#fire and I begged him to save them. it simply looked at me and said ‘you are fortunate you were not there Sakura Kyouko’.

[wolf-who-rips-throats]

I don’t know if my father was a good man in canon, but he was not a good man in my memories.

Edit: please excuse spelling mistakes it’s 2 am and I needed to get this off my chest.

[miloonepiece]

I have a request/idea for opla!sanji if you'd like :]

Maybe after saving a village on their journeys, a party is held (similar to the one on coco village), and lots of people are dancing, especially in pairs. No one has asked the Reader to dance, which makes them feel a bit self-conscious. Seeing this, however, Sanji knows that can't stand and asks the Reader if they would dance with him. A bit flustered, Reader accepts. Maybe Nami, Usopp, or Zoro could tease Reader about it afterward.

Obviously no pressure if this doesn't strike your fancy, but I thought I'd shoot the idea your way. All the best!

note: this is so cute and I won't lie I struggled a bit to write this, and I'm so sorry I left this on a cliffhanger,, I might do another part if I can think of anything else to write.

Ma Belle

featuring: opla!sanji x gn!reader contents: Anxiety Reference, Made-up lore, Small angst to fluff, Almost kissing, Sanji being a flirt, Slight cliffhanger word count: 1078

Yet another victory for the straw hats, your crew had gathered around a beach nearby and started up a campfire. A few people from the town you had saved were there to celebrate and thank Luffy for protecting them and practically saving them. You stood off to the side and watched as everyone was enjoying themselves. Usopp was near the fire telling several children and a few adults about his adventures, as well as saving a group of people. You let out a small laugh, as the children watched in amazement and disbelief that he was that strong and capable whilst the adults had all their brows furrowed.

You watched as people began to dance along with the soft music that was playing, you smiled for a moment before you glanced around. Everyone was so distracted with their own thing and yet here you were, stood alone. You swallowed suddenly the thought that everyone was whispering and staring at you for being alone filled your thoughts, you harshly looked down hoping to find something more interesting about the ground than what was standing upon it a few feet away from you.

Sanji had finally run out of food to serve and was done for the night, he wiped his hands off on his towel and then placed it off to the side. A few girls came up to him and urged him to dance, he almost gave into their begging before his eyes saw you. A pain ran through his chest as he saw you standing there alone, you looked amazing and he was shocked that no one had come up to ask you to dance. The girls in front of him snapped him away from you but it only made him realize, why wasn’t he asking you?

“Sorry ladies, I've already gotten a dance partner.” He smiled to him a soft smile, hoping they’d give up and walk off. They didn’t so he resorted to simply walking away from them and going towards you, they followed after him spewing out a few more pleas before they spotted you and froze.

Sanji smiled as he approached you and heard the girls’ voice stop almost instantly, his hands kept in his pockets as he finally stood in front of you. “Evening love.” He spoke out, your eyes darting upwards immediately and being met with his ocean-blue eyes. “Oh… Sanji.” You spoke out, you glanced around to see if you had zoned out long enough that everyone was leaving but to your dismay, you saw that everyone was still partying and enjoying their time.

His eyes studied your face, taking in every single feature about you before you connected your eyes back with his. “Why aren’t you out there flirting with another lady?” You ask him, attempting to shove down your thoughts you put a mischievous grin on your lips. He laughed at your comment before he spoke again, “That’s what I’m trying to do right now.” The way he said it so calmly and quickly made your heart flutter, your grin had dropped and your eyebrows raised. “Me? You are trying to flirt with me?” You asked in disbelief.

He smiled at you and nodded, “I mean, I am talking to you, no?” He asked you, his head slightly tilting to the side as he then brought his hand up to hold it out for you to take it. “So will I have the honor?” He straightened his head back up. You swallowed heavily as you stared at him taking a moment to process what he had just asked of you before your eyes slowly moved down to his hand, you felt yourself smile softly. “I think you will.” You say as you place your hand in his looking up to see a small glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

He leads you to the group of people dancing and slowly brings you closer to him, his hand letting go of yours and instantly attaching them to his hips. You felt your heart do a little flutter yet again your eyes struggling to keep eye contact with him, so you kept your eyes stuck on his shoulder. He took notice too this and took a moment before one of his hands lifted to gently redirect your face to look towards him, “Nervous?” He asked you, you swore you could hear a small purr at the end of the word.

You let out a soft laugh as you looked down at your feet, Sanji began to shift the two of you side to side along with the music. You take a moment before you let out a soft sigh, “Just a little…” You take a moment before you blurt out the truth “I never thought I’d be here dancing with you.” You say, then looking up at him to meet your eyes with his. God his eyes were beautiful, you’ve always thought the ocean was beautiful but as you stared into his eyes you couldn’t help but think they were almost… more beautiful.

The two of you stared into each other's eyes and you watched as his eyes slowly moved down to your lips, your stomach began to tighten with anticipation. I wonder if his lips are as soft as they look. You thought as your eyes looked down at his lips, you weren’t sure but you were 50% positive that he had tilted his head and was beginning to lean in closer to you. You found yourself moving closer getting caught in your own thoughts and belief that Sanji would ever want to kiss you.

“[Name]!” You heard your voice being called and you turned your head to look over at Luffy, He ran over excited to show you a new thing he found somewhere off near the water. You immediately scolded him for getting so close to the water without anyone else around, not realizing that you had pulled away from Sanji. Sanji watched you get dragged away from him, he almost kissed you… and of course, the moment had to be ruined. Nami walked over to Sanji and nudged him, “That almost hurt to watch.” She teased him, Sanji looked at her and pouted internally before he found a response “Just, it wasn’t the right time.” He says a small smile on his face, Nami walks away laughing leaving Sanji to pout alone.

[alexa-fika]

Can you create a story about Mihawk's son who gets injured or kidnapped ?

More Mihawk please 🙏

( sorry for the grammar or spelling mistakes am not good at English )

A/N: Again, I don't know. if this is good, but you guys are popping off with Midnight Lessons so maybe this is up to your tastes? Thank you for the request Anon! Feel free to drop by my ask box to requests or simply to say hi!

Also don't worry English is also not my first language!

Dividers by @/saradika

Papa to the rescue ( Mihawk x male!reader)

Sniffles and stifled sobs could be heard in a cold, dark cell of a ship sailing somewhere on the East Blue.

“Shut up, you damn brat!” Growls Don Krieg.

Glaring at the child, he walks toward the cell, a smirk suddenly replacing his sneer.

“Do you know why you are here, you little twerp?

He sniffles, shaking his head

“Oh my my, aren’t we scared? A shame your papa can’t come and save you; what a disappointment.”

Krieg laughs mockingly and looks toward the small child.

“It’s because of him that you are here, brat so that I can finally have revenge on that bastard! It will be perfect for breaking down your stubborn, cocky father. I bet having to see his little boy die will make the bastard come around, kneeling in front of me and begging for mercy. Or he’s too much of a coward. Either way, win-win for me.”

“Papa wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. Your papa won’t see you die. He’ll see you in agony, a slow, excruciating death by starvation or a beating, a torture that will make you beg for death. All by my hands, too.”

“He wouldn’t bow down to you! “

Krieg grips the small boy by the collar and picks him up to his eye level. His dark scowl is met by the red face of the boy, tears filling his eyes.

“He will, little brat.” His voice is low, threatening.

“Or you die.”

“He won’t! Because he will slash you! You can’t beat papa.”

Krieg’s grip tightens at the mention of Mihawk, his sneer returning in full force.

He growls out a sharp response as a fire of rage sparked in his eyes, his hands tightening around the kid’s neck.

“I will! And he will beg me for mercy before you die in front of him!”

He said, dropping Reader to the ground.

It all happened in an instant; Reader’s mind could barely keep up with what happened in the next few minutes.

He remembered that screams started coming from upstairs. He remembered Kreig turning towards the dungeon entrance, equally confused about the sudden chaos that had erupted from upstairs.

The next thing that happened Reader could remember clearly, as the familiar silhouette of their father came down the stairs into the dungeon.

“Papa!” They cheer as he closes in to the cell Reader was in and towards Don Krieg, who stands in front of it

Krieg made quick work of the cell lock, running inside and grabbing the kid, putting them in a chokehold, and holding a gun to his neck.

“So you finally show yourself, you bastard! Better start kneeling, or you can say goodbye to the brat,” he cackles.

Reader is quick to dig their tiny teeth into Don Krieg’s hand, taking advantage as he winces and slightly lessens his hold to raise his head to headbutt him, quickly running to his dad the moment Don Krieg let go of him to hold their bleeding nose.

His head snaps back as the young man headbutts him; Krieg grunts in pain. A burst of blood spurts down from his nose

He scoffs,

“Damn brat!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” he growls, pointing his gun towards the child and taking the shot.

The next few seconds, although hard to keep up with, Reader was quick to understand what had just happened as his father now stood in front of him, Yoru unsheathed and a sliced bullet landing on each side of Reader.

“Reader. Wait upstairs,” his words curt, but one could hear the aggravation in his tone.

Reader nods, running upstairs to wait for his dad; he does not have to wait long, however, as Mihawk joins him no more than a minute later.

He gently picks him up and jumps onto his small raft.

“Are you hurt?”

The child looks up at him, his eyes watering.

“I’m okay ’cause Papa is here,” he says, hugging him tightly.

“Good,” he says as he puts a hand around the child and smiles.

“I’ll make sure it stays that way,” setting his course back to Karai Barai Island.

“How did you find me?”

“Do not worry about that.”

They smile, a slight idea as to who aided his father in finding him.

“Im glad you found me, Papa; I was scared,”

It’s okay, son,” he says, rubbing his head.

“Let us get you to bed.”

Reader nods, watching dazed as the splashing waves soon turn into flowing grass and soon into the familiar floors as they arrive at their headquarters, soon arriving at their own room as Mihawk gently lays Reader down on the bed.

“Can you stay with me tonight, Papa?”

“I will only stay for a short while; there are things I must attend to.” He responds, sitting down on a chair next to his son

Reader smiles, staring at his father as he slowly lulls himself to sleep after a long and terrifying day.

Despite his words, Mihawk could be seen sitting down next to his son all night; of course, no member of Crossguild would ever comment on this, and neither would they ever comment on the soft look he had on his face as he stared at his son, finally home safe

What do you guys think? Was it as good as Midnight Lessons or kinda, eh? Please let me know so I know what I can improve on next time! Do we like child! reader more than the romantic pieces? Who's next?

[tinfairies]

Hi! Can I order Aemond x Reader? Where he needs to enter a tournament to win her hand.

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Lannister!Reader

" I don't care about Tourney's." is what Aemond had always said, thinking that displaying battle prowess in such a public way to be a weakness to enemies. Never let them know your skills, patterns or next move. However when Lord Lannister announced that a tourney be held for other lords and nobles to win his eldest daughters hand, his stomach churned. The beautiful Lady Lannister, the sweet girl that had come to court with her father many years ago. She was never afraid of him, never turned away from him, even when he wasn't wearing his patch. The lady that had always had a sweet smile or kind word for him, always saved a dance at balls for him. Who read in the library with him, doted on him and listened to his words.

He absolutely could not have another man take you away. He had immediately gone to his queen mother to demand he have your hand in marriage.

"I simply must have her, you cannot allow her to be married off to some noble swine! God's only know what those horrific men will do to her!" he cried to Alicent, who was sitting in front of a roaring fire in the great room.

"My son, I may be queen but I have no control over what Lord Lannister does with his children." The queen sighed and looked to her son knowing that was not what he had wanted to hear.

"Offer me to her, tell Lord Lannister that she will be my princess, the tourney can be a wedding announcement if he must have one." Aemond went to his mother's side, begging with his eye.

Alicent sighed and contemplated, she had never seen Aemond this desperate, and the Lady had never been cruel to her son, or any of her children. Maybe the lady would be good for Aemond, it would certainly keep him in one place.

"Alright, I will have a meeting with Lord Lannister." just that simple sentence caused Aemond to smile like a small child that was offered sweets.

"Thank you mother!" he swiftly kissed Alicent's cheek and rushed off to tell Helaena about the wonderful news.

~

"Absolutely not, my daughter's future betrothed will have to earn her hand. She cannot be bought, or bribed! If the prince wishes for her hand he will have to enter the Tourney just like every other nobleman that wants her." Lord Lannister spoke bolsterously, his large belly shook as he spoke.

"My lord, he is the prince. Are you sure he is not the best option for your daughter?" Alicent asked keeping her posture stiff in attempt to seem more powerful.

"The best option for my daughter is a man that can defend her, if Prince Aemond wishes for her hand he must prove he can keep her safe with his bare hands." The lord poured another cup of wine, his third since the meeting started.

"My dear," Viserys cut in to get Alicent's attention. "Lord Lannister knows what's best for his daughter, and you know how capable Aemond is in combat." he put a hand on her arm.

"I suppose he is rather talented with a sword, it should be easy winning the Lady's hand." Alicent frowned knowing Aemond would not be happy about the news.

"It's settled then! The Prince shall compete with every other suitor!" Lord Lannister stood up and hobbled to the door. "My King, my Queen." he bowed and exited the room.

~

"There was no other way to convince him?!" Aemond was furious although not with his mother.

"I tried, even offering a dowery. He is very adament about her suitors earning her hand." Alicent reached a hand out to touch Aemond's arm.

"Fine, I will enter the Tourney. But when I defeat every one of my competitors the Lord will know I was the right one for his daughter all along."

***

The day of the Tourney arrived, a bright sunny day. The temperature was divine, not hot nor cold, and the dress the Lady Lannister wore was a deep red, with gold stitching. A symbol of her house engraved on her large pendant necklace. The Lady sat in the nobles box, front and center of the battle arena, a glorified dirt patch really. Many different noble houses were present, all there to pawn their sons off to gain Financials from the Lannisters. Each noble who was competing was introduced, the Lady had looked bored until the last competitor was announced. She smiled warmly as she saw Aemond, his eye met hers and he felt his heart swell.

Several battles took place, nothing too violent as the rules state that no maiming or murder can occur. You must knock the sword from your opponents hand, and you win the round.

Aemond breezed through each battle with ease, most of these noble men have not trained as he had. 'Amateurs' he thought to himself. Soon he faced the last round, against a large man from house Baratheon. The nobleman was skilled, Aemond had heard of his skill from passing conversation in the armor pit. He was not worried though, The Lady will be his, by the God's it will be so.

The fight began, fast and easy Aemond danced around the brute. Ducking, dodging and striking when he could. The goal was to get the sword from his hand. It should have been simple but the man was fast for his size. The battle continued with no progress, Aemond was too quick and the Baratheon too large. Aemond was growing annoyed with this, he could simply cut the oaf down and be done with it. He had defeated all his other opponents, surely he has proven himself, no? He glanced up at the Lady, her eyes completely entranced by his movements. In his distraction the Baratheon managed to gain the upper hand on Aemond, who had then fallen to one knee. A struggle ensued and it seemed that the Baratheon would win the Lady's hand.

The crowd gasped, and there in the arena was a pool of blood forming. Aemond had plunged his sword into the Baratheon's stomach, he gurgled on his own blood. Aemond then swiftly pulled the sword back to him, his opponent fell backwards to the dirt. Aemond dropped the bloodied sword to the dirt and approached the Noble box. He bowed to the Lady and looked up at her, half expecting horror on her face. But alas she was softly smiling, looking down at Aemond, she stood and walked to the edge of the box. Despite her father's protests and several noblemans pleas for Aemond to be disqualified, the Lady made her way down to meet Aemond. She took his hand in hers and lifted it into the air.

"My champion!"

[spaceyaceface]

Hi this is me officially begging for some Ominis x reader blurb/fic ideas, please I want to write for him

Ominis finds out that MC hasn't been healing their wounds because they feel bad about hurting others (not intentionally, just the whole Ranrok situation and they feel that everything is their fault).

Ominis finds out by realising that MC has been acting strange and tries to stop them to talk, but they don't want to and try to get away, so he catches their wrist and MC hisses in pain, so he takes their arm in his hand to see what's wrong and why it hurt MC and feels countless cuts and wounds.

MC feels embarrassed and bad, so they try to get away, but his hold on them is firm.

Ominis asks what it is (the wounds) and they try to brush it off, but he's persistent.

Eventually Ominis explains to them how it's not their fault and makes them drink some Wiggenweld potions and helps them bandage the wounds (and it gets very cute and fluffy and wholesome).

So yeah, something like that if you want to ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭

AHHHH we love us some good ole angst/hurt/comfort/fluff :) thanks so much for the request! If I'm honest, I got a bit carried away with this one, it was sort of therapeutic to write this sort of comfort. I hope I did it justice!

Ominis Gaunt x gn!Reader/MC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Injuries (minor), guilt, self-destructive tendencies, overall just kinda heavy so watch out for that (but ends with some good fluff)

The sleeves of your robe brushed against your skin—even that light amount of pressure made you wince. But you pushed away the pain, instead focusing on the candle in front of you, blasting out a precise Confringo to just light the wick. The movement caused more brushing against your arms—it made the bruises in your side ache, too. That didn’t stop you from turning to the next candle, unleashing the spell once again.

Sebastian had been right about Confringo—it was a great spell. Wonderful for letting some of the fire inside out.

You knew you should leave the Undercroft soon, but the place had become a safe haven just like it was for the ones who showed it to you. Here, no one gave their condolences for Professor Figg. No one asked for more favors you simply couldn’t refuse. No one praised you for the destruction you had caused. It didn’t matter if all of it had resulted in saving Hogwarts, or the whole world, for that matter. Causing death and pain took a toll on one’s soul, even in self defense.

You sucked in a sharp breath as a twist of your arm pull a scratch the wrong way—you cursed quietly, not bothering to check if it was bleeding again or not. It didn’t matter to you.

To say you were avoiding people was an understatement. You took every opportunity to be alone you could find, skipping classes and meals, telling friends you had plans, running “errands” in the Highlands. You’d venture into the darker parts of the forest, daring any creature that stood in your way to challenge you. You always came out on top—but you always came home a bit more battered and scrapped up. You’d stopped taking potions or dressing your wounds. They didn’t matter to you. The pain didn’t matter. You couldn’t fix the destruction you’ve caused, why should you allow yourself the luxury of fixing yourself?

People had died for you. You didn’t deserve to feel whole.

There was the sound of clanging behind you—the unmistakable cacophony of someone entered the Undercroft. You lower your wand, glancing down quickly to make sure your cuts and scraps were covered. Looking up, you realized it didn’t matter either way as Ominis walked into the room.

He called out your name. “Are you in here?”

He held out his wand. There was no chance he didn’t sense you already. He was just doing you the service of allowing you to announce yourself.

“I’m here, Ominis,” you said.

“Merlin’s beard, it smells like fireworks in here,” he said, coming closer to you. You resisted your instinct to run—whether towards him or away from him, you didn’t know.

Truth was, of all the people you’d been avoiding, you’d missed him the most. He was the one you felt the most guilty lying to before slipping off. You felt like you were betraying the trust he put in you—something you should have honored, because Ominis Gaunt did not trust easily.

“I was just practicing Confringo a bit,” you said.

Ominis sighed, shaking his head. “I long for the day you and Sebastian tire of that spell.”

Silence hung in the air. You should talk to him. Ask how he’s been. Tell him how hopeless you felt. But that voice in the back of your head nagged you to run.

And just as you had at every turn leading up to this point, you listened.

“I should go,” you said. “I haven’t tended to my nifflers yet tonight, they’ll be angry at me.” You turned to leave, walking past him and towards the door.

“Wait a moment,” Ominis said. You stopped in your tracks. If it had been anyone else, you would have kept walking, but there was something about Ominis that made you want to stay. “I… you haven’t been acting yourself, lately. I’m… worried about you.”

You stayed frozen where you stood, pressing your lips together. He took a couple steps closer to you, hesitant, like you were a wild animal.

“Just… got a lot going on,” you said weakly. He was at your shoulder now. You had to escape. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

You took another step towards the door, but a hand wrapped around your wrist. You gasped as a sharp pain ran through you and you struggled to pull away, stopping when it only caused to sensation to worsen. Ominis’s hand trembled a bit, grip loosening, but not letting go.

“Wh-what was that? What happened?” There was panic in his voice. You didn’t want to hear it.

“Nothing,” you said, trying to catch your breath as the pain dulled again. “Nothing, Ominis, I’m fine, let me—“

But he stepped closer, dragging the sleeve of your robe up with his other hand, fingers tracing softly over the cuts and marks on your arm. His mouth dropped open and you tried with one final tug to free yourself from him, but he held fast.

He said your name softly. “What is this? Tell me.” It was was a demand, gentle but firm. It held a warning in the tone of it—don’t lie to me.

“I just... I needed to let off some steam, so I went to the Forbidden Forest to fight some spiders," you answered. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

Ominis sensed this immediately. "So why haven't you healed them yet?"

"Haven't gotten around to it." Your voice was hard, cold, daring him to push you further.

His hand traced up your arm once again, ghosting over the wounds. "Some of these are starting to heal on their own. They're days old--weeks, even."

"Leave it alone, Ominis," you spat back at him.

"I will not leave it alone!" he growled. "How could I not have noticed this? Is this why you've been avoiding everyone?"

"Well I couldn't bloody well go around looking like this, could I?" you said sarcastically.

"Why aren't you taking care of yourself?" Ominis asked, voice raising. "You know better than this, why would you--"

"Because I don't deserve it!" you shouted. Your voice ached with emotion as you continued, trembling. "After everything that's happened--how could I deserve to be well? People have died for me, and I let it happen. How could I let myself carry on after all the pain I've caused? You could never under--"

But you stopped yourself, staring at the hardness that had overtaken Ominis's features. Of course he understood. Perhaps he was the one person who could.

"I dare you to finish that sentence." His voice was low and even. It cut you like a knife.

"I-I'm sorry," you stuttered. The anger you felt only seconds ago had dissipated completely. "I wasn't thinking straight. I haven't been for some time now," you admitted.

"No, you bloody well haven't," Ominis said. He finally dropped your wrist, moving to place a hand to the small of your back as he led you to a crate to sit on. "If you had, maybe you would have come to someone who knows a thing or two about this sort of guilt."

He leaned forward, removing the robe from off your shoulders and down your arms before sitting beside you.

"I'm sorry," you said again, softer this time.

He let out a deep sigh, shoulders losing tension as the anger melted off of him. "You need to take care of yourself. Even when it doesn't feel like you should. Do you understand me?" His tone was gentle as held out his hand, face up. You placed your wrist in his palm.

"I-I know. It's just..." You trailed off, eyes closing to hold back tears. There weren't words to explain the tormented feeling twisting inside of you. But Ominis didn't push you to describe it--he knew it all to well already.

"You need to take some Wiggenweld. It's no use arguing--I know you have some with you."

You sighed but obeyed, digging through the pocket of your robes until you found one, uncorking the top and downing it. The sensation was familiar, even if you hadn't felt it in weeks; a slight tingle across your body, intensifying at the places where it healed wounds.

Ominis hummed softly, feeling some of the cuts and scraped vanish under his fingertips. "Some of these are a bit deeper. They'll take some time to heal on their own." He pulled out his wand, pointing it at your arm and saying "Ferula." You watched the bandages wrap around you as he moved to repeat the action on your other arm.

"Any more I should be concerned about?" he asked.

"No," you said honestly. "Those were the worst of them. I'm sure the rest of them were taken care of by the Wiggenweld."

Ominis nodded, sensing you were telling the truth. "I should really take you to Nurse Blainey. But... as long as you let me check on them, I'll be content."

"I suppose I can live with that," you said, offering a small smile.

He gave a huff, but you could tell it was a good natured one. "You better not get any new ones, or so help me I'll force Wiggenweld down your throat."

A true smile graced your face now. "Funny, I've missed your threats."

"If you hadn't been avoiding me, you wouldn't have anything to miss."

You didn't have a response to that. He was right, as he had been with many things that night. He shifted to face you more fully.

"I care about you, deeply. Perhaps... perhaps more deeply than I should." He paused after the admission. "But it doesn't matter to me if you share those feelings. What matters to me as that you take care of yourself, and allow others to help when you don't feel up to doing that task alone."

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He stiffened momentarily, surprised at your forward action. But then he relaxed, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "For what it's worth," you said softly. "I do share those feelings. I... I can't promise to be perfect with what you ask of me, at least not right away. But I won't push you away again. I can promise that."

He smiled softly, bringing your hand up to press and soft kiss on the back of it. Your heart fluttered at the gentleness of his lips--after weeks of hardening yourself to everything around you, you found yourself ready to start opening up again.

You leaned your head on Ominis's shoulder and let that night be the first step in the right direction.

[oxydiane]

i think naruto has genuinely, permanently ruined shipping for me because each time i see a pairing i’m like. ok you’re cute but would you shoulder the burden of his hatred and die with him? are you the sun to his moon? the yang to his yin? are you his one and only? are you his soulmate? are you willing to strip yourself of any pride and get on your knees to beg for his life to be spared? are you the one that completes him? are you the wind to his fire? did he feel warm and fuzzy while watching you as a child and considered it a weakness? were you each other’s first kiss? did you unravel his cold heart with said kiss? did he awaken his unhinged eye power to protect you? did he die and abandon the dream he was living for just so you could live on? does his body move on its own disregarding any logic when you’re in danger? is he willing to jump in knowing it was a trap to save you because you’re his precious person? are you each other’s most precious? did he unlock a new level of his crazy eye power when cutting his ties with you because he was writhing in pain over a lost love? did he try to kill you because you are his most important person? did parting from you feel like ripping off half of his own body to him? is he your driving force? were you chosen by fate? did he want to get rid of you because only then he could be truly alone? are you the only light in his darkness? are you the one that saved him from hatred? did he cry when you said you couldn’t explain your feelings for him and only said that when he hurt you hurt so much you couldn’t leave it alone? did he admit he also hurt when you hurt? did you keep an old token he had left next to your half alive body for years just to give it back to him as a token of your devotion and affection? did he say he’d hold onto it and give it back when things between you two were finally settled? did he compare what he feels for you to praying? did he say those feelings of his aren’t just about you two but there aren’t many people like you? does he look at you like you hung the stars? did you stay awake at night multiple times thinking about him and wondering if he was okay and thinking about you too? did you wish for him upon a shooting star? did he hug you and whisper in your ear during your reunion and purposefully make his attempt to kill you slow and drawn-out despite being perfectly able to do the job in seconds? did you curl up in a fetal position and cry your eyes out when he left again? did you have a panic attack that made you pass out when you found out your friends were out to kill him? does he know your heart well and you, his? can he read what is in your heart? how you truly feel? did you lose your arms to each other during your final battle of love and power? did he decide to stay alive for you and you only? did you say you’d rather remain a fool your entire life if being smart meant giving up on him? did you broadcast your feelings for him to the entire shinobi alliance? did a super smart villain who was targeting him say that they needed to keep you away from him because you were changing his heart, soul and goals? did you go insane when said villain called him his? did you openly reject two people because they said you needed to give up on him? does the author necessarily have to think of him when he thinks of you because you proceed as a pair and cannot be separated? did he disobey your teacher and try to feed you his lunch despite knowing that it would make them fail their exam and send them directly back to the academy which meant stalling and coming in the way of his revenge dream simply because you were hungry? does he go out of his way to make sure you don’t skip meals when you stay out training for too long? does he look at you so closely and attentively he could immediately tell somebody was an imposter because they didn’t have a scratch on their face and had a holster on the wrong leg? does he still remember what your lips tasted like after that one accidental kiss? can he get into your headspace and “begone, thot” your demons? if not we can’t do this

[achaotichuman]

*Hops down from the rooftop* What are your headcannon on Rhysand and Lucien fighting over Tamlin?

Also have a cookie 🍪🍪🍪

*Takes cookie and eats it, begins talking with my mouth full* Well I have quite a few headcanons on Rhysand and Lucien fighting over Tamlin, I'm so glad you asked about them. Here are the scenes I imagine.

When Lucien waltzed in alongside Tamlin to the High lord meeting, Rhysand initially thought nothing of it. So, the fox boy he had heard so much of had run off to Spring when his little lover was slaughtered. Of course, Tamlin, the bleeding heart, let him in and gave him a fancy title. Anything to save his broken ego. A stupid decision of course, letting in the disowned son of Autumn into the Court semi-new untrained High lord. But that was Tamlin, never thinking beyond whatever injured, pleading Fae laid at his feet.

Too kind, untrained, unknowing, untested. That would be killed soon enough, perhaps the fox would have something to do with it.

But Rhysand was quickly taken aback by just the sort of person Lucien Vanserra proved himself to be.

Tamlin had said something, adding to the conversation about trade between Summer and its neighboring Courts. Rhysand made a snickering comment he didn't care to remember, why would he? He made many snickering comments about Tamlin.

Then Lucien had looked him dead in the eyes, fire burning in his gaze, cracking in the air, he had murmured in a low tone, "Watch that forked tongue, Rhysand, we wouldn't want the new High lord of Night to be proven as a witless fool."

Rhysand's eye had twitched, but he smirked and drawled, "And what is the disowned Prince talking about? Surely you know better than to invoke a High lord's wrath, we do know what happened last time you tried that." Rhysand flicked his eyes pointedly to Beron.

Lucien had simply lounged back in his chair, "Would invoking your wrath lead for a more interesting subject of conversation? Every word that has so far come from your side of the meeting has been nothing more than bland. Though I suppose I shouldn't expect more from someone who wears the exact same jacket every day."

Rhysand blinked, and Tamlin snickered under his breath. That snicker, the look of mischief in the Spring Lords eyes when he turned to Lucien was what pushed Rhysand over the edge.

"I'll have you know; I do not wear the same jacket every day, little Lucien." Rhysand drawled.

"Ahh, so it is the latter option." Lucien looked at Tamlin and quirked an eyebrow, at which Tamlin had to bit down on his lip and look away from his emissary, lest he burst out laughing.

"Excuse me?" Rhysand said, confused.

Lucien then turned his sly fox eyes back to the Night Lord, "Well, Tamlin and I were just discussing on our journey here whether or not you wore the same jacket every day or had a wardrobe full of the exact same clothes. We both decided it was in the fact the latter that was more pathetic."

Every High lord had then pointedly looked at the floor or celling. No one meeting Rhysand's eyes.

That day a war was waged, and Rhysand swore he would win it.

***

Tamlin had always been receptive to Rhysand, always. Even before he considered them 'friends' the Springling was drawn to the realm of Night. Asking one to many probing questions at meetings, watching Rhysand and his circle at parties. Even following Illyrian warriors around at a distance when the Night and Spring armies had a brief few weeks of training with each other.

Even after their fallout, even after Rhysand couldn't look him in the eye and see his friend anymore. The Night Lord enjoyed toying with him. A conversation here, a whispered comment there, a torturous trailing of fingers along the collarbone or thigh would have Tamlin ready to fall to his knees. Whether to beg for forgiveness or beg in another... more sensual way, Rhysand would decide once he got him that point of desperation.

But Rhysand was never able to get him to that point. Because a certain red-headed bastard who had no right playing in territories that weren't his always managed to intervene.

Helion's father had thrown some gathering, of course Rhysand was invited. Everyone was invited, including Tamlin.

It hadn't taken long before Rhysand decided he wished to play. He snuck up behind the Spring Lord, whispered a few back-handed compliments and hidden insults about his reign. Along with the cutting words, his fingers danced on Tamlin's waist.

The Spring Lord had taken in deep breath, closing his eyes briefly as if praying to the Mother for strength. She would not answer his calls, she had gifted Rhysand with his powers after all, the Mother was yet another delightful worshipper of the ground the Nightling walked upon.

Rhysand finally whispered a cruel taunt in Tamlin's ear, something about his mother being a bitch-slave to her mate. Claws had shot through Tamlin's fingers but he couldn't lay a hand on Rhysand, lest he start a battle he would not win.

Rhysand then wrapped his hands around Tamlin's hips and slowly began to pull him away from the party, back into the shadows.

"Come play in the dark with me, won't you Tamlin?" Rhysand spoke softly in his ear. Tamlin nearly fell back into him, lulled into the false sense of safety that was the Night Court.

Then there were clicking footsteps. A shock of red hair appeared before them, and then Tamlin was being reeled away from Rhysand. The Night Lord stood shocked for a moment, then he saw the offender.

Lucien Vanserra grinned at Rhysand, only innocence in that beautiful face. But fire crackled in his eyes, a warning that had Rhysand stepping back and brushing himself off.

"Tamlin, I'm so thankful to have found you." Lucien said, turning back to his High lord, pointedly ignoring Rhysand.

"There are some esteemed courtiers that would love to meet your acquaintance, I have told them all about your ideas for installing a filter through-" Lucien wrapped a hand around Tamlin's waist, keeping him close, far, far too close for Rhysand's liking.

Rhysand cleared his throat, cutting Lucien off abruptly. He turned to face the Night Lord, his face still perfect and calm, but those eyes... Rhysand nearly shuddered.

The Night Lord straightened, "A pleasure to see you as well, Lord Lucien Vanserra."

Lucien looked him up and down slowly, then he looked over at Tamlin who was glancing between the two of them, looking at Rhysand like he wanted to cut his throat and the only thing stopping him was Lucien.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Rhysand. Now Tamlin, if you aren't preoccupied, I must take you to meet these guests."

With that Lucien swept Tamlin away into the ground, but not without a final glance over his shoulder at Rhysand.

Rhysand wanted to pounce, to run forward and drag Tamlin, drag his Tamlin back into the darkness.

Then the Night Lord nearly jumped when something like fire burned at the entrance of his mental wards. Nothing to suggest a daemati playing in his head, but some person with a great deal of power asking for an audience in his mind.

Rhysand allowed a small window to reach and speak to this unknown power.

"Don't ever touch him, Night Lord. Don't even come near him." Lucien whispered along the makeshift bridge between them.

"Or what Fire Lord?" Rhysand taunted.

"Or I will see to it your death is worse than that of your own sister's."

Rhysand stilled, he felt all the blood drain from his face as anger took hold but before he could latch onto Lucien's mind and make him pay for his words, the Fire Lord was gone.

Still when Rhysand looked around the party he saw them. Lucien and Tamlin together. Tamlin now happily enjoying the conversations he was having, no doubt forgetting about his earlier encounter with Rhysand.

But Lucien caught his eye. Lucien saw right through his diplomatic act.

Violet on burning embers.

Lucien grinned. It was full of fury and hatred.

Rhysand grinned back. It was laced with the promise of retribution.

***

"What is your problem?" Rhysand hissed, pulling Lucien aside and into the shadows, where they couldn't be seen or heard.

They were in Spring. Celebrations were under way for Calanmai. Tamlin's tenth Calanmai since taking to the throne. Rhysand loved to blend into the celebrations, appearing beside the Spring Lord when he least expected it.

Morrigan had asked he stay in his own court for this Calanmai, considering he never seemed to partake in the celebrations of Night. He didn't know why he had to, considering it wasn't as if Night took the holiday nearly as seriously as Spring, there was no 'renewal of the earth' in Night, if there was rest assured Rhysand would be there. As it were, he preferred to join in on Spring.

He preferred to fuck around with Tamlin's heard. He liked to set off the already on edge High lord. Liked to prove he had little control on his temper, which Rhysand already knew he tried hard to keep in check.

However, the last few years Lucien had landed a keen eye on Rhysand. Swooping in and intervening whenever Rhysand managed to rile Tamlin up almost to the point of attempting to strangle Rhysand.

At first it had been funny to watch Lucien intercept Rhysand's dealings with Tamlin, now it was getting old.

"My problem, Rhysand, is that you just can't get over your obsession with him." Lucien hissed back.

Rhysand let out a barking laugh, "Obsession?!"

"Yes," Lucien crossed his arms, "Why is it that you are all over Tamlin at any given opportunity? I first thought it was because of what went down between you that night, but now.... watching you try again and again to get your grimy hands onto him, it just looks like some creepy fetish you're chasing."

Rhysand balked. He let out a wild laugh, "Have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten exactly who you're speaking too?"

"I have not forgotten who you are at all. You are the creep who continues to try and prey on my best friend." Lucien said, eyes lighting up with that fire, "And I sincerely suggest you step away from him."

"If he doesn't want me around, why does he not send me away himself? Tell me Lucien, if he afraid of me?"

Lucien leaned back on his heels, looking Rhysand up and down like he was little more than a bug under his foot. Rhysand found his own anger starting to push to the surface.

"If you want to be picked by the High lord." Lucien said slowly, "Go line up with the other maidens by that cave and wait your turn."

Rhysand was stunned into silence. Lucien took the window too walk out of the darkness and back into the light of Spring.

"Oh, you're good Vanserra." Rhysand whispered to nothing, "But not better than me."

***

"I'll forgive you." Rhysand said.

Tamlin's green eyes welled up with tears, glistening in the moonlight, he could only manage a weak, "Really?"

No, never, "Yes. I'll forgive you, Tamlin Darling."

Rhysand reached out and took Tamlin's hand intertwining their fingers, the smell of roses from the gardens around them was sickeningly sweet, "I'll forgive it all."

"Rhysand." Tamlin whispered.

"Come back with me to Night, Tamlin, I've forgiven you." Rhysand whispered.

Oh, he was too easy. Tamlin gave him a smile that the Night Lord would've once said was brighter than any star in the sky. But as they were, Rhysand hated it and couldn't wait to ruin it.

He wouldn't lie, there had been a time Rhysand had truly loved him. Had admired and respected Tamlin. Had cleaned the wounds his brothers gave him, had sung soft songs in his ear in the language of his mother. They had held each other in the coldest, darkest nights. They had hidden under blankets during the fiercest storms.

He hadn't always wanted Tamlin's ruin.

But he wanted it now.

He wanted to sweep Tamlin away, pretending to take him back to Velaris. Then leave him in the Court of Nightmares to find his own way out, to find his own way back to the Spring Court.

He wanted to see him break again.

Tamlin stepped closer to Rhysand, hesitating, like it couldn't believe this was real.

"I forgive you." Rhysand whispered again. '

"No, he doesn't." A cunning voice cut through the dark of Spring night.

Tamlin and Rhysand looked up to see Lucien pacing leisurely towards them.

"Lucien-" Tamlin started.

Lucien cut him off, "He doesn't forgive you Tam. There's nothing to forgive."

The Fire Lord held Rhysand's gave with every lethal word he said, cutting through the trance Rhysand had carefully lulled Tamlin into with his sweet words and promises of forgiveness.

"You did nothing wrong. You were drugged against your will. You were kidnapped by your own flesh and blood and forced to watch this low life's sister and mother killed. There is nothing to forgive of you. You did nothing wrong."

"That is not true!" Rhysand snapped, finally and fully fed up with this fox's lies, "You weren't there, you have no clue of what went down! He is guilty of their deaths, and I won't have you coming along and trying to rewrite the narrative!"

Rhysand in a blast of anger had caused the very sky to darken. His eyes blazed with power as he surged towards Lucien, fully prepared to take his head off.

Then vines wrapped around his arms and legs, reeling him right back. Rhysand whipped his head around to see Tamlin standing there, staring into nothing but with his hand raised as he called on the power of the earth to hold Rhysand.

"He lied to you Tam." Lucien said, brushing past Rhysand in favor of standing before his High lord, "He'll never not hold you accountable for what happened, no matter what the truth actually is."

"You lied to me." Tamlin whispered in Rhysand's direction.

Rhysand barked a laugh, finally being released by those vines. He straightened and brushed his jacket off, "You're actually going to believe this little Autumn reject over someone you've known almost all your life?!"

Tamlin's eyes turned from blank to rage. He squeezed his hands into fists. At that second a gust of wind blew through nearly knocking Rhysand off his feet. Tamlin remained upright like a rock in a storm, holding onto Lucien to keep the fox steady.

Rhysand stared at their conjoined hands, wanting nothing more than to cut Lucien's off.

Tamlin's voice then rang through the gardens with the power of a High lord, "You have come into my Court, insulted my emissary, sewn discord and chaos amongst my people and to top it all off you have played with my head like I am just a toy to you."

Roots shot up out of the ground, all around Rhysand like a cage growing from the very land.

"You have five seconds to take off and never set foot in my territories without an explicit invitation ever again. And you will never dare speak an untrue word or lay a hand on my Lucien for as long as your miserable life continues."

Rhysand stared at Tamlin, stared at those glowing green eyes, alight with power. He was serious. He was actually banishing Rhysand from his Court.

"You-"

Those roots shot up faster, and Rhysand had no choice but to grit his teeth, extend his wings and take off into the night.

When he returned to the Night Court, he found Azriel in the threshold of the townhouse, his arms crossed and his eyes... disappointed.

"Come on Rhysand, time to give up."

Rhysand snarled and he strode past his brother, "Never."

***

When Rhysand was finally gone Tamlin fell to his knees. Those roots going back down into the ground. Lucien was done in the dirt beside him in a second.

Lucien put his hands on his friend's shoulders, "He's gone now, you're okay."

Tamlin opened and closed his mouth, looking at the place Rhysand had been and then back at Lucien.

Then he all but fell into Lucien's arms, hugging him tightly and burying his face into the crook of Lucien's neck. Lucien hummed softly and rubbed circles into his back, just being close to him.

"I'm such a fucking idiot." Tamlin spat, voice breaking.

"No, no you're not. You're hurting and he took advantage of that, Tamlin he manipulated you, you aren't at fault for that."

"Yes, I am, I'm a High lord, I should at least expect that from him."

Lucien sighed and started to rock gently from side to side, "Maybe, but I don't know how well I would fare if I was in your position."

"You're smarter than me, you would've figured it all out."

"Hindsight is 20/20 Tam. Rhysand is a snake; we just need to keep him out of our gardens."

A moment of silence passed them, one heartbeat, then the next.

"He'll be back." Tamlin whispered.

Lucien pulled back just enough so that he could see Tamlin's face, he pressed their foreheads together and murmured, "And I will stand by your side and fight him to any ends if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

Tamlin screwed his eyes shut, "I don't deserve you."

"I love you." Lucien just managed to say.

Tamlin finally opened his eyes again, "I don't deserve you."

When they kissed it was like sweet wine. Delicious like honey and sending them higher than the clouds. Everything in the world slowed to a halt. No Night Lords, no Inner Circle, no darkness could have torn them apart.

Rhysand would be back.

But Lucien would fight him. Tamlin would fight him.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much strength it drained them of.

They would fight.

I know this isn't really a list of headcanons but I couldn't resist writing these scenes. Thank you for the ask!

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,624 Words

Summary: Jigsaw is not happy the twins are alive. He does something about that to someone he

Warnings: Kidnapping, Eye Trauma, Trauma, Injury, Torture (mentioned), Caps, Cursing, Death (mentioned only), Permanent Injury, Partial Amnesia/Suppressed Memories, Assault (mentioned only, implied/referenced), Vomiting (non-graphic), Abuse (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

This Is Your New Home: Chapter 2

KC blew out a sigh from his vents. His fire had gone out again. Wonderful. The damned rain had made everything far too wet to keep it lit for long. KC moved and grabbed the lighter and drier wood, sitting the old wood that hadn’t been fully burned yet to the pile of wool to dry and be reused if he could.

Upon tossing in the lit firestarter, which was cotton and old newspaper doused with lighter fluid, the flame burst back up again. Thankfully, the rain had died down now. But, the second he lit the flame again, he saw a person vaguely like Sun. Perhaps Sun had gotten a new model?

“Ah, you visit me again?” KC asked Sun.

“Aw, you think I’m your Sun?” A different voice sprouted up. This wasn’t Sun, it sounded…off. He looked up to see it was a broken and ruined model frame of yes, Sun, but also Moon. Who in the hell was this?

“Who are you? How do you know Sun?” KC asked.

“Oh, you’ll find out.” The person told him. KC expected him to sit, explain he was a dimensional traveler Sun and Moon had saved from a horrible situation as he’d heard they’d done recently.

But the animatronic did no such thing. KC only felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and blacked out. KC woke up strapped to a table, what was this?

“Oh, you woke up! Wonderful! Amazing! My name is Jigsaw and your name is Paradox!” The same bot that had been there before he blacked out cooed at him. ‘Paradox’? Like hell was his name Paradox. His chosen name was Crescent, though he had yet to tell it to anyone but his children.

“Where am I?” KC growled.

“Oh, just getting one procedure done.” Jigsaw told him.

“I do not require a procedure!” KC snapped.

“Oh but you dooooo. You require one big procedure. You’re not functioning properly.” Jigsaw giggled and KC growled feeling pain.

“Don’t touch me!” KC snapped at him.

“Awww, you’re not behaving either.” Jigsaw cooed like he was simply a child, which only festered his rage.

“Let me out!” KC snapped.

“I have one little requirement to let you out.” Jigsaw chuckled.

“What!?” KC snapped.

“Beg.” Jigsaw simply said and KC gave a scream feeling his optic ripped from its socket.

KC powered on, oh thank god, he powered on. He couldn’t navigate, why couldn’t he navigate? Where was he? He felt his face and felt his optic sockets empty and ruined wires hanging from them. Right, he was ruined.

He felt cold flooring under him but it was rather soft. He felt the divots of the padding, the daycare? The padded daycare floor. He had passed out sometime after he had his spine broken in half and finally begging to be released. He’d given into that sociopath, dammit!

KC felt the floor and tried to find something familiar, where was he in the daycare? Not the ball pit, nor the garden-like area of the floor. He felt the security desk to his left.

He had been left on his brothers’ doorstep like trash. He was pathetic. A pathetic father, a pathetic brother, a pathetic existence. He used the security desk as a guide and pulled a chair to his liking, using it to hit the objects on the desk itself.

It created a successful toppling effect on the desk and, thankfully, one of the objects toppled had managed to hit the keyboard as he’d wanted and turned on the emergency alert system.

“WHO IS THAT!?” Moon yelled down.

“Me! KC!” KC called back.

“Why the emergency alert?” Moon called closer-by. He was using his fly wire down maybe? But Moon was in the daycare with him.

“Do you know someone named Jigsaw?” KC asked.

“Yes, why?” Moon’s voice got frustrated.

“He hasssszzzz aaaa…he haaaaa-hasssss a message.” His voice box began fizzling from the mixture of battery acid and bleach. Great.

“What!?” Moon asked closer.

“I kn-kn-know you hhhhhhave themmmmm.” KC growled silently as his voice box finally fizzled out.

“Oh my fucking god!” Moon exclaimed rounding the desk and KC took a few breaths. He couldn’t explain further, this couldn’t get worse.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck did he do to you!?” Moon roared, dropping down near him and getting him up into his arms, something rather easy for him given KC was smaller than him still in this body. He patted his throat to motion for his voice box being damaged.

“Fuck, I gotta fix you.” Moon growled with rage, pure unadulterated rage. He didn’t think he’d ever heard this Moon so angry.

“That demented fucker stole our little brother and tortured him.” He heard Moon tell someone. Sun maybe? Sun was the only other sibling he was younger than. Lunar was younger than him, Earth was hunter too. And his children…weren’t around.

KC blacked out again from the agony that was his spine prior to Jigsaw snapping it in two. He woke up still blind, he supposed Jigsaw had been telling the truth that he’d disable the feature in him permanently to sight.

He felt around and realized he was in Moon’s bed. With the lack of plushies or cats or excessive pillows, it had to be Moon’s bed of all his siblings.

“You’re awake. Thank fuck.” He heard Moon sigh with relief.

“We had been looking for you for a month, KC. You lost GPS signal a month ago.” Moon told him as he helped him sit up. Moon had thankfully fixed his spine, though the pressure of sitting on the new one hurt and ached.

“It’s been a month?” KC asked softly, holding and squeezing Moon’s hand at the pain in his back.

“You don’t remember?” Moon asked.

KC was about to respond but then it seemed like the dam broke. Yes, it had been a month. His mind had suppressed memories of what had happened to him. He suddenly remembered his pelvis being broken, ribs, knee joints, ankles, hips, all of which had happened before his spine was snapped.

Horror struck him. He’d forgotten? He felt nauseous and lurched forward. Moon’s hands on him quickly left and he had a trash can thrust into his hands just before he threw up, throat burning with bile he choked up.

He remembered why his memory was suppressed from the month. Jigsaw’s favorite method of torture toward him. It made him feel sick and dirty despite being in a repaired and likely spotless body, it even felt like a new body but it still felt dirty and exposed. But he still felt dirty enough he wanted to scratch off his casing.

“You don’t have to say why you threw up, I know. You must’ve suppressed your memories because of it.” Moon told him softly and he nodded in response. “KC, it’s not your fault.” Moon told him and he took in a shuddering breath to his engines, listening.

“You didn’t ask for this. You couldn’t have. What Jigsaw did to you isn’t your fault. You’re not anything he told you you are, you didn’t deserve this, you are not a mistake.” KC sniffled a little at Moon’s words.

“I…Thank you.” KC simply agreed. It wasn’t his fault, he’d only trusted Jigsaw thinking he was a traveler sent by Moon.

“I have something that could perk you up a little. It’s not like, therapy or anything, but it might make you a little happier. Or cry. Probably cry.” Moon rambled mostly to himself.

“What is it?” KC asked.

“Let me lead you? I’ll bet you’re still not used to walking around blind.” Moon asked.

“I’m not. You can.” KC agreed and Moon gently helped him to his feet, setting the trash bin back where it was likely to be cleaned later. Moon led him what he thought was the main balcony room, given he got led through a tunnel.

“Zodiac, Horoscope, this is KC. The one I told you about.” Moon introduced. “KC, this is Zodiac and Horoscope. Your sons.” KC looked toward Moon with disbelief. Moon made him two kids?

“Dad!” KC’s new but still unseeing eyes went wide. That was Blood Moon’s voice. Moon remade Blood Moon? KC suddenly got hugged by a smaller bot, a foot shorter than him. And it felt so nice to be hugged by who he assumed was his Blood Moon.

“That one’s Zodiac, the other is Horoscope.”

“Dad?” Harvest Moon’s voice. Horoscope. His name was Horoscope now. KC felt tears building up.

“You remade them?” KC asked, voice nearly breaking with his tears as Horoscope came to hug him as well with his twin.

“I didn’t. Jigsaw made them. It’s hard to say, but he made them, abused them, and then sent them here for me to kill. But I couldn’t do it. They’re my nephews and they didn’t deserve me to kill them when they were beaten and abused. I couldn’t do that. Lunar helped rename them. So the older twin is Zodiac and the younger is Horoscope.” Moon proudly told him.

KC immediately descended into tears, hugging his twins close, his babies.

“Oh, and this one. Solar, he can’t see you, say something.” Moon told someone.

“Parade me around like a show dog, why don’t you?” ‘Solar’ scoffed. Eclipse! His oldest son’s voice.

“Go hug your damn dad!” Moon seemingly pushed Solar because Solar ended up stumbling into KC’s arms. He had his three sons.

Not the originals, he couldn’t have them back, they existed in his memories now. But he had these three, these wonderful new sons and he choked back a sob as he hugged them as close as he possibly could, fearing they’d disappear if he didn’t.

[needfantasticstories]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience

[TW: torture, injury, brainwashing spell, Ghirahim being himself]

Thicker than Blood

(Obedience)

“My patience grows thin. You will do exactly as I say, Skychild. Do you understand?”

Sky said nothing. Ghirahim’s demand was so ridiculous it deserved no response. He was too tired to answer even if he’d wanted to. Resisting the incessant whispering in his head took all his remaining strength, having exhausted himself earlier struggling—in vain—to pull free of the chains that pinned his arms around the heavy wood post behind him. Now, he could barely keep his head up.  

“Oh, my Skychild,” Ghirahim cooed, toying with the hair at Sky’s temple. Sharp fingers brushed against his bruised cheek, so cold they burned, but Sky did not flinch. “You will do as I ask, or your beloved people will die. I will make you watch as I bring them here to kill them, one by one, just to see your face as their blood pools here at your feet. Oh, how nice it will be to hear that lovely voice of yours again, begging me to stop.”

Sky tensed, searching the demon’s eyes for any sign of a bluff. He found nothing but sincerity. Sky could not stop the pained noise that left his throat then. He let his head drop.   

“Do you think I have not noticed the new settlements in Faron and the Lanayru Mines? Do you honestly believe I will let them continue living there if you refuse?” He cupped Sky’s cheek in his palm to lift his face up. Blackened fingertips curled and dug into his bruised skin and dragged across in a swift motion, slicing thin lines. Sky jerked his head aside far too late. His mind was sluggish, his body heavy. Blood dripped hot and thick over cold skin. He’d felt nothing but cold dungeon air for… he didn’t know how long it had been. Days? Weeks? He’d passed out so often from pain and fatigue that he’d lost track.  

Sky turned back and glared up at him. What a lie. Ghirahim would kill them simply because he wanted to. 

Ghirahim smirked, and rested his hand on Sky’s throat. “You will find the Hero of Ages, you will befriend him, and then you will kill him.”

Ghirahim snapped, and an ornate purple vial appeared in his hands. He held the liquid up to catch the distant torchlight. The contents glimmered as the liquid within swirled with unnatural lightness and motion. It seemed to be alive, writhing inside the glass. He snapped again and it disappeared.

For the first time in days, Sky spoke. His voice was hoarse, and it burned to talk. “You think I’d ever be able to face my people then? If I killed the hero who saved Skyloft from you? I won’t—”

Crack! Sky could not finish as the demon crushed his throat. He felt a pulse like a fire shoot through his entire body, and then nothing. 

Warm, tart liquid pooled in his mouth, dribbling down his chin. A healing potion.. . The hand was resting once again on his throat, and gone was the pain of his neck breaking. Sky struggled to recall what had happened as he looked up to see Ghirahim’s leering face. 

Oh . He remembered. That’s right. Days ago, he said I’d wish to die… he might have been right. 

“Do you know how many Hylian soldiers I have slaughtered in the past day alone? 87, to be precise. I wounded another 14 so severely I am approximately 92.6 percent certain they must have died from their wounds within...that is, ah—” He cleared his throat and took a sudden interest in the empty potion bottle. “Raiding their medical supplies has proven a doubly profitable strategy, which of course was my idea.” Ghirahim threw the empty potion bottle aside, glass shattering on the tile floor. Sky winced. It sounded so like the chimes Ghirahim made whenever he appeared: a sound that grew more terrifying every day. 

“Would you let all of them die to save one arrogant, selfish man?”

Sky looked down. It wasn’t a choice at all. Ghirahim could leave them alone. He was the one to blame. Not this hero from another era who had replaced him—NO! He couldn't let the demon’s view skew his own! He would not give himself up to the whispers in his mind that stirred up dark fears: replaced, tricked, cast aside, forgotten, used .

It was all lies. He'd been tricked and manipulated and pulled along by powers greater than himself before, some that he loathed and others he had loved and trusted. He would make his own choices now. 

The whispers grew louder as Ghirahim hummed a short tune, drumming on Sky’s neck with his fingers. Replaced, tricked, cast aside, forgotten, used . It only eased when the demon spoke at last.  

“The battle of Skyloft was his fault. Did you know that, my soft boy? It was his fault. He could have prevented it.” He drummed his fingers on Sky’s neck again. “Those monsters would never have reached your home if he’d simply done as Cia requested. But no, he was selfish, and your houses burned to ashes. See what happens when naughty children refuse to listen? People die. And who is to blame?”

Replaced, tricked, cast aside, forgotten, so tired, so hungry, so alone.. . The suggestions whispered in his mind again, trying to seize control. They urged him to slip into a cloud of thoughtless release, to surrender to the demon’s will. 

Sky took strength in his own silence. 

“So, you will find the Hero of Ages, befriend him, and on a quiet night or in a chaotic battle, you will kill him. You won’t be alone. I have men waiting, ready to aid you and make sure you succeed. All you have to do is let me into your mind, just a little will do. 

“And consider this…” Ghirahim leaned closer and murmured, “If you do well, then when it is over and I see it is done, you can walk away, live your life in freedom. I won't follow.” 

Sky drew a steadying breath. The whisper felt so assuring, like a quiet and shaded room after a fierce battle. He wanted to believe it. But the nagging thoughts, the shoving and the pushing force of them rankled him. If Ghirahim wanted it so badly, he must not get it.  

The fog in his mind began to clear and the whispers grew faint. 

What good was freedom in exchange for the murder of his brother-soul? It didn’t deserve a second thought. 

In the Knight’s Academy, they had many traditions and customs that other citizens often followed but not always with the same zeal. One tradition that spanned the entire archipelago, however, held that dropping anything over the edge of an island was lazy and rude—a sign of weak character. The risk of loss or injury always proved far too high. Worst still was to spit over the edge. He’d watched Groose learn this when Gaepora caught him in the act, dragged him by the ear to the loftwing caves, and scolded him the entire way. Zelda reported he’d had to muck the caves for an hour. It was an insult to society, to Hylia’s knights, and to the spirit of what made Skyloft beautiful and peaceful. 

Sky rolled his head up, looked into Ghirahim’s eyes, and spat at his feet.  

Daggers appeared and floated like a dark halo around the madly grinning demon. “Oh you foolish skychild. You’re going to regret that.”

[iluvzuko]

Jazmine Dragon

So I wanna set a little background first: 

→ I do not own any of ATLA’s characters nor story, I just own my own characters and the thoughts on my mind, ofc I do not own all of you hot babes <3 I just wanted to write something that hopefully helped all of your hearts that love Zuko just as mine; some events are not exactly as portrayed on the show but ofc I had to shake things up as we need to get ourselves on the storyline, but I´mma try to make it the most organic as possible; any suggestions are accepted 

→ Yes, there are going to be some nsfw chapters, but in all of them are going to be warnings so that no one under 18 reads them, also in those chapters all characters involved are going to be +18 yo <3 

→ AAAAAND that's all, hope you all enjoy and hold on tight because this is a long story, if you don't like long storylines I’m sorry but this is more like a low heat cooking rather than a burning flame; I was not going to publish this, but I thought that maybe some of y’all may like it (or not), and even if no one reads this it is a good exercise as to not lose this story and remember it on the future. 

Our story begins waaaaaay back, before Katara and Sokka found Aang on that giant iceberg. 

Y/n L/n 

→ Waterbender (some extra ‘cos we deserve it: healing, bloodbending) 

→ Beautiful as you are baby, your beauty is a weapon <3 

Mom

→ Waterbender from the North Pole tribe (some extra spice: healing) 

→ Daughter of Pakku and Kanna (yes, gran gran herself haha, I had to adjust some family trees in order to make a more interesting story) 

Dad (here is were the trouble begins) 

→ Firebender, one of Ozai’s best generals (c’mon, we know where this is going, gotta add more drama) (extra: nothing, he’s already cool enough) 

“Zuko, the banished prince, even when he was born he couldn't fulfill his father’s expectations on what a prince should look like, afraid of him not being a firebender, born without the fire nation spark on his eyes his father tried to kill him when he was born, and he could have gotten away with it if not for his mother that begged for his life… But not everything was bad, he also used to play with his uncle and cousin, as well as with his mother Ursa, his sister Azula and his father Ozai on Ember Island; once when he was about 3yo, Zuko saw a hawk that was about to attack a turtlecrab, he tried to save the small animal but soon realized that by saving him he condemned the hawk to starvation, he was confused as to what to do but before he could make his mind on this, a wave hoovered over him, his father saved him and he spend the rest of the day coughing water and on his mother arms”

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Meanwhile on the North Pole (*on your birth day, happy birthday Yn/Ln!) 

Mom: What? What is it? Let me see her! *she said with pure happiness tears rolling down her eyes 

Midfive: She’s a little girl *said with a soft tone on her voice while handing the baby to her mother 

Mom: *grabs the baby in her arms with love and care* She’s beautiful… Look at her…

Dad: *stands by his wife and looks down to see the baby* 

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Her dad thought that Y/n was going to be a great firebender…he certainly hoped so. When he fell for a water nation girl back in his youth and took her to the fire nation to marry her, he was scared as to what would happen if they had a child, he even told her that he never wanted to have kids of his own, that they could always adopt a little boy or girl from the colonies of the fire nation…but it finally happened, she got pregnant and even when he was scared, the joy was simply overwhelming. He didn't care if the baby turned out to be a waterbender or a firebender, or none (well, he preferred firebender or none), he sweard that he was going to protect that child with his life even… but as everything, it is easier said than done, and now here he stands, looking at a little baby girl with eyes as blue as the deep sea…definitely a child of the watertribe, he stands there looking at those pretty orbs that were so painfully beautiful, eyes that were going to see how the entire nation turns their back on her because of her origins, because of her roots… a girl that would even be noble on the water tribe of the north, but here, here she would be a problem.. 

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[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 2 Overworked, insomnia, exhaustion

TW/CW: Stress positions, faux gentleness, forced to beg, intimate/creepy whumper, cracking defiance, isolation, sleep deprivation Words: 2'423

Adam rubs his hands over his face. He was getting frustrated with Lyra. Sure she got scared, but she didn’t budge. Not even an inch. “So much energy should be illegal.”, he groaned to himself. And then he had an idea.

---

“Good morning, Thýma!”, Adam said cheerfully as he entered the pool area.

Lyra who was awoken by his goddamn loud glee, pushed herself up into a sitting position. Then she stopped short as her brain realised the nickname. That’s not good. That nickname means pain. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.” She says and yawns.

“I had some stuff I had to take care of.”, he grins.

“Plans to make because you were at your limit?”, Lyra asks innocently but with a shit eating grin.

Adam just chuckled darkly. He went to the edge of the pool, once there he brought his hands fourth, holding long heavy metal chains.

Lyra stared at the chains in his hands, she couldn’t do anything about whatever he was doing right now she decided. So she simply laid back down, head to the side to keep an eye on him. Couldn’t harm to get a few minutes more rest.

Adam chuckled when he saw her lay back down. His plan was looking good. He stood at the edge of the pool and aimed. It took him a few attempts but eventually he got the hook over one of the ceiling bars and down to the pool.

Lyra had watched him and as soon as the hooked chain came down into the basin her face hardened. That’s gonna suck. Adam now jumped into the pool and Lyra was sure he made a point to land extra loudly. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

“Hey, Thyma, do you want to help me build this together?", Adam suddenly asked.

She rolled her eyes before she grumbled an answer: “I don’t know who you’re talking about but I’m the only other person here, so I’ll answer. Is that an order or a question?”

 “A question.”, Adam sighed. “But if you don’t have enough strength don’t exhaust yourself.”

Lyra hissed. “I never said that.” With those word she got up and walked over to him. Mentally she detached herself from the situation and tried her best to switch to ‘special-interest-mode’. Once there she yanked the end of the chain more down to her.

Adam grinned. He loved how gullible she often was. He handed her a piece of rope and together with her help they knotted it around the hook. Lyra stepped back as Adam inspected the knots and pulled experimentally on them. When he was sure it wouldn’t give he turned around to Lyra. Lyra who was inspecting him closely. He smirked.

“A stress position. Really?”

“Mmh, that’s part of the process, yes.”, Adam hummed.

“Oh? Do enlighten me, what’s the rest of the process?”

“And ruin the surprise? No, no, no. That’s no fun.”, Adam replied. Then his demeaner changed, the glee left his face and his voice dropped as he spoke again: “Now come here.”

“Don’t feel like it.”, Lyra shot back in a pressed voice.

“Well to your luck it doesn’t matter what you want. Not in here. Here it only matters what I want. So come here before I force you and you go through even more pain.”

Lyra laughed out loud at that. “Do you still not get it?! I will never. never make it easy for you!” Adam let go of the leftover rope and charged towards her. She made a jump back and pulled her arms up. Simultaneously for protection and attack. Two primal instincts clashing. She managed to hold him off for a few minutes, landing one or two good punches and scratches but eventually Adam got a hold of her. Blood was slowly dripping from a scratch on her temple. He dragged her to the hooked chain and started tying her wrists above her head.

Lyra didn’t fight back anymore. She still had fire in her but right now that wouldn’t help. She’d rather save it.

When she was safely typed up Adam climbed out of the basin and went to the railing he fixed the chain on.

Lyra still a bit dazzled from a few punches to her head tried to think straight as she was suddenly yanked up. For one terrifying second her feet lost touch with the floor and her shoulders roared up in pain. Then she could blessedly feel the tiny tiles of the pool floor again. Standing on her tiptoes, with her arms stretched and pulled upwards by the chain she gritted her teeth, gaze finally locking onto Adam standing up on the edge of the pool. He was smirking down at her, of course he was, he always is, bastard!

“You will stay here for a while, and if you’ve had enough, you just let me know. I have this-pulls out a tiny walkie-taky-shaped thing out of a bag-baby phone so you can always contact me if you feel like it. I will also regularly check in with you, to make it easier for you. Don’t worry.”

“Do you even hear yourself!?”, Lyra asked enraged. Trying to ignore the blood still dripping down her face.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Ugh…Well I hope you have time then. I won’t budge.”

“Yeah sure.”, Adam replied sarcastically. Then he turned around and left the swim hall.”

“Oh by the way Adam!”, Lyra called after him.

He stopped in his tracks, but only turned back his head. His captives’ face was dead serious. “Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”, she stated.

Adam just glared grimly and left.

---

Lyra was starting to hear the air shift. At least that’s what she believed by now. She had long given up on counting the ticks of the clock. Especially since Adam had checked in one or twice only to completely disorient her on how much time had passed. Lyra exhaled forcefully and unclenched her jaw. With that gone the pain in her whole body seemed to intensify by a thousand. Just ignore it, come on, as always, you have a high pain tolerance. Can’t give him the satisfaction.

At that thought she heard a crackling from that damn baby-phone. She turned her head towards it, rolling her eyes. “Speak of the devil.”

“Aww, were you thinking about me?”, Adam’s gleeful voice sounded through the device.

“Only about how I’m gonna kill you.”

“You seem kinda tense, you wanna lay down and take a short break or something?”

Lyra just hissed at him and looked away.

“Alright, have it your way, Ballerina.” And with that the crackling died, leaving Lyra alone with the pain she so sought to ignore.

For the next few minutes-hours-who knows she tried to remember every little thing about every topic she ever enjoyed learning. But the cramps were making it harder and harder to focus. So often her train of thought got derailed and she had to bite her teeth together and hold out the new wave of pain until she got back control.

---

After she couldn’t think of any more lore to that one cartoon she saw a long while ago her mind blanked. There was no more distraction material left. And to Lyra’s horror a chocked sound between a whimper and a groan escaped from deep in her throat. Her head, that had long fallen down, the blood long dried, snapped up, her eyes locking on to the baby-phone.

“Oh yes. I heard that”, Adam’s triumphant voice answered the panic flaring up in her.

“You didn’t hear shit!”, Lyra yelled back but it again sounded chocked. She only heard Adam chuckle as a response and the crackling died again.

After a few moments the curtain was moved to the side, gently, and Adam appeared. He sat down at the edge of the pool and then swung himself into the basin.

Lyra watched him approach, there wasn’t much more she could do. Once he was close to her she mustered up enough salvia to spit on the tiles right before her ex-friend.

Adam raised his eyebrows, looked like he wanted to comment something but then apparently decided against it. Instead he raised his arm and gently cupped the girl’s cheek. When she spasmed away he put his second hand on the other side of her face. Careful not to open the wound again, not now anyway. “Come on, you must be in horrid pain.”, he said gently, “If you come down now you won’t suffer from that bad of an afterpain. And we can relax a bit. What would you say to Ramen and Harry Potter? You can even choose which one.”

Lyra’s face was first filled with a burning fire of hatred and pride, later there was a scent of grief mixed into it.

“Unfortunately I have to decline. Asshole.”, she spit out. Even if less fire-y than before.

“Okay”, Adam moved his left hand to stroke her hair as he talked, “just know, if you change your mind you can always let me know.”

Lyra scoffed, held her head up high, even if the muscles were trembling and grinned at him. “Get it silly boy, this won’t work.”

“Oh Lyra…It already is.” And with that he gave her a little swing that drew an involuntary wince and left.

---

Lyra had been repeating her own rules over and over. Back and forth and left to right. She couldn’t fail. Not again. But her brain got slower and slower until at some point she started falling asleep. And eventually her consciousness slipped away completely. Her dreams only brough slight relief though as they were filled with running, falling, lights and shadow figures. Right when she thought she escaped the shadow figures she got awoken by sharp pain exploding in her body. A scream ripped from her throat with eyes flying open. Looking directly at Adam’s sadistic joy.

He removed the taser from her torso and her body fell down again. She hadn’t even noticed that it convulsed but now her arms were in even more pain from the harsh movements. With effort she held back tears as she looked at Adam.

“That. Was beautiful Darling!”

Lyra just stared at him, for a moment taken off guard by the absolute twisted joy painted into her opposite’s mimic.

Adam’s drank in her heavy breathing for another second then he in a matter of seconds calmed down and shifted his expression to one more gentle and caring. “It’s not sleepy time yet, dear”

Lyra bit back her rage at him, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. And since she couldn’t muster up any other reaction that rage she simply ignored him.

Adams sighed, stepped back, and started walking back. When he turned around he mumbled, just about audible for Lyra: “You’re gonna harm yourself more than me.”

---

This had gone on forever. She was hanging here, when she fell asleep he was quick to come and taser her awake again. Her stomach was empty and hurting, her throat had been forcefully given the bare minimum of hydration by Adam. The silence screaming in her ears and exhaustion settling deep in her. She was so exhausted. Every time she made a mistake, every time she even if only slightly gave into Adam’s charade she made a point to double her game the next time. But she was getting fucking tired. Even now she was nearly asleep again, even if she was scared of getting shocked again. But she just didn’t have the strength. Her head jerked up with the new shock but this one was over as soon as it started. Her body dropped and fire erupted in her numbed arms. By now they felt like they were internally bleeding.

Adam helped her lift her head and looked at her.

Since he wasn’t saying anything Lyra took the word: “How…How long…?”

“How long what, Lyra?”, Adam asked gently.

“How…long have I…b-been here?”

“Nine days.”

Nine days. Nine. That’s enough, right? I made my point, right? Nine days is pretty good. I can still do better next time. I just need a break. It’s not giving up, right? I’m not…breaking. “Let me down…Please…”

Adam’s muscles were working overtime to hide how overjoyed he was. “I would love to. But you need to ask me the right way.”

A tiny whimper escaped Lyra’s throat and her gaze drifted off. When she looked back at Adam it was with pleading eyes. As that did nothing, she took a shuddering breath and spoke again: “Please…Please Adam. Let me down, I can’t anymore. Please…”

Adam stroked her sweaty hair. “One more thing, then I will let you down and make you feel better. Just one more thing, come on.”, he nudged her.

A single tear rolled over Lyra’s cheek as she whispered: “Let me down, please, I’m begging you.”

Adam wiped away the tear on her cheek, pulled out a knife and cut her arms free of the rope. She surely would have crumbled together on the floor if he hadn’t put his arm around her waist. “Careful now, careful.” He warned her.

-Lyra knew she hated this, and him but she was so tired. So just for now…-

“Otherwise it’ll hurt too much. Carefully he lowered her to the ground until she was sitting. Then he very slowly helped her lower her arms and held her as she silently cried and shook in pain.

When her fingers finally touched the ground again and the pain was back to normal she was ready to just pass out.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Lyra.”, Adam intervened, “Let’s first get you somewhere more comfortable. Then you can get some sleep, and afterwards let’s get some soup and a movie, hm.”

Lyra only managed a nod but still, against her will, her eyes fell closed and she didn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore.

Adam sighed, then wiggled his arms under Lyra’s arms and legs and picked her up. With her in his arms he climbed out of the basin and walked behind the curtain of the boy’s changing rooms and showers. There he makes some space on the mattresses he has spread out on the floor and lays Lyra on them. Then he threw the blanket over her and turned off the lights. He left the room to make soup and to in peace feel his triumph.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @ailesswhumptober

[gaytotaldrama]

duncney week day 5: movie scene

court is elizabeth swann. dunc is will turner. 'nuff said.

duncney song of the day: 'hounds of love,' kate bush

also on my ao3!

There was a time when Courtney Reyes was afraid of the ocean.

Ironic, for the daughter of the governor of an island port, but her mother had been lost at sea when Courtney was only seven. The thought of the mammoth waves, the unfathomable deep, the vicious pirates - it all terrified her. When she was forced to travel by ship, she would cling to the rigging for dear life, knuckles whitening even in the calmest of waters. Her father would look on and sigh, but what could he do?

At thirteen, Courtney wised up. With a good slap or two to the face and a very stern talking to herself, her fear of the water vanished practically overnight. If anything, she now yearned to explore the ocean, sail around it with a ship and a crew of her own.

But young ladies weren't pirates. They couldn't even be sea captains. Courtney would marry a rich man - most likely, Captain Justin - and birth him many, many children. And that would be that, she knew, as she'd known all her life.

Until she found the boy in the water, and the golden chain around his neck, and the secrets that came with it. Until they hauled a nearly-drowned Duncan Russo aboard their ship, and his blue eyes flew open with a gasp and a cough, and Courtney grasped his hand, tightly, and told him he was safe now, and the ink-dark ghost of the dreaded Black Pearl sailed away as softly as a whisper.

Silent as a shadow.

It's her wedding day today.

She is anything but happy about it.

After finally getting to sail the high seas (though mostly at swordpoint from a group of undead pirates) and have a crew of her own, after surviving the Ship of Hell and her first sea battle and being marooned on a rum-soaked island with the most infuriating buccaneer known to history, it had all slipped away from her. She'd had it, and then she'd lost it, back to the port life, back to the corsets and parasols and upstanding Commodores. The only reason Duncan isn't being hanged for piracy is because Courtney had literally begged on her hands and knees for her father to show mercy to the man who'd saved her life more times than she could count.

And today, she is marrying the Commodore. Who - supposedly - loves her. For her eyes. For her smile. The freckles on the bridge of her nose.

All Courtney sees when she looks in her mirror is the face of a coward, pale and peaky and unhappy.

"That Commodore Justin is simply gorgeous," gushes her maid Sadie as she pulls the laces on Courtney's corset tighter than a vice. "Pardon my saying so, ma'am, but I wish I were the one marrying him!"

Courtney smiles, forces a laugh. Inside, she's thinking, Me too.

An outdoor wedding - damn the Caribbean climate, dictating every ceremony be performed outside. It's humid. She's already begun to sweat beneath her underarms. But, she supposes, a chapel would be far too stuffy.

She keeps imagining that he'll come for her. Leave the blacksmithing behind and sweep her off her feet at the last moment, commandeer a ship and sail them out of here. But the guards will be on the lookout for him, Courtney knows. She may have spared him from death, but his offenses (of which there are many) have not been overlooked. 

Her father beams proudly, offering his arm. The music plays. At the end of the courtyard, there he stands, skin perfect, medals gleaming on his chest. The walk down the aisle isn't short, but it feels even longer now, slow-going like she's being led through molasses. Anything, Courtney prays, as the eyes of every nobleman and lady on the island follow her queasy bridal procession. A hurricane, cannon-fire, the return of the skeletal crew of the Black Pearl, so long as it will save me from a housewife's existence.

It's almost like she blinks, and she's there, up at the altar, the Commodore lifting her veil to smile his too-even smile at her. The priest is beginning the ceremony, but Courtney can't hear a word. She's trapped, frozen in time. Somewhere nearby, she thinks she hears a parrot's squawk.

"Ms. Reyes?"

Oh, God, Justin's already said his vows and now it's my turn. "Yes, Father. Sorry, Father."

"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, under the eyes of the Lord in Heaven, faithful and true so long as you both shall live?"

Courtney swallows. This is it, then. "I - I d - "

Then, quite a few things happen all at once. The parrot swoops down and flaps its wings in the priest's face, causing the old man to splutter and flail. The shouts of soldiers sound from the parapets, confused and alarmed. Someone, somewhere in the crowd, screams bloody murder. And from out of nowhere, a man appears, wrenches Courtney behind him, and draws his sword. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt the ceremony," says Duncan, brandishing his weapon. "But I can't let this go on."

"Cutting it kind of close, don't you think?" Courtney mutters, but God, she's never felt more relieved.

"What - What is - " Justin pulls his own sword from his belt, waving it about foppishly. "You keep away from my wife, Russo!"

"She's not your wife yet." Duncan glances over his shoulder at her, blue eyes sparkling. "Princess? What do you say?"

Courtney straightens her spine. She looks to her father. To the sea of faces in front of her. To the Commodore.

Finally, she looks toward the back, where the parrot lights on DJ's shoulder, the rest of the crew standing ready behind him.

"Commodore Justin," she says, loudly, so everyone can hear. "You have been...You have been good to me."

She steps forward, slipping her hand into Duncan's. "But I won't deny myself my happiness any longer."

"You - !" Justin fumes. "You can't be serious! With a respectable man, I would understand, but him? He's nothing but a bloody blacksmith!"

"No," Courtney says, and she looks at him. "He's a pirate."

"Governor Reyes, do something!" Justin demands. Courtney's father blanches, clears his throat. And asks,

"So...This is where your heart truly lies?"

She holds her chin high. "Yes."

"Then..." Her father swallows, lips twisted in a cross between a grimace and a smile. "Then I suppose I give you my blessing."

"Governor - "

"I won't hear another word, Commodore," he says, and Courtney's chest soars.

She turns to the man beside her. "What's your plan of action, then?"

Duncan grins. Jerks his head in the direction of the harbor. "What do you think, Princess?"

"How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that?" she asks, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"Once more, darling," he tells her, that same look in his eyes from way back when, when he'd awoken to Courtney standing above him on the deck. "One more time."

She kisses him, instead, irritated and wanting, for the first time in almost a decade of knowing one another. As his arms wrap around her and he lifts her into the air, she tastes the sea.

[astyrial]

memories to be held minho x newt (angst) prompt: it's always been you word count: 1.1k warnings: mental decline, just general angst, body gore? masterlist | requests are open written for minewt weekend @minewtweek part 1

    dust kicks up into the air, particles floating around minho. his eyes peer around the dilapidated city. buildings that once must've housed families, lovers, friends. with a bite of his lip, minho quickly picks up his pace to meet with thomas, jorge, and brenda again. the thought of looking another begging crank in the eyes slowly starts to become too much. 

  their decaying skin, the slight limps that remind him a little too much of newt, slips of the tongue as they ask him to save them. tears mist the corners of his eyes but can't seem to come to the surface. minho shakes his head for a second, trying to focus on their destination rather than their journey. 

  "how much longer?" minho questions, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. his fingernails dig into his palms as his heart beats a little faster. 

  one of the guards turns back to look at him, "it's just down this road, and if you don't make it out of there alive, don't blame it on us kid."

  a scowl rests on minho's face, a clear expression representing his resentment for the guards. for the people who even thought to take away newt in the first place. not even thomas' words of encouragement or wisdom can even begin to pull him from the destructive thoughts that creep along. 

  minho slows down so that he falls in line with brenda and thomas. the bowling alley grows into view, a sign on its side rests in top of the building. a fear builds within him that newt is so far gone he won't even recognize them. that he told them to get lost because he simply didn't remember them. that he didn't remember minho. 

  "we warned you," the guard says once more before thomas enters the alley first, brenda and jorge following suit, minho entering last. 

  a stench fills minho's lungs, one that smells both familiar and reminds him just what environment he has put himself in. but all forgoes his mind when he sees some blonde hair in the distance. the fire nearby illuminating the side of his head. it's newt, it has to be newt is all that minho can possibly think. 

  "i told you bloody shanks to get lost!" 

  minho's face instantly falls, any hope that remains quickly diminishes to a point. "we need to talk to you newt, i- please," he looks around for a second, biting his lip as if it would magically make newt communicate with him.  he takes a few steps towards newt, bodies scattered around the floor. some are still clinging onto life, their bodies decaying. toes, fingers, ears, all missing. either from other cranks or from the disease finally overcoming their bodies.

  "don't come any closer, those thugs brought me here for a reason! said they were doing their civic duty when they brought me here. figured they didn't want to spread this brain eating disease!" newt turns to look at the group, a launcher clenched within his hands. 

  his eyes, full of malice, yet still sane, land on minho. for a second the runner thinks he could get through to newt, that maybe there's a chance that all of this could be changed. but instead he shakes his head, a slight satisfaction in his voice as he speaks again, "i got this from a guard that made me.. what's the word? oh yeah, unhappy!”

  "i'm not well," newt's eyes widen a little as he realized he yelled at minho, the only person who ever got him, "honestly, i appreciate you bloody shanks coming around for me. i do mean it. but this is where it ends. this is where you go back to the berg and you fly out of here. this place isn't meant for you, you gotta understand."

  thomas goes to say something, to counteract the self loathing that newt seems to be constantly consumed with. however, minho cuts him off, a sense of chaos and frustration boiling inside, "newt, i don't understand! we risked our lives to save you, i risked my life to save you. you're our friend! you're my friend and if you're going to go crazy, you're going to do it with us, not them!"

  newt lists the launcher up, taking a small step back. it rests comfortably in his hand, like he's done this a million times. the blaster faces minho's eyes. and it seems that if newt really wanted to, he could hit him right on the bridge of his nose.

  "i am a crank, minho! i'm a crank! why can't you get that through your bloody head? if you had the flare you sure as hell wouldn't want your... friends seeing you devolve into some bloodthirsty monster!" newt's speaking quickly evolved to that of a shout, his body shaking with every word.

  instead of saying anything back, minho simply held his mouth open, surprised. newt had been passionate before, he's had more than enough arguments with minho. but to shout and yell at him as though he's nothing? it sent a shock through his body that made him utterly speechless. 

  newt, upon seeing minho's softened expression, softens his own. his jaw relaxes, the launcher moving in his hand until it's pointing towards the ground. "i'm sorry.. you guys just need to go. i can't do this, i just can't do this with you..." newt's eyes don't leave minho's, "guys, i can't do this with all of you."

  no one else could've noticed it but the sentence was pointed towards minho. towards the boy who introduced him to the glade, albeit he didn't even know what it was either. towards the one that made more than enough memories to last a lifetime with him. 

  hearing newt speak this to him causes him to break his silence, "…we could still make a lot of memories together."

  "no, minho, you guys need to get out of here. just leave before anyone gets hurt, wicked could find you guys here. please leave, before i do anything i regret," newt's softness quickly leaves him, a deep regret and anger within his tone. 

  minho leans his head back, finally understanding that despite everything they've been through together, everything they've been to each other is gone. it's gone to the flare, it's gone to wicked, it's gone to every obstacle that the two of them initially overcame. the two of them had always been together... how could it come to an end so quickly?

  the teen took a few steps back, letting thomas say what he wants to newt. maybe he feels a pull to say something else and convince newt somehow. but in his heart he knows that newt's as stubborn as they come. as he follows thomas, brenda, and jorge out, he looks back once more. 

  to his surprise, newt's staring back. his eyes wide, some could say it's because of the flare. however, minho yearns for the idea that it's always been them and it always will be.

[foundtherightwords]

Love in a Mist - Chapter 2

Pairing: Hellcheer Regency AU or Regency!Eddie Munson x OFC (for more info, see A/N of Chapter 1)

Summary: Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

Series Warnings: sloooooow burn (it's a fucking novel, I'm sorry), angst, suicide attempt, mentions of domestic abuse, some smut in later chapters. Also, my deepest apologies to the people of Yorkshire for the accent and any other details I might have butchered.

Chapter Warnings: some implied smut.

Chapter word count: 3.1k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The cab dropped Christine off at an alley in Covent Garden. The feeble light from the streetlamps could barely penetrate its depth, but Christine had known the way by heart. She carefully stepped through the empty crates and barrels to the back door of the tavern. A secret knock gained her entrance, and, skipping up the stairs, she was soon in the warm room where Joshua was waiting for her.

Christine threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed her back with a hunger even more savage than usual, and his ravishing left her sore and exhausted. Afterward, however, he seemed distracted. He left her in bed and went to stand by the fireplace, looking at the flames with brooding eyes.

"Come back to bed, my love. It's cold," Christine said. Joshua turned toward her. Something on his face made her heart drop. "What is it?"

"I've talked to my father," he said.

His voice sounded miserable. It couldn't be good news. "About us?"

"No." Joshua turned away again, seemingly unable to look at her. "You know I turn twenty-one next month. Yesterday my father sat me down and laid out our finances to me. It appears that we are ruined. When I reach my majority, my inheritance will be nothing but a mountain of debts."

Christine sat up. It was as if she was back in the ballroom and Joshua's words came to her through the hubbub of voices and music, because she could not understand what he was saying. "What does that mean?" finally she asked.

"It means we cannot marry."

Gathering the sheets about her, Christine jumped out of bed, ran to Joshua, and hugged him. "But darling, I care nothing about money! I would be happy to live on fifty pounds a year if we could be together..."

"You're not listening!" Joshua covered his face, his hands gripping his hair. "If it were just me, I would marry you here and now. But it's my family. My mother, my brothers and sisters... I cannot leave them destitute."

Christine could see how distraught he was. She drew him to a chair in front of the fire and sat down with him, rubbing his back. "What are we going to do?"

"We?" Joshua's voice was hollow. "There is no 'we'. This is something I must do on my own." He finally lifted his head to look at her, his eyes blazing. "I must give you up."

The night watchman's cry went up from the street below, ringing loud in the deafening silence of the room. Despite the roaring fire, Christine felt an iciness spreading all over her body, starting from her heart and blossoming until it engulfed her, like the frost on a windowpane. Don't beg. He won't love you more if you degrade yourself. Yet she heard herself saying, "Please, Joshua..."

He pulled her to him, showering her with desperate kisses. "Oh my darling, I will always, always, always love you. Please know that. But we simply cannot marry. To save my family, I must marry a fortune."

And there it was. That word. That hated word, which sooner or later would pass through the lips of those young men pretending to court her. Oh, they were never so vulgar as to state directly that her lack of fortune was the reason. It was always their lack of fortune that they used as an excuse. I fear I don't have the fortune to give you the life you deserve. I fear my fortune does not permit me to take a wife. I fear the differences in our fortunes are too great. And it turned out Joshua was just like them.

She pushed him away and picked up her clothes. Joshua tried to hold on to her hand, to plead with her, but she said nothing, only grimly went on with the task of putting on her clothes. Finally, as she put her cloak on, Joshua knelt down between her and the door. "Please, my darling Christine, please try to understand..."

"But I do." She had to keep her words short, or else she would falter and crumble. "I do understand you completely." She pulled on the ring he had given her, yanking both ring and chain clean from her neck, and threw it at him.

Then, pulling up the hood of her cloak, she swept from the room before he could see the tears streaming down her face.

***

Christine ran down the stairs, out of the alley, and into the street without thinking of where she was going. She only had to get out of that room with its stale and suffocating warmth, to breathe in some cold, fresh air, hoping it would stop the pain squeezing at her heart.

She had trusted Joshua with her whole life, and he had betrayed that trust. No, he didn't, a small, cruelly calm voice said at the back of her mind. He never asked you to give yourself to him. You did that of your own volition. As far as the world is concerned, he made you no promise. Anger at Joshua now turned into anger at herself, for falling so stupidly, so blindly, in love. Her mother was right. She had no thought for the future. She had been so giddy with her conquest, with defying her mother (how shocked she would be when she learns her daughter has managed to snatch a duke!), that she hadn't thought about how she was compromising herself.

And he had no choice. His family was ruined. She had heard enough tales of the old Duke, Joshua's father, and his disastrous turns at the gambling table to know it was the truth. She also knew that if she had insisted to Joshua that they married, he would have complied, out of a sense of honor. But that would ruin them both, and he would grow to resent her for it. If she truly loved him, she would let him go. And now her heart was breaking again, for it had finally sunk in that she had truly lost him.

At this realization, a loud sob escaped her, and she had to stop. She rested her hand on a slimy brick wall and tried to catch her breath. It was then that she realized she had no idea where she was. In her frantic attempt to get as far away from Joshua as possible, she must have run past the spot where the cab usually parked and had now taken so many blind turns that she was completely lost in the maze of Covent Garden.

Her heartache was temporarily forgotten in the face of this new horror. At first she thought the streets empty, it being far too late for revelers to be out but still early enough for them to not be on their way home yet. But now she was aware of all sorts of mumbling, shuffling noises and lurking movements out of the corner of her eyes. She couldn't tell if they were human or animal, and that made them all the more horrible.

She spied a brighter street ahead and turned down it, hoping to find a busier thoroughfare where she could hail a cab. But this was no better. The street was crowded, yes, but it was the wrong kind of crowd. Alehouses lined the street, and the lamps shone their baleful yellow light down on drunks and prostitutes, who were conducting their business out in the open. Christine could feel their eyes staring hungrily after her. She pulled the cloak tighter around her body and quickened her steps, not knowing where they were taking her.

A drunk stumbled out of a pub and fell on all fours in front of her. He opened his mouth to leer at her, but a jet of vomit came out instead. Christine jumped back in disgust and collided with someone just behind her. She let out a stifled scream.

To her surprise, the other person quickly said, "A thousand apologies, ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you." She was even more surprised to realize she knew the voice. She whirled around and found herself looking into the eyes of Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield.

In her astonishment, she let the hood of her cloak, which she was gripping with both hands, fall down, and saw her shock mirrored in his face as he recognized her as well.

"Miss Conyngham?" he said. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

"I... I may ask you the same thing," Christine replied. Munson looked embarrassed, and she became aware of her blunder. Of course. A man would only come to Covent Garden for one thing, regardless of whether he was a baron or a builder.

But Munson's embarrassment might come from a different source. She noticed he was trying to conceal a stack of papers in his overcoat. One of them fluttered out. She caught it before it fell to the ground. It was a handbill. She held it under the light for better scrutiny, and saw that it did not advertise a play or a concert or even a whorehouse, as usually found in these streets. Instead, it said, "A DISCUSSION OF MRS. WOLLSTONECRAFT'S A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. LEARN HOW TO BETTER YOUR LIFE AND BE TREATED AS MEN'S EQUALS. 3 O'CLOCK SUNDAY AT THE DUCHESS THEATRE." And underneath, in smaller print: "Free of charge. Refreshments provided."

Christine looked up at Munson. If her shock was great before, she was flabbergasted now. "You're preaching women's rights to the ladies of Covent Garden?" she whispered.

Munson's face was bright red even under the yellow lamplight. "Not me, specifically. I'm merely helping to distribute them for a group of reform-minded ladies who nevertheless cannot be seen out at night in a place like this," he said, snatching the bill back. "Speaking of which, this really is no place for a lady such as yourself."

His words reminded Christine of her predicament. She suddenly felt weak. Seeing her sway, Munson reached out and held her elbow before she collapsed to the ground. He peered into her tear-streaked face. "Are you injured?"

Christine shook her head. "I'm... lost." And she was. In every sense of the word.

"Come. Let's sit down somewhere warm."

Still holding on to her elbow, keeping close enough to support her but not too close, he guided her away from the raucous crowd and toward an alehouse at the quieter end of the street. An anchor is nailed above the door in place of the usual horseshoe, and the Jolly Roger grinned at her from the sign swinging above the door, which proclaimed the alehouse to be "The Hideout". The nautical theme reminded her of Brighton and brought fresh tears to her eyes. Munson saw her wavering at the door and mistook her hesitation for trepidation.

"They're very discreet here," he said. "We'll be safe. I promise."

His simple words and strong voice reassured her, and she followed him inside. There were a handful of patrons, mostly men and even some women, and Christine could tell from a glance at they were more genteel than the crowd outside. They sat in groups of three or four, quietly conversing over their ale or bent over books and pamphlets. No one paid attention to them. It wasn't her first time in such a place, but it was a far cry from the boisterous tavern that housed her secret love nest. No. She must not think of Joshua again, the way he pleaded with her, his face as she threw the ring at him...

Munson found them a table by the fire and came back with two cups, one of which he pressed into Christine's hand. "Drink this," he said. "It'll warm you up."

"Are you trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?" Christine said with a bleak laugh.

Munson raised an eyebrow at that, but only said, "It's coffee. There's tea if you prefer, but they don't make very good tea here."

"How about something stronger?"

"With respect, Miss Conyngham, I think you should stick to coffee for now." He took a seat opposite her and drank from his own cup.

Chagrined, Christine took a sip. It was coffee, very thick and sweet. It cleared some of the fog from her head, though the pain in her heart lingered.

"So how often do you distribute radical handbills in the West End?" she asked, trying to make conversation.

"Only on the rare occasion when I'm in town. And I'm no radical. I'm just trying to help."

"You should print the notice about the refreshments larger," she said drily. "That will attract a bigger audience."

"I suppose you think me an idealistic fool?" Munson said. The trace of Yorkshire accent was back in his voice, and Christine realized the cruelty of her jab.

"No, I'm sorry. I think it's very brave and kind of you," she said honestly. Then she added, almost to herself, "If anyone was an idealistic fool here, it would be me."

She could feel his inquisitive eyes on her, but he was too much of a gentleman to ask what she meant. Suddenly she felt the urge to pour out her heart to him. She had known him only for an evening, but somehow she felt safe with him. Perhaps a man who distributed handbills about women's rights to prostitutes would not judge her too harshly.

"Are you a gambling man, Lord Hurstfield?" she asked.

"No. I despise gambling." The harshness in his voice surprised Christine, but she decided it wasn't directed at her.

"Then you won't understand my predicament."

"Try me."

"I've gambled my future happiness, and lost."

A moment's silence, then, "What did you gamble on?"

"A man, what else?" Christine tried to laugh, and burst into tears. No matter how discreet the Hideout's patrons were, their attention was caught by that, and several heads turned toward her. Munson moved his chair closer to shield her from the probing eyes and offered her a handkerchief, crumpled but clean. Christine gratefully took it.

"Did... did he... hurt you?" he asked softly.

Christine understood what he meant. "Not physically, no. But I'm ruined just the same." Debutantes did not have long to find husbands. Most managed to do so within a year of being out, or two at the most. Christine didn't know anyone who had been out for three years. By that point, people would question why it took this certain young lady so long to find a match. There must be something wrong with her family, her fortune, or herself. By this unspoken rule, Christine herself was well on her way to spinsterhood. Oh, she was sure that if her mother could somehow wangle an invitation to a country house party somewhere, she may catch the eyes of a clergyman or even a squire, but to her mother, that would be a positive decline in society, and she would never hear the end of it.

Munson was quiet for a long time. Lifting her head, Christine saw that he was looking at the fire, unwittingly echoing the same pose Joshua had when he said those horrible words to her, though Munson wasn't brooding. Instead, he merely seemed thoughtful. At last, he turned and looked at her with those inscrutable dark eyes.

"Miss Conyngham, I believe I may have a solution to your problem," he said.

"My problem?"

"You've put your trust in a man, and he has disappointed you. Now your future is uncertain. I can help you with that. I cannot promise you happiness, because that's for each person to decide, but I can promise you security."

It took a while for Christine, in her confusion and distress, to understand what he was saying.

"Are you proposing to... marry me, Lord Hurstfield?" she asked.

"Yes."

"But... why?"

"I must admit, my motivations aren't entirely altruistic." For the first time, Munson appeared slightly uncomfortable. He drained his coffee and kept fidgeting with the empty cup, avoiding Christine's eyes. "You see, my late father left me nothing but debts." Again, the eerie similarities between his and Joshua's words made Christine flinch, but Munson didn't seem to notice. "By a stroke of luck, a distant relative, a great aunt, has bequeathed me a sum, enough for me to pay off these debts. However, her will stipulates that I can only inherit if I'm married and produce an heir. She herself was childless, you see, and she wanted to ensure her legacy." He added, as if to apologize, "The Munson family is known for our eccentricity, but I'm afraid this great aunt had that in abundance."

A million thoughts raced through Christine's mind. She took another sip of coffee so she could think more clearly. Here was a man who wanted to marry her, who did not care about her lack of a fortune or family connection. But she barely knew him... His mention of the Munson's eccentricity brought to her mind what her mother had said about his father's reputation. What about Munson himself?

"I must tell you, I'm not a rich man," Munson said. "This inheritance is just enough to pay off my father's debts, no more. I have a small estate, in a small village, with only farmers around. You'll probably find life very dull there..."

"No, no," Christine quickly said. "It is of no importance to me."

"I do not ask you to love me," he continued. "You knew my thought on that already. All I ask is that you are honest with me, and I shall be honest with you in return."

Christine stared. She had expected him to ask for her obedience, her devotion, or at least her loyalty. Either he was a very strange man indeed, or he was lying to convince her. Though if he was lying, she couldn't see why he didn't lie to make himself more appealing.

"There's no need to give me your answer now," Munson said, getting up. "It's late, and you've had a trying night. Please, take more time to think about it. I'm in town until the end of the week. Once you've made your decision, you can send words to me in Portland Square."

So his family had a terrible reputation. So he lived in what sounded like the middle of nowhere. So he was argumentative and didn't know how to behave in polite society. Her mother may disapprove of him, but surely she would not protest too much, when he was a baron. And to Christine, he had been nothing but kind. Other marriages had been built on far less favorable grounds...

"I don't need more time," she said. "I'll marry you, Lord Hurstfield."

Chapter 3

[not-a-space-alien]

Savage Sunset Chapter 10S

Let's see what Lex is up to in chapter 10 :) (hint: she's also not having a good time)

Story masterpost

Complementary chapter

Little reminder...my stories gotta have a happy ending, it's the entire reason why it's fun for the characters to get dragged through the mud for me. so dont worry :)

Content/Content warnings for this chapter: Aftermath of torture, starvation, heavy emotional distress, mind control, whump of a female character, blood blood BLOOD, unsanitary/vomit, brief eye whump

Ari was only lying in the coffin for about ten minutes before she heard footsteps upstairs.  She craned her neck to see Nick at the top of the stairs, a stupid grin plastered on his face.  “Well, well, I bet now you’re happy that I didn’t listen when you tried to chase me off.”

“I’m never happy to see your ugly mug,” Ari said.

Nick came down the stairs.  “You could at least try being nice to me.”

“Just let me out.  The key is on the table.”

“The vampire left the key, how thoughtful.”  He picked up the key.  “Maybe I will, if you apologize to me.”

“For what?”

“For threatening me.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Don’t you want to save your girlfriend?”

“I will, as soon as you let me out.”

Nick frowned.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to work.  Nick had the power; that meant Ari was supposed to grovel, the way his vampire toy did.  He’d never met anyone so utterly impervious to bullying.

Ari stared at him with hard eyes.  He relented and came over, unlocking the coffin.  She sprung out of it, getting up and immediately starting to rifle through Nick’s supplies.

“I see you destroyed all my hard work,” said Nick, seeing the pile of molten goo in the furnace.

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s some stuff left, though.”  She made a face as she dug in a box and stumbled upon a whip.

“Ah,” said Nick.  “Well, maybe we can scrounge up some supplies…If we want to do some real vampire hunting, though, we can simply forge some of our weapons again.”

“Hm?”

He smiled.  “We won’t have time for anything complicated though, like padding or steel coatings.  Just simple silver.”

***

The ride there was long and awkward.

Lex was tense the whole time, fully expecting him to at any moment have her pull over so he could feed.  He was obviously starving, and when she saw the flash of fangs in his mouth, there was also drool pooling in the corner, like a well-trained dog sitting at attention in front of a juicy steak.  Maybe he just didn’t want to affect her ability to drive, since he was clearly in no state to do it himself.

They went deeper and deeper into the night, away from salvation.  Lex tried to cry, but it felt like her emotions had been locked behind bars.

As long as Ari was out there, she had a shot, had hope. Ari would move heaven and earth to get her back. Ari would walk through the fires of hell to save her. Ari would gnaw through the metal cage to get out if that's what it took. She was willing and more importantly, she would figure out a way and not just sit there crying and feeling overwhelmed like Lex might.

Ari had already done it once before. Teenage Ari had simply driven her father's pickup truck straight into vampire territory to retrieve her, against all odds, and come out successful, somehow. Adult Ari could handle this. Adult Ari would crash through the door soon with fire in her eyes.

It was the only thing that was keeping Lex from having a total breakdown.  She was suddenly 18 again, snatched up by vampires and taken lightyears away from her home, in the middle of the night, crying and begging for them not to hurt her, which had only earned her scornful laughter.

Of course we’re going to hurt you, girl, that’s what you’re here for.

She looked at the vampire in the passenger’s seat out of the corner of her eye, tense panic pooling in her stomach, building.  She knew exactly what he was going to do to her once he had her where he wanted her, in his lair, in safety.

He licked his dry lips, eyes bouncing to her and back.  And then:

“For the record,” he croaked, “I never killed anyone.”

Sure, maybe not directly.  But he was with the blood farms, here to snatch up helpless people like her, to cause years of nightmares and anxiety in the case of someone like Lex, who was the best case scenario.  He’d personally ferried hundreds or maybe even thousands of people to their untimely ends.

Of which Lex was the latest in line.  Her hands shook on the steering wheel.  The persuasion made it an uphill battle to do anything he hadn’t commanded her to do.  She wanted to cry, but it was stuck inside of her.

The irony of the sudden reversal of their situations wasn’t lost on her.

His bony hand suddenly reached out and turned on the radio.  The squeal of the emergency broadcast system came out.  There was a V alert on the radio, which meant someone had called in and reported a vampire had been spotted somewhere in the county.

Had Ari already gotten out and sounded the alarm?  Normally this would be accompanied by chatter from a CB radio with details to coordinate movements in the field, but it was turned off right now and he showed no inclination to turn it on, if he even knew it was there.

He said nothing and, with shaking hands, turned the radio back off.

Time crawled by in silence, but eventually the sun started to come up.  They were still on the road, not to his safety yet.  Maybe this could be her salvation.

He let out a terrified moan and crawled over the seat into the cargo space in the back of the van.  Lex glanced in the rear view mirror, but caught no sight of him.  He must have been taking cover away from the windows.

Finally, when they were truly out in the middle of nowhere, Lex found her hands pulling the van into the driveway of the house they’d pulled Valen out of.  The one car out front–presumably Valen’s car, since it didn’t appear to have moved an inch since her first visit–was missing its tires, up on four cinder blocks.  The front passenger’s seat window was also smashed in.

The vampire behind her scrabbled to get upright, to peek out.  Lex caught a glimpse of him in the rear view before a stray patch of sunlight reflected onto his face.

Lex nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound he made.  It was an earth-shattering, preternatural screech no human would ever be able to make.  He immediately dropped down out of sight once again.

Her ears were still ringing a few moments later, but she heard faint whimpering, followed by the next round of persuasion:  “You will–  You will go–go inside–into the house and–and you will–go into–the closet–and find–and bring to me my cloak–and boots–and–enough to cover myself.”

Here we go.  Dread built up inside her again.  As soon as he managed to get her inside the house, it was coming.  The thing she’d had nightmares about for years.

Her feet moved mechanically to get her up onto the porch.  The front door wasn’t locked.  The lights were all off–the electricity must have been shut off long ago when no one had been paying the bills.  The broken kitchen window had been boarded up–by who?  A neighbor?

She checked the first floor closet and found a cloak and boots, but nothing else.  She went upstairs and found pants and shirts.  She did not find that getting further away from him would let her break the persuasion, somehow.

She bundled up her finds and brought them outside, walking harmlessly through the sunlight and throwing the van doors open.  The vampire scrambled backwards in terror as though she weren’t literally his slave at the moment.

She clambered into the cargo space and dropped the clothes next to him, waiting for the next command.  She stood perfectly still like a coat rack as Valen shakily stood, pulling his pants on painfully slowly, one hand on her for balance.  He stepped into the boots, kneeling to try and tie them and failing miserably.  He did not make Lex do it.  His torso disappeared last, a t-shirt swallowing his breasts, followed by the cloak coming over his whole body and being cinched tight.   “You will–you will escort me into the house.”

She helped keep him upright as they crossed the lawn.  She could feel him shivering with fear.

Why are you scared.  Why are YOU scared.  I’M the one who’s about to be drained of my blood.

Every step towards the house increased her anxiety.  This was it, she had managed to escape being a vampire’s snack all those years ago, only to fall back into it now.  If he didn’t kill her, it would probably only be because he wanted to keep her as a thrall for the rest of her life.

She was having flashbacks, trudging through the muck to get her brain not to freeze in the way it had when she’d been narrowly rescued from the blood farms.  But this was so much worse.  Being taken hostage by the nobility who kept humans like pets would be so, so much worse.

They came into the shelter of the house.  Safety for him, a death knell for her.  She expected him to fall on her and start tearing into her throat then and there.

He shut the door.  “Close all the blinds.”

They were mostly already shut, but she walked around and pulled the blinds, drew the curtains.  Her feet padded from shag carpet to tile as she finished up in the kitchen, finding herself compelled to draw the shade over the broken, boarded-up window despite the lack of sun.

He hovered in the dining room, lurking, looking like he was making a decision.  Where to bite me?  Where to dump my body when he’s done?

He walked unsurely into the kitchen, ignoring Lex and going straight for the fridge.

The fridge.  The fridge that had been full of blood when they’d been here last.  Besides the fact that the electricity was off, and the fridge surely hadn’t preserved it in the intervening months…What was so special about that blood that he would rather have it, old and spoiled, than feed from Lex?

He leaned forward to stick his head in the fridge, then jerked back at the smell.  Lex nearly gagged when it hit her nose as well.  She couldn’t see into the fridge.  She was thankful for that.

His face dropped into despair.  Why aren’t you feeding from me?  What are you waiting for?

“F-follow me,” he stammered.  “Help me–help me down the stairs.”

Ah, downstairs, into the murder basement.  Of course he would rather do it down there.

She supported him as he wheezed and chugged down the stairs, clearly grinding against the limit of his physical endurance.  Lex saw a blur of motion in the dimness, and he gave a shriek, stumbling backwards into her arms.

Based on the pittering feet, it’d been a rodent of some kind.  Of course.  The house was abandoned.

Lex couldn’t see very well, but the basement was mostly as she remembered: a laboratory bench of some kind, glass bottles and bins everywhere.  She could see their outlines in the dim light.

He let go of her, staggering over and nearly falling, catching himself but knocking over some of the glassware and shattering it.

Was he going to clear it off and have her lie down on it to feed from her?

But no, he didn’t clear it off.  He started tinkering with the supplies there, lighting a flame and then extinguishing it, desperately scrabbling for bottles that turned out to be empty, letting things fall to the floor in despair when they turned out to be insufficient.

He clung to the workbench and leaned over, head down, crying pitifully.

This was the point at which she realized.  Realized what he was doing.

The frantic, hungry quality of his motions.  The fact that half the glassware was still crusted with red.  The output nozzle positioned so perfectly above a glass jar, identical to the ones in the fridge.  He was trying to make something to eat.  This setup that had so baffled them, it was for synthesizing blood.  

The blood in the fridge wasn’t actually blood.  There had never been any human captives because he’d made the blood from scratch.  Some of Lex’s off the wall guesses about him had been correct.  She’d never heard of such a thing, never would have thought she would have been right.

He wasn’t biting her because he didn’t want to.  He was looking for some other way to feed his starving body, and was despairing because it wasn’t working.

He’d been telling the whole truth about never having killed anyone.  His family name was that of the blood farm owners, but he himself…?

Who are you, Valen Kithrara?

It seemed absurd, impossible, but what other explanation was there?  She could think of nothing else that so neatly encapsulated all the evidence she’d seen so far.  And she probably wouldn’t have believed it, unless she’d pieced it together herself.

Had they somehow managed to find the one vampire out of the whole population who was inclined to be nonviolent?

Her stomach dropped out from under her.  Had they somehow managed to find that one vampire and…given him to Nick?

Her overwhelming terror gave out under the weight of the guilt.  She’d been trying so hard to make herself believe he’d deserved it, and he hadn’t even deserved it.

She’d managed to find one vampire who was actually trying to be a good person, and just utterly crushed that out of him.  She’d forked him over straight into months of brutal torture.

Yet he still didn’t want to feed from her.  That was the kind of person she’d so completely torn apart, someone who would look the person responsible for his torment in the eye and still try to find a way to help himself that didn’t involve hurting her.

She’d held something so incredibly rare and valuable in her hands, oblivious, and had destroyed it.

Could she still save that side of him?  Could she appeal to it to save herself?

He got up, knocking more things off the counter, and snarled at Lex, tearful face twisted up.  “You will help me up the stairs.”

What is he going to do now?  The looming panic about being fed upon was still there, but now there was crashing terror about the possibility that he wanted revenge.  And weighty guilt about what a rare thing she might have thrown away.

She supported him up the stairs, now reading into every little motion of his, every wheezing breath and shaking step.

She helped him back up, trailing off as he staggered back into the kitchen, ripping the door of the fridge open again.  She was behind him this time, and saw the bottles of rotten, congealed blood, with mats of mold floating in them.

She stood catatonic and watched him, unable to decide what to do, unable to think of any way to solve this huge nightmare the both of them were in.  Not knowing what she could say even if she wanted to fight through the fog to say it.  Still processing the implications of what she was seeing: a vampire desperately looking for an alternative to feeding on a human, as though it were unthinkable.

He knocked bottles out of the fridge, shoving them to the side, heedless of how they cracked and rolled away.  He took out one that looked like it didn’t have any mold, holding it up to the light and looking at it like a man drowning.

Don’t…please don’t drink that.

He tilted his head back and upended the bottle into his mouth, clumsily spilling half the thing on himself, the thick, rotting fluid dripping down his neck and onto his clothes.  He immediately gagged, spitting it back up, throwing it to the ground.

He sat there on his hands and knees among the glass and dark, lifeless liquid around him, heaving with desperation, a vampire painted with blood and still starving.  Water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

Why don't you want to feed from me?  Why do you care this much?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he slowly raised his head, looking at her with fresh, hungry, appraising eyes.

She caught a sob in her throat.  Please.  Please, don’t hurt me.

He scrambled to his feet, his face and arms and torso absolutely drenched with blood, a terrifying, ghostly image, a skeleton approaching her with vicious intent.  “Kn-kneel down.”

Lex did so.  Please don’t, please please don’t hurt me.  There was something inside of him that wanted to be good, that didn’t want to be cruel, she knew it now.  Was it too late to appeal to that?  Or had that already been completely crushed out of him?

I know I made this monster, but please.  You’re just doing this because you’re starved and terrified.  You aren’t too far gone.  It’s not too late.  She tried to open her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Lex whimpered and averted her eyes as he came closer, kneeling, the stench now overwhelming.  He fell onto her, smearing bloody handprints down her top, smearing rotten liquid on her thighs with his own.

He lowered his head into the crook of her neck.  A disgusting, slick hand came up and took a handful of hair, tilting her head, opening her neck.  She could feel his breath and his too-cold lips.  It was surprisingly tender.

His body trembled with sobs, and she felt a gentle kiss on her neck.  Just one, a shocking, miserable action, an act of yearning for gentleness when none could be found.

She slowly brought her hands up behind him, onto his back, hovering there as though she wanted to return the embrace, to hug him.  Maybe she should say something.

Please just stay here.  Just stay right here.  Just cry right there, and when Ari gets here, I’ll explain everything to her.  You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but you can.  We’ll be gentle with you, we’ll help you.  I see you now.  I see– 

Her eyes widened as she felt the softness disappear, the sharp bite on her neck, the two points sinking in and releasing blood.  She felt the warm, wet drip down her neck.

She felt his tongue lapping at her broken skin, his breaths getting heavier and more intense.  She tried weakly to pull away, but his grip had suddenly become iron-tight, hand in her hair keeping her bent that way, other hand on her shoulder, pinned underneath his legs.

No, no, this can’t be happening.  I’m not food, I’m a person, you know that, you see it, please, please– 

She cried out at the pain when he bit down a second time, making a bigger wound, opening the firehose of blood even more, slurping it like a drowning man.

She heard the sound of his throat swallowing right in her ear, again and again and again.  He wasn’t stopping.  Blood dripped down her shoulder, soaking her shirt.  He’d released so much of it that he couldn’t even drink it all, and yet he still ravaged her neck for more.  She started to feel light-headed.  Her limbs grew heavier.  He’s not going to stop.

“You’re–” she choked out.  “You’re going to kill me.”  Please don’t kill me.  I don’t want to die.  Don’t make yourself a murderer.  

His tongue dipped into her wound over and over, mechanically, like a cat lapping up water from a bowl.  Black started to creep into the edge of her vision.

He released her suddenly, staggering away.  She gasped, panting, shaking with panic, clamping her hand over her neck to try and stem the flow of blood, blood running through her fingers immediately.  She heard him retching distantly, collapsing onto the floor himself.

Lex cried, expecting each breath to be her last, fighting the urge to pass out.

She was vaguely aware of the vampire moving past her, to the phone on the wall, dialing.  She slipped in and out of consciousness, only hearing snatches of the conversation.

“I want to talk to–”

“-come get me.”

“-please, please, please.  Please come rescue me.  I’ll be-”

“I even–I even have my own–”

“I’ll do anything.”

“--it doesn’t matter now.  Just–just please, please”

“The hunters know where I am, they’re coming, they’re going to find me.  Please, Priscus, please save me, I’ll do anything, anything.”

In, out, in out.  Her eyes fluttered closed, then open.  Vague shapes moved above her, a loud sound, followed by another, activity and people shuffling far away, way up there.

“Give her back!” yelled a voice, breaking through her haze.  Ari.  Ari!

“Ari…” she managed to get out, before her limbs collapsed under her and she passed out one final time.

***

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[altaniadventures]

Do you wanna?

A short story set during Shadowbringers. This would be before the Exarch reveals himself. Spoilers for Shadowbringers. Altani and the Exarch have a chat after all the Scions have left for bed.

AltaniWOLxGrahatia

-------

"So, did you want to fuck?"

The Exarch sputtered, not able to answer Altani. She'd waited till the last of the scions left and shut the door. After a few beats alone, she'd asked that.

His knuckles were turning white from his grip on his staff. After trying to collect his composure, he eloquently replied, "What?"

"I've seen you staring at me," she replied. "I'm not offended. You get real close to me sometimes, and then you back away. I can't see your face due to your hood, but I know I was right." She grinned at him, showing off her sharp teeth. "You wouldn't be so embarrassed otherwise."

The Exarch cleared his throat, grateful that the hood would obscure the flush he felt rising up his neck. "Perhaps I am simply surprised at such a forthright request, and unsure why you would be asking me that question. Why would you want to? I am a stranger to you."

Altani sat down on the floor, her back against the wall. She patted the ground. Seeing the Exarch's hesitation, she patted the ground again, more insistently this time. Finally, he sat down next to her. He bowed his head, careful to ensure she wouldn't see despite the proximity. "Can I ask you why?"

She drew her knees up and rested her arms on top of them. The brash warrior in front of him seemed to shift. He saw the weariness in her movements, the tension in her shoulders. Her smile felt heavy. The feral fire that he associated with her seemed to have dimmed. What happened to his warrior of light?

"When I look at you, you seem as lonely as I feel," she said softly.

The Exarch turned to look at her, surprised once again.

Altani smiled. "I know. I'm surrounded by Scions every moment of every day. When it's not them, it's just normal people begging for my help. I'm never alone." Her smile started to fade into a bitter frown. "But that's it, isn't it? I'm always alone. No one else can do it. No one else can stand where I stand. I stand alone between whatever worlds-ending destruction and everyone else. They try to help me, but they can't."

She sighed deeply. "I guess it's because you're technically a stranger that I'm telling you this. You're like me. You're here in this horrible situation, trying to save the world. You remind me of someone else. I suppose that's why I trust you, despite Yshtola and Alphinaud begging me to be cautious," she added, rolling her eyes.

"I didn't know you were hurting so badly," the Exxarch said quietly.

"Stop that," she chided. "I asked because this makes me feel less alone. I know we want to save everyone, and damn it all, we're going to try. However, I know that despite my efforts, sometimes-" She looked at him, and leaned in to bump his shoulder. "You've studied me, right? My exploits? My adventures?"

He wasn't sure where this was going. "Yes?"

She continued. "Well, What would you say my first personal loss was?"

Puzzled, he answered, "Perhaps the battle against Ifrit? The tempered there? Or maybe the raiding of Vesper Bay."

She chuckled darkly. "That's a good guess, Exarch, but you forget that I am a child of the Steppe. We were raised for war. Comrades falling in battle is my life. It is sad, it is tragic. I take it personally, but it is not personal." Altani stretched her arms and leaned her back fully against the wall. "I don't tell the scions this, because I know it makes me somewhat of a monster. That's why I'm so good at war. Losing makes me angry. Losing soldiers is upsetting because that means we're not winning. I was very angry after losing the sands, but I can't remember any of their faces anymore," she admitted. "It feels sad in the way you hear about an earthquake in a distant land. Tragic, but far away. Guess again."

The Exarch thought for a moment. "If not that, then perhaps the battle of the vault? The death of Sir Haurchefant Greystone."

Altani was quiet. "That's an even better guess, and a loss that still grieves me. I have many regrets about Haurchefant, but no. He wasn't the first. The first was a man I met when I was hired to assist with the excavation of the Crystal Tower."

He cleared his throat. "Ah, I don't recall reading about that. Do you mind telling me?"

She smiled. "Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who remembers him. It would probably piss him off, the little braggart.

The Exarch coughed, indignant. "Altani, that seems unkind for a man you claim to be a personal loss," he reprimanded.

"My taste in men leaves much to be desired," she said with a grin before continuing. "His name was G'raha Tia. I was still making a name for myself then. Cid was trying to get into this strange tower close to Mor Dhona. This mi'quote I had never met before basically dared me to go get the components needed to open the gates. I didn't know it at first, but he was working with the Students of Baldesion. He gave them a silly name after some dead guy, NOAH. We worked together for a few months trying to get to the top."

Altani laughed at the memories. "We used to get on each other's nerves badly! He wanted to be an adventurer, and I used to tease him about being a nerd. He was a researcher, but was always telling me that he was going to surpass me in strength. He never won a single arm-wrestling match with me at camp. He'd get so red trying. It matched his hair," she said softly. "He wanted so bad to one-up me I felt. All he wanted was to be like me, and I was jealous of him."

He blinked. "You were jealous of him?"

"Yes. He was so smart. He would tell me all about the history of the towers, and how the magical devices worked. I could barely understand some of it." She brushed some of her braids behind her ear sheepishly. "I was hired to be muscle. I'm always the brute strength. You know, I didn't know how to read Eorzean when I joined the Scions. It made me feel so stupid. Here was this little annoying genius following me around all day, telling me that he was going to be better than me at the one thing I was good at." Altani sighed. "Anyone can learn to fight. But not everyone is smart enough to do what he was doing." She leaned against the Exarch, and this time he did not lean away. "But over time, I came to understand him a little more. We were sitting at the campfire, bickering about something. Cid was ignoring us. The whole camp did. Over the weeks, they'd gotten used to it. I don't even remember what we were fighting about. What I remember is falling asleep. I woke up first, and he'd fallen over into my lap. I can remember his red hair falling back from his face, and he looked so peaceful. His ears slightly twitching from a dream. It was at that moment I knew that I loved him."

He waited for her to continue, but Altani was quietly lost in her thoughts. Her tail lazily swishing was his only clue that she was still awake. "Altani?" She sighed. "He woke up and we didn't talk about it. That day we made it to the top." Altani closed her eyes. "He had to seal the tower to protect everyone. He sealed himself inside the tower. I couldn't save him. Do you know he had the balls to smile at me when he closed the doors? He fucking smiled at me. The doors shut and I stayed out there banging on them for 3 days, sobbing. Cid and Nero had to drag me away." Altani leaned her head on the Exarch's shoulder. She could feel him stiffen, then slowly relax. "As you know, that was just the first. There was Haurcefant after that. Then it seemed like my friends were dying left and right. Moenbryda, Papalymo, Ysayle. I'm always alone. I'm afraid that I will die alone. I just don't want to feel alone, even if it is true. When I'm close to you, I feel like I'm not alone." She cleared her throat. "So, I'm asking you again. Do you want to fuck? I can wear a blindfold if that will make you more comfortable." He knew that in his heart of hearts, this was a terrible idea. He shouldn't do this. He was lying to her, getting close to her despite Urianger's warnings against it. She would be furious if she knew. Then again, if all went according to plan, she would never know. She thought him a stranger, and yet she still bared her heart to him. She was telling him things he knew she would never speak of to the rest of the Scions. He was her only confidant in a strange land that he'd brought her to. Would it be wrong to give her the only thing she'd ever asked of him? The Exarch stood up. Altani stood to leave as well, but felt a hand catch hers as she turned. "I'm just as lonely as you say," he said quietly. "If you'll have me." He pulled off one of the smaller sashes off his robe and handed it to her.

She smiled softly and tied it around her eyes. "Lead the way, handsome." She felt warm hands gently lead her to the bedroom. The soft click of the Exarch's bedroom door shut behind her and she was seated at the edge of a bed. He sat down next to her.

G'raha let his hood slip as he let his fingers brush against her cheek. "You don't have to be alone. I'll be with you for as long as you need me, Altani," he whispered.

She kissed him, her fingers tangling up in his long hair. For a moment, she was taken back to a campfire. She smiled. "Thank you."