#it wasn’t too long after she left that he was banished

[muffinlance]

Fellow Prisoner Li, Part 10: Things Sokka Didn’t Want to Overhear

Latest chapter || Read from the beginning

“And what,” said the Fire Princess, “will this Hahn bring to the position that you cannot? Besides a penis.”

“Azula.” Princess Yue giggled in a most scandalized manner. 

“You bring a lifetime of political training, the blood of the royal line, and a documented blessing by your people’s patron spirit; half the population can bring what he has. You can afford to be selective.”

The giggling intensified. 

“This a serious talk,” the Fire Princess said. “I am being serious. Just because his family has influence doesn’t mean you should sell out your family’s claim to the dynasty, particularly if such things travel solely on the male line. If you really must get a son out of him, just take him as a concubine.”

The Northern Princess laughed so hard she wheezed.

Story summary: 

Early-Season-One Sokka finds an undersocialized firebender in the brig of Zhao's ship and brings him back to the Gaang, as one does. Good thing they've nailed down Aang's firebending teacher so early, this quest is going to be a snap, and definitely not involve any betrayals by any elemental teachers. Nope. Not a one.

(Other ATLA fics || Original works)

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly. 

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her. 

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks. 

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table. 

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face. 

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early. 

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat. 

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’ 

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’ 

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door. 

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss. 

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile. 

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here. 

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it. 

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it. 

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’ 

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response. 

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows. 

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease. 

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity. 

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat. 

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths. 

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking. 

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention. 

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind. 

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist - 

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares. 

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly. 

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’ 

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell. 

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice. 

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front. 

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow. 

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument. 

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch. 

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his. 

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear. 

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact. 

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten. 

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you. 

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her. 

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin. 

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

[softlytowardthesun]

I’m thinking about Danaë, Perseus, and Andromeda.

Danaë was a princess, once. Her happy life was upended the day her father caught wind of a prophecy that his grandchild would be his undoing. She was imprisoned in her own home, and when her son was born, she and the baby were banished and left for dead. Yet Danaë powered through, as heroes are known to do in these types of stories. This single mother in a strange land raised her son with pride — not hubris, but true, righteous pride. They have no need of gods or monsters or the kingdom that cast them out; all mother and son need are each other.

Perseus’s call to adventure begins when yet another evil king decides to treat Danaë as an object instead of a person. Polydectes will force Danaë to marry him unless Perseus can cross the world and return with the head of the Gorgon Medusa. Perseus is in no place to protest, not when the truest hero he’s ever known is counting on him. This is not a quest for glory, but piety: the duty a child owes to their parent.

In his travels, Perseus meets Andromeda, chained to a cliffside and awaiting her grim fate. She too, has a story of a mother and child. Queen Cassiopeia foolishly offended a long list of sea gods and their kingdom will be washed away unless the gods exact their price. Cassiopeia did the offending; it should be her on the cliff. But Andromeda has to suffer for the sins of her family, just like Perseus. He chose to risk his life for his mother; Andromeda had her fate chosen for her.

Maybe Andromeda tried to talk herself into thinking her death would mean something. She’s grown up as a princess, where each generation of the dynasty is meant to be in unbroken continuity with the generation before. The crown she is presumed to wear weighs down any hopes for her own life. If Cassiopeia tells her to die, it is her duty and honor as the child to obey. Secretly, she prays that her death will mean something for her mother — that the next child she has will be granted the freedom of choice Andromeda herself never knew.

But Perseus, raised by a mother worthy of her role, knows that is bullshit. He knows Andromeda deserves better than this, and he breaks the cycle by destroying the monster and breaking her chains, will of Poseidon be damned. And when Cassiopeia reunites with her child, it’s clear she has learned nothing. She immediately tries to force Andromeda into an unhappy marriage - just like what Polydectes means to do to Danaë.

Now Andromeda and Perseus are both angry. She is ready to let her so-called family crumble. She shields her eyes, and lets her suitor and her mother meet the Gorgon’s eyes. She walks away from the stone to which she was chained, into a new life of her making.

The young couple returns to Seriphos. Perseus saves Danaë from the dread altar. A worthy king claims the throne, and in a remarkable stroke of luck for Greek mythology, Perseus kills his evil grandfather without technically violating Ancient Greece’s taboos on kin-slaying. Andromeda and Perseus ascend to the throne of Mycenae, and have that rarest thing in any myth: a happily ever after.

Andromeda gets a husband and a crown, sure, but she also gets Danaë. Danaë is everything Cassiopeia wasn’t: humble, resilient, and loving. She raised Perseus well, and she teaches Andromeda how to stand tall against monsters: not the sea beast, but the creatures that would rather offer up their own children than admit that they were in the wrong.

[andreawritesit]

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: Aizen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none really.

----------------------------------------

Prologue: Here

Chapter 1

Time had passed. Hinamori had recovered almost fully and the Soul Society was starting to regain the peace that had been disturbed by the treacherous captains. Head Captain Yamamoto had finally issued a statement regarding the betrayal and the ex-captains. The three squads left without their captains were being monitored by their lieutenants for the time being. After trying really hard to ignore the memories, you had finally taken up on Ukitake’s offer and moved to another room. Aizen’s face haunted you day and night. Not the one you were used to, the one with glasses resting on his nose and a kind smile on his face, no. The face that had taken over your dreams was the one he unveiled while leaving the Soul Society; the one that no longer had strands of hair decorating it, the one that had discarded the kindness from itself. With the vast lifespan shinigami had, you wondered if any amount of time would ever heal the scars he had left on your soul.  Whatever short amount of time you had felt peaceful was once again destroyed by Aizen’s schemes. Orihime Inuoe had been on her way back to the World of Living when she disappeared halfway. Every possibility was taken into account and an emergency meeting had been scheduled with the Captains and lieutenants present in the World of Living. Upon hearing that Orihime had apparently healed Ichigo’s injuries, Yamamoto had decided that she had defected on her own and declared her a traitor. That hadn’t stopped the orange-haired man from heading to Hueco Mundo by himself. All that had led to this:

You were currently with Kisuke Urahara, the banished ex-captain of squad 12. You were helping him with transporting the real Karakura town to Soul Society as word had spread that Aizen would be attacking the town shortly. You had nearly lost your mind by this point. After all, you’d be seeing him again. You were sitting on the roof of a house, thinking over how your reunion with your traitor of a husband would go. Would he even acknowledge your presence? He hadn’t hesitated to stab his loyal lieutenant. What if he had also never cared for you, even once? What if he decided to kill you too? Would you be able to strike him back?

“Ahem.” You turned around at the sound of the very obviously fake cough. Ukitake stood behind you with a warm smile gracing his face. Maybe the cough wasn’t so fake… 

“Captain Ukitake, I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” He laughed and sat beside you. 

“Of course you didn’t. You were lost in your thoughts.” His voice was gentle. 

“Yes. I was thinking about…”

“About Aizen?” You sighed and held your head in your hands. It was so obvious how rattled you were with the situation. Ukitake didn’t say anything but wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a light pat. The white-haired captain had been by your side throughout these turbulent times. His calm presence had been a silent shore in the loud sea of your emotions. Even now, when there was an inevitable war looming over your heads, he had found time to sit down and reassure you, knowing that the upcoming confrontation would be the hardest on you. 

“What if I won’t be able to stand against him? All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m strong enough to keep my emotions in check and stand for what’s right. But what if I’m not? What if when I see him, I’ll fall back into his arms? What then Captain?”

“I understand why you feel that way. We have known Sosu-Aizen for a long time. His betrayal came as a shock to all of us. But you shared a deeper bond with him. You have known him in the most intimate ways. I say I understand but the truth is that I will never be able to feel what you do. To have someone so beloved abandon and betray me… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go on as you have. You’re stronger than you believe you are. And even if you do fall weak to your emotions, there’s nothing wrong with that. He is your husband; you have loved him more than anyone. It won’t be unseemly if you want to run to him in a moment of emotional vulnerability. Just don’t let him use your love as a weapon.”

You didn’t say anything in response. Every word he said was true and yet there was still doubt lingering in your mind. Not because you thought Sosuke might sway you to his side, but because if you did show emotional attachment to him still, you might lose everything else. Yamamoto had been very strict in his words when he had said that anyone found to have any sort of contact with the traitors would be counted as one and dealt with as such. You were torn between your feelings and your duties. And yet all you could do was wait. Wait until he showed up there.

Ukitake sensed your despair and hugged you sideways. You wanted to hide away in his embrace but he let go of you quickly. Getting up, he offered you his hand.

“Come on now, get up. Time to meet up with others.” You took his hand and stood up. He was right. It was time to get up. 

-------- at Urahara’s shop ---------

The meeting had gone by quite quickly. They all had their orders. You were sitting next to Urahara who was busy tinkering around with something. At first, you focused on the teacup in your hand. But soon curiosity got the best of you and you glanced his way. You almost wanted to facepalm when you saw what he was doing. Kisuke Urahara, in this time of war, was fixing his fan. You put the cup down and tapped his shoulder. He turned around quickly and gave you his signature stupid smirk.

“Oh, is the beautiful miss interested in my doings?” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s words.

“No sir, not quite. I’m only wondering how your poor fan got broken like that.”

His smile turned upside down and he let out a dramatic sigh. “How kind of you to ask. This is the doing of Yoruichi sama. She’s so careless around things. She has broken my delicate fan four times already.”

“How impolite of her! Breaking a man’s fan like that!”

“Exactly! And when I request her not to be so reckless with my things, she just hits me in response. She has no regard for me or my things.”

His words bring out laughter from you, a sound you hadn’t heard in a while. Kisuke looked at you with a gentle smile and went back to fixing his fan. After a few moments, you finally stopped laughing and stood up.

“Hey Kisuke?”

He turned to look at you and you nodded at him. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“You know for what. I’ll be with the Captains and lieutenants now.”

He tipped his hat at you and you left the room. After looking around for a bit, you finally found the others assembled on the roofs of some houses. You went to them and stood next to Ukitake who welcomed you with a smile. Shunsui was sitting on a roof, looking as bored as ever. Upon your arrival, he stood up and walked to where you and Ukitake were. 

“Well well, if it isn’t the one who stole my best friend!” he commented as he nudged you with his shoulder. You smirked back at him and hung your arm around Ukitake’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t my fault if I’m better company than you, isn’t that right Captain Ukitake?” The Squad 13 captain just shook his head at you both. 

Your little banter was suddenly cut off by the abrupt presence of dense spiritual pressure. And soon enough, a Garganta opened right above where you were standing. Everybody rose up into the sky and readied themselves to unsheathe their zanpakutos. You stood between Ukitake and Shunsui, hand on your own zanpakuto. You were trying your best to calm your nerves and then you felt it. He was here. Surely enough, three people walked out of the opening. Your eyes went straight to him. Aizen. He was standing between Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen. His eyes almost immediately found you and you both were locked in each other’s gaze. He looked so different yet so familiar. His hair was slicked back, with only a few strands falling across his face. His glasses were gone and he looked taller than before, if it was even possible. While observing him, you felt someone grab your wrist. You saw Ukitake from the corner of your eyes as he squeezed your hand to reassure you.

This wasn’t missed by Aizen’s keen eyes as he saw Ukitake’s hand grab yours. An unexpected emotion flashed in his mind and he had to look away. Had you finally moved on from him? With the Squad 13 captain? He scoffed at his own assumptions and summoned Gin to him. 

“Anytime now.”

Gin understood his captain at once. After all, they had come to this wretched town for only two things, the Oken and his captain’s wife. But before they could even move an inch, Yamamoto used his Ryujinjakka to trap them inside the burning fire. 

You watched in awe as the Head Captain conjured a fiery prison for the traitors. As the fire encircled them, the last thing you saw sent chills down your spine. Aizen had smiled.   

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list @fabulouslyflamboyant5 (let me know if anyone else wants to be added) ---------------------------------------------------- Next part: here

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

It took Callum a minute to pinpoint what woke him. The ache in his chest, while acute, was no stronger than it had been when he’d slipped into sleep. The wind rustled the trees outside, but in a way that was gentle and static. A way that made the sharp, shuddering sounds coming from beside him all the more obvious in comparison.

“Rayla? Are you crying?”

He fully expected to push him away, to deny it. 

“Yeah,” she said instead. 

He sat up, and she did too, allowing him to wrap his arms around her from behind and hold her while the sobs wracked her body until her breathing evened and she leaned limply against him.

There was no point in asking why she was crying. But in Callum’s long experience with grief, he’d come to realize that waves were often brought on by different triggers, came to surface in different ways. It wasn’t always a bludgeon that knocked you flat with the overwhelming reality of absence. Too often, it was a million knives, each uniquely sharpened by a different memory or missed experience, all of them ready to cut you in a different way than the last. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“My mom’s moonberry surprise. You can get it at any café in the Silvergrove, and Ethari always made it for my birthday, but no one made it quite like her.” A wet, mirthless laugh tore from her throat. “Isn’t that stupid? She and my dad are gone forever, and I’m thinking about food. I mean— I had years to get over all this after they were banished. I’ve been getting along without them all this time. I don’t know why it’s all hitting me all over again.”

Callum bit his lip, trying to call on the part of him that had been born from a poet, trying to call on the words that would make her feel not only understood but heard. 

“My first memory of my dad is also my last one,” he said softly.

Rayla stiffened in his arms, turning around to look at him.

“It’s actually my first memory ever. Mom told me Dad was holding me, and she was holding him, so we were all together in a knot. It’s really hazy, but I can feel… arms around me, this sense of warmth. This wet breathing— my dad, probably, or maybe my mom crying. And then… stillness.” Callum sighed. “My only memory of my dad was of him dying. I shouldn’t miss him, right? I’ve lived my whole life without him, practically, and I had Harrow to fill in the gaps he left. But there are… times when I want to be held, but no one does it quite right. Foods that my mom says I’ve loved all my life, things he made, that just don’t taste as good as they should. Conversations I have with him when I can’t sleep, even though I have no idea how he’d reply.”

He paused, waiting for Rayla to step on the bridge he’d built between them, to offer her own feelings on the difference between her birth parents and her adoptive ones, the ways grief had crept into her own life. Instead, her response came from an entirely different quarter. 

“Your very first memory,” she rasped, “is of being left.” She closed her eyes tightly. “I told myself I was being so noble, so sacrificing, and I left you. Just like our parents did to us.”

Callum cupped her face and gently brought it to his, pressing a quick, soft kiss against her lips. “No, you didn’t,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re right here.”

Feeling her brow wrinkle in confusion, he pulled back and took her hand, tugging her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

They slipped out of the Nexus’s guest bedroom and into the garden, wrapping their arms around each other as a defense against the chill in the wind. Rayla followed him silently down a stone stairwell, coming to a stop with him when they reached the metal bench at its base. 

“Do you remember this place?” Callum asked.

She nodded. “It’s where we really talked for the first time about what happened to the king.”

“That’s right.” Callum drew her down to sit on the bench, facing him, in the exact position they’d been in two years before. “That day… it was the worst day I’ve ever had, aside from when I found out about my mom. Even worse than the day I read your letter. Because being left by someone is awful, but there’s nothing worse than knowing for certain they’re never coming back. Of course you’re grieving your parents, Rayla. It’s a different kind of loss.

“I was so angry with you when you first came back, because as the years had gone by, I’d begun to believe you were the second kind of gone, and it was almost too much to bear. I thought, if I pushed you away, I wouldn’t have to deal with that kind of pain again. But the day I got the news about Harrow, when I felt like the emptiness inside me was going to eat me alive, do you know the only thing that made me feel better? It was your arms around me. It was knowing that no matter how much pain I was in, I would still have a champion to fall back on, someone brave and kind and devoted who would always be there to help me carry the weight if it got to be too much.” He leaned forwards and kissed her forehead. “And I was right.”

Rayla had started to cry again, and he gently wiped the tears away. “You were always intending to come back, and you did. I never should have pushed you away, and I’m so glad you never let me. I’m so glad you’re still here. And Rayla, I’m going to be here too. Dealing with this, knowing your parents are really gone for good, it’s not going to be easy. It’s always going to hurt. But I’m going to do everything I can to help you bear it, and I’m going to build a life with you around it. As long as we’re together, we’ll find a way through.”

“And we will be together.”

Rayla’s tears had dried, and her voice was fierce. She took his hand tightly in both of hers and pressed a firm kiss against it. 

“No more losses,” she vowed. 

“Been there, done that,” he agreed, and she actually managed a tiny smile.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “I don’t know what comes next. But no matter what it is, I’m going to be right by your side. I promise.”

The corners of Callum’s lips turned up too. “It’s a deal.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and he held her tightly, catching her as she’d caught him, as he knew with a glowing certainty they would do for each other as long as they were able. And they stayed there, fortified against the cold, against the ache of lost souls and the terror of distant smoke, until the first rays of a sunrise blanketed them with their warmth.

[simplydannie]

Previous: Separate Ways

After being banished from Rageous, the twins decided to go on their separate ways…

The thought of her brother clouds her mind as Velvet tries to move forward, soon, she finds herself at the hands of…Rageons? Outside Rageous?

While a Veneer finds himself at the hands of tiny little friends.

She didn’t know how far or how long she walked… before she knew it, night turned into morning. Velvet looked behind her shoulder…. No one. Veneer really hadn’t followed her. He was gone.

Velvet moved herself from the dirt rode and into the forest near her. She found a shade under the trees and curled herself into a ball. Velvet finally let the feeling sink in…. She was alone. For the first time in her life, she was TRULY alone.

“Don’t Velvet, don’t go back.” She told herself, “You can do this alone. You can do the is without your idiotic brother.” But the more she told herself, the more she could feel it was a lie. Everything she did, Veneer had always been there…. He was her other half…. He was the only there through thick and thin…

“AAHHHHH!!!!” Grabbing a clump of leaves she tossed them away from her, her fists pounding and pounding against the dirt. Anger surged through her veins… her eyes glowing pink… “I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM!! THIS IS ALL HIS STUPID FAULT!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs…. She screamed and screamed and screamed…. Then her lungs gave out. She fell sideways hugging her knees, finally allowing herself to cry…. As the poisons effects subdued, the feeling of fear finally entered her.

She was alone and didn’t know where to go. As far as she knew there no other Rageons outside of Rageous. The Bergens? They terrified her. Vacationers? They were too relaxed for her own liking. Trolls?… No, no she’d die before EVER seeking help from one of these things. Velvet finally sat up and looked into the woods… she had two options, continue down the dirt road, or risk exploring to see what she could find inside the dreaded woods. She let out a long heavy sigh. Taking a sharp object from her duffle bag, she marked up a tree… that way she knew where she had been.

“….. I HATE nature.” She said as she proceeded forward.

Veneer had found a small clearing to call it a night. He couldn’t sleep at all much…. He felt alone, he felt abandoned, he felt hurt…. He missed Velvet. The presence that was always with him was now gone. Veneer spent the night tossing and turning. There were sounds that scared him, so he’d wake up. By the time morning came, he had hardly gotten any sleep. Veneer awoke with the darkest circles he had ever had under his eyes.

“Uugghh I probably look dead.” He murmured to himself. He awoke with a yawn. Veneer put his hoodie back on, grabbed his duffle bag, and proceeded with his journey.

The young Rageon took out the directions Floyd had provided… the thing is, Veneer was not good with the sense of direction, so when he needed to go left, Veneer went right…

“AHHHH!!! How big is this stupid forest!!” Velvet yelled has she kicked and threw rocks. “I should’ve stayed on the stupid rode!!! AHHHHHH!” She kicked and screamed, her voice echoing through the woods. It felt like it had been hours. The over brush was so think, she couldn’t even tell what time it was by looking at the sky.

Velvet sat near the base of a tree, running her hands through her hair…she was hopeless.

SNAP! CRUNCH!

She heard the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs… something was near, something was moving…Velvet remained quiet, maybe it was nothing…

SNAP! CRUNCH!

Again. There was the sound again…

AWROO!

Was that an…animal noise? Carefully Velvet peeked over the tree she leaned upon. There at the center of a clearing was some sort of creature. Velvet wasn’t too familiar on wildlife. Rageous was scarce of them, so there really was no need to care… except if you ventured through the Rageous woods. This creature was spotted with fur, it had feline features, yet canine features at the same time. It seemed to be struggling, as if stuck.

“That thing is big. I’m getting out of here.” She turned away ready to leave.

Come on Vels! We have to help it!

Her brothers voice rang through her mind, “No! Dammit!” She told herself, she was not going to let this happen. Velvet was finally free of her mushy hearted brother, he shouldn’t be trying to influence her at all right now.

It’s hurt! It’s trapped. We’re not doing that anymore. We HAVE to help it Vels. Please.

His voice rang again.

With a bothered grunt in her voice, she turned and began to slowly approach the creature. It saw her and began to back away fearfully.

“Calm the heck down. I’m not going to hurt you.” She carried a hint of annoyance in her voice. Velvet got close until she got a grip of the rope that entangled the creature…. A trap? And a decent size one at that… that means there were people out here, or close enough. With quick movement, Velvet cut the creature loose from the trap. In a hurried scurry it ran past Velvet knocking her over.

“AH. Sheesh. You’re welcome!” She called out after it.

Thanks, sis.

“Shut up.” She said to no one. As she headed back to grab her duffle bag is when the sounds came in… At first she thought they were creatures crying out again, but the closer it got the clearer she heard… it was a vehicle. Velvet ducked in time as a vehicle rushed over head. Covering her head she coughed at the smoke and dirt it kicked up. As it began to clear she began to get glimpses of what it was… she gasped…. Rageons?

“What the hell!!! Skeet! What happened??”

A Rageon with orange skin, glowing markings, hair, and eyes looked down at a small device he had in his hand…A Strobe? Velvet eyes the other Rageon…They were Under Rageons…but Under Rageons….out here?

They hadn’t seen her, not yet. She quietly moved towards a brush that provided her cover, only peeking through the openings to catch glimpses of these Rageons.

“It caught it. The sensor said it was caught! And look it was!” Skeet pointed towards his activated trap…with the glasses covering his glowing orange eyes, she couldn’t help but think of her brother…there was a small resemblance…and innocence to this Rageon.

“Then were the HELL IS IT!” The other yelled. This one had horns coming of his head, spikes running along his black…a Goyle. The Strobe Rageon neared his trap to observe what possibly could’ve gone wrong….That’s when he saw it…

“…It was cut…”

The Goyle Rageon neared him, “What?”

“Look…It didn’t break free. Someone cut it. Someone LET it free.”

The Goyle Rageon perked his ear as he looked around the clearing, “Trolls. You think Trolls did this? There would be good money there if we found them again.”

So these guys were after Trolls too, no different than what went on in Under Rageous…No difference at all. Which means, these guys were bad news. Velvet saw the Goyle sniff the air…

“Were you right? You smell Troll?” Skeet asked.

“No. No…Not Troll….another….another Rageon?” He even questioned himself. A small gasp escaped Velvet’s mouth. She covered it, afraid that even her breathing would be heard. The sound of broken twigs and snapping branches was heard from behind her.

“Looky what I found here!” Another voice boomed. She peeked through the openings the bush provided her to see….a Bergen? What the hell, she thought to herself. Bergens AND Rageons? The last Bergens she had known were an absolute nightmare…these guys didn’t look any different, only that they were younger. The Bergen that spoke tossed something to the ground….Crap, her duffle bag.

The Goyle Rageon approached. He opened it and dug around, tossing and throwing all her belongings off to the side. He smirked when he saw her underwear, “Looks like we have a female hiding somewhere out here boys….Maybe if we’re lucky, she’s alone.”

Velvet began shaking in her boots. It would only be a matter of time before….SNAP! The small shift in her weight caused a twig to break…but it was obvious enough for the others to hear. A pair of hands reached in the bush and grasped her by the arm, pulling her out of the bush and tossing her to the ground. She landed on her elbow with a cry of pain.

“Oh! What did I tell you? A female, alone…and kinda cute.” The Goyle smirked. As he neared her his face turned into a curious glance, “….You’re a Rageon?”

“What else do I look like you to you idiot?” Velvet retorted. The Goyle turned to his friend. The Strobe Rageon marked up something in his small little device. He neared Velvet, appearing to scan her. His big glowing eyes staring at her from behind his glasses.

“She’s a Rageon…but…I’ve never seen one like her before.”

The Goyle looked down at Velvet who still lay on the floor, “What kind of Rageon are you? You from the so-called Mount Rageous?”

She was hesitant, but her only way to stay safe was to cooperate of some sort, “Yes and no….It’s a long story.”

The Goyle looked at her then at the trap that once held the creature captive, “You let loose the thing we caught?” He pointed to the trap.

“No.” She lied, “My brother did.”

“I don’t see him anywhere.”

“He…” Her face dropped, “We fought, we went our separate ways…not too long before you idiots showed up.” The Goyle studied her for a moment…She wasn’t lying, not really, she was just telling events out of order. She knew Veneer was far off by now, they would never find him…

“Okay…..Bag her.”

“What!” Velvet had no time to protest as a bag was put over her head. She kicked and screamed as her hands were tied behind her back, “What the hell!!”

“Swiv?” The Strobe Rageon looked at his Goyle friend, “What…what are you going to do to her?”

“Don’t worry, Skeet.” Swiv responded, “We won’t hurt her. At least not yet. I think the boss would be interested to find out what little friend we found out here.”

“But the creature is gone.”

“Not that. The girl.”

Velvet continued to put up a fight as she loaded in the back, “LET ME GO!”

“Gosh, she’s a yapper.” The Bergen responded. They drove off..

“But, she’s just a girl.” Skeet said. Swiv smirked, he tossed him an identification card he pulled out of her duffle bag. The Strobe read the name, “Velvet? Wait. As in THE Velvet. Of Velvet and Veneer!”

“One of the two idiots of Mount Rageous.”

“They….They were able to use Troll essence!”

“That’s right. Something I think the boss will find very, VERY interesting.”

“Alright guys! Come on let’s keep it going!” Branch declared as he lead a group of small Trolls onward through the forest.

“How much longer man? We’ve been hiking for hours!” John Dory whined.

“Aren’t you the adventure man?” Floyd asked skeptically.

John took a seat on a small rock, “Yay! When my brother is in danger of course. Now I am retired.”

Branch rolled his eyes joining his brothers by their side, “Come on. Poppy said she saw a hurt swerval run off this direction.”

“If we don’t find it now, then we’re not finding it at all. Let’s go back. We tried bro.” John Dory exclaimed. Floyd hated to leave something hurt running off into the wilderness, but he had to admit his older brother was right.

“True Branch. We can spend months looking for it. We tried, we really did.” Floyd placed an arm on his brother’s shoulder, “We can’t save all of them unfortunately.”

A solemn look came across Branches face. His brothers were right….As Trolls, he felt it was their duty to help protect whatever wildlife they could…but it was true…sometimes they weren’t always successful.

“Okay….Let’s go back…” A tone of defeat in Branches voice….That’s when they heard it…a small cry…Branches ears perked. “You hear that?”

His brothers looked at him curiously, “What?” Floyd was the first to ask….again, another cry, “Wait…wait I heard something too?”

John Dory perked his ears up, “That doesn’t sound like an animal though….it sounds like…an actual persons voice.”

….The cry came again…

The Trolls took off running, their ears guiding them in the direction they needed to go. The sound was getting closer and closer. The Trolls came across a clearing…there in front of them was the injured swerval.

“We found it!” Branch neared the small creature, but only to see that it had been bandaged up.

“Looks like someone already helped him.” Floyd glided his hand across the creatures bandaged leg….The cry came again…

“…Um….guys….You might want to see this.” John Dory said looking down towards a pit covered by brush. Floyd and Branch made their way to their brother, the swerval limping behind them.

“…You have got to be kidding me…” Was all Branch said, but a small smile was creeping up Floyd’s face…

There, in the pit below, holding his knee, crying out in small pain was a familiar swoop of green hair….

“Veneer!” Floyd cried out happily.

“Great. How are we going to get the big dude out of there?”

[zukosdualdao]

i talk a lot about cognitive dissonance with zuko but i think it’s also very apparent in the speech azula gives to long feng about how he’s had to claw and fight his way to the top, but she (and by extension ozai) is so sure of her place there because of a divine right to rule.

and she genuinely does not seem to see the irony of this, when the example she has learned from in her father is a man who was not originally set to be the firelord. ozai may have born in the royal line of succession, but he was not the heir, that was not “something [he was] born with”, and it was only through manufacturing the situation to his advantage (agreeing to ursa not to kill zuko and planning to kill azulon instead, banishing ursa to essentially take all the heat for it in case it ever came into question, taking advantage of iroh’s grief at a time he just… wasn’t going to fight back, even if he was around and wanted to) that that changed.

like. the kind of power azula is talking about isn’t just bestowed upon ozai at birth, as she suggests here. he took it by (underhanded) force, not that dissimilarly to long feng.

azula doesn’t know all the details of the night azulon died and ursa left. but she does absolutely know ozai was clawing to become heir, because in zuko alone, we see her parroting things he’s obviously telling her—about how he would be a much better firelord, and their uncle is kooky, and azulon is getting older and weaker and will need to replaced soon. and in telling her these things, acting like she was the one person in the world he could entrust them to, as well as actively telling azula she was superior, too—“he said [azula] was born lucky”—because he could use her skill and ego to his benefit, he taught her to think of herself as better than everyone else as well. (which is obviously not good for her development! but also informs most of her actions as a villain.)

we also see her smiling at ozai’s coronation, very obviously aware things have worked out just as he wanted and very obviously pleased, and this seems to confirm to her that he’s right, they are superior.

azula doesn’t see the irony here because to her, it’s not the same thing. to her, ozai took the crown by force because he was so much naturally stronger and superior and had a right to take it by force because he was better. after all, if he wasn’t, why did it work out exactly the way ozai said it should??? it must have been supposed to work out that way all along. (again: the cognitive dissonance is real!)

[raayllum]

Punishment VS Acceptance: The Silvergrove and Callum

5x01, 5x04, and 5x08 were probably my favourite episodes for Rayla and Callum’s dynamic this season, for obvious reasons, and rewatching the bulk of the season next day after (and for a nice meta segue) I wanted to tackle the downright beautiful parallels between 3x03 and 5x01 (and a little bit of 4x03). 

So let’s get into it.

As we all know, Rayla returns home in 3x03, and gets a... more brutal welcoming than she was expecting, partially due to her own perceived crimes, and due to the Silvergrove’s associative prejudices/inclinations.

It is extremely important to note that (at this time at least) Rayla is banished for something she didn’t even do: “But you didn’t run away from anything. They just don’t know what happened.” And although initially dejected, she remains hopeful and ‘confident’ that Ethari wouldn’t have done the spell.

Ethari, however, temporarily chooses his grief and village over his daughter, and shuts her out... in a way, framing wise, that’s not too dissimilar from Callum’s initial cold reaction in 4x01.

Which makes sense, as both Ethari (and later Amaya) state is quite similar:

Then, of course, while pursuing the exact opposite of abandoning her family, and trying to figure out what happened to them, Rayla is caught emerging from Viren’s old sealed off chambers in 5x01 and accordingly arrested. What I found particularly interesting is that in spite of being fully able to, Rayla doesn’t actually say a single word during her pseudo trial, Callum and Opeli doing all the talking for her (on both ends). 

She knew stealing the key wasn’t the right thing to do, but felt unable (or unwilling) to share the burden of the coins with Callum, probably because she hasn’t been able to rely on anyone in a long time (two years alone did not help) and that it’s always been something she’s struggled with. Runaan and Callum’s complicated personal history likely didn’t help either.

And just like the Silvergrove, Opeli is arresting her on the basis of association:

and unlike the Silvergrove, on account of crimes she actually committed. 

And I think there’s a lot of reasons Rayla doesn’t speak up in this scene - shame, the way she’s never been particularly good at advocating for herself, the general emotional difficulties present - but I think the main reason is that she left Callum an explanation in Through The Moon about why she left and he was still (understandably) angry with her, but more than that is that the Silvergrove flat out did not care about her intentions, and she knows it. 

E: I told Runaan you were too good hearted for the work of an assassin, so I know you did not betray them out of malice. 

Why would this time be any different, especially when as stated, she’s done all the things she’s being accused of?

But Callum isn’t the Silvergrove, so of course he’s different.

Where they stripped her of her home and literal identity, labelling her a Ghost, he reaffirms that her name - “She’s not ‘the elf’ - she’s Rayla” and that he knows exactly who she is. Where the Silvergrove robbed her of a chance to explain herself...

Callum says that she doesn’t need to even when it’s being demanded of her. Whereas before her intentions didn’t matter, they’re all that count here, enough that he is willing to disregard literally everything else (including his own complicated feelings about said murder bow). 

C: I know this. [To love is simply to know this:] The tides are true as the ocean is deep. O: What does that mean, Prince Callum? C: It means I trust her. Unconditionally. Let her go. Now. 

He doesn’t know ‘what happened’ as far as her intentions and motivations, only the worst presentation of her behaviour. But he refuses to punish her for doing something alone, for not asking for help, for keeping a secret. Instead he’s warm and compassionate and vouches for her, and if anything takes a certain amount of self-imposed responsibility on his own shoulders of realizing that if Rayla didn’t feel like she could come to him with something, he needs to be doing something different. 

All while also reaffirming his faith in her - that it’s nothing that would hurt him, that she wants to tell him, that she will tell him one day, that she will be ready, and that he hopes she knows she can trust him.

Because he loves her.

[micksture]

hello i’m back on the grind and today i bring you the fullbody refs i nearly did a backflip over 🌞 hope you’ll like em

notes under the cut

CHARLIE

- Former Princess of Hell. She resigned from her role and place in the royal home because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her dream of redeeming Sinners. Her parents had different plans and expectations for her, and deem her as an embarrassment. Charlie lived in a dingy apartment and worked a couple of jobs for a few years to gather money. She struggled, but she finally earned enough to afford an empty, run down building. At the start, she and the gang will have to start rebuilding and renovating it to make the hotel she planned to build :p

- More goat motifs (ears, nose, horns, pupils, legs and hooves)

- Doll-like joints, which make her movements awkward and robotic at times

- Fangs and buck teeth <3

- Fluffy, puffy hair!!! The color is a mix of Lucifer’s hair back when he was still an angel (golden) and the hair he has now, after falling (red)

- One snake on each side of her head. Both of them are different species and have different personalities. They’re also super venomous, but she doesn’t rlly use that ability

- A mole under her left eye because I just couldn’t help myself hehe

- Tail that she can’t retract and has all the time. It’s a bit too short and just bothers her most of the time by accidentally knocking stuff over

- A blue ‘blouse’ (it’s actually a long sleeve top with buttons printed onto it, kinda like those silly faux tuxedo t-shirts) and shoes with accents of the same color, as any variant of blue is a vital part of the very loose dress code for the hotel’s workers. She also wears blue earrings and always adds a bit of blue to her makeup :3

- Other than that I think her outfit is pretty much similar? At least to the Pilot one

- I tried to sneak in some hearts to her design and just overall make her look friendly and awkward lolz

VANHI

- Former Exorcist angel. She gained consciousness during an extermination and was discarded solely because of that fact. Exorcists are programmed to be killing machines that feel nothing and don’t ask questions, so when they gain consciousness (which is very rare), their higher ups – so Lute and Adam – get rid of them. Vanhi was found by Charlie two days later, miraculously still alive. Charlie rushed her back to her apartment and slowly nursed her back to health, recognising her as an angel, but not an Exorcist. They’ve known each other for 3 yrs now, and they took some time to grow fond of each other but they’re getting there

- Obviously, the name change… She did used to be called Vaggie (when she was still an angel), changed it after being banished from the holy troops and left behind in Hell

- STRRRONG 💪💪💪💪 probs the strongest one out of the main six characters, at least physically

- Lots of scars all over her body from previous battles

- Long teased hair put up in a high ponytail for practical reasons. The black tips are dyed. Also RACOON TAIL!!!!!!!!

- Some moth motifs, like the antennas that mimic a bow and also her hair kinda resembles the wings of a moth when it is down.

- A funky ahoge (I think that’s what it’s called..) that looks like a halo :3

- A different eyepatch + protective gloves

- She wears a pink and white striped pullover under her blue shirt and she also has mismatched socks 👾

- Angelic spear, obvi.. its’ handle is a little bent in the middle, because Adam tried to snap it in half for dramatic effect and failed LMFAOJEBW BOZO

ANGEL DUST

- He’s a famous pornstar under Valentino’s contract, and he has been for some time now. Before that, he’d perform in clubs

- Lots of Valentino’s influence in his choice of clothing: shorts, boots, the black top, pink gloves + fur scarf, rings and the collar. The only thing that wasn’t gifted to him by the overlord is the pinstriped shirt and hat that he’s had since the very arrival in Hell. ALSO SHOUTOUT TO MY FRIEND FOR THIS IDEA: the buttons on his suit are little flies because he’s a spider!!!!!!

- Six eyes, four arms (but he can also grow out two more), pedipalps and abdomen to rlly play into the spider theme

- His teeth are stained with Val’s red saliva

- He has lots of toned pink spots all over his body. I couldn’t rlly decide on an exact design for his markings and I felt like there was already a lot happening on him so I just went with little pink speckles

- Very fluffy :v

ALASTOR

- Powerful Overlord that came back from his seven years of radio silence to invest in the biggest flop of a project in Hell and stick around, seemingly just to laugh at its’ failure

- Toned down colors yay

- Long, pinstriped crimson suit worn over a beige dress shirt, 1930s inspired shoes (they still have the silly hoof prints on the bottom don’t worry) and a tie because I’m sick of the bazillion bowties 👿👿👿

- Voice box located between the top of the knot of his tie and the bottom of his high neck ruff. He often uses it to speak without moving his mouth

- The two sharp ridges that peek from under his neck ruff and have a white glow to them are actually a part of a collar. He’s forced to wear it because of his deal. It’s made of angelic metal, so he can’t really take it off anyway

- For the deer features, I changed his ears to be a little more deer-like, made his antlers bigger and gave him a deer nose :p He has a tail and hooves too but he hides them as much as possible

- No fuckass bob 🙏

- Couldn’t help myself and gave him a pencil mustache 🕴️

- Staff inspired by a 1930s microphone. It can be shortened to a regular mic or expanded to work as a cane!! It's a sentient being and it often adds to situations/conversations by playing sound effects. And yes it does have tiny antlers hehe

- Different monocle

- Some green accents because his magic is green idk

HUSK

-A former Overlord, long past his prime. His enjoyment of Alastor’s 7 year absence was short lived – now, he has to deal with even more annoying people in the hotel. He works the bar and because of Charlie’s request he’s allowed to only fix up mocktails instead of real alcoholic drinks

- Based his design on a mainecoon cat, so he’s super fluffy. Lots and lots of fur, which is unkempt because he gave up on trying to care for it a while ago

- Owl wings. His right wing is clipped (because of the deal with Alastor) and he can no longer fly. He can’t even expand this wing to its’ full length without having to painfully strain it to get it to move out even a little bit

- boy why u so eyebrow…….

- I live for chubby Husk <3

- A bunch of scars

- A rough beard and a droopy mustache

- A stained, patterned blue shirt with rolled up sleeves and a missed button at the top, tiny magician hat, black pants + suspenders and a green cloth to wipe empty glasses

- Give this poor man a break…

NIFFTY

- Used to work at a tailor shop and one day, she came across Alastor when he went in to get his suit fixed after a fight. Rather than being presented with a deal offer, she offered her soul to him herself. He agreed, of course, but he was so weirded out by this that he decided to spare her life to further observe her antics. They’ve grown fond of each other and now have a father-daughter relationship of sorts

- I rlly leaned into the idea of her being a bug… She’s a grasshopper/ant mix, so she has antennae and mandibles

- Fluffy, glowy hair that she curls with hair rollers every day

- Green eye (same shade as her dress)

- Freckles :3

- Big patterned dress, a matching head scarf, blue apron and blue cleaning gloves

[ithebookhoarder]

Javier Peña req (and Steve as bestie). Y/n is their partner and is feeling extremely burnt out; running on empty, coffee, cigarettes and not much else. She’s barely sleeping or eating and constantly has a tight chest and racing heart. They both know something is up with her but she just shrugs it off until one day, Javi is out on a raid and she reaches her breaking point. Steve manages to get her home but can’t reach Javi until he gets back to the embassy etc. Also, please could you throw in a little Carrillo cause😍

Burned Out (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A/N: I’ve missed Narcos and my DEA boys, so thank you for this prompt, whoever sent this in. I really appreciate it. I’ve been in a bit of a slump recently with writing for this blog, so it’s great to have something to focus on and pour myself in to - hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, alcohol, reference to depressive / self destructive behaviour, description of a panic attack, mild smut, canon-typical violence, death, reference to drugs / overdosing. 

Masterlist

You knew exactly when it started. When you began to feel yourself beginning to sink downwards into the quicksand that was your life. 

It was a bad day… well, a worse day, if you were being honest, given that life in general in Bogota was hard and full of bad days that left you feeling numb inside. Whereas you were normally able to banish the darkness by spending time with the friends you had collected since your arrival to the city, not even Javi’s gentle kisses or Steve’s dirty jokes or Connie’s homemade deserts could do the trick. 

The day had been bad for many reasons.

One, you’d lost a contact with direct links to Escobar, that you’d spent weeks working on. 

Two, you had lost them in a drive-by shooting that had killed not only them but countless civilians too. 

Three, some of your asshole colleagues decided to spill coffee all over your files meaning you were forced to work late to re-type them up for a briefing the following morning. Even though you had got it done, you knew you had likely missed some details, the ink far too smudge to even begin to try and understand what had previously been written. 

However, that day had only been the start of it. The start of the downwards spiral you found yourself tumbling into. 

Sure, the others had noticed there was a change about you. Yet, it wasn’t as if they knew what was causing it or how to fix it. 

Javi especially knew what you were like - you were like him after all. Spilling your guts wasn’t your natural reaction to handling things. You kept your emotions bottled up inside of you, cramming more and more in, forcing that lid to remain firmly screwed in place even as the pressure began to build. 

And if the lid did threaten to pop off? Well then, you lost yourself in him. In the love that existed between you, and the intimate knowledge you shared of one another. After all, Javi had said it himself, “who needed therapy when you had sex and good whiskey?” 

A night of passionate fucking was all it took to take the edge off… to let a little pressure escape, delaying your inevitable eruption… But that was just it; you would erupt. It was inevitable. There was no way on earth you could sustain the relentless routine of long hours spent at work, with coffee doing its best to act as a replacement for your bed. 

Hell, you could feel the toll it was taking on you both mentally and physically, from the way your hands shook slightly, to the way your chest felt too tight to breathe sometimes. Then there was the fact your clothes were starting to get baggy, whereas they’d once clung to your frame like they’d been tailored for you. 

“Here,” Javi had smiled one afternoon. You could smell the sandwich in his hand before he even set it down on the desk in front of you, accompanied by a packet of chips and a can of your favourite soda. “Grabbed that for you on our way back. Figured you’d forget lunch - again.” 

A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the kind gesture. “Thanks, Javi.” 

“Anytime, hermosa.” He said it so calmly and easily that you felt your heart skip a beat as you realised how lucky you were to have someone who cared about you so deeply. It was why you made sure to tear a corner off of the sandwich and pop it in your mouth. 

The relieved nod Javi granted you told you it was the reaction he’d been waiting for, as he took a step back to let you finish eating and working in peace. 

You knew he’d be back to check you’d finished it in a matter of minutes. So, you were quick to chuck the rest of his lunch in the waste paper bin behind you, burying it further under a pile of discarded documents you’d already finished looking through. 

It was fine. You’d eat later. Maybe you’d even try and cook dinner for you and Javi… an apology for being so distant lately… 

Somehow, despite lacking the gift of prophecy, you knew deep down that that was unlikely to happen. Just as you knew it was unlikely Javi would even make it home tonight. For the last week straight, both he and Steve had been called out on some last minute, late night errands by Carillo - not that you minded all that much. 

Not having Javi’s arms to fall into meant you felt less guilty about working late yourself. About only making it back to your empty apartment long enough for a quick shower and a power nap each night. 

It was ironic to think of Carillo, though, given that your brief conversations with the Colonel in question had been the closest you’d come to finally releasing some of the hurt and the pain inside of you. 

You didn't know what it was about him, but somehow, the Colonel had an ability to draw you out. To make you open up and share things you would never otherwise dream of. 

Maybe it was his candour? You’d noticed that about him since you'd started working together; he had a blunt demeanour, saying what he thought regardless of the affect it could have on another person. 

Now, it wasn't done with malice, per say, but rather as the result of a man who had the weight of an entire army on his shoulders and an impossible task. He just didn't have the time to bullshit anyone - especially when you both lived in a city full of people all too willing to lie and cheat. 

It also came from a weird sense of respect, of seeing people as equals, deserving of the truth just as he expected the same in return. No matter how painful it may be.

Needless to say, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to respect the man - and dare you even say, like. 

Still, when he decided to loiter on the other side of your desk, late one night, you felt yourself stiffen, as if suddenly all too aware of every little gesture your body made and what it gave away.

The Colonel missed nothing.  

“You look like shit.”

Wow. Don’t beat around the bush. 

“Jeez, your wife married a charmer, Colonel,” you scoffed, dragging on your cigarette, sparing him a fleeting glance. “Speaking of, doesn’t she want you back home? Or do you prefer my company that much that you’d rather stand at my desk at 11 o’clock at night?” 

“She’s out of the city, visiting her parents,” he rebuffed, clearly not taking the bait as he dropped into the empty seat opposite. In fact, he decided to reach across and steal one of the cigarettes from the packet on your desk, lighting it for himself in a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere for now.  

“Good for her.”

“Yes, it is. I think time away from this place is good for everyone.” 

You could feel the accusation lacing his words, as well as the heat from his continuous stare. “Then why didn’t you go with her? Not enough vacation days?” 

He scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips upwards. “You’re funny; I can see why Peña likes you so much. Like calls to like, as they say, even if you try and hide it behind that smile of yours.” 

You bit back a laugh. “What can I say? I lucked out in that department and got my Mom’s smile. My sister was not so fortunate. She always had my dad’s features - meaning she looked more often than not like she was sucking on a lemon.” 

“This is the sister that died from an overdose, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“The anniversary is this week, is it not?” 

He asked it so calmly and casually that anyone would have thought he’d asked you what the weather was like outside, or what your favourite record to listen to was. 

At least his concern now made sense. It was the kind of detail he would remember, and you were honestly more surprised by the fact it had taken until now for him to bring it up. 

He’d probably been itching to ask you about it all day, aware of the date even if your two partners were not. Well, they might have been, but neither had said anything which was your preference if you were being honest. Hence your rapidly cooling demeanour towards your colleague. 

“I’m fine, if that’s what you're trying to fish about for, Colonel,” you sighed, staring back down at your desk again in an attempt to dismiss him. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m good. Thanks. So can I get back to work in peace? Or did you have some other question for me?” 

Carillo sighed, simply choosing to smoke his cigarette, letting the tension linger along with the steadily growing haze around you both. 

He didn't need to say the words aloud; his actions did all the talking for him as he reached over and helped himself to a file off of you desk. 

He didn't buy this ‘calm, cool, and collected’ act you were pedalling. Not for a second - something his stare alone gave away, even if he refused to say it. Instead, he chose to read, and work, and smoke along side you so that you would not be alone. 

He had his eyes on you... watching and waiting for the moment that your carefully constructed walls came crashing down... the only question was would they crush you in the process?

It was about a month later that the inevitable happened; that you finally hit rock bottom. 

It had just been a causal remark that did it, of all things. A casual remark that sent you tipping over the edge. 

You had just returned from lunch and hadn’t even sat back down at your desk yet when you noticed that someone was missing.  

“Yo, Steve?” you queried, quickly glancing up at the empty seat next to you. “Where did Javi go?” 

Now, you couldn't be a hundred percent certain what Steve said next but you knew he’d said something about Carillo, a lead, and a raid ... 

“What?”

“I said, Javier went with him,” Steve repeated, staring at you with growing concern. You realised he must have already repeated himself. “What? Why? What is it?” 

“Javi went too? He… he’s there? On that raid?” 

“Yes, y/n, that’s what I just said - hey! Where you going?” 

You didn’t even realise your feet had started moving, not until you heard Steve’s confusion as he yelled after you. 

But you didn't stop.

You couldn’t stop, not until you were outside - not until you were far enough from that place that you could actually stop and fucking breathe. 

When did it become so hard to breathe? 

When had the room become so small? 

Why did your mind suddenly feel the need to go to the darkest place possible? 

It was just a raid... one of hundreds Javi had gone on since arriving here in the country, just as you had also gone on your fair share. So why was your head suddenly picturing him... lying there... injured, or worse... dead. 

The number of bodies you’d stared at, lying in the streets in a macabre tableau that had become all too familiar by now - all part of this fucking job. A job you signed up for, hoping to vanquish the bastards who had taken so much from you and those you loved… yet, every day, it seemed you had failed as more and more innocent people suffered… and to think, that Javi - the man you loved more than anything - who you had neglected terribly to the point you couldn't actually remember the last time you’d woken up next to each other - could be amongst them… 

It brought you to your knees. 

“Whoah, y/n. Easy. What’s wrong?” 

Steve’s voice sounded distant, as if you have been submerged beneath water. Yet, you could tell he was beside you, dropping down onto the kerb before hauling you close. The warmth of his touch was enough to tether you to him, to reality, as everything around you seemed to spin in dizzying circles.

You could feel it as his hands rose, cupping your cheeks, turning your head and trying to get you to look at him. 

When you finally did, he could see immediately that your eyes were glassy, like you weren’t really seeing or hearing him. 

He knew that look. 

“Y/N,” Steve murmured in a soothing voice. “Y/N, look at me. Look at me.” 

He paused, waiting until your eyes trained themselves on his face, some of the cloudiness starting to dissipate. 

“Good, that’s good. Now breathe. Just breathe,” he instructed, taking a few deep breaths himself to show you how.

It took you a moment or two, but you eventually became fully aware of your surroundings and what your friend was telling you to do. 

Following his lead, you took a few shuddering breaths, then a few more. You kept breathing until you could feel the racing of your heart slow and the fear that had felt crippling just moments before begin to ease.

You were exhausted.

Wiping at your face, you tried to banish the tears that had left a salty trail burning down your cheek.

Steve doesn't say anything for a long minute, instead choosing to pull you into his side and light up a cigarette, which he was quick to offer you.

“T... thank you.”

You sat like that for a while... just watching people and cars passing by, smoking like two people on a perfectly ordinary break.

No one bothered to stop and ask you two questions. Hell, no one even shot a glance in your direction, everyone too busy with their own business to stop and give a shit about yours.

So you sat. 

And smoked. 

And said nothing... not until the cigarette was nothing more than a stub.

Steve was quick to take it from you, before it could burn your fingers. Tossing it aside, it had clearly served its purpose. 

He stood and offered you a hand. 

His face left no room for debate as he stated calmly, “Come on, I’m taking you home. Now.” 

“Come on. A couple more steps, Y/N,” Steve urged, guiding you up the stairs to your apartment. 

His hand was warm, firm even, as it pressed against your lower back. 

He’d been like this since the moment you’d left the embassy, steering you and hovering over you like he expected you to simply topple over at the slightest breeze. 

It was touching, yet irritating all at once - a sentiment you were too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other to even attempt to unpack. You were also just too goddamn tired. 

“Here we are.” Steve’s words startled you. “Home sweet home.” 

You didn’t remember giving him the keys, but you must have as he opened the door a second later and herded you inside. 

There was emotion in your throat - threatening to spill from you. You were holding on by a thread and he knew it. Just as Carillo knew it, and possibly Connie too - 

Wait, Connie?

You blinked as you realised that at some point the woman had also entered your home, most likely having been summoned by Steve on the drive home. 

You wanted to feel guilty at the thought of her being dragged into your mess, but you were honestly too tired to feel anything other than grateful as she hurried over to you, offering you a cup of what you assumed was tea, as well as two pills. 

To help take the edge off, she explained, urging you to take them. Doctor’s orders. 

It was impossible to miss the way that they were both staring at each other - sharing anxious glances as you swallowed the tablets and dutifully sipped the tea. 

They were worried about you. Hell, you were worried about you, and Javi, and Steve, and everyone else you loved and cared about - that was what had got you in this mess in the first place. 

Damn it.

You heard them say as much as you marched yourself to your bedroom, claiming you were going to try and get some rest whilst you waited for news. 

If they bought it, you couldn’t tell, but neither protested as you left them. 

They simply let you go, allowing you the space and privacy to crawl into your bedroom, bury yourself in the unmade sheets, and lie down for a while. The medication had clearly started to work as you felt heavy... tired... 

Lying there, you could hear their voices... faint murmurs drifting down the hall. 

You caught only snippets as they tried and failed to keep their voices down, just as your parents had once done when you were just a kid. Still, despite their efforts, you caught enough to know that there was still no word from Javi, or about the raid he went on. 

“-called Javi- no reply.”

“Carillo - try again -”

“-worried about her - stressed.” 

Eventually, the words began to fade away, replaced instead by your body's sudden need to sleep. It was pointless to fight the drugs now in your system, or the comfort of being wrapped in the bed sheets that still smelled of Javi... not even you were strong enough to fight it as you felt yourself drifting off into sweet oblivion.

"Sweetheart?"

You must have still been dreaming - that was the thought that crossed your mind as you swore you heard Javi's voice.

"Javi?" you moaned, fighting against the grogginess that greeted you as you tried to open your eyes.

Despite the fact it was clearly now dark out, you could easily make out the face in front of you, illuminated from behind by the bedside lamp. The sight was almost angelic - as if some divine being had deigned to answer your prayers and return the love of your life back in to your arms.

“It's ok, I'm here, sweetheart,” Javi purred again, brushing your hair back behind your ear and pulling you close. “I’m right here, ok? In one piece - promise. The raid went off without a hitch. Even snagged ourselves a new asset for you to take a crack at.”

Your eyes shimmered with tears as you quickly burrowed into his chest. You didn't really hear what he was saying, too busy focusing on the fact that he was here to say it at all - here - alive - in your arms. 

The reality hit you as you began to let it pour out of you: how relieved you were, how much you loved him. You also grumbled something about fucking telling you when he next decided to run off on a raid without so much as 'goodbye' - else you’d shoot him yourself. 

“I’m sorry, carino. I am.”

And you believed him. 

"I love you, Javi. So much."

"I love you too," he purred, "and I'm so sorry, I knew you were struggling, but when Steve told me-"

He didn't get to finish whatever the hell he'd been about to say. You didn't let him.

Instead, your lips surged hungrily towards his and as only Javi could, he kissed you back, soft and slow... as if desperate to reassure you through actions alone.

You felt him chuckle into your mouth as you grew impatient, grinding your hips against him in a silent plea for him to fill you. To join you. To bury himself, and the day you'd both had, in a moment of bliss.  

It was a special kind of neediness, reserved for just him, and one that was only sated once he had fully joined with you, as one being. Safe. Whole.

Yes, in an ideal world he would have waited until after talking to you to lose himself in such a way. After all, Steve and Connie had filled him in on the troubling turn of events that his absence today had triggered - and he'd be lying if he said the idea didn't scare him shitless, that you had broken down so completely...

He could only thank God that Steve had been there for you - especially when he couldn't be himself.

But he was here now... and you had time to start trying to make sense of this mess. Together. Carillo had assured him of that, informing him in no uncertain terms that you both had the next few days off from work. He didn't want to see either one of you back in the office until you'd begun to sort through the mountain of shit you were buried under.

So, yes. If you wanted to lose yourself for tonight, to use him to forget the world outside for a perfect moment, then he was only too happy to oblige.

He’d wait until the morning to have a proper conversation. 

He’d go down and whip you up some breakfast before trying to get you to open up to him about everything that had happened today… about the worries and concerns you’d been keeping locked away inside of you. 

Then, after you’d fallen in to pieces in his arms, he could try and start to put you back together again. As a team.

[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites Pt. 9

Hiiii! Welcome to part 9 of my Dracula x Reader fic! I hope you enjoy this chapter, though I apologize if it feels kinda wonky. I finally got a new pc built during writing, and a bunch of other stuff has happened. It was hard to piece it all together with so much happening in my life. I hope you all enjoy it though! Just in time for Nocturne to release :D Summary: After arriving in Dracula's castle, you can't help but feel you are in a dream, though you certainly wish it was to avoid the awkward air. Meanwhile, Dracula contemplates his next moves. After all, he's sure he's bound to be the center of the world's gossip mill when they find out he's caring for a Belmont.

CW: Anxiety, references to bad home life, injuries mentioned, blood drinking

Word Count: 4216 words! Like my work? Come check me out here: Link Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Tag List: @Onewiththebeanbag @starrlo0ver @sleepyendymion @dame-sunflowers @sapphicsfordracula @ursamajor17 @maorizon @marshmelloe Wanna be on the taglist, let me know in the comments!

First: Here Last: Here Next: Here! --

Sorting his affairs turned out to be a much more annoying endeavor than Dracula originally intended.

Despite this, he wasn’t all too surprised.

For the past few centuries, despite being the King of the Night, he has had very little presence in paranormal societies.

Every time he had been revived since this cursed cycle began, he had barely been alive long before a Belmont or some other hero would come and battle him to the death.

Even if for all intents and purposes he was the King of Vampires, he has had little or no time to rule.

He absentmindedly swirled his glass, before taking another sip.

There were two probable scenarios because of this.

Vampire covens and supernatural communities were in chaos.

Or-

They were in various communities across the globe, staking territory. He doubted any of them would be happy he was back to rule.

No one liked their own power to be threatened, after all.

Even when he was actively King, vampire covens and paranormal communities weren’t always happy to serve him. Many just did for his power, or the safety he offered.

Some felt the call of power from him and Castlevania itself. Others are uniquely tied to him and his castle. Those ones he hardly had to worry about.

No, he had a feeling his return wouldn’t be as happily accepted outside his usual circles. Most would probably only lend him an ear since he was Death’s master, and Chaos’ champion.

Did not mean they would be cooperative or happy.

He let out an agitated sigh. No doubt being killed over and over made him appear weak. Dracula suspected many would be aiming for his throat and his throne.

Nevermind the fact he was almost always slain just after being revived, before his powers ever had a chance to settle.

And he was sure many underestimated the power of the Belmonts. He may have always just woken up around each battle, but each Belmont still had power beyond belief.

“What a nuisance.” He muttered, downing more blood.

While normally he would handle this himself, he couldn’t afford to sit idly and wait for such pathetic attempts on his life and power from want-to-be rulers.

Dracula had a guest this time. He had you.

Back when his precious Lisa had still been alive, he had been alive for several centuries at that point. Almost every underling knew she was off limits, lest they desire something more painful than death itself.

Even those he knew wanted his head knew better than to go for his wife.

Lisa had been left alone by his servants and other creatures of the night. Ironic how it was the humans that took her from him.

The gall and irony humans had to call him and his own monsters after that. Bah.

The glass in his hand cracked, and he looked at it in annoyance.

Banishing it, another drink was brought to him as he continued to think.

Things were different this time. At least back then, no one dared to lay a finger on his wife. But now?

He had no doubts a target would be on both his head, and the Little Belmont’s.

Dracula was sure word was already spreading across the castle, and no doubt would soon do so to other communities nearby.

‘The Dracula? Taking in another human?’

He can already imagine the gossip.

The scowl on his face darkened.

It would only be a matter of time before word reached across the globe.

He knew you could take care of yourself, sure. You had told him several stories of hunts you had when he had been imprisoned, usually involving the death of a beast hunting innocents.

However, there was no way in hell you would survive in your current state. Whatever had happened, had intended to either permanently harm, or to kill you.

Dracula’s free hand gripped his throne tight, and he felt the arm of it splinter slightly.

How you received those injuries was a whole different issue that he would have to investigate later on. An issue he planned on thoroughly going over.

So for now, you were under his official protection while you healed.

Unless of course, you decided to go against your word. Though, Dracula heavily doubted you would do so.

You really were different then those who came before you.

This would not be easy, but when had it ever been? He was just thankful you knew how to defend yourself, and had the means to do so.

Once word got out, and you were healed, he also had suspicions you would be hunted. Either as a Belmont, Dracula’s human, or a ‘traitor’.

He may not have been privy to any sort of personal information regarding hunters and their circles, but he knew back a few centuries ago, helping out a ‘monster’ was a death sentence. It did not matter if they didn’t wish to harm humans, simply helping a beast was an act against god and humanity itself.

Hunters and the church considered such a person no better than the very beasts they hunted at that point.

Dracula doubted that sentiment was completely gone, even now in more modern times.

Reaching up, Dracula pinched the bridge of his nose in thought.

He had someone making potions for you at least. Hopefully you wouldn’t be badly injured for too long.

After that, he wondered if you would be opposed to staying here at his castle? You didn’t seem disgusted by it, nor did the castle seem to try and push you away like it did other intruders.

Those who were not welcome usually felt such pushes on their mind and body. Only the strong willed could push onwards past it.

Even his castle seemed to see you as a guest.

The castle bent to his will, sure, but it was still a being of Chaos. This small revelation also intrigued him, how such a being seemed not to mind your presence.

Perhaps it was that it also didn’t consider you a threat? It was obvious you currently had no intentions to fight him.

Dracula’s eyes narrowed, a presence pulling him out of his thoughts.

The room grew darker, and a familiar figure rose from the shadows. It flew around his throne, before giving a bow in front of him.

“Good to see you back, Master.”

Death.

Dracula looked over the divine being that had worked under him for centuries. His second in command, his devout lieutenant.

Dracula gave the being a brief nod of acknowledgment, and Death rose.

Even after all the deaths Dracula had endured, Death itself still remained loyal after all these years. He supposed he should count it as a blessing now.

“Report?” Dracula then idly asked, drinking from his glass.

“Things are running smoothly. Everyone is settling in quickly, as usual my lord.”

Dracula hummed.

“Good. Good.” He mumbled, mind still partially elsewhere.

A moment passed, and Death gripped his scythe.

“Master, if I may be so bold…”

Dracula held back a sigh, already having an inkling to what he was going to say.

“Do you think it is wise to have a hunter, let alone a Belmont residing in the castle?”

There it was. He knew his subordinates would be asking sooner or later. He wasn’t particularly surprised Death was the first to make an inquiry.

“They pose no threat. This Belmont is… different from the others. I would like to speak with them properly about our standing with one another as soon as they are recovered.”

He then looked Death in the face.

“They are not to be harmed while under my care. Do I make myself clear?”

Death studied him for a moment, probably wondering if he had a few screws loose, before nodding his head.

“As you wish, milord.”

Death was silent, and a beat passed. Dracula hoped his warning managed to sink into the other entity’s skull.

He was no stranger to the fact Death was his most avid supporter. Although Death had always followed his orders, the entity didn’t shy away from making its own decisions if he felt it was best for his master.

Staying within Dracula’s orders, but bending the rules just enough to do his own thing if he could get away with it.

Typically Dracula didn’t mind. Death was his most trusted lieutenant for a reason.

However, he couldn’t help but feel Death may try and get around this one rule if it felt it was best.

As much as he hated it, he would have to keep an eye on all his close subordinates.

Dracula tried not to focus on the growing migraine building in his head.

“Now, what of the vampire covens across the earth?”

Death gave him a subtle crooked grin, and Dracula had a sinking feeling he would need another drink before returning to see you.

—

Dracula’s castle was far more pleasant than you would like to admit.

Your brain was in and out of a fog, but even then you could appreciate just how nice the guest room and washroom alone were.

You almost felt like royalty with how classy and intricate the rooms were, and how they had convenient modern touches.

Never had you stayed somewhere so elaborate and fancy. All the hotels you have been in couldn’t even come close to compare.

Even now as you laid in the giant bed with its soft, velvet sheets, you couldn’t help but be amazed.

Kinda ironic, the home of your ‘enemy’ was way better than any place you had ever stayed at.

Besides maybe your own home before your step family took over, you supposed, though that was a long time ago.

Slowly rolling onto your back, you winced as your wounds flared and your stomach churned. You continued to admire your setting.

The bed had a beautiful silk canopy around it, and you still couldn’t help but be enamored by it.

Or by it all, really. Even if it was a bit overwhelming.

…Just how long has it been?

You had been in and out of sleep, occasionally slipping into a doze before startling awake. The time was lost to you.

In retrospect, you couldn’t help it. Your instincts were going haywire from… well, everything.

The bed and sheets were nice at least. Almost too nice.

You were used to your old sheets, or stiff bed sheets you’d find in cheap hotels.

Not soft satin sheets and pillows that were as fluffy as a cloud.

There was also the glaring fact you were in monster territory. Despite how nice the decor was, it was something on the back of your mind also keeping you up.

Yes, Dracula said you were a guest, but it was hard to lower your guard when you knew just outside the door were monsters roaming up and down the halls. That this whole castle was filled to the brim with the paranormal and monster kind.

You were also a hunter, and a notorious one from a notorious family at that.

It wasn’t hard to imagine some monsters may go ahead and take a shot at you, regardless of Dracula’s orders.

To some, it may be worth it to suffer Dracula’s wrath or ire if it meant eradicating you from existence. It wasn’t exactly a secret that a lot of the paranormal hated you.

You carefully laid on your side, and looked out the window.

A small comfort. Originally, the window had been covered by thick curtains. However, you had pulled them aside to attempt to relieve your anxiety.

The clouds were dark. You couldn’t tell if it was night or day at this point. Perhaps that was the point.

But you were so tired. Exhausted.

You really couldn’t even sleep if you wanted to, knowing Dracula, or at least a servant, would be bringing you a meal sometime soon.

The hunter in your soul didn’t wish to be taken off guard, even if it was to be fed.

A small part of you wondered if you should even eat. Your instincts whispered in your mind about poisons, warning you of incoming death.

But that was ridiculous. Imagine it, you, a hunter, dying from poison.

No, if Dracula wanted you dead, he would have killed you by now. By his own hand no less, you were sure.

Still, that didn’t stop your instincts from making things difficult.

You curled in on yourself a bit tighter, wincing when some of the stitches tugged. Reluctantly, you adjusted to keep them from stretching.

You reached over, and grabbed the nearby pillow, and hugged it close to your body for some comfort.

It smelled nice.

That was another issue. You were so sleep deprived and struggling with blood loss, your brain liked to bring up such things, no matter how much you were trying to shut them out.

Gripping the pillow tighter, you felt your face form into a sour look.

“What am I going to do…” You mumbled, closing your eyes again.

At least if you didn’t sleep, lying here would be some rest. Better than none.

Though you hated to admit how much you jumped when you heard a brief, but loud knocking against the door. Talk about acting like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs…

You sat up in bed with a wince, and you noticed that no one seemed to enter. Another knock followed the previous one. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Uh… Come in…?” you called out, uncertain. Were they waiting to see if you were awake, or what?

The doorknob slowly turned, and you felt like the breath was punched out of you when Dracula stepped through.

Right. He had mentioned he would return.

He looked different though. Better, if you had to put a word to it. He wasn’t particularly disheveled to begin with, but now he didn’t look as… Hungry? Irritated? It was hard to figure out the words.

The Lord of the Night had also changed. Similar style, dark cloak and all, though he had on a vest with a dark red dress shirt underneath, and some sort of fancy slacks.

You imagined you probably would have wanted to change too if you had been wearing the same clothes as a stone statue for however many years.

But seeing Dracula again? You hated to admit how he practically took your breath away.

His power and presence were just as intimidating as before, and he wasn’t even angry. How did your ancestors handle him before, when he felt this powerful without seemingly intending to harm you?

Dracula looked you over briefly as he walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Even if there were no traces of malice on his face, a shiver still ran down your spine, instincts still screaming to run or fight.

You swallowed your nerves down as he walked closer.

He stopped at the side of your bed, and once again, you had to crane your neck just to see him at his full height.

That is, until with the wave of his hand, a chair nearby in the room came scooting forward. It came to a stop behind him, and he sat down without a glance.

Internally, you hoped your awe wasn’t blatantly on your face.

When he sat, he crossed his legs, before holding a tray with some sort of bowl on it. He held it forward, and you blinked at it slowly.

“I hope you are resting well, Little Belmont. I had some servants make you some soup. I fear eating solids may upset your stomach, which would aggravate your injuries if you were to grow sick.” He spoke, his voice low and deep. Even if he wasn’t loud, his voice still seemed to vibrate in your chest.

It took his words a few moments to register, and you looked between him, and the tray. He took in your expression for a moment, before speaking once more.

“If you fear it has been tampered with, I assure you my servants-”

“Oh, no… It’s fine. Sorry, I’m…” You spoke, cutting him off, ignoring how your pulse spiked when you realized you did so.

“S-Sorry… My head is a bit foggy, is all…” You then explained, before shakily reaching for the tray.

Dracula was quick, or perhaps, your brain really was slow. He held out a hand, and quite gently might you add, set the tray down on your lap.

“Of course. You must not exert yourself, and you must eat. I do not know how long it has been since you last ate, but you need something in your stomach.”

As if hearing the conversation, your stomach loudly growled, and you felt your face flush in embarrassment. When was the last time you ate? This morning? Night before last? You couldn’t exactly remember…

It was brief, but you swore you could have seen Dracula’s lips twitch upward seeing you grow flustered. It must have been your foggy mind and imagination. Or not, he could be internally laughing at you. Who knows?

Meanwhile, Dracula knew he had been right to bring you soup. He just hoped you could hold it down.

Though he didn’t want to admit how… endearing it was seeing you grow flustered like that. For a Belmont, you were quite the adorable human.

He would never admit it of course, but hell save him if Death ever found out he had such thoughts. Dracula would never hear the end of it.

Especially considering such thoughts were about a Belmont. Someone he should be wasting no time slaying.

But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

There was something so different about you, even now, as he watched you pick up the spoon and attempt to eat.

You didn’t stare at him with burning hate in your eyes, but curiosity. There was a sharp mind behind those eyes that asked questions. Someone who didn’t just jump to conclusions.

Was it so wrong he wanted to see more of that, especially in the family of his enemies, who had blindly ran and fought? Killing innocents of his kind?

He was no saint, far from it. But he knew of many others the Belmont clan had killed.

But you… You were so different. He didn’t wish to say it outloud, but he wished to push forward that way of thinking. Perhaps he could even find a middle ground with you.

You weren’t just some ‘scary hunter’. The Little Belmont in front of him showed so much more, showing the better qualities of humanity.

His face almost soured at the thought, but even he could admit every one in a million, perhaps one good human was born. You seemed to be that one in a million exception so far.

Just like Lisa had been.

He decided not to think too much on what that could mean, though he hoped it promised good things in the near future.

It was quiet for a while, and Dracula couldn’t help but study you as you ate. First and foremost, it was to watch and make sure your body could handle it.

But he had his own selfish reasons for doing so.

He could move again. React to you. Speak to you. Touch you.

However, he found it hard to speak. There were many things he wanted to talk about with you, and half of them he intended on waiting until you were a little bit healthier.

Anything he thought of before now though, was suddenly caught on his tongue as he observed.

Perhaps it would be better this way. Dracula prided himself on being charismatic and influential, but that was amongst the supernatural. This was a Belmont, and he knew things were… shaky at best.

However, as he watched you try and consume more of the soup, he found himself managing to say something.

“Are you feeling alright? Adjusting well?”

Briefly, you tensed when he spoke, before you seemed to force yourself to relax. He made a mental note of that reaction, wondering if it was because of him, or if it was a natural response.

Dracula could understand it if it was from him, given the circumstances, but even he could tell there was something off about it. He didn’t like the feeling settling in his gut over the bigger picture.

“It hurts a lot, but I’ll live.” You spoke, your voice still rough, but sounding leagues better than before. For a moment, it looked as if you wanted to say more, but held your tongue.

Interesting.

You were still for a moment, struggling to look at him. No doubt you were still having trouble thinking clearly, and struggling with everything that had happened. Have you even slept?

He had his doubts you’ve even rested. You may not look as manic like before, but you looked completely exhausted.

For a moment, he briefly thought about using his abilities to make you sleep. It was something Lisa would request on occasion if she hadn’t felt well or couldn’t settle.

However, he stomped that idea down. The last thing you needed was him using his powers like that on you, unless explicitly agreed upon. Even though you were… receptive of him taking care of you at the moment, he didn’t want to shatter that small bit of trust.

Given that he had suspicions about your home life, he imagined just the small bit of trust you had given him at all was momentous. Dracula couldn’t afford to lose that. Not now.

Though Dracula hated the odd pain in his chest as he stared at you. He was worried. Something he didn’t think he would ever feel again.

“Thank you, by the way.”

His eyes were on your face in an instant as you spoke.

“I… You didn’t have to take care of me. I do appreciate it.” You spoke, your eyes still on the bowl in your lap.

Your voice was small, and quiet. Dracula could tell though, saying that must have taken strength.

You didn’t see his eyes soften ever so slightly.

“You are welcome. As my guest, I will do my best to make sure you are taken care of.”

Internally you wanted to scream. You hated how much you liked the sound of that. When was the last time anyone cared enough to take care of you? Your mother before she had died all those years ago?

It had been way too long, and it was Dracula who was seemingly wanting to take care of you.

Damn your foggy mind.

A few moments of silence passed.

“I… Um…” You began, unsure on how to word this.

“About when you were a statue…”

You had so many questions, but didn’t know where to begin. Was it even a good idea to ask in the state you were in?

“You could hear and see everything, right?” you asked tentatively.

Dracula was silent for a moment, red eyes staring into you. It seemed he was contemplating what to say, and you tried not to get nervous as the seconds awkwardly ticked onward.

“Indeed I was. I was aware the moment you stepped foot in my castle the first time, though I was not aware it was a Belmont, not at first.”

His voice was still like velvet. No wonder vampires were such good hunters if they could talk like him.

You really needed to force yourself to sleep. Maybe if you smacked your head hard enough on the table, you could knock yourself out before you did or thought anything weirder.

Clenching your fist, you attempted to figure out what to say next.

“Um…”

Internally you cursed yourself for making this awkward. Why did you have to bring this up?

“Then… What now?” You asked, trying to find some semblance of what comes next. Just because he was taking care of you didn’t make everything all happy and cheery.

You couldn’t wash away centuries of history and bloodshed out of nowhere.

Dracula shifted, then reached over to the bedside table, and grabbed a glass of water. You looked at it confused.

When had he brought that in?

Before you could ask, he was gently holding it out to you.

“We can discuss that after you have rested. We have much to go over, but worrying about that and discussing it while you are injured won’t help your healing.”

He looked away a moment, as if contemplating what to say, before his eyes met your own once again.

“You have gained my interest and respect, enough to hear you out and discuss everything. When you are in a state to do so, of course.”

A part of you opened your mouth to speak, as if to say you could do it now, but you froze. Your eyes landed on the glass he still held out.

After a moment, you closed your mouth, and took the glass.

In that moment, you couldn’t help but feel like some sort of agreement or contract was formed, as if your fate was sealed.

As you sipped the refreshing water though, and looked over at Dracula himself, who seemed pleased you accepted the drink…

…You wondered if this would really be that bad?

Perhaps your future wouldn’t be as bleak as you thought.

[lifblogs]

After

@summer-of-bad-batch Week 11 Prompt: "I didn't think I would get this far." Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 1909 Summary: Tech has gone missing on Pabu, and his family tries to find him, helping him away from a dark path. Author's Note: Okay, so this fic alludes to suicidal thoughts, but never uses the word. However, despite the heavy topic, I think this is tame enough without any graphic depictions of even catastrophizing thoughts or nightmares, that if this was an episode, older children could watch it, and might even need it to relate to. I'm sticking by my rating here. (Also, happy Tech Tuesday, everyone!) READ ON AO3

Hunter awoke to Omega shaking him. It didn’t take long for him to come to full consciousness thanks to all his years as a soldier, but the sleepiness still lingered in the back of his mind.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

“I think Tech’s missing.”

Hunter shot up out of bed.

“What? Why?”

“Well, he’s not anywhere in the house. I already looked. I thought I heard him leave hours ago, right before dawn.”

“And he isn’t back yet?”

Omega shook her head.

“Are the others up?”

“Mostly. Crosshair’s still grumpy.”

Despite the perhaps dire situation on their hands, Hunter gave a small laugh. “When isn’t he grumpy?”

Omega leaned against him, but then grabbed his arm and started dragging him from the room.

When they got to the kitchen, Wrecker and Crosshair were already there. Crosshair was leaning over, like he was protecting the mug of caf in front of him, its steam wafting into his face.

Omega sat in Hunter’s chair at the head of the table, and Hunter leaned against their counter, arms crossed.

“Are we absolutely sure he’s missing?” Hunter asked.

“Well, he’s been gone awhile,” Wrecker said. “And he, um…” Wrecker stopped talking, turning his head away, scars jagged in the morning light.

“What?” Crosshair asked, tone venomous.

Wrecker was rubbing the back of his head, and Hunter leaned forward slightly, seeing the guilt that crossed his face.

“Last night wasn’t so good for him,” Wrecker said. “He mentioned not feeling like himself anymore, and that he was scared, and the nightmares wouldn’t leave him alone. I’m not sure he slept at all. And he seemed on edge, or… maybe like he was planning something.”

Hunter’s stomach plummeted.

“We need to find him. Crosshair, Omga, search lower Pabu, take Batcher with you. Maybe she can sniff him out. Wrecker and I will take Upper. And I’ll contact Echo, see if he’s talked to Tech at all recently. He could be trying to leave Pabu. Or…”

“Or worse,” Crosshair sighed, getting to his feet, readily abandoning his caf he loved so much.

Omega’s face crumpled, and she gripped Hunter’s hand hard when she got up.

“It’s all right,” Hunter told her, even though he wasn’t sure it was all right. Tech could be— No. He’s not. Don’t think about that. “Tech’s gonna be okay. We’ll find him.”

Hunter was the only one not dressed, so he rushed to do that as Crosshair, Omega, and Batcher left.

Then, he and Wrecker headed out.

“Let’s talk to Shep first,” Hunter suggested.

Wrecker nodded. “Good idea.”

The sun that usually felt so nice on Omega’s skin, like a brilliant, comforting warmth, now had arms that gripped her tightly, its presence oppressive.

“Do you think he’s—” Omega started as Batcher loped off ahead of them.

“No,” Crosshair cut in, almost immediately banishing the dark images in Omega’s mind.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” The situation was making her moody. Plus she was due for her period soon, and she now recognized that she got emotional right before those.

“Of course I do, because I’m thinking it too. He’s alive. He  has to be.”

Tech didn’t have many friends on Pabu these days, and Phee was away on business, so they didn’t have to bother searching houses or talking to many people.

Though, the fishermen and workers at the docks mentioned seeing him early, probably while the sky was still gray.

“Which way did he go?” Crosshair asked the bearded man before them, who was busy feeding Batcher a fried fish.

He adjusted his hat. “He took a boat out, heading southeast. Boat’s still missing.”

Someone else heard their conversation, a younger woman with skin darkly tanned from the sun. “Should we send out people to look for him?”

Omega could tell Crosshair wanted to say they had it covered. It was in the tight way he crossed his arms, the severe line of his mouth.

Omega tugged on his sleeve, imploring, and he looked down at her.

“Yes, that would be good,” he ended up saying. “I’d like to take a boat out as well.”

No one had a problem with this, and soon Omega, Crosshair, and Batcher were in a skiff, heading across the ocean. Omega leaned against the rail, letting the salt spray cool her somewhat. Her other hand idly petted Batcher, who was beside her, excited to be out on the ocean.

Knowing Tech had taken a boat out didn’t make her feel better. He could be anywhere, could have done anything to himself out there.

“Did Tech talk to you at all?” Omega asked.

“Why would he talk to me?”

“Well… you both went through traumatic experiences. You’d understand.”

Crosshair surprisingly didn’t seem to harden, to shield himself, as he looked at her. His face softened, and his eyes grew wet.

“So would you.”

She hung her head.

The reason she’d heard Tech leave so early was because she couldn’t sleep. The first half of the night had left her plagued with nightmares that made it so she couldn’t even move, body so afraid it froze her completely. And the rest of the night was spent trying to banish the dark feeling in her chest, the fear grazing across her skin. Nothing had really worked, and she was tired, could feel it in her eyes, and the way the lines of what she’d been trying to read blurred together. Trying to sleep in the early morning hadn’t done much, and she still felt terrible from it.

And now she felt even more terrible because her fear and anxiety had kept her from seeing what Tech was up to. He’d needed help, and she’d just been useless, frozen and afraid in her own bed.

“It’s not your fault,” Crosshair said. “You’re a kid. It’s not on you to take care of these kinds of things.”

“But how could I not?” she said. “I’m trained, just like you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? I’m older than you.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. And Omega felt heat rise in her.

She huffed and turned away, leaning over more, hoping the water would cool her intense feelings. Batcher put her front paws on the rail, mouth open, tongue lolling. Omega petted her, actually paying attention this time because what else was she supposed to do with this anger?

After a lot of silence from Crosshair, Omega’s anger had dampened, and Crosshair said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

She sighed, and sat on the bench across from him.

“I’m already upset. That’s the problem. Or, I guess Tech is. I’m scared, Crosshair. I’m really scared.”

Her mind conjured up horrible images, kicking up her heartbeat, her breathing faster and shallow, and her throat ached, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

Omega wanted to curl into herself, and cry, but a soldier wouldn’t. So she didn’t.

Crosshair took a break from steering to put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted.

Time seemed to pass too slowly, yet too quickly all at once. Maybe Tech’s life was slipping away from them.

When Pabu was almost completely out of sight, they found a skiff similar to theirs, bobbing on the waves.

At first Omega couldn’t see anyone in the boat, and her heart beat wildly, climbing up into her throat. Batcher started barking, telling Omega to search harder. Then she saw a lone figure, and she straightened, trying to get a good look at him.

Oh, thank the stars, it was him!

“Tech!” Omega called.

He didn’t respond.

Crosshair’s answer to this was to get in close, and lash the two boats together before jumping over to the other one. Batcher followed.

“Tech?”

“Tech?”

Tech lifted up his head, somewhat surprised that anyone had found him. Batcher was licking him, and he gave her a few pats. Crosshair took a seat across from him, and Omega rushed over to give him a hug once Batcher settled down. Tech returned it with numb arms.

Omega pulled back, and he turned his head away again, somehow ashamed he’d been found, that he hadn’t done what he had originally came out here to do.

There was darkness in his chest, and hot fear beating away in his body. His body. How odd it was to call it that, what with all the parts that were missing, all the scars, all the cybernetic and mechno “enhancements.” He knew some of them were technically aids, and they allowed him to walk, and see, but they were parts that were forced onto him by… by… Him.

Tantiss was years away now, and he’d tried getting used to his body, had talked to Echo about it over his comm chanel again and again, had tried to train, and even do fun things with it, like playing on the beach with Omega. Still, he wasn’t the same as he was. And he never would be again.

Tech hated his body today. Had hated it all night. Had tried ripping his mechno-fingers off in a frenzy, before remembering them they were anchored to his joints in his hand. He’d even tried wrecking his mechno-leg, but its design was perfect. Trembling fear had begged him to damage his cybernetic left eye, but that was when he couldn’t take it anymore.

He didn’t want to be here, but he was. Somehow he was, and his family had found him, like they’d found him before.

He took in a shaky breath, looking at them, seeing the signs of aging—the few new wrinkles on Crosshair’s face, Omega’s height—and he knew he himself had those signs, his hair graying.

How am I here?

Tech felt numb at this point, and not one with… with the body he was supposed to be in.

Before he could really understand it, he was crying, and Crosshair held his arm, rubbing it, and Omega came in for another hug. Batcher licked his hand, not fazed by the mechno-fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Omega asked.

Tech wanted to laugh and say, Everything.

Instead, he found words that somehow explained it all, getting out through his tears and his aching throat, “I didn’t think I would get this far. I never thought I’d make it, that I’d live. At—at times I wasn’t sure if…”

Despite what he had originally planned to do, he couldn’t get the words out, turning his head to look at the waves and their cold depths below.

“Me either,” Crosshair admitted.

Tech looked at him with a new light right then. They’d talked—of course they’d spoken of that place, but…

“But it’s okay,” Omega said, words shaky as if she didn’t truly believe them. “We all made it out. He’s gone. We’re never going back.”

“So what do I do?” Tech asked. “What am I supposed to do now? Even now I’m not always used to living here.”

Omega took his hand, looking at Crosshair, and he seemed to know what she was thinking, and he nodded. “We can find out together,” she said.

“Let’s get you home,” Crosshair told him.

Home. Perhaps he would like to go home.

Tech nodded, and Omega stayed in his boat on the way, assuring him that maybe there could be more than just surviving, that there was an after that he could be a part of, and it could be worth living for.

[amore-reads16]

Liam Mairi x fem reader

Overview- part two

After Y/N has found out the truth about Liam, and the betrayal their entire relationship was built on, she has to navigate her nexts steps very carefully with her life at risk. Meanwhile Liam is overcome with the guilt his actions has made him feel and is trying to get Y/N alone to explain everything even if it means betraying Xaden and the revolution.

Pain and gut wrenching heart ache would be the only emotions you would be feeling if it wasn’t for the blood curdling anger that consumed your body after learning of Liam’s back stabbing betrayal. You didn’t think that you had gotten a second of sleep last night. All you could think of was that monumental moment last night when you realised your whole relationship with Liam had been built on a lie, on a plot, on a command from wingleader Xaden Riorson. When your signet had manifested you had been pulled out of class immediately and sent to an empty room, isolated, until general Sorrengail strode in only to tell you that your signet was powerful and a key asset to the academy. There hadn’t been a healer this gifted since your mother is what the general had told you. Knowledge of this could but you in a vulnerable position- people would come for you, manipulate you, use you. And they did. You were just too naive to see that. Especially when that person had such an innocent, angelic aura about him. ‘An angel sent from god himself’ you used to call him. Used. He was now the devil in your eyes, perhaps Lucifer incarnate- an angel who fell from god’s graces, banished to hell only to seek vengeance on mere mortals like yourself.

Not only had you betrayed yourself, put yourself in harms way, but you had also betrayed general Sorrengail and to think of her wrath was to think of your death. There was only one thought swirling in your mind- either way you are dead. Xaden upholding his promise to let you live would be like believing that the wyvern described in the folk stories your mother used to hide under the loose floor board in your family home was real. Fantasy and impossible. But if you were to go to general Sorrengail and tell her the truth of what had happened she would most definitely kill you for your idiocy. To reiterate, either way you were dead.

You could lie in bed debating your imminent death no longer. It was either kill or be killed. And you sure as hell wasn’t about to leave your brother to fend for himself with no family left in this twisted world. You had a plan. You had been plotting all night. You would make yourself look like a threat to Xaden and his marked group. If you appeared to be strong, a force to be reckoned with then perhaps they would all think twice about crossing you or your brother. And if plan A failed then kill or be killed would have to become your new motto. You wanted Liam dead that was sure in your mind but whether you had the actual ability to do so was another debate completely. You had loved him and to kill him would be to kill a part of your soul. Fuck him you thought. He would regret the day he ever crossed you and you would make his life a living nightmare. That would be a revenge sweeter than death.

Getting out of bed you put on your tightest fighting leathers attaching your sharpest daggers to the pouches you had installed. Slicking your hair back into a long plait you were now ready to fuel your body for the day that was ahead of you. Luckily for you the quadrant was no foreign place to you despite being a first year. Your parents would fly you and Jude here all the time when you were both little and leave you to roam the academy whilst they ‘settled business’. Therefore you had friends here, knew people and had advantages. One of those many advantages was being friends with the kitchen staff and being welcomed whenever you didn’t want to sit in the dining hall and today was one of those days- seeing Liam right now would make you want to run over and slit his pretty little throat whilst you had the chance. So isolation it is.

“Hello Di, what’s for breakfast today” you asked the older woman who was stacking pastries on plates.

“Oh hello dear what are you doing down here this morning, we haven’t seen you for a while because of that boy you’re always hanging around with” Diana replies with a suggestive look and a twinkle in her eyes which just makes your heart crush even more.

“Oh… we had a falling out and I don’t really want to see him right now” you reply with a shrug trying to seem nonchalant. She raises an eyebrow at you. “Fine” you sigh “the thought of his face makes me want to take Rhella and burn this whole fucking place down so I thought it best if I breakfast in here this morning”

The woman just laughs slightly “well dear you are always welcome here. There’s croissants over there and some of that raspberry jam you like in that jar.”

You thank her and quickly eat your breakfast. You have things to do and people to see. And one of those people happens to be Dain Aetos who you catch as he is strolling down the corridor to the training mats.

“Dain! Wait up!” You yell at the boy. He stops and turns in surprise clearly confused as to why you are running after him in the corridors. You and Dain’s signets are classified so you had been advised to keep distance from each other in the public eye to avoid any assumptions being made. But the two of you were used to each others company as you had been training together in private ever since your signet manifested. He could be a pretentious dick at times and you and Liam had spent hours mocking him behind closed doors once you had told him your secret. But despite his arrogance Dain did have the ability to be a nice guy. He was caring and although he was a sucker for the rules he looked out for those he loved, even if he had a controlling way of doing that.

“Cadet Y/LN” he replies in a serious tone “can I help you?” He gives you a wide eyes look as if to say ‘what on earth are you doing talking to me in public?!’

“I’m sorry Dain” you whisper “but I need you to do me a favour and I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I wasn’t desperate.”

He looks apprehensive and pulls you to a quiet corner after looking around for anyone who may be watching “what is it?” He asks clearly concerned.

“I need you to try and change who I’m fighting today on the mats. I need to fight Bohdi today” you ask, your eyes pleading with a boy who is not known for breaking the rules.

Dain takes in a deep breath before shaking his head “why? Why Bodhi of all people?”

That was a good question. You could have fought Liam and gods you wanted too. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep a cool control and the fight would be sure to turn into a blood bath. Garrick was a third year so that was off the cards and you didn’t trust Imogen not to skin you alive just for the fun of it. And as for Xaden well, you know where to pick your fights and you are not too proud to admit he would have you on your ass with a flick of his fingers. So Bodhi it was. “I can’t tell you that right now but I can explain everything later but trust me I need to do this today” you say.

He takes another long look at you debating whether whatever is going on with you is worth bending his moral compass. Eventually he sighs again placing his hands on his hips “okay I can try but why you would want to fight Bohdi, a second year, is beyond me. Have you seen him fight? You know he’s been trained by Riorson?”

You nod slowly but it is clear that your mind won’t be changed and Dain knows this. Even though the two of you have never been close he knows you. He’s known you since you were a child due to your parents importance. And that means he knows how stubborn you can be.

“Okay” he sighs for what feels like the millionth time “just- just don’t get yourself killed Y/LN”

“Don’t worry I won’t” you smirk and then walk away ready for what is about to come.

……………………………………

Walking into the combat room your heart was pounding in your chest so heavily you thought it may be the loudest sound in the room. But you needed to keep your head high, appear unbreakable because that’s what you were- unbreakable. You would not be bent by the hands of Xaden, Liam or anyone for that matter. The hustle of the room was nothing out or the ordinary. Everyone preparing to fight or watch as other people fought- sometimes to their deaths. Striding into the room you felt a pair of eyes on you. Blue eyes to be specific and they were burning a hole into your body. Liam was across the room surrounded by the people who were cloaked last night- Xaden, Garrick, Bohdi and Imogen. Scanning your body, taking in the tight leathers you had decided to adorn this morning, his mouth dropped ever so slightly before he closed it tightly, a grim expression on his face. You noticed it. You noticed everything about him. You always had, even before he had introduced himself that fated day. Liam tuned his head to face Xaden finally removing his eyes off you and you went to stand with your friends. Courtney, Elise and Kat were the only real friends you had made. You were friendly with everyone- hated no one other than now Liam and his group. But those girls you could trust with your life and they could trust theirs with you.

“Wow someone dressed up for the occasion” Kat whistles as you walk to them.

“This wouldn’t have to do with a certain sulking blonde haired boy would it?” Courtney chimes in.

“He’s been on edge ever since we saw him this morning in the dining hall” Elise says “anything happen between you two? With him looking like a kicked puppy and you in those revenge leathers I’m assuming there has been a lovers spat?”

Biting the inside of you cheek you struggle not spilling your entire guts right here to them, but you can’t and you need to hold yourself together, so you just shrug your shoulders sparing another glance at Liam who has gone back to looking at you. You catch his eyes momentarily but it feels longer as if the world had just stopped so the pair of you could gawk at each other. He is pleading with you to let him in. To let him explain. But you won’t let him and he knows this. He can tell by the deadness that is in your eyes. It used to be that when your eyes would meet he could feel your love, your happiness, your excitement but now there was nothing but a cold, hard resentment. You look away first, focusing on your friends once more as you reply to the question just asked “lovers spat is an understatement and as for the leathers… well he’s crossed the wrong woman.”

The girls all share a look and a sly laugh before the matches are called for the day and lo and behold the last match to be read out is yours.

“Y/N Y/LN and Bodhi Duran”

Dain actually pulled through. Thank you Dain you silently praise. Xaden looks shocked. Garrick looks concerned. Imogen looks pleased. And Liam… he looks mortified. They all think that this will be your death you think. They think you are weak but they haven’t seen how you fight. Not properly. But today that will change and they will know just how much of a threat you can be.

You take to the mat avoiding Liam’s obvious gaze as he tries to make you look at him. Tries to make you pull out of the match or tap out early. But that is the last thing you will be doing. He storms off somewhere you don’t know as you don’t grant him the privilege of your attention. No that is reserved for Bodhi as the two of you take to the mat and prepare to fight. He seems apprehensive and keeps on glancing in the direction Liam has just sauntered off in. Strange you think. Shouldn’t he be happy- doesn’t he want you dead? But you can’t think about the questions that swirl around your head instead you think about the facts. They all want you dead. Xaden would have killed you last night if it wasn’t for Liam’s logical interference. You can’t fight with mercy. You must fight with wrath. And so you do. The match begins. People have gathered around your mat in particular. Perhaps because of the determined look you are sporting or maybe because of the interest the fight has gathered from Xaden’s group. But he does not stand by the mat. Xaden is on the outskirts, as normal, his gaze flicking between your fight and what appears to be cadet Sorrengail who is stood with her friends watching Sawyer fight. You and Bodhi circle each other clearly sizing each other up. You have seen Bodhi fight before and he, like Dain argued before, is good. But he has never seen you fight to your full potential. That will change now. You leap with a stealth so surprising you catch Bodhi off guard and you manage to slide your dagger across his arm. A warning. He stumbles slightly before whipping around to face you, a shocked look on his face. Your dagger is still clutched tightly in your hand as Bodhi attacks almost charging at you, but you are quicker. You slide out of his way before elbowing his back sharply, winding him slightly and causing him to fall but he quickly gets back up. He looks pissed now. Good you think. He again attacks but you doge him, this time grabbing his arm and twisting it as you turn yourself under it getting behind him shoving him to the ground with great might, you yourself landing on top of him straddling his back.

You pull at one of the daggers that he carries in the side of his jacket with the hand that is not being used to twist his arm tossing it across the floor causing some bystanders to jump out of the way. Letting go of his arm you shock your audience as you stand up allowing Bodhi to also get back up.

“That’s one” you claim and use his confusion to your benefit as you punch him in the face, hard, pulling another dagger from his front. Doing the same thing as before flinging it to the side you mock the boy who is stood still in pure shock “and now that’s two. Come on Durran I thought this would be a hard fight” you smirk evilly at him. His confused look has now been replaced by anger and embarrassment. Good, that will work to your advantage you decide.

“So that’s how we are playing Y/LN” he asks wiping the blood from his nose.

“This isn’t a game to me” you spit as you pounce again but this time he is ready and grabs your waist tossing you to the floor with ease but you quickly roll out of the fall getting back to your feet with a laugh “that’s all you’ve got?” You laugh which doesn’t bode well for you as he charges with more force.

The two of you land many blows. He slaps you in the face so hard at one point thar you swear you see starts dotting your vision. “FUCK!” Someone yells angrily from the crowd “GET HER OUT OF THERE NOW!” but you can’t place the voice and if it wasn’t for the sheer determination of winning and more importantly surviving fueling you, you think you would have passed out. But power is power you think. And mine will be seen.

“As it should quick one” Rhella chants in your head motivating you to show everyone what you are truly made of. Blood and fire. Shattered love and vengeance.

Your fight has attracted a larger crowd now and whilst you have Bodhi locked in your grasp, another of his daggers in your hand and quickly on the floor, you catch a glimpse of striking blonde hair. Liam is here watching. Assessing. Hating every moment you hope. Bodhi is down to his last dagger and the pair of you are panting on the mat heavily. This has gone on for too long, and he is getting restless, determined more than ever to beat you feeling the humiliation of the loss of his six daggers. His last dagger must be important to him you think. It’s striking and has a blue sparkling gem at its hilt and swirling patters on its handle. It’s a beauty and it will be yours. You must rely on his assumptions and trick him into a trap. So you kick your leg out which he easily grabs. The crowd gasps thinking he has you. He could easily slam your body on the floor and be on top of it within moments. But they have never seen you fight like this before. You never wanted to show what you could really do. It would only make you stand out. And standing out in a place like this only leads to your own death. That’s what your mother had indoctrinated you to believe at a younger age and as you got older you saw her words to be true. Strength is not something positive in this place, it is not praised or rewarded it is only controlled. And you will not be controlled.

Bodhi’s grip is strong but that’s just what you need as you twist your body around bringing your other leg up so quickly he can’t react. He can only take the blow you give him as you kick him in the face hard. It causes you both to fall to the floor but you had been expecting this so are not immobilised by the shock which you use to your advantage as you dive on top of his body quickly pining him down.

“Stop this!” The same voice from before shouts.

“No can do Mairi, she’s got him now” Kat replies.

You pin Bodhi’s arms about his head with one had using all the strength you have whilst you pluck the dagger out of his own hands using your other. Holding the dagger to his throat you glare down at him fiercely.

“TAP OUT” you don’t ask you demand.

Bodhi only huffs causing you to become more angry than before “I said tap out Durran” you command. To which he smirks.

“You’re feistier than you look Y/LN” he tries to bait you “no wonder Liam is obsessed with you” he smirks.

You don’t give in to his taunts and instead your hold on him becomes stronger and the grip of your thoughts around his waist becoming tighter. This pose must look overly sexual you briefly think. This thought is only reinforced as you notice Liam from the corner of your eye storming over to Dain begging him to “get her off him now before I do something I’ll regret”

You note this burst of apparent and unplaced jealousy from him and continue to stare down at Bodhi who still hasn’t tapped out . A sinister smile graces your face as you lean down close to his face. At this he starts to look extremely worried, perhaps that you will kiss him given the lack of space between your faces, a worry that is echoed by Liam as he now bellows your name in a warning “Y/N don’t you dare!”

But at the last minute you swerve your head and place your lips close to Bohdi’s ear. Everyone is now watching, including Xaden whose shadows you can already feel are dying to escape and probably strangle you to death.

“I have a message for your wingleader” you whisper lowly so only Bodhi will hear “tell him that I am not and will not be that easy to kill.”

You pull your face up offering the boy beneath you a fake sweet smile. He looks hauntingly shocked as you use your hand which is gripping his to bang them to the floor twice, tapping him out yourself. “He’s done” you say emotionlessly as you finally get off him, his dagger still in your hand. You waste no time to part through the shocked, still crowd but not before you take one long look at Liam who is seething with anger. He looks somewhere in between disgusted and impressed. You don’t smile or let any emotion slip past the mask you have now decided you need to wear around him. All eyes follow you and you head towards where Xaden is stood but before you reach him you turn around “oh Bodhi” you shout over “you can keep your daggers I only want this one” you say as you hold up the last one you took. The blue stoned beauty. You reach Xaden who peers down at you. Gods he’s tall you think.

“I left you a message. Be sure to listen to it” is all you say as you barge past him and out of the hall ignoring the chatter that has erupted with your departure. Usually people stay a little while after a match to record points and see the leader boards but you couldn’t bear to stand there today- not in the same room as him. You’d had enough for today and if you did say so yourself your point had been proved nine times over . You would be a force to be reckoned with.

Footsteps suddenly sound from behind you in a fast pace causing you to pivot only to see Liam running towards you.

“What. The. Fuck. Y/N” he says.

“What?” You ask in an annoyed tone wanting nothing more than to be away from him.

“What the fuck was that? You might of well have just had sex with him right there the way you were climbing his body” Liam spits.

This takes you back. Out of everything you just did to his friend back there, the positions you put him in wasn’t what you thought Liam would be the most pissed about. Humiliating his friend by removing every single weapon he had on him? Sure. Punching him so hard you heard his nose break? That would be understandable. Spitting the blood that had flooded your mouth after he slapped you so hard you felt your tooth unhinge itself in his face? For sure that was pretty gross and disgusting on your part. But straddling Bohdi and climbing his body like a tree was not what you thought you’d be discussing with Liam in these halls.

“Are you jealous?” You ask after a long moment of silence “because if you are you have no right to be. We sure as hell aren’t together after what happened last night. After you stabbed me in the back and sold my secrets to your bum buddy Riorson” you say to which Liam sighs angrily at as he tightens his hands into fists.

“Bum buddy?” He mumbles “you’re a child” he shakes his head but not in a playful way like he normally would have done with you. No he is pissed. “I have every right to be jealous. You mounted his body in front of everyone in those tight leathers, which by the way haven’t gone unnoticed! And then you pin his arms above his head? What the fuck is actually wrong with you?” Liam is panting now clearly getting more angry the more he relives what just happened between you and one of his closest friends.

“Me!” You shout “what is wrong with ME! How on earth you are twisting a situation which has only been caused by your betrayal is beyond me! Gods Liam you are so self centred. Do you really fucking think that I have any interest in Bohdi when I can’t even stand the fucking sight of you?” You yell at him and his face flinches with pain.

“Well maybe you could if you would just let me-“

“Explain?” You click your tongue and shake your head “there’s nothing to explain Liam . You are what you did- a lying, treacherous asshole and I will never see you as anything more than a backstabbing prick. I never want to see you again, I don’t ever want to hear your voice again, I never want to see your smile or hear you laugh! Don’t you understand Liam? You’ve broken me and I’m sorry if you don’t like the outcome of that but that’s too damn bad. ” you say before quickly pivoting away not allowing him to utter another word.

You hurry to your room locking yourself in taking a deep breath as you try to process everything that just happened. There is no point trying to understand Liam, you think, this is a wild game of survival. And hopefully you have just proven that you will not be the prey.

[spinchip]

NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 15

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

warnings: Character death

I LOVE WHAT I DO NOT HAVE. YOU ARE SO FAR. // MY LOATHING WRESTLES WITH THE SLOW TWILIGHTS.

“She’s already seen you face, why does it matter if she knows your name?” Kai asis from where he’s still sprawled across the front of Miss Emma.

Birdy sits down heavily, his back to the group, “it does not matter." He says simply, but there’s a slump to his shoulders that telegraphs defeat. Hopelessness. Nya knows that this is bad. "All that matters is getting you to the Mountain of Madness.” 

Miss Emma floats on. Jay has stopped shocking her, collapsed on top of her bell tiredly as Kai keeps them moving. No one says anything. Over time, Miss Emma begins to droop again. When Jay gives her another shock, she just seems to lower herself quicker to the ground.

“She wants us off.” Nya realizes as the jelly's tentacles pool along the ground under them.

“We are a heavy burden for her to carry.” Birdy agrees.

They are passing over a forest- this one is a menagerie of blues, reds, and purples. The grass is a dark teal and white flowers and tall tubes protrude from the earth. Miss Emma drops low enough in a clearing that they can jump off without getting hurt and stops completely, waiting.

“Thank you.” Birdy says quietly to the animal. Kai pets her bell as a gesture of appreciation, and they all slide off her and onto the forest floor. The moment there are no more hitch-hikers on her bell, Miss Emma slowly drifts away, flying high enough to disappear into the clouds.

There's a long, tense moment as no one knows what to do next.

“We should keep moving.” Birdy says softly.

“She was telling us the truth, wasn’t she?” Kai asks bluntly.

Lloyd steps forward, “Kai-” He starts but Birdy cuts him off.

“What did she tell you?”

Kai locks eyes with Birdy and the air grows thick with tension.

It’s Jay who speaks next, “Barath told me you murdered Farley. He said that you were a warlord in your past life, and that you had committed crimes among the worst of all the people banished here.”

“Genocide.” Kai clarifies, “Destruction of land, culture, food. Untold numbers of death and destruction. Samira told me about how you’ve kept trophies of those you killed. Your mask, your knife… all belonging to the dead.”

Nya can’t help her own need to know the truth and she speaks up next, “Wox told me you were dangerous. That the respect these people have for you is based in fear and hatred.”

Cole hesitates, “And Ila said you walked into Oasis the day after you killed Farley covered in his blood.”

“All true.” Birdy doesn’t hesitate to confirm it. “You were right in the throne room, Kai. I am a monster.”

“Birdy-!” Lloyd whips around to face him, appalled, “No!”

Birdy squares his shoulders, “No, Lloyd. I must take accountability. I cannot run from this.'' He doesn’t break eye contact with Kai, “This is who I am, yes, but I have no ill will towards you all. Samira was right that I know how important you are to Ninjago too, and I will not allow my home realm to go unprotected and vulnerable without you. I belong here, in this place, but you do not. I will get you home, I swear it.'' His voice takes on an edge of desperate honesty.

They were still so far from the Mountain of Madness. If they left Birdy here and tried to find it on their own, it could be ages before they got out of here.

Lloyd looks from Birdy to the others, waiting. It hits Nya that Lloyd is waiting on them to weigh in- he wants to hear what they all have to say. It’s not like Lloyd never asks what they think on large decisions of this nature, but ever since they lost Zane Lloyd had taken the full weight of leadership and had refused to share it with the rest of the team. He was the one who made decisions. He was the one who was always alone in that choice. Maybe he was tired of being alone.

Nya doesn’t know what to think.

Cole steps forward first and Nya knows his opinion well enough that she can tune him out, “I still trust him.” But when he speaks, she looks at Cole and really listens, taking in everything he says, “He wasn’t working with Samira. He wasn’t in cahoots with Maurice. Everything he’s done has been solely for us, at the detriment of himself.” He locks eyes with Birdy, “Maybe he did some bad things… some really bad things… but he’s trying to help us. It’s all he’s been trying to do. I don’t think he’s going to lead us astray. I still want him to guide us.”

There’s a pause after Cole finishes, “Cole is right.” Nya says aloud, finding the truth in her words. Everything Cole said made sense. Birdy had been on their side from day one- “He stopped Maurice before he even knew we were the elemental masters. He had no reason to do that, but he did.”

“You can’t be serious!” Jay gapes, “Didn’t you hear him? Confirmed murderer! Evil bad guy here!! How can you just take his side?”

“I’m not on anybody's side but ours,” Nya fires back immediately, “I may not be thrilled about putting my faith in a- former- dicator, but I want what’s best for us, and getting back to Ninjago as quickly as possible is exactly that.”

Jay looks down at that, thinking.

“I can’t follow him.” Kai says sourly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lloyd finally speaks up, “What Birdy did in the past-” He looks back at Birdy and pauses, face twisting as he hesitates on what to say next, “It wasn’t as black and white as it seems.” He settles on finally, “I trust him.”

There’s a heavy, tense silence. Lloyd meets Kai eyes, his expression imploring him to see sense.

“I don’t trust him.” Kai reiterates firmly. He closes his eyes with a grimace, “...But I do trust you. If you think this is the right call… then I do too.” he bites out begrudgingly.

“Fine.” Jay echoes, crossing his arms, “Let's go then.”

Birdy takes a moment to look around and get his bearings before he starts to walk, the others falling in line behind him. It's... awkward. He doesn’t speak much, only opening his mouth to warn them of obstacles, “Avoid the flowers,” He says, pointing to one of the numerous white flowers dotting the ground, “They tunnel into the ground. It is like stepping in a hole.”

Jay immediately steps in one and face plants, but he’s fine.

Nya start to notice that the plants they’re trekking through for this leg of the journey are strange, even for the Realm of Madness. Everything is coated in a thick waxy film and all of it is shaped like funnels or cups. Tall purple speckled plants with tube protrusions, green vase-like plants that grow as tall as her waist, huge pink and purple trees with tops like a sea anemone- and the plants she noticed that aren’t cup shaped have a sponge-like texture. Everything here is geared towards catching rain.

She looks inside one of the purple plant tubes and sees a small puddle at the very bottom, feeding into the stem. Raising her hand, she shoves at the liquid- but it doesn’t move.

“Birdy, what’s up with the water here?” She asks, pulling her hand away.

“It’s not water.” He answers stiffly, but she doesn’t think the discomfort is because of her. She’d noticed how still he’d seemed as they traveled deeper into the forest. There was something about this place that rattled him, “It’s acid.”

“ACID?” Jay squawks.

“It rains acid here,” Birdy says apologetically, “But we should be safe. It is the dry season.”

“I thought you said nothing was guaranteed in this place?”

“We need to move quickly.” He says bluntly.

As they hurry through the forest, Nya keeps an eye out for any potential dangers. That snake spider in the white forest had snuck up on them. She wasn’t keen on being surprised again. Because she’s looking towards the trees, she doesn’t notice everyone’s come to a stop until she runs into Cole.

“Oof-” She stumbles back, “Sorry- what happened? Why are we stopping?”

“I apologize.” Birdy says, emotionally flat where he’s standing in front of a large purple tree, “I was simply making sure we were on the right track.” When he starts moving again, he takes a wide step over something. As the others begin to move, Nya sees that the thing Birdy had stopped at and stepped over was a oblong dark spot on the grass. She’d seen a few of them before, scattered around the forest. She steps over it too but doesn’t ask about it. Birdy's voice had taken on that tone that comes when he’s not feeling like himself.

She blinks, surprised at herself for knowing that.

“If you don’t know where you’re going, then we should stop and take a break.” Kai says, pausing in the middle of that clearing underneath the tree's arching canopy, “We can keep going once you’ve got your head on straight.” he crosses his arms, planting himself firmly.

Birdy shakes his head, “I remember the way now. We should cover as much ground as possible today.” he says, voice toneless and disconnected. His body language is empty too, his shoulder slumped and his hands loose around his staff.

“I mean… we haven't had lunch.” Cole points out with a wry smile, “A quick snack break couldn’t hurt.”

“Do we have food? Or will we need to forage.” Nya asks.

“We have food. Cole hooked us up.” Jay says, slinging his backpack off and opening the top.

���I got Ila to make us some stuff for the road after… our talk.” He frowns, rubbing his chin, “I’m kinda surprised she did, actually… considering how they were plotting against us.”

“The food is safe. Ila is different from Samira.” He reassures them. There’s a thick pause. He hasn’t moved from the edge of the clearing, “We shouldn’t stop here.”

“Why? It’s the dry season, isn’t it?” Kai responds dryly, waving away a sandwich Jay offers him.

There’s a pause before Birdy stiffly sits down. “Alright.” He says blankly before he crosses his legs and gets into a classic meditation pose.

“You like to meditate?” Lloyd tilts his head.

“Sometimes.” Birdy doesn’t offer any additional information, and the group goes quiet as they eat and rest.

“So what’s the game plan when we get home? I mean, we don’t know anything about... Anything.” Nya turns to Lloyd.

He pauses mid-bite and frowns, “Well… we need to meet with Pix first and foremost. There’s no way she hasn’t been gathering intel in the time we’ve been gone. Mom might know something about that gauntlet and who might have gone after it, so we could go to the dig she’s on and ask her.”

“If we do that we gotta stop at home so I can get my gameboy.” Jay says immediately, “Do you know how long it’s been since I haven't played video games? I’m going through serious withdrawal here!”

Kai shoots him a withering stare that Jay is completely oblivious to.

“Well, as long as you don’t go pretending a piece of wood is a gameboy, then I’m not too worried about you.” Cole comments wryly.

“Oh, don’t tempt me. I have a whimsical imagination.”

“You like to play video games?” Birdy asks quietly.

“Yeah! There’s this game called Prime Empire, that’s the one I’m really into right now.”

“We were all really into it when it first came out.” Lloyd snickers, alluding to an inside joke Birdy’s not a part of.

“We were sucked into the game.” Cole explains even though Birdy hadn’t mentioned his confusion, “Jay saved us. It was a whole thing.”

“...You have had a lot of adventures.” there’s a pause as Birdy tries to think of what to say, “I would like to hear more about them.”

Lloyd hums, “Well, other than a few small fight here and there, and the current situation we’re in, the last big ordeal we had to take care of was The Mechanic and Fugi-doves team up.”

“The Mechanic cyborg-ed him.”

“Badly.” Nya adds darkly, “I could have done so much better.”

"Don't get any ideas." Cole ribs, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

Jay nods, “Yeah, he botched it up pretty bad. Fugi used to be a nothing villain, like, petty things. Now that he’s all…” Jay waves his hands in the approximation of gears turning, “Scary looking, he’s got actual minions.”

“I turned into the ocean.” Nya informs him, “But I got better.”

“Before that was Shintaro. We were invited by the princess for her birthday.” Lloyd continues.

“Queen Vania now. She’s cool, I think you’d like her.” Cole smiles.

“Her dad, the king, ended up being this evil warlock. His best friend was a floating skull.”

“Interesting…”

“I think you’d like him more than Vania,” Kai mutters, “Birds of a feather flock together.”

Lloyd graciously doesn’t acknowledge Kai, “Prime empire was before that, and then there was…” He stops. The air grows thick. “Let’s not talk about that one.” He murmurs.

“...What kind of game is it?”

Jay perks up, “Let me just tell you the story!” He launches immediately into an animated recap. The others interject every now and again to add their perspective and to correct Jays embellishments. “-And that’s how I lost my eye!” He says, pointing at the patch. Cole takes over after that, talking about princess Vania and the caves beneath Shintaro. The conversation devolves into one long timeline of their most recent life-or-death situations that Birdy listens to intently. He stops them with the occasional question, but otherwise is quiet while they recount it all.

So it’s a surprise when he interrupts Nya’s explanation of the Mechanics plot by leaping to his feet and taking a confrontational step towards Kai, “What are you doing with that?” He demands.

Kai jumps, surprised. He’d been leaning against the tree mindlessly checking his pockets for something to fiddle with- he looks down and realizes he’d fished out the painkiller Samira had given him and was rolling it between his fingers absently. “I’m playing with it.” He says with a raised eyebrow.

“That is not a toy.” Birdy bites out. Maybe he wouldn’t be so aggressive in any other environment, but this place put him on edge in the worst kind of way.

“I know that.” Kai shoots back sharply, standing to his full height, “What’s your problem?”

“Give it to me.” Birdy orders, holding his hand out, “I am not going to watch anyone else die here.”

“It’s not poison!” He clenches the pill in his fist, “It’s a painkiller for FSM’s sake.”

“It is engineered to be horribly addictive.” Birdy stresses, stepping up to Kai, “The withdrawals for that could kill you-”

“I've been managing my alcohol withdrawal just fine, thanks, I'm sure this wouldn't be any worse.” He snaps, shoving the pill back in his pocket.

Birdy jerks as if struck, “You are so dependent on alcohol you would die from it?”

“Stop talking to me.” Kai turns his back on him bitterly.

The air is fraught with tension, the energy pulled so taut it was only a matter of time before something snapped.

Birdy opens his mouth, “Do you think your friend sacrificed his life so you could ruin yours?”

CRACK-!

It all happens so fast Nya can barely keep up. Kai’s fist connects with Birdy's mask so hard he goes sprawling in the dirt. He stumbles back, slamming into a tree and slumping down at the base of it. He’s got one hand holding his mask in place reflexively, looking up at Kai in shock.

“You-” He snarls, body a pillar of fire as he towers over Birdy, “You do not get to speak about him! You are not even a fraction of the man he was! He may have been a robot, but he was more human than you will ever be!”

Cole gets in front of Kai and pushes him back. He keeps his hands on Kai’s chest to stop him from advancing on Birdy again, “Kai, stop!”

From his place on the ground, Birdy reaches a hand under his mask to wipe at his face. His fingers come back stained dark with blood, nearly black in the strange lighting of the realm. He looks up at Kai and his hand tightens around his staff dangerously.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt me?” Kai spits, leaning to glare at him over Cole's frame, “Just like you hurt Farley? Fine then, go ahead! I can take you!”

Birdy looks down at his hand like it’s not attached to him. He throws the staff on the ground as if it’s burned him and shakes his head hard to clear his vision. He hasn’t said a word, mute in shock. He stumbles to his feet but he has to use a tree to catch himself, leaning on it to keep his feet under himself.

“I’m the master of fire! You don’t scare me!”

Birdy is shaking all over, hand trembling where he has it pressed against the strange tree. His chest is rising and falling rapidly and he has all his focus on Kai.

He turns and vanishes into the woods.

“Birdy!” Lloyd takes a step after him but aborts the mission, whipping around to Kai, “You two stay here with Kai and maybe knock some sense into him.” He points at Cole and Jay before turning to Nya, “Nya, come with me.” She has to scramble to keep up as Lloyd darts after Birdy, but it’s not long before Lloyd stutters to a stop.

He lets out a low growl in frustration, “I don’t know where he went.” He scrubs at his face roughly.

She places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, “Just take a deep breath, Lloyd.”

“Everything fell apart so quickly.”

“I know.” She swallows roughly and looks away. She doesn’t have the words to make this okay. If they can’t find Birdy, if they can’t convince him to come back… they’ll be lost in the middle of nowhere in a realm that wants so so badly to kill them. Her eyes flick over the ground right to a footprint is half hidden by the leaves of a bright red shrub.

“Look!” She points to it, hoping a solid lead will cheer Lloyd up, “He went this way!”

They cautiously start to track Birdy, being extra careful not to miss any indicators where he ran off to. Finally, they come upon another small clearing. Another large, alien looking tree stretches up above them, the trunk of the tree is a deep blue and there are several bulbs along it where the wood splits to reveal huge chunks of a pale blue spongey growth. On the other side of the tree, Birdy’s foot sticks out from where he’s sitting in the dirt under the shade.

“Birdy!”

And right next to his foot is his mask.

Lloyd stops in his tracks the moment he sees it. “Are you okay?” He asks, staying out of sight of Birdy's face.

A gloves hand reaches out and takes the mask, slipping it on with his body still mostly hidden, “I am alright.” He stands up then and comes around the tree to face them, face once again firmly hidden. He’s holding a water bottle in one hand, using it to rinse the stain off his gloves. Well, he’s trying to.

“Here,” Nya says, stepping forward, “Let me.”

She swirls water around his hands and uses it to sweep the dark blood off the fabric. While she works, Birdy speaks, “I apologize if I worried you. I was always intending to return, I just needed a moment to… attend to my injuries.” He finishes awkwardly. “I was not going to leave you stranded.”

“Birdy, I didn’t come after you because you’re our guide.” Lloyd says, “I came because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Speak for yourself, Nya thinks. Well, that’s not entirely fair- she did think that Birdy wasn’t the villain he made himself out to be, and she trusted him to a degree. She wouldn't call them friends, but she didn't want to see him hurt either. Maybe her decision to follow Lloyd was almost entirely based on selfish reasons, but she had also been alarmed by Kai’s punch, worried about the brutality of how the hit had landed. Kai could knock out an opponent's teeth with a weak swing- there was a lot of damage to be done with a sucker punch like that.

“He isn’t like that, really.” She finds herself saying quietly as she draws out the last of the blood in Birdy's gloves, “He didn’t used to be, at least. He was more levelheaded than me before… Before we lost Zane.”

Birdy stays quiet.

Nya keeps going, “He took it the hardest out of us all, I think. He feels a lot of guilt. He lost his elemental abilities right before it happened, y’know? So I think he blames himself.” she moves water over his gloves absently. The blood is gone, but she can’t look up to meet his eyes, “And yeah, Zane was special to all of us, but he did something else for Kai. Kept him balanced, maybe. He got lost after Zane died. He trained until he collapsed, he spent hours patrolling the city, he kept busy because then he could dull the pain. And when he had to stop moving, he drank.”

“Grief does funny things to us all.” Lloyd says softly.

“You’re right. Zane wouldn’t have wanted this for him, and Kai knows that, but you were wrong to speak on his behalf. He’s gone, and none of us want to hear a stranger put words in his mouth.” She lets the water drop, splashing to the ground.

A long moment passes quietly, “I apologize. It was not my intention to disrespect your friend.” It’s his turn to drop his gaze to the ground.

“C’mon,” Lloyd says softly, “I think the others will want to hear that too.”

When they get back to the others, the air is tense. Kai is leaning against a tree attempting to wrap a bandage around his bloody knuckles. Jay is hovering at his elbow and Cole is standing off to the side, not looking at either of them.

Kai notices them first, but cuts his eyes away and pointedly ignores the trio rejoining their group.

“It was wrong of me to bring up your friend.” Birdy says before stepping any closer, “I reacted so strongly because I was afraid for you, Kai. Those pills are designed for control. Samira supplies the people of this realm and then twists their addiction against them.”

“I don’t need your worry.” Kai says, but it’s lost some of the bite it had before.

Hesitantly, Birdy approaches Kai. Slowly, with enough time for Kai to draw away, and with more than a bit of caution to stay out of easy access of another swing, Birdy cups Kai’s injured palm. He takes the bandages next, moving to wrap his hand, “There is not a switch I can flip to turn it off.” Birdy says wryly, carefully winding the gauze around Kai’s hand, “I am sorry for what I said.”

Kai just stares at him.

“...You may not trust me, but I trust you.” He continues, finishing up dressing his knuckles, “I believe you would have made the correct choice.”

Something shifts in Kai. his features soften and he pulls his hand away gently- his guard is still up, but there’s a change in his heart, “Y’know, you’ve got a hell of an iron jaw.” he tries for a joke, but it falls flat. Then, “Why are you doing all this? After everything you’ve done, why have a change of heart now?” He asks, search for an understanding. He didn't get Birdy. Maybe that was part of his aggression- he didn't understand how a warlord like him could just... suddenly decide to be a good person. There had to be a catch.

Birdy looks away, ruminating over his thoughts and looking for the best way to put it all into words, “I am trying to make up for the pain I have caused. I regret the things I have done. I wish I had never stepped foot in that throne room- I have been stuck in the dark ever since, plagued by the mistakes of my past... but I have a choice, now. Even in the darkness, I can choose to reflect the light.”

Kai freezes, looking at Birdy with wide eyes. He opens his mouth, but there’s a crash through the underbrush that interrupts him.

A massive two-legged beast blasts into the clearing with a series of loud clicks, hissing at the group gathered there. On top of the animal, on a makeshift saddle with a pair of leather reins in her hand- is Morrigan.

“I found you~!” She sing-songs.

Her steed shakes its head hard, obviously agitated by the bit shoved in its beak. It’s a massive thing with a set of wings to match, and it’s body was a patchwork of soft brown feathers and iridescent scales. Large slits flutter around the base of its throat as it breathes in, scenting the air. It’s feet are distinctly bird-like, with claws like a raptor and rough textured skin. It isn't happy about its predicament as a faithful show pony, flicking it’s head and flapping its wings in rage.

“You disrespected me, lover! I told you- either you gave me those flowers or something very bad was going to happen.” She flips her brown hair over her shoulder with a flourish, grinning down at the group with shark teeth, “I’ve come to collect, darling.”

“We don’t have the flowers any more!” Lloyd argues.

“Oh, I know that, little boy.” She giggles, “I’m here to do something very bad!”

With that, she shoves her finger out towards them and commands the vulture-bat beneath her, “Sick ‘em, boy!”

With that, the beast roars- and its small beak splits in half, its face opening up in four pieces to reveal a garbage disposal of razor sharp, serrated teeth stained with old blood. Its dark purple tongue flicks out before it crashes forward with the intent to kill. Despite its massive size, the thing is fast. It is upon them before they can think, and it’s only the speed of a ninja that saves their bones from snapping in those jaws.

“What is that?” Jay squawks in unison with the bird, who charges at him.

“A vulture-bat!” Birdy says as he leaps for his staff, fear bleeding into his voice, “Keep your eyes on it! It is quicker than you think!”

“Ew.” Nya says with a nervous laugh, mostly to herself. The bird is horrifying in it’s awkwardness- it’s bones seem too big for it’s body, the tautness of it’s skin revealing the spaces between feathers and scales. Little peeks of pink flesh that’s stretched so thin the blood vessels underneath are clearly visible. It moves unnaturally too, it’s body too long for it’s legs. Every other step it’s chest slams to the ground and bounces back up like he’s compensating for a missing limb. When it roars, foul smelling spittle flies everywhere.

Then she sees it. A long, thin appendage coming out from it’s tail feathers.

It whips it’s body around and her only warning is the high pitched whistle that comes from a deadly strike. She ducks, and the tree behind her explodes.

It’s like razor-wire, thin enough to decapitate any animal that comes it’s way, yet sturdy enough to nearly halve the trunk without even the hint of structural weakness.

Morrigan pulls on its reins so she can look at her targets, “Y’know why I haven’t killed anyone, Birdy? Because everyone does as they are told and gives me what I want.” There’s a manic shine in her eye, “Now you’ll see what happens when you disobey.”

She pulls out a knife and stabs the vulture-bat in it’s haunches. It roars in rage and shakes itself hard, trying to dislodge her, and when that doesn’t work it dives forward with the intent on killing anything around it. It’s pain needed to go somewhere.

Cole brings up a wall of earth high enough to trip the beast and it crashes to the ground, it’s claws scrabble for a moment and it’s back on it’s feet in almost no time. Kai throws a ball of fire in an attempt to scare it, but the singed feathers only seem to enrage it further. It’s mostly a game of cat and mouse with the ninja just barely dodging teeth and claws and a razor tail.

Nya knows they can’t dodge forever.

Birdy dives under the razor-wire that nearly takes his head before he pops up at the beasts underbelly. He’s almost trampled before he managed to grab hold of a patch of feathers and haul himself up onto the animals back. He’d only done all of that to get out of harms way, but now that he was nearly face to face with Morrigan, he had no idea what to do. He brandishes his staff anyway, trying to find his footing on the rampaging beast.

Morrigan stands up, hands still wound up in the reins to keep her balance and she brandishes her sword, “You think you're the only one with a thirst for blood, don't you? You think you're the only one with the guts to slaughter someone!” She snarls with a sadistic smile, “You have no idea what I'm capable of when I don't get my way.” She yanks the reins to one side and the animal veers sharply, whole body tipping and turning. Birdy crashes sideways off his feet and is nearly flung from the beasts back before he can catch it’s tail feathers in one hand.

Nya flicks her wrist and calls a ball of water to her. She throws it as hard as she can, watching it soar through the air and slap into Morrigan. What’s most important is how the water drowns the leather and the scales on the monsters back.

The beast turns toward Nya sharply at the attack, and Morrigan can’t keep her footing on the slick saddle.

One foot slips from under her and she can't catch herself. She tumbles down the beasts shoulder, but before she can hit the ground her body yanks to a painful stop. The reins are still wrapped around her wrist, leaving her dangling at the monsters chest. The bird slams sideways into a tree because of how hard Morrigan yanks on the reins in her fall, narrowly avoiding bashing her to paste. There’s genuine panic on her face as she swings her sword up, trying to slice through the reins so she can survive this encounter.

Birdy crawls up the bird to it’s neck. He nearly throws himself off it when he lunges for Morrigan, holding his hand out for her to take, “Let me help you!” He shouts, voice nearly lost among the vulture-bats cries.

She would have to drop her sword. She looks at him for a long moment before her face twists in hatred. With a mighty heave, she swings the sword at Birdy, aiming for a killing blow. He yanks his hand back and she misses, the sword cutting into the vulture-bat’s shoulder.

It rears back in pain and Birdy goes flying off, rolling to a stop in the dirt.

Morrigan is thrown backward and shaken around as the vulture-bat reacts to the sharp sting. It spots her as she’s thrown to the side, it’s large black eye focusing on her. It understands immediately. With a sharp turn, It whips its head around so she goes flying in a wide arc- right in front of its mouth.

It’s face splits in four. It lunges forward.

The crunch of shattering bones makes Nya feel sick. Blood splatters across the clearing as the bird shakes its head like a dog with a toy, other… debris raining down from its jowls. She didn’t even have time to scream. That must have been a mercy.

The blood pooling on the ground seems to be eagerly absorbed by the ground, leaving swathes of darker spots on the grass.

Nya can see its throat spasm as it swallows what's left of her.

Everything is quiet. The beast’s gills flutter again.

Birdy grabs her arm, snapping out of her trance. “Go!” He orders urgently and quietly.

She turns and runs. She can see Jay ahead of her, and she focuses on not losing him and nothing else. She doesn’t flinch when the vulture-bat roars behind her, and she doesn’t stumble when the earth shakes as it chases after them.

“It’s gaming on us!” Lloyd shouts from somewhere behind her.

“We have to fight!” Cole confirms.

They break out of the forest into muddy earth, the thickness of it sucking at Nya's feet as she tries to run. There are no trees out here in the wastelands- well, no trees big enough to hide behind. The spindly little black plants will do nothing for them now.

She turns around right as the bird explodes from the forest, a looming monster taking up all her vision. Her heart leaps up to her throat. It doesn’t hesitate, covering the land in three long strides before it’s upon them again.

Cole tries to use earth, but the mud is too soft to even slow the beast down. Jay flings lightning but the bird is fast, dodging that and Kai’s fireballs alike. Lloyd hits it heavily on the side with a ball of green energy, and the beast roars in rage as it turns on him. There’s more fighting- fighting is too generous for what they’re doing. Surviving, maybe. Just barely. It’s so angry that any real damage to it just pisses it off even more, too much adrenaline in it’s system to feel any of it.

It bites dangerously close to Cole, whipping it’s long tail back with deadly intent-

SNAP

The tail slams into Birdy's side- hard. It’s enough force to throw him back until he’s tumbling in the mud, coming to a stop on his back.

Black blood streaks across the wet earth.

His whole left side is torn open.

Nya is moving before she can think, “Keep it distracted!” She orders, flying across the mud. She slams down on her knees at Birdy's side, trying to assess the damage- did they pack enough bandages? How bad is it that he most definitely got realm of madness mud all inside his wound?

He has a hand pressed against his side. His glove is soaked through with blood. He makes no attempt to move, “Nya.” he says quietly.

“You’re gonna be fine.” She reassures him immediately, “Just lay still.” She tries to pry his hand away from his side, but he won’t move it.

“Nya, it is too late.” His voice is resigned. She feels like his voice is always resigned, always ready to die, “I need you to listen to me. Please.”

She shakes her head, “Just move your hand. I have medical training, I can help you.”

He acts as if he didn’t even hear her, “You have to go north-east from here. Towards where the sun rises- if you see a tree split in half by a lightning strike, you are going in the right direction.”

“Birdy, move your hand! You’re going to bleed out if you don’t let me stop the flow!”

“Keep walking past that split tree. You’ll see four big mountains in front of you-”

“What are you talking about?” She snaps, stressed and desperate.

“I’m telling you how to get to the mountain of madness.” He says soberly.

She looks at him in disbelief, “Take us there yourself!” She snaps. She pulls on his hand and he lets her, too weak to fight her anymore.

Underneath his torn blue tunic, past the dingy white robes underneath, is glimmering silver skin and a tangled mess of torn wires and gutted tubing. Nya’s brain stalls.

“Nya.” She jerks as if she’s been struck. Everything else vanishes to background noise. That’s not Birdy's voice. It’s softer, higher-pitched. It’s the sound of snowfall and red tailed hawks and fresh baked cookies. It’s the sound of home.

She slowly looks up at him, at that stupid stupid mask. Her eyes are blurry with tears.

“Zane?”

“Watch out!” Jay screams, the sound of the fight behind them blaring reality back into her ears.

She turns around and the beast is upon them. She’s too rattled to think straight-

Zane bursts forward spilling oil and transmission fluid all over the mud. He shoves Nya back, behind himself as he pushes his hand forward in a desperate attempt to change the way this fight ends. A giant pillar of ice shoots out of the mud in front of him and brutally slams into the Vulture-bats chest. Ice spreads at the point of contact, frost swirling up its skin in painful cracks. The beast squawks in startled pain, jerking away from the two before it finally decides the fight isn’t worth it. It flaps it’s massive wings in a panic, scrambling away from the ice and taking flight. It flys like a bat out of hell, it’s ground speed nothing compared to how quickly it takes off towards the horizon.

Zane's knees buckle, and he crashes into the mud and doesn’t move again.

[keter-kan]

Okay!! I've been working on something for a really long time with some oc's that are near and dear to my heart ♡ I've gotten quite a bit already written, a bit less edited. I'm thinking of doing some more in-depth posts about the characters and their lore, if anyone would be interested! Possible first chapter post tomorrow?

Also, you're not allowed to make fun of me for the shit formatting of this post. I'll figure it out eventually, I swear.

tw: heavy mentions of sa, p*dophelia, abuse, death, murder

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Broken Legends

Prologue

Leandra’s father abused her as a child, but everyone could see that clear as day. The people knew of the king’s predilection for little girls, but none seemed to care enough to do much about it. Either that, or their fear was too great to intervene. Blood right, birth right, sovereign right, whatever they wanted to use as an excuse for the deranged, disgusting behavior of the man whose father’s father staked his claim on the coastal kingdom of Aphoreum.

He never touched his son; little boys weren’t his taste. He rarely touched his wife—may her soul flow freely—but she certainly seemed to keep him in line. Until her death, there was a restraint to him that withered away as she did; rotting and leaving a smell no one could erase from his soul.

Queen Imogen died under seemingly un-mysterious circumstances. She didn’t fall suddenly ill after a lifetime of health, she didn’t claim abuse, and she certainly didn’t suspect that someone quite close to her could be the cause of her failing body. Everyone mourned for the appropriate period of time.

Everyone except the children, of course. They still find themselves mourning the idea of a mother they could barely remember. To Leandra, her mother was strong and wise, the way a woman should be. To her older brother, Callum, there was the abandonment of the only woman who would unconditionally love him. She chose to remember a legacy, while he was bound to the anger he felt towards the undeserving dead.

The first child, the original heir, was sickly; an affliction seen often in the more recent royal blood. Really, though, the only difference from the royal blood and that of all peasants was its incestuous nature. That was something the Terrance Reign brought back to the royal line after nearly a century of free marriages.

Heir to Aphoreum, Prince Terance VIII, died peacefully in his sleep on the night of his tenth birthday. Those who said his mother killed him to give him a better life soon found their heads in burlap sacks, so not many say that anymore. It was soon after Terance was dead that their mother went to join him.

Callum was named the successor to the throne just a day after his mother’s funeral. After the grand ceremony, as the succession of High Councilors and Noblemen kissed the stones at Callum’s feet, Leandra’s father took her away where no one would see for the first time.

From that moment forward, Leandra had a new understanding of her place in the palace. While her brother grew up to become the king he wasn’t meant to be, her father taught her what being a woman of royal blood really meant: when her brother left on his journey to become a man, she would go with him and ensure pure heirs.

Aphoreum’s soul was born of the blood shed by those who fought and killed the demons plaguing the land. Countless villages were saved, small kingdoms sprouting throughout. As men pushed forward, demons fled back to the oceans, leaving Aphoreum to be conquered by whoever was left. At least, this is what was taught to the people.

There are thousands of dusty and cracked scrolls of parchment scattered throughout all cities and towns in Aphoreum containing the history of the land; how the Gods rewarded us with lush fields and bountiful rivers for banishing all of their enemies to the sea. That is, to this day, where they are said to dwell.

Things started crumbling at the end of Aphoreum’s War, started by none other than Terrance the First. It took five generations, yet they reigned victorious. For the first time since anyone could remember, the entirety of Aphoreum was ruled under one king. None of the other prior kingdoms were proud of that. With their previous rulers executed during the Reckoning—the day Aphoreum’s War was officially won—they fell into disarray. Villages plundered, women sold to richer men, entire ways of life decimated under the fist of a barbarian king. For King Terrance VII, the duty to uphold total power over all of Aphoreum was a goal only completed by the iron fist of his forebearers. He held to the pride of men who fought for honor while he sat upon his plush throne.

Leandra was literate thanks to an old wetnurse that her father had killed when she was eleven. Once she was no longer needed to feed Leandra’s bastard half siblings, she was sent with the Wind. After that, the only person ever present in Leandra’s life was High Councilor Jonas, a man who never touched her unless to pat the top of her head. He taught her of Natural Chaos and what tarnishes the soul, but he also taught her that there are good odds and ends in the world, too. She just had to look very hard to see them.

Jonas was the sole educator of both Leandra and Callum, but also their father before them. He was a truce sent from the church to Terrance VI, begging him to forgive them for not modifying their scripture the first time he asked. After Grandpa Terrance killed the High Priest residing in the palace chapel, they changed their tune. Jonas, however, understood the weight of the duty he’d been assigned. To teach the young is to mold the innocent in whatever way you see fit. But not every child is as easily molded. Terrance was a child full of hate, instilled in him by his own violent father. Callum seemed to be taking after his father in more ways than one, although Jonas continued every day to try to stray him from that path. Leandra, however, was different.

Before being sent to the palace, Jonas’s congregation of High Councilors—beknown to him or not—swore upon themselves that they would right the wrongs of the Natural Chaos afflicting the royal blood, whether that be by violence or sacrifice or any other means necessary. This was a promise the church sat upon for far too many generations to count if it hadn’t been for the numerals after each king’s name. But they had to bide their time. They had to bend their rules, change their faith, modify their scripture, all to appease the man they planned to overthrow. Another mighty aspect of the Terrance Reign was the slow and steady separation of the church from the crown, an unspoken duty bestowed to each heir as the generations passed.

It was through Jonas that Leandra learned of the world, the scrolls of scripture being her main escape, but not the modified texts of the Terrance Reign. Jonas was molding Leandra to be the savior Aphoreum needed, and this was the beginning.

Leandra would read the stories of the Gods who seemingly abandoned her. She found solace there, between the pages of their legends. The comfort of long forgotten rules set by wrongly worshipped Gods was the only kind of comfort she could afford.

Terrance was of a breed of man who more closely resembled their primal counterparts: feasting, fucking, and fighting. Not much else crossed his mind.

There are those who know better, despite class or background or who sits upon Aphoreum’s throne. But the rage projected by King Terrance found a home in the hearts of his men, creating a society of violence. There were few pockets throughout the kingdom where none could be found, most of which were under attack by those taking after their king.

On the day Callum turned twenty he found himself embarking on just such a conquest, yet one of a much different scale. A Wandering is any man’s rite of passage, giving him a year to stake his claim away from his family someplace else amongst the Waters and Winds. If they never returned after a year’s time, they weren’t ever meant to be a man. With Callum, however, his Wandering was an expedition into the known world with an army at his back and a ship full of wine. As were the odds of all those who could afford it, he would likely return more of a man than those without the gold in their pockets.

It was a simple plan with a grandiose design, allowing a full year of celebration for the future king of Aphoreum. Ships made of the finest timber harvested from the southern coasts, casks of wines and spirits shipped from around Aphoreum, clothes and finery made by request for his highness. With him would go his soon-to-be wife, Leandra.

The relationship Leandra shared with her brother wasn’t one of solidarity. He was to be his father’s spawn as Leandra was to be an instrument in his success. The moments of torture and humiliation caused by her father were in preparation to be used by the future king. Knowing this, she harbored many emotions for him, none of which she understood. She knew he was tainted the same way their father was before him, and their children would be after them, and she prayed that something—anything—could steer her fate in any other direction, for she knew his never would be.

When Jonas approached her after class, crumpled parchment in a High Councilor’s shaking hands, she took it without question. She looked in his eyes and saw the pain he felt, the longing for the Gods to make the world what it once again should be.

When she unfurled the note, she needed no further explanation than what was found there. Stained with the sweat of her mentor’s hands, four simple words bleeding into the page; Jump. You’ll know when.

The final weeks leading to her brother’s Wandering were full of tension. Leandra unfurled the parchment in her hands night after night, feeling the scratches of ink fade away as she rubbed it between her fingers.

Jump.

She could barely contain her excitement. She was going to weasel her way out of the chain of command. The only man who ever truly understood her the way the Gods intended had devised a plan for her to escape.

You’ll know when.

Stiff in her seat at the Grand Table, Leandra watched her plate as the men feasted around her. Tomorrow morning the Wandering would begin, and as the fleet of Aphoreum’s ships left the harbor, she would have to be ready to flee at any moment. She knew what Jonas meant about knowing when: she needed to wait for a message from the Gods. She would pray and worship and fast and deny herself the pleasures of life to prepare herself for the message she knew the Gods would give her. She would be ready.

When the sun rose over the harbor the following morning, Leandra was at peace for the first time since she was last held by her mother. She felt as though there was finally a real purpose to her plight in life and that she would be able to break the mold that her many greats-grandfather had created here. She felt as though she—alone—could crumble the system built by generations of the world’s most appalling men.

They set sail on a glorious day. Callum made a speech just after King Terrance, pushing the entire kingdom into a week-long celebration. Bottles broken, oars heaved, sails unfurled, and they were out of the mouth of harbor in just a few hours’ time.

For the first week of their voyage, Leandra didn’t speak with Callum. Not that he had much to say to her, anyway, besides the remarks of needing to secure an heir before the year’s end. Every night he’d mention it, and every night she’d comply, silently awaiting the sign promised her.

After that first week, Leandra grew a bit restless. And the week that followed that one made her even worse. The further they traveled from Aphoreum, the more the bruises left by her father healed, the more Leandra thought that there wouldn’t be a message, or maybe she had missed it… She started toying with the idea of living a life with her brother and what that could entail for her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of living in a world that her Gods had forsaken, but if she could make her brother see things the way Jonas had intended, maybe there could be a change.

When she finally spoke to her brother, she asked him if he’d care to know her, because, really, they just knew so little of each other.

He said he very much would. He was strong, but he was nervous. He couldn’t ever rule the way his father intended, but he wanted to try.

She said she could help him, if he’d let her.

They were children. What little they could have learned through life was filtered through their father’s vision. But he wasn’t here with them now.

The storm hit just three days from where they would dock. As the rain pelted the decks of the ships and the waves swelled, Callum’s men remained calm. They knew how to work a ship in a storm. For a while, everything remained intact. The fleet, the men, even Leandra.

But the storm became something else. After countless hours of toiling under the whip of rain and wind, the air started to become heavy with the stench of something bigger. As the waves turned from rolling hills to staggering cliffs and the raindrops into daggers, the men started to lose themselves.

The young ones jumped first. Callum was called from his cabin, forced to peel Leandra from his side. As she huddled amongst the furs adorning the mattress, Callum entered into a scene from the pits of the Gods’ hatred.

He was met with a force of nature never defeated by any king. As the ship was flung from one wave to the next, Callum’s men were dropping to their knees and scraping themselves towards the rails, throwing themselves into the raging sea. As he inched over the deck, grabbing the rigging and buckets dropped by his men, he saw a look on their faces that reminded him of his mother’s corpse in her ornate casket; there was no soul within them. Not anymore.

Screams were swallowed by the waves and the winds, words lost and breath wasted. As Callum pleaded with his mean until his throat was bloody and cracked, it overtook him.

She was calling to him. No, no…

Singing.

It was subtle at first, a slow drone playing at the base of his skull, humming away as he grabbed at his men bent on suicide. The more he pleaded, the harder his skull thrummed, filling his head with a desire unknown to man. As the irritation started to spread and his screaming and howling continued to fail, the soft beads of sound started to poke pin-pricks in the humming, driving Callum to gasp and shake with momentary relief before again being swallowed by the desperation. As another wave threw the ship far off course and doused the men in water colder than ice, he broke.

“Mother?”

She was there. Her golden hair cascading down her shoulders, her naked form hovering above the railing of the ship, situated the way a God would be. When Callum locked eyes with her, he felt that she was truly there, waiting for him to reach her.

She called to him, sang to him, cooed over the man he had become. Tears mixed with the rain and sea as they poured down Callum’s cheeks. He slowly made his way towards her.

Leandra emerged from the cabin as the thrumming started to overtake her. Her shift whipping in the wind and her hair matted to her head from the rain, she saw the horrors on deck.

The Gods had sent their message.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, too, but they didn’t get the chance to meet the wood of the ship. Leandra trusted her Gods. She trusted Jonas.

She jumped.

There was no sound as she hit the water. There was no cold embrace of the ocean, no being swallowed by the waves. She let herself be taken fully, succumbing to her fate.

Although she wasn’t expecting pleasure, nor was she expecting the pain.

Hands grabbed at the shift plastered to her skin, ripping it from her body in mere seconds. As the thrumming ceased in the back of her skull, she was taken in a way no one had taken her before. Not the man slaves who lurked after her in the palace, not her brother who she grew to love, not even her father, who defiled her in a way no other living thing could.

While her soul was ripped apart, shredded down to the sand that littered the ocean floor, she knew her Gods had forsaken her.

-

Leandra had no recollection of returning home. One moment she was suffering the pain of all the Natural Chaos, and the next she was dragging herself across the wharf, blood trailing in her wake. The moon was full.

Jonas found her and took her back to her father at the palace.

Her skin was burnt, her hair missing in chunks. Her bones poked through her skin like they wanted to free themselves from its cage. Her eyes drooped in their sunken sockets, unable to comprehend the world around her. She cried her story to Jonas, who begged her father to let a healer see her, even just one from the church. He refused.

For Leandra was with child, and heavily so. Her body, slowly failing her, was feeding something inside of her that wasn’t human.

She was pregnant when Jonas lifted her from the harbor, but the progression of her state was faster than it should’ve been; her stomach bruising and aching and protruding more every day. Her bones became brittle, her legs sitting at crooked angles and her neck unable to support the weight of her head. Upon the next full moon, when the tides were high, Leandra called for Jonas with what little strength she had left.

He leaned down to her ear, her breath almost too light to decipher the words.

“Please,” she whimpered, “don’t let him kill my daughter.”

That night, as her screams of labor began, Jonas pleaded once again with the king. Terrance, with a glare in his eye, allowed for a wetnurse from the palace chapel. He wouldn’t permit anyone besides himself and Jonas in the chambers, let alone a practiced healer. The nurse was the most she would get.

When she arrived, the horror that overcame her hit a part of her soul that hadn’t ever been touched before. The king demanded death to the child upon delivery, bolting the door behind them as he left.

When Jonas asked her to defy him, her soul said yes, as the woman had done for him many times before.

She died without seeing the full moon that night. As her child took their first breath, Leandra took her last.

Her child was a beautiful monster. A writhing mass of body, shifting in form while the wetnurse clung to his mottled skin. Within a moment, the child opened his eyes, and ceased being a monster. He was a baby, covered in his mother’s blood, eyes peering into those of the woman who held him.

When the king asked for proof of the death of the monster upon the following morn, Jonas provided a mangled piglet’s corpse. The wetnurse, covered in cattle entrails, told Terrance it took more work than she’d have thought to kill such a small beast. He was satisfied.

Leandra’s body was burned in the kitchen fires by Jonas’s hand, as Terrance commanded. There would be no funeral. There would be no knowledge of the children who failed at their Wandering. That would be the end of their stories. Terrance would find a concubine to produce a legitimate heir amongst the few cousins he had left. Aphoreum would live on.

But so did Leandra’s child, deep in a forest untouched by man, left in the hands of powerful women that the Gods would grow to fear.

[divine-donna]

i gave a second chance to cupid

i’ve been listening to fifty fifty’s song “cupid” on repeat. not because i totally don’t completely relate to it or anything (i absolutely do).

but i thought it’d be cute to include what a second chance romance would be like with the hotd crew. so enjoy!! (this is by no means following the song, because that would make this post very angsty)

ser criston cole

the two of you had to separate. criston became a knight and your lover had to leave you. you two were children then. you came to king’s landing as an adult and with a child of your own. you would begin work in the palace while your child became a close friend with the princess helaena. and it was completely random how you ran into him. you were bringing something to the queen and there he was. and when criston’s eyes met yours, you saw them melt like years ago. but the two of you pretended to not know each other at moment and you left soon after. but at night, you saw him again and he held your hand with such tenderness it almost made you weep.

“we have been apart for years. i did not expect to see you in king’s landing, ever. but i am happy that fate has allowed us to reconcile.”

daemon targaryen

daemon had a fondness for driftmark, for many reasons. one of them was you. you two were lovers long ago, lovers once. but as time passed, you two had to separate due to duties. he had to leave and he didn’t come back for a while. and when he returned with laena, you were not there either. it wasn’t until the dance did he see you. you had carved your own way, formed a small army that was well trained. and you came to pledge to rhaenyra’s claim. you were still as attractive as before.

“it is a lovely surprise to see you here, dear (y/n). how long has it been? years?...well, people change. my hair is shorter than before, i know. but it is good to have you here and to be able to spend time with you again.”

rhaenyra targaryen

being the crowned heir, the princess, the realm’s delight, made things very difficult. when it came to wanting certain relationships, she was restricted y her status to maintain a certain image and to not pursue who she really wanted. she wanted you but her marriage to laenor velaryon would not allow for it. and you were too heartbroken to see your lover with someone else. you disappeared off the face of westeros for years. and you didn’t come back until after the dance when rhaenyra sat on the throne. and when she saw you enter the great hall, she almost lept from the iron throne.

“time has treated you well, (y/n). you come richer than when we first met, a successful merchan, and with gifts. your generous spirit has no wavered, i see. come join me in my chambers after the feast.”

alicent hightower

you died. you died before the two of you could run away together. she saw you killed right before her eyes and resigned herself to a life of duty and sacrifice. alicent suffered many years without you, thinking about how happy she would have been to be with you alone. when the war ended and rhaenyra took the throne, the queen decided to show mercy. but the leader of the greens would be banished from the lands of westeros, exiled. there was a sort of pain in her heart when thinking about that, about not being alive after her children and grandchildren had been killed. but when she saw who was manning the boat to take her away, she could not believe her eyes.

“i...i had to be sure it was you. i saw you die! killed by robbers! how are you? have the gods shown mercy? did the stranger decide not to guide you into the afterlife!”

aegon targaryen

right before the greens completely crushed the blacks, you had disappeared. aegon assumed that you, his longtime lover, had been taken prisoner when the blacks took control of king’s landing. but when looking through the cells, you were nowhere to be found. he assumed you had been killed when his grandfather was and when his sister-wife had jumped out of the window. years later into his kinghood, he spots a familiar face in court: you. you don’t seem to notice him, but he notices you. and that you’re dressed up in nice silks and with jewels and rings.

“it has been a long time (y/n). where have you been? i had the every inch of the red keep searched to find you, even a body. even all throughout king’s landing. and nothing. but here you are now, in front of me.”

aemond targaryen

becoming a successful war general required sacrifices. he had to sacrifice his devotion to you for the sake of his brother’s throne, even if he didn’t deserve it. you were too heartbroken and ran back to your home, disappeared from the war. during the nights, aemond would wonder where you were, what you were doing, what you were wearing, if you were reading and sleeping enough. no matter how much attention his betrothed tried to get from him, floris baratheon got none. and eventually, she died during the war. an unfortunate tragedy. but years later, he still wondered about you. sure he took lovers on occasion, but they didn’t last for long. that was until one day, when a rising vassal house under the lannisters entered the great hall, aemond saw you. you saw him too, but paid him no mind despite the fact that the only man who had your heart had aged like fine wine.

“(y/n), it has been a long time. i see that time has been rather kind to you....of course i have many questions. but now is not the time to ask, not during my nephew’s name day feast. see me in my room later so we can catch up.”

helaena targaryen

the world has changed. a woman ascending to the iron throne shook up the social rules of westeros. being banished from westeros was not as bad as it seemed to be. helaena just wished that you, her lover from long ago, were with her. it was quite lonely to be traveling, but she was making a decent living working at an inn. why had you disappeared? where had you disappeared to? she asked herself these questions as she worked. but when she went down to the market, she saw the face of someone familiar shucking oysters and asking her if she would like to try one.

“these oysters...they’re good. and fresh. i think the inn could use a few of these. you should come over some time. our food is quite good actually.”

jacaerys velaryon

the two of you were not meant to be. at least when you first saw each other. two opposite sides of a war. jace found it suitable that the two of you not interact. it made perfect sense. your family pledged fidelity to the greens and by default, that was who you were aligned with. he hadn’t seen you for years. the battle for the iron throne was rough but his mother won, sitting on the chair that controls the entirety of the continent. and he was the prince, her crowned heir. it’s been years since then. running courts is quite tiresome. but who enters the great hall but you, having ascended to take over your house for the time being.

“welcome (y/n). i presume you are here to give us your grievances. please know you can talk to me. anytime, anywhere.”