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lilacxquartz · 2 days ago

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UNSHACKLED;

younger jinichi zenin x f!reader

plot: forced to marry into the zenin clan to escape poverty, you get involved in something far more sinister instead.

ask/reference: “Hi! Were you thinking of writing about someone from the Zenin clan? I liked Jinichi Zenin, but there really aren't any fanfics with him (and I understand why)😭. If you don't mind, if the story is about Jinichi and a young reader (a reader from a small and poor clan for example) being forced to get married” — full ask here.

a/n: i feel like this is easier split into two parts, hope that’s alright! considered it as a longer one shot, but the continuation felt more correct as a separate chapter — cw: forced marriage, pregnancy, miscarriage, implied but non-graphic noncon, abusive relationship, zenin clan is its own warning! • masterlist • next chapter >

If you had to pick one grim choice over the other—which do you think could be the worse one to bear?

This was the question that you kept asking yourself over and over as you stood before a mirror, taking in your reflection and the eyes of the girl whose hope was quickly fading away. You looked beautiful—more than you ever had been—though it was all for a wedding with someone whom you just couldn’t bring yourself to like.

The first grim choice you had to consider brought you back to living out in poverty. You would have to return to a family as yet another mouth to feed when they could barely afford to eat themselves. The second option, however, brought you to being the unwilling bride, ready to accept life within the Zenin estate with a man who likely didn’t even see you as human.

Indeed, not only were you a woman, but you weren’t particularly strong either. At best, you were considered because you were easy on the eyes and within the golden age—in your early twenties—prime to produce a potential heir. You could be considered a curse-user, but your technique wasn’t anything special. However, this alone bettered your chances at passing anything down than a regular person.

You felt trapped wherever you looked as a result, and wherever you went, with the two choices that were available, making you feel cornered and more alone than ever before.

Though given your position in life—if you had to compare it to anything else—you would be foolish to refuse a life that meant a consistent roof over your head, where you would be warm and well-fed. Saying no to someone who could take the struggles of life away from you wasn’t so easy either. Especially not when the offer seemed too good to outright refuse. Jinichi Zenin—the man who propositioned you with such promise—likely took this into account, too.

All that he needed for you to be was compliant.

Then the rest of what he had in mind could follow.

Perhaps he knew something that you didn’t, which is why his offer was presented so plainly. He didn’t seem to care about you as a person when talking you into this whole mess, only taking note of how desperately you wanted out of the situation that you were in before. True to his name as a Zenin, he didn’t wait long before he took on the opportunity to exploit that weak point. With one simple promise, you signed your life away to him, unknowing just how devastating it all truly was.

After all, there was no hope within the clan for women. None at all.

Such a concept simply did not exist.

(And yet, that was a risk you took.)

You broke away from your thoughts as you heard someone call out to you, and you blinked, trying to make sense for the umpteenth time of what on earth you were doing. You could hardly begin to even recognise the woman that stood before you in the mirror, still regarding her with wide, lost eyes. The makeup they caked you in had erased all of the exhaustion, putting together the illusion of a polished and well put-together bride. You almost looked like someone who belonged, you thought, if not for the tremor in your gait.

As you parted away from the mirror and towards the door, you couldn’t help that you were leaving behind a critical part of yourself that you weren’t ready to let go of just yet. That side of you that still had hopes and dreams of her own, all tossed aside to make some strange man happy.

Was it really worth the trouble?

It was made clear that when you finally locked eyes with Jinichi’s down the aisle where he stood at the altar expectantly, that you finally understood why this choice felt just as damning as staying behind at home.

This wasn’t the look of a man in love, even if he was certainly enticed.

This was the beaming glow of a man who looked like he got exactly what he had wanted.

Not just a bride, but an investment.

~~~

At the very beginning of your newlywed life, it wasn’t as awful as you expected.

Jinichi brought you over to the Zenin estate as he had planned to do so, settling you into a quaint little home that was tucked along the left-most wing on the grounds. It was a single-storied house that seemed to boast more privacy than the other homes, tucked away and laced behind the many sprawling leaves branching from the garden.

To your surprise, he gave you room to breathe, as well. At least within the house. He wanted you to feel comfortable enough to set foot wherever you pleased, to sit and lie on whatever surface you sought. That much was unexpected for you. He also never once questioned it when you moved things off to the side or the decisions you settled on for the interior decoration, but that was all there was to it. Your say mattered only indoors. The outside was an entirely different matter.

He left no room for argument when he first said it.

“You’re better off kept at home, away from the prying eyes of… everyone else.”

This was the most difficult part of your new life to accept. You weren’t used to such isolation—such confinement. You liked walking and enjoying the air when the time time felt right. To spend your life entirely kept indoors, away from everyone else as he had put it, felt like it was all over.

That your life had ended at just twenty-two years old.

Defiant as you were, however, you decided at one point to sneak out. This would also be the last time you could ever get away with doing so.

You just wanted a breath of fresh air at one point, that was all. You didn’t plan for anything big or major—just a step outside, maybe a stroll around the residential area. It was never meant to be anywhere far or invasive, nor was it ever done to challenge any sort of norm inflicted upon you. So, when you slipped outside, just past midday when Jinichi was gone for lunch and the rest of the estate felt quieter than usual, you took the opportunity to explore. Just a little. It wasn’t a big deal, you thought the whole time, it was no different than a walk in the park.

However, that taste of freedom was short-lived.

Just as you rounded the corner intending to turn back, an elder, one of the older residents of the clan, shot out to grab your arm. You had never met him before, but he likely attended the wedding. He probably knew who you were, and that made his opinion of you, likely not a pleasant one.

Your first mistake in the confrontation was to talk first. It was easy to forget the many rules they had in place against the women who lived here. It was never this way when you lived at home.

You blurted out an apology, not thinking of the potential consequences at stake, “I’m sorr—”

Only to be cut short with Jinichi appearing on the scene within an instant. Given the venom in the elder’s eyes, you thought that you were safe from whatever was about to occur, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

You repeated yourself, or you tried to at the very least, “I was just having a walk, I’m sor—”

Rather than hearing you out in the presence of his elder, however, he raised his hand and then struck you clean across the face. The sound was sharp in the quiet outdoors, and it didn’t echo. The pain was grounding, too, sending you plummeting to your knees as you processed the aching sensation.

The old man who caught you where you shouldn’t have been, at the least, seemed satisfied, nodding with a grunt of distaste before leaving you both to it.

When he brought you back home, or rather, to your gilded cage—better yet, prison—he didn’t apologise either. He simply locked the door shut and sighed as he took in the look on your face. You couldn’t quite tell what was going on in his eyes as he took in the sight of the angry red welt forming on your skin, but it was surely unreadable enough, as if he wasn’t exactly proud of what he had just subjected you to. Though this didn’t excuse his actions either, you detested him all the same. Nothing that came out of this whole unsavoury experience had surprised you at all. You had an idea that something of the sort would happen eventually, you just didn’t expect it so soon.

“That,” he started, referring to the attack just moments before, “was me protecting you from something a lot worse. Do you understand?”

You didn’t respond—you couldn’t, but you did indeed start to get it. You weren’t a wife in the sense of being a potentially equal partner, but you were one as a piece of property to be sought. The idea of it made you feel genuinely nauseous, wondering what on earth you let yourself be talked into.

To be a possession somehow seemed worse than knowing what hunger was like.

It didn’t take too long for you, beyond that point, to adjust to life on the grounds. You didn’t want to repeat the assault on your skin, so you pulled yourself together and made an effort to bury the personality you once had, at least on the outside. Maybe in that sense, you could understand his insistence to keep you all locked up and freely able to express yourself indoors, because that way, he wasn’t exactly doing anything wrong, but you still felt resentment build towards him adhering to the clan politics and regime.

Above all, you hated that Jinichi was right—you were let off easy—at least in comparison to others.

All you had to do to see that was to take a look around the other women that lived here. While Jinichi allowed you to walk side by side with him as long as you kept quiet, others didn’t even have that privilege. Always a couple of steps behind, tailing away like a reluctant shadow. Some flinched whenever a hand was raised for anything at all, so it led you to understand that beatings could happen whenever, not just for punishment's sake.

Jinichi never repeated such a demonstration upon you either. He never raised his hand nor his voice at you in private, never berated you nor did he try to corner you. Just as he had self promised, he could live the illusion of something normal, but that could only happen indoors. When the rest of the clan started to pry beyond the safety of that space, did it ever become a problem for the both of you.

An example being whenever you had no choice but to follow him out. The women had to attend clan meetings that made definite decisions and commitments as a means of keeping up with the clan politics and order of things, but they had no say in the feedback stage. This was something that you didn’t immediately know. Jinichi managed to get away with a quiet correction and the warning of a raised hand, but luckily he didn’t have to commit to the real thing. This repeated a couple of times as you got the hang of the life you married into, but ultimately, each time you nearly slipped up, it was risky.

At home, however, it was always different. It was such a stark contrast that it almost felt confusing. If something happened beyond the stretch of the front door, then he never discussed it at home. Instead, he’d sit close to you and change the subject; let the conversation fill with something—anything else. He'd take those moments and make them productive and try to learn about you. things would stick, too. If you liked anything at all, be it a type of food, a style of jewellery or clothing, then it would show up a couple of days later.

A part of you saw it as bribery, however.

As a means to keep the peace.

What a gilded cage, indeed.

However, you were still human, so all of those times when he threatened to hurt you or came close to doing so, all built up to an unwitting grudge. You couldn’t help but eventually flinch at his touch even if he hadn’t done anything particularly horrible towards you. It was an instinctive sort of reflex, long honed by your spirit gradually weakening.

This seemed to offend him in turn. “Don’t do this,” he’d say, commenting on the way you’d flinch or stiffen. His voice, like him, gruff and strained, barely held back the darker side of what was locked beneath the surface. He tried to keep you safe from it, but he was still a Zenin in his core.

You supposed that’s what made it all confusing. the whole back and forth. All it took was slipping up outside and then the next day the harshness would be long gone. He'd hold you extra close as you slept, in a way that almost made you feel loved, if not for the lingering possessiveness of it all. Maybe he did love you in his own way, you thought, but also, maybe he didn’t. It felt like you were owned more than you were cherished.

Jinichi, however, not that he could describe it to you in words, was falling in love with the idea of what you could yet become. The quiet beauty who never let her eyes wander, who never spoke up in complaint, who never teetered on the edge of the boundaries he set in stone. The very thought of you being lusted for or being touched by anyone else, made him sick and over time, he grew very protective of you, without ever even intending to do so.

Again, he’d never say it out loud, but he liked being the only one who held any sort of power over you. He liked that any bruises on your skin could be formed because of him. That any love bites that welted on your neck, would have been parted from his lips. It was like a boundary marker; you were his and his alone.

You got a taste of what that truly meant during a clan event.

It was never supposed to be that serious. The women all gathered at the opposite end with their own refreshments and the men all conversed by themselves. There were other clans visiting around that time, another big name but nowhere near with as much renown as the home one, that had their own lurking around the vicinity. They weren’t that familiar with the norms that the Zenin’s had set out in place. Or maybe they were, but they just didn’t care.

One of the men as a result, ended up approaching you and striking up a conversation. At the time, you didn’t think anything of it andyou politely answered his questions as you sipped on a drink, although you were admittedly confused on why you were being focused by someone else. He wasn’t being too invasive either, and at most, just asked about the food, the event and what life was like for you here.

You never gave too much away, of course.

Jinichi, on the other hand, saw it completely differently. He saw the hidden intentions radiate from the guy’s body language alone. From the way that he leaned in when he found an opening or the way he laughed a little too loudly at his own jokes. No, Jinichi understood perfectly well what that guy was playing at, because he had the perfect example of it swarming away within his own home grounds.

You, as oblivious as you were, had no such idea what his thoughts were until you returned back home, feeling the mood in the air shift within an instant from the moment the door clicked shut.

Nothing was said at first, but you quickly understood that something must have been wrong from just one look at him.

He started off curtly. “You humiliated me.”

Your lips dropped open but you stalled, unable to find a response in time. Before any sound could be uttered, his hand flew up and this time it wasn’t a warning. He actually struck you down with the intention to hurt you.

You didn’t even register it at first—that’s how sudden it was—but within mere seconds, you went from standing, to reeling on the floor. Your eyes blurred as they tried to blink into focus, trying to gulp away at a metallic taste that formed in your mouth. Your fingertips dabbed along your lips in a bitter sort of realisation, spitting out a loose tooth from the impact.

All you could do was look up in confusion, still dazed and not properly processing the gravity of the situation.

A part of you wondered why you weren’t crying, why you weren’t screaming back. You couldn’t, though, that was the problem. No words came out. It was like an unseen force was choking at what you had wanted to say, leaving you gasping in stunned silence.

Jinichi in turn, stood there, rooted in place and frozen solid. His brows knitted together as a new expression formed; maybe not regret, but perhaps something closer to horror instead. Not because he hit you, either, but because he broke apart his carefully crafted illusion with his own hands.

It was no use pretending anymore.

(That he could be different from the rest of them.)

“Let’s just go to bed,” he muttered quietly, clenching around his wrist with his other hand as if to stop himself from doing anything else. He didn’t look at you when he said it.

However, you didn’t move from your spot for a long time, not even when he left you all alone in the dark. When you were able to stand up again, your body shook violently. Uncontrollably. It wasn’t from pain though, that much had long numbed away. It was probably from fear.

That night, you finally understood what else he wanted from you aside from just blind obedience, getting that he wanted quiet loyalty too. Had this been a normal arrangement, you could have had a quiet and fair talk about the matter, but there was nothing fair about this whole mess from the start.

After all, this was something you were forced into.

(You never had a choice.)

That night, when you returned to lay in bed beside him, he wrapped his arms around you in silence, pulling you close against his body. You let him, understanding that if you did so, then your life could maybe be a bit easier. Your mind didn’t want to, but you pushed all such conflicting thoughts away. Forgiveness had nothing to do with it. This was just reluctant acceptance, if anything. You knew it was wrong, of course, but what else was there to do?

Jinichi however was quietly desperate to restore what you both had before. His grip around you tightened, but only just. He held onto you carefully, like he didn’t quite trust himself. His breathing was uneven and ragged and you felt every warm exhale rush down the bare flesh of your back. He was trying to restrain himself from giving into anything worse.

His fingers twitched around you, forcing himself to remain calm. Perhaps he was delusional to think that he could be different. It wasn’t like he was blind to the unfairness of it all, because before he was who he had become today, there was a time when he was just his mother’s son, who got to see the light gradually leave her eyes. Maybe it was simply inevitable. He would become who he hated the most, just as everyone else here did.

Though, he did try. He exhaled once more before pressing his lips against your neck. “Don’t repeat that again.”

You paused as you took in the words, feeling the sinking feeling in your gut deepen since you were expecting an apology instead of… whatever that was.

“I’m not sure if I can contain myself next time,” he added, a genuine, serious threat laced in his words.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to that. Instead, you turned your face into the pillow to breathe out the dull ache that had formed in your throat, letting the soft fabric dab away at any spilling tears, before letting out a meek, defeated, “Okay.”

Jinichi sighed as he processed your actions and your response. “It could always be worse, that’s all I’m trying to say. I’m not like the rest, but I can be. That’s only if you push me enough, though.”

You bit back a scoff at that note, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting slip of the next thing that left your lips.

“That’s such a cowardly thing to say.”

He didn’t stop you from talking, letting the rest of what you had in mind air out at last. Maybe this could prove beneficial, since he was admittedly dying to know what you thought of this whole arrangement, but also, maybe this was detrimental towards everything else he had worked to maintain.

“If you were truly strong,” you continued, “then you wouldn’t let a bunch of old men in charge decide how you treat me.”

At that, though, his grip on your body tightened enough to hurt. He wasn’t shy about his scoff like you were, letting out a sharp breath of air that echoed in the stillness of the night. Although, his next words were unexpected.

“…I truly hope that I’ll never see your spirit die,” he finally said, “it’s refreshing.”

You didn’t say anything, but when he pulled you closer, holding you with possessive tightness once more, you didn’t resist.

And when his hands began to wander after enough silence had sat heavy in the air, you let him. Your body ached for comfort and that’s something close to what he could offer. His touch was gentler that night, perhaps even careful. It was if by being as soft as possible, he could undo the hurt he inflicted with both his hands and his words, even if you both knew the truth.

When it was over, he simply held you, kissed you goodnight and then come the next morning, he moved on like the night before had never happened.

Except it was different that time.

He left you alone for the better part of the week, leaving you to live however you’d like within the confines of your gilded cage.

This would continue on and off throughout the next couple of weeks, but then one day, you missed your period.

It wasn’t something that you knew how to bring up, but Jinichi somehow knew. Maybe he could read the change in your body after having lived with you for a while, or maybe he kept track of your cycle on purpose, but it was like something changed in him overnight.

All of a sudden, he was more involved. He became more mindful, asking if there was anything that you needed or wanted, dedicating less time towards training and stopped closing himself away.

You, on the other hand, having experienced life on these grounds, were terrified. With all of your heart, you hoped that it would be a boy. Not out of preference or anything like that, but out of fear.

If this was what you were subjected to as a wife, then what little hope did that leave for a daughter born into this whole mess?

On the other hand, a son was still just as bad. Born into the world with so much hope and promise, and yet doomed to become the spitting image of his father in the end.

No matter how you looked at it, it left you feeling uneasy all the same.

~~~

At some point during the pregnancy, when you were beginning to visibly show, you needed to pick something up from the hall. Jinichi had allowed you to do so alone, rewarding you with a walk, knowing that the family, even as unfair as they were, still had to favour the pregnant women. After all, they ensured the continuity of the clan. You wouldn’t be treated with kind, but nobody would go out of their way to hurt you on purpose.

It was like a temporary sort of guarantee of protection.

Without even meaning to, with your mind addled with the brain fog from pregnancy, you bumped into an elder—the very same one you had done so way before—just as he was exiting the building. You didn’t think anything of it, knowing how to behave that time. You waited for him to huff and scold you, but instead there was a charged silence.

There was something off about this guy. He didn’t react how you thought he was going to. Instead, he shot out his hand, pushing you back on purpose and as your footsteps faltered, you ended up stumbling forward instead of back. Within an instant, your hands flew to your stomach to protect your unborn baby, but it was too late. Something just felt wrong. A deep dull ache formed with a sudden sensation of uninvited warmth flooding in between your legs.

You forgot about the parcel at the hall entirely and just went home at that point. All that you remembered was maybe taking two steps in and the smell of something coppery—the feeling of something hot and warm—trickling down and clinging to your skin.

From the moment that Jinichi saw you, something flashed in his face that you had never seen before.

(Rage? Desperation? Fear? Maybe it was everything, all at once.)

Within just seconds, he was at your side, tending to your aid with softness in his touch. That night you both had lost everything and there was nothing that either of you could do but to wait it out and mourn what could have been.

From the second the pain finally subsided, he left you alone without a word and for a while, you thought all that it could have been was just him letting out some steam elsewhere or being alone, but it went far beyond that. After all, the Zenin estate, as grand as it was, was still limited. The confines could only hold so much secrecy before it all circled back to where it all began.

You gasped when the news finally reached you.

Jinichi killed the person who caused you to miscarry that night.

This couldn’t be something that was just excused, either.

Killing your own blood was justified if the crime was great enough, but killing an elder as someone down the social hierarchy didn’t hold that same weight. In exchange for Jinichi standing up to the system on your behalf, he took a heavy fall for it.

Which meant that you took a fall with him, too.

See, a woman was defined by the worth of who she belonged to in such a clan. You were an outsider who was married to him, so by extension, his punishment was mirrored by you.

They called it a disciplinary action.

Jinichi went down in the hierarchy and was forced to work back to his previous place before, while you were also put into the same level. Once a wife, now a maid or house servant at best, reduced to something that the clan saw as less than human.

You were pulled from the place you had come to call home and were forced to live in one of the boarding houses for their lesser staff and your work began as soon as you were settled in. Soon enough, you would be on your hands and knees scrubbing away at the boards, dusting at the shelves and reduced to back-breaking labour as Jinichi was confined to something a whole lot worse.

When you were both finally reunited and the punishment had run its course in full, something between the both of you had changed for the worse. You became more of a shell than a person, while Jinichi had adopted the same cold look in his eyes that everyone else who carried the Zenin name seemed to wear.

And that fateful night—or perhaps that doomed one—in order to restore what was once lost wasn’t something that he asked for, but rather, took from you. Your body was his, after all, so you could bear with the rough caress brushed from his own two hands. You could suffer through the pain of his desire that would only be sated once it went back to how it was all before.

It took maybe once more of such a night after what he put you through, for you to see the signs again. Your body was still messed up from before, so it wasn’t as obvious as missing your period, but you felt sick in the mornings and you craved certain things again.

So when that much finally happened, Jinichi returned to how he was before, but at a cost. He became a man obsessed. Nobody was allowed out of the house, nor in. At most, one approved midwife was allowed to oversee the progress but he too seldom left the house anymore.

Any fresh air could be taken from an opened window or from a step into the garden. Anything else you wanted would have to be done at home.

He never quite said it out loud that time, but every time he glanced at your stomach, it was as if he was telling you to not mess it up again.

It was as if he blamed you for what had happened.

And it was at that point that you began to understand that just moulding into the person he wanted you to be wasn’t enough anymore.

Anything could change and ruin it all.

This, therefore, couldn’t continue.

Oh, no, no. not at all. It was too risky.

You had too much to lose all over again.

This meant that you needed to find a way out, and soon.

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hanafubukki · 8 months ago

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CW & TW: Blood, some gore, mentions of miscarriages I'm wondering... Since Lilia's 700 years old (which is pretty old in Fae years and for his supposed species), would he have complications getting someone pregnant? Also, I've been thinking about Y/N having complications getting pregnant due to easily becoming stressed and because of some medical conditions that had been inherited in Y/N's family. How do you think he would feel about that? But despite those things being against them, Y/N happens to become pregnant. HOWEVER, they would have to have a healer or a medic from STYX and from Briar Valley collaborating together, watching the pregnancy almost 24/7 just in case the creation is miscarried. But as luck would have it, before the creation is miscarried, the magic that is used to save the child ends up working. Because of this, the child ends up being a miracle child. Y/N is shocked to see that this has happened since their dream of becoming a parent had been dashed a long time ago; those times were filled with despair and agony, their body having rejected many a creation before this one. Yet through the technological advancements of medicine and fertility magic combined had brought about something that nobody could predict: a half-Fae, half-human child who was born healthy and without much complication. You don't have to reply if you don't want to since these themes can be hard to talk about, but if you do, then I think you'll be great at it! Besides, there's (in my opinion) nothing stopping them from being accepted regardless by the Diasomnia fam!

Hello Faye 💞🌷💚

If we follow some general fae lore 🤔 it’s harder for faes to get pregnant and, depending on the species, it’s rare to have children? Though, none of this is ever mentioned or implied in twst lore.

In some fae lore, that’s why having children with humans are easier because humans are more fertile. 👀 This is also not mentioned in twst lore but given that the only half fae and half human we know of right now is Sebek who has older siblings…it might be true?

But there isn’t anyone to compare to as of right now nor do we know enough about BV culture and fae lore. Absjsjshs I know I went off topic, but I was very curious lol.

I don’t think Lilia would have ever considered having children before meeting you. He’s already has Malleus and Silver. He helped train Sebek.

For him to want kids? Especially with you? I feel it would be something he would gradually want. a little piece of you and him. I think he would feel sad if he couldn’t have them with you but even more so, he feels for you. That he couldn’t give them to you. Whether it be a you or he health problem or combo.

Either way, you’ll always be loved and welcomed in Diasomnia family lives. You being you is what they have always adored. Not being able to have kids has anything to do with that at all.

If you do get pregnant despite all the odds, I won’t put it past Lilia to be by your side or one of the boys being near you always. Especially since it’s a high risk pregnancy.

I think with the combination of STYX, fae knowledge, and the history of Mrs. Zigvolt; was any of this possible.

This is your baby. Your miracle baby. Yours and Lilia’s.

Through the support of friends and family, your baby was born. Your precious baby.

The one love beyond any measure even before their birth. 💞🥹

#answered #🌺Faye🌺#lilia vanrouge x reader

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ohwhatagloomyshow · 24 days ago

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gemmahelena: I never sought to love you

Guess what, we're gonna test run another gemmahelena on Tumblr before posting to ao3! I know fanfic is something you write for yourself first and others second but I'm already imagining this one being a bit long and part of me doesn't want to dive too deeply into it if it wouldn't have an interested audience, you know?

AU set before the show, where Gemma meets Helena under unusual circumstances, where Helena has a rather direct role in targeting folks that Lumon could use for Cold Harbor. As implied above, I anticipate this being multi-chapter, switching between Gemma's and Helena's POVs. My thought is friends to lovers to enemies. ~2500 words.

CW: Discussions of perinatal loss.

It’s only when she’s two wines deep, Mark softly snoring beside her and sleep nowhere to be found, that she finally crawls out of bed to dig the crumpled flyer out of her jacket pocket.

She can’t even blame Sandy for it, as much as she wants to. Sandy, their new undergraduate admin, was using Ganz’s paltry education credit program to take night classes to pursue a new career in counseling. She was just doing her job (well, “job”), passing out flyers in the Humanities building. Gemma had even been happy to see her that morning; the university had updated their travel reimbursement policy and she had questions.

“Hi, Dr. Scout!” Sandy had positioned herself at the skyway connecting Humanities and Science, a decent place for foot traffic. She held in her arm a bundle of flyers and Gemma had started to decline one until it was shoved, rather confidently, into her hand. “Next week the counseling center is going to start hosting the local perinatal loss support group while St. Mark’s finishes its renovations. I told them I’d pass these out, try to let as many people on campus know about it as I can!” She was so bubbly, handing out such depressing flyers, shades of blue and pink that to the unsuspecting eye would look like a flyer for a transgender student support group.

She’d really rather go to a trans student support group; the handful of trans students she’d had tended to be the most open and engaged of any of her kids. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually, she and Mark had been lightly scolded for not involving themselves more with student orgs -

“It doesn’t matter if you yourself haven’t experienced pregnancy loss,” Sandy continued, and it was clear she’d been doing this all day, trying to break through to folks who immediately emotionally checked out, “there’s also a group for anyone supporting someone through pregnancy loss, like a friend or relative. It’ll be every first Monday of the month! We’ll have snacks!”

It had taken all of her self control not to crumple the flyer up immediately, but that would’ve only started a conversation she really, truly, didn’t want to have. She had just nodded, said that she would pass the information along in her circle, asked her most pressing question as briefly and quickly as possible, and shoved the flyer into her coat pocket the second Sandy had turned her head.

She’d heard about the support group from her OBGYN when she had that very first miscarriage four years ago, so early in their marriage. She hadn’t even realized she was pregnant - hadn’t even realized she wanted to be a mother - when her spotting was much heavier than normal and she’d called her doctor’s office.

“I’m glad you called, because a miscarriage means something’s up with the IUD,” her doctor had informed her, casually but sympathetically, over speakerphone. Mark had been beside her, a little freaked out by the blood loss she’d described to him. He rubbed the small of her back in slow, warm circles. “We’ll get you in over the next few days; make sure you’re using secondary protection until then. In the meantime, if you or your husband need any help processing this in any way, my patients have had great things to say about St. Mark’s Lutheran’s support group. They’re on the corner of South High and West Market - I can send you more information if you’re interested?”

“No, that’ll be okay, Dr. Sharma,” Mark had replied on her behalf, before she really had a chance to think about the offer. Not that she would’ve accepted it, it just would’ve been nice to decline on her own. “We’re just glad this wasn’t something bigger.”

But it is big, Mark, she’d wanted to interrupt right then, the enormity of the conversation finally hitting her. It’s maybe the biggest thing in the world. The IUD was out a few days later, replaced by pills as she considered other options.

But once the thought was in her head she couldn’t get rid of it. She hadn’t realized Mark had been the same way until he brought home the crib. They had celebrated rather enthusiastically that afternoon, and when they’d finished she called her doctor’s office to cancel her next refill.

It had been so fun, in the beginning. He’d always been an enthusiastic lover but this was different: sacred and holy, every touch full of meaning and potential. They never talked about it directly - it was funny, how many things they didn’t need to talk about. It was just in Mark’s expression, the way he carried himself after buying that crib: some new confidence in the set of his shoulders, an additional pep in his step, although she wondered if that was just the result of more frequent fucking.

They had tried so hard, once.

She finds the paper in her right coat pocket, crumpled around her keys; even though Mark is down the hall, she tries to be quiet as she presses its wrinkles out, tilting it so she can ready by the light of the moon streaming through the kitchen window.

NOW AT GANZ U COUNSELING CENTER: Struggling with pregnancy loss? Looking for someone who “gets it”? St. Mark’s Lutheran Church hosts a gathering of mothers, fathers, and loved ones and friends to share experiences and provide support. Meetings @ 7PM the 1st Monday of every month. Snacks and drinks provided!

She sighs, considers getting another glass and opening a fresh bottle of wine. Thinks about the empty bottles piling up in their recycling, nearly turning into his-and-hers, although her consumption has never been as frequent as his. Still, it hasn’t…been great. She knows it hasn’t been great.

Fuck it - her Monday classes go until 5PM. Staying an extra few hours won’t be a problem. She might get caught up on grading, even. And it’s only once a month.

She circles the Counseling Center three times before she finds the courage to go in. It’s outrageous to be so nervous - nearly one in four pregnancies end in early miscarriages, she is neither unique nor special in this regard, women have had early trimester miscarriages since the dawn of time, and anyway, she and Mark are fine! Why would she need to talk about her feelings with absolute strangers -

She watches a couple walk up the old wooden steps, and then a small group of female friends, and then forces her own feet up the creaking porch steps.

She’s only been in the Counseling Center a handful of times over the last seven years, always to help escort students up these very steps, and she’s pleasantly surprised at how warm and welcoming it is. The lighting is soft, the furniture organized to be as opening and conversational as possible although she’s sure that’s just for tonight’s event. There are cookies and brownies and tea and decaf coffee laid out on opposite tables against the walls, and she heads to the coffee just for something to do with her hands.

After a cursory glance around the room she’s so relieved to realize she doesn’t recognize anyone here. At least, not well enough - they are faces she’s seen around campus and around town, but no one who knows her or knows Mark by name, as far as she can remember. Certainly no one she knows by name. Sandy’s flitting around but that’s okay, she won’t stay at Ganz forever and this is good practice for her, anyway.

She decides to meander in the refurbished farmhouse as the volunteers continue setting up the two group rooms, one for the parents and one for the concerned loved ones. She wants to flip a coin to decide where she’ll go first, if it’s worth ripping the bandaid off for the group she actually belongs to or if her time would be better spent doing reconnaissance. She thinks about Mark - wishes for just a moment that she had told him, rather than given him a grading excuse - and decides she’d rather know how the friends and family talk about loss rather than surround herself with depressed childless couples.

We used to be a depressed childless couple, she immediately scolds herself, wincing at her inner cruelty. The decaf burns her lips and she wants to tell karma “Yes, okay, I get it,” but instead she quietly follows other strangers into the room that’s quickly identified as the support-support group.

There’s a good number of people here, and they all move in on the chairs, so she chooses to stand in the poorly lit back corner. There are pamphlets all over about every problem under the sun a college student could have and she contemplates taking a few to keep in her office until she’s distracted by a gentle whiff of very expensive perfume.

(She can hear Mark in her ear, gently mocking when she tells him about tonight. “How could you even know that? Are you a sommelier in perfume now? Do they even have those?” And she would push against his shoulder and say something like “Stop shitting on my seventh sense.”)

But it’s a deep scent, warm and spicy, and it makes her think of leaves in autumn when she turns to look at her new neighbor, breathing heavy after rushing in just before the volunteers closed the doors. She’s a pretty white woman, several years younger but too old to be a student, long red hair trailing down her back, fashionable black square glasses framing eyes lined boldly in black. She looks remarkably nervous for someone in the friends-and-families space, and Gemma can’t help but reach out and touch the girl’s arm. She jumps slightly, her eyes wide when she turns.

“You okay?” Gemma asks, attempting to give a thumbs up before realizing her coffee is still in her hand. She puts it down on a nearby table to finish the gesture.

The girl gives a confused half-smile and returns the gesture. Gemma grins, pats her arm, picks her coffee back up and sips. Standing next to someone even more uncomfortable than her is an unexpected balm to her anxiety.

When the meeting starts, she’s pleased at the laid-back attitude of their facilitator. They’re plump with a warm and open face in their mid-fifties and introduce themself as someone who struggled with perinatal loss with their partner, who then took that pain and turned it into a career in therapy.

“I’m not here to be anybody’s therapist tonight. We’re all here to talk to and learn from each other. We’re all here because we love someone who is going through something really, really challenging. We’re here to practice listening and experience what it’s like to be heard.”

They guide the room in introducing themselves but encourage that no one should introduce themself if they’re uncomfortable doing so. Gemma skips, as does the woman beside her. No one bats an eye.

The facilitator, Birdy, reminds the group that everything said here is confidential and provides a few tips on how to actively listen. And then they’re off.

Something unlocks in Gemma’s chest as she listens to these vulnerable strangers, who ask each other how long their friends might feel grief, how to keep their grief from overshadowing their sister’s, their best friend’s, their parents'. She’s never quite thought of herself as a person worthy of the label of grief, of mourning: only one of her pregnancies had made it into the second trimester.

She is learning, very quickly, how wrong she’s been.

She thinks about Mark immediately, vividly - imagines the sardonic comments he would make to keep himself at a remove, picking apart people’s thought and speech patterns, egging her on to do the same. But in this moment, she just can’t. The room feels almost holy.

And then it’s over: Birdy opens the door and they’re welcome to rejoin their friends and family from the other session. Snacks and drinks have been refreshed. It’s only 8PM.

She’s in a bit of a daze as she makes her way back to the decaf, grabbing another cup. The rich-smelling pretty young woman is picking apart a chocolate chip cookie with her thumb and forefinger, crumbling it into smaller and smaller parts on her plate as she watches the other guests mingle, her eyes focused.

“What did that cookie ever do to you?” She can’t help but comment - the agitation in the young woman’s hands is so different from the calm stillness of her body.

Again, the redhead jumps, like she’s alarmed at being noticed. She looks at her plate like her hand has been operating on autopilot, which Gemma guesses it had been. “Oh, uh. Guess that was…a little intense in there.” Her voice is low and slow, very controlled and well-enunciated. This young woman is a mass of contradictions, Gemma notices now: jeans stylishly ripped at the knees, Converse looking fresh out of the store, and a buttoned-up flannel even though it’s not quite cold enough for that yet. She looks like someone trying very hard to look comfortable, but the way she holds her body is much too stiff.

“Kind of bizarre when people just…talk about their feelings, right?” Gemma replies, forcing a joke into her tone that doesn’t quite belong.

Either the young woman is taking pity on her, or she’s actually succeeded in connecting with a stranger at a perinatal support group. Who would’ve thought? “It was like being on safari, trying to stay still enough just to observe.” At this she opens her eyes wide like a deer, holds herself in utter stillness that’s a bit uncanny. Gemma surprises herself laughing.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Helly.”

“Gemma.”

She can’t believe she has to wait three weeks for the next session. She can’t believe she can’t wait to go to the next session. She’s not entirely sure if it’s because of how comfortable that room felt, or if she’s excited to shoot the shit with Helly again.

She’s ready to talk to Mark about it. Because who knows? Maybe he just needs to be in this kind of environment to open up a little.

The house is dark when she pulls in, but that doesn’t always mean anything. The lights from the bedroom aren’t always visible from the driveway. She’s preparing what she’ll say as she unlocks the door: “Listen, I know it’s silly, but Sandy kinda cornered me on Friday and I had to check it out….”

The house is cold and dark and quiet.

A thousand years ago - back in the beginning, when everything was fresh and new - “don’t wait up for me, I have grading to finish” had typically been code for sex. It had been code for Please wait for me, let’s try out that new toy or lingerie. Sometimes it just meant Let’s fall asleep together after a long day apart. But it had always meant Welcome me home with open arms.

She can’t remember when that stopped.

#severance #gemmahelena #gemma scout #helena eagan #gemma x helena #helena x gemma #it's the tragic yuri of our dreams #fanfiction #severance fanfiction #my favorite character in nbc's hannibal was abigail hobbs and You Will Discover This

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duvall-adjaniblog · 7 months ago

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CW!! blood, implied miscarriage and implied suic1de

Anya mouth washing, im so sorry. (I think about how she miscarried the baby after death a lot.)

#anya mouthwashing #mouthwashing #my art #cw miscarriage #cw sui mention #anya #mouthwashing fanart #i hope tumblr doesnt ruin the quality.

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cebwrites · 9 days ago

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I went looking for your Aurelius lore but didn’t find anything 😫 What are they the god of? Are they god born? Plz tell me about the blorbo (so that I can more accurately draw our ocs possibly meeting) i mean who said that 🫢

I don't have everything written down atm but what the hell sure, I'll put the answers here for you anon

aurelius lore ramble

oc x canon word count: 3.5k [cw// child death, implied domestic violence, cheating, murder, etc under the cut i mean hey it's the greek mythos tho is anyone surprised]

Aurelius technically first met Poseidon in a previous life, when they went by Arsinoe - it was when they were both young and kinder, more tender, meeting up under an olive tree to gaze at the stars and talk about constellations through oral tradition - with Poseidon pretending he didn't already know all these tales.

It didn't last because Arsinoe's poor family promised their hand in marriage to the kind of their land in exchange for their weight in gold.

Poseidon wanted to run away with them because what was a king to a god but Arsinoe naively believed that their family would let them go if they just explained the situation - they did not, Poseidon found out from Hera that his love was gone because Hades didn't have the heart to tell him that the person he talked about with so much adoration was in the underworld.

Eventually they were born again, Aristo, to another poor family, and they married quickly to take the burden off their parents - they weren't particularly happy in their marriage but out of duty to their family they grit their teeth and endured. They fulfilled the role the best they could and more or less succeeded so they wouldn't burden their family anymore but the one thing they couldn't do was provide their husband with children no matter how hard both of them tried, everything ended without conception at all or in miscarriages.

Their husband was understanding at first but over the years he started growing impatient and bitter, by the time they were able to conceive the situation at home wasn't safe enough to bring a kid into anymore so they spent the entire pregnancy praying this one turned out just like their others because death would be safer than being at the mercy of their husband.

It doesn't and they end up carrying it to term, Aristo had to have their baby in secret and just as it's born Thanatos appears to take it to the underworld, answering their prayers.

Aristo goes back to their village and tells the other wives it was another stillbirth, they let Aristo stay with them because predictably their husband didn't take the news well. Things were scary for a while but they had their support system so things got better, two years pass though and they've travelled as far as the entrance to the underworld.

Hera feels for them but killing family goes against her domain, so she sends Aphrodite down to turn them into a sea monster before they can throw themself into the river Styx from the pain, but Aphrodite also tells Aurelius that with this form no one will be able to hurt them like their husband again so it's a small consolation.

Aristo hangs around the shores near their home for a while because they don't have anywhere else to go but have to leave after someone from the village discovers them and freaks out because their a huge sea beast around. They get chased away but weirdly enough the seas never allow the villagers to follow them and several boats drown. It hurts to see their former friends look at them like a monster but Aristo doesn't blame them.

Several years later when Zeus and Hera get into a tiff about obligations and the work she has to do while he flounces around all day, Aristo on Zeus' whim gets turned into a god that protects the young under Hera's domain as some sort of cruel irony (Zeus is not aware of this).

Winding back time a little bit - Aristo would always come to the ocean to cry when things got particularly bad at home and Poseidon fell in love with them again from afar, their tears also turn into pearls once they fall in the water from Poseidon's influence.

He's pining bad for them and so familiar with their misery that whenever his pearl is crying the waters get rougher for everyone else around the area. His nickname in return is "Posie" because those were Arsinoe's favorite kinds of flowers.

But back to Aristo's apotheosis; they try to decline the position but Zeus being Zeus, is pushy, he's huge and imposing and even though they're a giant sea monster his presence is still massive.

Only a couple people notice Poseidon getting angrier in the background and then a few more because the waters in the fountains start to boil; the breaking point is when Zeus leans in real close and tips Aristo's chin up with one of his massive fingers, and says "don't you want to repent for those children you let die - this would be the perfect opportunity, no?"

Posie throws himself at Zeus in a blind rage and they get into a HUGE fight. Poseidon goes to Aurelius later at the little cove they've made into their lair to personally apologize for his brother, ladening them with such a heavy burden like godhood and being an ass about it the whole time too.

Aristo is wary, partially because he's a man and partially because their whole life they've known the gods to be fickle, unpredictable, and downright cruel if the winds blow in the wrong direction. They say that they don't mind, they figured the king of kings would be a little… like that (Posie snorts), but what they don't understand is why the god of the ocean would stick his neck out for a minor god like them. (Minor god isn't really accurate but they don't know that at this point)

Poseidon immediately gets all dodgy about the subject and he can feel Aphrodite's smug little grin burning itself into the back of his head so he makes up an excuse to leave early. He keeps coming to see them though, says it's to make sure they're getting settled nicely or keeping up with their job or anything really, if there's an excuse he can make to go see them Poseidon will.

They're getting to know each other in this new relationship but they're taking their time and Poseidon's being extra careful not to spook his pearl by coming on too strong even though by the gods he wants them so much- he wants them BAD, but they're a treasure worth waiting for so he's patient. Part of Aristo is testing him, to see if he'd turn out like their husband, but another part thinks it's cute how bashful he can get at times.

And after a way-too-long courting period that had Aphrodite pulling her hair out they finally got together, whole grown ass gods acting like scared and excited youths falling in love for the first time because that's what it felt like initially, but soon they settle into each other and it's a love nothing like this mortal has ever known.

Hell, just a few decades ago they were stuck in an abusive loveless marriage and now the god of the ocean manifests out of the tides to come kiss them if they so much as whisper that borderline saccharine nickname under their breath. After getting married they finally change their name to Aurelius, since Hades' wedding gift to the couple was gold from the earth and Aurelius adorns themself in the jewelry quite nicely.

It also comes out that the pearl tears are from Poseidon—if that wasn't obvious enough—he didn't do it on purpose, things just kind of shook out that way but he hoped that maybe they'd be able to escape if Aurelius collected enough of and sold them - it never crossed their mind, probably too embroiled in stress and turmoil to notice, but the sentiment endeared them to him all the same.

These are the golden years.

They have two children at first, Meris and Cordelia who were twins, but after an incident where Delia was tricked and forced to marry a mortal man who had Zeus' blessing (he didn't know it was Delia's hand being vied for) and Poseidon turned her into seafoam so she wouldn't have to live through that, Meris swam to the bottom of the ocean because he was furious that his father and uncle betrayed his sister by not protecting her on the formers part and then being an active participant on the latter; Zeus wouldn't have said yes to the blessing if he knew.

Eventually they find out that Aurelius is carrying Poseidon's clutch again and even though he's overjoyed, Aurelius is terrified from all their prior experiences as a mortal and the twins, convinced that this is going to end just as tragically and that their body even in this form is cursed to be a graveyard.

Poseidon does everything he can to comfort them, ease his pearl into it and that he'd be there for every step of the way, and if they really weren't ready for it they could leave the clutch in someone else's care after they were laid until Aurelius could come around to it. Aurelius agrees and Poseidon calls on two his most devoted followers, a couple who was having trouble conceiving, to protect his children with their lives until his pearl was ready and the couple obviously agreed.

A few decades of peace passed, the couple kept the eggs hidden as promised, Poseidon and Aurelius thrived in their relationship despite the worry, but things started going awry once the clutch began to hatch. Fish started going missing from nets and people grew suspicious; one of the guppies was the culprit, but the couple couldn't blame him for being hungry.

The townspeople eventually found the clutch and threw it in the fire even as the couple begged and pleaded with them not to hurt the eggs and that these were Poseidon's children, the fish thief (Skully) was netted while his siblings burned. None of them survived the fire except for one (Andy) whose piercing cries woke his parents up.

Aurelius got there first, furious and heartbroken - they drowned the entire port town and the hatred they had for mortals was set in stone from that day on.

When they didn't know if Andy was going to make it Apollo came down with a prophecy that if they put him to sleep in a magic clam he wouldn't go back to as he was before, but he'd make a mostly full recovery with the stipulation that it would take a hundred years before he emerges. They let Skully join his brother to keep Andy company because he wouldn't leave him otherwise and closed the shell.

Aurelius and Poseidon had a massive fight in the fallout, both still hurting and saying things they didn't mean and separated after that, so Aurelius spent their time near the clam whenever they could and if not they were rotting in their lair, catatonic from the loss.

Birthrates plummeted especially in seaside towns and the ocean was impossible for mortals to cross for a good while, the babies that were born were very sickly and in worse cases turned into (smaller) sea monsters like merfolk and were actively hostile to humans. Sometimes they'd return to mortal form if their parents raised them with enough love and care, other times the parents were killed or the kid found its way into the ocean first.

It got to the point where Zeus had to put his foot down because the divorcees and their "depressions" (Zeus' air quotes) were throwing the balance of nature out of whack.

Zeus and Poseidon got into another huge fight over the younger brother being the typical pompous insensitive bastard he was, but after Zeus told him to "just have more kids" in front of his grieving partner Posie damn near ripped his face off.

Hera went to talk to Aurelius in their lair to try and coax them out, said that she knows they're in there because gods can't die that easily, the response she gets is that Aurelius wishes this broken heart would hurry up and kill them already. Hera offers a little consolation, she can't get rid of their pain completely but she can lock away their fertility, ease the burden of having to worry about that all the time.

Aurelius agrees, they're a lot colder after this - feeling it necessary for them to kill their sentimentality if they were going to continue working. Poseidon mourned, said that they took the warmth from them but all Aurelius has to say to that was that their heart died with the clutch Secretly though, they'd continue to visit the clam and fill the the hidden underwater clearing with pearls until they emerged

It's their job to preside over every birth, so when Poseidon's bastard children start being born, Aurelius is miserable and believes he's just doing this to hurt them. Poseidon isn't really but what he is doing is trying to fill the void they and those guppies left behind (it doesn't work, just hurts both of them because he feels awful after every one). Anteros curses him to feel the pain of every teardrop they cry that hits the water in his ribs, a reminder close to his heart.

Aurelius' work puts them in close proximity with Thanatos a lot, one side arguing for an infant's life and the other for a peaceful passage to the underworld. Thanatos appeared a lot around the clam while they guarded it and they fought him time and time again for their guppies' lives, verbally or physically. He always leaves but tells Aurelius that he'll be back (he always is, and they're there to tell him to fuck off again). Thanatos appears one last time after it's been a hundred years to reap what Aurelius sowed, but the clam opens and they tell him that he can't have them because they're alive.

Aurelius ends up raising Andy and Skully in tandem with a harpy and a tigerfish mer (oomf's OCs) though, because they decide it's too dangerous around them all the time and really they're still in a lot of pain. They in the periphery of the guppies' lives as the sea monster that lives nearby but Andy and Skully also consider Florence and Alba their moms.

After Aurelius started using a more palatable mortal form to see the people who called for their help, since one of their followers mentioned that they were quite scary and even if Aurelius reprimanded them by saying their job isn't always kind or easy, they agreed, occasionally there'd be sightings from other people.

Aurelius isn't really a major god so they travel mostly through the ocean to get somewhere and transform on land - when they need to go they jump back into the sea.

One village in particular was having fertility issues so Aurelius had to visit multiple times over the course of a few years, a man falls in love with their mortal form but obviously can only see them when they visit. The elders warned him that Aurelius is the god that protects their young and if he does anything to anger the gods everyone will be in grave danger. Stories passed down from the clutch incident held up even throughout the decades.

This guy keeps it in mind but continues watching them from afar and once gets his friends in on it because they don't believe him; Aurelius shows up drop dead gorgeous, they believe him. Him and his friends also follow Aurelius a little further than the man would usually go around the outskirts of the village to the ocean and eventually see them change back into their sea monster form.

In true Greek mythos fashion they get freaked out and jump to the conclusion that this isn't a god it's a monster tricking the people of their village and it's Up To Them™️ to put a stop to it.

Aurelius gets ambushed in mortal form but when the mob cut them open and gold spills onto the grass they realized the monumental fuckup they've committed. It's in Auriseidon's divorce era during the 100 years of waiting and far away enough from the ocean for Poseidon not to know but Hera is furious and curses the village for harming the god sent to help them. It's a close call but Hermes is ordered to bring them to Olympus to replenish.

Poseidon came home seeing the trail of ichor assuming it was Ares again but he heard the servants talking and hauled ass to his pearl like a maniac. Aurelius turns away just as he flings the doors open because they recognize his footsteps and he's too focused on the everything to see Aphrodite's mirror.

Posie can't see his pearl's face when he asks why they didn't call for him and they respond that they didn't think he'd care enough, but Aurelius still sees his expression through it and it kills them. His response is pleading them that he does care, he never STOPPED caring but Aurelius tells him to stop lying to them and he must think them a fool, they were there for all his bastard children for their domain after all.

They tell Poseidon to go guard their what's left of their clutch against Thanatos if he actually wants to be helpful and Aphrodite chases him out. Says that Aurelius is in enough pain without him here making it worse, so he does and his ribs hurt the whole time.

Once they've healed up a little more, Poseidon visits their lair with little gifts and leaves them outside so he doesn't bother them too much; he makes jewelry out of the pearls that they cry because he misses them, his earrings included - if you actually stepped into their lair the bottom of it underwater is FULL of pearls.

Aurelius comes out once and tells him to stop leaving clutter around and they get into another argument, but instead of blowing up at each other and fucking off like always they get in each other's faces and start making out with all the desperation and repression that what, 70 years apart would afford a god.

Halfway through though Aurelius pulls away and asks him to stop, because they can't handle his tenderness and "I love you"s because they hurt more than anything because they feel like lies revolt them hearing it from him, so Poseidon's mean and rough instead.

His ribs burn but it gives his pearl an outlet to cry without guilt - Aphrodite told them about Anteros' curse at some point to gloat while they were having a little gossip sesh but instead of laughing with her Aurelius looked betrayed and disgusted and hurt when they asked if she really made them haunt Poseidon all this time - so their hatefucking arc starts.

It goes on for years because both of them are traumatized and incredibly maladaptive and can't just talk it out like (trust that Aphro IS pulling her hair out as Aurelius' bestie) but eventually the hatred dies down, they're more or less together without actually being together but neither wants to be the one to say it.

In the middle of this, their son from the clam Andreas gets tricked into giving mortals Ambrosia so he's put on trial for stealing from the gods, it's a whole thing with the gods arguing for unreasonable punishments, no punishments at all, everything in between, and Apollo nearly gets his hand bitten off for making Andy cry but eventually Andy's sentenced to serve wine to the gods on Olympus with Hebe (since he's just 8 after all) instead of much harsher ones proposed by other gods.

After the dust has settled Aurelius and Poseidon have another one of their "hatefuck" meetings even though realistically there's no actual venom between them, things go as normal but in the afterglow this time while they let Posie hold them for once, back to him, Aurelius tells him that they miss what they had. He breaks down then and there and Aurelius joins him shortly after, mourning all the pain they both suffered and how much they missed each other and regretting how they treated one another. Divorce arc over everybody they're back together now and slowly mending the relationship and 100% are going to be SO much more possessive over each other and worse yaaaayyyy 🥳🎉🎊

Additionally, the domain bestowed on Aurelius initially was just Protection of the Young, but through the years - the soaring highs and crushing lows, their sorrows and their joys - their domain changes into being the God of Protection as a whole.

God of protection but notoriously tempestuous. God of protection but fickle and a trickster. God of protection who hates mortals so to directly ask for their help means the monkey's paw curls. Aurelius' domain is incredibly powerful but devotees and people who worshipped them regularly know they have to follow their God's instructions to the letter, or they'll bring destruction upon themselves that's just as devastating in scale.

Soldiers often seek their intervention before going to war but Aurelius meets their pleas with silence or outright anger at the audacity for them to ask for protection while these men carry out their violence; they do, however, still answer to the meek and vulnerable more often than not.

Aurelius says they were transformed by their hatred so now they have to shoulder the heavy burden of power, but Aphrodite leans her head on their shoulder and reminds her dear friend that love is one of the most powerful forces in the universe.

#cebwrites #epic the musical #epic the musical oc #epic oc #epic poseidon #oc: aurelius #sweetness and seafoam #aureseidon #can y'all believe that this is the shorter version of their lore #there was an older script that was twice as long #but parts got retconned so it wouldn't be as angsty #sfjsdkghdsjsh

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apollodarling-writes · 1 year ago

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What about Yandere Levi finding out reader is pregnant by someone else

yandere levi with a reader who’s pregnant by someone else hcs

cws : yandere themes, murder, noncon, kidnapping, confinement, humiliation, mind break implied, torture, miscarriage, slight gore, forcing the reader to commit murder, reader is put in the basement with the body and watches it rot, reader is knocked up by levi, dead dove: do not eat.

— yan! levi would be furious with both you and the man who knocked you up. he would be in a blind rage, demanding answers from you and once he gets a name, he’ll lock you in a room and leave to find the man who stole his love.

— yan! levi wouldn’t care if he was messy with it. he just wanted the bastard to suffer as much as he was in the moment.

— yan! levi would knock the man out and drag him back to his cabin, chaining him in the cellar and putting a gag in his mouth. once the man wakes up, the torture would begin.

— yan! levi would spend weeks making this poor soul suffer, only giving him enough food and water to survive. by the time you see him, the man is a bag of bones.

— if you loved the man, yan! levi would take you in front of him, his thrusts harsh and calculated as the pad of his thumb circles your bundle of nerves. levi wouldn’t care how much you screamed and cried and begged for him to stop, he wouldn’t. even while he’s sobbing himself, he would fuck you until he’s satisfied.

— yan! levi would drag your spent and used body over to the man who impregnated you, gripping a knife in your hands and forcing you to drive the blade through his chest over and over and over.

— yan! levi would then drag you to the bathroom and harshly tell you to clean yourself up, watching your every move so you don’t inflict harm upon yourself.

— yan! levi would be a lot meaner and more strict after that. he’d drag you back to the basement and leave you there while the body decays.

— while you’re locked in the basement, yan! levi would occasionally bring you food and water, not thinking about the baby and more about punishing you. eventually, you’ll miscarry.

— yan! levi never really intended for you to miscarry but when he finds out, he can’t help but feel relief… and worry for your wellbeing.

— yan! levi would kidnap a doctor and force him to treat you. once your treatment is done, he’ll force you to kill him too, saying something about you cleaning up your mess.

— yan! levi would only bring you back up when he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. whether the lack of social interaction has driven you to near madness, or whether you truly promise to never leave him, you’ll be stuck in there until he’s satisfied with your state.

— yan! levi, once bringing you back up, would be more gentle with you, but wouldn’t trust you in the slightest. you’ll be with him at all times when he’s home, and if he’s out, you’ll have a chain attached to your ankle so you can reach the bathroom and the kitchen.

— yan! levi would still dote on you and give you the occasional affection, but he’s still very very hurt by your actions. he’ll be a bit short with you at times when he’s reminded of your “cheating” but he won’t put you back in the basement unless you really piss him off.

— yan! levi will eventually cave and try to knock you up himself. he’ll fill you up over and over, day and night, until you start showing signs of pregnancy.

— yan! levi is over the moon when you test positive, rubbing and kissing your tummy (after you left the doctors office) and will make sure you have all the nutrients you need. he’s softer, more lenient with you since he doesn’t want you to lose another baby… even if the first one was his fault.

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saphira-approves · 2 years ago

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OKAY time for some meta thoughts

CW: I’m discussing death and, essentially, miscarriage-adjacent topics, but for baby dragons. Figured I’d add a warning about it.

So, dragon eggs, right? In the Vault of Souls, Eragon and Saphira are told that eggs that don’t hatch for a very long time come out “strange”; we’re not given more detail then that, so let’s lay out some options.

1. Strange—this could just mean they are weird in terms of personality. Saphira says she remembers when Galbatorix spoke to her in the shell; this implies that an unhatched dragon, though not growing, is somewhat aware of itself. Can you imagine spending the first hundreds of years of your existence in a tight, cramped egg? Not growing, not changing, not developing, and yet Alive, and Aware? How long would it take for you to believe there is nothing else? How much would it mess with your mind to finally hatch, and be faced with a world SO different from what you’ve known for centuries? Yeah, they’d probably be a little bit off.

2. Deformity—it’s possible that spending too long in the egg could also result in physical weirdness. It might screw with their bone density or wing size, making them unable to fly; it might make their scales too soft to protect them, or too heavy to easily move with; it might mess up their internal organs, make them unable to breathe fire, or delicate and susceptible to illness.

3. Magic—this one is kind of out there tbh, but I want to cover it. Spending too long in the egg, unable to physically interact with the world around them—well, the dragon inside may begin magically interacting with the world around them. They may reach out psychically, or enact their will on their surroundings; they may actually learn to control their magic, better even than an Eldunarí ever would, because an Eldunarí has a frame of reference that the unhatched dragon simply would not have, because it has nothing to compare to. And then, if these magically weird dragons do hatch, what is the result? Eventually, a fully-grown dragon with control over its own magical abilities, possibly capable of weaving spells beyond the capacity or even imagination of normal spellcasters. They might even be physically affected by this relationship to magic, almost elemental in nature instead of a living creature. (Side note, I have so many OC ideas right now.)

4. Inert—similar to the petrified dragon eggs in Game of Thrones, spending too long in the egg may just… snuff them out. It may petrify them, turning them into gemstones the same hue as their shells, a la firestone in the Memoirs of Lady Trent series; or else their consciousness may simply fade away, leaving an empty shell within a shell.

Let’s explore this fourth and final idea, inspired by a post by @glbtrx. If a dragon in the shell psychically dies, somehow, leaving a body with no mind… well, hypothetically, if the body itself doesn’t die, you could just… stick another mind in there, right? An Eldunarí could essentially be reborn as a new dragon—or even a non-dragon, perhaps a dying Rider or other magician, could leave their body behind and claim a new, empty one? A powerful one?

Hm. I have many ideas now.

#inheritance cycle #christopher paolini #i’m not even gonna go into the implication for rider/dragon relationships but hey. if you’re into that here’s an idea.#anyway that reveal about firestone in the memoirs really blew my mind when i first read it #i think it could work so easily with alagaësian dragons #especially considering it kind of does happen with the eldunarí

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ivymarquis · 2 years ago

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AhhhHHHHHH my brain gave me a new idea this is cursed lmao it’s also sad so Imma put it under a cut. CW Character death (implied? 👀👀👀) + miscarriage

Today’s mood is sad as hell lmao

Price is wounded. Evac isn’t going to be able to get to him in time, and he’s separated from the rest of the 141 + anyone who would be able to help him. He is certain that he is about to die.

Even though it breaks all sorts of regulations, he calls his girlfriend. He knows he’s a bastard for doing this, he’s selfish and he’s going to traumatize her but he just wants to talk to her one last time.

His girlfriend is not having a good day. Been sick the last few weeks, goes to the doctor to see what’s going on. The lab results come back and she was pregnant but a drop in some of her hormone levels indicate that she is in the middle of miscarrying.

While trying to deal with the whirlwind of emotions of processing losing a child she didn’t even know she was having, and what the hell she’s going to tell John (does she even tell him?), she gets the phone call.

He’s apologetic and they’re both sobbing the entire time. He tells her there’s a ring for her in his sock drawer and he wants her to know he had it and was going to give it to her when he got back. He tells her about his proposal and how he was going go do it, and apologizes for the fact that he’s going to be leaving her all alone.

She panics and lies by omission. He’s bleeding to death hundreds of miles away. She tells him she’s pregnant (still technically true), that he’s not leaving her alone. That she loves him and it’s okay. She knows he did his best.

She stays on the line with him until he doesn’t answer anymore, and stays on the line still. She can’t bring herself to end the call.

And this is too fucking sad most likely there’d be a dues ex machina type shit where he survives by the skin of his teeth and then the fallout resulting from that because GOOD GOD this is heavy even for me lmfao

#help its sad bitch hours I need fluff #john price x reader #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #a concept #my writing #miscarriage #character death #john price

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wolves-and-dragons · 2 months ago

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: Escape from the Lodge

Main Masterlist

Bonus Masterlist

Synopsis: while recovering from her emergency hysterectomy, the Lady of Larks receives a visit from the Lodge leader Phillipa. As time progresses, the troubaritz begins to feel the weight of her captivity set into her, something Triss takes note of.

CW: strong language, vulgar gestures, implied hostage situation (minors DNI).

After crying in Triss' arms, you pushed her away, still mad at her for this betrayal; in hindsight, you knew it wasn't really her fault, she wasn't the one who put you in this situation, but it didn't change the fact that you were essentially a hostage, a pawn in some group's political game.

You were also mad at Yennefer, wondering why she even agreed to this deal; granted, her bringing you to the Lodge was the reason you survived in the first place, but still didn't change the feelings of betrayal, it didn't change the feeling that Yen broke you out of one cage and essentially placed you in another.

And of course you were still reeling from the events of your miscarriage and the procedure that resulted in your infertility. You hadn't actually taken the proper time to process how you felt about that. It was sad that you lost the baby, but you weren't exactly grieving over that, not anymore.

To some extent you felt relief, relief that the thing that the Rogue Prince tried trap you with was no longer an issue. It was a relief that you wouldn't have to worry about him coming after you again because you were carrying another one of his children. It was a relief that you wouldn't need to consider the options you had available of whether you wanted to keep this child or not...and it was a relief because you were not even sure if you would've been able to love this child the same you loved Aemma due to how said child was conceived in the first place.

A few days after you woke, after finding out of the predicament you were in, you were visited by Phillipa Eilhart, the sorceress who founded this Lodge, and the woman who was the reason why were this group's 'guest.'

"Lady Lark," Phillipa addressed you, "I see you are awake, and recovering well from your illness. I am glad. I was not certain you would have made it, even with Francesca's magic, considering you were very near death's door. Your will to live is to be commended."

You said nothing, refusing to look Phillipa in the eye, which the mage did not seem to appreciate, "I hope you realize the trouble that was gone through to bring you back from your near death experience," she says changing her tone, "the risks we have taken, as the Lodge is not public knowledge to the rest of the world." "If your concern is that I will reveal the Lodge's existence and those involved, you can rest assure I will not," you say in a low tone, "I don't care. I don't care about the Lodge or it's politics, I don't care what is going on in the world as we speak, I just want to leave...I want to be free again."

"And you will be allowed to leave," Phillipa assures, "as soon as Yennefer returns and produces as the princess Cirilla, you may leave and go wherever you please. This I promise you, (y/n)."

You look up to Phillipa, giving her a rather incredulous look, again, something she took offense to, "you doubt me word? I suppose I can understand. Yennefer saw fit to inform us of your...previous situation. You can rest easy, no here will defile you as you were in Westeros, no one here will abuse you as you have been abused. You will be treated well, you have been treated well. You have been provided medicine for the pain, a warm bed, and good food. And once you can walk a little more then a few steps, you will not be confined to this room. You can explore, do as you wish, and you will not have to worry if anyone here will harm you."

"I was given a warm bed and good food in that place," you mutter, "I was allowed to explore the keep and do as I wish. I was treated well in spite of the abuse," you turn to the mage, a certain fire in your eyes, "you seem under the impression I was locked in chains and thrown in a dungeon against my will...I was not. But what difference did it make? A dungeon, a single bed chamber, or an entire castle? The fact of the matter is, I was not allowed to leave. Soldiers, sympathizers, enablers of the Rogue Prince, they would watch me every waking hour of the day to ensure I could not escape, regardless of whether he was there or not. I could not leave then...and I can't leave now."

"That is not true," Phillipa assures, "as I mentioned before you will be permitted to leave once the deal is complete, and if you are concerned about being subjected to the same cruelty that man had bestowed upon you-"

You laugh at that, mirthless, joyless, before the sorceress could finish her faux assurances, "I see, so just because you promise to treat me better, then that will make this okay. You think that because I won't be beaten or sexually assaulted, that this will be more bearable then it was before. Maybe you're right...but now the question comes down to how long will I have to remain here until Yennefer can bring Ciri here? Days, weeks, months...years maybe. But OH, it will be just fine since I won't have to worry about a man forcing himself on me every other night, that this will be better because this time my wardens are now women, is that it? None of this changes that fact that I, a once respected troubaritz, a person who was once treated with dignity, has become little more then a canary locked in a cage, forced to perform when it suits my captive's fancy."

"With all due the respect I can possibly muster," you say with venom in your voice, "Fuck you, Phillipa," you flip the mage your middle finger for good measure just to convey your exact feelings in this moment, not giving a shit that she was a powerful sorceress who could turn you to dust in the blink of an eye for just even slighting her hospitality.

You expected her to take offense for this, but to your surprise, Phillipa gave a small smile followed by a small nod, almost like a gesture of respect, "I can see why Yennefer of all people is so fond of you," she says, "I can see why she believed your live was worth saving. In spite of your rude demeanor, I will honor my word to her; time will tell if she will honor the word she gave me."

With that, Phillipa turned and left, leaving you to silently stew in your anger. You wanted to stand, you wanted to walk to the window, to scream and shout and just let it all out. But, alas, you were still unable to move without experiencing pain.

The next several months of your 'visit' in this unknown place with the Lodge of Sorceresses saw spending most of it in bed in a state of endless depression.

During this time, you did not have to relay on the pain numbing potions Tris continued to make for you as much as you used to, and you could manage to stand and walk longer distances before you grew tired. As promised, you were not confined to your room, but allowed to explore the castle. It looked like some kind of ruin, almost like Kaer Morhen was. It made sense that the Lodge would hide itself in such, given that it was still a secret from the rest of the world. You were given the best food and imported wine and anything you could possibly ask for...well almost anything. There were three things in this world you wanted more than anything, those being your daughter, your brother, and your lover, but such requests were denied.

You wonder if Geralt and Jaskier were looking for you again, wondering where you could've disappeared to. You wondered if Yennefer had deigned to inform them, though she would probably leave out certain details so as not to anger Geralt, even if it meant she thought she was doing what was best for all parties involved. That was Yennefer, you thought, both ambitious and loyal to a fault, sometimes to the point where she can't always see the forest past the trees.

Meanwhile your one companion Triss would come and visit, hoping to lighten the burden of your imprisonment. You weren't angry at her anymore...actually, you didn't feel much of anything anymore. When you weren't laying in bed, you would mindlessly wander the castle, almost like an empty husk of your former self.

Triss would try her best to console you and find some kind of joy to revel in, but it was all to no avail. She could see this was eating away at you slowly day in and day; you were not the joyful person she first met in Kaer Morhen, the person who shined a light wherever she went, making friends wherever, and just being around a positive person. That was gone now, and you being here was not helping matter anymore. The sorceress could no longer stay by and let you slowly die little by little; even though Phillipa and the Lodge did promise your eventual release, Triss could only wonder at what cost to your overall well-being.

Sure, they helped heal your physical state, but your mental state didn't seem to matter as long as you still had a pulse.

So one night, while you were laying in bed, stuck in your current state, Triss opened the door and got you up, "come with me," she said, offering a hand. You frown in confusion, but despite everything you still trusted Triss. So you take her hand and she leads out of the room. "Triss, I don't understand," you say, "what is going on."

"I'm getting you out of here," she assures. "But the Lodge-" "Forget about the Lodge," Triss snaps, "You were right. I should've listened to you. It doesn't matter how well they've treated you, or haven't, you're still a prisoner. I don't expect to forgive me now...but I hope you will be able to someday." You realized the risk Triss was taking in this moment, the fact she was willing to risk the wrath of the Lodge and very much risking her membership...

Once outside, Triss waved her arms and recited the incantations to open the portal, "I don't know where this will lead exactly," she admits, "but it will get you far away from this place, and from the Lodge." "...I won't forget this kindness, Triss," you tell her before you step into the portal.

You didn't care where it would take you, as long as it was nowhere in Westeros, or it would lead you back here, but you still clung to that glimmer of hope that for once in your life you won't be treated like a bird in a cage.

Once you exit the portal, you expect your feet to touch solid ground...well sort of. You also fall forward and land on a wall of flesh, forcing it to fall with you on the ground.

When your senses were no longer distorted from the portal, you feel the being beneath you. You look to see it was a man with greyed hair, side burns, and dark eyes. "Oh, uh, I beg your pardon," the man said, getting your attention.

The points of his teeth didn't go unnoticed by you when he spoke, and you were quick to roll off him and get back on your feet. You were ready to flee, but the man slowly stood, brushing the dirt off his clothes, "Oh, no need to be scared," he quickly assure, "I mean you no harm. It's not everyday young maidens pop out from randoms portals when one is on an expedition." "I'm not a maiden," you retort.

"My apologies for making such assumptions then," the man nods with a genuine tone and a small smile. You notice the teeth again, "Are...are you...?" "Human?" he says, "No. But I am not a monster either, at least, not the kind you may be familiar with. Permit me to introduce myself, I am Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy." "That's a mouthful," you deadpan. "For the sake of simplicity, most just refer to me as Regis," he tells you, "and if you were curious as to what I am exactly, well, I am what humans call a Higher Vampire. But rest assure, I have no intentions on feasting on your blood anytime soon. At least that is, if I could have your name."

"(y/n)?"

You and Regis turn to see the man you haven't seen in months now.

"Geralt..."

#the witcher #hotd #house of the dragon #geralt of rivia #the lady of larks #yennefer of vengerberg #triss merigold #phillipa eilhart #emiel regis

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satanic-saint · 1 year ago

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Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: M/M

Fandom: Homestuck

Relationship: Jake English/Dirk Strider

Characters: Dirk Strider, Jake English, Jade Harley, Dave Strider, Rose Lalonde, Roxy Lalonde, Calliope (Homestuck), Caliborn (Homestuck)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, toxic to healthy relationship, Miscarriage, Trans Dirk Strider, Gender Identity, Mental Health Issues, S##cide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-H#rm, Violence Pre-Relationship, Fluff, Sm#t, Shameless Sm#t, Healing, Recovery, Mental Institutions, Dissociation, OSDD, Dirk Strider has OSDD, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Fist Fights, Autism,More than half the homestuck characters are on the spectrum

Summary: Dirk and Jake go out for a walk around the island. Fisticuffs ensues.

Notes: These men are going through it!!! CW: Consensual fist, fighting, light description of bl##d and injury They're young men, let them brawl!!

#JakeDirk #DirkJake #Dirk Strider #Jake English #Striders #Homestuck #Homestuck AU #Homestuck Fanfic #Homestuck Fanfiction #strilondes #hospital dirk #Jake English finally gets fisticuffs #thoughts from my au #my stuff

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plasma-studios · 1 year ago

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princes in a pauper grave (ao3: x)

Two Princes, vying for the throne. There's always been a rivalry between them, really; Nightmare with his words and books, and Error with his sword. It should come to no surprise that they've committed to a fight to the death for the crown.

But they are not just Princes. They are brothers too.

OR: Prince!Nightmare and Prince!Error run away, rather than duel each other. Word count: 3.8k

cw/tw: major character death, minor character death, war as a plot device, implied revolution/coup, kingdom setting, mention of stillbirth

Inspired by My sworn enemy, brother mine by sircantus

“I don't want to die.” Nightmare couldn’t say anything after that. Error stared at him. He saw his reflection in his eyes. ----- Prince Error was conceived on an autumn night. It would be one of the colder autumns, with the winter chill beginning long before its season. Yet the news of a Prince-to be brought new warmth and life into the Palace grounds like its own spring. But he was born, and he was strange. Not so strange as to have mysteriously disappeared after birth or apparently passed on in a miscarriage, but strange enough that it was noticed.

He was born with strange, mismatched eyes, but not so strange that it was unheard of. His voice was strange, so nearly unintelligible, but not quite. He did not do well with touch. He was often hostile.

For the mistake of his nature, he was named Error. But his name also served as a reminder that he could be corrected, that he was not a lost cause.

He was not what a good Prince should be. But he was the only Prince, and that was its own blessing for many Kingdoms and Empires had fallen to the simple issue of succession conflict. He was not a good Prince, but he was a decent one, and as the years went on he learnt to channel his aggression into combat.

He excelled at combat. He was better than the sons of Generals.

Then the Queen conceived again. This time it was a long labour, and soon they discovered why: the Queen had bourn twins. Or should’ve, for one of them was still-born. Just one twin remained, and he was named Nightmare for the agony that was his birth and the pain of the tragedy that it was.

This wouldn’t have been an issue had Nightmare not been simply exceptional. As he grew older, it grew apparent. He was— almost, everything a good Prince should be. The opposite of his older brother. He had weaknesses, yes: he couldn’t wield a sword for his life and a shield even less. But he was good with words. He was polite, possibly diplomatic in the right circumstance. He was observant, clever. He would be a good ruler.

But he was not the eldest. Error was older than him by years, not even months, and for as long as he remained alive he would be the one to take the throne once he came of age. Nightmare could challenge him, but he would need to wait years to come of age too, and by then the Kingdom’s decision might well be made and set on Error.

Nightmare was not a fool. If he wanted to be King, he would need public approval too. He had half of it now: the crowds did speak of his wit, his intellect. But they also spoke of his brother’s fight, his strength. Some canary in the crowd sings. Or pleads. Or begs. There will be war soon, they whisper. War is coming. War is coming.

Nightmare knew this, of course. He had watched his father sign the declaration through a crack in the door. It should be a bad thing. It would prioritize Error’s strengths. He knew it to be a bad thing. He could feel it from the sickening squeeze in his stomach and thickening saliva in his throat. He did not know why, however, he snuck out of his room and quietly tiptoed to Error’s. He did not know why he waited there. He did not know why he quietly whispered, “I need to talk to you.”

Silence. That he could understand.

But he did not understand why the door opened a crack, Error’s yellow pupil looking through the gap; “What do you want, Nightmare?” He had always been good with words. So why did they fail him this time? Error’s yellow pupil seemed luminous in the empty hallway. Then, quickly—

“Quiet.” And the door opened just enough for him to enter. Past him, Error’s eyes flickered back to the hallway. It was thankfully still empty, so the door closed without a sound.

Error’s room was dark. Nightmare’s vision took some time to adjust; he was used to the candlelight of which he wrote by at night or even the dim moonlight spilling through the window when his candles burnt out. There was no candle lit in Error’s room.

“What do you want?” The voice was harsh, but it was still a question. Nightmare didn’t know how to answer. What did he want? “There’s a war coming.” It slipped out like water through a crack. “Dad signed on it. It’s coming.” Error looked at his younger brother. There was a pause. “I know.”

Something stuck in Nightmare’s throat. “Oh.”

Then, quite strangely, Nightmare’s eyes moved off to the side. Away from Error. They landed on racks of daggers, stands for swords, armour—

Nightmare, suddenly, felt the threat of danger lodged in his throat blocking his voice from reaching his teeth. Error watched him, silent. “He talked to the Generals before. That’s why I know.” And he looked at him strangely, as if saying how do you know? and Nightmare could say nothing in his defense. Had he thought his dad’s decision to be on a whim? Surely not.

“Error.” “What, Nightmare?” Nightmare didn’t know what.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Then he turned and stepped to the door. Quietly, “Don’t get caught.” The door opened. The I won’t stuck in Nightmare’s throat. Then he was gone.

Error’s gaze was on that door for a long time. Then he looked away and went back to sleep. ----- Error was waiting.

The knock came past midnight, and he had been awake waiting.

He got to the door and opened it. He hadn’t locked it tonight. His brother was on the other side. “Error,” He said softly. “Error.”

“Night.” Error did not beckon him in, but he might as well have.

That was the day the King died. Less than a month after the announcement of war. That would be the last night Error would be sleeping in the furnished rooms of the Palace, for without the King to lead them, the armies needed the next best thing. His son.

Especially one as excellent in warfare as Error.

By the day after tomorrow, Nightmare would have no family left at home. But that night, Error held him, and those arms felt warmer than the hearth. ----- But it could not last. ----- Nightmare’s oldest memory was being held. Maybe it was memories, not memory. In all of them, in it , the haze of delayed realisation, of transition between dinners and luncheons, his head was buried in someone’s chest. Sometimes he would be crying, but not always. The day the Queen died, he had crawled into Error’s bed and wept. That was a long time ago. Long before Error was sent to the borders for the war. Even longer from before he snuck to Error’s room to tell him about the upcoming war. He had been, what? Four years old? Five? Error had been so much older. ----- The days before the King’s death, the brothers had taken to eating meals together. Error had a sweet tooth. Such a sweet tooth. Nightmare wanted to gag everytime he smelled Error’s sweetened, too-sugared tea. Error, in response, said Nightmare was a food masochist. Why insist on spices if you can’t handle them? Perhaps you should start bringing a goblet of milk to each meal.

It was a farce of familial conversation. But it still felt like family.

“I’m sure one of us will be dead by adulthood,” Error had remarked one day over lobster bisque. There was no lie in it. It was a possibility. The same garish, dry humour Error delighted in, his substitute for hostile remarks. Nightmare did not forget. ----- Nightmare filled the role of ruler well. He had not come of age yet, so he was ruling in everything but name. His politeness had indeed developed into diplomacy, though using it against his own advisors would’ve been unseemly if he hadn’t done it well. He was a good Regent, a good to be-ruler, a good Prince. He was incredibly favoured by public approval, and less than half of it was pity for his orphanhood.

It was quietly known that he would be the next King. It was mere days to his turning of age.

In the years of his, much of the public forgot about his brother. When they spoke of the war, it was with hushed cursing and distressed worrying. Of if they would need to ration food soon, of if they needed to worry about their livelihoods. It was not about the Prince-turned-General.

At least, not till Error returned with the war won. ----- Two Princes, both of age, with different claims to the throne. A rivalry long forgotten by the public thrown back into public debate and gossip. The older Prince, heir by birthright, yet strange. Undiplomatic, blunt; strange eyes, strange voice. A good warrior, though; but a King is not a warrior first.

Then the younger Prince. Younger by years, yet more intelligent. Clear voice, good face, and oh so good with words. A good ruler, too, as one could see from his unofficial reign. Yet he wasn’t the oldest, and the sword was his weakness.

(And, some whispered, the older Prince did win the war. Wasn’t that proof of his ability?) After all, they were a weakened Kingdom recovering from war. There was always the chance of the neighbouring Kingdoms taking it as an opportunity and launching war once more. It was possible.

In such a scenario Error was most definitely the better choice. A King could be a warrior, but only a warrior could win wars.

But nonetheless it should’ve been Error crowned once he returned from the front lines. Shouldn’t it? He was older after all.

The Princes had different claims to the throne, but each could only have been made King upon the previous ruler’s decision. Claims equal in legitimacy, because the previous King never declared either one of them heir before his untimely death.

So, what did the rules dictate?

It was a primitive tradition, from primitive times so long ago.

In the event there was no ruler to appoint the heir apparent, they would have to battle it out for the throne. True battle, with blood and weapons and everything that ever came of them.

And at this, how the people talked. It distracted them— focusing on the conflicts of the elite, and perhaps the heat of conflict would distract them from the coldness in their homes; winter was coming.

Both brothers were of age, and a date was set for the battle. ----- Error had forgotten Nightmare’s face, but it was so easy to remember when he saw him again. He hadn’t changed at all.

Error happened to see Nightmare on his second night back. Happened to meet in the hallways, eyes stuck to each other like moths to flame. As if nothing had changed and everything had in those years apart. Because really, hadn’t the change been when Error returned? Nightmare, because he was better with his words, spoke first.

“I don’t want to die.” Nightmare couldn’t say anything after that. Error looked at him. He saw his reflection in his eyes.

Error said nothing and turned to walk away. Nightmare did not follow him. ----- “I don’t want to die.”

Just because Error didn’t want the throne did not mean he wanted to die. Nobody wanted that. Nightmare certainly didn’t, so why handicap himself? Error was not a noble person. Nightmare would make a better King. Error knew it to be true.

But tradition had put a damper on Nightmare’s chances of survival and increased his. Nightmare would not make a good King if he was never crowned, and he could not be crowned if he was already dead.

Tradition, tradition. He silently thought it primitive, to have them fight to the death for a measly reward that should’ve been their birthright anyway. Was the crown worth the blood? The betrayal? There should have been no betrayal. They should’ve never been family. Nothing to betray but the shared blood in their veins that meant nothing now.

He did not want to kill Nightmare, but he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want the throne either.

He would much rather be— forgotten. Be left alone. Be left in peace. But he was born as a Prince.

Error knew if it came to it, he would have to kill Nightmare. ----- They did not continue sharing meals. Nor sharing company. ----- Nightmare began training two weeks before the day. Since the day he got back, Error never picked up a sword. ----- Error missed Nightmare more than he could say. No one else would indulge his dry humour. All the soldiers that got the humour (they were always the good soldiers) had died in the war. The homesickness that should’ve come for him during the war instead came to him now, in the form of lonely dinners. ----- Nightmare did not let Error in when he found him outside his door. The anger-grief-pain had long smoothed out at the edges, so he didn’t say anything. He merely waited. “Do you know how the King died?” Error spoke quietly. The words dug into Nightmare, searching for anything to hook on but they were nothing to him. He still said nothing. “He died of his allergies.” There was a hint of sardonicism in his words. “Nut allergy, if you would believe that.”

Nightmare looked at Error. Something in Error smoothed over. Something in Error broke. Something in Error shifted.

“Can I come in?” If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said his voice sounded hoarse.

Nightmare didn’t know how his dad died. Now that he thought about it, it was really strange. Why had none of his advisors mentioned it to him, if only as a reminder to be cautious? Even if he’d blocked out his father’s death, why would they have allowed it? “Go away.” The words came before he realised they were in his throat.

Error blinked. Then, he smiled slowly. A slow, sad smile. “Nightmare.” “Error,” He said dryly.

Something in Error broke. Something in Error broke. Something in Error broke. “Night,” He said again. Pleadingly, almost. “Let's pretend? Till the sun rises?” “Why haven’t you been training?” The question slipped out before he could clack his teeth shut. “Are you that sure? That confident that you’ll kill me and win?”

Error looked at him strangely. “I don’t want to kill you, Nightmare,” He said honestly. “But you will.” It should’ve been an accusation. It was a truth.

“On the day, yes,” He said— softly? Quietly? Painfully? Regretfully? On the day. There would only ever be one day, and that was that. But it would come to pass soon. There was a terrible joy at that. Perhaps it was not joy at all. ----- Nightmare made mistakes in his training. So many mistakes. Approaching his death felt like a slow death in itself. He trained, still; as if preparing an act. As if preparing for the spectacle that that day would become.

He knew the people, in all their whispers and rumours, were growing unruly. Growing frustrated.

He wondered if it was a coincidence the King died so soon after declaring war. He wondered how many of his advisors he could actually trust. He was not stupid. Undoubtedly the neighbouring kingdoms had a hand in stirring dissent in theirs. Was he really a good ruler? Or was he just a good pawn?

But, in his despondency, he found he could not muster the ability to care. ----- Error did not want to kill Nightmare.

But now, Error did not think he could kill Nightmare.

Not even as Nightmare snuck into his room, quiet but to Error far too loud to go unnoticed. And he has a knife in hand.

“Hello, brother.”

The words stayed in the air for a long, long time. Nightmare did not flinch. He held the knife like it was a flower.

“Error,” He said softly. Quietly. Painfully. “Error, I need to tell you something.”

“Well,” Error said slowly, as if gauging the risk. “Have you come to kill me?”

Nightmare dropped the knife. He stared at it as it fell. He stared at the knife against the floor before dragging his eyes back to his brother.

“No. I need to tell you something. I— It’s okay, if you kill me.” The words came far too easy, slipping through like breath. “I just don’t want to die in the duel. I don’t want to die being watched by, what? Tens? Hundreds? I want to die alone, or if I can’t, die with you.”

Error let out a breath.

“Nightmare."

“It’s the truth,” He retorted. “I want out of this. I want out. I don’t care anymore. This Kingdom is going down and I’m ready to jump ship and drown. Kill me and fake my suicide.”

Error’s fingers tightened into a half-fist, then he let out a soft chuckle. A painful chuckle. An angry chuckle.

“You’re an idiot. Everyone will suspect me. A knife? Why don’t we use the sword I used in the war? Might as well not waste their time,” he spat, the words escaping through clenched teeth. Childhood hostility returning; no, it had never really left. “Error, please.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Error, kill me.”

"Fuck off.”

“Error—”

“For fucks sake, if you’re too scared to fight then run away!” Error hissed. A silence.

“What?” Nightmare was actually bewildered. Error was actually pissed. “For fucks sake, just go! Sure they’ll blame me, but what can they do? If you don’t want to fight, then leave!” Nightmare’s mouth was open. “I can do that?”

“Yes?!”

“But I wouldn’t know where to go. I don’t know anything beyond the walls of this Palace. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know anyone. And—” His face stiffened. “There’s a coup coming.”

Error stiffened. “What?”

“There’s a coup coming and the King’ll be dead in less than a year anyway. I— I thought you knew.”

Suddenly they were back in Nightmare’s room years and years ago when he’d tried to warn Error of the war.

Suddenly they were brothers again.

“Error.” His voice quivered like he was a child again. “What will we do?”

Error’s biting laughter (oh so bitter) cut through the air. “Either way, we’re fucked.”

“We could run away,” Nightmare murmured. “Or— abdicate?”

“We’ll be killed anyway. The people,” He paused. “ Our people, they are angry. I didn’t think there would be enough people high up to constitute a coup, but our people? They want revenge. If we abdicate the throne, there will always be eyes on us. We’ll still be a threat, just powerless. We’ll die the same way father did.”

Nightmare knew, then. Their father did not die of illness. He had been assassinated. It was a stupid thing. Obvious. Nut allergy that got him in the end? It was so— stupid. “So, Nightmare.” Error had a strange look in his eyes. “What do you want?” Nightmare thought, and thought.

He remembers, then. A long, long, long time ago, they had snuck bites out of their mother’s pastry. It had been a fun game then, seeing how much they could eat without her noticing. The night had ended in feverish heat and bitter medicine.

They had almost died that night, the two of them. It was a bitter night. He had not wanted to remember it, but he remembered all the same now. The pastry had been made with nuts. Just like the birthright of a claim to the throne, they had inherited the deadly allergy from their father. There, his answer. “To be free,” He said, oh so softly. “Even if just for a time before they catch us.”

“Maybe they won’t catch us,” Error said carefully. “If we plan.” He was contradicting his own words from earlier. Yet he was so sure in it.

Nightmare guessed what he was thinking. Perhaps he was right, perhaps not. And yet, he did not care. ----- There would be no duel, because the Princes would go missing the night before.

They would not realise till the morning of. And the brothers would have been long gone. ----- There were stalls along the narrow, winding streets. Nightmare nearly tripped over his feet to make it to one that sold paintings; his gaze was fixed on one in particular, a painting of a yellow bird on a branch of the Hesperides Tree. The vendor noticed him and chuckled. “Can I help you?” Nightmare flinched and looked up. “Uh— um, no, it’s fine. I’m just— looking.” “Took a liking to that one?” He prompted. He was not that much older than Nightmare, really; perhaps the same age as Error, who was cautiously watching a few steps back. “It was one of my favourites to paint, you know. All that fancy imagery, you know?”

“Oh, you— painted this?” Nightmare blinked, surprised.

“Mhm! You can see my name in the corner,” He nudged in its direction. “But in case you can’t make out my handwriting, it says Ink. ”

“Ah, I see it. Fitting name.” Nightmare let out a small laugh. It was so small, yet it felt— real.

Error stepped in and started to pull him away from the stall.

“Ah, goodbye then, friend!” Even as they left, Error did not glance back at Ink. “People are looking, ” He whispered. Nightmare did not have to nod, they both knew it. They both noticed it. The lingering gazes, the whispers, the second glances; they know they were going to be recognised soon. That they didn’t have much time left.

They still had one stall left to patronize, though. They had barely brought any gold with them; just over enough to purchase a few pastries. ----- It’s a local dessert, made of nuts. ----- Nightmare realises he’s crying.

Error holds him to his chest the way he did when they were kids. “Quickly now,” Error whispered, softly, as if he was holding a dead thing. Soon he would be.

What if he’s lying? What if he doesn’t eat it too ? It was the way Nightmare was taught, to suspect everyone and everything, his only family left most of all.

He, however, found that he did not care. Let Error take the throne, then. He was aware, though. Both of them. The next King would die not too long after. The people wanted blood for the blood spilled. An exchange. A justice.

Tomorrow or in many tomorrows, the townsfolk would find two bodies under the bridge, already decaying. If they were lucky, they would be dragged out, or perhaps even carried, to their very own pauper’s grave.

Perhaps that artist, Ink, was it? Would be the one to bury them.

If they were not lucky, they wouldn’t be buried at all and perhaps found by the King’s Guard. But even when the Monarchy fell, even when revolution was brought to the Palace doorstep, there would be nothing that could be done to the two brothers. For they would be long dead.

#utmv #ink sans #error sans #nightmare sans #utmv au #utmv fanfic #utmv fanfiction #prince au #fanfiction #royalty au #kingdom au #mortals au #tragedy #in a way #major character death #character death #prince nightmare sans #prince error sans

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