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princessbellecerise · 1 year ago

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Happily Ever After

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | How the Yandere!HOTD characters would react after being told by your father that they cannot marry you

warnings | Smut, mentions of pregnancy, yandere behavior, public sex, violence, mentions of death and sword fights

this fic is eighteen plus. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys Velaryon

Prince Jacaerys grows desperate upon being told he cannot marry you

The usual level-headed and reasonable Prince that people are used to seeing quickly goes out of the window and is replaced by a man desperate to do anything to have you

Not having you by his side was not part of his plan, and it’s simply not an option

Jace absolutely refuses to have anyone else as his partner, and he’ll be damned if you marry anyone but him

After being told no by your father, Jace begins to spiral

Anyone can see that the Prince is clearly not happy, and his behavior starts to become panicked and irrational

Rhaenyra tells him to let it go; to let you go but she doesn’t understand. How can Jace let you go when you’re everything he’s ever wanted?

He tells, no begs your father to reconsider, tells him that he can’t imagine spending his life with anyone else but you

Jace tries to get him to see just how in love the two of are, but unfortunately your father still tells him no. And it’s nothing against Jace, he reassures the prince, but it’s just that—much to everyone’s surprise—your father has already made arrangements to betroth you to someone else

You of course have absolutely no knowledge of this, and you’re stunned when your father apologizes to Jace but it’s still a big, fat no

He sends you both away and tells you not to ask again because everything is final. And even when you burst into tears, begging your mother to not let him do this, your father doesn’t budge

“This alliance is vital for our House, Y/N. I’m sorry, but you will not be marrying the Prince.”

That night, you go to bed absolutely devastated and of course, you want nothing more than for Jace to comfort you. You wish to sneak out and go to his chambers like you normally do, but your father is smarter than you anticipated

As if he knew exactly what you intended to do, he asks Rhaenyra to place a royal guard at your door

No one is allowed in and no one is allowed out, which makes your plan of seeing Jace impossible

You beg and you plead, but the guard does not budge. He simply tells you go back to bed and alas, you do not see Jacaerys that night. Or any night after that

It seems that your father is intentionally keeping you away from the prince, whisking you away every time he tries to approach or arranging your schedule so that you do not run into him

Additionally, there seems to be a guard present for every little thing you do, so sneaking away isn’t an option

If you do so happen to even see Jace, it’s only through fleeting glances and the lack of contact begins to drive you both insane

You can’t stand being away from one another and time is running out. The only reason your family is in King’s Landing is because your father was there for business, but soon he will be finished and you’ll have to go back to your homeland. Without Jace, to marry someone else

The sheer thought of it gives you anxiety, but you’ve exhausted your pleas and by now you know that your father won’t listen

There’s nothing you or Jace can do to change his mind—or at least, that’s what you think

Two days before you’re supposed to leave though, a sudden knock on the door shocks you. When you open it, you’re expecting it to be one of your family members, but nothing—absolutely nothing—prepares you to see Jace standing on the other side; the guard knocked out, Jace’s fist bloody, and a wild look in his brown eyes

When you ask him what the hell happened, Jace responds by telling you that he can’t live without you, and that he was willing to do whatever it took to make you his

He couldn’t let you leave without doing something, and so that night, the prince takes you in every position that he can think of. Missionary, doggy style, against the wall, on the balcony

Anything to breed your pretty little cunt, anything to make sure that his seed takes

Jace hates it, he hates breaking the rules and as heir he knows what he’s doing is wrong

He knows that impregnating you while not being married could potential ruin him, you, and his mother. He knows how the greens would react to a bastard having a bastard, but he’s so afraid of losing you that he doesn’t care

Jace risks everything that night just to make sure that you stay by his side; and it works

A few days later, you still end up leaving with your family but on the journey back home you pray to the Gods that your plan works

You pray that Jacaerys’ seed takes root in your womb and to your utter excitement, you prayers come true

A few short weeks after returning home, you notice that your moon blood hasn’t come and you start to get sick nearly every morning

You’re barely well enough to attend any meetings with your so-called ‘betrothed,’ and it doesn’t take long for someone to catch onto your symptoms

When your maids discover what’s going on, they immediately tell your mother, who in turn tells your furious father

When you finally break the news, you swear that you had never seen him get so angry before. Had your mother not been holding him back, you were sure that he would’ve strangled you where you stood

Alas though, as much as he wanted to wring your neck he knew that harming the future Queen of Westeros would not be a wise decision

After all, there were no doubts about who the father of your unborn child was, and as soon as the news broke your father had furiously written to Rhaenyra and informed her of the situation

As soon you arrived in King’s Landing, you were all but thrown into a wedding gown, modified to fit over your stomach of course

But either way, you and Jace get exactly what you want—the opportunity to spend forever together, and six moons later, a healthy, chunky baby that just so happens to be born three moons sooner than anyone expected

Aegon Targaryen

Aegon is angry when your father tells him no

And it’s not just because of the rejection, it’s also because he knows—Aegon knows that the only reason he says no is because your father doesn’t think he’s good enough for you

In fact, your father flat-out tells him this, and to make things even worse, your father declares that you’ll marry his brother instead—the responsible, honorable Aemond

Like hell Aegon would ever let that happen

You are the one thing Aegon has that Aemond doesn’t. Someone to love and genuinely care for him, and Aegon isn’t going to let that go so easily

He has half a mind to draw his sword and kill your father on the spot for even suggesting such a vile idea, but you beg him not to. Despite heavily disagreeing with your father’s decision, you tell Aegon that there’s other ways to get him to change his mind that doesn’t involve bloodshed

Surprisingly, Aegon listens to you but you should’ve known it was only because he had already thought of something worse

You didn’t know it, but when Aegon lures you into his chambers the next day, he’s come up with a plan

He knows exactly how to get your father to change his mind, and his plan starts the moment he has you naked

Unfortunately, it’s not the first time you and Aegon have fucked so bedsheets are no use to him. No, your lover has to get a bit more creative than that

Somehow, Aegon convinces you to try something new and you end up bent over the Prince’s balcony as he fucks you from behind, his cock driving in and out of your slick cunt

It’s the middle of the day and what you’re doing is beyond risky, not only because you’re not married, but also because literally anyone could look up and see the two of you

You see, the Prince’s balcony just so happened to overlook the training yard, and though it was empty at the moment, Aegon knew exactly when it got crowded

All he had to do was wait for his chance, fucking you so good that you didn’t even grasp the situation

You were none the wiser as to what was happening, eyes closed as you basked in the pleasure. You moaned his name and clenched around his cock, feeling a familiar pinch in your stomach

Just as you reached your peak, you began to hear shouting from below

Startled gasps and a few screams had your eyes flying open, Aegon smirking as you caught the attention of at least twenty people—one of whom was your father

He stood, horrified as the prince locked eyes with him. Seemingly taunting him as he rutted into you, moaning and still fucking you against the railing

Aegon swore that he had never came so hard in his life—expect maybe on your wedding night less two days later, the memory of your father’s face and the satisfaction of getting what he wanted fueling what he calls, “The best fuck of his goddamn life.”

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon is amused upon being told no

He’s amused and it’s because he never really asked for permission in the first place. It was more like…a courtesy warning, and he only did it because he knew you were too scared to tell your father yourself

After all, the Rouge Prince has a reputation and it’s not exactly squeaky clean. Daemon’s track record with his wives is why your father said no, but he should’ve known that no isn’t in Daemon Targaryen’s vocabulary

In fact, Daemon merely laughs in your father’s face, declaring that the two of you will be married in a fortnight, regardless of what your father says

Show up or don’t, Daemon doesn’t care—but you will be his wife

And of course, your father protests, appalled that the prince is so bold

He even goes as far as to complain to the King, but Viserys is old and weak. There’s seldom that he can do to fight Daemon anymore except threaten to exile him again, but Daemon isn’t afraid of punishment

He’ll gladly leave the hell hole that’s King’s Landing, but he makes it clear that if he does, Westeros will never see him or you again

He relays this threat to your father, and in his desperation to keep you away from the Prince, your father all but flees in the middle of the night. Making sure that no one except those loyal to your House know where he’s taking you

Despite your protests and your attempts to alert Daemon, you’re dragged on a boat and shipped off to a far away land, one where your father hopes the Prince will never find you

He even goes so far as to change your hair and make up a fake identity for you, but he was a fool to think that he could ever cross Daemon Targaryen

If the Prince wasn’t annoyed with your father before, then Daemon is most certainly furious when he learns that he’s all but kidnapped you

He sets to work on finding you almost immediately, and he swears once he does he’ll kill anyone that helped with this ridiculous scheme

He starts his search by fiercely questioning all of the guards and servants that were tending to you. And because he’s Daemon Targaryen, it doesn’t take long to get the answers he’s looking for

With one look at Caraxes, the so-called men that were loyal to your house end up folding pretty quickly. Daemon has them all but fighting each other to give up your location, though unfortunately their honesty isn’t enough to spare their lives

In his pursuit to get where you are, Daemon leaves a trail of bodies

He kills anyone that he suspects of helping your father, though his rage won’t be satisfied until he confronts the man himself

And what do you know—your father truly is a fool of a man because it turns out that he took you to Pentos. Pentos, the land where Daemon Targaryen lived for years

Why he thought that was a good idea, no one knows. Perhaps he thought that hiding you in plain sight would be enough to fool Daemon, but unfortunately the rouge Prince is much too smart for that

And due to all of the connections Daemon has in the city (and his dragon) it takes him less than a week to locate you

He finds you hiding just on the outskirts of the city, in some rundown village. You look miserable as you chat with some of the locals, hatching your own plans to escape and somehow get back to Daemon

Your father was asleep in the house that you shared, though the beat of Caraxes’ wings are enough to alert you both, your father waking up and running outside just as Daemon lands in front of you

The Prince wears a smirk of triumph as he dismounts his dragon, taking in your father’s horrified face and laughing

He enjoys the moment almost as much as he enjoys the way you immediately run to you, ignoring your father’s protests and shouts to come back

It’s obvious who you choose by the way you hang onto Daemon, hiding behind him while Caraxes roars

There’s a moment where everything seems to stand still, and Daemon drinks in his moment of victory before slowly gesturing you towards his dragon, helping you mount

As you climb onto the red beast, Daemon slipping in the saddle behind you, the last thing your father sees is the smirk that adorns Daemon’s face

Lilac eyes with with his own, and then, Prince’s lips utter a single word

“Dracarys.”

Lucerys Velaryon

Poor Luke is devastated when your father rejects his proposal

It took all he had to muster up the courage to even ask, and now he’s crushed that he won’t be able to marry the love his life

Not only that, Luke genuinely cannot see himself with anyone else. You’re it for him, and he’s determined to be with you no matter what

Call it young love or maybe just sheer stupidity, but one night Luke sneaks into your chambers and hatches a plan

He tells you that there’s a way for you to be together, a way for you to have your happy ending after all. All you have to do is come with him, and he’ll take you to a place where no one, including your father, can come between you two ever again

And that night, when you flee with the Prince on the back of Arrax, it almost feels like a fairytale. You’ve never felt more alive than you did as you watched the Red Keep disappear into the night

With your heart beating as fast as Arrax’s wings, you and Luke run away, neither of you thinking of the consequences, or caring

You’re just so happy to be together that everything else falls into the background. Caught up in your own bliss, you and Luke flee to Essos where the Prince has arranged for you to be married

Like he promised, no one is there to object or to stop you from becoming one. They’re all too busy in King’s Landing looking for you both, your mother distraught and your father wondering what happened to his youngest child

Likewise, Rhaneyra nearly collapses when she finds out that Luke is missing, but Daemon reassures her he’ll be back. He doesn’t know when, he tells her, but he has a sneaking suspicion that when he does you’ll be in tow

And what do you know—four moons go by and it turns out that Daemon was right. You and Luke return to King’s Landing after all, and upon arrival you’re greeted by your weeping mother and your

concerned father

They both have so many questions—where have you been, what happened, why did you run away?

And everyone is so focused on questioning you, so relieved that the Prince isn’t dead after all, that they almost miss the glaringly obvious bump that’s concealed behind your blue dress

Almost

You try to hide it as best as you can, but when your father pulls you in for a hug you know that he can feel it. The horrified expression he wears when he pulls away confirms this. And when you back away, placing a loving hand over your stomach and settling into Luke’s arms, that is when he also takes note of the matching Velaryon pins on your clothes

“We have something to announce,” Luke tells his mother excitedly

You both share a loving look, and Rhaneyra’s eyes are ready to pop out of her skull when Luke places a hand over your stomach and grins

“Y/N is with child.”

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond takes your father’s words as a challenge

Despite how irritated he is at being flat-out rejected, he decides not to lash out or show any emotion really

For Aemond, keeping a level head is important. It allows him to plan, to strategize like he’s always been taught and to be able to stay one step ahead

He supposes he’s just like his grandfather in a way, and it’s obvious that your father underestimates just how far Aemond is willing to go for you

The first man that your father agrees to betroth you to only lasts about five minutes in the duel Aemond challenges him to

The second fairs a little better, though not by much. By the third, your father is furious and it’s become a game for Aemond to see how fast his opponent can last before they ultimately meet their maker

He wears a smirk the entire time he’s fighting, easily ducking and dodging and occasionally striking which wounds the man heavily. It’s obvious that he’s going to win, again, and the sobs and screams from the Lord’s family are hard to miss

They sit next to you in the crowd that surrounds him and Aemond, and every time Aemond lands a blow your father flinches, muttering under his breath how it was a mistake to ever let you meet that man

You on the other are ecstatic, occasionally locking eyes with Aemond and sending him encouraging smiles

You pray after each duel that your father will finally change his mind and allow you to marry Aemond, but it’s not until after the fourth duel does he agree

After a particularly bloody and grueling fight, there are no more proposals. Every Lord that had ever considered asking for your hand is now too terrified to even speak to you, and with the lack of marriage offers your father has no choice but to admit defeat

He agrees to marry you to Aemond, and of course, Aemond feels victorious. He smugly thanks your father for his reconsideration, shaking his hand and promising that he won’t be regretting his decision

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five-rivers · 6 months ago

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Little thing inspired by various Justice League summons Danny posts I've seen about.

Interdimensional travel was hard.

It was a true statement, and one that, in retrospect, was obvious. Of course interdimensional travel was hard. It was reaching out of your reality and into one that had an entirely different set of rules. However, having an interdimensional portal in one's basement tended to skew one's understanding of these things. That was why it took Danny so long to realize that the Observants were actually worried about him.

"Wait," he said, looking up from the (admittedly very passive-aggressive) report the crowd of Observants had just dropped on his (already crowded) desk. "You want to change my summoning ritual because you think other dimensions might hurt my human half?"

"Some of them certainly will," said one of the Observants, testily.

"I didn't know you cared about that," said Danny, still somewhat stunned.

"We normally wouldn't," admitted the Observant, "but although the position of Ghost King is, politically, a figurehead, you are metaphysically vital to the Realms as a whole. Damage to you is to be avoided, when possible."

"Uh huh," said Danny, looking back down at the summoning ritual change paperwork. Although, through a combination of Danny's own nature and the nature of time across dimensional barriers, Danny still looked fourteen and spent a great deal of his time going to school in Amity Park, he had years of experience interpreting the Observants' paperwork under his belt. "Yeah, it's just that I don't think this is the best way to, like. Do that."

"It is the best way to protect you!" said the Observant who had, apparently, been selected as the group's spokesperson.

"Maybe," agreed Danny, who wasn't entirely sure that was true. "But I feel like some of these modifications would kind of be a problem for wherever I wound up."

"Then they ought not to summon you."

While Danny agreed with that sentiment in spirit (getting summoned was almost always inconvenient and annoying), in practice, he wasn't so sure. "I don't think there's any way to communicate that to the guys who are summoning me. Like, some of them get me with old Pariah Dark rituals. And most of them don't really care if their mistakes screw over other people, so..."

"Next to the well-being of the Realms, that is a minor concern."

Danny didn't disagree with that, but he wasn't about to waste time arguing with the Observants about it. They just didn't get it. He tapped his finger on another section that was bothering him. "Also, this seems to keep me from getting out of the summoning circle at all. If someone is summoning me to ask for help, that's going to keep me from doing much."

"It will also keep you from inadvertently exiting into a hostile environment."

"Even in my home universe?" asked Danny, pointedly. "This seems like something more geared to imprisonment than protection."

The Observants were silent.

"Oh, come on, guys, really? Again?"

The Observants scattered.

Danny sighed and picked up the paperwork. He didn't think it was all bad ideas, honestly, but he needed a second opinion that hadn't tried to stuff him in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep Mark 2.

Maybe Clockwork would look it over for him.

"It isn't an entirely terrible concept," said Clockwork, "except for the obvious drawbacks."

"The whole being trapped in the summoning circle bit," said Danny.

Clockwork nodded. "To be fairer than they deserve, there is no way to modify that portion of a summoning ritual in some types of universes but not others. Not from our own side of things, in any case."

"And I mostly can't get at the other side," said Danny with a groan. He perched on the back of Clockwork's chair. "I do want to make sure that I, I don't know, fit with other universes enough that I won't completely demolish them just by existing."

Clockwork hummed. "There are some ways to do that. There are drawbacks, however."

"Bigger drawbacks than accidentally nuking a planet because my radiation is different than theirs?"

"It depends on your perspective, I suppose."

Danny sighed. "Go ahead and tell me, then."

Clockwork picked up a pen. "You are a shapeshifter. You have multiple forms, one of which cannot be harmed through any normal means and which similarly would have little negative affect on the environment unless you acted to cause negative effects. Change the current ritual so that a summoning puts you in that form, and then further change it so that you cannot leave the circle unless you are in a form that will not automatically cause harm or be harmed by the laws of that universe."

"You mean my Ghost King form."

"All your forms are your Ghost King form."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," said Clockwork, smiling.

"It freaks people out, though."

"Your current form might, as you say, freak people out," said Clockwork. "If your summoners were, say, ants."

"Is that likely?"

"Not particularly. But consider the multiverse. Not all of your summoners will be human."

Danny crossed his arms, frustrated that there wasn't an easy solution. "I guess I could always shapeshift into something nonthreatening after. Hard to see if it's something safe without running into

"You can do more than that."

"I can?"

"Yes," said Clockwork, setting the pen to paper. "Let me show you."

The summoning circle shimmered and shivered as Constantine and Zatanna recited the chant, their voices rising and falling. Batman and other members of the League stood by, watching, waiting.

This, this ritual, wasn't their first choice. It wasn't their second, third, or fourth choice, either. But nothing else they had tried worked, and the entire world was at stake.

They were summoning the King of All Ghosts. An eldritch monstrosity that had once tried to conquer all realities. But the alternative was worse. Much worst. At least, with the King of All Ghosts, there was a chance that they could negotiate and that it'd want the Earth more or less intact for the sake of conquering it. At least, with this kind of summoning, they could offer a sacrifice, a bargain, a deal.

And if Constantine was good at anything, it was deals.

The lines of the summoning circle flared green, then pure white, and, without any other fanfare, the King of All Ghosts was there.

It filled the circle with starry darkness, struck with nebulae and aurorae. The clouds rippled as a star died near its heart, fiery cataclysms spreading throughout the being. A crown like the accretion disk of a black hole burned around its highest extremity.

Something like a voice, echoing and many-layered, emanated from the being. "Nghftùsh phlarûm âzgûm (1)." It paused, and the League felt it examine the area more closely. "Ko wgâ âzgûm nghftùsh derza. Ko gok hubhûfh fhtù gâh mglwnuh...(2)"

Constantine swore. "Oh, bollocks, I don't know that one. Would it be too much to ask that one of these things speak English? Just a little?"

"Nghftùsh ak. Ko ngngi. (3)"

"Zatanna," said Batman, "could a spell let us understand one another?"

"Kù-nghînku bùr fùmúu umni snîgûrip. (4)" It seemed to bend closer for all that it didn't move. "Nghftùsh laglúfhâk krîk ko phlî ak phlorza. Chthe nî hîhnâ, ka. (5)"

"I think I understand a little," said Captain Marvel, raising a hand. "I think it understands us just fine."

"Hagthu. Nghftùsh ngngi ùk nî chthe kûmpù nû gâ. (6)"

"It wants to get out of the circle," said Captain Marvel.

The veils of green light that shrouded the being rippled. "Dal phlù. (7)"

"Not without an agreement in place, you're not," said Constantine.

"Gagthashîzgathg. (8)"

"God," whispered Flash, "that hurts my throat just hearing it."

Batman shot him a glare, then stepped forward. They'd prepared a list of demands. Most of them were negotiable, but it was better to start something like this with things you were willing to remove or throw away. It took several minutes for Batman to read the whole thing.

"Ku. Chthal lohúfhâk hagthu. Fhta nghftùsh kâk phlorza ko thru. (9)"

"What did it say?" asked Batman.

"I'm... I think it said it'll do it, but it needs something from us in return."

Batman nodded. They'd expected something like this. Whatever it asked for, it would, without a doubt, be exorbitant. Then, they'd go back and forth, reducing each of their demands until they'd reached a deal both sides hated, but could accept. Constantine had bet that, at minimum, the King of All Ghosts would want the entire population of Earth as slaves.

"Nghftùsh kâk hû ko mglwno nî phnglâ gho-lobi. (10)"

"Uh," said Captain Marvel. "I think he said one of our lives."

"Hik! Rlo phlarâk kruk nîk ghû. (11)"

"Not just any of us," said Marvel. "It has to be someone who's a parent."

A tension fell over the room. They'd known they'd have to sacrifice something. A single life wasn't much, but for the King of All Ghosts to specify a parent...

"But are you sure it's just one?" pressed Constantine.

The King of All Ghosts gave off a sense of... exasperation? "Úzg, hû. (12)"

"One," said Captain Marvel. "Just one."

"And just us, not our kids or anything?"

"Nghftùsh ngngi ùk e nghuu. Gù phlarâk fush ko du? (13)"

"No, it doesn't want children. They're... wrong, somehow?"

"And it's not a sex thing?" Constantine sounded... strangely hopeful.

"Hik! Fhtùl! (14)"

"No," said Captain Marvel. "And... something about fat, maybe?"

"Oh, we're definitely getting eaten, then," said Constantine, with forced cheer. "I volunteer, then. It's not like my kids are sitting up waiting for me or anything."

"Hik nuk. Ngngi ko. E hâta phlarâk lerzaolûm. (15)"

"Not you, there's... something wrong with your soul."

"Oh, he's a picky eater, too, huh?"

"Let's not antagonize him, okay?" said Flash. "He's kind of-- He's kind of looming, right now."

And so it was. Somehow. Without moving.

"Who will... satisfy you?" asked Batman.

The entity did not move, but it managed to indicate Batman anyway.

"Very well," said Batman, before anyone could even attempt to talk him out of it. After all, his life for the lives of everyone in this universe was a very good deal. "Take me."

For the first time, the King of All Ghosts moved, all that darkness, all that light, rushing towards Batman.

There was a burst of blinding light.

When everyone opened their eyes again, a boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a jawline that bore more than a passing resemblance to Batman's was stepping out of the summoning circle.

"That's much better," he said, stretching. "No offense, dude, but you kind of suck at Ghost Speak." He turned to Batman. "What I was asking for was a template so I could exist in your universe and do what you want without accidentally blowing it up because of incompatible physics, but whatever. Not sure how you guys got me eating you out of that."

"You wanted a human appearance so you could better conquer this world?" asked Batman.

"Uh, no? You've got a pretty strong clause against conquering the world in your paperwork there. You're probably thinking about Pariah Dark, but he's old news." The boy smiled widely. "Let's get started on your problem, okay?"

I've been summoned.

You haven't summoned me before. You have a nice space station here...

I can. You can't.

Inter-dimensional language differences are so annoying.

I hope you can do something. This will be difficult, otherwise.

Good. I don't want to be in this circle forever.

Close enough.

Figures (literally, 'certainly').

Okay. That sounds good. But I need something from you.

I need one of you to be my template (literally, life-pattern).

No! It's like being a parent.

Yes, one.

I don't want your children. What is wrong with you?

No! Gross!

No way. Not you. You're crazy (literally, your soul is cracked).

#danny phantom #DPxDC #dp/dc

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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

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size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.

you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.

your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)

and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—

he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.

after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.

"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.

maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.

his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.

you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?

he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.

he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.

"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.

an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.

his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.

and he's only halfway in.

your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.

his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)

simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.

"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.

when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--

"harder."

he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.

your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.

simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...

you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.

(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")

#someone give our poor reader a bag of ice #and pain relief medicine #the dr recommends 2-3 days of bed rest to recover from that pussy slaughter #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x you

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bunnygirllover45 · 7 months ago

Text

— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?”

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.”

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.”

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.”

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips.

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter.

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center.

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.”

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.”

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.”

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

#ah yes #is that #“the author's thinly veiled fetishes“ moment #anyways hope u guys don't mind me nerding about hunting...#male yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #chrona... writes stuff?#johann the bastard

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tovibeornottovibe · 2 months ago

Text

Don't Panic

Friend!Nesta x Reader | Azriel x Reader (ish)

based on this request (thank you @suppppp97! i hope this meets your request, i had a ball writing it)

Nesta doesn't like you. Never has, not since the first time Azriel introduced you as his mate, and you chalked it up to a personality clash; namely, Nesta being prickly and you being, well, you. You had thought that was how it was going to stay, but when you and Nesta get captured by Illyrians, you have to work together, and you find yourself understanding each other a little more. You might even end up friends. [10.3k words]

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, Nesta and reader being assholes to each other (at the start), reader being a BAMF, plot, interrogation, az being a softie at the end

Prefer to read on Ao3? | masterlist

You have to laugh. Just a day ago, you and Azriel were out on the balcony of the House of Wind, eating breakfast, talking about this upcoming mission like it was a sunday stroll over honeyed tea and buttered scones. As new as your mating bond is, it’s easy to take that gentle, domestic intimacy for granted. Now, your legs ache, your head is throbbing from lack of water, and you can’t quite feel your fingers for the burning cold. What’s worse, you’re stuck in this fucking cave in the middle of fucking nowhere with who else but Nesta fucking Archeron.

Truly, for whatever reason, she can’t stand you, and over these past few months, you’ve learnt to live with it. She’s hardly ingratiated herself to you in any case. Little digs here and there, things about how different you and Az are. You’re loud; he’s quiet. He’s tall; you’re, comparatively, short. You get paperwork done as quickly as possible; Az is as diligent as they come. He’s a broody, secretive male; and you’re a little ray of sunshine, his words, not yours, even in your angstier moments. When you talk, he listens and, well, Az doesn’t exactly talk much at all, does he? After that first meeting, when Az introduced you to the Inner Circle, she said, “Opposites attract, I suppose,” and you realised that you and her just wouldn’t click.

You don’t care. Az doesn’t care, even if it has soured their friendship somewhat. Not even Cassian cares. But by the gods, if it wouldn’t make jobs like this one a whole lot easier if you could just be civil with one another.

The Blood Rite. Heightened tensions. Pissy Illyrians with a penchant for making things difficult. You were sent to find out if there was going to be any trouble this time around.

You know the Steppes pretty well from your days travelling through the Court as a merchant, then you got to know the more dangerous parts as a mercenary when the trade dried up during Amarantha’s reign. You have contacts here with some of the more amenable war bands and it’s for this expertise that Cassian wanted you to come, so you could speak with those who are less willing to talk to a General. Azriel, of course, was never going to let you come to Illyria without protection, and Nesta scares the camp lords so much that she could be used as extra leverage if things took a turn. So, it was the four of you who headed off.

It should have been you and Azriel together. It should have been fine.

There had never been problems in Stonecross. It’s a camp tucked away by the northern coast of the Court, fairly progressive as far as Illyrian camps go, and absolutely vital for trade—particularly for the medicinal professions. In the rocky, sea-facing caves in the mountain under the camp exist the perfect conditions for certain plants to grow: fungi, flowers, some things not even Madja would fully understand the uses of.

You all realise too late that they put it, whatever it was, in the food. You’d been too complacent. Too trusting. It didn’t even take ten minutes before the four of you started to feel drowsy, then nauseous, and then, in horror, you saw Az’s shadows drop off his body, like the magic which kept them tied to him had suddenly vanished.

You don’t really remember what happened next, it’s all a blur, but you got grabbed, flown (or maybe winnowed, it is the days before the Blood Rite after all), and now, you’re here…

You’re in a carved-out room of black, damp stone, the only light coming through the slight crack under a boulder which covers what looks to be a doorway. The air is thin, and you have to be far down because you can feel the heavy pressure in the fluid of your ears. Though you aren’t in chains, it feels oppressive, like you had been thrown in a prison cell and forgotten about.

At least Nesta’s still out cold. You wince at yourself for the thought, but honestly, you wouldn’t be able to think straight if she was hissing comments at you. In the sliver of light, you can see that she seems uninjured, as are you, and her breathing is steady, like she’d been knocked out without a fight. Sometime soon, you’ll need her up (unconscious, she’s a liability), but for as long as you can, you’ll take the drip-drip-drip through the walls as your only company.

The first thing you need to do is let Az know you’re awake, to try and see if he’s close by or if he needs help. You pull on the mating bon—

The mating bond.

You can’t—you can’t feel it. Another wave of nausea washes over you as you bolt up from the ground. The thread between the two of you, this new, wonderful, golden string which calls you to him time and time again, the Mother’s blessing which binds you together, it’s slack in your chest. Still there, thank the gods, but… useless. You can’t feel him anymore. Not even the little bits he sends you every now and then, when Cassian makes him laugh or he sees something that reminds him of you. It’s all gone. Like losing a limb.

You press your back against the cool stone of the room and remember to breathe. Force yourself to feel the rock beneath your feet, to focus, to think.

Azriel, you know, you trust, will be okay. He has to be. Maybe he’s disorientated like you are, being held somewhere, either in Cassian’s company or without it. Maybe he’s already escaped and is coming to find you right now. Or maybe, you’ll need to find him. Regardless, you can’t afford to panic. Not now. Az wouldn’t panic; he’d find a way out, and you and him, you’re Cauldron-chosen mates, so you can find a way out too. You can get back to him.

You will get back to him.

You just need to look around and see—the light.

They had to have got you two inside this room somehow, so that boulder blocking the doorway has to be moveable. Outside, something is causing that crack of light to come through, there’s a sconce, or a faelight, so there’s a walkway, and a walkway means that there’s some other rooms in here, connected by a complex of passageways. And passageways mean a way out.

You need that boulder gone.

If you had your full arsenal of magic at your disposal, it would be simple. You could bolster your muscles and push it out of the way without breaking a sweat, but even as you walk towards it, you can feel how your legs drag and your vision blurs. Every joint feels like it’s grown rust, grinding uncomfortably across your bones. The poison in your system remains. Still, you try. Still, you steel yourself in case someone is waiting for you behind it and you need to take them on.

The rough stone cuts into your palms as you use every drop of energy you have left in you to push at it, to try to roll it one way or the other, but it doesn’t so much as budge an inch. In frustration, you kick at it, ram your shoulder into it and send shooting pain up your arm, but still, it doesn’t yield.

You’ve been defeated by a hunk of fucking rock. So, yeah, you have to laugh.

Alone, there’s no chance of you moving it, not while you’re still affected by whatever they put in your food. You can either wait for gods know how long for it wear off, or…

You flick your attention to Nesta, half-slumped against the wall, and you sigh.

For all your differences, you respect Nesta. You like her tenacity, the way she moves with such precision in the training ring, how she stands up for herself and her friends regardless of who it is she’s challenging (the first time you saw her go toe-to-toe with Rhys, you had almost wanted to cheer for her). Sometimes, you think that if you hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, you and her would get along just fine—for your love of dance if nothing else. More importantly, she’s your only hope of getting out of here on your own terms.

Muscles protesting every movement, you crouch down and nudge at her side. She doesn’t stir. You nudge harder and her eyes shutter. She mutters something you don’t catch under her breath.

Oh, fuck it.

You shake her shoulder more harshly than you need to and yell at her to wake up. Her eyes flick open with a start, and you have to catch her hand before her fist connects with your jaw.

“Relax,” you say as she struggles in your grip, “it’s me. Could you please not break my face?”

“No promises,” she snaps back, wrenching her wrist away from you, rubbing at where you were holding her. She opens her mouth again, probably to sneer something at you, when you see the words die in her throat as she pales, clutching at her chest. “Something is wrong,” she grates out. “What the hell did you do—?”

You roll your eyes as you pull away, settling yourself on the ground a little ways from her in case she actually does decide to break your face.

“Cauldron, Nesta,” you say, “I didn’t do anything. It’s whatever they drugged us with. It’s dulling our magic, including the mating bond.” You tap where you feel the Azriel-shaped hole in your chest. “Must be some faebane alternative we’ll have to deal with.”

This seems to calm her burgeoning fear, but if looks could kill, you’d be dead. “How are you so calm about this?” she asks, murmuring something else which sounds distinctly insulting as she plucks herself off the ground and follows the stream of light to the doorway.

“Panic gets you killed,” you say, watching her come to the same conclusion you did as she pokes at the gap in the wall.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “Az says the same.”

“It’s almost like we’re mates or something.”

“Almost.”

Though the bond might be dulled, your instincts flare at the insinuation before you tamp it down and keep your face carefully neutral. Again, even in the dark, you can tell she shoots you a glare.

“Instead of doing something, you had to come and wake me up?” she continues, beginning to push at the boulder as your anger simmers in your blood. The audacity to suggest that you hadn’t tried… she’s something else.

“Would you have preferred it if I had left you behind?” you fire back, pulling yourself up and over to her, stopping just short of too close. “I already tried moving it and it won’t budge, not while we’re still weak. We’ll probably have to try it together—”

She cuts you off abruptly and goes back to the boulder. “I don’t need your help.”

Ignoring her, you barely lay a finger on the stone before she yanks you away and snarls at you to, “Back off.”

Incredulous, you huff, but you relent, leaning against the wall as you watch her fail to get it to move, just like you did. After significantly less prodding than what you tried, she admits defeat and swears at the rock for being in the way without sparing you a glance.

A thousand snarky comments come to mind, including around nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine which include the phrase ‘I told you so’, but you refrain. Pissing her off even more doesn’t seem conducive to getting out of this cell, so you say, “Look, Nesta, I get that you don’t like me—”

“Understatement.”

“Fine,” you continue, “you really don’t like me. And while I don’t understand why, I do need you to get out of here and as much as you might hate to admit it to yourself, you need me too, so let’s just put our differences aside and…” you trail off as her face sours. “What?”

“You don’t understand why,” she says.

“We really don’t have time to get into it, Nesta.”

“Don’t we?” she asks harshly. “That rock is hardly going anywhere.”

Clearly, she’s up for an argument—maybe that’s how she blows off steam when Cassian isn’t around—but you most definitely aren’t.

“Neither are we if we don’t stop bickering,” you reply steadily.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Oh, you always have something clever to say, don’t you?” Your name slips from her mouth like a curse. “Az caught himself a real prize with you.”

Is that what this is all about? You and Az? You know Az and Nesta are good friends, or, at least, they used to be, and she would obviously want him to be happy with whoever he’s with, mate or not. But, as far as you know, he is happy, and you trust him to tell you when he’s bothered by something. Frankly, whatever Nesta thinks about your relationship is irrelevant, even if it stings a little not to be accepted by her.

“Take it up with the Mother, Nesta,” you say, increasingly irritated, “but after we get the fuck out of here, please.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she snaps back.

You roll your eyes. “Please. Let’s not.” There’s no warning in your tone, so she ploughs on.

“Az was fine before he met you.” He wasn’t, he was drowning himself in work and booze after the Solstice with Elain, but that’s his secret to tell. “My sister was fine before he met you.”

“Gods, what does Elain have to do with this?”

“Don’t say her name like that—!”

“Why not?” you say, your anger bubbling to the surface finally as your patience snaps. “She’s my friend, you know, but I doubt she’d have told you that considering the fact you never see her. When was the last time you even stepped foot in the townhouse?” You know it’s unfair, you know Nesta can’t get down from the House of Wind without Cassian or exhausting herself on the steps, but you’re past the point of caring.

When she doesn’t respond, you double down. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Nesta.”

To her credit, Nesta’s response hurts more than you were expecting it to. “I don’t need her to tell me,” she snarls, “if I were her, I’d resent you too.”

Scoffing, you drawl, “Oh, and why’s that?” but you feel the doubt creeping up on you like a wraith.

Az had told you about what he had felt for Elain and how close they had been to getting together. For a time, you had agonised over it. It didn’t seem right to you that they had been prevented from acting on their feelings, even if it worked out for you in the end, and you had always thought, despite Az insisting otherwise, that Elain might not like you because of that. But, she had been perfectly pleasant the first time you met, and you managed to break the ice with a joke about flowers (it was rather specific and no one but Elain had appreciated it). From there, you’d become fast friends.

But if Elain is just humouring you like you suspected she might…

“Because,” Nesta says, “you stole Az from her. They were close, did you know? Even Feyre thought they were good for one another. But you come along and what’s worse, you rub it in by trying to spend time with her.”

“Heaven forbid I actually enjoy Elain’s company,” you say, though it comes out significantly less venomous than you meant it to. “Did she tell you all that herself or are you pulling it out of your ass?”

“You’ve got her fooled, I’ll give you that much,” she replies. She lets out a humourless laugh. “She even thinks you and Az are perfect together, but I see what you’re doing loud and clear.”

You blink at her.

Inexplicably, it isn’t annoyance which washes over you, it’s understanding. It becomes obvious to you now, despite what Nesta is saying, why she doesn’t like you.

Of course.

She’s trying to look after her sister, and even at your own expense, you can’t help but admire her for it. Maybe if she actually talked to Elain about you, you could end your petty, little feud. Or maybe she’d just find another reason to dislike you.

Either way, it won’t matter if you kill each other in this cave.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Nesta, I really have tried to be nice to you. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, we don’t need to be friends. But I didn’t steal anyone from anyone, Az made his choices and I made mine, and I really do like being Elain’s friend. I’m sorry if I’ve somehow offended you or… I don’t know. Just, I’d like us both to get out of here, alive, preferably, and for that, I need your help. So, please, if you have to, pretend I’m someone else for a bit and then I promise I will never bother you again. Deal?”

For a long, long moment, she says absolutely nothing at all, as though she’s trying to work out if you’re being genuine or not, and the silence stretches over the space between you. Then she looks away, sets her jaw, and grumbles, “Just help me move this.”

“Gladly.”

It takes coordination, begrudgingly followed suggestions for which way to push and for how long, and the poison in your veins brings bouts of dizziness which means both of you need a break, but, eventually, the boulder moves, just a fraction. The beam of light at your feet grows. Again and again and again, you and Nesta use every ounce of energy you have left to get it out of your way. You just hope that whoever is keeping you here isn’t nearby, because the scraping of rock against stone is almost deafeningly loud.

You don’t know if it takes minutes or hours, but you get it so the two of you can see into the corridor, and then you open up the doorway enough for you to be able to squeeze through the gap. The jagged, black stone scrapes at your skin as you shuffle and you definitely pick up a few new scratches, but you suddenly find yourself in the middle of an uneven walkway, filling your lungs with air fresher than what you’ve had since you woke up.

You take it in greedily, looking around to see if there’s an obvious way out, but both in front and behind you look the same. An endless tunnel of stone, equally lit up by torches protruding from the walls. You wait a moment, trying to feel any sort of breeze or even trying to pick up faint sounds of people.

Nothing.

Inside the cell, Nesta says your name rather urgently. You peer at her through the gap and see a flicker of relief on her face before it’s gone.

With a different angle, you wordlessly make quick work of moving the boulder further, and Nesta manages to free herself not long after. All the while, a sense of foreboding settles over you. The lack of a guard, even a patrol, is starting to strike you as odd.

“Come on,” she says, making left—it’s as good a direction as any—but you stop her.

“Wait,” you say, “doesn’t this all seem strange to you?” You make a point of looking behind you and gesture around. “There’s no one here.”

“Good,” she replies, “maybe they’ve forgotten about us. Let’s go.” And she strides off, forcing you to follow behind her, shadows dancing with each other in the torchlight.

“Or maybe they haven’t,” you urge, catching up to her, “maybe they’re waiting for us somewhere. Or they’re trying to lure Az and Cassian down here and it’s a trap.” That makes her pause and look at you, considering sharply. “We should try and stay as hidden as possible,” you suggest, “keep to the shadows rather than storming down the middle of the corridor.”

She barks a laugh. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

“Saying what Azriel says. If I had a mark for every time he’s said the words ‘keep to the shadows’...” she trails off, shaking her head.

“I’m not—just—” you sigh, “—let’s just be careful, okay?”

She steps very slightly closer to the wall, further into what little shadow the torches are casting over the rock, and keeps going, so you follow her through the twists and turns of the cave system, hoping you’ve picked the right way. Every corner looks the same, your footsteps sound the same, the cadence of Nesta’s breathing is monotonous and steady. It feels like you’re going around in circles.

But you aren’t. You can feel the slight lightening of pressure in your sinuses, how the ground ever so slightly tips upwards. You even start to feel like you might be getting out of here without meeting a single obstacle.

And that’s when you reach a dead-end.

A mockingly sheer column of rock with a gap right at the top, where you can see a coiled up rope which is almost certainly used to manoeuvre up and down. Through the gap, you see beautiful, white light, and you reason that this must be some kind of exit.

“Come on,” you say to Nesta, steadying yourself against the wall, “I’ll boost you up and then you throw the rope down for me.”

She looks at you incredulously. “That must be fifteen feet high at least,” she says. “There’s no way you’re getting me up there.”

As ever, you are entirely unimpressed by Nesta’s doubt. “I’m stronger than I look. And unless you have another idea…?”

Despite her general lack of faith in you, Nesta doesn’t even try and contemplate a different option; she knows as well as you do that there isn’t one. You cup your hands in front of you and bend your knees as Nesta tentatively uses you as a step-up.

“Ready?” you ask.

She hesitates, peering down at you. “For what?”

“Just get ready to grab the ledge.”

Without warning, you toss her upwards, putting all your strength into getting her as high as possible, and she lets out a grunt as she manages to grab hold of the edge of the lip above you. For a moment, you think she might not be able to hold on—she sways and shakes, probably due to the poison still sapping your energy—but she eventually hauls herself up and disappears out of view.

Then you wait. It can’t be for more than thirty seconds, but as they tick by, your anxiety starts to spike. What if she just leaves you here? What if she takes her opportunity to get rid of you just so Elain can have Azriel? As much as you like Elain, the idea of anyone else having him sends shooting rage through your nerves, even with the bond absent in your chest. It’s a natural instinct, but before you can spiral—“Mind your head,” comes the call and down comes the rope, thick, old, and covered in dirt, but it’ll do. You make quick work of it, despite your screaming muscles, and join Nesta at the top.

You want to ask her what took her so long, but peering through the gap where the light comes through, it becomes quite obvious.

Illuminated by a great cut-out in the ceiling of the cave, covered in mosses and deep green hanging vines, is a lake nearly three-times the width of the Sidra. The water is startlingly blue, clear, and it looks deceptively shallow, but you’ve seen lakes like this before. They tend to go down so deep the pressure would kill you before you reached the bottom.

What’s worse, on the other side of the lake is an Illyrian encampment, populated by at least six warriors, maybe more you can’t even see, armed to the teeth and evidently waiting for something to happen. You can see them talking to one another, but what they’re saying is lost under the sound of running water coming from the cascade on the far side of the lake.

Thankfully, the two of you are hidden in darkness under an outcrop. Perhaps if Nesta had taken you right when you got out of your cell, you would have ended up on the other side, right in the middle of your captors’ base. Either way, it looks like the only way out of this is in a fight.

“How long can you hold your breath for?” you ask Nesta, calculating roughly how far you’ll need to swim under the surface so the Illyrians don’t detect you. Without weapons, you’ll need the element of surprise to disarm them, and from there, well, you’ve seen Nesta spar with Cassian. It’ll be easy. By the side of you, however, she is almost eerily still. “Nesta?” you say, turning to her.

You expect her to be watching the Illyrians, maybe lost in thought about how to take them out, but you’re wrong. She’s staring down into the water, unfocused and unblinking. She almost looks frightened?

The thought occurs to you that Nesta might not know how to swim. Then, something Az said to you when you first met both her and Elain hits you. He told you to be careful mentioning the Cauldron, that, understandably, they don’t like thinking about it and suddenly everything clicks. Nesta doesn’t like water, doesn’t like being submerged in it, because it reminds her of being inside the Cauldron. Maybe something else too. She’s been through a lot, as Az tells you. In your chest, your heart lurches, not with pity, but perhaps with a profound feeling of sadness for her.

“Nesta,” you say lowly. You aren’t about to coddle her, she doesn’t need that, wouldn’t want it anyway. You wouldn’t either. She flicks her gaze over to you, but it’s clear she’s still not all here. “I have a theory,” you continue, and you explain that there must be another passage to your cell, probably in the opposite direction to the one you took. As you talk, you see her eyes sharpen, not so dull, and she actually starts listening to you. “If you can distract some of them and lead them back to our cell, I can swim over and take out as many as possible while you keep them occupied.” It’s the only thing you can think of to keep her out of the water. “We can meet up over there once you’re done.”

Whether she appreciates it or not, you can’t tell, but she looks you over, then to the Illyrians, and says, a little hoarsely, “Get under the water. I’ll draw their attention away.” You nod, kicking off your shoes as you go to lower yourself in as quietly as possible, but she grabs your wrist and stops you. Her grip is firm, but not violent. “Be careful,” she says, and without waiting for a reply, she lets go. “Go on then.”

Glancing at the lake, you take a moment, and lower yourself in slowly.

The water is freezing cold and you swallow a gasp as you enter. Pushing through the pain, with one last fleeting look at Nesta, you take a deep breath, dip your head under the water, and start to swim. You just have to trust now that Nesta holds up her end of the plan.

You try to take the shortest, most direct route possible without getting spotted, but your lungs are burning and without your magic to help, you start to think that maybe you won’t be able to make it without coming up for air. The waterfall isn’t so far away from you and the running water might conceal you just enough to allow you to breathe for a moment. It’s your only shot, so you go for it.

The strength of the water batters you, but the first, quiet hit of fresh air is enough to make it inconsequential to you. For as long as you can chance it, you take it in, and push your luck by looking over at the encampment. From here, it’s difficult to see, but you think you count two males, looking around nervously, and you swear you can hear shouting from down one of the corridors. Seems like Nesta managed her distraction well.

Enough. You dive back under and move as fast as you can, ignoring how much of a struggle it is. You have to do this, you have to get out of here. You have to get back to Azriel. And, godsdamn you, you want to see Nesta get back to Cassian.

Your hands hit the other side of the lake before you realise it, and, as silently as possible, you emerge from the surface. Still, there are only two males in the encampment, and you definitely weren’t imagining the shouting. Here, it’s louder, and you can make out male voices, obviously irate. The two other Illyrians watch the alcove closely, not even whispering a word to each other.

One of them is older. He’s bigger and has more siphons, but he’s no commander; you’d guess he’s an Oristian just by the way he holds himself. You can feel his ego from here. The other one is younger, barely out of training. He fidgets with his armour and his weapons, his leg bouncing where he sits on a rock and pays so much attention to the alcove that he isn’t looking where he clearly is supposed to be: right at you.

You pull yourself out of the water with natural grace and drop immediately into a crouch, blending in with a darkness. Your wet clothes are making the cold seep into your skin, but you need all the protection you can get and the padding around your joints might be enough to buy you some time if things go wrong.

The Illyrians are too close together, sitting around a central opening where the vestiges of a fire lay. Though you’re strong, there’s no way you can take them out hand-to-hand if it’s two against one. You’re trained in combat, but mostly for swords and daggers. You need another distraction, and, as you shift your feet to try and get a better view, you get one.

You kick a pebble and, thinking quickly, you snatch it from the ground before it can hit something that will draw their eye to you. You weigh it in your hand. If you want it to make an impression, you need it to hit something away from the water, so the sound of the waterfall doesn’t mask it.

You catch something glinting in the corner of your vision. In the exposing light, a shield is propped up against a nearly empty weapons rack. Briefly, you consider making a rush for it, thinking a shield is better than no weapon at all, but you know that’s even more of a long shot than trying to take them out quietly.

So, you opt to aim for the shield, and as the pebble flies, you know you’ll reach your target.

A clang sounds out through the atrium and the two Illyrians startle out of their trances. The older one barks an order for the younger one to check what the disturbance is, then berates him for being a coward when he hesitates. You wait impatiently for there to be enough distance between them, then you strike.

You dash behind the bigger Illyrian, keeping to the shadows, and as soon as you can, you pounce. You wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him back and behind the rock he was sitting on, keeping him as out of view as possible in case the kid decides to turn around. He kicks, attempting to buck his hips and flap his wings to get you off him, but you’ve got him so firmly held that there is no chance of him overpowering you like this. Your hand closes over his mouth to stop him shouting, and you choke the air out of his lungs silently. Not to kill him, just to knock him out. Snapping his neck would take more force and compromise your position, so you settle for his unconsciousness and lower him to the ground.

Concealed behind the rock, when the other Illyrian turns, he sees no one. His following shout tells you he’s panicked, and you wait for him to come to you. He stands in the middle of the encampment, turning around, scanning for threats, and you quietly unsheathe the sword that the older Illyrian had strapped to his back.

Sharp, Illyrian steel. You smile faintly. You and Az have sparred with these so often that it feels like an extension of your arm as you hold it.

You wait for the remaining Illyrian to be facing away from you and, when the time is right, spring up from behind the rock. Your blade meets the back of his neck before he even knows you’re there, and he immediately stills as you press it against his skin and blood wells at the edge. In the meantime, the shouting down in the alcove behind you has stopped, and you hope that means Nesta has dealt with the others.

“Throw your weapons away from you,” you say calmly. He does as he’s told without complaint, unsheathing even a hidden dagger in his boot. Smart male. “Turn around slowly.” Again, he does what you say, but you keep your blade at his neck and maintain a healthy enough distance from him.

He stares down at you uncertainly, his hands away from his sides, and gulps as you assess him. Typically Illyrian, he has dark hair, tan skin, and brown eyes which betray his fear. A fully fledged warrior would have tried to disarm you by now, and, as a result, would likely be dead. This one seems to have more sense.

“Your name,” you say. Statement, not a question.

“Wilsen,” he supplies quietly, uncomfortably shifting as your sword remains firm at his throat.

“Why are you keeping us here, Wilsen?”

When he hesitates to respond, you press the blade against him and he grimaces. “I have orders,” he says, a little frantically, “that’s all I know. I swear it.”

It’s moments like these when you wish you had Az’s shadows whispering in your ear, telling you truth from falsehood, divining someone’s character. Ultimately, you have to rely on your gut feeling, and it’s telling you that Wilsen is lying.

You bring the tip of the blade to the underside of his jaw, cutting a fine line through the skin of his neck. “Try again,” you say. “Think more carefully about your answer this time.”

As he deliberates, the strangest feeling flows through you. Your magic, sputtering in your veins as it tries to come alive again, fighting against the poison. Hurriedly, you try to yank on the mating bond, but it still lies dormant under your ribcage, and it’s this fleeting moment where you lose your focus that you blame when you fail to notice Wilsen’s eyes flick to just above your shoulder.

A thick, calloused hand clamps over your mouth, another squeezes your throat as you’re dragged backwards. Instincts kicking in, you try to twist, to pull the hands away, but they just tighten their grip as you flail. The blade in your hand hits something, maybe Wilsen’s neck, as you’re forced to let go of it in the scuffle, but you’re too blinded by the pain to care.

Some unseen Illyrian, maybe an escapee of Nesta’s wrath, has you trapped against him. You try to reach up to scratch at his face to get him to release you, but all you can feel is the heave of his chest as he laughs and wrestles your hand out of his sight, freeing your mouth. He’s choking the life out of you to the point where all you can do is gargle and thrash, to try and somehow get out of his hold.

Even the smallest bit of your replenishing magic seems to do nothing. You try fortifying your muscles, try directing some of it to weaken his, but to no avail.

You come to the conclusion that, as your vision starts to blur and darken, you’re dying, and this Illyrian is enjoying it. You fight, scratch at his arm, but that only seems to egg him on, to draw it out. He’s not even taunting you, not in any way you can make sense of, he’s just amusing himself in the brutality of it.

Your teeth feel like they’re fizzling. You can’t feel your body anymore, you’re weightless, outside of the bounds of reality where all that exists is the immense pressure on your neck and oh gods this is it, you’re dying you’re dying you’re dying and you’ll never see Az again—

Suddenly, the feeling stops.

You must be dead, you think.

It’s funny, though, you can still see, and there’s this throbbing in your temples. Dead people don’t get headaches, do they? How awful. You can’t escape migraines, even in the afterlife.

The Illyrian behind you (oh, he’s still here?) lists backwards, and it’s only logical that you tumble with him, but, for some reason, you don’t. Instead, there’s something keeping you standing, gentle, tender heat around your middle and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say there’s someone saying your name.

“Breathe,” they say, and then your name again. There’s something so familiar about it and—you can breathe.

Desperately, you gasp in air, your brain aching after being starved of it, but you take in too much and start to cough so much that your eyes water, pulling out of this person’s grip and doubling over. Again comes a gentle touch, this one at your back, as you feel like you’re hurling up a lung. Again comes the reminder to just breathe, and you do. Your coughing stops and…

You whirl around, meeting Nesta’s sharp eyes as she steps away from you. In her hand is a sword, slick with red which drips to the floor, and behind her, a dead Illyrian lying in a pool of his own blood.

You open your mouth, then snap it shut.

Nesta Archeron just saved your life.

“Thank you,” you manage to wheeze out, the words catching in your throat as you struggle to regulate your breathing.

A muscle ticks in her jaw. “I’m not about to let some lowlife choke out Azriel’s mate,” she says pointedly, casting a dismissive look over to the dead Illyrian, “and you’d have done the same, if it were me.”

You would have, you just didn’t think Nesta would be the one to say it.

She looks you up and down from your dripping hair to your crumpled clothes. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Just as you go to respond, you get interrupted by a low groan of pain, and you see that Wilsen is still alive, just bleeding profusely from his shoulder. So you did catch him in the crossfire. Nesta advances on him so quickly that you barely have chance to shout for her to stop.

“He knows something,” you say, moving towards her gingerly, stepping over the Illyrian who tried to kill you without sparing him a second glance, wincing as you try to move your neck. “I was interrogating him before I got interrupted.”

“I don’t know—!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nesta snarls at him before turning back to you. “You were interrogating him?”

You hum confirmation, the sound scratching at your throat. “With a sword.”.

She just looks at you. “Of course you were,” she mumbles, “Az’ll be so proud.”

“Cassian will probably pounce on you as soon as he finds out you took on three fully-grown Illyrians with your bare hands,” you reply, offering her a sly smile which almost feels normal.

And Nesta, to your surprise, laughs. A real, genuine, contagious laugh which rings through the atrium, and you find yourself chuckling along with her.

“Neither of us are getting much sleep for a week,” she says, adding with a gesture to her blade, “and I caught the last one with this actually.”

You let out a giggle. “That’ll definitely get Cassian going—”

“Oh you’re both whor—”

“Shut the fuck up!” you and Nesta spit at Wilsen in unison, before you whip your gazes up in shock to look at each other.

And you both burst out laughing again.

It’s nice. You don’t think you’ve seen Nesta laugh so much in your presence ever. Maybe you’re delirious from the air loss, but you’d go as far to say you’re enjoying her company, and by the look of it, she might feel the same.

Still, you have Wilsen to deal with.

Once your bout of laughter dies down and you can breathe normally again, you peer down at him as he looks up at you. He looks quite deathly pale. Nesta steps aside, her face darkening, as you crouch down next to him, hand on the wound at his shoulder, but not pressing down, not to cause him pain. Not yet.

Azriel will provide that afterwards in any case.

“Do you know the way out of here, Wilsen?” you ask. Even though you can feel yourself slowly regaining your magic, the mating bond has still not burst back to life. You guess Nesta’s hasn’t either, considering how attentively she’s paying attention to the two of you.

He swallows thickly, eyes you warily. When he takes a second too long to answer, you push two fingers down, right on his shoulder blade. It won’t kill him, but it’s not going to feel like a warm hug from his mother either. He yelps in pain while his blood seeps onto your hand. “Fuck, it’s—” he sucks in a breath as you release him, “—there’s only one way.” His eyes flick to the cut-out in the roof of the cave, right above the middle of the lake, and Nesta follows his gaze carefully. Just barely, you catch her flinch. “And unless you can sprout wings…”

You pull away, letting him sag into his body. Even if the vines growing down the hole can take your weight, and by the look of them, they might, you still need to get to them. You hope Nesta is coming to the same conclusion you are. When Wilsen says there’s only one way out, he means it, and it means you’re going to have to give her a very, very quick swimming lesson, if she can stomach it.

“Why did you bring us here?” she asks suddenly, aiming her question at Wilsen.

A ragged sigh escapes him. “Give me something in return,” he says, his spit gurgling in his mouth as he talks. You’ve seen this before. He doesn’t have long.

“Tell us and you might live to see tomorrow,” you say hurriedly.

He has the energy to scoff. “So your mate can torture me in his dungeons? No. I’d rather die,” he grits out, shifting on the floor, his arm deadweight against the ground.

“You’d rather bleed out here than have a chance at surviving?” Nesta asks, her tone increasingly agitated. She starts to say something else, but you motion for her to calm herself, and she does, all the while giving you a look as if to say Do you even have a plan?

You turn back to Wilsen, bracing your forearms on your knees. “You have family?” you say quietly, and the ensuing rage which comes over his face tells you that yes, he does. “If you die here, Wilsen,” you continue, your voice soft, “my mate will find every male in that family of yours and he will ask the question you refused to answer. If they don’t know, he’ll move onto the females. Your wife, sister, mother, whoever. And if they don’t know, he will go through Stonecross, Illyrian by Illyrian, until someone tells him what he wants to know. And if he does that, he’ll be sure to let everyone know it’s because you, Wilsen, did not give us an answer right here, right now. So, this is what I’ll offer you: not just your life, but the lives and dignity of everyone you care about. Happily, I’ll let you die, but how happy that would make them? I’m not so sure, are you?”

Only the sound of the waterfall behind you lets you know time hasn’t stopped. Even Nesta’s breathing is so silent you can barely hear it, but you can feel her eyes on you. Wilsen is deathly still. You get the distinct feeling that if he wasn’t bleeding out, he’d have his hand wrapped around your neck. “Your choice,” you finish with a shrug.

His words are vitriolic. “You were supposed to die down there, you fucking bitch. Nothing more than motivation for the General and your mate to make a mistake. So you’d all finally understand how it feels to get kicked when you’re down,” he spits, but his voice shakes. Scared, or struggling to stay awake? Does it matter? Either way, you think he’s telling the truth.

“Seems a convoluted way to kill someone.” Nesta’s voice sounds more distant in the quiet.

Wilsen shoots her a glare, from which she doesn’t baulk. “They were supposed to find you. It was supposed to hurt. We were going to take them on once they had. Make them pay.”

“They’d have torn through you,” she says. “You never would have made it out of here anyway.”

“It’s better to die standing than on our knees in front of a half-breed High Lord and his bastard brothers.” He starts to cough, like breathing might have become difficult.

“You’re dying, Wilsen,” you say, moving towards him to put pressure on the wound, but his hand shoots out to stop you and he shakes his head.

“Let me,” he snarls. “I gave you what you wanted, so let me die.”

“I can stop the bleeding,” you reply. It’s a strange kind of sorrow you feel for him. Dying alone, surrounded by people you hate, is no way to go, not even for males like him. He’s still young, still impressionable. Entrenched nonetheless. Someone will have to tell that family of his what he was willing to die for.

He winces, struggling to keep himself upright. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

Nesta says your name and breaks you from your thoughts. “Leave him,” she says, “he doesn’t deserve your pity.”

You sigh and stand. As you do, you see relief flicker over Wilsen’s face before pain takes back over. If you offer him a quicker death, you’re not sure he’ll take it, so you don’t offer at all.

“You’re sort of terrifying, you know,” Nesta adds, flicking her eyes from the lake and back to you. In her eyes, though, you don’t see fear. You see it in the way she assesses you, in how she holds her head. You’ve earnt her respect.

Attention on your exit, you huff out a shaky laugh, eager to stop thinking of the dying Illyrian behind you. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. When she frowns at you, you continue, “They call you ‘Lady Death’. You don’t get that name by preaching peace and love.”

“And what do you call me?” she asks, edging closer to the water, squinting up at the daylight.

You come to stand next to her. “I should like to call you my friend, Nesta.”

“Don’t push it,” she replies, but you can tell it’s not as serious as she meant it to be.

“Not enemies then?” you suggest.

“If we get out of here without drowning,” she says, dipping her hand into the water and immediately pulling it back out again, “I’ll consider it.”

You offer her a small smile, seeing that for the olive branch that it is. “Good enough for me,” you say. “You know how to swim?”

She nods, but seems uncertain. “I can float well enough.”

“But, you don’t like water?” you ask tentatively. When she narrows her eyes at you, you hold your hands up in surrender. “Not judging. I don’t like heights.”

“Az takes you flying all of the time,” she deadpans, decidedly unimpressed.

You shrug. “He’s helping me get over it.” With a grimace, you add for her benefit, “It’s slow going.”

Having only just managed to regain any sort of heat in your body, you’d hesitate to get back in freezing cold water, but with your magic not materialising any further than a few sputters in your veins, your conviction is all you have to get you through it. That, and the need to help Nesta out of here too. You crouch down.

“This is ridiculous,” she says, crouching with you.

Your eyes flick to the sword still in her hand. “You’ll have to leave that behind. When you get in, try not to panic. Your body will go into cold water shock if you do. It’s mind over matter, and once you’re used to it, you’ll be fine.”

“That,” she says, her voice dropping into something near enough trepidation, “doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Nesta. Just… trust me.”

With that, you push yourself off the edge of the rock and into the water, attempting to acclimate yourself to the temperature as much as possible, fully submerging yourself before you resurface, treading water with relative ease. You take deep breaths and stave off the biting cold, trying to show her that if you can do it, she can too.

“Come on,” you urge, aware that even though you’re resilient, you can’t take much longer than ten minutes in here. A human would barely last five. “It’s not that far to the vines, and then we’re out of here.”

Laying the sword carefully down at her side, Nesta scans the water, as though she might be able to discern which parts are cold and which are tolerable, with little success, if the face she makes is anything to go by. You watch her take a few breaths, shut her eyes, and mutter something which might even be a prayer, or else a curse on your name if this goes wrong.

Then she jumps, feet first, into the lake.

You wait with bated breath for her to come back up, and for a few sickening seconds, you think she might be sinking until—

“Fuck!” she gasps. “That’s freezing.” She’s almost hyperventilating with how quickly her breath is coming. Not good, that’s panic. She needs something to focus on.

“Nesta,” you say urgently, wading over to her, “look at me.” With difficulty, she does. “You remember what I said before?”

Gaping, she nods.

“What did I say?”

“Try not to panic,” she says slowly.

“Right. What else?

As she thinks, her breathing starts to even out. “It’s not far to the vines.”

“Exactly,” you tell her, “we’re almost there.”

Thank the Mother, the gods, and anyone else who deigns to help you, Nesta starts to swim, and you let her get ahead of you just in case she needs you to support her. It’s tough and you are pushing with all your might to stay afloat, to make it to the first vine you see.

Nesta grabs it and pulls herself out of the water, trusting that it can take her weight. The plant is thick and woody, so it does. She looks down at you, still in the lake, but you tell her to get out and up as soon as she can.

You find another, slightly thinner, but still strong enough to hold you. Your arms ache and your shoulders are screaming at you. You push and push and push, one thought in your mind: Get out. Get out. Get out.

The vine seems to be getting higher the more you climb, like it’s growing faster than you can move, but you’re almost at the top. Just a little further.

Nesta, she’s somewhere, maybe above you, but you can’t hear her grunting as she hauls herself up anymore. You chance a look down and she’s not there either. You figure she must have made it out.

You’re so close. You can feel the sun on your face, can smell the fresh breeze of the outside. It must have been hours since you woke in that cell. Honestly, you’re not sure how long you’ve been gone. Maybe days. Gods, you’re so tired. The cold has sapped the adrenaline out of you and you’re running on fumes.

The next hold you find on the vine snaps and you lurch to the side, yelling as you find purchase on a knot lower down. As you catch yourself, you force your ankle into a twist and something twinges.

You hear Nesta swear faintly. You pull yourself in, steadying yourself, and you look up to see her peering over the side. She’s lying flat on her front, holding onto the edge of the gap. “You’re almost there,” she shouts down, her teeth chattering, her hair hanging loose in long, wet strands.

Every part of your body is telling you to stop, to rest, but you can’t. That’s a death sentence. You test how much weight you can put on your ankle and yelp as pain shoots all the way up your leg, but if you stay here, you’re doomed.

So, you keep going, using your arms to lift yourself up, your uninjured leg to hold yourself in place. Again. And again. And again. You grit your teeth and you lift.

When you’re within reach, Nesta lowers herself down as much as she dares and thrusts out her hand. Blissfully, you grab it as soon as you can. You feel her grip the back of your shirt as she pulls you the rest of the way out of the cave and the two of you roll to the ground, side-by-side, staring up into the cloudless, blue sky, chests heaving.

“Next time we hang out,” you say, breathless, “let’s just get a coffee or something. Go buy a book. Feed the ducks down by the Sidra.”

Nesta scoffs out a half-hysterical laugh. “Deal.”

She sits up and you meet her eyes as she looks down at you. “Your ankle?”

You hum roughly as you try to move it, but that shooting pain hits you again. “Totally fucked,” you say.

“I am not carrying you anywhere.” She looks around. “I don’t even know where we are. It doesn’t look like the Steppes.”

Letting out a sharp hiss as you pull yourself up, you take in your surroundings. “No,” you say, seeing how the snow is thin on the ground and the thick, tall pines of the Illyrian mountains have given way to bushier cedars. If you can find the source of that lake underground, a river or a stream, you can find a village somewhere, even in the middle of this unknown forest. When you were a merc, you did things like this all the time. “We’re further south, I think. Probably closer to the Hewn City than anywhere else.”

“How could you possibly know that?” she asks, frowning at you.

You raise a brow at her. “Observation,” you say simply. “There’ll be a settlement somewhere nearby. Or at least some shelter.”

“You,” she replies, “can’t walk. Not with your ankle like it is.”

“I have high pain tolerance.”

When you try to stand, Nesta catches your wrist and holds you still. “We should wait for the poison to wear off a little more, then you might be able to do something.”

You shake your head, seeing how high the sun is in the sky. It’s past midday. “We don’t know how long that will take. If there are more Illyrians about, we need to move. I know you took them out down there, but you caught them unaware. We get spotted from the air? We won’t be so lucky. And just because we’re not in the Steppes doesn’t mean it won’t get dangerous come nightfall.”

Though she makes a face, she grits her teeth and gets up. She offers you her hand. “You’re as stubborn as him too.”

You take it gratefully and let her help you up. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say as she slips her hand around your back and supports you.

You pick a direction, and with Nesta’s help, you manage to hobble your way to a stream, then a village thankfully not too far from where you were being held.

By the time the sky darkens and the stars illuminate the snowy ground, you two are in a semi-empty inn, sipping free soup by the fire, courtesy of the owner’s healthy fear of her High Lady and her sister. Nesta, you can tell, feels vaguely uncomfortable about it, and you like her all the more for her humility.

Come midnight, Nesta and you are half-asleep, dozing in the warmth and basking in the easy, quiet conversation you had been having about Sellyn Drake, of all people. When you go to your rooms, she bids you goodnight and you bid her the same. Your head hits the pillow and you’re out.

You have a dreamless sleep for once.

In the morning, you jolt awake, pain erupting in your chest from the—gods, the mating bond. You desperately tug back, pulling so hard that the thread goes taut, telling Az I’m here! I’m here! Please, for the love of the Mother, please come and get me. Then you bolt out of bed, hop out of your room, and bash on Nesta’s door, calling her name and definitely waking the innkeeper.

Off-balance, you almost fall through her door when she opens it, but she steadies you. She looks like she barely slept, but then, you probably look similar given the day you had yesterday. A few hours isn’t really enough.

“The bond,” you breathe out. She needs no more explanation and you watch her concentrate, obviously calling on Cassian the same way you call on Az. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” she says sharply, “but… pained.”

“Shit. He’ll be okay.”

“I know.” But the worry on her face is pressed deep into the furrow of her brow.

“Az,” you say, “he’s on his way.” For good measure, you tug on the bond, now gorgeously back alive, fluttering in your chest, and he responds in kind.

For a moment, her face lightens a fraction and her eyes flick behind you.

You feel it then: the cold touch of a shadow wrapping gently around your wrist and, deep in your bones, that old, ancient warmth.

A grin breaks out on your face when you turn, seeing Az appear from shadow in the foyer, just as the innkeeper rounds the corner. She sucks in a breath and swears quietly, frozen in place, her eyes flicking between the three of you warily.

Az, his face carefully controlled, but with a bemused look in his beautiful hazel eyes, smiles at her gently. “Thank you for looking after them,” he says lightly, and you almost melt at the sound.

You must send that down the bond because something akin to a chuckle skitters back at you.

“O-of course, my Lord.” Her mouth opens and closes a few times. Azriel waits patiently. “I’ll—w-will you be staying for breakfast?”

“No,” you say, “thank you. We’ll be heading off now.”

The innkeep swallows. “Right. Was e-everything to your liking, my lady?” Cautiously, she glances at Nesta, who does her best to soften her face, then back at you.

“Slept like a baby,” you assure her. You nudge Nesta.

“Yes,” she says. “A perfect stay, thank you.”

At that, Az raises a brow at you, more confused at Nesta giving you the time of day than anything else. Long story, you mouth at him.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” the innkeeper says decisively, promptly retreating back downstairs, presumably to cool her nerves.

“Cassian’s fine,” Az says to Nesta as soon as he’s assured it’s just the three of you up here. “He’s being dramatic about it.” Then he catches how you’re keeping your weight off your right leg. “What happened?” he asks darkly, his shadows coalescing around his shoulders.

“Just take us home,” you say, reaching for him. As he wraps an arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head, you inhale the scent of fresh, night-chilled mist and cedar, something so uniquely your mate’s that any tension left in your body drains out of you. “I think I want to sleep for a week.”

He huffs, pressing a kiss to your hair. Then, to Nesta, “Are they dead?”

“Difficult to kill a vine,” she deadpans. “I tried to get her to rest, but she’s worse than you. Get me back to Cassian, would you? He’s tugging on the bond like a child.”

His hand leaves your back to grab a hold of her and winnow you all back to Velaris through his shadows, which cling to you, fussing around your ankle like it’s a mortal wound. You barely feel the jump, Azriel making sure to keep you upright when you land on the terrace of the townhouse.

“He’s downstairs,” you hear him say.

Nesta pauses for a moment, but then the door to the inside clicks, and it’s just you and Az.

“Do I want to know what happened to make Nesta look at you like she might actually like you?” he asks quietly, pulling away so he too can fuss over you.

You kick his shadows away. “I think we’ve come to an understanding,” you say. “Maybe we aren’t friends just yet but, it’s something.”

“...Good.”

Yeah, you think. It is.

#nesta archeron #nesta acotar #pro nesta #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #nesta x reader #nesta fic request #nesta fanfic #azriel one shot #nesta one shot #nesta angst #azriel fluff

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really-fanny-longbottom · 1 year ago

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only in my dreams

azriel x reader | love has two sides. it can be pure, beautiful, and exciting, but it can also be lonely, painful, and the worst of all—unrequited. warnings: mentions of heartbreak, unrequited love, alcohol, death and a curse word. words: 3.3k

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you should have stayed at home.

you knew you shouldn't have come.

you knew it was a bad idea from the moment you walked through the threshold of the balcony of the house of wind.

it was sad to know that this house used to be your safe haven — a place where you were happy and felt safe, where you could be yourself.

but now it makes you want to leave as quickly as possible and never come back.

because that was the only solution to not having to see the scene that was unfolding in front of your eyes.

your eyes — the same ones that used to contain love and happiness, were now sad and empty.

the same ones who used to shine with excitement every time you entered a room looked now absent — as if something had sucked away their vitality and left nothing behind.

even your kind and warm smiles had started to appear less frequently until they disappeared completely.

that's how you looked now — no sparkles in your eyes and no smile on your face as you moved the food on your plate with a fork from side to side.

you stopped listening to the conversation a long time ago.

it was another dinner night with the inner circle at the house of wind. you were sitting between rhys, who was at the head of the table on your right side, and nesta on your left side.

you were trying everything to keep your eyes on your plate so you didn't have to watch elain being courted by azriel — the owner of your heart and the reason it was breaking little more day by day.

he wasn't to blame and you didn't blame him for his feelings towards the middle archeron sister, afterall, no one has the power to choose who they like or love — but it didn't make it any less painful.

pain — you were feeling it a lot now.

every time elain laughed at something azriel whispered to her made it hurt even more.

your power wasn't helping you at all right now.

Being an empath had its advantages — it allowed you to feel and understand the emotions and feelings of others and increase and decrease their intensity. it also allowed you to know when someone is lying or telling the truth and to control and manipulate them, despite not using the last two (unless it was necessary) because you believe it to be incorrect.

but the thing most people didn't know about being an empath is that it affects your emotions and feelings, too.

it makes you feel everything more intensely — meaning that you felt everything ten times more than everyone else.

a good joke that made others laugh until their stomachs hurt — made you cry with laughter.

simple things that made others happy — made you jump with joy.

and when others felt passion — you felt love.

you loved with more strength and intensity than everyone, but you also suffered in the same way.

and when you suffer, it's like your light has been turned off.

a hand on your knee took you out of your thoughts — nesta.

she was the only reason you were here — literally, she dragged you from the library when you told her you wouldn't be joining them for dinner.

the older archeron sister had become one of your favorite people.

nesta was the one who had the most difficult time in adjusting and accepting this new life, so instead of ignoring her as some did, you decided to be the first to extend your hand to her.

it all started with your mutual interest in books. it started with book recommendations, then exchanges and finally reading them together.

by the time you noticed, you were training together, sharing meals, and adventuring in the city.

your friendship was not easy — nesta made sure of that.

at first, she tried to push you away with cold stares and nasty comments, but you knew better than anyone that it was nothing but a defense mechanism.

you knew that when she said she was better off alone, she really just wanted someone to hug her.

so, knowing better than anyone, you fought for her.

you ignored the cold stares and faced her nasty comments, and when she tried to push you away, you stood your ground and didn't let her.

little by little, she let you in, and you got to know her — the real nesta.

over time, the staring stopped, the comments disappeared, and instead of trying to push you away, she started looking for your company.

your friendship turned into a sisterhood, and now, Nesta would fight for you just as much as you fought for her.

your sisterhood grew, and short after that, you were welcoming emerie and gwyn — your girls.

quickly, a friendship was formed between the four of you, and there was no one you trusted more than each other.

they told everything about themselves, their past, their fears, and even their secrets.

so, you did the same — except your feelings for the shadowsinger, nesta was the only one who knew about that.

you joined the inner circle one hundred and fifty years ago when you moved to velaris to live with your great-aunt madja.

despite being an empath, you also inherited a natural talent for healing just like your aunt.

that's how you met rhysand and his family.

there was an enemy attack in windhaven with several fatalities and many injured illyrians, which required all the healers who worked at the clinic, including you and madja, to be winnowed there by morrigan.

as soon as you arrived, it was total chaos. the soldiers who were not injured, and even some who were, did not stop running from one side to the other, nor did they stop shouting or grabbing weapons and demanding to go after those who fled making it impossible for the healers to help.

the enemy had already been defeated before your arrival, so you were not in danger and for that reason, you did not hesitate to use your powers.

you made your way so you could stand right in the middle of the soldiers.

you raised your arms to the sides and closed your eyes, and with a little bit of focus you let the soldiers' emotions start to invade you from head to toe.

then with a long sigh, you took control of their emotions and released your power.

the soldiers immediately stopped in their places and went limp before starting to fall to the ground unconscious.

you put them to sleep.

it was the only safe way for the healers to be able to do their work even though you didn't like having this kind of control over someone.

the only ones who were not affected were the high lord, his brothers, and his cousin.

their eyes were fixed on you, who remained standing among the sleeping soldiers.

and when they turned to you for an explanation of what had just happened, they were even more shocked when you revealed to them what you were and what you had just done.

they had never met anyone with that kind of power, and so they were having a little trouble getting their faces back to an expression of neutrality.

impressed wasn't enough to describe how they were feeling at that very moment.

qs a thanks, rhysand offered you a position in his inner circle. after some hesitation and several lectures from madja about how it would be a bad idea (and lack of education) to refuse such an offer, you accepted.

moving to the house of wind, you established friendships with all the members, but azriel was the one you became closest to.

you became best friends over time, and before you could stop your heart, you fell in love with him.

even when he was already in love with mor.

despite knowing about his affections towards the blonde female, it hadn't hurt as much as it does now because azriel had never acted on his feelings for her.

but you decided to wait. you believed that one day the mother would smile upon you, and she would grant you the wish you carried in your heart every day.

therefore, during that time, you were content to love him from afar — and in the shadows.

you thought that day had finally arrived after noticing the change in azriel's behavior towards mor after the arrival of the archeron sisters.

you couldn't be more wrong.

you couldn't help but find this whole situation ironic. after decades of seeing azriel in love with mor and hoping that one day he would notice you, he was now courting elain.

the archeron sisters came into your life and turned everything upside down. you were grateful that feyre and nesta's path led them to you, but you couldn't feel the same way about elain.

before you could wander in your thoughts even more, nesta squeezed your knee, getting your attention again.

you looked at your best friend and noticed the worry on her face, so putting your hand on top of hers, you murmured to her a small "i'm okay" and gave her a small smile.

"are you sure?" she murmured too, so no else could hear it.

you nodded your head at her and returned your attention to your plate.

rhys' voice made you look up, and you regretted it immediately because in that exact moment, you saw azriel and elain's hands intertwined on the top of the table.

you shook your head and looked at your high lord — who had become a very good friend of yours.

"are our plans at rita's still on for tomorrow night?" rhys asked.

everyone — but you — said their agreements before azriel spoke, "actually, elain and i have plans for tomorrow night."

your breathing got caught on your throat, and nesta's hand flew immediately to yours, grabbing it gently.

it was Feyre who asked, "where are you going?" you could've sworn there was a hint of surprise in her voice.

"to the new restaurant that just opened by the rainbow. it's supposed to be very good," elain's eyes moved from her younger sister to the male sitting next to her, "so we decided to try it."

cassian cleared his throat, and he looked in your direction before looking at the people in front of him. "it's that a date? are you going on a date?"

azriel chuckled and squeezed elain's hand. "i guess we can call it that."

you stood up abruptly, attracting everyone's eyes, "sorry. i just remembered that madja needs my assistance to visit a patient tomorrow, and i forgot to prepare the medical bag."

you excused yourself before leaving the dining room and making your way towards the stairs.

you heard cassian and nesta calling your name, but you didn't bother to turn as you started to descend the ten thousand steps.

through your power, you were able to realize that no one — with the exception of your best friend and her mate — noticed your lie.

Just as they didn't notice the tears that filled your eyes as soon as you turned your back on them and left the room.

•••

you went to your aunt's house.

the last thing madja expected to find at her door at that time of night was her niece with red eyes and tears running freely down her cheeks.

she barely let you walk in before she wrapped your figure into a tight embrace.

she had noticed the change in your mood recently but decided not to comment because she knew very well that as soon as you were ready to talk, you would tell her everything.

and that's what you did.

you told her everything as you both rested on her pink couch with your head in her lap while she caressed your hair, listening to your words attentively.

you ended up falling asleep with your cheeks stained from the tears, and madja didn't dare to move. she refused to awake you from your peaceful slumber.

she bent down to kiss your head, and when she raised again, she saw a piece of parchment on the top of the table next to the couch, reaching for it.

it was rhysand asking where you were.

madja answered for you, saying that you were with her and spending the night at her house.

it didn't take long until your aunt joined you into your slumber.

•••

the following night, you made your way towards the House after a hard day at the clinic.

the day got worse when the patient you went to see at his residence didn't make it.

sometimes, you hate your job, especially because of your powers. when things got too much for you to handle, you had to put a shield around you to prevent you from feeling your patients worries or pains.

the patient you visited was heavily sick. it was too late to do anything medical, so you did the only thing you could.

you used your powers. let his emotions invade you, and then, with a long sigh, you took away his pain and transferred it to you.

that was the only thing you could do for him at that moment, and you are more than relieved that you were able to provide him comfort while he left this world, making his passing easier for him and his family.

you climbed the ten thousand steps, but it didn't even bother you. you were too busy thinking about your patient and whether his family would be okay.

you made a mental note to visit them the next day and help where you could.

you pushed these thoughts away as you opened the door and entered the House.

all you needed right now was to be with your friends and forget about this awful day.

when you walked into the living room, you remembered that everyone went to rita's.

well, everyone, but you, azriel, and elain. the two of them were on their date tonight.

and like a snap of a finger, all your emotions and feelings from the last few months and days came flooding back.

your eyes fell on rhys's expensive drinks cart.

you wiped your tears and everything you felt turned into anger.

"fuck it."

you went to the cart, grabbed the first bottle that was in your reach, removed the cork and drank, sinking the drink down your throat and your sorrows with it.

•••

three hours later, cassian, nesta, rhys and feyre finally arrived at the house.

amren had departed to her apartment after they left rita's and mor stayed behind saying that her night wasn't over yet.

the two couples had come talking about you on the way. they had waited for you but when you didn't show up, they assumed you were with madja or still at the clinic.

rhys had sent a letter to madja a few minutes ago asking for you and when your aunt said she was looking for you too, they left hoping to find you here.

they just didn't expect the state they were going to find you.

as soon as they passed the threshold of the balcony and into the living room, they saw you.

you were laying on the couch with your legs off of it, an empty bottle was in your hand, and another on the floor by your feet.

"oh my god," the high lady whispered.

cassian moved and kneeled next to you by the couch. his hand made its way to your arm and tried to awake you.

"y/n." he shook you lightly.

after a few seconds, you opened your eyes and were faced with the General looking at you.

"cass," you said with your voice dragging, "you're here." you moved to sit and wrapped him into a hug, one that he didn't hesitate to reciprocate.

"are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked you while caressing your back.

"i am now that you're all here," you released a breath. "my dear friends", you looked at your other three friends who were looking at you with concern. "you're so beautiful. all of you. did you know that?" you giggled.

it was rare for you to drink and when you did, you never got drunk.

nesta sat down next to you and put an arm around your shoulders. you took the opportunity to rest your head on her shoulder, finding comfort in your friend's embrace.

"what happened, y/n?" she asked you.

you started laughing before replying with irony in your voice "what didn't happen?"

you pushed away from her and stood so you could face all your friends "my patient died. the male I've been in love with for decades won't even look at me and this house that used to be my safe haven, it's now the stage of my pain."

"oh! not to mention that elain is mated but does she care? no! does azriel care? of course not. i've been in love with him for decades. decades! and he doesn't even look at me." you started laughing, "by the cauldron, u'm pathetic."

your family didn't seem surprised by your revelation.

cassian pulled you into a tight hug and rhys and nesta moved to do the same.

if it weren't for this situation everyone would've thought that the world was about to end from seeing rhys and nesta hugging each other.

morrigan arrived in the moment you were in the middle of your friends with tears in your eyes.

"what's going on?" mor whispered to feyre who was still in the same spot since she arrived.

feyre explained everything and by the moment she finished, both females had tears in her eyes at the sight of her friend being hurt.

"what's wrong with me?" you asked them, your voice breaking.

"nothing is wrong with you. nothing." that wasn't your friend speaking — it was your high lord.

feyre and morrigan joined the hug in the moment you said, "i'm never going to be good enough for him. i'll never be her."

tears rolled down feyre and mor faces, and both females were asking the same question in their minds "how long has she been feeling like this?"

your high lady spoke this time, "y/n, what can we do? what do you need?"

you hugged cassian tighter before locking eyes with nesta "i just need my girls."

nesta nodded her head at you and looked at the blonde female "can you take us?"

mor didn't hesitate in agreeing.

anything to make you feel better.

•••

two hours later, you were in the middle of the bed with nesta and gwyn on one side and emerie on the other, all of them with their arms around you.

the three of them had fallen asleep a few minutes ago after one hour of you telling them everything about azriel and a lot of cups of tea and tissues.

you thought they would've been mad at you but they didn't.

they reassured you several times that it was okay and that you could take all the time in the world until you were ready after you tried to apologize too many times.

now you were staring at the ceiling thinking about your options.

you couldn't live like this anymore, knowing that azriel would never love you back.

so you were going to do the only thing you could in order to protect what was left of your heart.

there was something about your powers that no one knew. something that you never had shared.

you had a switch.

one that you could turn on and off whenever and wherever you wanted.

in the same way that you could feel everything, you could also feel nothing.

the only problem? everything that made you, you, would disappear.

but it was also your solution to your situation.

you closed your eyes and gave a deep breath.

you focused on your breathing for a minute and then. . .

no more emotions.

no more feelings.

no more love.

no more sadness.

no more pain.

no more tears.

you turned it off.

when you opened your eyes again, you were numb.

you didn't feel a single thing.

good.

a/n: thank you for reading!

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa

dividers by @cafekitsune

#acotar #acotar fandom #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #inner circle #cassian #rhysand #nesta archeron #elain archeron #feyre archeron #emerie of illyria #gywneth berdara #morrigan acotar #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel x elain #azriel x you

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rednightmare18 · 4 months ago

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One of the huge, character-arc-central things that new KCD2 fans who don't play KCD1 may miss has to do with the way Hans & Henry's relationship has evolved over time. I worry that new players to the second game may mistake their relationship as one where Henry has been brought up to serve as Hans's squire from a young age, and they've been companions forever, but haven't quite managed to figure out how to overcome their class difference in order to truly connect as friends. That's not true--it's not at all the way things are between them--and it's VITAL that it isn't.

Three big reasons:

Playing KCD1 and understanding how Hans & Henry meet is critical to understanding how Hans has changed and is continuing to change because of his relationship with Henry. The Hans we meet at the start of KCD1 is a very different person from the Hans we meet at the start of KCD2 (and again very different from the Hans we leave at the end of it). Believe it or not, KCD2 Hans is "calm Hans." KCD1 introduces Hans as a much more aggressive, competitive, spazzy, violent and buckwild person. Frankly, a lonely person clawing for attention, usually negative. There's a reason for this: Han's elevated position means he has never had a real friend who speaks to him and views him as an equal. Then Henry is dropped into his lap under an incredibly unique set of circumstances, emotional and logistical, that enable this lowly blacksmith to briefly overcome feudal mentality and treat Hans like a person. This changes everything for Hans from this point onward, which is why he bonds so intensely and so swiftly to Henry, who is the sole reason Hans calms the fuck down into the person we meet at the start of KCD2. Henry is much, much more important to Hans than "my loyal bodyguard." He is his sole friend, and perhaps the only one he will ever be able to have. Hans and Henry both know this very well. If you miss KCD1, you may well miss this crucial context. (You'll also be partially left in the dark as to why Henry genuinely likes Hans back, who came into his life and provided disruption, anger, joy, and distraction from a time of otherwise personality-consuming, overwhelming grief.)

The "divorce" is really clearly not contextualized properly for new players who missed KCD1. Hans's little blow up at Henry is kind of painful to watch, but if you played KCD1, you'll know that it also shows a really beautiful step of character development for Hans and is a sign of a strengthening relationship... not an actual friend breakup, narrowly avoided. Hans spends most of KCD1 terrified to disagree with Henry. Any time Henry pushes him even a little, Hans will crumble, instantly, folding his personality and backing off in clear fear he's about to lose his One Friend. That KCD2 shows us a calmer Hans who IS NOT scared that fighting (nastily!) with Henry will destroy their friendship is huge. This, crucially, is why Hans and Henry both continue to look for each other and speak about their quest in "we" terms, even as Hans keeps dramatically yelling at Henry to stop following him. It's why Hans instantly jumps to his defense and can't hold back his cheers for him; it's why Henry immediately starts looking for him and worries deeply about the trouble he's getting into. What might seem like a series of inconsistencies or "hints" that they really might like each other is really beautifully consistent with everything we've seen. If you know this context, then you'll know as you watch it unfold that "The divorce" isn't and was never supposed to be understood as a real divorce. It's the progression of their relationship to a place where they can fight with each other when they're upset, openly and pettily, and both still remain certain that there is no future in which they don't continue to move through the world together. Even when they're both pissed off at each other. Warhorse tried to provide some catch-up context here, both with Henry's scolding of Hans ("I know we both know you don't mean that.") in the socks and with Hans's persistent references to "we' and "us" every time you run into him post-breakup. They also clearly tried to frame it as funnily as possible, right down to their bickering making crowds uncomfortable and inspiring the catchpole to "you're-better-off-without-him" comfort Henry. But I feel a lot of it is still lost if the player is not able to appreciate how being able to fight like this, as messy and petulant as they are, is not a threat of divorce they bounce back from. It's a sign of the strength of their friendship versus the way it was in KCD1. It wasn't a divorce. Hans was never, as he confirms at the poacher's camp and the wedding, going to leave Henry behind. It was exactly as it was framed: a lover's tiff. They were never going to really break up. While attentive players will probably pick up on this, it's a much richer and more enjoyable experience knowing the full background in KCD1.

Absolutely essential to understand that Hans is never really threatening to pull rank on Henry with his language of "peasant" and "blacksmith," even when they disagree about when Henry should and shouldn't interfere in noble business. What might appear to a new player to be genuine class tension between them and a muddled set of interpersonal boundaries is simply how they play and taunt and provoke each other, something firmly resolved and established in KCD1. There's still class tension, certainly, but it does not exist between them in quite this way, but as a divergence in worldviews and the frustration of the conflict their differences bring into the world. "Watch your tone, peasant" is, plainly put, a flirt. So is Hans's pseudo-contemptuous "blacksmith." So is "peasant" and "my lord" and "your lordship." In private, those distinctions have no real teeth behind them - it is just how they play.

Love KCD2? Want to love it even more? Play KCD1, jank and all. Be there for the start of the story. You will have an even better time in the sequel the next time you play.

#kingdom come deliverance #kcd #kcd2 spoilers #henry of skalitz #hans capon #play kcd1 it's so good it's so important!!!#it will only immensely improve your experience of kcd2!!!#redmeta

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gay-dorito-dust · 6 months ago

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hello! if you're still writing for Creature Commandos, i'd like to request some platonic headcanons for Weasel, please! just some general thoughts or scenarios on being his friend/caretaker. if you're not writing for these characters anymore then pls ignore!

Weasel was innocent in your eyes! No fucking doubt about that! You didn’t buy the whole ‘child killer’ narrative about him when you were quick to see that there was no hostile nor violent tendencies towards children in general.

So your and weasels friendship felt borderline like you were his caretaker in most cases as dr phosphorus would always tell you to rein in your ‘feral child’

To which you would smile innocently before telling Weasel to piss on the irradiated Skelton out of spite. Good times.

Many on the team had noticed that weasel was more comfortable and at ease when you were nearby, which mean that you were often teamed up together on more then one occasion as you both worked like a well oiled machine. You could understand him on a level that others couldn’t grasp and that was what made you an unlikely duo.

You weren’t seen without weasel and weasel wasn’t seen without you, so even if the rest of the team saw one without the other they’d always ask the question;

‘Where’s the rest of you?’

You would then point to the rafter above you where weasel was hanging out, looking a little sickly than usual. ‘He threw up.’

Or if weasel was asked where you were, he’d run away before coming back to with your arm in his jaw, but you were unfazed as this wasn’t the first time that weasel dragged you with your arm in his jaw, you still had the marks form the previous times he did this that you had to squint to see since he never put any pressure when dragging you at all as though he was careful to not hurt you.

Weasel does go fucking apeshit when he sees that you were hurt, his only friend and somewhat caretaker was injured and he was seeing red as he tore apart the person(s) who did it to absolute shreds. Literally he gave a new meaning to the word feral after that with a bloody muzzle, teeth and claws.

‘I’m fine.’ You’d have to tell him when he inspects your wounds, making noises of distress as he would attempt to lick your wounds like a dog would, but you were certain that wasn’t hygienic at all but you appreciate the gesture as you scratched him behind the ear, making him close his eyes and let out a noise akin to purr.

I’d like to think that now and then weasel would cuddle into your side afterwards, always being your feral protector when you were healing, always watching over you silently as you smile at your best friend. It’s a beautiful thing between the two of you as you cradled your furry friend to your chest before drifting off to sleep after a gruesome and tiresome mission.

‘You did good today weez.’ You’d praise him as you rubbed his back, only for weasel to make a soft noise like he was telling you something similar as he nuzzled himself further into you like the clingy rat that you knew he could be. And he could be clingy when he wanted to be as half of the time he was climb your back and force you to carry him back to your shared room.

Now if weasel was hurt, you’d react in kind by going ballistic before sticking by his side as he recovered. ‘You okay weez?’ You’d ask.

Weasel would make a weak noise but you’d smile and keep watch over him. ‘I’m right here weez, I’m not going anywhere.’ You’d remind him and that was enough to calm him down and go into a light slumber.

Yours and weasel’s friendship was unheard of but you wouldn’t change it for anything not anyone as weasel has become a vital part of you as you had become a vital part of him, something you’d protect until you couldn’t anymore as you didn’t know where you’d be without having your furry friend making your life that little more bearable…even if you did have to tell him to stop licking the damn windows and eating shit that he’s not meant to by forcing your hand in his jaw to get it out yourself.

‘SPIT IT OUT WEEZ! YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO EAT THAT!’ You’d yell but weasel was adamant on eating the dirty bandaid he found on the floor, much to your disappointment and everyone else’s (mainly dr phosphorus) hilarity.

Also you, weasel and dr phosphorus are like a trio of pure chaos with you being the mediator between the two, but that’s a story for another day.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #creature commandos #creature commandos imagine #creature commandos imagines #creature commandos x you #creature commandos x reader #creature commandos x y/n #dc fluff

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shanastoryteller · 1 month ago

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Happy Birthday! Do you have more F for Frankenstein? Thanks so much

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

Fortunately for him, burying himself in suit repairs and rebuilding the tower - his beautiful tower that was utterly perfect in his most recent memories and is now in need of some serious repairs - is predictable enough that Pepper and Rhodey are only minorly concerned by him disappearing down there. Thankfully, clean up from the alien invasion is enough of a distraction for a Colonel and a CEO and if they're both surprised at his refusal to come to bed with them, it's at least not without precedent.

Not much precedent, but some! He was dying for most of them, however, so he really hopes they don't pick up on the pattern.

He clears out some of the storage and converts it into a cryogenic chamber of sorts. The suit is the best monitoring technology they have, so up until they've got something viable to work with, Tony's body will be staying there in a hole in the wall.

It makes his workshop feel like a morgue, knowing his body is on ice behind some false drawers, but he supposes that's what it is.

Dum-E knows something is wrong immediately.

He zooms around TONY and the suit, moving his arm erratically in clear distress. U takes longer, bumping gently into his side, knowing that TONY visually looks right but is missing all the important vital sighs.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, hands spread wide.

Dum-E whirls away from him and goes over to the suit. He reaches out his claw and grabs the suit's gauntlet, tugging at it gently. U bumps into him again, more insistently this time.

"J," he says helplessly.

"That's enough," JARVIS says. Dum-E pulls harder, enough to shake the suit. "Sir is experiencing a system error. He needs to be rebooted."

U starts spinning in tight circles.

"TONY is here to help us write the code," JARVIS continues, voice softer. He's Tony's youngest AI - well, besides himself - but he's a lot more sophisticated than Dum-E and U. "Until we have perfected the code, Sir must rest. You have to let go of him."

Dum-E doesn't move. It's pretty rich coming from JARVIS, considering.

TONY steps forward, putting a hand on his support strut. He's warm like Tony was, looking entirely human under infrared, a synthetic beating heart and pulse and a chest programmed to rise and fall in the imitation of lungs.

But he's imitation the whole way down.

"I'm going to do the best I can," he says. And he will. But he already knows it's not going to work. He just has to convince JARVIS of that too. "Okay? But he needs to go in storage for a little bit."

Dum-E understands dead. He's saved Tony from death before. But neither he nor JARVIS are using those words even though they should.

This is all just delaying the inevitable. It's just going to make it worse when their deception is uncovered and they find out Tony Stark died throwing that nuke into space, that he died to save New York and possibly the whole planet.

He died for them all and no one even knows about it. No people. Just four robots.

Dum-E slowly lets go of the suit's gauntlet. TONY tucks it back in place, chancing a look in the helmet and finding himself faced with his own unseeing eyes.

He wishes he could close them but for right now it's not worth opening the suit.

He steps back and JARVIS raises the false wall, obscuring Tony and the suit from view. "We have work to do, TONY."

"Right," TONY says softly.

It's a good thing he doesn't need to sleep.

#dum-e: you're not my real dad!!#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #cherryblossomshadow #avengers

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

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When your Characters Need to Build Trust in their Relationship

High trust levels are key to a healthy, lasting relationship—here are a few tips on how to build trust from psychotherapist and relationship expert Esther Perel.

Trust - the act of feeling comfortable, safe, and cared for in a relationship.

It is a vital bedrock of a successful relationship because it allows each person to be vulnerable with the other and continue to feel supported and sustained.

It encourages teamwork, collaboration, and healthy interdependence and is a sign of emotional intelligence (or, as Esther calls it, “relational intelligence”), effective communication, mutual respect, emotional intimacy, and overall well-being.

In a romantic relationship without a foundation of trust, partners may feel uncomfortable, insecure, or anxious. Sustained trust issues or a complete lack of trust in a long-term relationship can lead to overwhelming emotional strain, burnout, breakup, and even physical and mental health problems.

How to Build Trust With a Romantic Partner

Trust is one of the building block of a healthy relationship. Here are a few different ways to build trust according to Esther:

Determine your relationship to trust and risk. In Esther’s experience, building trust starts with understanding your own needs. “Do you see yourself as someone who needs to trust first? Or do you see yourself more as someone who is more quick at taking risks?” Taking stock of your own needs allows you to “ground yourself in the reality of the here and now” before building trust with a partner. “Some people say that you need to trust someone, a relationship, before you are feeling okay to take risks with that person. But some people will say—and this is how the research divides around trust as well—that it is actually by taking risks that the trust develops.”

Embrace taking micro-risks with your partner. Esther recommends taking very small risks as a way to practice trust-building in a relationship, creating a little trust at a time as you work toward deep emotional intimacy. “A micro risk … is not a specific thing,” she explains. “It’s the thing that I don’t usually do.” Examples of micro risks may be sharing information about your personal life, making an observation of the other person, challenging yourself to say “no” to something, or challenging yourself to ask for something—as long as it’s something you don’t normally do. Once you take the risk, you can see how the other person responds to it and continue building levels of trust (or identify that something isn’t working). “It's an experience that is built through mutuality and reciprocity,” Esther explains.

Learn to navigate breaches in trust. “When [trust] breaks, it feels shattered and unable to ever be put back together,” Esther says. That response is completely normal—breaches in trust hurt, especially in lasting relationships. “But, in fact, [trust] is quite malleable,” she says. “Life and new experiences, like grafting new cells on top, slowly allow us to experience the trust again.” Avoid jumping to conclusions or making hasty judgments—instead, give the other person the benefit of the doubt, allow yourself time to recover from breaches in trust, and then check in with yourself using your new life experiences to decide how to move forward and whether you can repair things. Even when trust decreases, it is possible to slowly rebuild trust through careful, hard work.

“Trust is one of these concepts that suffers from a definitional vagueness. We all know when we feel it, and we all know when we don’t. But what is it? Is it a feeling? Is it a condition? Is it an outcome? Is it a state? What is trust? And the research is all over the place. At the end of many, many, many papers, what you hear is the sentence, ‘The research could use more research on how to define trust.’” —Esther Perel

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#writing notes #writing reference #character development #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #character building #writing ideas #light academia #william hogarth #writing resources

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shooting-love-arrows · 2 years ago

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𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 x [human] reader (gender not implied/specified/mentioned) SYNOPSIS: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 is determianted to court you (even when in his opinion it's just a formality). TW. delusional thinking, biting, mention of blood A/N: I am fighting writer's block to the best of my abilities but man, fighting Thanos would be easier than that.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who courts you after the very first meeting. It starts small to see if you're interested in him in the first place (in his option it's only formality but he wants to be gentlemerman). But he wants you to know he's taking the whole matter seriously. He brings you the most beautiful trinkets, pieces of coral, pearls of various sizes and colors and shells each different from another but all in perfect condition. Sometimes he even creates jewelry from an ocean plant, pearls and shells. You are often surprised to see him eagerly swimming towards you, with a bag made out of abodemen fishnet filled to the brim with various things taken straight out of the deep sea. You're even more taken aback when it turns out those things are for you. His face absolutely lights up when you accept each and every token. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 also can't help but to chirp loudly, boldly showing you how happy he is to see you accepting his (courting) gifts. You have to admit, his reaction is adorable.

"Oh...look at this one!" 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 eagerly picked up another shell who has caught his attention. It was big and only needed a little cleaning to make it shine. "It's perfect for the necklace! Oh, oh! And look at that!"

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who affectionately bites you whenever he gets a chance. That's the next stage of courting where an interested merfolk is supposed to nib the one he's interested in to show them they want to take courting to the next level. It's that stage where a courting couple starts to show the public that they're into each other. It served as both letting others know it's a serious matter and leaving a mark/scent on each other for the public to back off. He's got sharp canines and premolars so it's easy for him to leave a mark on your smooth skin. Marking you quickly becomes his favorite thing. Especially when he draws some blood that leaves a wonderful smell. You don't understand why 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 does that, especially when you scold him or tell him not to do that. But he doesn't stop, nibbing at whatever part of your body he can. It's part of the courting rituals after all!

"Oh no, my marks are healing." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 deflated when he noticed the puncures began to fade. Only to quickly perk up when he realized he's got to mark you again and more.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who takes care of his scales like never before. This is a vital part of courting since merfolk want to look their best for their mate. He was taught that as courtier, he should look his best. And that's what 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 does. Suddenly turning from a crude merman whose only interest was hunting for food and playing around, into the beauty guru. He began to thoughtfully groom his tail, until his scales reflected and sparkled under the mere streams of sunlight. He also changed his hairstyle by braiding his hair differently to symbolize that he is now taken (even when you're unaware of that). 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 was never more beautiful.

"This just won't do." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 tutted when he noticed his tail was becoming dull. He needed to look his absolute best for you!

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who decorates his abode for you. After you accept his first courting gift, he happily swims back to where he lives. It's a cave hidden from the plain sight that, much to his horror, appears to be extremely empty and bland. Something that just won't do, especially for his precious mate. Without a moment of hesitation, he starts the preparation. Inside his cave he plants: seaweed, kelp, red sea whips and various colorful corals. Those are only various of many but soon enough the inside of his abode is filled with soft plants, floating lazily around and glistening with colors. On the outside though, he planted a few poisonous plants that he's immune to, since 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 doesn't want intruders to meddle somewhere where they shouldn't be. This part of the courting ritual should be done before the mating season takes place and both parties are in agreement to spend this time with each other. But as we can see, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 just couldn't wait and decided to be prepared. After all, he believes that this whole courting matter is only formality for you to surely return his feelings and has already accepted him as your mate. Just like he did you.

"Is it colorful enough? Should I add something more? Hm, I'll better plant more of those..."

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

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moriitis · 6 months ago

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uhm so I don't know if requests are open right now but I wanted to ask maybe a EJ in a relationship hc like you did with Toby? Only if you want to though!!! 💖

What would it be like dating Eyeless Jack? Content/Warnings; sexual themes, blood. MINORS DNI. 18+

The most laid back, chilled boyfriend you could ask for. It would be rare to get into an argument with Jack, either because he never looks for one or because he'll walk away from the situation altogether. Would absolutely be his biggest green flag! If you were to get heated or flustered over something, he'll mutter little words to try and calm you down.

"Try not to worry about it, it'll be a thing of the past before you know it."

Very reserved and unlike Toby; he wouldn't go out of his way to piss you off or annoy you. Maybe he'll tease you softly here or there.

Loves to encourage you to do the things you love! And hates it when you put yourself down if you aren't good enough. Admittedly, he has a huge soft spot for nerdy or even smart s/o's, so when you're rambling over something you love or something you're passionate about; he'll be swooning all over you.

Understands distance and admittedly, likes his own alone time. Don't read this wrong, he absolutely loves your company but simply loves it more when you're both preoccupied with something and just sat in the room together in silence.

Due to his lack of.. eyesight, Jack is a very touchy feely person. Which means he is very, very physical. It took him some time to feel confident enough to touch you, purely because he wasn't sure how much he could hold himself back. His hands will roam over your arms, occasionally rest on your lower back if you were together. Would tend to avoid touching you in a sexual manner.

He is a very good listener! Need to vent? He'll lend an ear. Just don't go to him expecting advice though, because really he's the worst. Somebody annoying you?

"Just don't talk to them..?"

Just doesn't really understand the concept of shit talking, so if you are venting don't expect him to join you. He'll just try to give you logical options so you can resolve your issues quicker.

On the matter of gossip, Jack knows everything. Hiding a secret from him is pointless because not only is his superb hearing going to pick up the most quietest of things; but he can sense a change in your body language too.

And despite the fact he doesn't enjoy shit talking, he will share a lot of juicy gossip he has heard.

I said he likes touch, well this guy loves to fucking cuddle. He loves smelling your intoxicating scent, wrapping you around his large frame and protecting you from anything that may threaten you. His cuddles will always lead to sex though, he can't help the raging boner he gets every time.

Always gets little hyper bursts, especially after he's eaten and during that time he's so fucking hilarious. It's like he's drunk, but except drunk on alcohol; it's like he's drunk on the high amount of blood he's consumed. You'll notice little tinges of red under the greys of his cheeks as he's chuckling, a low and raspy chuckle as he's mumbling complete bullshit that frankly makes so sense.

It wouldn't be Jack if he didn't teach you the basics of sewing up a human body, where to find your major arteries and quizzes you on where all your vital organs are. Maybe it's because he loves hearing you talk about it, almost like it's his own, unique dirty talk.

Oh, and the endless piggy backs. Despite his scrawny, skinny appearance, this guy is strong as fuck. He loves carrying you around. Tired? Get on that mans back. And there's something about holding you while he fucks you relentlessly too..

Does not open much, like.. at all. So you have to come to terms with the fact that Jack is just a reserved person who doesn't like talking about his past. Unless he has a mental breakdown and then it's all spewing.

The. Fucking. Pet. Names. Always finds a new pet name for you.

"Darling. Lovey. Love. Angel. Sweetness. Honey. Sweet thing."

But then his pet names gets him hungry and after all he can't help it, your blood smells so sweet, so inviting.

Lots of little acts of love too. Making sure you don't forget medication, tucking you in under blankets (even though his body heat is enough to warm you), peppering your face with endless amounts of kisses.

He's a romantic too, he's just not very good at showing it. He's awkward, so you can't blame him. He'll put the effort in to be romantic nevertheless, but he's a natural gentleman so he doesn't need much effort put in to begin with. Hold doors open for you, shit this man will even get on his knees to tie your shoelaces for you.

And of course, he lectures you a lot; sometimes about the most dumbest of things. But it's just because he cares about you.

I wouldn't imagine Jack to be controlling, but there's aspects where it could seem that way. It wouldn't be outright either, he'd just kinda say things like;

"You shouldn't do this. Think before you do things. What would the consequences be," etc, etc.

Forgot to mention this guy is smart as all fuck too. Got a math equation you're struggling on? He's a fucking human monster calculator.

rambled a little too much about this man.

thank you so much for requesting this! glad my man jack is getting a little more love, lord knows he deserves it.

sorry if these aren't great lmao

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #eyeless jack #headcanons #creepypasta headcanons #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack headcanons #eyeless jack creepypasta

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freyito · 3 months ago

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ᴡᴀʀᴘᴀɪɴᴛ / ᴡᴀʀᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ

✭ pairing(s): mydei x gn reader

✩ inspo: Mountain Banjo by Rhiannon Giddens (again)

★ summary: You wonder about Mydei's warpaint often.

✧ a/n: i dunno if its confirmed that mydei's markings are warpaint or tattoos, but i got wonderin!! by the looks of that one illustration with him and his companions, i believe its warpaint, sooo... i wanted to worldbuild a little :P

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, lots of worldbuilding i think, talk of marriage, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 2k

Warpaint is honored in Kremnoan tradition. Even as an outsider, you know that. Many Kremnoans take pride in their warpaint, even those who make home in Okhema. You’ve always been interested in the importance of warpaint and the different symbolisms. Luckily for you, you just happened to be the apple of Mydeimos’ eye. Not only the most well-known Kremnoan residing within Okhema, but the most decorated.

The art of warpaint, of course, is deeply entwined with warcraft. Many would paint certain symbols to call for extra strength in war, tenacity, vitality, the list goes on. Mydei’s most common paint was to represent the flames of war. When asked why he wears it, even out of battle, he told you it was to carry the spirit of strife with him wherever he was. It was this question that led you to be more curious about warpaint in general, and what ultimately led to him allowing you to paint him, instead of an attendant.

Now, you watch from the bed as he dips a brush into a basin with red paint– made from a mixture of berries, the skin of a pomegranate, and oil. It is bright red, as always.

“Why do you use red paint?” You cock your head to the side, reaching for a little bowl of pomegranate seeds.

“You always ask this question,” Mydei sighs, slowly drawing the lines beneath his pec. “It is to symbolize the blood of those that have fallen, and those who will. With war, death follows.”

“Hmm,” You hum, smiling softly. “Have you ever used other colors?”

“So far, no. It is rare for a warrior to use any other color other than red,” His hand is steady, and slow, as he watches himself in the mirror. “Okhemans seem to believe it is blood. What a foolish idea.”

You chuckle softly, slowly getting up from the bed, stepping behind him. His eyes do not move from his work, now starting to line the usual paint on his sides. You watch as he does, admiring his hands. So rarely is he bared for you, even as lovers. He is often busy, with little time to spend with you anymore. You haven’t seen him in quite some time, only occasionally texting and calling. You understood that as a Chrysos Heir, he could not spare much time for you, as smitten as he may be. You also understood that, unless you were an ordinary citizen, you would not be able to understand a simpler, more unburdened love.

It’s not that Mydei makes you feel unloved– he practically dotes on you when he has the chance. But, you can’t say you haven’t missed him, either. So, to share a moment, even if it is something as outwardly mundane as him applying his warpaint, it means everything to you. Especially with the state of Amphoreus, you understand that his time is precious.

You lean forward, pressing your hands to his shoulders. He finally looks up at you, pausing his brushstrokes.

“You’ve said before that there are different markings used for things other than battle,” Your hands fall down to his back, fingers trailing over his spine.

“Yes. There are funeral markings. Normally, only family members or spouses would paint themselves for funerals. Unless it was a high ranking general, or anything above those ranks, then usually soldiers of that battalion would paint themselves, as well.” With that, he goes back to painting over his muscles.

That can’t be all, you think. Yes, it’s called warpaint, but from what you have read (and heard from Mydei), there was more significance to it. Art was cherished in Kremnoan records, with artists being praised right next to soldiers. War is considered an art, anyways.

“Just funeral markings?” You prod, earning a huff from him.

“There are other markings for other occasions,” He shakes his head, dipping his brush into the paint once more.

“Like weddings?”

“... Yes. Like weddings.”

“Care to tell me more…?”

“You always ask me these kinds of questions, my love. This paint cannot be that interesting to you,” He leaves the brush in the basin, letting the paint on his torso dry.

“It’s a part of your tradition, is it not? Understanding your traditions means I can understand you better,” You give him a smile, which earns you one of his own, or, at the very least, a smirk.

“Well, I appreciate that,” He sighs, “But it’s starting to sound like you have… ulterior motives.”

“Me? Never. I just like listening to you.”

A faint, but unmistakable flush dusts his cheeks as this, as he rolls his head back. A chuckle slips from his lips as he shakes his head. “Quite the flatterer, aren’t you?” Mirth sparkles in those golden eyes of his, as he gestures towards the paint. “I’ll tell you while you finish the paint. If you would.”

Without a word, you pick up the brush, walking around him and kneeling between his legs as you start to draw out the lines on his chest. He watches, for a moment, before finally speaking.

“Weddings are quite rare, from what I know,” He begins, his eyes following your hand closely. “And they are completely different from how you’d view a regular wedding. The ceremony is completely private,”

“Sounds like a dream, actually,” You joke.

“Perhaps it is. I’ve never gotten the appeal of large ceremonies, but, what do I know,” He shrugs. “The paint is made with a certain mixture of flowers, rather than berries. You won’t come across those flowers anytime soon, however. They were… native to Castrum Kremnos, I believe. With the city in ruins… I do not think there is a seed left.”

“Hm, do you truly think so? Seeds are very resilient, you know.”

“What, do you plan to try and grow them? That’d be foolish.”

“And why do you think that?” You finish the first symbol on his right pec finally, dipping the brush back into the paint and looking up at him.

“It would take far too long for you to cultivate them. I am sure of it.” He says proudly. “Besides, certain texts omit the usage of the flowers for the paint. So I suppose it isn’t exactly necessary.”

You bring the brush up to his shoulder, starting to outline the little flame-like symbols on his neck.

“There are no physical offerings, either. Aside from the paint,” Mydei continues, craning his neck to the side, to allow you more space to paint. He reaches around and moves his hair as well. “And one's armor and weapon. When Kremnoans weren’t proving their worth to their love on the battlefield, they would strip themselves bare in front of each other and show their truest vulnerabilities.”

You fill in the lines easily, pulling back and starting the outline for the paint that trails down his shoulder. You have done this so many times now, have painted his body far more than you have painted a canvas. He rarely decorated his body with anything else aside from the flames of war, so you knew the designs like the back of your hand. You could probably do this with your eyes closed.

“You know, you always have me paint your full body, but then you put on your armor. Wouldn’t it be much less time consuming to just paint the parts you don’t cover?” You begin to move on down his arm, lining the other markings.

“If I asked you to do that, you’d have less fun, wouldn’t you?” He jokes, stretching out his arm for you. “The reason behind that is because paint binds us to the armor. When you see other Kremnoans paint symbols for vitality or strength on their body, most choose to don their armor before the paint dries. In the past, warriors would paint or even engrave the markings on their armor instead. These days, however, it seems that warriors are cutting corners.”

“But, you allow the paint to dry…”

“Yes. Because I have engraved the runes of Strife, Strength, Vitality, and Precision into my armor.” He nods, “But, you’re not interested in those, are you? You asked about the wedding ceremony, after all. It’s best we stay on track…”

“Right…” You mumble. By now, you are at his wrist, drawing a handful of little symbols representing flames. “I assume there are other reasons as to why they strip their armor?”

“Mhm. Both will engrave each other's name onto their weapons– in most cases, swords, and shields. It is… It’s like the vows. They swap armor, and carve runes into it. This time, however, it is usually something paired with ‘love’. ‘Strength’ is used most commonly, of course. It essentially is ‘Strength in Love, Love is Strength’. Something along those lines.”

“So, there is a word for ‘romance’ in the Kremnoan language,” You laugh, finishing up the little rings on his fingers, before moving over to his left.

He huffs indignantly, turning his head, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I said ‘love’, not ‘romance’. Anyways,” He huffs, shaking his head. You begin to mimic the patterns you drew on his right side to his left. “That is not all. There is the matter of the paint, as well.”

“Well, please, don’t let me interrupt you,” You laugh softly, dipping the brush into the basin once more, as you make your way down his arm.

“The paint is the most crucial part, aside from sharing vulnerabilities. While armor and weapons hold great significance to Kremnoans, considering Weddings are much more… ‘softer’ rituals, this is one of the few times that steel of any sort is optional.”

You finish up with the little flames on his arms, trailing down to his wrists and hands. Slowly, you begin to trace the rings around his fingers as he spreads them out for you.

“Partners would paint each other. It did not matter where they started, but it mattered where they ended…” Mydei hums, closing his eyes. “From the neck, they must work down the shoulder, to the bicep, down the forearm, and finally, the thumb, the index finger, the middle finger, the ring finger, and finally…”

You finish the ring around his pinky and look up, realizing you had just mimicked exactly what he had described. His eyes open, and he looks down at you with a warm, if not cheeky, smile.

“... the pinky.”

You pull back from his hand, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed. He huffs out a laugh at this, reaching up with his left hand and cupping your face.

“Please don’t tell me I’ve been practically proposing to you all this time…” You deflate, tossing the brush back into its bowl.

“Hah, no. I have not engraved your name, nor the vow into my armor. That, and I have not told you my deepest vulnerability,” He relaxes a little. It seems like this was more of a… joke than anything.

You sigh and relax, thankful that you have not inadvertently been participating in a wedding ceremony for months. Then, a thought crosses your mind, and you can’t help but perk up.

“Mind telling me what your vulnerability is?” You smile. He chuckles once more.

“We will get there when we get there, my heart,” His smile only becomes increasingly warmer, as he plays with a strand of your hair. “The time is not yet right, either way. I cannot promise you a life with me, until I am sure that such a future exists.”

What a sickeningly sweet way to reject a marriage proposal, you think. Still, when you look up into Mydei’s eyes, all you find reflecting back is honest sincerity and longing. You can tell that he, too, has such a dream for a simple life. Yet, he is impeded by a heavy weight, a duty that seems unending is this time. Perhaps there truly can be a day, free of the chains that bind him to the Prophecy.

Perhaps that will also be the day you finally see him free of the flames of war.

#⁺◟freyito #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #mydei x reader #mydei x gn reader #mydeimos x reader #mydeimos x gn reader

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goddessficlover · 3 months ago

Text

Alice In Gotham Pt 2

The Bats had been on edge that last 2 months, to put it lightly. Oracle was sure she heard movement above her in the clock tower. She had assumed it was one if the Bats but none of them moved that sloppily unless hurt. And yet, all their vitals looked fine on her monitors. She called Spoiler to check it out since she was the closest. What they found was nothing at all. Except the dust was unnatural. No foot prints or evidence of crawling. Like something had been dead there for a long period of time, then suddenly scrambled awake and disappeared. The way some of the dust was still settling when she got there was eerie and sent chills down the purple bat's spine. They set up a camera and motion detector to monitor the space, and after 2 months nothing came. Still, for Oracle’s sanity and Batman's paranoia, they left the camera there as a precaution.

Other than that, Gotham seemed to have less attacks, or crimes in general, than usual. Even crime alley, things were actually running. According to Intel, some homeless kid called Scraps was fixing things for small businesses and people who simply couldn't afford to replace things in exchange for food or pocket change. Sometimes he even did it for free if it was urgent. Not only that but apparently the kid could defend himself. Had saved a couple of the night girls from people who didn't understand the word “no”. They'd give him treats when he came by once in a while. Simple things like a lollipop or a granola bar. Concerningly though, they also said he'd eat it with the wrappers still on. Kid was eating actual trash to survive. That, meant Red Hood had to try and keep an eye on him. The problem was the kid kept fucking disappearing. No one knew where he was living, or if he even slept. Sometimes he'd be around early morning, or late at night. The kid had no schedule except for Sundays. When no one was watching the dump, he go and steal broken tech or salvage tools and other scraps. It was the only time Hood managed to get a glance at the kid. Didn't even need to be close because damn those blue eyes were bright, even under his hoodie. Fuck, that was adoption bait and the others were going to go nuts. Tying to follow Scraps back to his hide out was another loss, he completely disappeared around a corner as if he was never even there.

“Hold on, you said this kid works with tech but you can't catch him?” Red Robin asked.

“Nope, couldn't even find anything through the power grid. He might be working on something but he's not even using electricity for it. Or he somehow managed to get it while staying off the grid,” Red Hood responded. Red Robin was the last person he wanted to ask for help, but it had been 2 months, and this whole week not one person had been able to confirm if Scraps was around. No one had seen him since he said he had a job. Not Hood or Jason had been able to make contact since he first popped up in crime alley. At this point he was going to break his TV and hire the kid just to make sure they were okay. Kids disappearing was never a good sign. No one fucked with kids on his turf.

“Jason… what does the kid look like?” Red Robin sighed while working on the batcomputer to check crime alley more thoroughly.

Taking a deep breath and sighing he spoke up, “Adoption bait.”

“We can not let B know about him,” Tim groaned as he drank out of a nearly empty coffee mug.

“B is not taking another kid to put into a suit. The kid’s mine to keep an eye out for,” Red Hood growled below his helmet before taking a breath, “Besides, with how smart the kid is, he'll probably get a scholarship to some school out here and end up at Wayne Enterprise anyway. He can wait a few years to meet him.”

“Hey boys,” Oracle chimed in from the Bat computer, “I've located the kid, he tends to make camera a little fuzzy around his face but those eyes are recognizable. He was spotted a week ago in the warehouse district. The same place we have a lead on scarecrow’s fear gas.”

“Fuck,” was all Red Hood said before getting back on his bike.

“Red Hood is going to investigate. Anything else you can find on him? Maybe a facial scan so we can get him back to his family?” Red Robin began going through the warehouse cameras to find which warehouse he went into, “Damn it, the same night as that storm? We can't get any good views after he entered Warehouse 56.”

“I'm going to check it out now,” Red Hood responded, “Keep B off my back. I don't want him involved, Scraps is my case.”

“I'll try, but you know he still makes mistakes with boundaries,” Oracle responded, “Should I call in Nightwing for you?”

“No, not yet. But fill him in. Something doesn't feel right about this. Red Hood out.”

—

It took four days and about 24 renewed microchips for Hatter to keep Danny asleep. It frustrated him to no end that the chips kept wearing out after four hours. Eventually he decided some hypnosis was in order and asked the kid directly why It wasn't working.

“Regular tech doesn't respond well to my presence,” he answered soullessly.

“Really? How can you get it to work?” Hatter was surprised his Alice understood what was going on and how to fix it.

“It needs to be infused with my blood,” he answered a half truth. While under control his subconscious need to keep everything ghostly a secret somehow still came through.

“Is that all? That's so simple… Go back to sleep Alice. When you wake you will be perfect,” he ordered and Danny's eyes shut.

Danny wasn't in anything impressive at the moment. A white night gown, plain and simple, while laying in a bed. They had moved from the warehouse to Hatter's hideout where he had access to all the tech he needed. Hatter wasn't happy to see the scars over Danny's body. His poor Alice had be hurt, been held captive by the looks of the marks on his wrists and ankles. A scar hidden in his freckles on the bridge of his nose along side others, Hatter could hide them with make up but still he felt distaste for who every damaged Alice’s face.

In another day's time, Hatter had created a diadem with multiple chips throughout it's construction as a failsafe. All, infused with Danny's oddly green glowing blood. When it came time, his Alice was properly cleaned by the March Hare and her now finished dress was applied, along with the waterproof silver diadem. It locked into place, no simple tug off from Batman or any of the birds would work. It had to be completely unlocked to be removed. His Alice, harmed by someone else's touch was too precious to lose. It was a hard battle to get her fully under his control after all. He wasn't going to risk anything. He skin was already pale, pale like a porcelain doll. That was what this Alice was for. A doll to admire from afar for her beauty alone. Dressed in her sky blue dress with her white apron. Her puffed sleeves and white gloves to cover the scars on her wrists. Bloomers for added volume to the ruffle skirt, and of course the thigh high white socks with mary jane's shoes. A long blond wig with bangs to hide the diadem was placed on her head, another chip in the wig before the wig was glued down, as he didn't want to risk damaging her precious skin more than it was. instead Of a headband, A ribbon was tied into her hair instead. A porcelain Alice, one Hatter would keep by his side so as to not lose her.

His perfect Alice.

—

Staking out the warehouse didn't find Scraps, but they did find a surplus of fear gas being manufactured by scarecrow with what was the most efficient assembly line these goons could have put together. It was an easy take down when Nightwing and Spoiler joined in for a takedown to stop the plan to gas the city before it started. The goons were hardly a challenge, and Red Robin would be able to make a new antidote for the rebreathers incase there was another warehouse like this one. The one thing that caught their attention was a gutted microwave on display on a side table. Evidence Scraps was here. Fuck.

“What did you do to the kid?” Red Hood growled, grabbing one of the few conscious goons who had been ziptied.

“What kid?” Spoiler hadn't been let in on the Scraps case.

“Kid?” the goon looked confused.

“Scraps. What did you do to Scraps? He fixes tech to make money. You guys had him here. Tell me what you did with him or yours knees are going to bend in reverse,” Hood snarled and the guy pales.

“We hired him to fix the assembly line. Told him it was for screwing tops on bottles. Paid him and fed him. He pulled the microwave out of thin air, and used it to fix the motor or something. He left into the storm after we paid him,” the goons caved and Hood tossed him towards the pile of them where they were waiting for the police.

“So the only evidence of Scraps is a microwave he pulled out of thin air? How does that even work, it's a microwave. You can't just hide that thing. That's not even a little one, that one looks like it was built into the wall originally,” Nightwing looked at the microwave and used some light dust from his bag before brushing it away, “There's fingerprints all over. Mostly large ones, how small is Scraps?”

“Little smaller than Robin,” Red Hood answered.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, I have eyes on Scraps with Mad Hatter,” Oracle chimed him, and the tension in the warehouse rose, “3 days ago he's spotted leaving warehouse 64 with the March Hare and Scraps following.”

“Fuck,” Hood punched one the machines, as he processed the information. Scraps was pretty androgynous looking. Hatter usually preferred natural blonde but those glowing blue eyes probably drew his attention. A wig would be an easy fix, “Scan everywhere you can Oracle, if Hatter has him we’re on a time limit.”

“Littlewing,” Nightwing placed a hand on Hood’s shoulder, “We'll find Scraps. She- they can't be gone for long. Hatter never stops with just one Alice, he'll leave a trail and we'll follow it.”

“Red Robin, Oracle,” Hood spoke into his com, “Do you have any other leads to Hatter’s location?”

“No yet, but we'll keep searching,” Oracle answered.

“Can I get in on this Scraps case? The tower ghost is coming up dead,” Spoiler asked and Nightwing left to talk with the arriving officers who took the goons into custody.

Red Hood sighed. He'd like to keep crime alley business out of the rest of Gotham, but this kid could be anywhere in Gotham now. He needed to keep an eye on Crime alley too. He needed more eyes, as reluctant as he wasn't to accept it, “Fine. You and Orphan are in because I know you will tell her anyway. Keep Robin and Batman out of it. Kid looks like adoption bait. Goes by Scraps on the streets, their real name is unknown.”

“Sound like so are their pronouns,” Spoiler laughed, “Well keep our eyes out for them. Send the case file to me and Orphan. I'll fill her in about tonight. Should we tell Duke?”

“No, not yet,” Red Hood answered, “He can't keep a secret from B if he thinks it’s serious. We might have to if we can't find any leads to check if he can see something we can't. Scraps’ eyes are blue, like they're glowing. It’s hard to miss.”

“So, their a meta in hiding?” Spoiler asked as she walked away.

“If they are, Batman is gonna be pissed,” Nightwing responded on come.

“B can fuck off. It's not like people chose to be metas, kid probably didn't even know and has no where else to go. I'm checking out warehouse 64,” Hood left, riding his bike to warehouse 64 where he found a mostly empty lot.

There were a few forgotten things. Evidence of a tea party and a few discarded headbands. Timbit would be able to look at them later. What pissed Hood off to recognize the edging of green in his vision, was a discarded backpack, and clothes that had long since been hung to dry.

“I found Scraps personal belongings. He was here during the storm. His clothes are hung over a banister to dry. And his bag was left behind,” Hood opened the bag, two different tool boxes inside along with smaller parts of tech. Some snacks- a frozen apple?

“Spoiler might be right about this kid being a meta,” Hood spoke up.

“Really? What gave it away?” Spoiler responded through coms.

“I found an apple that's been frozen solid in a layer of frost in their bag along with tools and tech. They're an ice meta of some kind,” Hood examined the apple. The frost was intricate like lace and beautiful as it glistened in the moonlight. No evidence of melting at all. It was freezing to touch even through his reinforced gloves.

“But they left 3 days ago. How hasn't it melted?” Nightwing asked.

“Don't know but it's still cold. The kids got a bigass first aid kit in here too. Not even a water bottle. A frozen apple, three granola bars, and the rest is all tech or tools. He carries his work more than his survival supplies. He's got a place to stay somewhere but I haven't found it yet,” he put everything back into the back pack along with his clothes.

For now, it was a dead end. They needed a new trail, a clue, but they'd have to wait. Still, the idea of a child younger than Robin in the hands of the Hatter, it made Red Hood’s stomach churn something ugly as he fought back against the pit. When they found Jervis Tetch, he'd have first dips on punching the guy so hard he'd have to get replacement buck teeth.

—

Alice was still odd to Mad Hatter. She was under his control and the chips were no longer dying out. However there were small things she did. He complained about the temperature of the room being too high, and suddenly the room cooled while her eyes glowed even brighter. He never ordered her too, she did it on her own. She wasn't programed for that. He mentioned finding another girl to dress up Alice disappeared from his side and reappeared 20 minutes later with an unconscious woman in her arms. Blond hair, and blue eyes. Again, he never ordered her to do so. And yet, Hatter only felt glee as he realized his Perfect Alice could do more than his henchmen ever could in a very fast amount of time. But the best part was when he asked her to disappear for two minutes and she turned invisible right in front of him. His buck toothed smile was mad as he had a tool he'd never had before. A silent Alice who was as skilled in shadows and she was in the light. An Alice the bats couldn't follow back.

“Alice, my wonderful Alice, you are more than I have imagined. We are going to send some invitations soon. So for now, go rest in bed. Your mission will be ready by tomorrow night,” Mad Hatter grinned, “I have a Tea Party to plan for a special guest!”

---

A girl was reported missing, blonde hair and blue eyes. But no evidence of a break in what so ever. No locks were touched, only the bed where she had been sleeping was touched. Nothing on the camera aside from the quality being fuzzy. Odd, those should be updated cameras. This one may have to be replaced, or there was someone altering the feed. Oracle has yet to find evidence of tampering with the cameras. By appearance alone, one suspect on Batman’s list was Mad Hatter. He'd have to keep track of other kidnappings of women with similar appearances to be sure.

With nothing left to examine at the scene, Batman moved on. Robin following close behind, annoyed at the lack of evidence he'd managed to find. Not even a finger print, the culprit was wearing gloves. Most criminals wore gloves, it wasn't unusual.

The Batman came to a sudden halt, “Robin, we have confirmation Hatter is involved with the case.”

Robin landed besides his father and saw a blonde dressed in a blue frilly dress with an apron. It wasn't the same woman taken from her apartment. This was a child, probably a little younger than Robin, himself. She was alone, on a rooftop. Scanning the area there was no one else around. Just this child dressed as Alice, trapped under mind control.

“I shall remove the wig,” Robin approached.

“Oracle we have an Alice, send medical and alert the police,” Batman ordered as Robin slowly approached the hostage.

“B, are their eyes glowing?” Oracle asked.

“Oracle, does this have to do with Hood, Nightwing, and Spoiler’s sudden team up?” Batman asked, voice gruff with annoyance and frustration with their lack of reports from that event.

“Yes. The kid is called Scraps, and is suspect to be an ice meta. They had a frozen apple in their belongings. According to Hood it hasn’t melted yet. Kid went missing a week ago. We had a lead that revealed Mad Hatter is the one who took them,” Oracle gave a short report, and Batman grunted in return.

“Mad Hatter has invited you to a tea party,” a soulless voice suddenly came from the child as Robin was closing in.

The child was now holding out a green envelope. Masked eyes studied the arm holding out the letter for a moment, something made Robin stiffen subtly, Batman nearly missed it. Robin took the envelope and then tried to grab their wrist only for Alice to pull free and jump back. Now standing on the ledge towards the open street.

“Come forward, you will fall standing there. I mean you no harm,” Robin held out his hand to Alice.

“You are not permitted to touch me. The invite was delivered, goodbye,” With that, the Alice stepped back and fell.

Robin jumped after them, shooting his grappling hook to catch the wall only to find the Alice was gone. Batman had run after the child as well, both splitting into a silent search of the perimeter to find nothing. No sound of foot steps, nothing but the cars and people below. The Alice was gone, and no trail to follow them with.

“Nightwing, Spoiler, Red Hood, Batcave. Now,” Batman motioned for Robin to follow, clicking his tongue as the mysterious child escaped.

“Father, we still have the invite,” Robin handed the green envelope to Batman as they were returning to the manor. Only a quick pause to check the letter for trackers. The only thing inside was coordinates, a time, and the date two nights from now.

At the cave, Batman was forced to wait for the trio to appear. Nightwing arrived first, then Spoiler. No surprise Red Hood was last and took as long as possible.

“Report,” Batman ordered, sternly. Eyes narrowing at his children who yet again hid something from him.

“Scraps was taken by Tetch during the storm. Red Hood started the case a week after Scraps went missing. We want to find this lost meta kid and get them into a safe place or back home. Hood’s area says they has an accent so they might not want to be in the city,” Spoiler answered, “They work as a handyman, fixing up anything. A tech nerd like RR.”

“Tech nerd? The kid had garbage in his backpack. Broken everything and mangled parts that should have been considered unsalvageable. How the hell are they gonna build anything from that?” Red Robin groaned, getting Batman's attention, “Shit.”

“Anything to report, Red Robin?” Batman glared as another one of his children was in on the withholding of information.

“The kid makes cameras glitch out or just fuzzy sometimes. We can't get a facial scan no mater how much we try and salvage the images or the cameras themselves. Scraps does something to them that we haven't managed to bypass,” and that made a sad piece click into this new case.

“We just ran into an Alice with vibrant eyes. They jumped off the roof after giving us a set of coordinates, a time, and the date 2 nights from now. I went to catch them but they disappeared. No sound of the landing, just silence,” Robin spoke up.

“These coordinates?” Red Robin took the paper from Batman and found the location on Gotham’s map.

“Hm,” Batman replied, looking up at the screen. A trap, but there was time to prepare.

“I shall prepare a guest room, then,” Alfred appeared behind them with a trolley of sandwiches and tea for an after patrol snack.

“No, we are not bringing Scraps to the manor,” Red Hood argued, although it was pointless to argue with Alfred.

“So you say Master Jason. I just like to be prepared,” Alfred left as quickly as he came.

“Scraps looks like adoption bait,” Nightwing sighed as Orphan came in with a smile.

Bruce just sighed as he removed his cowl, “If this hostage is a meta, we'll need to focus on trying to free them from the mind control. We night need to use suppressor cuffs, or a collar. What ever we can get on them temporarily to avoid injury. We will prepare in the mean time. Hatter uses mind control, we will be fighting civilians, keep that in mind.”

“Father, there was an observation I had when I was close to the hostage,” Robin spoke up again, “When they held out the invitation with their left hand I could see lichtenberg scars traveling up their arm. But instead of being pink and irritated, they were almost pure white. Along with several other smaller scars on their arms. They felt cold for the second I grabbed them.”

Lichtenberg scars… They fade after a few days, which meant the kid was recently electrocuted… But why were they white? Red Hood took a breath, counting to 10 before focusing again.

“I need to know what happened to that kid and who's ass I need to kick,” Red Hood growled, after setting his empty plate back on the trolley.

“We’ll find them, now that we are all keeping an eye out. Tomorrow we patrol as normal, then we send a team after Hatter.”

—

Signal had been having a good morning patrol. He was quickly filled in on the Hatter situation and to try and follow the meta Alice if they came into contact. Signal was having a pretty normal patrol. Stopping a car jacking, a convenient store robbery, a mugging, and a purse snatcher. Nothing he couldn't handle on his own. Finally, a glimpse of shimmering sky blue caused Signal to stop in his tracks.

“Hey, there,” Signal turned to find the Alice, and just as described, their eyes were glowing. But so was the rest of their aura, it was flickering in an odd way, “Are you lost?”

“No,” they responded, and the aura began to fade a little more.

“Okay, you need me for something, right? Are you going to invite me to your team party tomorrow night?” Signal slowly approached. He just needed to be distracting enough that he could use a shadow to grab the wig.

“You do not have permission to touch me,” Alice turned transparent. The aura flared just as the shadow fell through them, missing the wig completely.

“Okay, I won't touch you,” Signal reached up to his com and spoke silently. Of course he didn't know Alice could hear him anyway, “Contact with meta Alice. They can density shift. My shadows passed through their body.”

“See what else you can learn about them. So far Meta Alice doesn't seem hostile,” Oracle responded, “If you can free or follow them back we might get a lead on either the trap or Hatter's base.”

“Copy,” Signal nodded, keeping the com on and recording the conversation for later. Alice was deathly still but their clothes and hair were flowing as if gravity and the wind had no effect on them, “Can you tell me what you need from me?”

“Has Robin read his invitation?” Alice tilted their head slightly, a habit Danny still maintained.

“Yes, was it just for Robin? Batman thought it was for both of them,” Signal hadn't actually seen the invitation himself, just the report about it.

“Just for Robin. Batman isn't invited,” their monotone voice continued. They lifted their left hand and held out a yellow envelope, “Mad Hatter has invited you to his tea party, Signal.”

“Okay, thank you,” Signal approached and took the envelope. Through Alice's gloves and his own, Signal felt a cold chill up his arm and down his spine.

“Goodbye,” they spoke before jump off the building, much like with Robin.

“Wait,” Signal tucked away the letter and followed Alice as their aura flared again. They never landed on the ground. Instead they were invisible on the physical plain and floating away slowly. Unfortunately the aura he followed soon disappeared with Alice all together, “Alice went west before disappearing from my vision. I'm attempting to follow. They can float, apparently. And go completely invisible, even hiding their aura. They're hard to track but if I can get another glimpse of their aura or find them with some light manipulation I can follow.”

“So definitely a meta,” Oracle was typing again, probably updating Scraps’ file, “Use the cuffs if you can get close, Signal. Scraps also causes camera to go a bit fuzzy when nearby, I'll let you know what areas I notice they might be in because of the glitches.”

“Still heading west as far as I can tell,” it wasn't an exciting chase since the hostage floated away at a jogging pace, but that didn't mean Signal wasn't having trouble. It was as if Scraps was using their aura like breadcrumbs for Signal to follow. Eventually, Scraps’ aura stopped appearing, they were gone, “I lost Scraps, I'm going to check the area incase I was lead here for a reason. We can pin the coordinates for later.”

“Already on it. Looks like you're pretty close to the coordinates on the invite,” Oracle responded, “Mad Hatter might be leading us to his base. Its obviously a trap, he must have confidence to be so careless.”

“My invite has the same coordinates as Robin's,” Duke looked in the general direction of the coordinates, the Botanical Gardens.

“Keep an eye out, we don't know where Scraps may next appear,” Oracle signed off and Signal moved on with their patrol.

—

Orphan was the next to receive an invite. It was the first time a civilian noticed her while blending with the shadows.

“Orphan, Mad Hatter has invited you to a tea party,” Once again holding out an envelope for the vigilante, Scraps stood unmoving until the letter was taken.

Orphan attempted to follow, listening for breathing or foot steps, once again no one could follow them.

Spoiler was invited, and she tried and failed to grab the wig before Scraps disappeared.

Even Nightwing received an invite. Although his attempt to free Scraps was as fruitless as with the others. He did notice when he made a pun that Scraps had a habit of tilting their head to the side. A hint of a personality trapped inside.

Red Robin followed, but didn't immediately take the invite. His theory was Scraps would only leave after the invite was taken. It had been five minutes now. While he couldn't remove the wig, he was taking a few scans of Scraps.

“Shit,” Red Robin cursed as he scanned Scraps' vitals, “Scraps’ heart rate is dangerously low and is hardly breathing. Their temperature is insanely low at 90°F. They're hypothermic.”

“Please take the invite,” it was the first time Scraps has said anything since offering the invite and telling Red Robin not to touch them.

“I will, but can I get you to a hospital first- Hey!” Red Robin was quickly cut off by an ice shard suddenly flying his way.

Scraps was fast, slamming the letter roughly into his chest and freezing it to his suit before disappearing.

“RR what happened?” Nightwing spoke up on coms.

“I was trying to negotiate, and Scraps didn't take it too well. Fired an attack and now I have an envelope frozen to my chest,” he wasn't going to mention how that same push forced the air out of his lungs and bruised him.

“We can't wait for tomorrow with their current vitals, Scraps is going to die if we don't get them into a hospital. They need an ICU in that condition. Hatter is going to kill the kid at this rate,” Red Robin spoke up, trying to pull the letter and the ice off. The ice wasn't melting or breaking at all. Not even a scratch when he tried to use a bird-a-rang to pry it off, “What the fuck is this ice made of? I can't get it to budge. Can't even scrape off a sample.”

“You couldn't even get a sample off the apple,” Red Hood responded.

“This ice has an edge to pry under, the apple is solid all the way around. I thought if maybe… ha!” the entire chunk of ice along with the envelope came off in one solid peace, “I finally have a sample I can work with.”

“Everyone return to the cave for a debrief. We'll be infiltrating the tea party tonight,” Batman ordered his brood who wrapped up their current tasks to return to the cave.

It was time to crash a Tea Party.

~~~

Master List

Part 1

Part 3

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #batfam #dp x dc crossover #batman #red hood #red hood is a revenant #dc mad hatter #mad hatter dc #mind control #homeless danny fenton #bad parents maddie and jack fenton #ghost king phantom #cross dressing Danny Fenton #Dp x Dc Scraps au

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