CW:

death (not on-screen), memory loss, guilt, crying

-

Ever since he died, the world around him was muffled. As if he was underwater.

He had to strain to listen, and everytime he did that he just felt bad.

So instead of trying to listen, he just watched.

And he drowned.

Until he felt like he was being tugged. Tugged away from watching the stars through the window.

It was a strange feeling, like a fishing hook pierced his stomach, but he didn't feel any pain. He never did anymore. Nothing could even touch him. He just floated in the drowning void that was his death.

He started to move, slowly at first, before it, whatever it was, got stronger, and started to pull him faster.

He started to panic, and impulsively tried to grab the doorframe. His hand phased through it. Like it did with everything.

He was pulled down, through the floor, into the living room.

Gods, did he hate the feeling of going through things. It made him feel so… dead. Yes, he was a ghost, but it was sometimes nice to pretend he wasn't.

He looked around the living room (man, wasn't that a bitter name). His eyes landed onto a figure sitting in front of some kind of board.

Stepping closer, he saw the figure was wearing a loose green button up (was it green? Jon assumed it was, but he had a hard time seeing that much colour anymore). The figure was also crying.

Jon looked at the board, perching over the man's shoulder, seeing it was a- oh.

It was a ouija board. The man was trying to talk to him? why? Whoever it was was going to be disappointed when he learned that Jon couldn't even move the planchette, let alone move it enough to spell something.

The man sniffed, and Jon moved away from his shoulder, looking at his face.

Tears ran down it as he looked up and closed his eyes. Jon looked up as well, but couldnt see anything.

“Please. God. Please work. I need you.'' The man begged, and Jon found it so sad he decided to at least try, even though he didn't even know this man.

He found it surprisingly easy to move the planchette.

H. The first letter would be a H. What did that one look like again? It had three lines. 2 long, 1 short. Kinda boxy.

It wasn't that first one. It was too pointy. Then the next ones were too round. That one had too many lines, that one had three lines, but it was one long one and two short ones. The next one was too round, then-

Aha! 

He had found it.

The planchette shuddered over towards that letter, and jon sat- floated?- back, smiling to himself. He had affected something.

The man looked towards the board in surprise, and smiled tearily.

“Thanks, jon.” the man said. Jon tilted his head in confusion. How did this man know him? Were they friends?

Jon shrugged his confusion, before going to move the planchette again.

The man rushed to grab the pen Jon hadn't noticed at his side, and scribbled a hasty small H on the paper Jon had also not noticed.

I. That one was straightforward. Just one line. and it was next to the H too, how thoughtful! Jon smiled again as he saw the man laugh and wipe his nose on his sleeve before scribbling an I down next to the H.

H-I.

“Hey, buddy.” The man smiled weakly.

Oh. they must have been good friends, Jon realised. He felt bad for forgetting him, but then again, he forgot almost everything.

He did die, after all.

S-O-R-R-Y

The man's eyes snapped up to where Jon assumed the man thought he was (he drifted there, just to avoid the embarrassment for both of them.) the second he wrote down the last letter.

“No! Fuck no. o-of course its not your fault. God.” the man swore, tears pooling in his eyes again. Jon wanted to hug him.

I– C-A-N-T–R-E-M-E-M-E-M-B-

Jon wanted to cry. He stopped mid sentence. He fell to his knees, putting his hands over his eyes. He couldn't do this. He couldn't say that to this poor guy. Whoever he was, he was obviously upset. He couldn't just tell him " hey, i don't remember you!”.

What kind of friend would he be?

Soft sniffles filled the room, invisible tears hitting the carpeted floor, almost leaving a wet spot if you squinted.

The man's eyes practically glowed as he heard it. He backed against the wall, dragging the board with him. Jon sniffed and wiped his eyes as he was slowly dragged along.

“You can't remember, huh?” the man smiled sadly, opening his arms, as if to give the small ghost a hug. God, Jon wanted- no, needed to hug him right now. 

Sadly, ghosts can't hug.

Jon sat down next to the man, wanting to lean on him for comfort, but not wanting to feel the overwhelming burning that came from contact with living people.

The upset human looked in the space where Jon was, but knew that the human couldn’t see him.

“If I find out you're on the other side of me, I'm going to kill you.” he smiled. Soft giggles filled the room, and the man relaxed.

The man pulled a phone out of his pocket, opening an app with a circle, and three curved black lines. The background was green (that was green, right?), and the man clicked on another few links before soft music filled the quiet room. It felt familiar somehow.

“This was your favourite. I never really understood why you liked it so much, but it always made you happy.” The man explained.

“Oh, my name’s Eduardo by the way.” the ma- Eduardo smiled. Jon liked that name. It was nice.

“When we met you could never pronounce it, kept calling me edd-you-ardo.” Eduardo chuckled, clicking on another app, his phone showing lots of small squares, a different, tiny scene showing in each of them.

“It used to bother me a lot, but you grew out of it, so it was okay. You did go through a phase of calling me ‘eddie’ in highschool though." Eduardo reflected, scrolling down the very bottom and clicking on the first photo.

“This was when you went to that ‘young british violinist contest’ thing. I pretended to hate it, but… i dunno, when you started playing, you just looked so… happy. And calm. Like everything bad had gone away. I couldn't keep a smile off of my face when I saw you play. I don't think you really noticed though.” he explained, tilting the phone towards jon.

It was him, in a blue (?) button up. He had a fancy-looking blazer on top, and he held a violin in his arms. He had a soft smile on his face as he played it, the moment captured in time.

Eduardo scrolled to the next one, showing Jon a pleasant scene of his own- alive- face, black eyes lit up with dozens of tiny stars. He looked so happy, smiling up at them.

“I said you were stupid, for liking the stars so much. I actually love them. They remind me of you, now." Eduardo explained, looking at the photo intently, smiling at his memories.

Jon wished he could share them, but when he tried, his head felt light.

“This one is of my first proper art show. I only won second, but you were so happy for me. Gushing about how amazing I was, and how good my art was, and shit. I hated it. I waved it off, and scoffed, and rolled my eyes. I- i didn’t think i was worth it. You did. You always did.” He trailed off sadly, looking down.

Jon tried to swipe to the next photo, but only succeeded in glitching the screen out and putting his finger through the phone.

Seeing this, the ghost's friend laughed, and swiped to the next image. He shivered when he felt a chill on his shoulder, but grinned when he saw the photo was of an appalled looking jon covered head to toe in water.

Hours passed, and dozens of dozens of photos later, Jon had gotten used to the now-soft burning on the side of his face. He had rested his head on the human shoulder ages ago, and he was now used to the warmth spreading through his body. If you could call it that. It was strange. It felt like warmth. His attention went back to the person next to him, his head slumped low. He was asleep.

He had barely stopped yawning since it hit 4:29 on the top of his screen. Jon smiled and let his friend sleep.

He now knew a lot more about his old life, and the human that he used to love, apparently.

A small smile passed over his face as he lifted his cheek off of Eduardo, kissing the top of his head softly.

If Eduardo’s purple-wearing, blonde roomate found the green-clad man resting against the wall, an abandoned ouija board next to him, and a phone on 3% displaying a photo of Jon loosely gripped in his hand, then that would stay between them.

Ghosts can't hug, but they can fall back in love, apparently.

[xxinksxx]

Dungeons and Daddies Fave Quotes so far

If you haven’t listened to Dungeons and Daddies I highly recommend it.

Some of my favorite quotes:

[upon having a net thrown at him and missed] "This fish cannot be caught." 

"I have proficiency in minivan." 

"I use my skills I learned from the scouts to hog tie this guy." 

"Where are our kids?" "They were auctioned off!" "For how much?" 

"We can use him to barter for our children. MY CHILDREN! I called it! I CALLED IT!" 

"The last thing I'm going to see is these vomit and iodine and blood stained psychopaths hugging." 

"I give everyone the look like 'Just pretend you don't see me feeling things.'" 

"I take out the knife and flicker it to his throat and say "You're riding in back with me Kemosabe." and that's a 15 for intimidation by the way if you were wondering.”

"I took 4 psychic damage from your dad joke."

(More under the cut)

"I put on my sunglasses to hide one of the tears running down my face as well."

"Whoa whoa whoa, I am a stepfather. It is my job to bring other people's kids onto my responsibility and take care of them." 

*~*~*

"That's not cool, he just killed my kid!"  

"I know but that's still not cool what you did either!" 

"I WAS DOING FACE THINGS DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"

"You're a dragon thing, there's a facial language barrier here." 

*~*~*

"Hey so I know you just saw my dirty little secret."  

"You mean the fact that we just killed someone's son?" 

 "Oh no I meant my Charleston chews." 

 "Oh you're more worried that I found about your little candy bars than the murder we just did?" 

"Well I told [my wife] that I'd try to lose weight, but these were my dad's favorite candy. So could you just like hold onto these for me and I dunno-" 

"Wow that's complicated." 

"Can you just hold onto them for me and give me one when I do something you think my dad would be proud of me for? 

[Bad guy that's helping them from the minivan in the distance] "YOU KILLED MY SON!!" 

"I think you're dad would be proud of you right now. Here's a Charleston chew." 

"'Thanks man that means a lot.' I take it and I eat it." 

"Are you facing the minivan when you eat it?" 

"No I'm facing away from it." 

"Okay good otherwise you'd just see him staring daggers at you as you shove it into your mouth." 

*~*~*

 "Go dude-lers!" 

 "I think we should gaslight them and tell them that they're brother is not dead." "They're already crying. I think they know." 

"If they ask me any questions I can't be responsible for what comes out of my mouth." 

*~*~*

"Remember, Ron killed their brother, not you! You're good dawg. It's a little thing we do with bandmembers on the road. If Chico gets picked up with an eight ball of coke you had nothing to do with it! That's his problem. That's what you gotta think like now." 

"Ron's over here like 'We're all in this together.'" 

*~*~*

 "You got past our alarms?" "We're smart. We're the whole package." "You broke into our home!" 

*~*~*

"He's a dragon! You're supposed to do what backwater people around here do and try to kill him!" 

"Well some people were trying to kill him and we helped him." "Yeah! We're helpers! We're good people!" 

"ARE YOU?!" 

*~*~*

"Dad huddle." "Not to judge another dad, but..."

“The wisest dragon that ever lived was named Ding so we say his name three times when someone says something wise. Ding ding ding!" 

*~*~*

"Okay I think I'm ready to kill this guy." 

"Does he have any food allergies?”

*~*~*

"What do you wanna be when you grow up? 

"....Jesus." 

"YOU HAVE JESUS HERE TOO?!" 

"Yeah he was a dragon whose his name is invoked when you get a question that stumps you. It's spelled C-h-y-y-z apostrophe s."

*~*~*

“How do you feel Gartok?”

[crying] “What’s mac-n-cheese?”

[dirtbra1n]

tagged by @aranarumei hi kiri. I copy-pasted these however from @sunnnfish because of post work laziness. hi sunnnfish

1. Are you named after anyone?

if we’re talking real person name then no. if we’re talking dirtbrain name then also no, unless you count a joke from 50% off, which I do not. I like both names just fine though

2. When was the last time you cried?

I was shedding tears over silly things last night if that counts. real big emotion crying I don’t remember actually how long ago, but probably not very. I’m a crybaby I cry all the time

3. Do you have kids? / recommend a song?

got apollo justice on the brain and in the membrane so Solitary Confinement - Darkness Theme. for when you’re feeling nefarious and willing to take all of your many secrets to the fucking grave

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

well. yes. way way more when I was younger but I think it still makes up like a sizable fraction of my speech. I do think I’m a little less of an asshole now though

5. What sports do you play/have played?

Ha ha. ah. I did ballet and other dance for a spell when I was a kid but unfortunately didn’t keep that up, but I was generally pretty fast and halfway athletic then too. didn’t do sports after that unless you. unless you want to count marching band, which I wouldn’t because we were pretty lax about it. like marching band can be very impressive and deeply deeply athletic but ours was not, which was fine because I got sick and fucked up for a while anyway. and I’m not doing any sports now in college, but if it doesn’t get cancelled* then I’ll be doing table tennis this next semester. Guess why

*several similar classes I’ve signed up for previously have gotten cancelled. massive bummer

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I guess from afar how tall someone is. up close more just expression, try to get a read on how they’re feeling and so on

7. Eye color?

also hazel :)

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I think. I can probably count on one hand the amount of horror movies I’ve watched. but then again I’m not much of a movies guy to begin with. so happy endings

9. Any special talents?

ahhhh I can clap with one hand with both hands. like both hands can clap without the other. I have gotten weird looks for this

10. Where were you born / what made you make a tumblr account?

a hospital that is not in the united states :) / my sister made one and the younger sibling follower gene compelled me to do so also. and that was. maybe 9 years ago. 2014 ish. I should be clear that I was not old enough to be making an account, or on the internet in general probably, and this is definitely a big contributor to the various things wrong with me

11. What are your hobbies?

video game slash reading slash talking to myself slash writing slash watching things when I can get myself to. I don’t leave the house. occasionally I will get into a big crossword and word search phase. I almost forgot photography That would’ve been silly

12. Do you have any pets?

two of them! a cat and dog we all collectively call them the kids even though dogs an old man. he is a human person with anxiety. cat is more dog than dog, who is as we just established a human person. they both get a photo with dramatic lighting

they are everything to me

13. How tall are you?

5’6” last I checked

14. Favorite subject in school?

when there was a good teacher then anything english adjacent. specifically with a focus on literature. otherwise. band. actually I lied the real answer is essentially always band

15. Dream job?

I don’t . have one. I know what I’m aiming for and I’m really pretty sure I’ll enjoy it but I think if we’re talking dreams like ‘I don’t have back problems nor the stamina of a grandparent’ then I’d do odd jobs I think. I’d probably be content picking up trash

as for tags @x-eins @vyathacov if you wanna and anyone else who feels like it. it’s fun it’s like a sharing circle

[4am-obey-me-thoughts]

Never To Be

Hello! First thing I’ve written in a while. For context, this is set in a verse when Satan is the Avatar of Gluttony, Lucifer is dead, and a demon named Eligos with time powers like Barbatos rules the three realms. It’s a very clever roleplay event one of my friends designed. 

There lay another one. Crumpled up at their feet. Light still draining from his eyes as the pool of gold spread. Satan didn’t bother to step back. It would leave a stain on the carpet, Mammon wouldn’t be happy. He planned to clean it up later. Eligos waved himself off, another failed mission and another body left for them to dispose of. Beelzebub grabbed the legs and Mammon the shoulders, carrying it off down the hall. The tears escaping the eldest’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. 

Satan watched blankly. He thought by now they would get used to it. The failure. The death. But they never did. Each time Mammon looked more tired than the last, locking himself away longer and longer. Drowning his sorrows in loneliness and alcohol. His siblings had their own ways of coping. Partying. Sleeping. Distractions. Though Satan felt different. He was different. 

A grief he never was able to understand, not the way they felt it. For them Lucifer was a martyr. An older brother who died fighting for their freedom. Someone Satan never knew. Never could know. Yet knew better than anyone. He was part of him, once. A burning fire bent on destroying anything that stood in his way. A flame to light the dark, to lead their siblings through the throws of rebellion and along the path to victory. But he was snuffed out by a blade. Left as nothing but ashes to be swallowed in the emptiness left behind. 

His brothers returned after a few hours, a distinct numbness lingering in their voices. The deed was done. Another coffin closed. Another Lucifer he would never know. They separated after that. Some sticking together, others going alone. Satan stayed, eyes locked with Mammon’s. Asking. Pleading. A slow, stiff nod. Permission, before his brother finally left him with a sad smile. He knew it was something Satan needed to do.

Making his way down to the tomb, a chill crept up his spine. A metallic smell hung in the air, mixed with the eternally burning charcoal of the torches. Illuminated in a warm orange glow, he followed the trail of golden drops they must have missed on the way back. It led him to a coffin. Hand prints disturbed the dust on the lid, pulled off for a second time that day. Satan stared down at the corpse. 

This one was still an angel. Six white wings wrapped neatly around his body, placed with care. He could be sleeping, if not for the slash across his neck covered in dried ichor. Even so, he looked peaceful. Still in tact. A single feather plucked, to be added to a collection. Satan studied his face. This one was younger than the last. Similar to all those that came before, only the slightest of differences. He wanted to memorise those features. 

 He remembered the first one Eligos brought back. An angel. Beaten within an life of his life, thrown through the front door as their ruler grinned with a wicked triumph. Satan had looked on in awe while the others scrambled to try and save him. Shouting. Sobbing. Screaming. All he did was stare. Lucifer was exactly how Mammon described him in a drunken crying spell. Except this Lucifer was broken. Wings at odd angles and covered in golden blood. 

So many questions. Which to ask first? But he never got the chance. A gurgling, strangled cry the only sound he heard Lucifer make before this breathing stopped. The injuries were too much. No one spoke about it after. A taboo met with hurt eyes and angry words. They fell back into routine, seeming to forget. Satan didn’t. Much as he did now, he visited the tomb then. Opening the lid and just… staring.

Staring at the face he wanted to know. Lifeless eyes stared back. No one closed them. Maybe they couldn’t bare to look at the face long enough. So he did, shutting the eyelids over ruby irises. And he wondered how it could have been. Had those eyes sparked with life again. Would his siblings finally be happy? Would he finally find out why he was here? Who he was meant to be? No answers ever came. No Lucifer lasted long enough to give any. 

Bound in chain. Bashed and bruised. Slit throats and clipped wings. Nothing they tried to get him to cooperate ever worked. And Eligos was never patience enough to let them try for long. Not wanting to risk one escaping, Satan assumed. He hated it. Each time a chance lost. Each time his siblings growing distant. He just wanted one to stay around. One to simply listen and let his siblings love him. It couldn’t be that bad. Not if it was all Satan ever wanted. 

The ichor on Lucifer’s neck smudged, trailing down and staining the white pillow beneath his head. More drops. Was he still bleeding? No, Satan released. Feeling the tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto the corpse. He gritted his teeth, feeling an ache in his gut. Hollow and hungry. His grip tightened on the side of the coffin, glaring down at Lucifer as the tears kept falling from eyes leeching with black. “Why?” He snarled. “Why do you keep resisting? It doesn’t have to end like this. You can’t keep hurting them this way!” Satan yelled at the body. 

“Please… please just stay next time.”

[authordanielleforrest]

Fated Mates of the Drakoan: Episode 22

A scream rent the air, jarring Davin from a deep sleep. He froze for a moment, eyes open and staring into the dark sky above him. For a brief spell, he heard nothing but the steady breathing of his teammates and the night sounds that filtered in from the wilderness around him.

Maybe it was an animal.

Deciding it was nothing, he pushed the sound from his mind, then turned in his sleeping bag and reached out for Jess. He wanted to pull her into his arms so he could fall back to sleep, but her bag was empty. She wasn’t there.

A slice of alarm ran through him, which he tried to quiet with logic.  

Maybe she couldn’t sleep, and she was sitting by the fire or pacing.  

Maybe she had to relieve herself, and she’d gotten up to take care of that.

That was probably it. Davin couldn’t remember her slipping off once they’d arrived at camp. He didn’t know exactly how often humans had to take care of their biological needs, but it had certainly been hours. He imagined her making her way back to camp even now and relaxed, comforted by the thought. 

Just give it a bit.

She’ll be back in your arms before you know it.

Then a series of shrill cries echoed through the night, and he stilled.  

Instinct started taking over.

In a single move, he was on his feet, crouching in the chaotic mess of fabric he’d been sleeping in only moments before, his mind honing in on certain details he couldn’t ignore.

My mate is missing.

Something is out there.

I heard a scream.

He could feel his control slipping moment by moment. He needed to calm down, call out for his team. They would back him up, help retrieve his mate, but he suspected he was too far gone for that. He couldn’t even think her name anymore.

Time lost some of its meaning as he held on to his sanity by a thread.  

Do the right thing, he told himself.

Except, he couldn’t remember what the right thing was, and his nails were digging into the bedding so much, it was actually tearing beneath his hands.

That’s not right.

It shouldn’t tear.

He frowned, trying to piece together what was happening, but his mind couldn’t quite focus the way it used to.

Instead, it was focused solely on his senses.

The sounds around him: the almost painfully loud breathing from his team, the crackling of a fire, animal noises on constant repeat, scrambling movements of some larger creature or creatures moving through the woods.

The smells around him: the sweat of his teammates, the aromas of their last meal, the woodsmoke, the pines, a vague sense of decay, his mate’s scent.

He froze on that last one, his mind zeroing in on it like a lifeline. His hands no longer clenched against the bedding. His lungs failed to take in any breath that didn’t include her sweet fragrance. He leaned forward, his head drifting from side to side, searching for a direction.  

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was advancing, following her trail. It wasn’t a conscious thing on his part, and he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. He didn’t want to try. He wanted to follow her, to find her.

Another cry rent the air as he reached the tree line, and he growled, his shoulders tensing with aggression.  

Threat.

Mate.

Protect.

He rushed forward, his mind now little more than a series of impulses and single word thoughts. His eyes, already well adapted to the dark, now sucked in even the smallest amounts of light that filtered to the forest floor. As a result, the entire scene before him was bright enough to rival broad daylight, which should have worried him, but it didn’t.  

Instead, he accepted it as his due diligence and increased his speed.

His mate’s scent trail was now so clear, so distinct, that he couldn’t have missed it if he tried. There was also something else that had him growling every few breaths, no matter how much he tried to keep quiet.

Fear.

Mate.

Then another scream tore through the air. Instinctually, he knew it was her, his mate. He roared, and for several long moments, he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. He was flying through the forest. The distance disappearing under his feet seemed nonsensical, and there was an almost out-of-body experience as he followed the trail of her scent, the direction of her scream.

The screaming continued for several more moments before being cut short. His mind filled with rage, blanking out all other thought.  

He roared, and then he had no memory of the intervening distance. Not a sound. Not a smell. Not a sight. Not a thought.

When his awareness returned, he was in a small clearing. There were several bipedal creatures, one of which was holding someone around their middle, their feet off the ground. That was the extent of the analysis he was capable of, even in that brief moment of clarity.

And like the eye of a storm, when that moment ended, all hell broke loose. He roared again and dove into the fray. He could feel no pain. His vision narrowed only to the threat directly in front of him. He swiped out with hands, feet, tail, teeth. Within moments, the sticky, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was saving his mate.

He had no clue what kind of damage he was doing. He attacked viciously until the creature stopped moving, then he moved on. Each attack was focused, dedicated, and ruthless, wild yet methodical in its determination to end this current threat and move on to the next target.  

When there was only one left, he growled, his brain too hazed with its most animalistic impulses to problem solve. He needed to save his mate, but the creature was hiding behind her, holding her to its chest. It had long claws, and based on the smell of her blood on the wind, some of them had already pierced her flesh. Somehow, her blood smelled different from the rest, and it set his blood boiling.

He roared again and charged. He didn’t have a plan in mind, his instincts driving him too hard.  

But one moment, she was being held in a threatening grip, and the next, she was underneath him, so it must have worked out.  

He sniffed the air, but all he smelled was her pleasing aroma and the equally pleasing tang of her enemies’ blood spilled. He leaned down, brushing his face against hers, enjoying the feel of skin against skin and the increasing proximity of her scent.  

For several moments, he did nothing more than stay there, reassured by her warmth while his body trembled from the fear of losing her that was only now registering in his brain.

He pulled her into his arms, tugging her closer, more firmly, against his larger frame. She felt different than he remembered, but it didn’t faze him as something to worry about.

Smaller.

Softer.

He sighed contentedly. He’d defeated her enemies, destroyed the threat against her, and warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought.  

She was safe.  

She was in his arms.  

Then his impulses starting to slide in another direction. He was tempted to rut her, but he could still smell the stink of fear on her. He wanted nothing more than to rid her of it, so he leaned down and licked her.  

His long tongue ran from the bottom of her neck to the top of her forehead before repeating the journey. The gesture was calming, soothing, hopefully for both of them. He purred, his sharply clawed hands running careful, equally soothing circles along her belly and sides, trying to comfort her.

Little by little, his body relaxed, his mind calming down and forming more complex thoughts, pulling in more information from his senses, being able to analyze more and more. It started with simple things like, Huh, my face feels weird. Or why are my nails so sharp? Then it progressed to him finally starting to get concerned about the size disparity between him and his mate.

Jess.

Her name’s Jess.

His chest warmed upon remembering it, his hands clasping her to him a little tighter.

Which was when he noticed his hands. Specifically, his nails. They were long, and as he looked around him, he realized they must be very sharp. He flexed his fingers outward, wary of letting those sharp talons anywhere near Jess’s fragile skin. They’d clearly sliced through the aliens around them with frightening ease.

But why are they sharp?

And why is Jess so small?

He took stock. Their first time together, he’d dwarfed her, but their torsos had lined up fairly well. Now, her torso seemed to be only a fraction of his length, and her body felt tiny against his chest. He had to contort himself awkwardly just to reach her face. His spine was practically curled into a ball, and he was surprised it didn’t hurt.

But why?

“Davin?” she asked, her voice quavering, filled with fear.

That’s right.

That’s the name I chose.

He smiled, but his lips didn’t work the way he expected them to. There was strain, like his lips and cheeks couldn’t quite obey his commands, instead feeling awkward, so he let it go, frowning instead.

“Davin?” she cried louder, and he felt her pulling experimentally away from him. He held tight, but a new thought filtered into this brain.

Wait… does she not know it’s me?

His heart lurched in his chest, the thought brutally painful.  

How could she not know?  

How could she not tell?  

But then all the little realizations he’d been having started coalescing, forming a picture he didn’t want to see. Big body. Sharp nails. Long tongue. Oddly shaped face. Unable to smile.  

And then there was how he’d been acting since waking.

His arms curled a little tighter around Jess, needing the comfort of her closeness now more than ever.

What the fuck is happening to me?

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 22: Green

MASTERLIST

Summary: the first round of negotiations takes place, and Naera sees a difficult vision.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: nothing, really

Naera had never seen her mother happy.

Every memory she had of Aemma Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, consort to King Viserys, was tainted by a dull, dragging, lengthened sadness. Every scene was only either pain or desolation, perhaps even contentment, but never, ever happiness.

She remembered being taught how to spell by her mother, and she remembered her frowning always when Rhaenyra appeared in her chambers late in time and smelled of dragons. She remembered taking a minute to join her mother, her dear mother, who always seemed tired, and frustrated, face often oiled with sweat, hair always greased but still frail and dry, weak, exhausted, done with life, with birthing, with losing at what she considered to be her only purpose.

Why had it been her only purpose? Why had her mother been made to work for years, strenuously, to provide her father with a boy, only to fail, wretched, debilitated and consumed of every last ounce of her strength and life? Why had she been left to believe that that was her lone purpose? Why had she been left to believe that she had failed in her duty?

Naera had heard once when she had been but seven name-days old, perhaps less, with clarity, maesters and maids rushing through the corridors of the Red Keep, running, frightened, and the atmosphere had been thick with worry, with tension, but also expectance.

She had learned to leave her doors cracked open after that one incident, eyes set at the doors in the darkness of the night, and the next day, as she laid in bed, cold and restless, she watched through the thin gap as maids carried away sheets and clothes drenched in blood, as maesters ran past their ages in search of herbs and medicines to soothe and comfort her mother, and she heard, her blood-chilling and heart hammering at its very pronouncement, the sound of her mother’s voice echoing across the Keep, wailing.

There was sorrow, panic, disappointment, and hurt in a way Naera knew she never wanted to understand, in Aemma’s weeping, her crying and screaming, for what felt like hours, and hours, and hours. Then, through the candlelight which illuminated the paths without her chambers, she had seen armour, heard the clink and clatter of men in metal suits, seen the flourish of a white cape running past the doors, and she had remained still—very, very still, panic rising in her at the prospect of being caught, of being discovered this way, for her gleaming, glowing eyes sparkled like beacons of light in the darkness of her rooms, but her efforts had been unneeded.

Her father passed her door without concern for her, only rushing to his wife, to comfort, to perhaps even shed a tear with her, but certainly to do no help. She had had some idea, even at that juvenile age, of what Viserys must have told Aemma. We shall try again. She also had some idea as to why Aemma only cried louder after that.

Milk of the poppy, or, better yet, the essence of nightshade would have been prescribed, to sedate the grieving queen, as half the court sympathized with her, and the other half mocked her. She wondered what her father would have done—he would have felt frustrated, perhaps, another failed one, for he had hardly ever mentioned the miscarriages. No, her father had only been optimistic, hopeful of the next, never dwelling on the losses, but ready to breed again, to watch his lady wife run herself raw for his wishes, and still never succeed.

Sure, she thought about all that now, but back then, she had been frightened—frightened of her mother, for her mother, and worried also, but the desire to slink out of bed and close the doors with firmness took over. She didn’t wish to see anymore, the passing of people—green, black and green again, shorter, with brown, and maids, again, and the occasional slow-pacing maester.

She was about to let the cold marbles touch her feet, when another round of maids rushed past, none turning to catch her, and once her hammering heart had stilled, she tried making for the door again.

Only, there were other sounds—a single person, quiet in steps, not a knight, certainly, for she didn’t hear any metal, but Naera decided to stay still anyway, now sat up on her bed, watching the strip of light between the doors, and the mellowing yellow and brown and gold and red, and then, the figure slowed to a full stop, blocking the light that entered her room in a blinding strike. Her mouth went dry. Now, she saw only darkness, and red, and the glow of the fire that escaped from above the dark figure to strike her straining eyes.

Silver hair, long, and sleek—Rhaenyra, she had expected at first, but as the figure endeavoured closer, she could see lines, and age, and height, and everything Rhaenyra was not. Naera didn’t move. Her blood went cold. She couldn’t move, unable in every way to displace herself from her awkward stance on the bed, sitting up in the darkness, watching the crack in the door, caught red-handed, for all she could believe.

Then, step, step, and another step, and she only vaguely recognised the face in the darkness, heart shuddering and hammering in her chest, panic rising. She could perceive the stench of wine, the air feeling dense and heavy around her, wet, hot and humid.

Sleep well, princess, she had heard the words whispered in a solemn, miserable, understanding voice unmistakably belonging to her uncle, and with a thrum and shudder, the door had been closed, leaving her in pitch black and darkness, and that had been the first time she had been terrified of the darkness, of its suffocating weight on her chest, of the uncertainty, and the panic, and the inability to draw a single breath that left her clawing at her surroundings and her neck, gasping, sweating, torn and destroyed.

Naera wondered why her thoughts went back to that day. It was a dark and stormy morning, the typhoon over Shipbreaker’s Bay having made its way north, and east, and it rained, with flashes of light and earth-shattering booms of thunder. Only, this time, every candle in her chambers was lit, despite the early morning hour.

She sat alone, in one of the guest quarters at Dragonstone, listening to the showers of rain, to the occasional clashes of lightning, to the flicker and crackle of flames beside her, around her, but she felt nauseated. It was a wretched feeling, present for several dawns, but never as strong, and she’d turn her eyes towards the chamber pot every other minute to assure herself that it was close enough, should she need it.

Naera was confused—she had hardly had anything strange to eat, and she didn’t feel ill, aside from the tire, and the ache, but the vague sensation that she had lost wind of something imperative, forgotten something necessary, was lingering in her mind, a half thought which she couldn’t fulfil, for her mind was racked around and open over the dreams of her mother’s screams, of her blood, of her loss, night, after night.

She could feel the burn of acid in her stomach, irritated, churning, she’d puke, she knew, while, her chest and shoulders were aching, everything pained, from morning to night, and in even those stupors during which she awoke to the darkness, she could only feel and recall the damned pain.

Mother. A gentle face, soft and aged, tired, but lovely, with her silver-white hair, her Valyrian lilac eyes, and though she always dressed in whites and roses and light colours, and though, Naera could seldom recall an incident when her mother had truly burned with anger—she hadn’t. There had been irritation, annoyance, certainly, at Rhaenyra, at her, at the maesters, or even Viserys, and most often, herself, she had never seen her mother angry.

She had only seen her sad, devastated, lost in agony, weak and infirm, legs drenched in red and brown blood, and twinges and strings of her child’s broken flesh, skin, vessels, even silver hair, and his head would always be bashed, torn, turned inside-out, with hollowed eyes pooled with red blood, and grey flesh and soft bones sticking out in all the wrong places, and dark, bloody, grimy skin, scales, and wings, like a bat’s—like a dragon’s, contorted and twisted and tugged and knotted into a bundle of flesh—Naera hurled into the chamberpot, voice racking against the back of her throat, burning with acid, with green bile and spitting out the remainders of her past meals.

Again, and again, until nothing was left in her, more tired than ever before, pained, aching, Naera rinsed herself off and settled back onto her bed, wrapped in warm sheets the colour of the forest in some cruel joke Rhaenyra had pulled again.

Her eyes pulled for sleep, dragging low, and her room felt oh, so warm, but she couldn’t—Xoreo Sorraar Daxon’s ship had arrived, she could see, and she needed to dine with the family if only to make for a half attempt to prove her affections.

“Princess Naera!” The Qartheen man bowed deep in her presence, greeting her with all honours expected, but she couldn’t make enough mind to smile back, settling for an uneasy expression. Her nausea hadn’t gone, and breaking fast with the rest of the family had made it even more tumultuous.

“Xoreo Sorraar Daxon.” She greeted him also. He was a man of great height, taller than perhaps any she had met in Westeros, with skin the colour of ebony and impeccable manners, dressed in embroidered silks and linens, green, with emeralds and other gems woven through him. Naera spared a glance at her sister, who only quirked an eyebrow with the same question she had dreaded.

“Qarth has gone dim in your absence, oh, great Silver Knight.” Politeness. That was the way of the Walled City of Qarth. Strong, refined, grating politeness, but she noted the brilliance of his voice—low, quiet, formal and trained with the common Westerosi tongue, but his words just sang in a way others didn’t. He was a native.

She reciprocated, bashing herself within over the brashness of her own words, “As I am sure it does for your losses.” She managed a smile this time.

Xoreo Sorraar gestured to one of his servers, who pulled forth and opened a decorated, varnished wooden case. Within, lay a necklace of the brightest, clearest emeralds and diamonds Naera had seen in recent years.

Her first instinct was to refuse—things don’t tend to go well when she received gifts, Naera reminded herself. The last gift of her acceptance had been…oh, right. The Valyrian Steel Dagger Daemon had gifted her. She had dropped it in the Godswood where he had presented her with it, before her departure. She couldn’t bear to hold it—it felt heavy, dragging her down, exhausting her more than she already had been—and she couldn’t muster enough calmness to return it to him herself without embedding it thoroughly in his heart.

“It would be my honour if I could—” Naera nodded at his half-spoken request, turning and gathering her silver braids for her Qartheen visitor to clasp the jewellery around her. Rhaenyra watched the exchange with civility, a look of disinterest, and a plainness one could easily mistake for misery, but Naera wouldn’t make that mistake. Her sister watched with a muted gaze, yes, but she knew that her mind ran rampant, above and beyond, with thoughts, with concerns, with ideas as to how it shall fit into her scheme.

Naera turned away from her sister to thank Xoreo Sorraar when her gaze grew into one of disdain. Green. Her primary bother was that she could hardly blame her sister for hating the necklace and her acceptance—it was a play on their bond, the slow grazing of a jaw against their sisterhood which had once been forged in fire, blood and loss. Naera only wondered how long it’d last.

Avidius walked in then, his golden eyes staring through his amber-gold mask, through the careful patterns and slits in his mask, and the red, and the black, and Naera dreaded the glance he threw her sister. He had another with him, a paltry, underfed, tanned woman, her gaze focused below, following a step behind him. A slave. He took a seat, and the woman stood behind him, eyes downset still, hands clasped together, her droughty hair cut short and wispy at the edges. She only dared for a glance every now and again, snapping back every time she caught Naera staring back.

“Dārilaros Rhaenyra, Dārilaros Naera,” he opted for his most familiar language, gesturing to the woman with him, no, the slave woman with him, “Ñuha ydrassis.” My translator. Naera wanted to laugh. He spoke the common tongue well enough. He hadn’t brought her for that—it would have been easier to ask either her, or even Rhaenyra to help him, if he had the need.

No, it was a gesture to give away his true intentions, to remind them all that just because they dwelt in Westeros for these dealings, the laws in use, the customs in question, were still Eastern.

“Let us begin.” Rhaenyra gestured for them to all take seats around the round table. Round table. Naera watched with narrowed eyes, as Rhaenyra set herself close to Avidius, forming a block, a side, a faction, dressed in black and red and metal and flames. Naera spared a glance at Xoreo, at the green and gold, and at herself, and she couldn’t crush the shame and also the ire that befell her.

Why was she even here? Naera chose not to question that aloud. She also chose not to question why all parties were equal—this was the settlement of a dispute, and the arbiter should sit separately, the three parties involved should sit with the order, following a system, but oh, how could she ask?

Xoreo began with a sugared voice laced with ornaments of flattery, “My Princess, may I have the honour to begin?” The translator leaned down, whispering the words in a voice too quiet to Avidius, but Naera was sure that she heard the same shrill alternation of voices, the same stilted tunes of songs and horrors, nights and terrors. The tongue of the Asshai’i.

Naera nodded, allowing Xoreo to present her with two separate notebooks—naval agreements over sailing rights, as expected. The first was of Xoreo Soraar’s own contract with the port of the Blackwater, with the dates and days circled with clarity of its formation and arrangements. His fleet was set to sail past the Blackwater, past the very seas over which the carnage had occurred, on the seventeenth day of the month, while the second, unmistakably that of Avidius, marked the date of passage as the nineteenth. Naera spared a glance at Avidius, to his twinkling, burning eyes through the amber mask. He had no reason to cross their paths—he had been impatient.

“My Princess,” she couldn’t blame Xoreo for the confused words he battered out as Rhaenyra pulled the records towards herself. “…I present proof that my agreement with the Blackwater authorities preceded the agreement by Lord Avidius.”

The translator relayed that over, and Avidius hummed low and quiet in his own mother tongue, rather than in Valyrian. He was too quiet, however, for Naera to comprehend his true words over the distance, and resorted to listening to whatever the woman said, “According the reports Lord Avidius has received, his sailors had passed by the area on the fixed date. It was the ships of Xoreo Soraar which had impeded.” It would be difficult to provide proof of who was where especially on the sea.

The Qartheen wasn’t demented by the accusation, instead, he remained calm and adjusting his emerald green garbs, he answered, “I can assure your highness that ships had not been delayed. These…” he set forth another record book, this time, from the port of Pentos, “…are records which state that seven of my ships departed the port on the fourteenth, which would bring their arrival at the sight on the seventeenth.”

“Forgive me, Ser Xoreo,” Rhaenyra began, “Matters such as this are difficult to prove, given that there are no impartial parties as first witnesses.” Naera couldn’t help but glare. The rubies on Rhaenyra’s necklace seemed to twinkle and sway with each word she took, coming horrendously close to the glowing pulses she was familiar with. Avidius relayed another few sentences to his translator.

She spoke, “I agree with the Princess of Dragonstone. There is no true proof, other than…” she quirked an eyebrow, her cheeks wrinkling in thought. “…other than what the Lord of Light can provide us.” He wouldn’t. Avidius tilted his head to the side, gold and bronze reflecting off the candle lights. He seemed to ask a silent question, one not understood by any other present there. She didn’t want to know what he asked.

“Well,” Xoreo Sorraar rid the table of the records, and Naera could see him straining against his smile. In a delicate voice, one drenched and soaked in kindness and formalities, “It was also the Asshai’i who attacked my ships first.”

“It was your men who raped the innocent passengers on my ship.”

“Preposterous.” Xoreo Soraar argued, “It was the Asshai’i, by all means.” Naera was convinced—it simply wasn’t in their nature. A lone man could have committed a heinous act, or two, or a group, but for ships full of sailors raised and born in Qarth to abandon their key beliefs were radical, impossible. “It was your men who sunk three ships full of jewels in retaliation for crimes we did not commit.”

“Do you consider my amber less valuable?” Avidius leaned back in his chair, his mask hiding any semblance of anger, while his words poured filthy of it.

“I believe that the matters of whatever occurred are delicate,” Rhaenyra turned to Avidius, “We should concern ourselves with the compensations only, as it is impossible to know what truly occurred.” Undermining. That was preposterous. To believe that the entire string of events could be dismissed as simply incorrect—the compensation for both sides should depend on what occurred, and who started it, not just who suffered more losses. What is justice then, if all faults, instigations and crimes could just be dismissed?

What the lord of Light can tell us. Right. Avidius expected her to trust the flames with this answer.

No.

No, no.

She wouldn’t risk it. Visions could be misinterpreted, and without reason—the truth was obvious. It couldn’t have been the Qartheen.

Rhaenyra’s purple eyes wouldn’t leave Naera. They stared and stared, and stared, mapping the path of the emeralds on her, tracing the signs of tire and exhaustion she so clearly displayed. There was something about that gaze, the same half glare she had given her, full of disdain, full of error and fault and patronisation, disdain, distrust, disbelief—Naera knew those looks too well, but to see them on her sister, her blood, her friend, churned an ugly sensation in her stomach, growing the layer of nausea that she had nearly forgotten of, adding to it.

“Very well,” Xoreo turned a concerned eye to Naera, who had a hand loosely clasped over her mouth, trying to swallow the urge to hurl her meal out.

Avidius turned to Rhaenyra, speaking the shrill ululating words to her, directly, waiting for the woman to explain, “I have suffered a loss adding to nearly ten and seven thousand Westerosi gold, the loss of eight and ten invaluable lives of trusted sailors, and more, on the journey to the far west.” Rhaenyra didn’t correct him, didn’t even bother an explanation or a glance as Avidius expected her to pass judgement on the matter.

Xoreo looked troubled—Naera was the arbiter, but by rank, Rhaenyra was the greater party, the heir to the Iron Throne, the older sister, and yet, his loyalties lay with her, naturally, as she was one of his rulers—one of the Thirteen of Qarth. It pained her, to see him flip eyes between the two sisters, then to his reports, for he didn’t deserve to be dragged into an affair as unfair, or cursed as this was. But Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra had decided on this, she had declared Naera an enemy—her sister, her friend, her Queen, the reason she stayed at all—betrayal? Is that what she had accused Naera of?

It seemed the other way around.

“What of you, Xoreo Sorraar Daxon?” She asked in clipped, strangled words, the familiar burn of an ill stomach showing through.

“My loss in merchandise add up to two and six thousand gold, had two distinguished passerbys defiled by the enemy, and lost nine and ten lives, all from the great city of Qarth.” All from Qarth. He was trying to invoke some form of guilt in her, some sympathy, some responsibility and pride to her land, but he didn’t realise that her sister was doing a much better job of that.

Greens and Blacks, faction and faction, and she was being undermined, again. Undermined. Undermined. Undermined. Political tool—set aside, unloved, uncared, unremembered.

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken? A dazzling twilight, and winding, wrapping, stretching, arms, gazing at the summer clear night sky, at the stars, at the moon, warm, delightful, poisoned and pleasured.

“From the Arbor…” The dark-haired man’s voice returned. It faded, mumbling, dragging, blurring, with a crackling, breaking, shattering boom of thunder on the beaches.

A Flea Bottom accent called, a sailor, a rogue, a smuggler, “Many have already declared for him—Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly—”

Then, all familiar, warm and tempered as a fire, but sharp, with an edge, with danger, and a burn, Melisandre called, “Stannis does not need to beg this lord or that lord for support. The Lord of Light stands behind him.”

Stannis does not need to beg this lord or that lord—Stannis. Stannis Baratheon.

A man named Stannis Baratheon—no. No.

No.

Naera stood, her wooden chair screeching against the floor, and she made towards the door, hand clasped over her mouth, her head bursting within.

“Princess?” Xoreo Soraar stood with her, shrill, loud, and dizzying with the sound, as drastic showers and destructive rains hammered against the seas and stone, salt, and sand.

“Naera?” She heard Rhaenyra’s concerned voice scream, but Naera’s knees had already surrendered, her ankles striking the floors, collapsed, unconscious.

MASTERLIST

[venus-pjo]

The Halfblood Chronicles- Part 6

CHAPTER 6

When he said he had something to show me, i didn't he meant witchcraft. He showed me all sorts of amazing things, from crystals, to his book of shadows. 'Well, what do you think?' He smiled and hugged me. Why we were acting like a couple? I have no clue, we just were. 'I love it' I sighed as i let in the beauty of his book of shadows. He had the monalisas head cut out, with those meme glasses glued to her face, and that was only a corner of it. It was colorful, with poetry and quotes all over it. Evren showed me each page, both of us stuck in a witchy trance. 'I'll go make dinner, you can try a spell if you want' He got up to leave, but suddenly a freezing gust of wind entered the room. He must've noticed me shivering, because he put his jacket around me before leaving. I smiled to myself as i sunk into the jacket. It really smelled like him, he smelled like lavender and jasmine. Then i remembered Lydia, i felt bad till i recalled our last chat, she obviously had someone else already. 'Dinner!' I heard Evren calling for me down stairs. I went down quietly, careful not to make noise. I crept up behind him and whispered in his ear. 'I will eat you…' In a creepy voice, hoping to scare him. I succeeded, as he jumped the height of himself while screaming. When he saw it was just me, we both burst out in hysterical laughter. 'You idiot' he laughed when i pouted in response. We sat down for dinner with a good atmosphere, joking about things like being possessed because of what happened to Perseus, Azalea, Cecil and Cameron. They were alive, we could tell that much from our powers combined. Out of nowhere, Evren started laughing. 'What?' i asked, confusion clearly there. 'You have sauce on your face' he snorted. 'Really? I didn't even feel it' I laughed and wiped it of quickly. 'Theres a little bit- Y'know what, i'll just get it' He leaned over the table, and rubbed the side of my lip. We stared at eachother for a second longer. 'We're both done so i'll show you were you can stay for the night' He smiled and held out his hand to help me of my chair. I took it and he led me to a room down the hall. It looked pretty, with a soft pink and white aesthetic. 'It used be my sisters, but she was killed when "Berman" attacked'. I felt bad for him as he told me about his sister. 'She was the familys golden child, her name was Alethea' He smiled sadly, i had a feeling that he was reliving his memories with her. I decided to hug him to make him feel better. He hugged me back and he began to sob into my currently red hair. His body shook as he cried. 'Let it out…' I hugged him tighter. 'What did her name mean?' I asked, knowing that it made him feel better to talk about the meanings behind names. 'Truth, and her middle name was Zephyr, meaning 'a gentle breeze' He choked on his words as he explained. 'Sorry, i shouldn't have brought it up, i did this to myself' His voice sounded hoarse as he wiped his tears. Well, 'I'm gonna get to bed, goodnight' he left the room, i could still hear him sniffling in the hall, meaning he was still crying. Poor guy, but that bed looks comfy.

Bed hair is the worst. My now auburn hair had somehow gow as stuck sticking up like someone had pulled my hair from above and then glued it together. I jumped in the bath and sank into the warm water, i knew that i would have to focus on my hair now, before it became permanently like this. I fixed my hair quickly, it was weird having color changing hair. I realized that my hair was not going back to blonde any time soon. I weirdly liked it, yet i was confused on how it was changing. It seemed to be that any strong emotion would turn my hair red, and from their it would slowly fade back to a reddish blonde. Cool, it was midway right now. I got out of the bath quickly and i was surprised at how fast i dried. I didn't have anything to wear, till Evrens voice told me to wear something of his sisters if i didn't have anything. So i picked out a loose white shirt, like those ones in Pirates Of The Caribbean. Along with one of those corset top things with the straps. I finished the outfit with black leggings and combat boots. Dang, i looked good. Wait….I look like familiar….ehh, doesn't matter. 'Honey, did you steal a pirates wardrobe or something'. I found myself staring at Maziar's beautiful golden eyes. 'Hey, whats up?' I smiled. I stroked his smooth, dark coat. 'Nothin' much, d'you have any apples?' He nudged me hungrily. I laughed and we skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. He chose his own Apple out of the fruit basket, and began to eat loudly. 'What are you doing up at 4 in the morning?' A familiar husky voice questioned. 'Hmm? Evren, hey, Maziar was hungry, so yeah' I muttered awkwardly, embarrassed of such a reason. Surprisingly, he seemed amused with my reasoning. A few moments of silence past through us, till a furious expression cut through the humor on Evrens face. Footsteps came closer to me, And Evren sent me a look that meant 'Don't move'. I did the reasonable thing, i did exactly what he said not to do. I moved around a lot, i had the urge to duck so i did and just at that moment a gunshot went of and went right over my head. The person ran over to me and held a gun to my neck. 'Try anything and the girls dead' A gruff voice said. 'Don't you dare harm her' Evren basically screamed, if I'm honest, I'm flattered that he doesn't want me to die. Suddenly, the man dropped dead behind me, A dagger in his throat. Eww. 'Jeez, i leave you two alone for a few hours and this is what happens' A familiar silvery voice laughed. 'Azalea?! How did you find us?' I hugged her, but then i noticed the group of men behind her. 'When i let go, run for your life' She hissed into my ear. What? I was confused but decided to listen anyway. She let go slowly, and i sprinted towards the back door, Evren at my heels. I'm guessing Azalea stayed back to distract them, but i still felt uneasy without her. We locked the kitchen door while we gathered supplies, when i slipped over something on the floor. Evren looked afraid, so i rolled over to see what the liquid was. A Crimson red pool of something that looked suspiciously like blood, was smeared over the floor where i had slipped. 'Zelda, did Azalea say anything to you? anything related to death…?' Evren looked so scared that i couldn't just lie to him. 'Yeah….She said "When i let go, run for you life", it was creepy'. The look on his face made me wish i hadn't said anything. 'Well, the day before i got here, i was visited by a rajha, and it gave me some sort of prophesy, "thou shall find the flower of blooming hope, one shall be lost in the palace of night" thats all i remember' He sighed. I don't know why, but something just clicked in my mind. 'I understand the last part. Its about Maria…..Berman'.

I didn't expect to have figured it out that quickly. No one did, well, except Maziar. Evren was preparing to avenge his mum and sister. But i decided it was a better idea to keep him calm for now, because anger is ruining that good-looking face of his. 'What was your mums name?' I asked the angry dude. 'Nadia, meaning hope, and her middle names were Emma, meaning universal woman and Cordelia, meaning something to do with the sea, i forgot' He smiled at the memories of his mum. He sat down next to me silently, but i could feel something happening. The forest was quite pretty, but Evren didn't seem to think that as he led me to a grove of cherry blossom trees. I sat on a large log as he began to…sing? I recognized the song though, Electric love by BØRN. His voice sounded amazing, i was strangely sad when he stopped. Then, he kissed me. I froze for a second before melting into the kiss. He tasted of Pancakes and Nutella, my two favorites. When we broke apart, we giggled hysterically. Then i kissed him again. I kept staring at his beautiful, dark eyes. Also, if you think we've only known each other for three days, its actually been six months as the time here is seriously different to your time. Evren caressed my cheek with a slightly open mouth. 'Your so pretty' he murmured sweetly. I couldn't help but blush, this dude was literally perfection if it was a person. He kissed me on the forehead, then on the nose, then on top of my head. My mind was dazed with happiness as we cuddled on the soft forest floor. I love my little life.

'Deirdre?'. I sat up quickly and lept at the familiar sounding person. 'LORDY LADY! ITS JUST ME!' Mitchell yelped as my feet landed on his face and sent him flying across the clearing into a large cherry blossom. 'Look at we've got here, a murderer' Mitchell snorted as he stood up. My blood ran cold at his words. I had forgotten about throwing Maria of someones roof. Evren hugged me from behind, i could sense him glaring at my old best friend. 'Vee, it's fine' I turned to him. 'But darling, i cannot let this bastard insult you and expect to get away with it' He placed a kiss on my head, i could hear Mitchell wrinkling his nose, but i could sense that he had backup nearby, probably hiding in a tree. As expected a feminine figure jumped down from somewhere, landing beside Mitchell. 'Seriously? I only cheated on you like, 12 times so you get a boyfriend! Wow.' A flat voice which i recognized as Lydias came from the figure. Evren attacked her, ripping her dark hair from her pale head. She screamed and i couldn't help but compare her to a strangled ferret. Mitchell was kicked aside as i ran of in a completely different direction. I didn't want to fight them, i cared too much, When suddenly i heard Mitchell yell. 'SERIOUSLY? STOP ATTACKING MY GIRLFRIEND! YOU KNOW WHAT? MARIA WAS RIGHT TO KILL YOUR MUM AND STUPID SISTER, YOUR PATHETIC'. An eerie silence filled the forest, It sent chills down my spine. I jumped aside as a body when flying into the distance beside me, a second one followed. Evren limped into the area, looking exhausted. 'We need to find shelter' He groaned in pain. I helped him walk to the nearest safe house, problem was that they were really fricking far from each other, so we used our powers. I shape-shifted into an eagle while Evren hovered at my heels. Hours passed as we flew nearer. My energy level was incredibly low. I nearly fainted multiple times. My mind was stuck on Mitchells and Lydias words, it hurt, that they would say something like that to someone who used to be their friend. My whole life was turning into a humongous mess. The pain in my head was getting numb, then it went black.

'Deirdre? Are you alright?. A familiar voice spoke from beside me. Everything slowly came into focus. I was in a cabin, Maria looked down at me with concern. I nearly hit her, but then realized that she was trying to help me. 'I'm okay…just, whats happening? One moment you betray us, the next your dead, and the third your nursing us back to health?' I asked her as she re-bandaged my bloody stomach. 'I never betrayed you, Mitchell was the real traitor. When i found out, i threatened to tell you and Moon, but then he pointed out the fact that there was proof that i was a possible traitor so he used it against me' She paused before continuing. 'I ran away in fear of being framed and punished, i hid within the village, and when i heard the enemies army coming, i went with them, that day, when you found me on Mitchells balcony, i was looking for proof against him, luckily, i got it, but then you threw me of the railing and i nearly lost the folder filled with all the proof' She finished with a hug. 'I'm guessing that after we both left, Mitchell realized that there was no reason to stay' I hugged her as i explained my theory. We cried as we hugged. When we pulled apart, both our faces were red and puffy. 'Zelda? Mari? I made hot chocolate' Evren entered the room and sat three mugs on the table. We thanked him and Maria looked away from him immediately. 'What is it?' I asked as i sipped the hot drink. To my surprise, Evren answered me instead of Maria. 'Its because, Mitchell is my brother, we have some similar features' He sighed as Maria nodded. I choked on my hot chocolate at the confession. Actually they did look a bit similar, just Evren looked a lot more like Emma Craggs. 'Wait…but if your siblings then why do have different last names?' I spoke the thing that was confusing me. 'Because we're only half siblings, he took moms maiden name, while i took my dads' He quietly drank his hot chocolate. 'I'm the older one as i have a dad' He finished with a loud slurping noise. We all felt uncomfortable at the mention of Mr. D'angelo. Marias face suddenly lit up like a little explosion went of in her head. I knew she had an idea to get rid of the tension. 'C'mon, let me show you around'.

[oonaluna-art]

“Alek! Alek help!”

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A little young Revan and Malak composition that I made, while I was up in the mountains with no internet access. Since Juhani seemed to have an affinity with Kath Hounds, maybe some Jedi can pass by them without being bothered. I don’t think Revan was one of those people. (Her affinity is probably Gizka,)