#i say in an old lady voice while shaking my fist

[elexaria]

price is a good influence on the boys, always keeping them in line. its almost like theyre his boys, he doesn’t pass up the opportunity to talk about them with a proud growl in his voice. they dont know this, but he even has a tattered photo of the four of them in his wallet. he’s never settled down, never had kids, so even if theyre only around a decade younger than him, they’re like his own.

well, he’s almost always a good influence on the boys.

the new bit around the military campus, she’s a sight for sore eyes. the capt can’t help but clear his throat, one arm around her shoulder so casually. he’s a charmer, that’s for sure. “don’t let ‘em paw at you, yeah? you tell ‘ol pricey if these dogs bark at you, love, and i’ll let ‘em know who holds the reigns here.” he purrs in her ear, the rough timbre of his voice is enough to make anyone’s blood run hot.

the boys know better than to try and cuckhold price, after all, he’s kind enough to let them watch him as he flirts with the lil honey on base. their eyes watch keenly as he squeezes her arse as she passes by, a smug grin on his lips as she turns around with a playful gasp. he’ll turn his head, nodding with a grunt at the boys. “y’see that, lads? like putty in my hands, she is.” he remarks, and the boys guffaw like a group of schoolboys at how cool he is.

it gets even better when, after a year of casual dating, his lil lady agrees to let the boys in behind closed doors. “just let ‘em watch, yeah? poor boys dont get much action, it’s for morale i ‘spose. keeps ‘em fit and fired up.” he murmurs lowly in her ear, quiet enough only for her to hear. their dance is as old as time, his large hands dancing around her soft skin. her moans are like a siren’s call to the boys, it gets the hairs at the nape of their necks standing. hell, that’s not the only thing that stands to attention when price parts the glistening folds of her cunt, chuckling as he steps back to nod his head at the boys. “stunning, ‘ent she?” he growls out, a smug grin on his face as he leans on his side, dipping two fingers inside of her slowly while his thumb toys with her clit.

my god, you can HEAR the boy’s heavy breathing as they watch price toy with his girl, and johnny’s the first one to break the awkwardness by rubbing his erection through his jeans discreetly. price notices, and raises his eyebrows. “lads, the missus doesn’t mind if you rub one out. do you, sweetheart?” he coos as he crooks his fingers up inside of her, jamming the pads of his fingers up into the spongy spot where she likes it. she gasps, nodding as she looks over at how quickly the lads begin to unbuckle their belts, their cocks quickly springing up out of their confines. a symphony of grunts that harmoniously blend together with her gasps and mewls, and all are at the mercy of price. he continues to toy with her, to prolong her pleasure until, and it doesn’t take long, until the boys cum right then and there— thick ropes of cum spurting into their fists.

with a chuckle, price rises to sit on the bed, his hand now gently rubbing against her folds in a teasing manner. “right, bugger off you bunch of reprobates. give us some privacy, yeah?” he chuckles, motioning towards the door as they’re all quick to tuck their spent cocks in the waistbands of their boxers, quickly scampering off at the call of their captain.

the next morning, they’ll all sit round a small table, making comments about how good price is, how lucky they are to have seen that performance. “he deffo would let us shag her if we asked, ye ken.” johnny says quietly, leaning in close to the lads in a conspiratorial manner.

“johnny, stop thinking with your dick.” simon gruffly replies, shaking his head as to dismiss the silly notion.

“yeah, no way would he let us.” gaz agrees, a defeated sigh escaping his lips as he leans back in his seat. “she was fit, though.” he chuckles, rubbing his face as they all begin to impishly laugh at the memory.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 6

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, Azriel is an idiot, Eira has a well-deserved crying fit and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

"Do I want to know what your mother said to you?" Cassian asked him with a sigh the next morning. They were at the River House. 

Eira was still sleeping. Or again. Resting. Pure exhaustion apparent in every fibre of her being. She had stumbled up the stairs the night before, fell into her bed and hadn’t moved. Feyre and Nesta were both with her, had been with her since then... 

Azriel let out a small huff, and glanced at Cassian from his couch seat.

“No,” he said bluntly. “No, you really don’t want to know.”

"You're brooding," Cassian pointed out. Azriel snorted at his brother’s observation, crossing his arms.

“And you’re observant,” he said dryly. “Your point?”

Cassian huffed in amused annoyance and shoved him playfully. “Come on. Out with it,” he said, propping his feet on the coffee table, his wings shifting behind him. “You’ve been quiet and broody and grumpy all morning. You need to talk about it.”

"Talk about what? Talk about the fact that whatever Amren said to my mate was enough to push her head first into a panic so bad that she winnowed? Burned down half a forest accidentally?" Azriel asked, his voice forcedly even. "Or about the fact that I needed my mother to call me out on my bullshit because I am a fucking idiot ?"

"Language," Rhys said with a sigh, trying and failing to feed Nyx his porridge.

Cassian rolled his eyes in annoyance at Rhys’s words, while Azriel gave his high lord a flat look.

“Are you seriously going to get on me for my language?” he asked Rhys dryly. “Out of everything I just said?

"I do not need a fight with Feyre, because our son starts repeating your curse words," Rhys muttered.

Cassian snorted at that, and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head.

Somehow, even right now, when everything was such a mess, Rhys still managed to find ways to be a caring father.

“Can we focus on something more important?” Azriel said, his voice a grumble. “Like the fact that I’m failing as a mate?”

Cassian’s snort turned into a choke at Azriel’s comment, his eyes going wide. “Failing as a mate? You? You’re kidding, right?”

Azriel scowled at Cassian’s shocked response.

“And how exactly is it possible that I’m not failing?” he demanded, his hands clenching into fists. “Because I can think of many, many ways, Cass.”

“What exactly have you done that qualifies as failure?” Cassian countered, shifting position so that he mirrored Azriel’s pose. “Because I’m really drawing a blank.”

"I fancied myself in love with her twin sister and pretty much used Eira as nothing but a source of information about Elain. Then, when I realised that Eira was my mate, I asked for permission to court her and within that conversation somehow found it prudent to say that Elain was the pretty one but Eira was the kind one and would protect our children fiercely. Then I gave her a harp as a courting gift, while she needed to sell her old one to keep her family from starving and nobody ever even thought about the fact that maybe that would bring up some bad memories. Then instead of asking what she wanted to do, I decided on the symphony, where I spent 3 hours sitting next to her in silence because all I could concentrate on was the fact that she held my hand . I have no fucking clue if sewing and baking and cooking are actually her hobbies or just the chores she liked best and I don't even know her favourite colour. Tell me how I am not failing, Cassian!"

Cassian opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for words.

Azriel let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

He knew he had screwed up. That he had failed miserably in so many ways. But saying the words aloud…hearing them said out loud…somehow just made it even more real.

He slumped down in his seat, burying his head in his hands.

“You…you really are an idiot, Az…” Cassian finally managed to say, his voice quiet as he spoke. 

Azriel knew that. 

"I told Nesta that everybody hates her," Cassian admitted quietly. "I didn't tell her that I loved her until after our fucking mating ceremony. I have no clue what her favourite colour is either, now that I am thinking about it."

When Cassian told him that, Azriel’s eyes flew open and he looked up at his brother, his jaw slackening.

“You what?” he demanded, not quite believing what he’d just heard.

"Not my best moments," Cassian admitted drily.

Azriel let out a choked snort at his brother’s reply, and he buried his head in his hands again.

“And you said I’m the idiot?” he asked faintly.

“We’re both idiots,” Cassian said matter-of-factly, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Maybe all males are idiots.”

"I didn't tell Feyre about the dangers the pregnancy put her in," Rhys said quietly. "I didn't tell her we were mates at first either. I am sure there are dozens of other things I did, where I failed as a mate."

Azriel sighed, and he let his hand drop to his lap, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re really not helping,” he said, his voice quiet. “I shouldn’t feel better about being a failure as a mate because my brothers are failures too.“

Cassian snickered at Azriel’s response, but Rhys let out a huff and gave him an amused smile.

“I’m just saying,” he began, his eyes soft. “You’re far from the only person to have ever messed up with a mate, Azriel. Hell, the list of things I did wrong with Feyre is longer than your arm.”

Azriel closed his eyes again, letting out a sigh as he rested his head back against the couch cushions.

He knew that Rhys was right. Knew that all the males around him were speaking the truth. He wasn’t the only one to have messed up with a mate.

But somehow, knowing that didn’t make the knowledge that he had failed feel any less raw. Any less painful.

“I don’t want to fail,” Azriel said quietly. “I don’t want to put her through…this pain. But I feel like that’s all I’m doing. All I did was let my own emotions and wants and desires drown out what Eira really needed“

"Then maybe you should ask Eira what Eira actually wants," Cassian said with a snort.

...And he was already back to making the exact same error as before, wasn't he? That should have been his first thought.

Azriel closed his eyes again, letting out another weary sigh.

“How?” he mumbled. “How do I go to her and say ‘Hey, I realize that I did everything wrong so far. And I failed you and I’m an idiot, so how about you and I can start everything over from the beginning?’”

A hand, strong and heavy, descended on the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“By doing it,” Rhys said firmly, a hint of a smile on his face. “By looking her straight in the eye and telling her what you just admitted to us. She deserves the honesty.“

“And when she says ‘no’? When she says she wants nothing to do with a failure and idiot of a male like me?” Azriel asked bitterly. “What then?”

"She won't," Rhys said calmly. "She won't, Azriel. She has been in love with you for years."

Azriel let out a sharp huff at Rhys’s statement. “Even more reason not to take me back,” he grumbled in response. “She’s loved me for that long and that’s all I come up with? Silence and stupidity? If I were her, I would reject me too."

"Just talk to her," Cassian said with a sigh. "We have enough other problems to deal with that aren't your brooding, Az."

There were so many other things to deal with. So many other things more important than his brooding.

Maybe there weren't many other things that were more important than his relationship with Eira, but still…

“Fine,” he mumbled at last, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll talk to her.” 

He needed to talk to her. Once she was awake. In the meantime… "What did you do to Amren?" he asked Rhys, who looked up startled.

“We had words,” Rhys said clippedly. “I suggested that she'll stay with Varian in the Summer Court for a few weeks. She’ll be welcome in Velaris when she can apologise to Eira and actually mean it.” Rhys’ voice was icy when he said that. “And I am due to have another conversation with Morrigan because I am not letting her get away with it either. Which reminds me, Cassian, you also owe Eira an apology,” Rhys pointed out evenly.

Cassian grimaced. “I know,” he admitted with a sigh. “I just really doubt that she wants to hear it,” he admitted quietly. 

Rhys sighed. "Which brings me to our next problem: I didn't want to push it...but we need to get Eira to train."

Azriel inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Of course, they would need to talk about that. Part of him was even surprised that Rhys had waited that long to bring up training.

"She needs control," Rhys continued, holding up a hand. "I am not talking about training her to kill anybody. I am talking about her learning to control her...lightning. And maybe some self-defence if she is up to that."

Azriel nodded in agreement. As much as he hated the thought of any sort of violence being aimed toward Eira — hated the mere idea of seeing her get hurt again — he knew that Rhys was right.

She needed to know how to control herself. To protect herself. She needed to know how to fight.

Azriel nodded again, raking a trembling hand back through his hair.

A part of him felt like he was betraying Eira by agreeing to this. Like he was failing her again. But another part, the part of him that was a warrior, that knew how to fight, that knew the dangers that came with not being able to defend yourself…that part of him agreed with Rhys.

"I'll be the bad guy," Rhys said with a sigh. "I'll be the one asking her. I hope I'll get away without outright ordering her."

Azriel let a small huff at Rhys’s comment.

He knew that if anyone had a chance at convincing Eira to train, it would be Rhys. But that didn’t help the pang of guilt at the thought of his mate receiving further training — being forced into training to begin with.

“And this arrived yesterday,” Rhys said with a sigh as he dropped an envelope in front of them. 

Azriel’s mouth flattened as he looked down at the envelope, his heart dropping at the sight of the Day Court symbol.

Cassian let out an identical, weary sigh as they also caught sight of the symbol.

Everyone in the room knew what that invitation meant.

"Feyre and I are required to attend," Rhys said quietly. "If Nesta won't go...there will be talk. Maybe less talk if Eira doesn't attend, but there will be talk about strive between the sisters, regardless of what information we feed them."

Azriel had to grit his teeth to hold back from letting out a snarl.

He knew Rhys was right. Knew that there would be talk no matter what.

But the thought of Eira being forced to attend that wedding...forced to endure Elain’s presence… He clenched his fist and took in a deep breath through his nose.

He was not going to like this. “If Eira goes, I go,” he spat out. 

Rhys’s mouth flattened for a moment, and Azriel braced himself for a fight.

Instead, his brother just gave him a short nod. “I expected nothing less, brother,” he said quietly.

****

Eira had slept. The first restful night in quite a while.

She still felt exhausted. Still felt like the world around her was...blurry. But it didn’t feel like all her energy had been sapped from her body, forcing her into unconsciousness.

It was an improvement.

"How are you feeling?" Feyre asked her softly. Nesta and she were curled around Eira in her bed...reminding her of their days in that bed in that cottage. Just one thing was lacking: Elain.

“I’m...better than I was last night,” she mumbled truthfully, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “…Still tired though.”

"You winnowed without training. That should probably be expected," Nesta said drily. 

"You also nearly put Amren on fire with your lightning," Feyre said with a grimace, and Eira flinched.

"She had that coming," Nesta growled. "What did she tell you? Were you a waste of life as well?" Eira flinched again, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

She didn’t want to talk about Amren. Didn’t want to talk about anything that had happened. Didn’t want to think about anything that had happened.

She just wanted to…sleep. She wanted to forget. Let her eyelids close. Drift away. Not feel so goddamn tired…

"She told her that not training her powers was a waste," Feyre said quietly. "That Eira owed it to me because I hunted and apparently kept her alive . It was absolutely out of line and ridiculous."

A fresh wave of heat rushed to Eira’s cheeks as Feyre explained what had happened, and a pang of shame went to her stomach. 

Because Amren was right. She did owe it to Feyre. That, and so much more. Feyre had cared for her. Hunted for her. Protected her. And what had Eira done in return? Nothing. Nothing but fail.

“You know-“ she began to ask, her words cutting awkwardly off as she felt a pang of guilt stabbed her chest.

“Yeah, I know what she said to you,” Feyre replied, her eyes soft. “Rhys got the whole thing out of her…He had a few things to say…I had a few choice words to say to her myself.”

Eira’s heart dropped into her stomach. She should’ve known that Rhys would have found out. He seemed to find out everything sooner or later. She winced, suddenly feeling even more guilty.

"I am sorry," Eira whispered. "I didn't want...I'll...I'll train. I'll learn how to control it. I'll..." She would hate every minute but if it made it easier for Feyre, she would...

“No,” Feyre told her softly, but firmly. “You will not be doing anything to make my life easier, Eira. You owe me nothing. Do you understand me?”

She wrapped her arms around Eira tightly and rested her head against Eira’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to do anything. For me. For anyone. Understand?” she murmured softly. 

"Training would be a good idea, but you don't need to do that for me," Feyre whispered. "Do it for yourself, Eira."

Eira’s throat tightened, and she swallowed thickly.

She didn’t want to do any sort of training. She didn’t want to do anything in that moment.

She just wanted to lie in bed. Forget about the world. And yet…she knew that training would be a smart idea. That she did need to learn how to control her...lightning. And she didn’t want a repeat of last night. With great reluctance, she swallowed again. “I…alright,” she mumbled. “I’ll…I’ll train. And learn how to control…my…lightning.“

She hated the words as soon as they escaped her mouth, but she didn’t take them back. She knew it was the right thing to do…even if she didn’t like it.

"I know you're not looking forward to it," Feyre said drily, and Eira smiled despite herself. A tiny, reluctant smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Who's…going to…" she began, before trailing off. “Who's going to be training me?”

"Not Amren," Nesta snapped immediately.

The words were like a weight being lifted from Eira’s chest. She was relieved more than she cared to admit that Amren wouldn’t be the one training her…and then guilt immediately set in. She shouldn’t feel so relieved. So happy. Amren had done nothing but be harsh but the truth to her, and yet…she still couldn’t stop herself from being happy that the female wouldn’t be training her.

“…That, we know already,” Feyre deadpanned as she shot her sister a fond smile. “But you’re right. Nobody is thinking about having Amren train Eira. It’ll probably be Rhys if you are comfortable with that.”

She took a deep breath.

Rhys.

Rhys was…good. She could deal with Rhsy training her. Out of all the options…he was good. It could be worse, she tried to tell herself.

“Doesn't he have...anything more important to do?” Eira asked hesitantly.

She knew that Rhys was the High Lord and…surely he didn’t have time to deal with her. Surely, he had more important things to deal with than training some…somebody like her. 

She was…waste of time, and she didn’t want to be any more of a burden on him than she already was.

“He’ll figure it out,” Feyre replied, giving her a soft smile. “He’ll make time, Eira. He’s good like that.”

Nesta made an annoyed sound, making Feyre roll her eyes.

Eira swallowed again, the words not really doing anything to reassure her that she wasn’t wasting Rhys’s time.

Rhys was important. The High Lord. He shouldn’t have to waste his time with her . She knew that she couldn’t say those things. Couldn’t make Feyre or Nesta realize how ridiculous this whole thing was…how insane it was to have the High Lord of the Night Court as her teacher .

“It’ll be fine,” Feyre repeated, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Now...how was...your meeting with Azriel's mother yesterday?" Feyre asked. "I need to admit, I didn't even know that his mother was still....alive," she admitted with a grimace.

"He mentions her...very rarely," Nesta disagreed quietly. "She's a seamstress though...She made him a jacket he wore for solstice once."

Eira hadn't known that…but then she also hadn’t known that his mother was still alive. He had never mentioned her to Eira at all. And Esmeray…Esmeray was the last thing Eira wanted to talk about. Eira didn't want to walk about...about what she had said.

"She…was nice. Sweet, like Azriel," Eira answered quietly, swallowing. "She was...maternal. Not like our mother was." It was true. She was sweet…kind…lovely. 

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a glance. "But?" Feyre prompted her quietly. "Did she say....anything?"

Eira didn’t say anything, just closed her eyes. “Talk to us,” Nesta said softly. “What did she say, Eira?” 

"She figured out who I was after I told her my first name...and then she said that Azriel is fond of me but he is fonder of Elain..and that it's too bad that she is mated to another," Eira blurted out, her voice shaky. "He didn't tell her...He didn't tell her that our…that the mating bond had snapped." She could feel the tears burn in her eyes.

"Oh, Eira," Feyre breathed, sounding heartbroken for her.

"I am going to fucking kill him," Nesta muttered.

“Get in line,” Feyre grumbled, and Eira could just feel the scowl her friend was shooting at Azriel in her head.

She swallowed again, feeling the guilt and the shame and the hurt and the….everything, rising up in her chest.

She didn’t want to be upset at this. Didn’t want to feel like…like she had a claim over Azriel, but she couldn’t help the painful pang in her chest at the words Esmeray had said.

Too bad that Elain is mated to another… 

He is fonder of Elain… 

Those words, they just hurt. They burned. And she felt so...helpless.

And the thought that he hadn’t told his mother about their mating bond…it just made the pain even worse.

"Azriel...he said…when he asked me to court…he said that Elain was the pretty one but I was the kind one," Eira choked out. "He wanted her. I am just...I am just a consolation prize to him, aren't I?"

For a moment it was silent. 

"First of all," Feyre said firmly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You are not a consolation prize. Don't ever let me hear you say that again, alright? You are not a consolation prize, you are a treasure ."

"Second," she continued, her voice growing cold. "He is an idiot. Who the hell tells you that? Why would he say that?"

Eira shrugged, feeling her eyes burn.

She didn't know. She didn't understand why he would say that. Why he had said any of what he had said? 

But she knew that...part of her, part of her hoped that he had meant it in an endearing way. That he had called her kind because he liked that about her.

"I thought...I thought just having him could be enough," she whispered. "But how am I supposed to live my whole life knowing that he would be happier if he was mated to Elain? To be compared to her day, after day, and found lacking?"

"For Fuck's sake, Eira!" Nesta snapped.

"He only wants me because of the bond. And maybe because of the vision he saw...he wants the babies we would have together, but he doesn't want me," she choked out. "Every other female would suffice as well."

"Stop that. You know that's not true," Feyre said firmly, wrapping an arm around Eira's shoulders again. "He cares about you; I've seen it for myself."

Eira choked on a bitter laugh. "What does it matter," she whimpered. "He might care...but Elain is still what he wants. Nothing will change that...not even the Mating Bond."

"Azriel...he's an idiot," Nesra agreed angrily. "A complete idiot who can't see that you...you're right in front of him. Yeah, Elain may be the most beautiful out of us all, but she’s clearly bone deep ugly, if she…she tried to keep your babies from you?” Nesta asked and Eira just nodded, tears pouring out of her eyes. 

“A girl,” she choked out. “A girl. Azriel’s wings but my hair. We looked so happy in that stupid vision. And I was pregnant again.” 

Feyre’s mouth fell open as she stared at Eira in shock, while Nesta’s eyes hardened furiously. “She...really…” Feyre’s voice trailed off, sounding heartbroken.

Nesta let out a loud, furious snarl. “She’s a monster . Elain is a monster ,” she spat, her hands forming into fists. 

“She…she tried to keep my babies from me,” Eira repeated, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Azriel and I…looking happy…and...and now...I..."

She had to pause, the tears making it impossible for her to continue.

Both Feyre and Nesta wrapped their arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“It’s not fair,” she choked out. “It’s not fair. I saw us. I saw how happy we were…”

It was as clear as day in her memory. That vision of them in that garden, of Azriel kissing her, of the little girl being hoisted up in the air by him…

Eira had looked so happy. Everything had been so perfect, so right…it had almost made her dizzy. It had been everything she had ever wanted. 

Only to have it ripped away. To know that she’d had a chance at happiness, a chance at…of a family, of everything that she had always wanted…only to have it ripped away so cruelly…

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt in her entire life.

"It's not fair," she mumbled hopelessly, burying her face against Feyre's shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's not fair...He wouldn’t have even cared…he wouldn’t have even…looked in my direction…if the bond hadn’t snapped…he wouldn’t even have looked at me…”

Don't cry, the shadows whispered, coming to wrap around her hands. Don't cry. Master was an utter fool. Blinded by a pretty face. But he does care about you. 

She let out a sob, feeling more of the shadows slide up her arms to wrap around her.

She didn’t know that. Azriel cared…but it didn’t change how he felt about Elain. It didn’t change that he didn’t care for her, for Eira. He only…he only wanted her because of the bond.

He only felt responsible for her because they were mates. All the...feelings...he had towards her...were all just because of the bond.

The shadows only continued to coil around her as she wept silently into Feyre’s shoulder, her heart aching.

She had known from the beginning that Azriel didn’t care for her beyond the bond.

But...until she had heard what Esmeray had said, and learned that he hadn’t told her the truth, she’d still had some tiny part of hope. Some small, stupid part of her that had clung to the hope that maybe, maybe, he would start to feel for her the same way that she felt for him.

"I loved him from the moment I saw him. I looked at him and it was...it was like coming home," she choked out.

“Of course you did,” Feyre said softly, gently stroking her hair as the tears continued to fall. “Of course you did…”

Nesta said nothing, the only sound that escaped her was a low, furious huff.

"I am really going to kill him," she hissed.

“Save some for me,” Feyre grumbled as she held Eira fiercely, her free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

His Mother had words for Master, the shadows said quietly, coiling themselves into her hair. He's brooding. 

“Good,” Nesta said firmly. “I hope he’s miserable.”

“Nes,” Feyre said quietly, giving her sister a gentle nudge.

“What?!” Nesta said, scowling. “Seriously, he deserves it.”

Eira couldn’t help the tiny part of her that felt bad for him…that felt guilty thinking about him being miserable.

She knew Azriel didn’t love her, and didn’t feel the same way, but…a part of her cared about him. She didn’t want him to be miserable.

 "Why is he brooding?" she asked quietly.

The shadows hummed again, making a soft whispering sound before they spoke again.

His Mother told him he was an idiot. 

"She did?" Feyre perked up in surprise, while Nesta’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk.

Yes, the shadows confirmed, coiling themselves into Eira’s hair like a strange, sentient snake.

It made something warm stir in Eira’s chest, imagining Esmeray calling Azriel an idiot to his face. Master realised that he hasn't been doing right to you...Not with the courting and not with...anything else. 

The words made more tears burn in Eira’s eyes, while Feyre shifted to give her a gentle hug.

“He’s realising, huh?” she grumbled. “That he’s been screwing up?”

Yes. The shadows coiled a little tighter around her, almost as if they were trying to comfort her. It made her heart ache in a different way, feeling warm and painful at the same time.

Will you talk to him? the shadows asked softly. Let him apologise? 

She was upset, she was hurt. She didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted to avoid him and forget this whole mess even happened.

But the shadows...they wanted her to talk to him. They…wanted her to let him apologize.

Another wave of guilt and shame washed over her.

Azriel had done…nothing wrong. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he merely didn’t…care towards her.

He wanted the bond, he wanted the comfort, he wanted a mate, he just…he just didn’t want her .

The thought made a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes, which she promptly buried against Feyre’s shoulder.

Feyre hugged her tightly, while Nesta gently rubbed her back as the shadows continued to coil themselves around her. “It’s alright,” Feyre whispered soothingly, as more shadows drifted down to comfort her. “It’s going to be alright.”

The shadows continued to hum and shift, wrapping themselves around her like a protective, comforting blanket. It was somewhat soothing, the sensation of their coolness, the feel of them wrapping around her, almost like they were trying to tell her it would be alright.

Master has a lot to say to you, the shadows spoke up again. Please, just listen to him, Eira. 

So she just nodded.

Thank you. 

The shadows hummed again, coiling a little tighter around her, and it was almost as if she could feel a sort of pleasure coming from them that she had agreed to talk to Azriel, to listen to whatever he had to say.

"But they'll stay," she choked out, pulling Nesta's hand tight around herself.

“Of course,” Feyre said instantly, wrapping her arms around her as well. “We’ll both stay. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Damn right,” Nesta said, tightening her grip as well. “I may need to restrain myself from knocking any sense into him.”

In any other situation, Eira may have laughed at that, but instead, all she did was give a shaky nod, letting herself be pulled in tight by her sisters.

The gesture was comfort, the feel of them around her reassuring and warm, even as her heart ached in her chest.

A few seconds later, the door opened slowly, and Azriel walked into the room.

Every bit of his usually impassive, stoic demeanour was gone, replaced by a look of anxiety and worry. Eira could see the tension in his shoulders, and the way his hands were clenched into fists.

He stopped a few meters away from them, his gaze locking on Eira instantly.

She could feel his eyes raking over her, like a physical caress, taking in the sight of her clearly tear-stained face. The way her hands were being clutched by Feyre and Nesta.

He looked desperate like he wanted to walk over and touch her, but one glimpse at the way Feyre and Nesta had her wrapped in their arms had him hesitating.

"How...how are you feeling?" he asked her, and she could see his throat bob as he swallowed.

“How do you think she is, you idiot?” Nesta snapped, her voice low and cutting.

Azriel didn't pay any attention to her, his gaze firmly locked on Eira, staring at her as if he was waiting for her to say something.

And Eira…she had no idea what to say. She had absolutely no idea.

She sat there silently, letting words and thoughts and questions swirl in her mind, but saying nothing. And it only seemed to make the tension in Azriel’s shoulders grow even more, the worry in his gaze deepened.

“Eira…” he breathed out, his voice soft and raw, and she could see his hands twitch like he wanted to reach for her. “Can…can we talk?”

Both Feyre and Nesta tensed, their grip on her tightening.

"You can talk. She will listen," Nesta said, her voice icy. "And then she can decide if she wants to take pity on you, or if she never wants to see you again. Did you seriously tell my sister that Elain was prettier than her in the same breath as you asked to court her?!?"

Azriel closed his eyes, looking pained at that, and she could see his shoulders slump. But he didn’t deny it, didn’t try to defend himself, and Eira just…felt her heart ache even more.

"I was an idiot," he said quietly, his voice low and thick. "I…I was a fool."

He sounded so miserable when he said that, and something in Eira just…wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that this was hurting her more than he seemed to comprehend…but she just sat there, saying nothing, letting the tears still fall silently down her cheeks.

Azriel took a few steps closer, his gaze still firmly fixed on her. He looked miserable, like a wounded animal, like he was in pain.

And a small part of her…a small, stupid part of her wanted to reach out to him. Wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, to hug him and tell him she wasn’t angry.

But it wasn’t going to be alright, and she was angry. So she said nothing.

The silence seemed to drag on, the tension rising thicker in the room. The two sisters held her tighter still, their hands clenched around her, their own gazes fixed on Azriel, shooting glares at him.

It made him look even more miserable, and she could see him taking another cautious step forward.

“Eira…” he tried again, his voice so soft and pleading. “Please, please say something…”

The silence seemed to drag on, the tension rising thicker in the room. The two sisters held her tighter still, their hands clenched around her, their own gazes fixed on Azriel, shooting glares at him.

It made him look even more miserable, and she could see him taking another cautious step forwards.

“Eira…” he tried again, his voice so soft and pleading. “Please, please say something…”

"What do you want me to say, Azriel?" she asked, her voice weak. She wanted to scream and shout but she didn't have it in herself.

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to talk about how your mother had absolutely no clue that we are mates ? How she told me that you were fond of me but fonder of Elain? How it was just too bad that Elain was mated to another male?!"

She could see his body go tense at that, his eyes widening.

It hurt her, to see the realization and pain slowly spreading over his face. He knew what she had gone through, what she had to hear, the truth that his mother had revealed.

But he didn’t understand. He had absolutely no idea just how much all that had hurt her.

"I thought I was alright with it. I thought I could live with it. I could live with the fact that you didn't actually want me. That you wanted the life that vision promised you...that you were in love with my twin sister and not with me."

The words stung both Azriel and her.

She could see him shifting, and hear a low, pained sound leaving his lips. She could see something in his expression…a pain and hurt so deep she couldn’t even find the words to describe it.

"You…you think I don't want you...?" he breathed out, his voice so low she almost didn't hear it.

"You don't want me," Eira choked out. "You wanted Elain. And before that, you wanted Morrigan. And then Elain's vision promised you me and you go along with it, because of the mating bond."

Azriel flinched at that like each word was a physical blow. He looked sick, the misery on his face growing with each statement.

And a part of her was satisfied, seeing him look like that, seeing him look in pain. It was what he deserved after everything that he had done.

But the other part of her…the other part of her ached and bled at every expression of pain on his face.

The silence again continued to drag on, the air still and tense with the heavy atmosphere between the two of them.

He hadn’t denied it, she knew he hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t said that she was wrong, that she was wrong in thinking the only reason he pursued her was because of the bond.

The thought made her eyes sting, tears brimming and overflowing. Her heart ached, hurt, felt like it was bleeding.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry, Eira."

The words stung, just as much as they gave her hope.

Her heart was aching in her chest, tears still falling slowly down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled, and she took in a few shaky breaths.

She had been hurt by him. He had never even considered her before the bond had snapped. And he hadn’t denied it when she had called him out on it.

And still, she wanted him to fix this. Wanted him to find some way to fix this.

"I am not...I am not going and try to defend myself," he whispered. "I am not going and lie to you. And yes, Eira. I did see that vision and I felt that Mating Bond and I did want to pursue you. Because I want that future. I want that future with you."

She wanted that future with him as well, she longed for it, but she wanted him to come to her because he wanted her. Because he desired her, the vision be damned.

But instead, she came second fiddle to an image in a vision. Instead, she came last to Elain and Mor.

"And I went about it wrong," Azriel continued. "I should have...I should have actually made the effort to get to know you, Eira. I should have talked to you. I should have asked what you wanted. I should have asked for your favourite colour. And I should have..."

He trailed off, the words leaving him in a choked gasp. Eira could see the misery on his face, the suffering.

He looked completely miserable, his hands clenching into fists, his shoulders hunched and tensed, but he kept on going, his voice thick and low in his throat.

"I should have cared. I should have seen you. I should have noticed you."

"And I can't change it. I can't change what I did know. I fucked up, Eira. I fucked up so badly, that you have every reason and every right not to want to see me for centuries."

The words stung, and Eira just…she ached.

She ached, she hurt, and everything inside her had tears welling. She ached because…she wanted to forgive him. She wanted to give him a second chance.

But the thought of being second rate again, of being the last choice…it hurt.

But…she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, either. Couldn’t look away from the sight of how miserable he was, how distressed and in pain.

It hurt, it hurt so badly…but a part of her just wanted to hug him, to reassure him…Azriel took another few steps towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. He looked so wretched, his eyes pained, his whole body shaking as if it was taking him a monumental effort to remain standing there. To force himself to remain standing so close to her, to keep looking at her.

He was still a good few meters away from her, but the expression on his face, the look in his eyes…

It was like he was in agony.

She could see his hands clenching into fists, and could hear him taking a shaky breath.

"You…you don’t have to forgive me, or even want to talk to me again," he said, and she could hear how hard it was for him to form those words.

It hurt…it hurt seeing him look so miserable, looking like he was in pain. And it hurt because she wanted him. She still wanted him.

And the fact that it hurt was what got to her, what finally made her move. She shoved off Feyre and Nesta, who were still holding her, both of them looking startled.

They protested, clearly wanting to hold her back, but Eira pushed her way through, walking towards him.

Azriel hadn’t moved, his body going tense, his eyes going wide as she approached him.

And she hated that part of herself. She hated how much she still wanted him, despite everything that had happened. How much she ached for him, in ways that should be impossible.

It was a sharp, dull ache, a desperate and constant pain, a desire to reach out to him, to pull him closer, and at the same time, shove him as far away as possible.

She wanted to shove him away, push him further away. She wanted to tell him to suffer, to hurt the way she was hurting.

But at the same time…she wanted to pull him closer. To feel his skin against hers, under her fingertips. To feel his arms around her, holding her tight, his lips against her skin.

It was maddening. He was maddening.

“I am sorry,” he said, the truth flowing like clear spring water from his words. “I am so sorry. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

His words…she wanted to believe them. Wanted to believe that he was being sincere, that he truly was sorry, that he wanted to make it up to her.

And a small, naive, foolish, hopeful part of her, the part that was desperate and hopeful and greedy, did believe him. Wanted to latch onto the words, to hold them tight and not let go.

“I want to get to know you. I want to learn your favourite colour and your favourite place in Velaris. I want..”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. His eyes were still fixed on hers, pleading and desperate and aching, his entire body practically aching with the need to come closer.

“I want to learn everything there is to know about you. I want to learn about your smile and your laugh and your tears. I want to be with you, Eira.”

The words…they were everything that she wanted to hear. Everything that she had wished he would tell her, and more. They felt like a caress, like a gentle breeze, a soft comfort. And they hurt.

They hurt because she wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out and hold him close. Wanted to forgive him and let herself be close to him in the way she longed for.

“I want to be with you,” he repeated, his words a choked gasp. “I want to court you. I want to mate you. I want to…I want…”

He trailed off, choking on the words, taking another deep breath. His body was shaking, his shoulders tense, his expression aching with the effort of it all.

He looked in pain, so utterly hurt, like every word out of his mouth was agony. But he was still talking, still trying to get out the words, trying to make her understand.

“I want to spend every waking moment of my day with you,” he continued, his tone so raw and open and aching. “I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you. I want to hear your voice and see your face every damn day.”

“I’ll do better, I’ll be better,“ he whispered.

He sounded so desperate, his voice thick and raw and pleading. It was like he was being ripped apart from the inside like he was in physical pain.

And Eira…she couldn’t help it.

She couldn’t help but believe his words, couldn’t help but let her stubborn, foolish heart hope.

“Please,” he continued, his voice breaking. “Please, please give me a second chance. I’ll…”

Another breath, another choked gasp. His shoulders hunched, his fists clenching tighter.

“I’ll do anything, just please give me a second chance. Give me the chance to right this. Give me the chance to prove to you…prove to you how much I want you. Just…give me another chance.”

His voice was so raw, so open, the look in his eyes pure pleading. He looked like he was ready to beg, ready to do anything for her. Anything to give him another chance.

And her heart, her foolish, stupid, hopeless heart…the part that wanted to hold onto him, to forgive him, to give him that chance ached.

She still hurt, still ached, the words from his mother still so fresh in her mind. The thought of being second, of being his last choice…it was a sharp blow against her.

But at the same time, she couldn’t stop the part of her that wanted to hold onto him. That longed for just a chance, just a moment where he was hers, where she was first and last and everything in his heart.

Azriel looked ready to continue, but he stopped when he saw the look on her face, her conflicting emotions warring inside her chest.

He closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping. He was probably expecting her to say no, to turn him down. He probably expected her to…

To do the sensible, rational thing. But sensibility and rationality were the last things she was feeling right now.

Her heart was aching, her body trembling, her emotions a swirl of conflicting feelings. Her mind was screaming at her, telling her just how idiotic she was for considering this.

And at the same time, her heart was yearning, longing for him. Wanting to grab onto him and never let go.

Azriel’s entire body was shaking, his eyes still closed, looking like he was bracing himself for her answer, for the words he expected her to say.

The words she should say, the words that would send him away, that would make her turn and walk away.

And yet…she found herself taking a step closer towards him. And then another.

She wasn’t even sure why she was doing it, why her body was moving before she even knew it, her mind screaming at her to stop and turn around and walk away.

But she kept moving towards him, each step sending a strange, giddy rush shooting through her, her heart aching and fluttering at the same time.

And she stopped in front of him, less than a foot of space separating them, her eyes fixed on his.

Azriel still hadn’t opened his eyes, his face tense and taut as if waiting for the blow to come.

But the blow never came.

Because Eira reached out, her fingers trembling as she reached up to touch his cheek.

Azriel's entire body jerked as if he had been struck, a gasp leaving his mouth. His eyes flew open, shock and surprise clear on his face.

But he didn’t move, didn't pull away or even flinch as her fingers made contact with his skin.

He just stood there, frozen as he stared at her.

Her hand trembled, her throat tight as she felt the warmth of his skin. His face was tense, his breath catching with every moment her fingers remained against his skin, like he was fighting the urge to turn his head and press his lips to her skin.

“Eira,” he breathed out, the word a whispered plea, a prayer. And then he seemed to realize he had moved, was on the edge of reaching out to her in turn.

But he caught himself, his hands hanging at his sides. He was holding himself back, holding himself from reaching for her…

And somehow, that made her even more determined, her decision stronger.

She wanted him to reach for her, wanted his hands on her skin, wanted him to hold her close and never let go.

She slid her hand along his cheek, her palm caressing his jaw. And she stepped even closer, closing the very last bit of distance between them.

They were so close, her body almost pressed flush against him. He was so warm, his body burning, and so large, like a rock, unflinching and steady against her.

She could feel him trembling, just barely holding himself back from wrapping his arms around her. His eyes were fixed on hers, longing and pleading and aching.

Her breath caught when she realized how closely she was pressed against him, how only a fraction of distance separated their bodies. She could practically feel his racing heart under her skin, hear every quick and desperate breath leaving his mouth.

He was breathing fast, ragged and sharp, every little inhale shuddering from his lips like a gasp. He looked like he was about to snap, his entire body visibly trembling like a taut thread on the edge of snapping.

“Don’t do it again,” she said softly. “I won’t…I won’t be able to go through it a second time.”

Her words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, his breath hitching in his chest. She could see the pain that flared on his face at her words.

“I-I won’t. I swear,” he responded, and his voice was so gentle, like he was talking to a wounded bird. “I swear on my life, I’ll never let you go through that again.”

He was holding himself back, every muscle and sinew in his body tense with the effort of it. It was like he was fighting the urge to pull her flush against him, to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

“I swear, Eira,” he repeated, his voice a low and achingly sincere promise. “I swear I’ll be better. I’ll be everything you need, anything you want.”

“The only thing I want is for you to be yourself. I want you. All of you.”

A choked gasp left his mouth, his eyes going wide. He looked almost stunned like he couldn’t quite process what she had said.

“I…you want me?” he asked, his voice rough and raw, filled with disbelief.

She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. “Yes. I want you,” she confirmed, her voice firm and unwavering.

The words had a strange effect on him. It was like they had knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him looking completely awed and shocked.

He took another shuddering breath, his body trembling as he stared down at her. “You…you really still want me?” he asked his voice barely a whisper.

And just like that, the dam broke inside him. He reached out, pulling her flush against his body, his arms wrapping tight around her.

His head dropped to her shoulder, his body shuddering as he pressed his face against the crook of her neck. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, his voice ragged and raw and desperate. “I’ll be better. I’ll be the male you deserve. I promise.”

His body was shaking against hers, holding her tight like he was afraid she would disappear. He was breathing fast, hard and frantic, his chest rising and falling against her body frantically.

She could feel him shaking like a leaf, every muscle in his body taut and tense as he held her tight but oh so gently. And under that, she could feel his racing heart, beating so fast and intense that it was dizzying.

“I’ll be everything you need,” Azriel repeated, his lips moving against her skin, his words spoken in a low, ragged whisper. “I’ll be your male, your mate. I’ll never leave you, never hurt you or let you down again. I swear it, Eira, I swear it on my life.”

His fingers were digging into her skin, clinging to her so tightly that she could feel the slight, sharp pressure of his hands against her like he was trying to hold her to him, keep her as close as possible.

He was holding her so tightly that it should have hurt, but it only felt good. It felt like a comfort, a reassurance like he would never let her go.

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

A Second Chance, A Father's Curse - Part 6 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

This is a bit longer than usual because it took me a while to find a stopping point that I felt made sense, but I'm really excited to keep writing this series, after all it's only just beginning! Thanks for your patience :)

Part 5 here

Warnings: None

Word count: 3.9k

“Mustard leaf,” The small murmur makes you look up from your desk. You hadn’t even heard the door open, but in front of you stands your man-of-little-words royal advisor. He tilts his head, his question remaining wordless, and you sigh, “Good morning Inumaki, no I am not alright, but I suppose it’s partially my fault so I have no right to complain,”

He frowns and pulls a chair up, resting his elbows on the desk, “Salmon,” He encourages you softly, “Salmon salmon,” You take that as encouragement to speak up about your woes and so you put down your pencil, “I can feel him out there,” You murmur.

“I can feel his pain clearly now, I can feel how uncomfortable he still is here, he pretends for my sake but I wish he would tell me what he wants,” Inumaki pulls a blank sheet of paper and borrows your pencil, scrawling something quickly. News of his father?

You shake your head, “Nothing so far, but the coronation is in a few days…” You trail off, rubbing the scar on your cheek, “It seems his paranoia has rubbed off on me, I haven’t slept well since this happened,” You gesture to the thin line of crudely healed skin. He taps his masked chin with the tip of the pencil before writing something else: My technique, help you sleep?

Seriously contemplating it for a second you get lost in the idea of finally getting a full night of rest but you shake your head, “As much as I’d appreciate the help, I can’t risk not being of right mind if something does happen, I need to be able to lead my people especially this close to the coronation,”

“Bonito flakes,” He grumbles, pushing the paper towards you again. You cannot lead on no sleep. “He’s right, you need sleep my lady,” Gojo’s voice rings out from the doorway, which you once again hadn’t heard open.

“What are you doing here? What happened at the training session?” You ask quickly, pushing to your feet and stepping around the desk towards him. He pushes his hood back, adjusting the blindfold over his eyes and dipping his head respectfully, “Ryomen is incredibly strong, and more than willing to learn, but occasionally I have noticed that he struggles with internal conflicts. I don’t know if this is some remnant curse placed on him by his father or if this is just his lingering discomfort,”

You look back out the window past your desk, leaning your hands on the old cherry wood as you sigh. “Your highness,” Gojo says, “I have reason to believe that Ryomen’s bloodline, on his mother’s side, was incredibly powerful. Maybe even more so than his father,” You clench your hands into fists, trying to control your breathing.

You’d brought him here, if he turned out to be a threat it would be your fault. But… he’d been so willing, so pliable. Maybe even too pliable. You’d never wanted control of him, you’d only wanted to save him from his father.

His damned father, seemingly the root cause of all of this. “Jin Itadori doesn’t have a recorded domain expansion, but Ryomen is strong enough that there is no doubt he does, maybe even one without a barrier,” This makes you look back at the blindfolded sorcerer, your blood going cold, “…What did you just say?”

It’s not as if you’d doubted it for a second, from the moment you met him you knew deep down he must’ve had a domain, whether he knew it or not. Heck, you had one and you aren’t even half as powerful as he is.

“Mustard leaves!” Inumaki exclaims towards Gojo, before grabbing your hand and making you look to him instead of getting lost in your thoughts, “Salmon, salmon,” He emphasises the positive affirmation of his linguistic range, “Tuna,” He grabs the paper again and shows it to you.

Do you trust him? You look up into his purple eyes, slowly shaking your head, “I don’t know, I don’t know, can I anymore?” You whisper, “What is his domain? What is his technique?” You ask Gojo. “We… haven’t figured that out yet, in fact he doesn’t even know that I’m here, I came here to talk to you while he spars hand-to-hand with Geto,”

Your shoulders droop again at the mention of your personal guard, “I still need to apologise to him,” You murmur. “You did nothing wrong,” Inumaki’s voice is a bit hoarse and hesitant, but there’s no chance that sentence could affect you in any way despite the soft wave of cursed energy that washes over your ears, “He should apologise,”

Gojo slaps a hand over his mouth and Inumaki apologises quickly before falling quiet again. “Sorry your highness!” Gojo blurts, before poking his tongue out, “Blegh! God I hate when you do that,” Inumaki grumbles wordlessly and folds his arms, making you smile slightly at the mishap, “Gojo will you fetch Geto for me? Tell him I need to speak with him,”

He nods, “Oh, and let Ryomen know he’s free to sleep in the castle tonight if he wishes, I know how cold the sorcerer tower can be, I’ll have the maids prepare the room across the hall,” You bite your thumbnail a little, “I… I think?” “You think?” He raises a snowy eyebrow, half turned to leave. “I…” You shake your head, “Yes, tell him that, Inumaki will you tell my maids to prepare the room opposite mine?”

Your advisor nods, writing the instruction on a separate piece of paper before the two men leave, allowing you to slump back into your chair. You pick up the pencil again and scrawl down a quick note addressed to your husband detailing first an apology, then your wish for him to become accustomed to Iqoria in his own time, and finally informing him that your decision was not made without hesitation and anxiety, but you need him to come to you when he is ready and you will no longer command him if he doesn’t wish to be commanded.

Once the letter is finished there is a knock at the door and you sign it, “Come in,” You look up at Geto who looks nervous, something you hate seeing on his face particularly because he’s been your rock for almost your entire life. A second older brother, a guardian, someone you can lean on. Now he looks like a scared dog, hackles raised, a cut on his cheek matching your own.

“You wished to see me your highness?” You screw your eyes shut for a moment, rubbing your forehead to try and rid yourself of the memories of your bloody nightgown, “Yes, please sit down,” You gesture to the chair Inumaki left behind.

He moves to sit, keeping his hands neatly folded in his lap as you look up to him. A drop of blood trails down his cheek and he scrunches his nose slightly, trying to ignore it as you quietly watch him. You reach over the desk and wipe your thumb over the cut, feeling him flinch slightly as your energy stings the wound, sealing it up neatly.

It won’t scar, not like yours has. “Suguru,” You murmur, bringing your arm back to your body, his blood drying and making the tip of your thumb slightly tacky. “Your highness,” He breathes, refusing to meet your gaze, “You have my sincerest apologies for the way I have been acting since the ball in Khoccadia,”

You hadn’t summoned him here for this, but you know he needs it so you allow him to continue.

“I… Forgive me for overstepping but you are my sister, not by blood but by soul, and… and I don’t want to lose you. The prince is powerful, more powerful than anyone I’ve ever met before, and if I can’t protect you from him if the need arises then what use am I?” You can sense his frustration, he stands and starts pacing the room, his strides long as he flexes his knuckles.

After he does a few laps of the room he takes a deep breath, “Your highness, please say something,” He whispers.

“Y/n,” You reply softly, “Suguru, it’s always just been Y/n for you,” A tear slips down his cheek through the smear of blood, leaving a clean trail, “Our societal standings would say the opposite,” You shake your head, “This isn’t the ancient times, Suguru, you grew up alongside me,” You stand up, smoothing out your skirts, “Though we quarrel now and then, I don’t want to stop being able to trust you. I want to be able to look to you if I need a shoulder,”

Though you don’t move around the desk to him, he still dips his head slightly at your words, “I accept your apology, and would like to extend my own, in the hopes that when Ryomen’s discipline training is complete you will return to your post as my personal guard, renewed and stronger than ever,”

You see his shoulders stiffen slightly and he looks back up into your eyes, searching for something within them, “You… still want me to protect you?” You nod, “Of course you will have the help you always have had from the other guards, but I need you Suguru,” You say simply, “I am to be Queen, and the Queen chooses her guard, does she not? Who better than the Captain himself?”

He nods, “Yes, she does, thank you for your kindness princess,” He whispers as if he still doesn’t believe it. You nod, satisfied with how the meeting has gone, “Now, the coronation is in three days and I expect you and your guards to be looking their best, understood Captain?”

He nods, his smile returning softly, “I will make sure of it,” “Go then, and take my blessings and well-wishes for the guards with you,” He sweeps out of the room with renewed confidence, but yours is only crushed more so. With a wave of your hand the door is pulled shut by one of the guards outside and you sit heavily back in your chair, rubbing your temples with fingers sore from writing all day.

A few rogue thoughts cross your mind and you find yourself wishing for company, but loathing the idea of conversation. You don’t know who you would call to talk anyway. Ryomen doesn’t want to be around you right now, you sent Inumaki away, Shoko would just tell you about your parents and even your maids have become closed off in the wake of your brother’s death.

Perhaps they fear that you’ll become harsher upon your ascension to the throne, but what good would that serve you? Turning your own people against you would be a foolish move, especially now.

Your mind begins to wander amongst a dark forest of thoughts and questions you’re not even sure you want the answers to. Why was Ryomen so powerful? Who was his mother? Why do you feel so drawn to him? And why can’t you shake the sickening feeling that something awful is happening beyond the city walls?

His father, of course, must be rallying his forces to march on your kingdom. This you’re sure of, you didn’t personally meet the man but you could tell just by looking at him that he doesn’t play by halves. No, there’s something else, something just beyond your sight that you can’t put your finger on.

You scribble another letter, marking it with the royal seal, before leaving the room with your head held high, both letters clutched in your hands. The first, detailing a search mission, you give to Gojo’s apprentice Yuta Okkotsu, equally strong to his teacher and loyal beyond mortal ties. The second, addressed to your husband, you ask Yuta to deliver before he leaves as you don’t know which room Ryomen will seek refuge in tonight.

~

“You didn’t think I’d just let you leave, right?” A voice pierces the darkness and a form melts from the shadows. It’s Megumi, and Choso puts himself between the Shikigami user and his brothers, “Not without a fight it seems,” The man growls, his hands clenched as he summons his energy.

Thanks to his father’s experiments Choso is no longer human, cursed with his father’s ambitions and his toxic pride he finds himself unable to die from his own technique, a form of extensive blood manipulation that hasn’t been seen for many centuries. He knows he must reveal this trump card to his brothers if he wishes for them to escape, but before he has the chance to make a move Megumi steps fully into the light, brushing a few stray hairs from his face.

“Come on, your dad will be able to sense us going, if we want to get out it has to be quick,” Choso hears Yuji sigh with relief behind him and he reluctantly lowers his guard, “You’re not here to stop us?” “Look I ran away from one awful family, I’m not about to stop you from running from another, in fact I’d much rather go with you,”

Kechizu shifts on Yuji’s back, “Is that Megumi?” He asks quietly, “Is he coming with us?” “Yes, yes he is,” Yuji murmurs, “But we have to go now,” The group makes their way under the protection of Megumi’s shadows to the stables, where they take no more than three horses and ride out into the night, Eso sharing with Choso and Kechizu still clinging to Yuji.

Megumi out the front leads with Nue high in the sky, keeping watch behind. They stay off the main roads, barely able to see Nue above through the trees but following behind Megumi’s confident form as he pushes a path through the underbrush on his black stallion.

They ride well into the morning as Nue calls out every so often, warning them of travellers or hunting parties, but none are so foolish as to stray from the path and stumble into the runaways.

“We will reach the Creyarean district by midday, I recommend we stop there to eat and then continue on, if you wish to reach Iqoria as close to the coronation as possible we cannot waste time,” Megumi informs the group as he drops back slightly, “Does your brother know you’re coming?”

Choso and Yuji exchange a glance, “He doesn’t,” Eso answers for them, “But… but he won’t send us away, will he?” He looks to Choso, “He might be mean but he loves us, right?” Choso finds he cannot reply, only nodding to the fifteen-year-old. Eso and Kechizu are so small for their age, both sharing Choso’s technique which came from a close family of lords they were related to distantly by blood, but Yuji inherited an ancient family technique from their mother’s side instead.

Ryomen had ended up with a deadly combination of Jin Itadori’s technique and something he’d never revealed to them from his mother, something that amplified his power beyond safe limits and had driven Jin Itadori to curse the castle with a powerful suppression technique. It had taken a toll on the five boys, Ryomen the least, and weakened them all so much that Choso found he couldn’t perform his duties or attend to his studies to their fullest.

Now that they were free, now that they were gone, Choso could feel the cursed energy surging through his body, could feel his connection to his brothers through their blood clear as the sun shining above. It also meant he could reach out and sense Ryomen in the mist, more shrouded than the other three because of their different lineage, but still there. Still alive.

He didn’t know if he was comforted by the knowledge, but it certainly made him feel better to be able to sense all of his brothers again. “You stay here, I’ll go and get food from the market,” Megumi breaks into Choso’s thoughts as they approach the edge of the outer Creyarean district. “You can’t go in there alone-!” Yuji exclaims, but Megumi shoots him a glare.

“You two stand out too much,” He looks between Yuji and Choso, “And we can’t leave Eso and Kechizu on their own, just stay here,” He urges his horse towards the buildings, “If you see Nue without me, ride like the wind for Iqoria and don’t look back, once you’re inside their borders you should be safe,”

None of the boys liked that answer, that meant leaving Megumi behind in an unfamiliar place with people who more than likely wanted to kill him for assisting their escape. Once the Captain is gone, Yuji looks at Choso, “We’re not leaving him behind,” He grunts, “I don’t care if you’re older, this is non-negotiable,”

“If we’re not leaving Megumi behind, then we’re sending Eso and Kechizu on without us,” Choso shoots back, standing his ground, “They’re still not strong enough to help us,” “We’re strong!” Eso complains, but Choso shoots him a look, “Kechizu cannot navigate the world unaided as of right now, and you can barely control your technique, you’re no match on a battlefield with experienced fighters, understand?”

Eso slumps down onto his butt, Kechizu shuffling until he’s sat nestled against his brother’s side, “Just… be careful,” Kechizu murmurs, looking up in Choso’s direction with his black eyes, “Please big brother,” The black haired prince clenches his fists, gritting his teeth, “I would tear apart the heavens and the earth to keep you all safe, careful comes second, that is my non-negotiable,”

~

Nothing in this world can prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness of your bed inevitably being empty tonight. Despite the fact it has been a few days since you liberated Ryomen from his cage at your side, you felt even less prepared to return to your chambers where you know the sheets will remain cold even with the fire in the fireplace set to burn until the morning.

So its at your desk you remain, the dying light of the sun at your back not serving as distraction enough to make you raise your head. You’ve been reading up on old coronation customs, reading the literary accounts of your mother’s coronation and looking through the designs you chose for the day itself.

From your dress, the flower arrangements, jewellery and most importantly the tiara which will serve as your unique ‘casual’ diadem separate from the official state crown. Your mother had a hand in designing it, you could tell from the ways in which it would inevitably complement your features such as your face shape and hair type.

After signing a few official documents regarding civilian movement and protection orders, you lean back in your chair, slipping your feet out of your comfortable heels and tucking your knees up to your chest. It can get so daunting in the endless quiet, the stone floor of the castle layered with thick carpet dampening almost every sound and making you feel isolated.

Minutes pass and you eventually curl up, the chair big enough to support you sitting sideways pretty comfortably, resting your head and taking in the details of your skirts. Maybe you could go to Geto, but would he welcome you with open arms or do you still need to regain his loyalty? Inumaki is a no, you’ll just be tempted to ask him to put you to sleep.

“My lady?” A voice beyond the door calls for you and you look up, inviting them in. It’s one of the guards stationed at the door, her face young but downturned with worry, “Do you wish for us to accompany you to your chambers?” She asks.

You stay quiet for a few moments before sighing, “I do not wish to return to the emptiness of my rooms, but if I must then I will,” She smiles softly, “Surely you do not intend to sleep in here my lady?” You smile sadly in return, “In fact that is exactly what I was intending,” After a few moments where the guard shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say, she bows her head.

“Come, allow us to accompany you to your rooms, it will be much more comfortable despite the emptiness,” Eventually you stand, leaning down and grabbing your shoes so you don’t have to put them back on, “Lead the way then ma’am,” You gesture with an arm and the pair of them, the other a middle-aged gentleman, guide you unobstructed through the halls back to your room.

You’ve been unable to look at the bedsheets without seeing flashes of blood, feeling twinges of phantom pain in your cheek, “Will you be alright?” The female guard asks you, her hand resting on the doorknob as you stand just inside, thinking deeply. You look back to her, “Yes, I think I will be, will you send for Shoko? I want to see if she can do anything about this scar,” You gesture to your face.

With a nod, the door swings shut and you’re alone once more. This is what you dreaded, being left with only your thoughts for company, but you decide to passively fight back by quickly drawing a bath for yourself to cleanse your mind. The warmth envelops your body and you sigh, slouching down until just your head is above water. The foetal position becomes your safe space, your ankles crossed and legs hugged tightly to your chest.

It’s not long before you doze off, the weight of the day finally pushing you under as you go back over everything, making sure you didn’t forget anything important. “Your highness?” A call from your room rouses you from your drowsy state. You’re irritated for a few seconds before you remember you called for Shoko, “In here,” You grumble.

“Your guards said you wanted to see me about the scar?” She asks as she comes into the bathroom, moving until she’s sat beside the bathtub on the floor, “Is it bothering you?” You reach up to it, bringing your hand out of the water and running your fingers over where you know it lies, “Not visually, but it stings from time to time,” You explain, “Can you get rid of it?”

She nods, “It’s also probably a good idea because it cuts through one of your tattoos,” She murmurs, examining it a little closer as she leans over the tub, the ends of her hair draping into the water and getting wet. Her thumb passes over your cheek and though you feel nothing, she nods to herself, “There, now you’ll be perfect for coronation day,” She blinks drowsily, “Any news from Khoccadia?”

You shake your head, “I wish he would just do something, I hate waiting, every passing day is another day that my people are threatened by an enemy I cannot strike first,” You sigh, leaning your head back, “Will you pass me a towel?” She stands up and grabs one of the fluffy white towels on the shelf nearby, leaving it at the edge of the bath for you to grab, “Will you be needing your maids?”

You shake your head, “As much as the silence is killing my morale, I need to be alone,” You scoop some water and rub it into your face a little, “I’ll be alright, go get some sleep yourself,”

She leaves, and you spend a good few minutes crying. At least this way nobody will be able to tell when you get out of the bath, or tomorrow morning when you wake up.

Where are you when I need you the most?

Where is anyone when I need them?

~

It’s only a matter of time.

After all, we have him now.

We have everything we need to topple the thrones of man.

“This is going to be fun!”

I hope you're all enjoying it so far :) much love

Part 7

Taglist: @love-jelly @nousija

[shadowqueenjude]

Azris for @hieragalbatorixdottir

Needless to say, Azriel was not having a good day. His High Lady’s sister had abruptly decided to cut all ties with the Night Court, leaving with her mate in a fury, and for some reason, everyone and their mothers had decided to blame him for it.

Fine, Azriel had been a little weird one night with Elain. One night! It didn’t even seem to make a dent on her! She returned his gift immediately and had no difficulty not interacting with him since. But it seemed that the Inner Circle needed a scapegoat, and that scapegoat was to be him.

Azriel just wanted to go to the practice arena and swing his sword. The last thing he needed to be dealing with right now was-

“Hello, shadowsinger,” a male voice purred.

Oh no.

Azriel whipped his head towards the Autumn court heir. It didn’t help that he resembled his youngest brother quite a bit. Eris kept his right leg up on the armrest of a chair while in his left hand dangled a glass of wine. A crown was set at a jaunty angle on his head. And that smirk-

Azriel wanted to kill him.

“You,” he snarled.

“You look tense,” Eris mused, mock concern dripping in his voice. “Should I get you some tonic? I know you’re getting old; back pain is no joke in these twilight years.”

Azriel took a deep breath, his hands forming fists, and he imagined his hands wrapped around Eris’s neck like at the HL meeting. “We’re almost the same age, asshole.”

Eris chuckled. “But I don’t look like it, nor do I act like it. I cannot say the same for you. My my, are those age lines on your forehead?”

Yeah, no. Not today, Amarantha.

Azriel launched himself at him again.

Only this time, Eris held him back. Despite being quite slender, Eris’s arms packed quite a bit of strength. He laughed lowly at the utter fury in Azriel’s eyes? “So desperate to choke me again, shadowsinger? I’m starting to wonder whether you wish to kiss me or kill me.”

Azriel glared at him, at his stupidly perfect face, his stupidly soft looking lips that he wanted to make bleed, at his absurdly expensive clothing that he wanted to rip off of his body.

Impulse control had never been Azriel’s strong suit, so he grabbed Eris’s shirt by the collar and pulled downward. A loud tearing sound rented the air.

Azriel hoped to see some outrage that he had destroyed Eris’s perfect clothes, but it seemed that his amusement only increased.

“Those clothes were worth more than your future. I hope you’re planning to repay me for them,” Eris murmured seductively. His amber eyes were glittering with mischief as they eyed Azriel, daring him to do something.

So Azriel listened to the voice in his head screaming at him and lowered his lips to Eris’s.

Azriel got lost in the heated exchange, biting Eris’s lip three or four times in the exact same spot before soothing it over with his tongue.

“I…fucking…hate…you,” Azriel breathed between kisses.

Eris lifted Azriel off of him, moving briefly to the arm of the chair so that he could throw Azriel onto the cushions. Then he crawled on top of him.

“Good thing you don’t need to love me for me to do this,” Eris said. He grabbed Azriel’s cock and stroked a finger up and down its length. Azriel writhed under his grasp.

“Quit teasing,” Azriel hissed.

Eris lowered his face, not breaking eye contact the whole time. “Oh, but you love the tease, Azriel. Don’t lie to yourself.” He closed his mouth around the head of his cock and sucked gently. Azriel grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward.

“If-you’re-not-choking-you’re-not-going-hard-enough,” Azriel grunted, but Eris pulled away, running his hand down Azriel’s chest. “Such a brat,” Eris crooned. “You dare demand such things from a future High Lord?” A mocking shake of the head. “Behave, Azriel. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it my way.”

And then Eris winnowed them away.

[fantasyandshit]

The true monsters

Type:Oneshot

Pairing: Dean and Sam Winchester x sister reader

Summary: The winchesters have hunted monsters practically their whole lives but when the youngest is taken, they find out who the true monsters are.

(I know I suck at summaries)

*****I usually don’t include warnings mainly because I forget but this is graphic guys so please be careful and don’t read if uncomfortable, this includes themes of violence, force feeding, kidnapping, torture, etc.*****

“I’m going for food.” I catch the keys Dean throws at me- my motorcycle of course. I’d never get to drive baby, especially not alone.

Sighing I leave the motel room and head to the 24/7 diner down the road, it’s late, about 1:30 am so no one’s really out except the people at the bar next door as I walk into the brightly lit Diner. “And what’s a beautiful lady like you doing out here alone?” I turn to see a very clearly drunk old man. I choose to ignore him as I turn back to the counter and wait for my food.

Finally after sitting awkwardly with the man staring from across the room I get the food and leave, failing to notice the man that steps from the shadows of the alley behind me. As I pull my phone from my pocket to text my brothers a cloth is shoved over my mouth and nose and after struggling for a moment, all goes black.

———

*Deans Pov*

“Did Yn send you a weird text too?”

“Uhh no? What does it say?” Sam leans over my shoulder as I show him the text from our sister.

Rug rat 🐀

He- foo-

“Yeah that is weird, maybe it’s just a glitch in her phone or something? I’m sure everything’s fine.”

I hesitate a moment, “Yeah, yeah you’re right.” Somehow even as I say it, I can’t shake the unease that settles in my gut.

———

*Yns pov*

I wake up in a dark, musty room, I’m laying on a table with my arms, legs, chest, hips, and head held down by thick leather straps and a cloth gag sits in my mouth. My eyes move frantically as the fog slowly leaves my head. “Good, you’re awake.” A figure from the corner moves forward before I feel a cool touch run down my torso, that’s when I notice I’m completely bare. My eyes frantically search the man’s face, recognizing the drunk from earlier. “Don’t panic darling, everything is gonna be just fine.”

A muffled scream leaves my lips as his fist connects with my kidney twice before he steps away. As the man leaves I take in the room, in the far wall there looks to be a table, bottles and needs lined across it varying in size and color, I try and fail to struggle in my restraints as the cold metal of the table bites into my skin. “Now now love, no need to struggle.” Another man steps into the room, followed by the drunk from earlier. “I should explain, see me and my boy here we needed a new test subject, and when we saw a pretty lady like you all by herself, well we just couldn’t resist.”

I try to process what he means but my brain is still slow, that’s when I feel it- a prick in my neck before fire burns through my veins, spreading rapidly. I thrash and writhe, muffled screams and sobs leave my lips as tears and drool cover the gag, slipping down my chin.

———

*Deans Pov*

“Ok, something definitely isn’t right, it’s been two hours and Yn isn’t home.”

“You’re right. We’ll go to the authorities later, this doesn’t seem like an us case. We can drive around and look for her though.” Sam seems too calm in this situation, although that’s always how he’s been while me and Yn were always hot headed.

Me and Sam decide to drive over to the diner, “Sammy.” My voice is weak as I call my brother over.

“Oh god.” A shaky breathe leaves him as we see our sisters motorcycle on the side of the road, her keys, wallet, and phone on the pavement beside it.

———

*Yns pov*

I don’t know how long has passed at this point, three hours, three days, I don’t know anymore. My body is numb from all the injections of who knows what and the beatings I’ve taken, there’s currently a tube down my throat held in place by a block to keep my mouth open as food is forced into my stomach because I wouldn’t eat, an IV runs more drugs into my bloody, bruised body. Everything hurts as I lay on the metal table, rats squeaking in the corner.

“We found her!” The door is busted open and people rush to me, “hey, hey we’ve got you.” It’s a man, he has a vest with the letters FBI on him, a hun in his belt as he gets me from the restraints. “This may hurt a bit ok?” He grabs the tube currently in my throat and pulls, causing a spluttering choke to leave my forcefully parted lips before the block is removed after the tube. next to go is the IV before I’m carefully picked up and rushed outside into an ambulance. That’s when it all goes black.

———

My eyes blink open as i feel rough sheets beneath me, panic surges through me as i feel something in my mouth and needles in my skin. I start ripping at whatever my weak body can, not understanding where I am. “Hey, hey. Yn you’re ok, you’re ok. You’re safe, you’re in a hospital and you’re safe. The tube is to help you breathe, the IVs are helping keep you stable. I need you to calm down for me.”

A strangled cry leaves me as I take in my oldest brother, care and concern in his eyes as he looks at me. Nurses and doctors flood the room and shortly after the tube down my throat is replaced by something in my nose. “Dean?” My voice is horse from lack of use.

“Yeah baby, yeah it’s me. I’m here. Sammy uh- Sammy went to go get some food and coffee, he should be back soon.”

“How long?”

“Look kid I-“

“How. Long?”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, “two weeks, you were out while here for another week after that. God I’ve been worried sick kid, that doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Surprise hits me, two weeks, those freaks had me for two weeks. I squeeze the hand that holds mine as I look to Dean with teary eyes. “You’ll make it through this. You’re strong. I’ll be here every step of the way. I love you sis.”

“I love you to De.” With that I nod off into a peaceful sleep, my brothers hand being used as a pillow.

—————

I know it kind of sucks but here you go. I hope you enjoyed!

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake: Destiny in Motion

Not 100% accurate.

Translation under the cut.

Fate always moves before you know it, and by the time you realize it's too late, the waves have already swallowed you up.

Mitsuki: "Historical Figures Who Shaped the World. I didn't know there was a book like this."

Sebastian and I were sorting through the bookshelves in the library when I found a history book.

Mitsuki: "Napoleon's great achievements are featured here."

Sebastian: "Napoleon is a hero among great men."

(Sebastian, you're such a fanboy when it comes to Napoleon.)

Smiling and flipping through the pages, I found a list of soldiers, musicians, painters, scholars, and other historical figures, but among them一

Mitsuki: "The Pirate who moved the world?"

When I saw a guy with an unusual nickname, I tilted my head, and Sebastian peeked at the book.

Sebastian: "Oh, you mean Francis Drake of England."

Mitsuki: "So he was a pirate. Did he do something amazing to be called a great man?"

Sebastian: "Yes. Drake was a 16th-century pirate-turned-naval admiral in the service of Queen Elizabeth I."

Sebastian: "While sailing around the world, he discovered the Drake Passage and brought back looted goods to enrich the nation's finances."

Sebastian: "He also defeated the invincible Spanish Armada, seized control of the seas, and made England a powerful nation.”

Mitsuki: "Does that mean the country and the pirates were in cahoots!?"

I'm genuinely surprised.

Sebastian: "History isn't always pretty, and I'm sure this was a historic milestone."

Sebastian: "One pirate changed the balance of power in the world."

That afternoon一

As I went shopping, I recalled my conversation with Sebastian.

(I guess not all heroes like Napoleon run the world.)

(Pirates have a rough and scary image.)

???: "Yo, missy."

(Yup, yup, like this one一huh?)

I looked up and saw a large red-faced drunk man standing in front of me.

Drunk Guy: "Are you a foreigner? You're pretty cute. Why don't you pour me a drink?"

Mitsuki: "Sorry, but I'm still working."

I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my wrist tightly.

Mitsuki: "Let me go!"

Drunk Guy: "Just come with me."

(I can't shake him off. Somebody!)

I called out for help in my heart, and then一

???: "It's ungentlemanly to force yourself on a lady."

(Huh?)

I turned at the sound of the voice and saw a man with a half-up hairstyle and a hat standing there smiling.

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Miss, if you're in trouble, I can help you."

(I don't know who he is, but一)

Mitsuki: "Please help me! This guy is bothering me!"

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Yes. As you say, Your Majesty."

Drunk Guy: "What the hell are you doing? Don't just butt in here all of a sudden!"

The drunk guy pushed me and punched the guy with the hat, but he dodged his fist and tripped him up, knocking him down.

(Wow.)

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Can you run?"

Mitsuki: "Y-Yes!"

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Okay, this way then!"

He took my hand, and we ran out of the place.

Man with half-up hairstyle: "I don't see him. It looks like we lost him."

Mitsuki: "Haa... Thank God."

I let out a deep breath, and the man with the hat bent over to look into my face.

Man with half-up hairstyle: "You okay? You're shaking like a deer."

(I didn't notice it.)

Mitsuki: "Don't worry! I'll calm down in a bit."

I felt bad worrying the stranger, so I managed to smile and hide my trembling hands.

Then he squinted his eyes with his gaze locked on me.

Man with half-up hairstyle: "There, there. It's fine now. Take it easy, little fawn."

(.............)

My heart beat loudly as he patted me on the head.

(He's treating me like a child, but that's actually helping.)

(His smile makes me feel at ease.)

I felt relieved for a short time.

Drunk Guy: "I finally found you. How dare you!"

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Wow, you're a persistent old man."

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Sorry about this, little fawn."

Mitsuki: "Huh? Kyaah!"

Before I could answer, he suddenly lifted me and got into a boat parked on the Seine.

(What is he doing? I mean, can we just ride on it without permission!?)

Lots of things were running through my mind, but then he suddenly put his hat on my head and said一

Man with half-up hairstyle: "I'm going to fly this thing for a bit, so take care of it. Hold on tight, okay?"

As soon as he chuckled, he started rowing the boat.

The drunken man ran after us along the riverside for a while, but eventually, he disappeared, and we escaped.

But then一

Mitsuki: "Um, where are we!?"

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Haha, I wonder where?"

I had no idea where we were, but this place was so peaceful.

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Sorry, I guess I got carried away and rowed too far."

(I think he rowed a bit too energetically because he was having fun along the way.)

He laughed so openly that I was taken aback, but I started laughing too.

Mitsuki: "Pfft一ahahaha!"

Man with half-up hairstyle: "What's wrong?"

Mitsuki: "I didn't expect this kind of escapade, so I was a little bit excited."

Mitsuki: "But thanks for your help."

As I bowed my head, he smiled again.

Man with half-up hairstyle: "No need to be so stiff. What's your name?"

Mitsuki: "My name is Mitsuki."

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Mitsuki, the trembling fawn."

Mitsuki: "I'm not shaking anymore, and I'm not a fawn, Monsieur."

Man with half-up hairstyle: "No honorifics, please."

Mitsuki: "Oh, um, I'm not a fawn."

Man with half-up hairstyle: "Hahaha! You’re so honest, cute, and sweet."

I was a little embarrassed by his carefree words, but it looked like his easygoing tone conveyed his personality.

Mitsuki: "Can you tell me your name too?"

Drake: "Me? I'm Drake."

Drake: "I've been working on a sightseeing boat on the Seine River lately. Fuwaah..."

He yawned and lay down on the boat.

Drake: "The weather is so nice. The boat is rocking nicely, so I'll take a nap."

Mitsuki: "Really? Here?"

Drake: "Yup, here."

Drake: "I'm the kind of guy who doesn't hold back on his desires, even if the world could end at any moment."

Drake: "I'll get you home before dark, I promise."

I just shrugged my shoulders as he fell asleep.

(I'm getting caught up in his pace, but strangely, I don't mind it.)

Perhaps it was his easygoing attitude that made me think so.

Suddenly, the wind ruffled Drake's hair.

(Huh? Wait a minute.)

(Drake is the same name as the pirate I saw in the book.)

As I was thinking about this, I also laid my body down on the boat and was lulled to sleep.

There was a roaring, swirling sound of waves.

(Where am I?)

My blurry vision gradually became more vivid, and the view of the rough sea and large boats appeared before me.

(Why am I here? Is this a dream?)

Feeling like I was in a movie, a man's voice suddenly reached my ears.

Crew: "He's a monster! Sir Drake's a monster!"

Crew: "Bloodthirsty vamp一guh!"

Moments later, a knife flashed, and with a grunt, the person fell.

The person who wielded the knife wiped off the blood and slowly looked up.

???: "Even though I hunted, and hunted..."

???: "Hahaha! Yeah, a place where it's a do-or-die suits me."

???: "Nobles, pirates, humans, and vampires. They're all just a bunch of selfish, greedy bastards when you take their skin off."

???: "It's in the nature of all creatures to kill and destroy each other."

(That guy...)

!!!

Mitsuki: "Hm? Huh?"

Drake: "Oh. Are you awake?"

I opened my eyes and saw the sky, the familiar Parisian landscape, and Drake's face peering at me from above.

Mitsuki: "S-Sorry, I fell asleep, too! Wait, we're back in town?"

Drake: "Well, yeah, just in case."

I got up in a hurry and returned the hat I was holding.

(I can't remember exactly, but I think I had a weird dream.)

(There was this guy wearing this hat, who looked like a pirate, and he was yelling.)

Drake: "Mitsuki, what's wrong?"

Mitsuki: "Nothing! Thanks again for today, Drake. See you."

(Will I see him again?)

I swallowed the words, and Drake, who had received the hat, spoke.

Drake: "Let's play when we see each other again, little fawn."

I said goodbye to Drake and started to head back to the mansion, hoping to get home before nightfall.

(Drake is very carefree.)

I looked back on a bumpy day and smiled.

The rescue, the boat getaway, his pace, and the strange dream I had when we parted...

(Pirate "Francis Drake" and Drake the Sailor)

(It's just a coincidence, right?)

Convincing myself of this, I quietly put my encounter with him away in the treasure chest of my heart.

Drake: "If we ever see each other again, huh?"

Gazing at Mitsuki's back as she walked away, Drake chuckled to himself.

Drake: "Only if your and my fate will ever overlap."

Drake: "Oh man. If only I had my boat, I would have snatched her away."

He muttered a regret for the fine treasure he had found and put his hat back on.

The smell of the seeping tide grazed Drake's nose and melted into the Parisian sky.

Unaware of each other, Francis Drake and Mitsuki met over time.

Fate eventually hits them both like an irresistible wave, but that is another story.

-

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's grief, kidnapping, and ptsd references.

Note: Same note as the previous 2 chapters: sorry this may have more typos than usual as I wrote it on my phone

Chapter 73 - Wylan

To be entirely honest, when Wylan had asked Aimee if he could help her with anything he hadn’t been expecting her to say cutting her hair. But he couldn’t see anything wrong with the request, so he agreed and once she was ready she went down to the third floor to get dressed. Wylan crossed the fourth floor landing and hesitated for a moment beyond Esme’s bedroom, then pulled the door closed and slipped downstairs. It was not to be dealt with today.

Aimee sat on a chair beneath the pagoda, twitching her fingers in and out of her fist. As soon as she’d begun to cut the first half of her hair away, her relief was palpable in the air. She laughed giddily, clutching the long, limp tresses between her fingers and staring at them with wide eyes. After she’s cut both sides, above her shoulders wherever the blades fell, Wylan took the shears.

“Stop me whenever you need to, alright?” he smiled, “I’m just going to try to even it out a bit,”

Aimee nodded.

It took a while - they went slowly, and Wylan was only reasonably certain of what he was doing - but eventually Wylan thought it looked neat enough to at least get her through until the opportunity to ask someone who had a better sense of hairstyling. Aimee stood up slowly, brushing her fingers through the locks at the front of her face. She giggled again, eyes shining.

Wylan almost jumped when he suddenly felt Aimee’s arms close around him. She was considerably shorter than him and her head rested on his chest as she held him; after a moment of hesitation Wylan gently moved one arm over her shoulders, but he did not want to constrict her further.

“Thank you,”

The glow she’d sparked in Wylan’s chest lasted all of ten minutes. He gathered the piles of hair they’d cut away between them into the bin then followed her back into the house, to immediately hear panic filling the air. Someone was shouting from upstairs and there were footsteps racing through the building.

He suggested Aimee go to the kitchen and find herself something to eat, then hurried up the stairs to where he could hear Nina and Jesper’s overlapping voices.

“What happened?”

They were on the second floor outside the office, Inej unconscious between them. She lay on the floor, her head and shoulders cradled in Nina’s lap. Wylan swallowed, fighting the need to look away, to close his eyes. Jesper was apparently thinking the same thing. He caught Wylan’s hand and squeezed it briefly, then knelt to lift one of Inej’s arms over his shoulders.Nina helped him lift her and between the three of them they managed to carry her messily but safely enough down the steps.

“She was shaking like anything when I went in,” said Nina, “Completely out of it. And then she just… stopped,”

They lay Inej onto one of the sofas and Nina quickly arranged her limbs so she was lying on her side, legs bent, one arm beneath her head and one laid nearly over torso. She pushed the hair from her face.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered to the unconscious girl, “I promise,”

She stood up and brushed her hands down her shirt, frowning.

“I’m going to get her some water,” she said, after a minute of trying in vain to coax Inej back to the conscious world.

Wylan was leaning forward from one of the armchairs, eyes fixed on Inej. After Nina had left the room, he felt Jesper tug gently on his sleeve.

“You should see this,” he murmured softly.

Wylan frowned and followed him into the hallway and Jesper pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket - its very edges streaked with blood.

“It’s… what he used to get her out the house,” Jesper told him, “I think it must be, at least. She gave it to me last night but I- well, look I just read it. It’s a marriage certificate - for Elinor and Albert Crull,”

Wylan frowned.

“You think we were right?”

“Maybe… the birth years add up, Elinor would be the same age as Orlagh,”

“Is her maiden name on there?”

Jesper glanced at the paper.

“Van Deen,”

Wylan shrugged. He didn’t recognise it, but if he and Jesper were right in their theories then that might not be her real name anyway.

“We could ask Inej to look at it?” he offered, uncertainly, “She might know what to look for,”

Jesper glanced at the door to the living room.

“When she can, I mean,” added Wylan, “This doesn’t have to be our priority right now,”

“I know…” Jesper sighed, “I know that. I just think she deserves to-”

“I know,”

Wylan slipped his hand through Jesper’s so their fingers intertwined.

They sat quietly in the living room for some time, watching Inej as though she might vanish at any moment. Aimee sat cross-legged on the other sofa next to Nina, running her fingers through her hair in silence and frowning. Nina could not sit still; every few minutes she would find herself something to do, fetching someone a drink or running the cloth she’d placed on Inej’s forehead back under the tap again, and when she was seated she drummed her fingers against her knee.

“I’m going to check on Kiada,” Wylan said after a while, “I know she needs to sleep but it’s late in the day for no-one to have seen her,”

Nina nodded vaguely. He wasn’t entirely sure she knew what he’d said.

Wylan felt that something was wrong as soon as he crossed the hallway and noticed that Kiada’s bedroom door was ajar. The guest room she’d been staying in was farther down the hall from the main landing, closer to the back of the house and sharing a wall with the master ensuite, so no-one would have noticed the door was open from the stairs. Wylan crept towards it slowly, anxiety trying to tug him backwards.

“Kiada?”

The door creaked at his gentle touch, swinging slowly open.

“Kiada, are you alright?”

The room was empty. The window was open - but it was on the latch and the key was still in it. The barest edge of a breeze lifted the thin curtains and they floated silently above the windowsill and the little plant that adorned it.

Wylan frowned.

“Kiada?”

He paced briefly back into the hall and called for again, and when no-one answered he returned to the bedroom. The only other thing moving in there was a scrap of paper on the bed; Wylan only noticed it when the wind caught it and the corner began to flap against the little jar that had been used to pin it to the mattress. Wylan pulled it free and briefly inspected the jar - which appeared to just be an empty jar - before pacing back to the door with the note clutched between his fingers

“Jesper?” he called down the stairs, and when no reply came after a moment: “Jesper!”

“There in one second!”

“Now,”

“Alright,” Jesper called from two floors below, and Wylan could hear his voice getting closer now, “What’s wrong?”

Wylan pushed the note into his hands as soon as he reached the top of the stairs.

“I can’t find Kiada, that was on her bed,”

Jesper’s eyes scanned the page.

“Shit. Oh shit. Erm - Inej! - Inej isn’t awake - Nina! Nina!”

“What does it say?”

“I…” Jesper glanced at Wylan, then back at the paper before he read aloud: “It’s Alby. ‘Hostage exchange within 12 hours, or I turn her into the stadwatch’,”

“Oh,” Wylan whispered, clamping his hand to stop it shaking, “shit,”

[hopepaigeturner]

The Princess and the Knight

CONTEXT:

This flashback links with my Lady in the Veil post.

Its purpose is to show how Sophie's actions lead to her emancipation, in particular with a certain young girl...

This flashback occurs when Sophie has her first tea with the Bridgerton girls. I do not have a concrete idea for the exact wording of this scene. All it includes is Benedict, flirting/riling Sophie up so she breaks her servant persona. And Eloise, Francesca, Hyacinth, Gregory and Violet finding out more about Sophie.

After a sequence of classic Bridgerton sibling banter/snipping at each other, Violet turns to Sophie with a motherly smile.

“I apologise for my children, it seems whenever three or more are in the room they act as if they are still in the nursery.”

“Unless you’re Gregory then you are still in the nursery.”

“Hyacinth, I am older than you! I have just returned from Eton for the holidays!”

Benedict slips in and mediates the squabble with practiced ease. (*cough* emotional support animal *cough*). Rolling her eyes, Eloise asks Sophie.

“Did you have the misfortune of having siblings?”

“Err,” Sophie pauses. “No.”

“That is quite a long pause to a simple question,” Benedict asks, looking inquisitive.

“Well, it is complicated. For I do not have siblings but I grew up with the children of the house.”

“And did you get on well with them?” Violet asks.

“Mostly,” Sophie replies with a benign smile…

✨Flashback: ✨

“And then…there was a big storm that spun them around and around and up and up into the sky!” 10 year-old Sophie cries as she flings autumn leaves in the air. Next to her a little girl with vitiligo giggles in glee. The giggles getting louder as Sophie clutches onto the girl’s hand and starts to spin them around.

“But the knight and the princess clung together,” Sophie continues, “never to be separated for their bond was too strong!”

The girls slip and fall backward but remain giggling with their hands clasped. One cannot help but notice that the girl with vitiligo wears a fluffy coat and mittens, while Sophie’s hands are bare and her coat very worn. Although Sophie wears a pretty green ribbon in her hair.

The giggles die down as Sophie stares up at the autumnal sky.

“You are awful good at telling stories, Sophie,” the other girl says, voice soft. Sophie smiles—a smile with no teeth, but still a genuine one.

“Well, you are an awful good princess, Posy.”

“No, I am not,” the girl replies, turning away with a crestfallen expression. Sophie bolts up.

“Ofcourse you are! You are kind and sweet—and very beautiful with blonde ringlets and big blue eyes like all the girls in the storybooks.” Sophie gently caresses Posy’s curls but neither her words nor action change Posy’s downcast expression.

Posy puts a hand to the patches of different coloured skin on her face.

“I am not pretty.” she says in that soft, sorrowful voice.

Sophie is disheartened for a moment but then shakes herself and offers Posy her hand.

“Well, I still think you are a Princess, and you will always be the princess in my stories.”

Posy finally smiles and takes Sophie’s hand. The camera focuses on the image of the girls’ clasped hands.

“Aww, look who it is.” Sophie and Posy turn to the new arrival, a girl whose porcelain doll-esq features jar with her mocking tone. “The dog and the pig, lying in the dirt like the ugly animals they are.”

Posy flushes red and quietens. Sophie notices this, her hands balling into fists.

“Go away Rosamund!” she cries, putting herself in front of Posy.

Rosamund smirks,

“Oh, what are you going to do? Keep rolling in the mud with Posy the pig—oink, oink!”

“Stop being so mean!” Sophie cries then throws a handful of muddy leaves at Rosamund who squeals, then gasps when she notices some mud spots on her coat.

“You ruined my coat!” she squeals. “I am going to tell mother!” she cries then runs off leaving Sophie and Posy alone.

Posy sidles up to Sophie.

“You should not have done that Sophie; mother will be very angry with you.”

Sophie shakes slightly, a flash of fear on her face. But she swallows it down and says with a clear voice.

“Acting with kindness is more important than its consequences.”

She gives Posy a wide smile which seems to settle Posy. But as they walk back towards the looming house, Sophie starts to fiddle with her hands.

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

Masterlist

PREV | NEXT

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests!

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

*crashes violently early into your dms* heyyy

👉😏👉 I wanted to request Draken fluff for your valentine's day event 🥰 tysm

I INSTANTLY knew what I wanted to write for this one!

Let Us Begin!

Missed The Mark: Ken Ryuguji x Fem!Reader

wc: 916

tw: fluff

Valentine's Day Event Masterlist

Main TR Masterlist

The sound of a thunderclap spells doom for Draken. He looks up at the sky from the windowpane of his shop and grunts, scowling at the fat raindrops crashing down on the sidewalk.

"I'm gonna pack up a little early," Inupi notes, switching the "open" sign off and taking out his keys. "Do you have any plans with y/n?"

"I did," Draken admits, wiping his grimy fingers onto the towel around his neck. "But now it's raining."

"What'd you have to do?" Inupi asks innocently while lowering the metal gates. "Can't be much; tonight's..."

"Flowers." Draken ticks off his fingers one by one. "A candle, nice chocolates..."

"The works," Inupi replies, grinning. "So, what's stopping you?"

"I don't have a rain jacket." Inupi wastes no time grabbing the slicker by the front door and tossing it to Draken.

"I'll shut the place down tonight. Good luck!"

"Don't you have someone for Valentine's Day?"

"Nah," Inupi laughs. "Not making a big deal out of today anyway."

Draken takes his leave, hurrying out into the rain to grab the final items he needs to make the night special. Sure, there were little things he could do instead of flowers - like a card or some small trinket - but that wasn't what he really wanted. He wanted you to feel special, like all the other girls with boyfriends who got their things on time.

Draken arrives at the florist just before closing, bursting into the shop with little decorum.

"Last minute purchase?" the lady behind the counter wonders, her eyes old and wise behind large glasses.

"Sort of," Draken blurts. "I'm going to need something big."

"It'll cost you a little extra." Draken nods, pulling out his wallet.

"Name your price."

Fifteen minutes later and fifty dollars lighter, Draken walks out of the store with his loot secured under mounds of paper. It's honestly a bouquet befitting a bride, but Draken doesn't think twice about the size. He dashes through the rain once more to climb a flight of stairs and bang on the bohemian-style store with his fist.

The young man looks up from his cash register, bills already counted and laid out for collection.

"We're closed," the man shouts through the door, but Draken keeps pounding on the glass with fervor. "Go away!"

"I need a candle!" The man shakes his head as he counts the coins, placing them neatly in a stack. "You've got to help me!" The man flips Draken off, pushing the spare coins into the bag while moving away from the door and down a hallway. Draken huffs a deep breath, then yanks twice more on the door handle before stepping back from the shop. "You wouldn't do this if you knew who I was."

A head peeks out from the back room, and a pretty face turns his way. "Kenny?" The voice of a girl he used to know comes through the glass, and she makes her way toward the door, a smile painted on her face. It's one of the girls from the brothel, he realizes, and before long, the door is opened to him.

"Kenny, what are you doing here?" Draken grins, pushing back his hood and exposing his head to the rain.

"Getting my girl something nice," he admits, and the girl smirks.

"Finally settled down, huh?" Draken walks into the store and the former brothel employee follows him in just as the man rounds the corner.

"No one else in my shop," he announces loudly, but the woman overtakes Draken and puts her hand on the man's chest.

"This is a friend of mine. Stop being a dick, Tian."

Once the candle is secured, Draken has one last place to go: a place that's open later than most.

"Tell me you love me, Ken-chin," Mikey chides, holding the box of chocolates far away from Draken. "And I'll hand them over."

"I love you," Draken mutters. "Now, give them--"

"Say it like you mean it," the black-haired racer hisses while squinting his eyes. Draken grumbles, rolls his eyes, and shuffles a bit, but finally relents.

"I really love you, Mikey."

"Yay! Happy Valentine's Day!" Mikey hands over the chocolates and smiles. "It's my gift to you."

"I paid you to get them."

"Tomato, potato," Mikey mutters.

Draken’s finally done. He runs out into the street and retraces his steps back home, hoping you hadn’t been waiting too long when he opens the door, arms full of gifts.

“Happy Valentine’s… day…”

You’re dead asleep on the couch, cuddled up with one of Draken’s shirts. At first, his heart drops when he realizes you’d been missing him, but then he recovers, shuts the door, and begins to place the items he bought in their proper spots. Once he’s done his duty, he scoops you up into his arms with a grunt and carries you to the bedroom, cradling your head against his chest.

“I missed out this time,” he murmurs while pulling the blankets over you. “Didn’t I?”

“Not really,” you answer groggily, holding his hand as you awaken from your sleep a little. “You’re right on time.”

“Don’t you want to see the things I got you?”

"Not as much as I want to see you," you reply, pulling Draken into bed. "You've had a long day. Just relax with me."

And for the first time that night, Draken stops his hurrying and lays in bed with you, letting the events of the day fade into memory.

[rainbowbobatea]

Spice 'n Everything Nice

"Are you the bastard who bailed on Shar?"

In the shadowy confines of an alleyway, Hugh approaches a man, his steps purposeful and his expression deadly serious. The man, leaning against a wall, takes a drag of his cigarette, eyeing Hugh with annoyance.

The man exhales a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing. "Who wants to know?"

Hugh steps closer, his tall frame imposing. "Answer my question: Are you the guy who let my girl down?"

The man—with his greasy hair and a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes—shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Yeah, yeah, I was. Wasn't really interested, to be honest."

Hugh's jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. "How dare you let her down? How dare you even consider yourself worthy of her?"

The man laughs, a hollow, mirthless sound. "I can do whatever I want. Now, fuck off." He crushes his cigarette against Hugh's suit jacket, leaving a burning mark, and turns to walk away.

But Hugh isn't one to let things go.

Silently, he follows the man down the twisting alleyways, his eyes narrowed in anger. The man's ego, his careless attitude, and the fact that he'd dared to be with Shar, infuriated him…

As the man pauses, perhaps sensing he's being followed, Hugh acts. Fast.

Hugh pulls a large garbage bag from his coat, moving with a speed and efficiency that speaks of practice.

The man starts to turn, his eyes widening in as he realizes his mistake. "What the—?"

Hugh doesn't give him time to finish.

He pulls the bag over the man's head, sealing it tightly around his neck. The man's muffled screams echo down the alleyway as Hugh continues to wrap the bag around his flailing body.

With a satisfied nod, Hugh ties the bag shut and hoists it over his shoulder. He carries it to a nearby garbage bin and unceremoniously dumps it in, the man still thrashing inside.

“Mfffmmsm!!!”

As Hugh turns to leave, he catches a glimpse of blond hair disappearing around a corner.

"Hey! Who's there?" he calls out, his voice echoing off the walls.

He walks forward to find an old lady crossing the street. She has a dozen groceries in her basket, and her pace is dreadfully slow while her hands shake. Hugh decides to lend a helping hand.

"Hey, there. Let me help you with that."

The old lady clucks her tongue. "Well, aren't you a gentleman? Thank you, dear." She pats his arm, seemingly oblivious to the dark deed he'd just carried out.

Her eyes squint at him in gratefulness, and Hugh looks at the houses around them. A 'neighborhood watch' sign hung on a pole, colored in bright yellow, and next to it was garbage bin, the echoes of the man’s screams fading away…

The old woman looks up at him, smiling. “What was a young gentleman like you doing back there?”

"Ah, just taking out the trash, ma'am, just taking out the trash.”

“I’m telling y’all, the teas and the coffee we ingest are making us have to rely on the capitalistic fuel to control us,” Michael says, shaking his head. “And then? We turn into zombies when we stop ingesting them. We must put a stop to it ma brother.”

The customer stares, blinking in confusion. “Um…can I have my lattes now?”

The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans permeates the air as Michael rolls his eyes, leaning back against the counter. He sighs.

"Lattes, you say? Now, that's an interesting word choice," Michael says. "Six letters. Six, six, six. Like the number of the beast, my friends. The Illuminati is trying to brainwash us, and these coffee chains are their minions."

The customer hesitates, unsure whether to take Michael seriously or not. "Look, I don't know what you're on about, but I need my morning fix, so can we just—"

"Fix?" Michael interrupts, his eyes widening dramatically. "There, you said it yourself! You're addicted, controlled by these corporate giants! They hook you with their sugar and caffeine, and before you know it, you're one of the zombies, marching to their tune!"

Lizzie, overhearing, roughly shoves Michael away. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabs the two lattes and extends them toward the bewildered customer.

The customer takes them gratefully. "Uh, Thanks…"

"It's on the house," Lizzie says. "Consider it a sorry from us..." She shoots a pointed glare at Michael.

Michael, unfazed by the interruption, continues as if nothing happened. His voice rises, passion evident in every word. "You're still asleep, a slave to the system. But I'm here to open your eyes, to help you break free! Freeee!"

Meanwhile, Aaron bursts through the door of the café, his entrance dramatic for 12pm in the morning.

"Rev up those fryers! Because I am sure hungry for one-" he begins, but his enthusiastic proclamation is cut short by Lizzie's stern gaze.

Elizabeth walks around from the barista counter, her pregnant belly protruding prominently. She places her hands on her hips, fixing Aaron with a disapproving look.

"You're late," she states matter-of-factly as the manager. "We had to place Jacob at the fryer while you were gone. Where were you?"

Aaron shrugs nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by Lizzie's irritation. "So? And so was Shar yesterday- I heard she was an another date with the new guy."

The café buzzes with activity, customers chatting and sipping their drinks. Chad, walking through the cafe, rolls his eyes as he sets down a drink. A nearby customer pipes up, asking if their sugar-free lemonade is sweet enough.

Chad's exasperation is palpable as he mutters, "It's too early for this."

Mish, takes a dirty platter from a table, whispering into his ear. "You're telling me. I'm going to lose it if I hear another word from Mr. Don't Trust the Government. I'mma lose my mind."

The atmosphere in the café is a mix of tension and everyday bustle. There's muffins to be baked and customers to be served and Mish sighs, sliding a fresh pot of coffee across the counter to a waiting customer.

The man, hunched over his laptop, mutters his thanks without looking up. She's seen his type before: an aspiring writer, no doubt working on the next great American novel. Or so he thinks.

"Anything else?" she asks, her tone friendly yet weary.

The man finally looks up, his eyes blinking rapidly behind thick-rimmed glasses. "It's too cold," he complains, tapping his fingers irritably on the table. "Could I get a fresh cup, please?"

Mish's grip on the coffee pot tightens further, her smile faltering. "Of course. One fresh cup, coming right up."

The aspiring writer, still hunched over his laptop, takes a tentative sip.

"Oh!" He pulls back, surprised. "Now it's too hot! Could you, perhaps, blow on it for me?"

Bitch, please. Am I your mama? Mish's smile freezes for a moment, but she quickly recovers, her tone remaining pleasant. "Of course, anything for our customers."

Meanwhile, Tom had his own problems to deal with. An entitled customer is currently begging for a discount because she claims that "beautiful looking people like her" shouldn't have to pay full price. She waves the pastry in the air, shouting out claims.

"Well? Don't you think I look pretty? Like Beyonce? My friends tell me that all the time."

Tom, stutters, his anxiety rising. "I, um... I mean, I guess...?"

The woman pouts, clearly disappointed by his hesitant response. "Really? So does that mean I can get a discount!"

Mish, standing nearby, rolls her eyes, whispering to herself. "You don't look like Beyoncé, I'm sorry chile. I don't know who told you that to try and get into your panties, but they be lying..."

Honestly, it was a good thing Tom's girlfriend Zendaya stepped in and fixed the situation before things got out of hand.

Meanwhile, pastries fly and flour dusts the air as the bakers work their magic in the kitchen. Britney, Christina, Jess, Mandy, and Shar are in their element, creating delicious treats with efficiency and cheerfulness.

"Ooh, these muffins are looking good!" Christina exclaims, pulling a tray from the oven, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Mandy, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, nods in satisfaction. "You know it. Our customers are going to love them."

Shar, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the oven, takes a bite of a pastry, her eyes closing in pleasure. "Mmm, this is heavenly, Jess. You really nailed it!"

Jessica, her face flushed with pride, grins widely. "Aw, thanks Shar! Took only a few hundred times to get the perfect recipe-"

Bang!

The sweet moment in the kitchen was interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open. Lizzie storms into the room, her face like thunder. Behind her, a customer hovers, looking distinctly unhappy.

"This cake is salty," Lizzie announces, with all the frustration of a pregnant woman.

Britney's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. "Oh no.”

Jessica gives her a strange look. "What do you mean, oh n, Brit?"

"…I think I mistook salt for sugar..."

Everyone's jaw drops. Especially Jess's, the head baker. "Are you kidding me!?"

Brit's throws her hands up in defense. "Hey! Sugar and salt both look the same, alright?"

"But they don't taste the same!"

Britney shrugs, scratching her blonde hair. "Hey, at least I'm not tasting up all the deserts like Tina—the freaking vacuum."

Christina gapes, hands on hips. "Excuuuuse me?"

Shar, ever the peacemaker, steps forward to the irritated customer, her demeanor calm and collected. "Don't worry, we'll fix it. We have more samples, right?"

Jessica nods, briefly breaking away from the upcoming argument. "Oh, y-yeah."

With a gentle smile, Shar turns to the back kitchen and retrieves another cake sample, presenting it to the customer back out at the front counter with grace.

"Here you go," Shar says, "Our apologies for the mistake."

The customer, their face softening, takes the cake and tastes it with clear satisfaction. "This is much better. Thank you."

"You're welcome! Come back to Le Festin soon!"

Shar waves goodbye to the customer, her smile warm and genuine. As the door closes behind them, she lets out a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxing as the bustling cafe atmosphere calms momentarily.

But her peace is short-lived.

A pair of strong hands suddenly cover her eyes, and her heart, which had just slowed, now quickens its pace.

"Guess who?" a deep voice asks, full of playful challenge.

Shar smiles, hearing the familiar voice behind her. "Hmm, let me think. That's a tough one."

"You have two guesses," the voice prompts, his breath warm on her ear.

She giggles, turning her head slightly. "Jacob?"

"Nope," the voice scoffs playfully.

"Michael?"

"Please don't compare me to that nutjob, love," the voice teases, his arms still wrapped around her, fingers lightly brushing her skin as he lightly strokes her sides.

Shar laughs, turning to Hugh as she crosses her arms. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be at the front greeting people."

"I heard your voice and couldn't help but come over," Hugh admits.

"Flatterer," Shar teases, her cheeks flushing.

Hugh leans in, his lips gently brushing her forehead in a tender peck. But their intimate moment is abruptly interrupted by a chorus of "oooohs" from above. They look up to see Mandy, Christina, Britney, and Jess peeking out from the kitchen, spying on the couple secretly.

The pop princesses are snooping, as usual.

Shar's cheeks flush deeper, and she gently pulls Hugh into a corner, away from the prying eyes of her friends.

"Hey, you," she says softly.

"Hey, yourself. I couldn't stay away, especially when I hear your voice." His gaze drops to her lips, his own parting slightly as if he's considering kissing her. "I missed you."

"You just saw me a few minutes ago."

"Didn't stop me from missing you." Hugh's voice deepens, and he moves closer. "You know, I could take my break now. We could—"

Clang!

A loud noise interrupts their intimate moment, and they turn to see Chad dropping a tray of dishes, his eyes glaring an annoyed look at Aaron who had bumped into him after waltzing out of the kitchen for a break.

"Oops," Aaron mutters, giving Chad a sheepish smile.

Chad, frustrated, shakes his head. "Boy, you better clean up this mess, boy! Get ova here'ya!

Shar and Hugh watch as Aaron runs out to avoid cleaning it up, their faces instinctively turning towards each other.

"I have something for you," he says, his voice low and intimate.

Shar raises an eyebrow, a playful smile curving her lips. "Oh, really? What is it?"

With a flourish, Hugh withdraws a small, white box from his pocket and presents it to her with a bow. "Open it."

Intrigued, Shar takes the box, her fingers tracing the smooth edges. She lifts the lid, revealing a rich, decadent chocolate cake within. Her eyes light up as she takes in the sight.

"Aww, Hugh," she breathes, "That's so sweet."

He takes a forkful of the rich, chocolatey cake and gently feeds it to her. The sweet, indulgent flavor explodes on her tongue, and she can't help but close her eyes in enjoyment as she chews. When she opens them again, she finds Hugh watching her, his gaze intense.

"Good?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

"So good. I can't believe you brought this here just for me."

"I wanted to do something special," Hugh admits, his thumb lightly wiping chocolate off her cheek. "Since we've been seeing each other for a little while."

Shar's eyes sparkle. "Awww, thank you so much." She starts leaving to get back to work, but pauses. "Hey, did you write your name down on the board? You know, the staff photo board?"

"Hm?"

With a gentle nudge, she points to a board on the wall adorned with photos of all the employees. Names are inscribed below the photos, along with their respective positions and social media handles. It's a fun way for customers to get to know the staff and interact with them online.

Hugh's gaze follows her finger, scanning the board disinterestedly until his eyes land on Shar's photo. It's a beautiful shot, capturing her cute brown eyes and bouncy, chocolate brown hair. His eyes sparkle with a new kind of interest as he notices the social media handles listed below:

Instagram and Twitter.

A sly smile spreads across his face.

The kitchen bustled with activity, the clatter of pans and the whir of the mixer filling the air. Through the swinging door, Shar could be seen taking more orders, her face illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the café windows.

Unbeknownst to her, in the men's bathroom, just a few feet away, Hugh was stalking all of her photos.

Eyes wild, he sat in one of the stalls, his expensive suit a stark contrast to the grimy bathroom. In one hand, he held his phone, scrolling furiously through Shar's Instagram account. He lingered on each post, screen-shotting every single photo and screen recording—

Every. Single. Video.

As he scrolls further and further, his thumb unintentionally likes an old photo. "Shit."

His grimaces, paranoia gripping him. Did she get a notification? Will she think he’s creepy? With a swift motion, he unlikes the very old photo, his heart pounding.

But then, it gets worse.

He spots a post from years ago, where Shar smiling with another guy. Hugh's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Hopefully, he was just a high school friend," he muttered, "Or... dead by now."

Jealousy burns within Hugh as he scrolls through Shar's Instagram account, his thumb hovering over the 'following' tab. With a hesitant tap, he delves into the list of accounts she followed years ago, his eyes scanning for any male celebrities or good looking guys

And damn—there's a lot.

"No," he mutters under his breath, tapping on a guy's profile. "Why him, of all people?"

But his jealous rage only intensifies as he delves deeper into a profile, discovering old heart-eyed emojis from none other than Shar herself. The old comments was the last straw for him, making him slowly lose control.

"Fucking hell," he growls, clenching his phone tightly. "I can't take this."

With a fiery grunt, he slams his phone against the wall, the screen shattering into a spider web of cracks. For a moment, he simply stares at it, his chest heaving.

Then, a sudden calm washes over him, and he rises, fishing his phone from the stall. He calmly tosses his phone into the toilet, looking at it emotionless, and flushes it away.

When Hugh walks out, a freaked out Jacob is standing inside, washing his hands with a surprised emotion.

"Damn, man. You alright? Sounded like you were taking a massive shit in there."

Hugh paused for a moment, his eyes flashing with a mix of emotions. Then, he fakes a smile, pushing away his fury.

"Yeah..."

"Wow, this restaurant is amazing!"

Shar looks around in wonder as they were seated. The sounds of tropical music filled the air, transporting them to a tropical paradise. The walls were painted in vibrant hues of turquoise and orange, adorned with paintings of palm trees and sandy beaches. The bar, adorned with colorful bottles and fresh fruit, attracted patrons seeking refreshing cocktails to complement their meals.

"Welcome to Irie Vibes, mon!" A waiter says. "Mi name is Tamika, and I will be your server tonight. Let me start you off with some refreshing beverages while you peruse de menu, yeah?"

After placing their order, Hugh and Shar relaxed, taking in the vibrant atmosphere.

"I can't believe you chose this place for dinner after work," she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I've been wanting to go since forever!"

"I know," Hugh wanted to say out loud. After stalking all of her social media accounts, he saw that she had tweeted about wanting to go to this restaurant #sobadly.

So of course, he had to make her dream come true.

"Wow, what a coincidence!" Hugh says with a grin. He winks. "Guess me and you have the same tastes."

Shar swats his arm, blushing. "Stooop."

As the waiter swung by with their food, Hugh and Shar's table was soon adorned with a feast: grilled meats and stews wafted through the air, making their mouths water in anticipation.

As they began to sample the various dishes, Shar suddenly froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Her gaze had caught on something—or rather, someone—a few tables away.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered, a grin spreading across her face. "Is that Mish? And... hey, her boyfriend?"

Hugh followed her line of sight, his brow furrowing slightly as he spotted the couple. "Huh, what do you know? Small world."

Shar was already waving, catching Mish's attention. The other woman's face lit up with recognition, and she nudged Channing, pointing in their direction.

"Should we invite them over?" Shar asked, turning back to Hugh with hopeful eyes.

Hugh hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening. He wanted the whole evening just to her…but seeing the excitement on Shar's face, he nodded, forcing a smile.

"Sure, why not? The more, the merrier."

Shar beamed, waving Mish and Channing over. The couple approached, Mish's hips swaying confidently as she walked, Channing following close behind with an easy grin.

"Hey, girl!" Mish exclaimed, pulling Shar into a quick hug. "Tired of the Le Festin food?"

Shar laughed. "Yup—hey, why don't you guys join us? We can make it a double date!"

As Mish and Channing settled into the chairs, Hugh shifted slightly, his posture stiffening just a bit. He nodded at Channing, who returned the gesture.

"Sup, guys," Channing said, his deep voice rumbling as he made himself comfortable.

Mish's eyes suddenly widened as she noticed the dish in front of Shar. "Girl, I know you ain't eating that spicy jerk chicken! You can't handle it! It'll give you a heart attack."

Hugh's head snapped up, alarm flashing in his eyes. He looked from the chicken to Shar, concern etched on his face. "Is it too spicy? Can it kill her? Maybe you shouldn't—"

Shar rolled her eyes, waving off Mish's teasing. "Oh, stop it. You're scaring Hugh."

To prove her point, Shar took a big bite of the chicken, chewing with exaggerated satisfaction. Hugh watched her carefully, ready to perform CPR…just in case.

Channing, meanwhile, took a big bite of the stew with scotch bonnet peppers. He took a hefty forkful and popped it into his mouth without so much as a flinch.

Mish's eyebrows shot up, impressed. "Babe! You like that spicy stuff, huh?"

Channing nodded, savoring the flavor before swallowing. "Yeah, that's the shit right there."

Shar blinked in amazement too. "Woah…"

A competitive glint sparked in Hugh's eyes, his brows furrowed in jealousy. He did not like how Shar was paying attention to another man: Hugh was set on keeping up with Channing's spice tolerance, driven by a sudden need to impress Shar too.

"Yeah, I like my spice too," Hugh lies, his voice steady as he scooped up a generous portion of the roti with curry. Without hesitation, he popped it into his mouth, chewing with a confident smile.

The spices hit him like a freight train.

Hugh's eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly reached for his glass of water, his throat already feeling the burn. He began coughing uncontrollably. His eyes watered, and he sped for a napkin, his poor face reddening.

"Babe!" Shar screamed. "Oh ma gosh, are you dying?"

Channing casually took another bite, chewing. "Looks like our Australian mate couldn't handle it, eh?"

If he had a gun, Hugh would've shot him down. But instead, Hugh smiled quietly, taking comfort in Shar's gentle touch.

Dessert soon arrived, a tempting display of sweet treats that had Shar's eyes sparkling with delight. Among the offerings were two particular favorites: coconut drops and rum cake.

"Ooh, this is so good," Shar moaned, taking a bite of the rum cake. The rich, buttery flavor, enhanced by a hint of rum, seemed to melt on her tongue. "Mmm, try some."

She held out a forkful to Hugh, who gladly accepted. As the cake touched his tongue, he was frantically making mental notes on how to bake rum cake, so he could surprise her every week.

Or every day.

Damn, that's good," Hugh mumbles, his eyes never leaving Shar's as she reaches for yet another slice. And another. And another…and another.

Mish looks up from where she's chewing her coconut drops. "Girl, you're gonna get drunk soon ya know? Oh, dis ain't gonna be good…"

Hugh eyes Shar with amusement as she reaches for another slice of rum cake.

"Shar, that's your sixth piece," he observes, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "You okay, love?"

Shar, already a little tipsy from the sweet treat, slurs her response. "This is soooo good. You know, my friends say they loooooove this too.“

Hugh blinks, taken aback. "Uh, are you drunk...?"

But before Shar can answer, the familiar sound of a guitar being tuned reverberates through the room. It's open mic night at the restaurant, and a sweet couple takes the stage.

Shar, fuelled by rum cake and a sudden burst of enthusiasm, stumbles towards the stage. She grabs the mic from the unsuspecting couple, her movements unsteady.

"Thank you so much," she begins, her words slightly slurred. "I'd like to dedicate this song to a special person..."

The room falls silent as Shar, with all the passion of a drunk sailor, launches into a soulful rendition of "A Whole New World."

Hugh, still in his seat, winces as he listens to her drunk tune.

"I can show you the world~" Shar belts out, her eyes closed as she imagines herself

As Shar continues her drunken serenade, her voice wavers and cracks on the high notes. She sways precariously on the stage, microphone clutched tightly in her hand.

"Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?~" Shar belts out, her voice carrying through the restaurant.

Hugh watches from their table, a mix of concern etched on his face. He glances at Mish and Channing, who are looking at her in bewilderment.

"Okay, I think it's time we called it a night," Hugh mutters, throwing a couple dollar bills on the table

He strides towards the stage, Hugh reaches her, gently but firmly grasping her arm.

"Alright, love. Time to go back home," he says, loud enough for her to hear over her own singing.

Shar blinks at him, confusion clouding her rum-soaked mind. "But... but I'm not finished!"

"Oh, I think you are," Hugh replies.

In one swift move, he throws her over his shoulder and heads out the restaurant, into the cool autumn night.

Shar fell into a drunken asleep…

Thank goodness.

Or else, if she was awake, she'd know that he knew the exact route to her house. Now, he can just lie and say that he asked someone for her address, her shining (and respectful) knight in armor.

"Yes…yeah, that's what I'll say once I drop her off."

As he pulls up outside Shar's house, Hugh's heart sinks. The place is dark and quiet, clearly indicating that no one is home. He curses under his breath, debating his next move.

Waking her up seemed impossible now; she was out cold and wouldn't budge.

A surge of protectiveness washes over him, and he knows he can't just leave her alone in this state. With a sigh, he makes a decision.

"My place it is, princess."

He adjusts her gently in his arms, taking care not to wake her. Her head lolls against his shoulder, her breathing soft and even. He takes a moment to admire her peaceful expression, his gaze softening despite the challenging situation.

Wow…she's so pretty.

As Hugh approaches his house, the porch light shines brightly, casting an inviting glow over the cozy space. The windows are illuminated, revealing a glimpse of the warm interior.

Ava and Oscar, still in their pajamas, burst through the front door, their eyes shining with excitement.

"Daddy!" they cry in unison, running towards Hugh.

He smiles, his face softening as he takes in the sight of his children. "What are you two still doing up? Didn't your babysitter tuck you in?"

Oscar, the older one, pipes up. "We wanna wait for you, Daddy. We miss you."

Ava claps, giggling.

"Aw, sweethearts," Hugh murmurs, his heart melting a little. "But it's past your bedtime, isn't it?"

Oscar nods, her curly hair bouncing around her face. "Yeah, but we wanna see daddy. And…mommy?"

Hugh's smile falters slightly as he realizes Oscar's talking about Shar. "Oh, she's just Sleeping Beauty. Daddy needs to make sure she gets her beauty sleep."

"Sleeping beauty?" Oscar's curiosity is piqued, his eyes widening at the prospect of a fairy tale come to life.

"Yeah," Hugh replies, careful to keep his tone light. "I found her sleeping at the restaurant, and I didn't want to leave her there alone, so I brought her back here. Now, off you go to bed. No more questions."

With a final glance at the mysterious lady in their father's arms, the children reluctantly comply. They know better than to argue when their father talks strict.

"Night, Daddy," they chorus, turning to head back inside.

"Goodnight, my loves," Hugh calls after them, his eyes trained on their retreating figures. Once they disappear inside, he exhales a deep breath, as if the air had been knocked out of him.

With a soft sigh of relief, he shifts Shar's weight in his arms and heads inside, careful not to wake her. He climbs the stairs quietly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. At last, he reaches the guest bedroom. Gently, he lays Shar down on the bed, smoothing her hair away from her pretty face…then—

Thud!

Then he hears a loud noise.

His heart stutters as he watches the phone tumble from Shar's pocket, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

He freezes, his gaze darting to the sleeping figure on the bed. Thankfully, Shar doesn't stir, her breathing remaining steady. With a swift move, he bends down, scooping up the phone.

He smiles softly as he recognizes the wallpaper: it's a picture of her baby sister, her eyes shining with mischief as she makes a silly face for the camera. A warm feeling spreads in his chest as he unlocks the phone.

He'd seen her enter the passcode tons of times, just like he knew all of her commonly used passwords by glancing over her shoulder.

"Let's see what we have here," he murmurs, his thumb scrolling through the apps. "Gotta check in to see if my baby's doing alright."

He starts with her camera roll, his lips twitching with amusement as he scrolls through countless selfies and random snapshots of daily life. There are photos of her family, her friends, and—of course—pics of Le Festin.

Next, he goes to her notes app and checks her Google Calendar, making a mental note of her upcoming dentist appointment and the girls' night out she has planned with her friends.

"Good thing I know now," he mutters, envisioning himself reminding her of these important dates.

What a thoughtful boyfriend I would be.

His thumb hovers over the messaging app, his curiosity getting the better of him. With a faint frown, he opens her recent messages, texts filled with familiar names of her co-workers—and that's when he sees it.

A message from a number he doesn't recognize.

His brow furrows as he reads the words, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Who the hell is this?" he mutters, his thumb scrolling furiously through the thread.

The unknown number had sent a flirty message, accompanied by a winking emoji.

Jealousy flashes through him like an electric current, his eyes widening as he continues to read.

"You little—"

He stops himself, seeing that it was actually a mistake. "Oh sorry, wrong number," the person had said afterwards. Shar responded with a thumbs up emoji and that's all.

Still—that wasn't good.

He can't have his innocent, precious baby be texted by these random, perverted men. No, no, he can't have that at all. It's his duty to protect Shar, and that's exactly what he's gonna do now.

It was a swift decision.

Moment later, the spy app was already installed for both their phones and hidden from view. Hugh hastily types in his email and password before exiting the app.

Perfect. Now, anytime, anywhere, he'll get notified if she's texting some other man...or woman.

With a final glance at the sleeping beauty, Hugh leans down and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, whispering, "Goodnight, my sweet girl."

He carefully tucks her in, his fingers smoothing out the covers and ensuring she was comfortable. Then, he lowers himself onto the bed, his body sinking into the mattress beside her.

Staring.

Watching every single breath she takes.

Bzz Bzz.

His phone vibrates on the bedside table, breaking the silence. His eyes dart to the screen, where he sees a notification from the spy app. With a swift intake of breath, he unlocks his phone, eyes widening at the familiar name on the screen:

Aaron.

Shar, there's something you should know about the guy you're seeing...meet me at the back of Le Festin tomorrow before it opens.

It's rlly important.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

△ for Mura: of all the things your father did to you and forced you to do, what left the longest lasting (emotional) wounds?

10/10 v uncomfy [this got long, 910 words long, so under the read more it goes ]

Mura shifts in her chair. she clearly has to think about this deeply, but after a deep breath she starts talking.

"When i was still new to this world, he visited me and my lady mother. his hand dwarfed my shoulder as he made me look him in the eye, and he gave me my first order."

She looks away before starting her next sentence, a stiffness to her jaw, "prove that you are worthy of my blood in your veins"

"I cant have been more than a few winters old, a midwinter child. The darkest night of the year" she looks like she has had many people comment on that. she laughed bitterly, "my first encounter with my father, a threat and a challenge."

She looks into your eyes, the white and pink of her eyes no less startling for their mixing, her full gaze unsettling, "for those who haven't spent a century learning to interpret my father, the challenge was to be better than the failures i had the... pleasure of witnessing the downfalls of" unspoken, that she had orchestrated many of those downfalls herself, later on.

She shakes her head to dislodge the bloodstains and screams of what in another life would have been her siblings, but in this were just nameless warnings and examples.

"A threat that i could not be seen to fail, like them, as i carry part of him, and no part of him can fail. a threat that my punishment would be all the more severe for my special status-" another bitter laugh "- after all, the higher the tower, the further to fall"

She shifts again in her chair, frowning. "Ha. i suppose that's not the whole truth." a pause, "well it is one truth. having me be born to be his weapon is the reason I'm like... well this" she gestures to herself, a sneer on her lips.

with a sigh she continues "but when has this damned potion made it easy for me."

"Three decades is a long time to spend with one person, or at least it was for me. the only constants i had was my father, his favored didn't stay that way for long, and shot lifespans got shorter around him"

"i suppose i had my mother, ill as she was, always their to give me the education on how to be a proper eleven lady" Mura's grimace speaks for itself on her feelings about her mother. she moves on quickly, preferring to speak of the next uncomfortable topic than the one just hinted at.

"i was still a child in eleven years, and i had lacked consistent companionship. i let my guard down." her head shakes, "not really. well i did, just not at the start. it was a mission, like many others."

the slight tremor of her voice makes it clear it didn't stay that way

"but a year is a long time to deceive someone, let alone thirty. its not wise to lie completely for such a long time, as holes are bound to form, suspicions too,"

"He never disproved. not explicitly. he gained much from that relationship, much that no-one else could have got him, for i was the best of his tools, for better or worse,"

"Still, those gains ran out eventually." Mura's voice is almost a whisper now, low and catching on words. like a lover confessing a secret in the dead of night.

"our time together ran out eventually" her stony face was mistakable for a statue, her voice stiff too.

She hasn't looked at you for a while now, her eyes almost closed.

"that's your answer. damn you." her bitter laugh from earlier is nothing compared to the dry cackle that emerges from her mouth "that's all your getting. your close enough. you can say it yourself. i will no-"

something tripped her tongue, she tries again, carefully enunciating her words, "I will n-"

she jumps up and slams her fist on the table, blood from where her nails had been digging into her palms, shining in the light, shining like her eyes, their full force now upon you once again.

"When he ordered- When He ordered me to kill Her" her voice trembles with fury, but its loud now, and growing louder

"When i dug that blade into her throat. That's whats done the most damage." Her canines shine in the light to, "when he told me to kill Her and I JUST DID IT" shes yelling now, but then her voice breaks on the last word and her next are back to a whisper, her eyes away from yours,

"He- He didn't even need to force me. The threat was always there. It was always there. Since i was born, since he first put his hand on my shoulder, he could do anything to me, make me do anything."

"He made me kill her. He made me kill the only part of myself that was good"

"And the true worst part? he made me love him for doing it. he made me grateful for the chance to prove myself to him. he acknowledged me as his daughter, as his success."

This time her laugh was wet enough to be mistaken for a sob, "All i had to do was kill her. All i had to do was damn myself."

you barely hear it, one last confession from the wicked woman before you, "and i didn't even hesitate"

[there's three answers. the worst thing he did to her was make her be born. the thing that left the most scars was him ordering her to kill her friend, and the worst thing he made her do was manipulate her into sacrificing her friend for his acceptance willingly]

[choccy-zefirka]

Niamh and her sad husband are back babey!!

Cleaned up and updated this old fic now that I am on the Zevlor train again!

Summary:

A Githyanki raised on Toril by druids that found her as a hatchling, Niamh often appears too soft to her companions, while the people that she meets on her travels have a pre-conceived notion that her kind are Evil-aligned monsters. As far as she is concerned, though, the dark lure of the Ilithid infection makes her potentially more evil than an average Githyanki. At least Lae'Zel's traditional upbringing grants her the discipline to resist; what does Niamh have, with a childhood spent in idyllic groves cuddling woodland creatures? Thus, riddled with self-doubt, she has a heart-to-heart conversation with Zevlor.

(Spoilery side note: Niamh sure has a lot of thoughts about the lady looking to obtain a Githyanki egg so that the Society of Brilliance can raise it "in civilization" — because she herself was taken in as a homeless foundling, not stolen from her people for a social experiment to decide whether she is an inherently violent savage).

And now for the fic itself!

"Once again," Niamh says. "I apologize."

Her voice crawls, half-smothered, from the innermost depths of her narrow, bony chest. Her pale-blue eyes are wide, and her needle pupils swim in splashing brine. Like she is gazing out of twin salty lakes.

At the bottom of one of these lakes, something dark lurks. Twitching. Undulating. Agitated.

"For my companion's... forcefulness."

Lae'Zel is well out of earshot now, very skeptically appraising the wares of the local blacksmith — but Niamh's shoulders still rise tensely, and she shudders like she is being turned into a cone of cold.

"And for what it's worth... I deeply regret that my kin killed your friend on the road. I think you may have startled them. They may have thought they needed to act in self-defense. They are not used to this realm; it confuses them — and confusion makes you act out on pure reflex. Not that —"

She swallows forcefully.

"Not that it excuses what they did — but please, please understand that they are not..."

Her shoulder relax somewhat, and her lanky bright-yellow arms, all awkward angles, churn the air in frustration, as she searches for an appropriate metaphor. "Not walking clots of evil. Not like —"

The shadow in her eye coils, almost threatening to burst out to the surface, and then retreats. She exhales, defeated.

"I truly mean you no harm, Zorru. None of my companions do. We just want you to help us, like we helped your people at the gate. If you could just... show me on the map where — "

The young Tiefling's broad face drips with sweat, just like the cave walls drip with trickling water. He attempts to backtrack, but he has nowhere left to go. Lae'Zel backed him in a corner, and Niamh's attempts to butter him up afterwards have not exactly left him with an escape route.

As he stumbles, not seeing, not looking anywhere except at Niamh's unfamiliar, alien face — yellow as a toad, he'd told his fellow refugees, and twice as ugly — he trips over an open trunk that someone must have dragged out for packing. With an awkward flop, he loses balance, and falls right in.

His behind gets firmly lodged into the trunk's wooden frame. But even in this ridiculous position — which draws a sympathetic tongue click from Gale, a long, exasperated sigh from Shadowheart, and a snort from Astarion — he continues pointing at Niamh with a shaking, accusatory finger.

"You didn't fight those goblins to help us! You just thirsted for blood!"

Niamh freezes. Her pupils shrink to barely visible scratches, and her yellow fists clench, a bird curling up its feet.

Behind her back, Astarion perks up, with a spark of curiosity in his bruised ruby eyes. But if he expects Niamh to let Zorru know... from experience that yes, yes she does thirst for blood — the way Lae'Zel would have done — he is in for a disappointment.

Niamh does not lay a finger on Zorru. Just as she never did on anyone else who spat insults at her (which has to be about the entire population of Faerun). Instead, she turns sharply on her heels, with her long sleek ponytail — dyed a cheerful pink that Lae'Zel often wrinkles her nose at — whipping after her.

"I'll be right back," she says, before vanishing deeper into the cave.

"She has gone to cry again, hasn't she," Shadowheart flat-tones wearily. 'I am astonished that she has managed to survive this long. How it is even possible for someone to be both this brave and this... mushy?"

"Ah, but she is brave, isn't she," Gale points out, after he pulls Zorru back to his feet with a flourish of his wrist and a spark of magic. "Remember how she rushed in to save that boy from the harpies? Or faced off Kagha and those dubious friends of hers!"

Astarion pouts.

"I am still waiting for the moment when we all find out it was all a cunning ruse, and our little —" He waggles his hand dismissively. "Little squirrel-taming, brat-coddling forest princess shows us how pretty her teeth are... By ripping out someone's throat."

"You'll have to wait a really long time, then," Shadowheart says, quirking an eyebrow.

She is not wrong.

When Niamh vanishes out of sight, ducking under the carved stone panel that separates the larger cave from the more secluded quarters of the Tieflings' leader, her mushiness increases tenfold.

Her eyes are not just watering now. They are streaming.

The sobs envelop her, unrestrained and overpowering. But she pushes through them, forcing herself to stride across the makeshift study on the panel's other side.

The Tiefling within is busy poring over scout reports, with his forehead creased in concentration. When he finally looks up at her approach, his brows fly up in concern.

"Is anything the matter?" he asks, swerving around his desk to come closer to Niamh. "Is it Kagha again?"

"No, I just —"

Niamh takes a hiccuping breath and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

"I suddenly realized I never thanked you."

He clears his throat, looking rather sheepish.

"Well, there is not really much to thank me for. I wish I had been more hospitable to you and your companions. But in order to share a home, one needs to have a home, and well. You can see for yourself."

"No, it's not that."

Niamh's voice cracks again, while the Tiefling watches her in silence.

He does extend one hand to her... Uncertainly. As if he might have embraced her, but does not quite recall how it is done.

"When Aradin spat at me, back when we'd just met, you told him to show me some respect. It's not... Not the usual treatment that I've gotten used to since leaving home."

She dips her head and casts her lake-blue eyes down at her fingers, which pick relentlessly at the fraying padding of her gilded green robes.

"You would think I am a devotee of Ilmater, from how often my tears overwhelm me. And while I have always been... emotional, I am actually sworn to Sylvanus. Like the druids here, and like my... my adoptive parents. They found me in the wilderness when I was but a hatchling. Lost and confused, the cracked shell still stuck to my back. Too young to explain where I came from or how I got separated from..."

She lowers her voice in gentle reverence.

"From my creche."

Her fingers lock into fists again, and she looks up.

"I have never been to the Astral Plane, to my kind's home... I have never even met another like me, before Lae'Zel. I was raised in a Circle not unlike this one. The druids encouraged me to read, to try any skills I was curious about, to... to express myself. And they were not really afraid of me — because they were used to having me around since I was a toddler. But ever since I ventured a little bit further from home, my attempts to... to interact with anyone other than animals have become rather..."

She reaches for him, as tentatively as he for her. For a moment, their fingertips meet.

Then she withdraws, her serrated ear tips turning a shade of peach.

"My little group has been brought together by a certain... shared hardship. Aside from my companions, you were the first person who did not try to flee, or to attack me, the moment I drew breath in their presence. It's just... It has been exhausting. Stopping to persuade any stranger that I am not about to eat them. Especially since I am more like them than they realize."

She shakes her head, her hair flying in a pink whirlwind around her again.

"No, that's not right. I know I am not better than other Githyanki for having ventured beyond my creche. If anything, I am more lost, more unsure. Lae'Zel is much worthier of this than I ever will be, but I — I also want to know more about my people. To travel among the stars like they do. Maybe... Ride a dragon some day? Do dragons respond to Speak with Animals?"

She chuckles awkwardly at this clumsy levity, and the corners of the Tiefling's mouth readily move upwards... With the least effort he has made so far.

The peachy tint now slowly spreads to Niamh's cheeks.

"Anyway. I swear there was a point to all of this. I — I refuse to believe that the Githyanki are — that we are — as evil as people think, just from looking at us."

The Tiefling exhales the tiniest of "Oh"s, and finally bridges the remaining distance between the two of them. He does not embrace Niamh, not quite; but he does squeeze her shoulder.

"I understand. And if any of my people made you feel unwelcome, I will talk to them. Sternly. They ought to know better than this."

Niamh clasps her own hand, lightly, around his wrist, and her large, low-set mouth stretches into a smile.

"Thank you —"

She her tongue stumbles, heavy and clumsy, over his name. Even though he introduced himself the moment he had breath enough in his lungs, after fighting off goblins and screaming at Aradin — she is still too awkward to address him as... As a friend.

"Zevlor. Perhaps... Perhaps your people will understand after we put an end to the goblins once and for all, and return with Halsin. My companions think that I am dallying too much; putting our own journey on pause to slay every monster. But when you yourself toe the line of… of monsterhood, you have to go that extra mile to prove yourself."

Still not letting her go, Zevlor fixes his eyes on hers.

They stand like this for a few moments longer, as the world slowly fades back, and neither flinches under the other's gaze. Not even when golden flames — shimmering, scorching fragments of Avernus — dance within his eyes. Not when the slithering shadow coils and uncoils in hers.

"If between the two of us, someone has to be a monster," he says softly, "That is certainly not you."

And when she finally steps away, her eyes are dry and bright, and her posture is firm and assured.

[thevoidisscreamingbackatyou]

player week prompt 1: "We're old friends. From her school days."

rating : gen, no major archive warnings i believe

characters: carmen sandiego, player(makes sense), and vera cruz. mentions of julia :)

disclaimer: i don't usually write stories so this is probably really bad im so sorry

additionally brain went no at the first prompt so my first ones an alt oof

i swear that these will get better.

...hopefully.

Player squinted at his phone, double checking that the address was right. He ignored that this was the fifth time he'd done this, and that it was most definitely the right address. 

After all, it was probably best to make sure that the orphanage where your best friend found their mother was the right one, since, y’know…it’d be kind of awkward to just go up to a random lady and be like, “Hey, I know your daughter” and have her not know which one you were talking about. 

He took a deep breath and smoothed his hair anxiously, still not ready to even ring the bell. He was possibly about to meet Carmen’s mom for the first time in the at least ten years he’d known Carmen, sue him. 

A couple of kids in the yard looked at him weird. Player did his best to ignore them, still extremely nervous.

Finally, his shaking fingers rose to ring the doorbell. The sudden ding! of the doorbell sound made him wince.

A pretty woman with hair the color of the red-brown soil appeared at the doorway, her eyes crinkled. 

“Hello. Who are you?” she asked.

Player fumbled for a second, then replied, “Uh, my name’s—---but you can call me Player. I’m…a friend of Carmen?”

“Oh! You must be the boy she talks about in her stories, then? How do you know her?” Carmen’s mother asked. While she seemed perfectly friendly, Player noticed the slightly hostile undertones in her voice. He approved. That wariness had probably kept her and Carmen safe when Carmen retired for a bit.

“We’re old friends. From her school days. Uh, but, I’m not part of VILE. Sorry,” Player said, automatically using his usual excuse before realizing that it would likely not go over well with whatever Carmen had told her mom.

Before either of them could say anything more, Carmen appeared behind her mother. 

“Player!” she exclaimed, seemingly excited to see her old friend. Player put out a fist and the two fist-bumped. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Red,” Player joked, and Carmen winked.

“Decided to go on vacation for a bit. You caught me a couple days before I was going to go meet Julia at her college, actually!” Julia had worked at ACME for a few more years before deciding that the siblings had it under control. Chief told her to do whatever made her happy, so she went back to being a professor. She was somewhat of an Oracle, helping out with cases from behind the screen.

“Come in, it’ll be better than standing out here,” Carmen urged, and Player smiled, stepping into the home that his best friend had found.

@playerappreciationweek i think this is how you do it? apologies in advance lol

also sorry i dont have ao3 so,,,hopefully this will do!!

[chenziee]

...piercing through the night

Second of my pieces for the @opluffyzine!! Two idiots being idiots... I love them...👒👹🔥

Wano propaganda? From me? AGAIN?! Always.

Aftersales for the zine are still open so check it out! :D

[ Read on AO3 | WCI agenda | Ko-Fi ]

----------

As he stared up at the person standing in front of him, Luffy frowned, wondering what was even going on. Getting basically kidnapped in the middle of a fight with that dinosaur lady aside, Luffy couldn’t wrap his head around anything this person was saying.

First, he announces he's Kaido’s son, now he’s suddenly Kozuki Oden. It didn’t make any sense and Luffy didn’t exactly have the time for any of this anyway. He needed to get out there and kick Kaido’s ass like he damn well deserved, not sit here and listen to some guy go on and on about something as stupid as this. Seriously, what did ‘I became Kozuki Oden’ even mean?

Yamato did sound genuine in his admiration of the man while bragging about his journal, however, and Luffy could respect that—though he really wouldn’t have expected to find someone who would want to assume their father’s dead enemy’s identity.

There really were all kinds of people out there, weren’t there?

But then all thoughts went out the window with Yamato’s next words. “You remind me of Ace!”

Luffy’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his brother’s name. He didn’t hear that wrong, did he?

“You know Ace?!” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah!” Yamato’s smile grew the slightest bit as he nodded in affirmation. He was quiet for a few seconds, looking lost in thought; maybe remembering the time he had spent with Ace. “He talked a lot about you.”

Hearing him say that, Luffy blinked up at Yamato a few times, trying to tell if he was lying, but seeing only sincerity in those eyes, Luffy’s gaze dropped down again. “I see…” he said quietly, biting on his bottom lip to keep it from shaking.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think. What he was supposed to feel in that moment.

First and foremost, he was surprised. Surprised, because someone else knew Ace, someone he would least expect. Maybe he should have seen it coming; he knew Ace had come to the country before—Tama’s tears and fists upon hearing the news of his death had made that perfectly clear—and if he knew his brother at all, he wouldn’t have just left the country without coming to Onigashima. It wouldn’t have been that strange for him to run into Kaido’s son while at it. Yet, it wasn’t something Luffy would have thought to learn here.

After the surprise was… sadness.

During the two years after the war, he had come to terms with the fact he had lost his brother, made peace with knowing he had been too weak to save him. But that peace didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It probably always would but there was nothing he could do; nothing beside getting stronger, strong enough to not lose anyone else he cared about.

But, beyond all that…

Luffy was happy. So incredibly happy.

There wasn’t just Sabo and him. There wasn’t just Ace’s old crew. There were still more people who had memories of Ace, who knew and remembered him for who he really was. Not the Pirate King’s son but the man Ace wanted to be remembered as. People who loved him.

People Luffy had never met, but who knew about Luffy.

“He talked about me,” Luffy mumbled to himself, feeling a smile pull on his lips.

Yamato huffed at that. “More like he wouldn’t shut up about you! His bragging was really annoying, to be honest.”

There were no negative feelings in Yamato’s words; instead, his voice was shaking with amusement and such fondness that it made Luffy finally look up at him again.

As soon as their eyes met, Yamato smiled. “That’s why I wanted to meet you. I’m really glad you’re here, Straw Hat Luffy.”

Only the distant shouts of Yamato’s name could be heard while Luffy and Yamato simply looked at each other in silence for a moment, mutual understanding between them.

“Alright so what’s this about you being Oden? You’re down to two minutes!” Luffy announced finally, shoving two of his fingers in Yamato’s face.

“WHAT?! That’s not fair! You spent most of that time staring off into space!” Yamato shouted back, pointing at Luffy accusingly.

Luffy crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at Yamato. “I don’t care! We’re wasting time here while everyone is fighting!”

Yamato blinked at him once, twice, before hissing, “You’re impossible!”

“One and a half minute,” Luffy replied, giving Yamato an unimpressed stare.

He wasn’t even counting the time, couldn’t have been bothered to—not to mention he could never count down even ten seconds right—but he would be lying if he said the frustrated groan Yamato let out wasn’t worth it.

----------

Luffy nearly jumped out of his skin when Kaido’s voice boomed from below them. He exchanged a quick look with Yamato and they both nodded before they crept carefully and quietly towards the cracked, weak floorboard a little ways to the side.

“Do you see anything?” Luffy asked in a hushed tone, trying to shove Yamato out of the way without much success. Damn these overgrown Grand Line people.

“Nope. But—” Yamato lifted himself up a little to put his hand where his face had been pressed against the board— “I think this will work.”

Slowly, he pushed down. The floorboard creaked under the pressure, bending downwards more and more until there was enough of a gap for them to see the floor below.

Luffy grinned. “Awesome!” Quickly kneeling on the ground, he slapped Yamato’s hand away and put his forehead on top of the board instead. Yeah, he really could see a lot now; the Beast Pirates were all huddled around the Light-Scroll Snail projection, where Kaido went on and on about stupid stuff. Was he even going to say anything important?

A second later, he felt Yamato grabbing his shoulder before he hissed “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Luffy said back. “Spying.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Yamato froze, but then something hit the floor right next to Luffy. And, only a split second later, that something poked his cheek.

“Hey!” Luffy cried when he realized what was going on—that Yamato had kneeled down beside him and was shoving his face down just like Luffy was.

“You’re the one who started with this!” Yamato replied defensively. “Now shut up, we’re spying here!”

Luffy was pretty sure Yamato was being louder than him right then but that wasn’t the point! “I didn’t try to poke your eye out with my horns!”

“It’s not like I can take them off!” Yamato snapped, baring his teeth at Luffy.

Luffy only felt it was fair to bare his own back at him but before he could so much at glare at his companion, Kaido and Big Mom’s announcement immediately brought Luffy’s attention to them. The One Piece was Luffy’s, who did these jerks think they were? There was no way Luffy would let them get ahead of him; he was the one who was going to be the Pirate King, goddamnit!

But then something even more pressing appeared on the screen. “That’s Momo!” Luffy’s eyes widened at all the bruises and swelling on the boy’s face. Not to mention his position, tied up and put on display like that! “Momo!!” he cried in alarm, jerking forward on reflex. 

“Hey, don’t shout—”

CRASH!!

Luffy blinked at the sudden change of scenery. How did he suddenly end up on the floor below? Oh. The boards broke. “Whoops?” he tried when Yamato’s angry face blocked his view. There were splinters in his pony tail and a piece of wood was stuck on one of his horns. Luffy didn’t even bother to stop his laughter at the sight.

“This isn’t funny! Idiot!” Yamato shouted, hitting Luffy over the head which only made him laugh harder.

“And the shogun will be my son, Yamato!”

“WHAT?!” Yamato whipped around at Kaido’s latest announcement, immediately forgetting about Luffy, the slightly amused frustration replaced by pure rage.

A grin still on his lips, Luffy jumped up to his feet as well, ready to join in with Yamato’s mad dash towards the performance floor. His expression turned serious, however, when his eyes fell on Kaido’s face on the screen with Momo’s tiny, sad, beaten up figure behind him.

His brow furrowed, shooting one last glare at the man who couldn’t even see him. As he took off after the angrily yelling Yamato, Luffy growled, “Just you wait, Kaido! I’ll be right there to kick your ass!”

When they had arrived to this country, Kin’emon had told them the story of Oden and Toki, repeated the last words Momo’s mom had said. Luffy didn’t care one bit about any prophecies or destiny or the like, none of it mattered to him. But if bringing dawn to Wano meant kicking Kaido’s ass and opening this country? Then they were smashing this night to pieces.

[yourlocaltrashpandaxoxo]

Don’t Cry, Snow Woman (TW: ABUSE, ASSAULT, MENTION OF MISCARRIAGE)

*BANG* Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the locker room as a slightly distraught looking Celeste paced back and forth. She tried to keep her usual cold expression but inside she felt weak. Weak, weak, weak.... The word replayed in her head as she thought about what just happened earlier. A group of boxers had been cutting into her about the ‘throat punch incident’ as it was now known as, some even had the guts to call her an abuser. “I-I’m not abusive... It was a heat of the moment decision... I’m not proud of it, but what can I do about it now!?” She called out to herself, her pace quickening by the second. A couple made snide remarks about using ‘daddy’s money’ to get in. How could they be so ignorant to the truth? “The gall of them to assume that I needed my father’s wealth to maintain this career...” She mumbled. She slammed into a locker furiously with her fist. “I made it all from the ground up! All he did was make me tougher thanks to his ‘training’...” She growled, thumping the locker once again. She froze to the spot as their words played over and over again. “You sicken me, Celeste.... You horrid old harpy” “Ya think dat ya pa’s cash is gonna keep ya here? Yer a fuckin’ pathetic witch!” “Your father must be very proud of his little girl. Oh wait, he despises you. Not surprised, who’d want such a monsterous woman for a daughter” “Stop it.... Stop it...” She shuddered, clutching her ears as if they were actually there shouting in her face.  “You horrible, horrible woman! Vhatever coms your vay is vell deserved!” “Think you can get away with being an abusive lover? I fear for that toyboy of yours” “How about you use daddy’s money to buy a functioning heart?” “Shut up... Shut up... SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!” Celeste bellowed, slamming her fists into the locker once more. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, shaking as tears streamed down her face. If only they knew... Maybe then they’d understand. No, they wouldn’t... Everybody thought she was just a heartless monster... “Dear me... That face is a fright... And you call yourself a powerful lady?” said a voice. Celeste looked up. An equally frosty woman glared down at her. It was Greta Winters, the grouchy old receptionist that had a grudge against everybody who even looked at her. She shook her head and tutted. “How can such empty insults harm such a strong woman? Perhaps there is some old wounds that need tending to?” she remarked. “What do you want?” Celeste demanded, icily, “Come to mock me? Humiliate me? Well go ahead... I don’t care anymore...” Greta sighed and sat down on a stool beside her.  “Why do you say that? What makes you think I don’t care?” She asked. Celeste looked at her, confused. Was this the same Winters who always had a snarl and a nasty remark for everybody? “You...” She began to say. Greta hushed her and chuckled.  “I know what they think of me. And, frankly, they’re all ignorant fools...” She grumbled. She noticed a small cluster of scars on Celeste’s arm. Celeste’s eyes followed hers. Her expression dropped further as she tried to conceal them under her coat.  “No, let me see” Greta ordered, gently but firmly taking hold of her arm.  Celeste snorted.  “Is this a therapy session? If you’re trying to get dirt on me just stop...” She stubbornly pried off Greta’s hand. Greta shook her head but didn’t bother trying again. She tapped her cane on the floor while humming a tune.  “Tell me, Morozov” She suddenly said “Do you care for your family?” “Who is there to care about?” Celeste growled “My mother has long since passed and my father is a wicked man... There are only so many punishments you can give to a child who was raised in the cold Russian tundras...” Greta listened on intently. “That makes two of us then...” She sighed “Both of mine had.... different methods of punishment. They wanted the perfect military child to live out their dreams. I was smacked, beaten, whipped... Hell, they threw me into a closet for weeks on end.” She pulled up her sleeves to reveal several scars and burn marks on her wrists and arms.  “Though, the worst came from my pig of an ex-husband...” She exposed a small portion of her right hip only to reveal a horrid looking burn mark. Celeste couldn’t help but gasp a little. “A whip... He was a vile man, everything he said to me was to break me down or manipulate me into sex” she scowled “And they have the audacity to call you an abuser” Celeste looked shocked. “You... heard all of that?” she stammered.  “Indeed my dear, the threat of my cane was enough to make them scatter though” Greta said. She wrapped a tender arm around Celeste. Celeste wanted to push her off but she couldn’t... She felt... loved. Not the type of love she got from Sylvain. It was like... maternal love. “Someone like you would have made a great mother” she remarked, leaning against her. Greta flinched at those words and looked down at her stomach.  “I would have been... But I never got to experience the joys of motherhood...” she mumbled “I had one on the way... A little girl. But she passed before birth...” Silent tears began to run down her face. “I... I’m so sorry for your loss...” Celeste sighed.  “I should say the same about your mother, Morozov” Greta said “A girl’s best place is beside her mother... You know, I always thought of you as a daughter” Celeste was shell-shocked at this. Tears began running down her face once again. Greta put her cane aside and hugged her tight.  Celeste tried to pull away at first but finally gave in. She began to sob loudly, the first time she had done so in so long.  “It’s ok, I am here for you...” Greta soothed, rubbing her back and cradling her. She winced a bit as the woman’s grip on her tightened. “Ah... be careful my dear...” she urged. She reached for her cane to steady herself.  “I’m sorry...” Celeste mumbled, pulling herself away. Her make-up was smeared, her eyes were bloodshot and watery. Greta tutted and pulled a tissue out from her pocket. “Look at you, you poor thing...” she sighed, wiping away the smears and smudges.  “Enough, I can do it myself!” Celeste grumbled, rubbing the last few bits away with her sleeve. She didn’t care about that for now, she’d finally found someone who cared for her. “Watch your tone madam, I might be 62 but I can easily beat you in a boxing match still!” Greta smirked. Celeste chuckled too.  “Thank you for talking with me, Winters” she beamed.  “Please my dear, we’re practically family now” Greta smiled “Call me Greta, and I shall now address you as Celeste.” “Actually, could you call me Natalya?” Celeste asked “That’s my true name” Greta nodded.  “Anything you need, Natalya, you come straight to me” she said. She dug though her pockets again and pulled out a small white-gold ring decorated with a snowflake.  “I was going to give this to my daughter when she got older, I want you to have this now” she smiled, placing it on Celeste’s finger.  “What? No, I can’t take this... It’s too precious...” Celeste insisted. Greta shook her head. “It is yours now” she smiled, getting up from her seat “Now you take care of yourself, I’m by the desk if you need me” she waved goodbye and ambled off.  Celeste looked down at the ring as a faint smile creeped up on her lips.  “Спасибо, мама“ (Thank you, Mother).

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S REDEMPTION - CHAPTER 35

*Warning: Adult Content* 

When Sam Asato screams, Ian Foley loses it.

He'd been holding his cool pretty well up until that point, too.

After Sam passed out, Maria Walker had told Jack and Sofia to lock him in the basement below the lodge. 

Ian had only agreed to this idea because they'd promised not to hurt him and Maria had threatened to shoot Ian if he didn't go along with it.

He'd spent the past thirty minutes doing his best to convince her and Inez that Sam was not a threat but he'd made little progress so far.

The only reason Ian hadn't lost it already is that Cass Walker has taken their side and Antonia Martinez proves a level-headed ally in a crisis.

They've been standing in the kitchen, near the basement stairs, Maria, Inez, Cass, Toni and Ian, trying to hash things out while Carlos, Jack and Sofia keep an eye on Elliot.

So far, Sam remains unconscious but no one knows what will happen when he wakes up, whether he'll be himself again or if he'll go on another rampage.

Ian has just finished telling everyone, for the eleventeenth time, that Elliot attacked them and that Sam is not dangerous, when he hears his high-pitched, terrified scream rising from below.

Shoving Maria aside...

‘Call me a jerk but old lady or not, she's blocking my way to Sam.’

Ian leaps down the steps to the basement, taking them four at a time.

Sam is in a small storage room at the back, the door bolted and locked and even as a bear Ian doesn't know if he'd be able to bust through. 

He pounds his fist on the heavy boards that separate them and shouts his name.

"Sam. Sam? Are you okay?"

"Ian?"

"Yes, I'm here, Sam I..."

"Ian. There's something in here. Please, please get me out. Get me out."

Sam’s voice is high and strained with panic and the sound twists like a knife.

He screams again, cutting Ian off and making his heart leap with fear.

"IAN. Get me out of here. Please."

Fortunately for everyone, Cass seems to understand that if there's anything to be afraid of right now, it's Ian Foley.

"Jesus, Mom, open the door." they say, holding out a hand for the keys. "Something's clearly wrong in there."

Maria frowns but hands over the set of keys and Cass quickly unlocks the door and throws it open.

‘The sight that greets me makes my heart burn with rage. My little Sam, in chains.’

Sam’s wrists are caught in thick metal bands, suspended above his head and secured to a thick wooden beam at his back. 

The only light is what spills in through the open door and by its feeble cast Ian sees that Sam’s pale face is streaked with tears and his whole body trembles, making the chains rattle faintly where they pull at his arms.

"Sam." Ian rushes forward and drops in front of Sam, taking his face between his hands. "What is it? A demon?"

He shakes his head. 

"I d-d-don't know. Something t-t-touched me," he stammers.

Cass works quickly and a few seconds later the manacles come off and Sam falls into Ian’s arms, a shaking mess.

Maria and Inez stand in the doorway, matching frowns on their almost identical faces.

"There's nothing in here," Maria says, shining a small light into the corners of the room.

Ian has to admit, it looks like she's right. 

Besides a few old boxes along the back wall, the room is empty.

"Did you see it?" Ian asks Sam, rubbing his hands over his back in an attempt to soothe his painfully raw fear.

"No," he says, sniffing. "I couldn't see anything. I just... heard it and f-felt it."

Even as he speaks, a small rustling noise reaches them from the far corner.

"That's it. That's what it sounded like." he says, spinning to press his back against Ian’s chest.

Cass stands and takes a tentative step towards the noise and then everyone startles as something small breaks cover, streaks across the floor and disappears through a crack on the opposite wall.

Ian sags with relief, while Maria and Inez release their breath in a huff and Cass bursts into laughter.

"A rat?" they shriek. "You were afraid...of a rat?"

"Yeah, you'd be scared too, if you woke up chained in the dark with no idea what the fuck might be there in the dark with you," Sam snaps.

He's clearly as relieved as the rest of them but he hasn't stopped shaking and Ian hugs him a little tighter as he turns again to hold on to him.

He hides it so well, it's easy to forget that he's been through a lot of shit and Ian hates myself for letting the Walkers put him through more.

Cass's amusement fades. 

"You're right. Chaining you up like this was a shitty thing to do, even if you did scare us... I can't speak for everyone but... I'm sorry."

Ian doesn't like to admit it but he does understand the Walkers' reaction. 

They'd never seen Sam's demon-form before and even he had to admit he'd been alarmed. 

He'd still found him beautiful, of course.

Beautiful and terrifying, savage and deadly, a fierce, living warrior-God.

Elliot was the largest and strongest of the Walkers but Sam had brought him down like it was nothing.

Of course, then he'd passed out and resumed his human form, small and delicate by comparison, a compact little body that fits perfectly in Ian’s arms, hardly a threat and certainly not someone to lock in a basement in the dark.

And with that thought, Ian remembers that this isn't the first basement Sam had been locked in, which probably explains why even now he can still feel his heart rabbiting in his chest where it presses against his.

"Hey, are you okay?" Ian asks.

He doesn't answer but nods with his head against Ian’s shoulder.

"We're getting out of here, I promise." 

Ian stands, drawing Sam up with him and leads him from the awful little room, his opinion of the Walkers continuing its downward slide as he wonders why they have such a set-up to begin with.

‘I mean, I know Shifters can be a weird bunch but who keeps heavy manacles just lying around?’

As Ian passes her and start to climb the stairs, his arm around Sam, Maria frowns at him and Ian glares a challenge back. 

She's lucky Ian didn't know what condition they'd tried to keep Sam in, or Elliot wouldn't be the only one with bruises and broken ribs right now.

"Mom, stop," Cass says, seeing Maria's look. "He's crying because of a rat, for God's sake. He's not a threat. Like Ian said, he's a kid."

"I'm not a kid," Sam answers reflexively. "I'm..." He stops, blinks, and then goes on in an oddly soft voice. "I'm twenty-one."

"Almost twenty-one," Ian corrects automatically.

"No," he returns, still very quiet. "Twenty-one."

Ian realizes what he's saying with a little shock.

"Shit, babe. When?"

"This morning, I guess."

"Jesus. What a way to celebrate, huh?" 

Ian pull Sam closer and kisses the side of his head.

He shrugs a little.

 "It's not the first birthday I've spent in a basement in the dark," he says, a tiny, humorless smile twisting his lips.

"Fuck," Ian swears, again promising himself to do better by him any way he can. "We'll make it up. We'll make up for all of it, okay? You and me. No more bad birthdays."

"Wait, it's his birthday?" Cass asks, sounding horrified. 

Ian doubts the knowledge would have changed anything but it's fine with him if it makes the Walkers feel bad in retrospect. "Damn. Hey, I think there's some leftover cake in the freezer. You want some?"

Sam laughs, for real this time and sniffs. 

"No. Thanks, Cass but I just want to get out of here."

"Me too, babe. Me too." Ian assures him.

‘Screw the Walkers and their whole damn mess.’ 

Ian doesn't know if it makes him a coward or just a sensible person but he knows when it's time to walk away from a problem that's too big for him to solve.

He just wants to take Sam and go home.

"You can't leave," Inez says, frowning at me. "You still have the mark, remember?"

"I don't care," Ian says. "Besides, the farther away from your territory I can get, the safer I'll feel."

She looks unhappy but doesn't argue.

As they step outside, though, Ian realizes that running away might not be so easy after all.

He might want to leave the problem behind but unfortunately, it seems like the problem has other plans.

His truck and the two Walker vehicles are parked in front of the lodge and even from the porch Ian can tell that something is wrong.

Every one of the tires on all three vehicles has been slashed.

At least for the moment, no one's going anywhere.