#or Death of a Young Son by Drowning

[oflights]

Top 5 poems? 💕💕

I'M BACK. god i have been vibrating with wanting to do this one all day and ofc i was too busy and then had plans after work 🙄 thank you for sending this one, it makes me so happy lol

okay, here we go *cracks knuckles*

Directive, by Robert Frost. my number one always!! it's so twisty and meandering and a little stressful but of course insistently pastoral, one of my favorite kinds of poems ever.

You Can Take Off   Your Sweater, I’ve Made Today Warm by Paige Lewis. this is one that almost has to be listened to, and there's a good recording at that link! it's just such a wonderful poem. the last lines are so haunting and frantic and small. like:

come back             you forgot your sweater what if there’s nothing there when you — you don’t have your sweater what if it’s cold

like. to shreds you say dot gif.

3. The City, by C.P. Cavafy. oh i love this poem. it's one of those that makes me wish i knew greek so i could read it in its original language. it's absolutely devastating and brutal.

4. Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot. i have a Thing for angsty religious poems and this one is sort of the pinnacle of that. the dark tone of the prayer and the way he twists it this way and that; like, my man thomas stearns was going through it in this poem (he was sort of always going through it, tbf) and it shows and it's so good.

5. The Two-Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin. i mean, i sort of had to pick this one lol. it was actually difficult! this could have been Funeral Blues! it could have been literally anything from War Music! it could have been Travelling Together! it could have been sooo many poems, god. but no, i think it has to be this one. twice as many stars as usual ✨⭐️✨

[sayruq]

Amid Israel’s ongoing genocidal war on Gaza, maternal healthcare faces excruciating challenges. Deliberate and systematic Israeli attacks on hospitals and medical centers, and critical shortages of humanitarian aid, including medicine, have created a crisis that is endangering the lives of both mothers and newborns. The situation is critical. There are an estimated 50,000 pregnant women in Gaza and some 180 births every day. Israel’s decision in October to prevent food, water, fuel and electricity from entering Gaza created a desperate situation. Inadequate nutrition, exposure to cold and hot weather, the absence of clean water, and poor sanitation weigh heavily on the wellbeing of women and children. The circumstances force them to consume contaminated water, heightening the peril of dehydration and waterborne diseases, particularly among vulnerable groups such as expectant mothers, new mothers and young children. Fuel shortages and the constrained capacity of the few remaining medical facilities exacerbate the difficulty for women in labor to access hospitals. Um Amin, a mother with a few children, confronted with the harsh reality of displacement, recounted her family’s struggles during Israel’s aggression. As bombs relentlessly fell on their neighborhood, reducing their home to rubble, Um Amin had to seek refuge at a school run by the UN agency for Palestine refugees (UNRWA) in the northern Gaza Strip taking only very few belongings. She was pregnant. And in the school there was little by way of basic necessities such as clean water, food or even clothes for her children. She considered moving south, where food might be a little more accessible. Her husband refused, causing conflict between them.He feared not being able to return. And while she believed that the Israeli army was attempting to force them to leave, she also felt it was a matter of life and death for her children. “It was heart-wrenching to witness my kids fighting over scraps of bread. My 4-year-old started stashing away bread in his pocket for later. I was shocked. Before the war, I never slept without knowing my children were fed. Now, most of the time, I am certain they never feel satisfied.” Her entire motivation to carry on became a matter of feeding her children She denied herself food for their sake, but had also to remind herself of the child within her. “The baby inside me is also a priority, so I had to eat too.” She found the balancing act incredibly challenging, an unbearable burden of motherhood. “I am going to share something I’ve never told anyone I know: I contemplated suicide to escape the weight of this responsibility.”

After the Israeli army unexpectedly stormed al-Rimal, a Gaza City neighborhood, for a second time, Um Amin panicked and fled again, this time going from the UNRWA school to a relative’s house. But her fear caused her to enter preterm labor. A doctor, at the nearby al-Sahaba medical center, had to resort to a cesarean section. It was hell, Um Amin said. There was insufficient anesthesia and she could feel the scalpel cutting into her body. There was no electricity; the doctor had to use a handheld flashlight to see. Um Amin’s cries of pain could not drown out the crashing of shells around her. The operation left her utterly drained. She couldn’t believe she was still alive.She needed nourishment to recover what she had lost during the bleeding and to breastfeed her son. But hunger was stalking Gaza. Food was scarce, there was no white flour in the markets, and Israel was blocking aid trucks from entering the north. “All I had to eat was bread made from animal feed and water. When I had my other children, I relied on foods rich in animal proteins, but it was impossible this time. The price of meat was five times higher than normal.” Unable to adequately breastfeed her child, she had to find infant formula. But the price was multiple times higher than it used to be and more than she could afford. Eventually, she was forced to buy formula that was past its expiry date. “You might blame me, but there was literally no other option. I didn’t have enough money. It wasn’t clumped together, so the doctor told me it could still be used.” She would never find out. Due to the lack of clean water, she prepared the milk with non-potable water from a well. The baby refused to drink.

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell) Scene from the Uberwald Grand Sneer

[deliciousangelfestival]

Secret Sorrows || Bodyguard AU

Summary: Former special ops, Bucky, seeks solace in a cold refuge to escape his past. However, his haunted history catches up, unraveling mysteries that persist relentlessly.

Words Count: 2,253

Warning: Death character.

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing within the mystery theme. I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

In Antarctica's vast, frozen expanse, where researchers braved the harshest conditions, Bucky, a former military man seeking solitude in the icy isolation, served as the stern yet vigilant security presence.

One frosty day, Bucky diligently checked the storage temperatures, surrounded by the frigid air that mirrored the chill in his own heart. 

As he focused on his task, he was approached by Chef Jack, who had recently returned from the mainland to visit his grandchildren.

Bundled in layers against the biting cold, Chef Jack grinned at Bucky. "You're a charming man, Bucky. Why are you still single? The female scientists who work here have been flirting with you.”

Bucky, his breath visible in the freezing air, chuckled softly. "I just haven't found the one."

Chef Jack, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of age, patted Bucky on the shoulder. "I see. Still can't forget the former? I understand."

Bucky's gaze dropped to the snowy ground and fell into a heavy silence. He nodded subtly, not wanting to delve into the painful memories beneath the icy surface of his stoic demeanor.

In a sudden turn of events, Bucky received an emergency alert: "We need backup."

Without hesitation, he swiftly responded over the radio, "On my way," and rushed towards his waiting car.

Emergencies were a rare occurrence in this remote location, and deaths resulting from foul play were even more uncommon. 

Upon arrival at the scene, Bucky was met with a chilling sight – two in orange swimming suits, eerily floating in the icy waters. 

Drowning was the cause, an unusual and unsettling occurrence in this frozen realm. The onlooking tourists, shaken and fearful, murmured amongst themselves.

The atmosphere was tense as one tourist anxiously mentioned, "They have a kid, right? Where is their son?"

Bucky, now profoundly concerned, hadn't even seen the faces of the victims yet. His focus shifted to the potential tragedy of a child being left alone in such extreme conditions. 

Ignoring the bitter cold, he resolved to search for any sign of the missing child, determined to navigate through the frigid wilderness in a race against time.

Bucky, determined to find the missing child, declared, "I'm going to find their kid."

Meanwhile, young Ethan, feeling out of place in the freezing Antarctic surroundings, had been running away from the group. He voiced his displeasure about being on the tour, unable to comprehend why his parents insisted on such a cold adventure.

"Why did Mom and Dad want to come here? And who was that scary man looking at me?”

As Ethan blew on his cold hands, a sudden shadow engulfed him, casting a momentary relief from the harsh Antarctic winds. 

Looking up, he found himself face to face with a tall man, his piercing blue eyes reflecting genuine concern.

"Hey buddy. My name is Bucky. I'm here to get you safe," Bucky reassured him.

Still shivering from the cold and the frightful encounter, Ethan stammered, "Sa-save me."

Sensing the depth of the child's fear, Bucky draped a warm blanket over him and gently scooped him into his protective arms. Ethan, seeking comfort, curled up against Bucky, his small frame shivering against the chill.

"I want my grandma," Ethan mumbled, his voice barely audible over the Antarctic wind.

With a reassuring tone, Bucky responded, "You will, buddy," holding the frightened child close.

Bucky, carrying the shivering Ethan to his car, couldn't escape the grim reality as he passed the body bag containing the deceased. 

In an impulse, he took a brief, painful glance before it closed – a glimpse that nearly brought him to his knees. The face inside, now concealed, triggered a rush of memories from his past, a haunting connection he hadn't expected.

Iris Aston. His first love. 

The weight of the revelation hit Bucky hard, but he refocused on the scared child in his arms. The realization struck him – Ethan was Iris's son. 

As he gently placed the child on the office couch, Bucky's mind raced, processing the unexpected intersection of his past and the present.

Bucky tried to steady himself by pouring a cup of hot chocolate for Ethan. "What's your name, buddy?" he asked, his voice revealing the underlying shock.

"Ethan Van Alen," came the soft reply, intensifying Bucky's internal turmoil. After separating from Iris, he had heard about her marrying into an old-money family – the Van Alens.

Bucky, grappling with the revelation, inquired about Ethan's aunt, hoping for some grounding in this unexpected twist. "Is your grandma here too?"

Ethan shook his head, his eyes reflecting fear and uncertainty. "No, she's not.”

"I'm sure she will come here as soon as possible," he assured.

As Bucky received a call from his concerned colleagues requesting assistance, Ethan, overcome with fear, clung desperately to Bucky's leg. "No. Don't leave me," he pleaded, his small frame trembling with anxiety.

Bucky's colleagues, now understanding the gravity of the situation, exchanged somber glances. The shocking reality dawned on Bucky as he realized that the couple who had tragically perished was none other than Ethan's parents.

Sensitive to the child's distress, Bucky, without hesitation, scooped Ethan into his arms, providing the solace the orphaned boy desperately sought. Now cradled in the safety of Bucky's strong arms, Ethan felt a sense of reassurance that had eluded him before.

Bucky entered the empty storage room where Iris's lifeless body was being kept. As he gazed upon her, memories flooded back – of a time when they were inseparable, studying together at the military academy. 

Their connection ran deep, but Iris had abruptly left, and her icy rejection had marked the last encounter.

He could still hear her words, cutting through him like a bitter wind, "Who do you think you are? Don't touch me!" A painful reminder of the social gap between them, a gap that fate had widened.

Looking down at Iris now, her once bright smile extinguished, Bucky couldn't shake the heartbreak that lingered from their past.

His colleagues reported no visible signs of trauma on Iris's body, adding a layer of mystery to her sudden demise. Seeking answers, Bucky turned to the only witness – young Ethan.

Ethan joined the conversation, his voice shaky but determined. "After my dad and mom drank something, they walked funny and fell into the water. And... and..."

Bucky, offering a reassuring presence, prompted, "What happened next, Ethan?”

The boy hesitated before continuing, "A scary man looked at me and walked towards me. That's why I ran." 

Bucky's colleagues updated him, saying, "The tour guide has called the family. They already sent someone."

Still in Bucky's comforting presence, Ethan inquired with hope, “Grandma is coming?"

Bucky gently patted the kid on the back, assuring him, "Yes."

Finding solace in the knowledge that his grandma was on the way, Ethan felt a wave of relief wash over him. 

Bucky thought, never underestimate the power of money, expecting the relatives to arrive by ship. However, a large plane unexpectedly landed. Bucky, still carrying Ethan, and others anxiously awaited the arrival of the guests.

As the plane's door opened, Bucky, from a distance, couldn't discern who was stepping out. Restlessness overcame Ethan, and he wanted to get down. "Grandma," he exclaimed when he saw a familiar figure.

But Ethan abruptly halted in his tracks. The unexpected figure approaching him wasn't his grandma but his aunt. A surge of fear gripped him. He had always been scared of her.

Bucky, equally taken aback, felt a shockwave of disbelief. He had witnessed her lifeless form in the cold storage room, and now she stood before him – alive, breathing. 

How come Iris came back to live?

Is he seeing a ghost? Or a zombie?

Unable to conceal his astonishment, he stammered, "Iris?”

Ethan suddenly chimed in, "That's my mother's name. This person is my aunt. Her name is Y/N.”

Y/N's reply was devoid of emotion as she spoke in a cold, matter-of-fact tone, "I'm her twin sister." 

Twin sister? Iris has a twin sister? She never mentioned this to him. Bucky was shocked by this revelation

Y/N's demeanor showed no signs of sadness or grief. "I'm here to collect their bodies and bring Ethan back home."

Offering his condolences, Bucky expressed, "My name is Bucky. I'm sorry for what happened to your sister. It sounds crazy, but I knew your sister from the military academy."

Y/N's response was detached, "I see. Could you show my assistant which documents to sign so we could leave?" 

Her request held no trace of emotion, contrasting sharply with the heartfelt sentiments Bucky had just conveyed.

Taken aback by the stark difference between Y/N and Iris, Bucky found himself grappling with the realization that, despite their identical faces, their personalities were worlds apart. 

As the simple yet somber process unfolded, the body bags were carefully loaded onto the plane. Before departing, Ethan looked at Bucky, a silent exchange containing layers of unspoken emotions. 

Ethan glanced at Bucky, hope flickering in his eyes; he asked, "Can brother come with us?"

Y/N, who was busy with her phone, responded, "If he wants too."

Struggling to fully comprehend the stark differences between Y/N and Iris, Bucky leaned down to Ethan and softly said, "I hope we meet again someday." 

The words hung in the air, a wistful expression of the unexpected bond formed amidst the cold Antarctic challenges.

Absorbing the sentiment, Ethan offered a slow nod, the weight of recent events etched across his young face. 

Y/N didn't spare Bucky a glance as she entered the plane, her demeanor as cold as the Antarctic winds. 

Today, Bucky encountering his first love only to find her lifeless, meeting her son, and discovering the existence of her twin sister.

Despite Y/N's demeanor, icy as the landscape around them, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. It wasn't just the shared face with Iris; there was an unspoken connection, an elusive something more that lingered in the air. 

Bucky had a bunch of questions swirling in his head. He couldn't determine why Iris never told him about her twin sister. Even though he wanted answers, he hesitated to ask.

He wished he could talk more to Y/N.

The Van Alen and Aston household seemed full of secrets. The news about the company heir's death hit the headlines, and it got crazier when someone tried to kidnap Ethan, the heir's son.

Something felt off to Bucky. First, Iris died, and now there's a danger to Ethan. Y/N, who looked like Iris, came to mind. He worried someone might go after Y/N, too.

Not willing to let harm come to them, Bucky packed up and left Antarctica, arriving in a warm New York. He headed to the Van Alen residence, seeing many cars and guests offering condolences.

Thinking he couldn't get in, Bucky was surprised there was no security. But then he learned that Ethan had gone missing – a kidnap attempt had just happened. Ethan is missing from his room.

As Bucky approached the Van Alen residence, he noticed the branch of a nearby tree shaking. Looking up, he sighed, realizing it was Ethan.

"Ethan?" Bucky called out.

"Bro? Bucky? Is that you?" Ethan responded from the tree.

"What are you doing?" Bucky inquired.

Ethan explained, frustration in his voice, "I hate everyone. No one talks to me!"

Feeling a pang of sympathy for the grieving child, Bucky opened his arms, saying, "Come down. Everyone is worried about you."

Reluctantly, Ethan descended from the tree, landing in Bucky's protective embrace. As they stood together, security personnel, witnessing the scene, moved forward, intending to detain Bucky.

Before they could intervene, Ethan intervened, proclaiming, "No. He's my bodyguard." The unexpected declaration left the security team momentarily puzzled, but Ethan's insistence shielded Bucky from further scrutiny. 

"You've created unnecessary chaos," Y/N stated, appearing with five people behind her, resembling assistants and bodyguards. 

Bucky couldn't help but think that Y/N, Ethan's aunt, was too cold. She didn't even make an effort to coax her own nephew.

In a burst of emotion, Ethan exclaimed, "Nobody cares for me. Everyone wishes I was gone so Aunt has everything!"

Bucky, taken aback by Ethan's outburst, never expected him to yell like this. Y/N remained silent, eventually sighing, "Be grateful you're still breathing."

Ethan flinched and cried in Bucky's arms, expressing, "Huuu, nobody in this house loves me.”

Bucky tried to comfort the distressed child, saying, "I will talk to your aunt." 

Bucky followed Y/N, expressing concern that Ethan was grieving and suggesting she should be with her nephew during this challenging time.

Y/N's bodyguard attempted to push Bucky away, but she raised her left hand, signaling him to stop.

At that moment, Bucky noticed a small tattoo on Y/N's left fourth finger. His eyes widened as he recognized the same tattoo he and Iris had gotten together back in the day. 

How was it possible that Y/N also had the same tattoo?

Y/N calmly remarked, "Seeing you so eager to protect Ethan, I'll hire you as his bodyguard. He's the reason you're here, right?"

Bucky didn't argue, though his motive extended beyond protecting Ethan; he was also there to find Iris's killer and the person behind the attempt to kidnap Ethan.

Y/N continued, "I'll take that as a yes. My assistant will draw up the contract."

Surprised by her trust, Bucky questioned, "You trust me?"

Y/N replied, "Your effort in coming here to protect Ethan is enough to judge that you're sincere." Bucky was taken aback by her astute judgment. Y/N was not as ignorant as he had initially thought.

Before Bucky could delve further, Y/N declared, "That's good. I need a trusted person to protect Ethan because that kid's life is more important than mine." Bucky sensed a hint of self-pity in her words. 

Before leaving, Y/N added, "Back then, Iris trusted you. I hope I can feel the same. Don't disappoint me, Barnes." Her words hint at a sense of expectation and reliance on Bucky's capabilities.

As he pondered asking her about it, Y/N departed with her entourage, leaving Bucky with lingering questions and a newfound role as Ethan's protector.

Author Note :

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Author Note: Hey everyone! 🌟 Your input means the world to me.

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[obriengf]

24 Minutes || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: You find Stiles hiding away after the burial of his mother. Words: 1.6k Warnings: sadness, mentions of death, mentions of graves, mentions of loss Notes: this was sad to write! also these babies are now 9 years old, growing up fast!

part two of TWENTY FOUR - a stiles stilinski series (masterlist)

The sky was grey; a murky tone that cast a shadowy blanket over a small town, a quintessential backdrop to a ceremony that held sadness and loss. It was the depth of angst that settled within hearts, pulling and tearing until a hole was formed and left unfilled. There was one less mother, wife, daughter, friend in the world and it was felt tenfold by every single person that surrounded her wooden casket. The rain had held off but it didn't make the circumstances any more fortunate - the sombre air only further strangulating the grieving weeps of townsfolk, the thick tension gathering within Beacon Hill's cemetery with such magnetic force. Today... was an incredibly sad day. It was hard to watch as your friend stared at his dress shoes, inadvertently accepting the sombre apologies from friends and family that were projected toward him and his father. He was usually a loud kid, full of energy and excitement and mischief - never able to settle down or lose his smile. From the day you first met him, Stiles Stilinski was the epitome of sunshine, but the decline of his mother's health brought out a gloominess in him that hurt your young heart nearly as much as it did his own. His hands were tucked behind his back, but you knew he was fiddling with his fingers - a way to express the anxious energy that was constantly building within him. The past few months had been extremely tough on the young boy, but today was the worst by far, and it was written so painfully across his permanent frown and puffy red eyes. You stood to the side beside your parents as they made small talk with others from around town, their voices drowning out as you kept your focus on Stiles and the immense sympathy you were holding for him. You desired to talk to him, to comfort him, hold his hand and be a shoulder to cry on - something that children your age should never have to worry about feeling, and yet, your chest squeezed with the inclination to do just that.

The ceremony was dismal, but the melancholy somehow was much stronger as you all gathered downstairs of the Stilinski residence - bodies clad in black moving slowly, sadly, as stories were shared and memories reminisced. It didn't feel right to be in this house with the absence of smiles and laughter from the family you grew so close to; the ones who you treated like an extension of your own tree, with as much love and trust that you had for your parents.

You were standing to the side as Scott McCall nudged your shoulder, his frame just slightly taller than yours. It had only taken six months of daily measuring until he finally passed that threshold - but he wasn't gloating about it today. The boy instead offered a smile of complete sorrow, a commiserative gesture, the only thing you two could muster despite the circumstances. He was the type to comfort anyone who needed it due to testing trials of his own and the demons that he still didn't understand clearly. A story of which you weren't aware of yet.

"Has anybody seen my son?" Noah's voice croaked, the hoarseness evident from hours of grieving. The crowd in the living room declined, quickly followed by the guests filtered into the kitchen. He looked worried as sudden urgency grappled at his features, an anxious act that was mirrored so easily when it came to Stiles' turn to express such emotion. Stiles was Noah's reminder of Claudia Stilinski - a physical being with her eyes and freckled complexion - and with that loss, he turned to panic.

Your hand was gentle as it grabbed Scott's wrist, careful not to tug too hard as you ushered him to follow you across the room. Noah Stilinski was a second father to you, and you hated the idea of your family hurting. You stopped abruptly in front of him, Scott nearly bumping into your back as he gathered composure, your eyes wide as you peered up. "We can find him, Mr Stilinski."

"Please, that would... I would really appreciate it, kids." Noah's left hand settled on your shoulder, as his right sat upon Scott's. He knew that if anybody could locate his son, it would be his two best friends.

You turned to Scott, pushing back every inclination to poke fun at his missing front tooth, before you nodded your head toward him, "Okay, Scotty. Where should we start?"

Twenty minutes had already passed by the time you peered down to your watch - red and blue pictures staring back at you, a Spiderman-themed timekeeper courtesy of Stiles for your eighth birthday. Stiles was still missing and you were running out of hiding places.

You huffed, frustrated at your inability to find him, and it prompted Scott to turn around with consoling eyes, "We'll find him, Y/N. Promise." A tight-lipped smile was all you could reply with before Scott hummed, his gaze flicking around the room in thought. You could've sworn you saw a lightbulb go off as an idea struck his young mind, that gap-tooth smile making another appearance, "Okay, how about we split up? I'll go outside and you can check some more upstairs!"

It was a good plan, you thought, despite already ducking your heads into the upstairs bathroom and Stiles' bedroom without any success. You wondered if Scott was trying to distract you, to buy some time as he tried to think of something better - but you complied regardless, not wanting to give up on looking for your friend. Especially after the weighted events of today.

Your little steps made the boards creak as you ascended the staircase, any further moves stopped as you ended up standing aimlessly in the landing. Stiles wouldn't have ventured far, he wasn't that type of kid, choosing to instead make new places out of the ones he already knew - and it reminded you of all the times you couldn't find him during Hide and Seek. Your friend was as creative as he was mischievous and it made such a simple game into an absolute challenge.

It wasn't until you remembered the one place you actually found him, before any of this creativity of his fell into serious play. It was obvious the more you thought about it and suddenly, a smile tugged up between your cheeks at the possibility that you knew where Stiles would be.

The hinges of his bedroom door carried a long squeak as you gently pushed it open, the echo loud as it bounced around the room. It didn't look any different to when you and Scott were here earlier, your watch now indicating that it had been twenty-four minutes since you declared your search party mission to Noah Stilinski. It was dull at first - the sorrowful sound of a cry, a sniffle to interrupt the heartache of a young boy. You hadn't noticed it before but now you found it hard not to. You followed it slowly as if any quick movements would set him off, and it led you to where you wanted to be.

"Stiles?" Your voice was tender and quiet, an alert to let him know that you had finally found him. Your friend sniffled in reply and your smile quickly dropped to a worried frown. You stared at the closet before opening the door - light filtering inside before highlighting the cowered figure of Stiles in the corner.

His knees dragged to his chest as arms locked around them, face buried except for the big glassy brown eyes you knew too well. He was heavily distraught and your heart ached dearly for him. You cooed before walking in beside him and taking a seat, your arms brushing as a form of comfort. Legs were crossed in front of you as your hands settled in your lap, gaze now trained on the boy as he had yet to look away from you.

"We've been looking for you." You spoke, head tilting only slightly to better see his face.

Stiles took a shaky breath as arms dragged over his eyes, an attempt to wipe away the trail of tears that had been nursing him in your absence. His voice was scratchy and fractured, "There were too many people... and they kept saying sorry, a-and it was too much."

"I know." Your arm reached out for him as it sat idly on his shoulder, trying to soothe his sobs. Stiles' head leaned against it swiftly as a form of comfort. "We can stay up here a little longer if ya want?"

He sat up straight; eyes widened as honey-glazed hues stared back at you, doe-like and sparked with hope. He was glad that you didn't try to force him back downstairs. "D'ya mean it?"

"Of course." Arms were held wide toward Stiles, an offering for him to fall into them before you enclosed them tightly around his frame. The embrace was sweet, and soon regarded as necessary as Stiles began to cry into your shoulder. He was tired of it all.

His voice was muffled, but you could still make out his words as the boy pressed further into you. "She's really gone, Y/N. Mom's gone." Your hands moved in circles over his jacket as he continued to cry, something your parents would do when you were upset to make you feel better. And as you did, Stiles' hands grasped the fabric at the back of your dress and pulled you against his chest - the mere thought of letting you go scaring him into thinking he'd lose you too.

Your features were scrunched as your brows furrowed and lips downturned. If made you coo, a soft hum, shushing delicately into the young boy's ear, "She is, Stiles. But I'll help you get through it. I'll always be here for you."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

[coryothesub]

Sinful Desires

So I’ve been dabbling in some more kinky / taboo themes lately which prompted me to write this as a special treat no one asked for. Basically I have no excuse for this and sorry if I got any tbosas lore wrong because I haven't read the book

nsfw / mdni / sub!coryo / stepmom!reader / stepcest / breeding kink / mentions of underage sex work

You married Crassus Snow as soon as you turned eighteen. Looking back you could say that you were truly in love with the tall, handsome general. However for him you were just a warm body to sleep next to and tight pussy to drown his sorrow after the unfortunate passing of his beloved wife. His decision to remarry had definitely come too soon and you were definitely too young to even understand the implications.

After you received the news of your husband's tragic death, you decided to stay with the Snows, because you simply had nowhere else to go. Just like many others, your family had been torn apart by war and even the house you’d grown up in was now bombed to shreds. Your only options were to be poor or to be poor and homeless so you opted for the first one. 

You were always on good terms with Tigris. Daily struggle to sustain the family had brought you two pretty close especially because you both were forced to do the same unspeakable things just to maintain the food on the table and the roof above your heads.

First you categorically refused to bring her into that, but realizing it was getting harder and harder to make ends meet with your own endeavors and after thousands of silent and desperate “I’ll be fine, if you can do it then I can do it too” you finally gave in and introduced her to some men for whom your ripe age of twenty five was already too old to satisfy their needs.

You both didn't have much choice anyways since Grandma’am simply refused to move into a smaller apartment, let alone leave the Capitol. Apart from that and her other weird quirks she seemed to be a pretty nice lady. At least as far as you knew the right patriotic buttons to push in order to stay on her good side. 

Crassus’ son Coriolanus or Coryo, as Tigris used to call him, didn't seem to like you one bit. He considered you an intruder, an unfair replacement to his mother that did nothing but reminded him of his family's tragedy. 

Over the years Coryo seemed to have learned to tolerate you, mostly because he felt somewhat grateful for all your efforts, but still he remained cold and distant. You didn't particularly mind that, because you had no idea how to raise a young man. You felt pretty happy that he didn't ask you any awkward questions and managed to figure out everything himself. 

Sometimes during his teenage years you noticed Coryo secretly watching you while you were changing or getting ready for a bath. On some occasions he even touched himself while doing it trying to suppress his little moans by biting into his fist. You always knew he was there, but you never confronted him. You knew full well it would make your coexistence very awkward for both of you and frankly you found it pretty amusing.

After all, he was just a silly little boy for you until the time his nineteenth birthday came around. It started even earlier if you thought about it. After Coryo returned from his service in District 12 and got his hands on the Plinths' fortune he turned into a completely different man.

Coryo always had the taste for finer things in life and when he finally got the means to fund it, you only saw him wearing tailored dress suits and perfectly polished shoes. Even his whole posture had changed and when he passed you in the dining room followed by an intoxicating wave of expensive cologne, instead of the anxious malnourished boy you had known for most of your life you saw a fit and handsome young man that reminded you of your late husband so much.

Your run down penthouse was completely refurbished to suit your stepson’s taste and he showered all three of you with lavish presents, encouraging you to throw out your old things.

Finally he could have the life he had always envisioned. And every last memory of your humble existence after the war had to be exterminated and written off into oblivion.

Coryo had become confident, strong and ambitious. Some might say even ruthless. It was hard for Tigris to accept those changes and she grew more distant with her younger cousin. They barely spoke, she was mostly just looking at him with sadness and disappointment in her eyes.

Coryo didn't seem to care about that much. He didn't care about other people's feelings in general. But there was one interesting detail. The colder he became to others, the more delicate and gentle he was with you.

He always wanted to be in your vicinity, lighting your cigarette, opening the door for you or helping you to put on your coat. He always had to do a little something just to remind you he was there. He even pretended to care about your opinion, giving you the most dashing smile every time you seemed to agree with what he had actually already decided.

And the weirdest thing about that all was that he had started to refer to you as “mommy”. He had never called you that before and there was no particular reason for starting it now, especially because it seemed to make Tigris extremely uncomfortable.

And it sounded pretty eerie for your ears too, especially because Coryo always accompanied the word by giving you this one specific look that radiated childish naivety mixed with a hint of pure lust.

It always made your heart skip a beat, especially because in some weird twisted way you wanted it too. The sheer hunger in his icy blue eyes made your pussy tingle and after those interactions you always had to go to your room and touch yourself, your pleasure overshadowed by shame.

After all, you weren’t dead yet, you were just a woman in your early thirties and you hadn't been touched by a man since you had stopped selling your body. But for god's sake he was your stepson! You really needed to find some dick, before things spiraled out of control.

One day you returned to your room after running some errands and found a gift box on your bed. It was adorned with a crimson satin ribbon and a single white rose. You found an envelope laying next to it.

You opened it with trembling fingers, the strong rosy scent of Coryo's cologne filling the air. Inside the envelope there was a card with a few words in your stepson's neat handwriting.

From Coryo to Mommy with love…

You sighed and opened the box, finding a snow white, neatly folded piece of clothing inside. You couldn't really call it a nightgown, it was more like a negligee. You lifted the delicate item against the window, seeing the sunlight pass right through it. Of course it was nearly transparent apart from the exquisite hand made lace embroidery.

Coryo's taste was flawless as ever, you had to admit that, but this had to stop! You were gonna tell him tomorrow. But it wouldn't hurt anyone if you tried it on tonight, right? Just for one night, no one would find out, and you would demand him to return it tomorrow morning.

That night you put Coryo's present on and marveled at yourself in the mirror. It looked like a lacy cloud hugging your naked body so nicely the outline of your feminine curves visible through the sheer fabric. You turned around then moved your hips in a suggestive way flirting with your own reflection in the mirror. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt so desirable.

After pairing the negligee with a pair of white cotton panties, you went to bed. Just as you were drowsing off into your sleep, you heard the door creak before someone opened and closed it quietly. You rubbed your eyes and switched on the night lamp just to notice Coryo standing by your bed wearing nothing but his tight white undies and a loose fitting silk robe. His hair wasn't perfectly styled as usual, instead his blonde curls were falling freely around his face.

“Mommy?” He gazed upon you with the most innocent look in his baby blue eyes. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Coryo had never slept in your bed, even when he was a young boy often haunted by terrible nightmares, Tigris was always the one who comforted him and sang him to his sleep, you were just sitting on your bed listening quietly until you were sure the boy was alright.

You knew full well what his true intentions were. You had to act like an adult.

“I really don't think it's the best idea, Coriolanus,” you tried to sound strict and inexorable.

“Please, mommy! It's so cold and I can't sleep. I feel embarrassed to go to Tigris and ask her for a lullaby, not to mention we’re not on the best terms right now,” he was looking at you, his blue eyes wide and desperate.

“Please, please, just this one time!”

You sighed deeply and gave him a faint nod.

“Alright, just this time!”

To your surprise Coryo threw the robe off his shoulders and pulled down his underwear, revealing his long, handsome half hard cock, its tip looking so velvety and just as pink as his lovely lips.

You were so caught off guard that you didn't even manage to make any protests before he jumped into your bed and glued himself to your side, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Mommy…” he whispered against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver. “I’ve been having the worst nightmares… About the war, about all the things we had to do to survive. I’ve tried everything to make them disappear, but they keep coming back…”

You knew this was your last chance to stop this, you had to push him away, order him to leave your room immediately and never come back, but instead sinful words of encouragement just spilled out of your mouth.

“It's alright, babyboy! Mommy's here and you're safe with me,” you hummed gently as your hand caressed his golden curls. 

God, this felt so wrong on so many levels especially feeling your stepson's now fully hard cock pressing against your thigh, waiting for what seemed to be inevitable at this point.

“Thank you, mommy, you’re always so good to me,” you heard Coryo say just before feeling his lips on your neck. He kept kissing your soft skin and teasing it with his tongue, you felt your pulse running wild and you knew he probably felt it too.

Coryo's hand, previously resting on your shoulder, was now traveling down, his fingers dove under the lacy fabric of your negligee and started drawing circles around your nipple making your breath speed up.

“Coryo what are you doing?” Your mind still felt as you had to resist the pleasant feeling although your body was enjoying it so much.

He looked at you ever so innocently.

“I read that fidgeting something with your fingers can be really calming,” he said, playing with your nipples and tweaking them gently. “I just wanted to test that theory, it seems like it truly works…”

You just sighed, feeling your whole body filling with the insuperable feeling of pure lust, your nipples were rock hard under Coryo's masterful fingers and you felt a treacherous wetness pooling up in your panties. You hated that your own body was betraying you like that under your stepson's salacious touch.

“Mommy, you have such beautiful breasts…”

You inhaled sharply as Coryo's lips wrapped around your nipple, starting to suck hungrily, while his hand traveled further downwards. It easily found its way between your thighs and dove under the waistband of your soaked panties.

“Oh,” he cooed, dipping his fingers in your wetness. “Mommy really needs her babyboy to help her out, huh?”

“Shut up, Coriolanus!”

You grabbed a fistful of Coryo's curls and pulled him away from titty to smash your lips together in a passionate kiss, he felt so needy and desperate as he was exploring your mouth panting softly as you felt his erect cock pressing to your thigh, leaving a trail of precum from its leaking tip.

“Oh fuck, Coryo,” you whispered his name against his lips feeling him pushing his long slender fingers inside you. Your wet cunt that swallowed them so easily. You were literally dripping around his digits as you felt the embarrassment slowly leaving your body and getting replaced by a feeling of raw insatiable desire.

“I'm here for your mommy,” Coryo whispered, his fingers deep inside your pussy, curling against your soft walls and teasing your sweet spot.

“I will help you fulfill all your needs. That's what family's for right?”

With one swift move you pulled down your panties and crawled on top of him pinning him to the bed and covering his mouth with your hand.

“Don't mention family, you filthy little boy!  If you want mommy to give you a treat, you need to stay quiet, is that clear?”

Coryo nodded and you took your hand away from his mouth, wrapping it around his throat instead. The young man gasped watching as your free hand steadied his rock hard cock at your entrance before you slowly sank down on him, your wet pussy taking his whole length with ease. A soft moan escaped your lips as he stretched out your tight cunt.

You kept your hand on his throat in a tight grip as you started to move at an easy pace, eliciting a series of moans from his lips. Coryo's pupils dilated as he saw your pussy sliding up and down his length making it glisten from your juices.

You tightened your grip around his throat as you sped up your movements enjoying his little gasps as he was fighting for air completely under your control. The sight before your eyes made you impossibly wet and lewd slapping sounds filled the room as you bounced up and down his shaft faster and faster with each movement.

Chasing your own pleasure you let go of Coryo's neck and threw your head back, letting the straps if your negligee slide down your shoulders revealing your lovely tits bouncing up and down as you kept riding your stepson's cock.

Coryo's eyes widened at the sight and he let out a deep groan as your tight walls clenched around his cock, his tip hitting against your sweet spot as you kept moving.

“Oh mommy, you’re making me feel so good,” Coryo spoke, breathing heavily as you were too busy chasing your release to make him keep up with his vow of silence.

“I want to cum inside you, to put a baby in your belly. To make you nice and round full of new life that would make our family complete and strengthen our ties forever.”

In your mind you realized how twisted these words were and that they could actually become true considering that you weren't on birth control since your sex work days but your brains were completely shut off by pleasure as you kept moving up and down Coryo's wonderful dick your manicured nails digging into his smooth pale chest.

Coryo's nostrils flared, watching your boobs bouncing up and down as he felt his climax approaching.

“I can't wait for those beautiful tits to be swollen and full of delicious milk oh oooooh…” he cut himself off, moaning loudly as thick ropes of cum filled your cunt spurting up against your velvety walls.

You rode him through his orgasm and your red nails dug deep into his skin leaving red scratches. After mere seconds you came hard all over his cock and squelching sounds filled the room as your juices were mixing together with his cum. You collapsed on top of your stepson, his cock still inside you and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly.

“Just let me stay inside mommy's pussy a little longer,” he whispered. “Don't let the seed go to waste.”

“Fuck you, Coriolanus!” You hissed and bit into his neck using his distraction to wiggle out of his grip and crawl off of him making him whine at the loss of contact.

Coryo didn't put up a fight, he just watched you as you pulled the straps of your negligee back on your shoulders and then pulled you into his arms, wrapping himself around you.

You sighed and brushed a stray curl off his forehead looking into his big sleepy eyes. There was no way of denying the fact that you had just slept with your stepson, especially since you could still feel his heart beating softly against your skin and his cum dripping down your inner thighs.

It was so wrong. But still deep down in your heart in some sick and twisted way it felt so incredibly right.

[justabigassnerd]

Rough Days

Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,516

Warnings - mentions of Goose, death, Mav intentionally stands under very hot water, angst, fluff n comfort at the end

Summary - after losing his best friend, Maverick finds comfort in his daughter

A/N - hey y'all! this was a request sent in by @coffeeandbatboys which I must formally apologise for taking so long to do this request I'm working as fast as I can it's just hard sometimes. I hope I did this idea justice. as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

“Goose! Oh no!” Maverick’s panicked words when he saw his best friend’s lifeless body floating in the ocean haunted him. No matter how much Maverick turned up the pressure of the shitty locker room shower, it couldn’t drown out his thoughts. No matter how high he turned the temperature, the scalding water pelting against his back angrily, turning the skin red upon impact, he couldn’t use the pain to distract himself. He felt he deserved every feeling of pain that spread across his back.

When he finally decided to get out of the shower, he pulled on his clothes, stopping before he pulled his shirt on, turning his back to the mirror and craning his neck to look back at it. The skin was an angry red and was stinging slightly but the pain didn’t go beyond that. With a sigh he pulled his shirt on, barely flinching at the stinging of the shirt rubbing the irritated skin before he exited the bathroom, stopping short when he noticed Viper stood outside the room.

“Sir.” Maverick said, caught off-guard by the sudden sight of his chief instructor, instinctively standing up a little straighter just out of habit.

“Relax, Maverick.” Viper says softly, watching as the young aviator loosens the tension in his shoulders, allowing them to sag slightly. Viper felt awful for Maverick, knowing firsthand how hard it is to lose someone. He knew how close Goose and Maverick were, practically attached at the hip inside and out of training.

“Maverick, we’re giving you the rest of the day off. Tomorrow you’ll have to have a meeting with the board of inquiry to discuss the incident to determine what caused it. But for now head home. Spend some time with your little girl.” Viper urges, watching as Maverick’s gaze falls to the floor, shame evident in his body language. Viper hated seeing the normally cocky and smiley aviator so broken. His eyes were bloodshot, and he held no ounce of the person he was within him right now.

“Head home, son.” Viper says softly, watching as Maverick lifts his gaze to nod lightly, more tears shining in his eyes. Viper was confident that Maverick would be cleared of any wrongdoing in the meeting that was to come, no aviator was to blame, it was simply a freak accident.

“Thank you, sir.” Maverick says quietly, receiving a nod of acknowledgement from Viper.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Maverick.” Viper says, just before Maverick nods one final time and turns to leave the building. Maverick then made his way across the base to the daycare where he walked in, startled at how quickly the door slammed behind him before taking a breath and approaching the receptionist.

“Hello, Lieutenant Mitchell, what can I do for you?” The receptionist, Sally, was always grinning and happy, sunshine personified, and could always make Maverick muster a smile, but unfortunately, today was not a day where Maverick could meet her energy.

“Hey, Sally. I was wondering if I could pick y/n up? I got let off a bit early.” Maverick asks, barely able to hold eye contact with Sally, he just wanted to get you and get home as quickly as humanly possible. Sally noticed the change in Maverick’s demeanour. Usually, he’d lean up against the desk, all grins and confident eye contact, and would usually toss in a few flirty comments that never overstepped any of Sally’s boundaries, they both saw it as a joke, Maverick was fully aware of Sally’s husband and respected their relationship.

“Is everything okay?” Sally asks quietly, a seriousness sneaking into her tone as Maverick shakes his head with the smallest of smiles on his face.

“I’ll be okay, nothing for you to worry about.” Maverick assures, not wanting to drag Sally’s delightfully bright disposition down with him.

“Well, I’ll go and grab y/n now.” Sally says, rising from her chair and heading down one of the corridors in search of the room you are in. Maverick waits anxiously while he’s waiting, trying to figure out how to act normal around you after losing someone not only he loved but you loved too.

“Daddy!” Your cheerful voice cried out the second he was in your sight. Running towards him as fast as your little legs would allow.

“Hey, squirt.” Maverick greets, scooping you up instantly and doing his best to offer you the best smile he can to make sure you don’t pick up on his sadness.

“Goose?” You ask, peering over your dad’s shoulder in search of your uncle who often tagged along with Maverick’s pickups, especially while Carole and Bradley were back home. Maverick felt his heart shatter at your innocent question and just shook his head with a light smile.

“Just me today, kiddo. Your dad’s not that bad, is he?” He asks, poking you in the side gently which causes a light squeal to escape your lips as you cuddle further into your dad’s arms. Maverick glances over at Sally who offers him a gentle smile.

“If you ever need some support, you can always come to us. We try our best to support all parents.” Sally says, making Maverick fight back any more tears as he nods, grateful for the wonderful daycare you were at.

Maverick carries you out to his car, buckling you into your car seat before climbing into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the engine, and driving back to his quarters. When he gets to the house, he parks and gets you out of the car seat, grabbing your tiny rucksack as you rush to the door, eagerly waiting for Maverick to unlock the door so you can get into the house. The second the door is opened you’re rushing inside happily.

“y/n/n, shoes off sweetheart.” Maverick reminds you gently as he hangs up your bag before you come rushing back to take your shoes off, being softly prompted where to return the shoes to before disappearing into the living room. Maverick kicks his own shoes off and follows you into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa and leaning back into the cushions with a sigh. You hauled yourself up on the sofa, watching your dad curiously as you noticed the unusual sadness in his eyes.

“Daddy sad?” You ask, head tilted slightly as Maverick turns to look at you, instantly shaking his head.

“No sweetheart, just tired. It’s been a long day.” Maverick says, forcing a smile onto his face to convince you that he was okay. You, however, were not convinced of his words, and slipped off the sofa, rushing off in search of something as Maverick watches, confused. You soon come back into the room with your favourite stuffed animal in your hand. You climb back onto the sofa, this time assisted by Maverick and the second you’re sat up on the sofa you push the stuffed animal into Maverick’s hand, making him raise an eyebrow.

“You’re giving me Pluto?” Maverick asks softly, looking at the stuffed dog that bore no resemblance to his Disney namesake, but you claimed the name for the toy anyway.

“Make you happy.” You insist, pushing the plush dog further into his chest, making sure he wraps an arm around it too and that’s when it clicked for Maverick. You were insisting on giving him the toy because it made you happy, so you wanted to give him something to make him happy. When Maverick found himself unable to respond, you reached out and gently put your hands on each of his cheeks, gently pushing them up until his lips curled up into a small smile.

“Smile, daddy.” You then say, wanting nothing more than to see the smile that so often sat proudly on your dad’s face. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the day and his gratefulness for having you in his life, Maverick pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as he fought back another threatening wave of tears.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” He whispers, cuddling you a little tighter as you curl into him.

“Love you, daddy.” You reply, your wide grin looking up at him before snuggling back into his chest as Maverick presses another kiss to the top of your head, the first genuine smile since the accident creeping onto his face as he holds you.

Maverick knew navigating life after losing someone as precious to him as Goose was going to be rough. But in having you by his side, he knew he had someone to stop him from drifting away in the sea of grief. Even if you didn’t know you were doing it, you provided Maverick with the comfort he needed on rough days. He didn’t know how to vocalise any of his thoughts to you, especially given your young age so all he could do was cuddle you close and press the softest of kisses against your hair as you curled into him.

And he definitely didn’t make a comment when you attempted to sneakily drag Pluto back into your grasp.

[alicerosejensen]

Warning: unhealthy relationship; Dark; not a yandere Leon but almost; the reader has no family and friends; Rescuer syndrome (if you look really closely at the very beginning); mentions of alcohol; Dom!Leon; fem/reader; Older!Leon; Mentions of pregnancy;

Summary: He will love you until his death. You are his and no one else's.

A/N: English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes. Also I don't approve of this crap in real life and if it triggers you, please look at the warning again and skip it. Just because I write doesn't mean it's cool in real life. Build only healthy relationships based on mutual love, trust, compromises without violence.

If you look closely, neither of you two were healthy enough to build a relationship.

Of course you're not a pet. Even if you is devoted to him like a dog whose owner is drowning on the Titanic, and Leon has long been sinking. Of course, he does not consider you an animal and he is sincerely sorry that because of your injuries you cling to him, and he, in turn, succumbs to the selfish desire to keep his girl close to him.

You were so young and alone that, apparently due to your childhood traumas, you sought love from someone who tried to cope with his traumas with the help of alcohol. Leon didn't think he should have touched you at all. In his opinion, everything he touches turns to shit, and he didn't mean to hurt you at all. Besides, he believed that seducing such a young girl, even if you are of age, is almost a crime, however, he could not stop being drawn to you. My God, he’s already turning 40 and you’re a little over 20. Do girls your age hang out with such old men? You should find a young guy with whom you can do all sorts of stupid things while being on the same wavelength, and not cling to his back like a lost child. But in general, it’s not really a fact, but just an observation, but lonely people often have pets to while away their unbearable loneliness. Leon does not have the opportunity to get a dog or a cat, his job means that he spends little time at home, but...

At night, you sleep soundly, throwing your leg over him and reaching out with your arms to hug him. Leon catches himself thinking that he likes to listen to measured breathing and feel the soft skin on his body. His sweet girl... in your sleep you feel how other people's fingers are drawing patterns on your back and you fucking like it. Don’t care about studying, which can open the door to the world of a good career with a decent salary, love into which you dive headfirst is the most beautiful thing that has happened in your life.

And you are ready to hold on to him until the last... Well, actually, just like he does to you.

It’s deep night outside, the bedroom is in wireless darkness, which Leon is so afraid of because of painful memories, but why is he calm now when you’re sleeping so quietly next to him.

"Bunny?" Leon rarely calls you that, but those cute pajamas of yours with the bunny ears on the tank top make him smile, kissing your forehead because your sleep, unlike him, is quite sound.

In fact, he feels like a son of a bitch who sleeps with a girl half his age and, to Leon’s own horror, it’s not even lust. He himself doesn’t fully understand what kind of crap is happening to him, but the point is that he really feels for you... high feelings. At least every day it becomes more and more difficult to let you out of his arms.

But you're sleeping. An absolute angel and Leon wonders if he can mistake your compassion for love? Or do you just have daddy issues? Thinking about this, Leon grins, burying his nose in your hair. He has his faithful “Matilda” in his bedside table, and, in theory, he has nothing to fear, but he is unlikely to be able to live with such crap as before 1998. You planted an obsession for him, gradually nurturing and strengthening it, like a caring gardener painstakingly working on his favorite flower. You yourself cling to him, adjoining him, you are even ready to give up all prospects for your future life for the sake of him alone.

Leon kisses you and strokes your cheek with his thumb, pressing you to his chest, finally closing his eyes and falling into sleep.

Actually, Leon thinks that it’s all your fault. Who if not you?! It’s like you’re deliberately making him worry by putting the phone on silent or calling him back too late, which is why he gradually seems to lose his mind if he can’t be sure that everything is okay. He screams and you cry and apologize to him because you are afraid that he will leave you alone. This is your biggest fear, even if Leon had nothing like that in his thoughts. For heaven's sake, he really hates your tears and he hates feeling guilty about it even more.

"Just don't make me worry anymore" He asks in a soothing tone, pressing your trembling body to him.

And you nod your head, feeling how painful your stomach is from the stress you have experienced and your conflict with him.

"I'll never again...I swear"

You are a stone on his neck, which he in theory can throw off but does not want to. What's going on with you two is clearly not normal. This is immediately noticed by Claire watching how you loyally sit next to him and seem to be interested in nothing but Leon. Seriously, of course, few people from her inner circle like a secular reception, but Claire really thinks it's very strange.

"She's…" Redfield notices your discomfort when Leon walks away to talk to her. However, he himself constantly turns around to look after you while you are nervously sitting at a table with a half-empty glass looking at him with deer eyes. "How old is she? In my opinion, you don't really look like a guy who…indulging in young girls"

Leon squints into Claire's eyes. In truth, part of him realizes that she is saying a clever thought and the other begins to howl unbearably, because you are really the nicest thing that has happened in the last years of his life. So why the hell should he constantly give up his human happiness just because it allegedly does not fit into the worldview of other people?!

"I'm not keeping her forcibly next to me," he replied rudely, and Claire shuddered at the unusual cold tone, "She can leave if she wants to, but she doesn't want to."

Well, who will look after you if even all your loved ones have abandoned you?

The Redfields look disapproving, and when Leon returns to the table in a bad mood, they both see you clinging to his hand, anxiously flapping your eyes, calming down only when he quickly kisses you on the cheek and runs his palm over your back. However, Leon has never really hurt you. After a while, Claire even gets used to this abnormal connection between her friend and his young girlfriend, only rolls her eyes when she sees that Leon constantly sends you messages, checking how well you took care of yourself while he was away.

"She has problems with dad" is a fair conclusion, which Leon deliberately ignored, without commenting on it in any way.

And it wasn't even untrue. With Leon's help, you unconsciously compensated for what you were not given as a child, in turn, Leon himself treated himself with your presence. Because he knows for sure that when he wakes up, you will be next to him in bed, and you will not run away while he sleeps, leaving a paper airplane with traces of scarlet lipstick on his lips and a short signature "See you later", along with the fading scent of perfume in the room. He doesn't need to worry about where you are in the evening, because you are either in the living room watching TV, or in the bedroom, or in the kitchen. No matter what you are doing, the main thing is in his field of vision. If he need to call out to you, then you will respond, and this is the most important thing for him - to know that you are always in close proximity to him.

With each passing year, his control grows, building strict rules.

There is no point in listing them, and Leon knows that you would not violate anything even if you knew nothing about them. Mostly it was just for peace of mind. You walk only with him, don’t lift weights, communicate with strangers to a minimum and... yes, you don’t go to college anymore, because he doesn’t always have time to pick you up from there after classes, well, you can’t say that you were completely against it . There were already enough missed classes for this to become a problem. Anyone's problem but not yours, because...

“I will support you perfectly. My credit card is at your disposal, buy whatever you want or wait for me, sweetheart"

You weren’t a shopaholic, but sometimes you indulged in expensive purchases. Leon never objected.

They took care of you, you didn’t have to study or work, you could sleep until lunchtime, the only important thing was to remain an obedient girl for your Leon, who was too fixated on you. No normal person would consider what was happening to be normal, when you literally cannot leave the house without someone else’s permission. Should you walk to the store for groceries or just a short jog in the morning? Strictly prohibited! Of course you can with Leon, because in his opinion he is a guarantee that everything will be fine with you as long as he is around. You won’t be attacked by some crazy person or a rabid dog, he will carefully check the expiration date on the packages so that his bunny doesn’t get poisoned and other little things that were completely absurd.

It’s remarkable that you were an obedient girl, because your subconscious said that if you make even the slightest mistake, the retribution would be terrible, only the fear was not because of physical violence (no, he doesn’t beat you at all) but because you were afraid that Leon would find yourself another girlfriend, leaving you to choke on your own love or even kill yourself.

Although Leon didn’t threaten to break up with you at all. All lovers quarrel, but you were literally shaking with fear that everything would end, as if the sky would fall to the ground or the sun would stop shining, destroying all living things. No, of course Leon wouldn’t leave you, because his love is no less sick than yours. So his fear is that you'll probably realize he's too old for you, as Claire tells him, and leave for a younger guy. Leon simply cannot tolerate this shit, so he locks you in his house. And still you don't mind.

Leon knows everything his angel likes, from food to your favorite color, which can change depending on your mood. Unlike you, he himself was quite secretive, but you knew well some of his preferences and how to behave when his self-esteem fell through the roof after yet another death at work. Sometimes it was necessary to sit quietly in the next room, but more often just sit on his lap, stroke his head and kiss him. Kiss a lot.

And yet Leon was afraid that you would find a replacement for him.

Therefore, it was necessary to tie you to him so that no one could ever take you away from him. And the only option that Leon saw was to become a father.

“Are you serious?! Damn it, what’s happening to you?! Did she really so calmly agree to conceive a child with you?!”

For God's sake, the way Claire screams makes Leon's ears pop. In fact, only he planned, with only one goal to make you stay with him and fulfill his old dream of a family. But he will say that this was discussed with you and, in fact, you and he even managed to argue about names and what color you would decorate the nursery, which of course was not true, but Claire and others don’t need to know about it.

Leon didn’t even bring up this topic of conversation with you, he just pierced a few with a condoms and, fortunately for him, the result did not take long to arrive. With the first signs, Leon immediately knew that the pregnancy tests would show a positive result and yet he takes care of you when vomit turns your stomach. Like a caring daddy who collects your hair at the back of your head while you spew out everything you’ve eaten and strokes your back, supporting you. A warm blanket, a dim light, a pat on your stomach? It's all for you, baby, and for this little pea inside of you. Leon suppresses a grin, believing that his plan has worked... which is really the case.

"Oh, sweetheart, I hope it's tears of joy, because you don't have a single reason to cry anymore," Leon says when he looks at you crying sitting on the toilet lid, hugging his shoulder, and a positive test is lying on the floor next to you.

Complete shit, but you were crying literally because you were afraid that he would definitely leave now. Fortunately, luck, as you naively believed, has not left you.

Leon did everything to ensure that his little American dream and family were safe under his complete control. Firstly, he immediately said that his child needed more space, although the apartment was spacious enough and the three of them could live here in peace, especially since there was a park nearby, but Leon needed a house. The one that no one will stick their nose into, although in fact, despite the quarrel with Claire and the others, he is thinking of inviting them to the birth of a child. And he's not going to completely isolate you from others. Courses for young mothers, the same walks with a stroller near the house, it was necessary, especially since the baby and mom need fresh air.

You are required to obey and strictly follow all the doctor's recommendations as before. Of course, Leon takes you to all prenatal appointments to make sure that everything is fine, it gives him an unprecedented delight to be next to you at the first ultrasound. Damn, baby, you have to give him a girl! Although he wasn't against the boy.

It is noteworthy that you have never said a word against. After all, everything was fine with you: huge care, a new big house with a small extension for a playground in the backyard, which hinted at the obvious fact that this is your first child with Leon, but not the last. However, how much love he gives you while you are pregnant compensates for all the ailments!

And when you finally give birth, Leon, of course, next to you meets his sweet girl, whose fate, as he thinks, can only be envied. At least now you won’t leave him anywhere, but will forever remain with you and next to you, cherishing your little girl whom he is going to spoil just like her mommy. Leon will put the crib next to the bed, make a new schedule and take a million photos of his happy family.

He adores you and that's all you need. In the end, Leon even admits to himself that he didn’t need the child as much as you, and only Claire and Chris seem to see how abnormal this relationship is.

Only Leon doesn't care anymore.

And you too.

[hana-no-seiiki]

PLATONIC! YANDERE SIBCON! DEATH THE KID x READER

888 FOLLOWER SPECIAL (Thank you all so much!)

warnings: incest but as a joke. reader is biologically related to dtk, death and asura so they implicitly look alike. reader is described as perfectly symmetrical. angst.

status: unedited.

i.

Your father couldn’t have been more blatant when it came to favoritism. It was always [Y/N] this, and [Y/N] that. As the youngest out of all your siblings you were given special priority as a child up until the present.

‘[Y/N] is just the cutest, can’t you see?’

What was even worse was that Kid absolutely enabled such behavior.

Instead of being bitter like a normal person, he joined in on the spoiling.

You wouldn’t have minded it if it was just that. Who wouldn’t love to be spoiled by gods themselves?

But Kid always piled nagging on top of it all. In fact, it was twice as much as how he’d drown you in gifts.

‘[Y/N], fix your posture! What if you get back problems at a young age?!’

You were slouching for just a moment. In your room. Alone. How’d he even get in—

‘[Y/N] what is with your hair ? Your symmetry, it’s ruined!’

You only had a single lock of hair out of place. You had just woken up. Your breakfast was abandoned as he had yanked you to take a bath and style your hair.

“[Y/N]—“

“兄上!” You yelled. Swerving your body so fast that you almost fell down just to meet him eye to eye. You took a deep breath first, calming yourself as to keep your voice steady. “Please leave me alone. Aren’t you supposed to be away on a mission ? “

“But—“

“They’re right, Kid. Besides the sooner we wrap things up the sooner you’ll get to hang out with [Y/N]-様” Liz came to your rescue. Honestly if it weren’t for her, you were sure Kid would have been literally glued to you with how clingy he could be. He treated you like the most entrancing painting there could ever be, as if a second not looking at you would kill him.

At the realization of such an idea. Kid finally composed himself and dashed off. With not a farewell or goodbye wave in sight.

“Don’t worry, [Y/N]-様! We gotcha covered.” Patty squeezed your cheeks. Even she wasn’t immune to your cute charms.

“My wish to be left alone extends to the both of you. ”

“Eek!” The two teleported 5 feet away from you as they heard the tone of your voice. Despite being a powerless Shinigami, your presence demanded fear and respect. You were known for being an even more uptight version of your brother which was an achievement in itself.

“R-right! On our way!”

ii.

As the son of the embodiment of law and order. Death the Kid had a terrifying obsession with perfection. Particularly the perfection that is symmetry. The beauty of balanced reflection in its most immaculate form. The aesthetic of faultless proportions and details that make the whole so pleasing to the eyes.

The aesthetic of you.

It was natural for siblings to lovingly hate each other’s existence. Kid has literally battled his own brother.

But in that principle’s wake was your existence.

His passion to beat Asura seemed so human, so insignificant when it came to you.

Unlike him you had no ‘Lines of Sanzu’ and was thus never considered to be a candidate to become a Death God. You were never a threat. So he had no problem accepting his Father’s doting nature towards you.

You were always so cute. Always working hard for a future you wanted. A future that’ll never be yours. Your ambition was so infectious that along with succeeding his father, he wanted to be perfect for you.

You only deserved the best brother. One who had his lines completed. One that didn’t look like ugly, asymmetrical pig that he was in the present.

You weren’t home, as always. But Kid had gotten skilled at finding where you are. Call it his brotherly instincts but the most it would take for him to find you was a day.

You were gone for a month.

When Kid found you, you looked even more aggrieved than usual. The scowl on your face made heavier when you saw him.

The talk on the way back home was awkwardly silent. Despite that he still cherished the moment. It was rare to have someone as amazing as you alone all to himself.

“兄上?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you such a creep?”

“[Y-Y/N] . . . “ You gaze at your brother as crocodile tears fell from his beautiful face.

“If I disappeared that means I don’t want people to look for me. So don’t waste your time searching. Why can’t you understand that I want to be alone?”

“But—“

“Look for me and I’ll hate you. More than I already do.”

“You . . . hate me ?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” You blew a strand out of your face that Kid often waxed to keep things ‘perfect’. Surprised that he doesn’t comment on it. His eyes have completely dimmed.

“. . . No . . .”

“If you died I wouldn’t care. At all. So don’t extend your sympathy towards me. It’s disgusting not to mention patronizing.” The distance between you two grew more as he stayed still and you kept walking.

Your final words to him goes unheard at that point. “You’re the next God of Death. Respectfully speaking, act like one.”

Kid couldn’t stop thinking about your words from before. Siblings naturally had love-hate relationships. But hearing you say that up front still left him shaken.

During battle, he kept muttering and muttering, completely unfocused. He would have been hurt terribly if it weren’t for the others shoving him around. Even then, he didn’t so much as budge as he was thrown to a wall. “No . . . it couldn’t be . . . have they perhaps . . . “

“What’s up with him?” Black Star stared at him while cleaning his nose with his pinky. The fight wasn’t dire at the very least and he was used to Kid’s unorthodox personality, but this time the young Shinigami was somehow more out of it than usual.

“Less talking, more fighting.” Maka scolded. She had long since given up trying to get Kid to fight and instead instructed Liz and Patty to wield each other. It wasn’t ideal but it was at least functional, unlike a certain raven-haired young man right now.

“That’s it! They must’ve hit puberty!” Death the Kid suddenly shouted. The side of his fist hits his palm as a lightbulb switches on in his mind.

“Not this again . . . “ Liz rolled her eyes. She tried moving him from an incoming attack but he doesn’t budge an inch.

“Oh, my poor [Y/N] they must be so confused! They don’t hate me, it’s just that I’ve been lacking as a brother!” His eyes sparkled at the revelation that hit him. “I must go back and tell them how much I love them!” He took off, forsaking the rest to find [Y/N].

He gets about a meter away before Liz carried him back.

“Nuh-uh. We have a kishin to take down!”

“My sibling takes priority!” He flailed around in her arms, slapping her in the process.

“Even I’m not like this towards Patty. You need to stop worrying about them so much. You’re more like a nagging wife at this point! Face it, Kid. They don’t like you much less want you around all the time.” Liz scolded him. Getting more and more irritated at his behavior by the second. You’d think she’d get used to his sibcon tendencies, but it still managed to amaze her how little he cared for anything but [Y/N].

“Oh no . . . what have you done?” Maka covered her mouth in shock.

“H-Huh? What do mean? I just talked some sense into—“ Liz doesn’t notice he stopped thrashing til he screeched into her ears.

“That’s it! You’re a genius Liz!”

“I am?”

“In order to keep my baby sibling safe and sound I have to marry them!”

“Wait what— That’s not what I meant—“

“I’ll get the papers sorted right away!”

And he’s gone. Poof. Just like that. Liz completely frozen in place.

“I pray [Y/N]-様 extends you their mercy.” Tsubaki, now in her human form, bowed. Genuinely fearing for Liz’s well-being.

Patty, on the other hand, stuck her tongue out. “Bye Bye, sis!”

“Patty, not you too!”

iii.

MONTHS EARLIER…

Your Father was an eccentric being. He annoyed you to no end but thankfully not as much as your brother did.

You inherited his obsession with Peace. Something that you defined as moments that you were alone. Free to just exist and not worry about being perfect all the time. Peace to you was the lack of your brother, the embodiment of chaos.

You’ve always wished to be separated from him, but knowing there was a potential for that to actually happened gave you the first taste of fear.

Is this what humans felt? This adrenaline rush, this excitement? All that in addition to dread and sadness at the same time?

“Is it true?”

“What is it, my darling?”

“Is it true that when 兄上’s lines connect . . . you . . . “

“Where did you hear this, child?” Death moved forward. His large body shadowed yours.

You neither move away or closer. Instead you stayed still. Eyes firmly kept in place. On his.“Answer me, 父上.”

“Yes.” The god looked to the skies. Even he had a time to depart from this world. Death was something not even the divine can escape.

“Will I also . . . ?”

“I don’t know.” His large gloved hand extended to pat your head.

“Then he’ll be all alone?”

“Hopefully not. Are you worried for him—“

You replied before he could even finish, “Why would I be? He’s the one responsible for worrying between the two of us.”

Death then picked you up. Holding you close to his face.

“父上？”

“Yes, my darling?”

You said nothing, stepping forward to hold your creator in an embrace.

“I love you too, child.”

iv.

THE PRESENT…

“[Y/N]?”

Death the Kid isn’t human. Far from it. He’s a god. He represented Law and Order; Death.

But in the face of all this, his responsibilities, his status, his entire being. He feels so utterly meek, so awfully human when he was with you.

Gods aren’t supposed to have favorites. Gods are supposed to maintain a balance when it came to their affections over mortals.

But for you, and only for you. Kid lowers himself. To love, to fear, to worship.

“What?” Your small hands barely half the size of his reached to cup his face. “Spit it out, 豕.”

“Will you stay with me . . . for the rest of eternity?”

“You’re my family aren’t you? Of course I will.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. You’ll always be here for your brother.”

“Tch. Misplaced worries is a weakness, get rid of it.” Your hands moved to leave his face, but he doesn’t let it happen. Instead he traps it there, where it belonged.

“Anything for you, my dearest sibling.”

Right. Kid had nothing to worry about. You were here with him. Living, breathing. Still as perfect as you’ll ever be. You were all that he had. You were all that he needed.

Still. He could not shake away the feeling of nothingness within his heart.

Notes: [These are mostly for me + explanations so feel free to skip] Y/N uses formal speech and ways to call their family members.

For Kid they use, Aniue and for Death they call him Chichiue which means exalted or honorable brother and father respectively.

It’s only when they asked Death to answer them that they drop the formalities and use casual language. But even then they still call him exalted father.

From what I studied, formal speech in some situations can be quite rude and robotic. So despite seeming like they respect their fam they’re actually being condescending if not distant. I might be completely wrong though so feel free to correct me.

It’s kinda like going up to friend of yours for years and using the same extremely polite language you might use for strangers or seniors in work.

Lastly, in case you didn’t understand; in part iv DTK replaces [Y/N] but made them more childlike, completely changing the way they spoke. Mirroring the way Death created him to be a better version of Asura. Also 4 / IV sounds like Death in Japanese.

Anddd a little reminder that whenever I tag a character as Yandere that means they have unhealthy ways to love. Please do not romanticize or seek to replicate it in real life. Despite adoring his sibling, Kid subconsciously looks down on them and sees them as powerless. True love always comes with respect people. He also changes a ton of personality traits for the replacement, only keeping their looks and disdain towards him. He only ever ‘loved’ certain parts of them.

Thank you for reading and for the 888 (now 900+) followers!

TRANSLATIONS:

兄上 — Aniue — (Archaic) Exalted / Honorable Brother

様　— Sama — Formal suffix/honorific.

父上 — Chichiue — (Archaic) Exalted / Honorable Father

豕 — Buta — Pig

©️ hana-no-seiiki 2023

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 1: what's lost can be found

"She won't make a sound, alone in this fight with herself and the fears whispering if she stands she'll fall down. She wants to be found, the only way out is through everything she's running from wants to give up and lie down. So stand in the rain, stand your ground. Stand up when it's all crashing down. You stand through the pain, you won't drown. And one day, what's lost can be found."  -Stand in the Rain by Superchick

Regent Masterlist Part 2

The decayed ghost siren echoed through the abandoned streets of Amity Park's Witching Hours. Its residents were well acquainted with what that sound meant, fear and exasperation a potent (strange) mix to keep them tucked in their homes, their beds, as the Fentonworks building seemed to come alive.  

Of course, figuratively speaking. 

(Nothing was truly alive there anymore.)

Jasmine Fenton had just arrived back from the Infinite Realms, muscles pleasantly sore from training with Pandora and very much looking forward to hugging her little brother before he begun his nightly patrol. The siren caught her attention before she’d stepped fully out of her portal, dread filling her gut like a rock dropped into a lake. 

Oh no. 

Team Phantom were young, no one could ever argue that, with some scars to show for all their battles to protect Amity from those that would claim their haunt- but no one outside the team understood just how paranoid they’d become since Pariah Dark and Dark Dan

The contingencies had begun when Jazz started to remember bits and pieces of a timeline that Danny himself had erased using the reality gauntlet. He’d never told anyone of what had happened, with Freakshow’s plan to make himself ‘ringmaster of all reality’ and all, but Jazz had somehow recalled flashes of sheer panic at watching her little brother accidentally reveal himself as Phantom on live tv, in the Fentonworks kitchen on that little box set. The white rings of light that emerged from his core to switch from half-alive to half-dead and vice versa damned him. 

The elder fentons had gone on the offense immediately, Jack’s screech of ghost! Echoing in the house and they raced down to the lab to get whatever latest weapon they’d built to capture Phantom. 

It didn’t matter that their son was dead, that he had died, that their ‘greatest work’ was Danny’s grave. That Jasmine was…well, she wasn’t entirely human anymore, not when she turned on her heel to follow her progenitors down down down into the darkness, sword tightly grasped in hand as her teal eyes glowed a sickly green.  

She hadn’t hesitated then, to protect her little brother. One slash, two, three

Danny hadn’t known she killed their parents in that timeline. She would never tell him. 

She would never tell him how they hadn’t even noticed her presence, her ever loyal weapon Faithkeeper about to take their lives, how she hadn’t even needed to summon her armor. She would never tell him how they begged for their lives, not to protect their children, but to kill the ghostly menace. 

Danny never knew she’d dumped their corpses in the landfill.

(Right where they belonged.) 

WIth the rewrite of the timeline, reset to the same day of the ill-fated Humpty Dumpty concert, Jack and Maddy Fenton’s deaths were undone, but not the blood on Jasmine’s hands. 

With Danny’s defeat of Pariah Dark, came another revelation. 

Jasmine was still mostly alive. Somehow she’d survived her childhood, but Danny hadn’t. She’d looked away for five minutes, forgotten to lock the lab after their parents left and he’d died for it. 

With the weight of being schrodinger’s hero, could her little brother withstand becoming king of the infinite realms? 

Perhaps not while he was still learning, still gaining his own grip on his strange existence. In time, he would become a great king- one of mercy and benevolence, but he still had a long ways to go. 

Jasmine had borrowed ancient ghost law books from Ghostwriter and locked herself away for three days, cycling between crying for her and Danny, reading through the complicated laws of ye olden times, and writing down her findings- just in case another reality rewrite was due. 

Jasmine had accepted Regency on Danny’s behalf with a grace she didn’t know she possessed. 

It had been a small ceremony, with Danny and his friends present and Pandora, Jasmine’s mentor, acting as sentry as she accepted the Crown of Fire. She knew it was a long road till she could pass it down to its rightful owner, but Jasmine was prepared to shoulder the burden for her little brother. 

Pandora had simply laid one of her many hands on Jasmine’s shoulder with a solemn air, in understanding. There was work to be done before any of them could have peace. (Not even the afterlife was safe from paperwork.)

Her favorite journal contained the scraps of her hope and dreams bound in maroon leather, soft with age and imprinted with every emotion Jazz had unwittingly (and later knowingly) poured into every word. 

Its pages were a kaleidoscope of her life. 

Sure, it began with the soft tinge of curiosity-exasperation-fondness, some sentiment of better times before her progenitors began working on that damned portal, constructing the future grave of their son without the slightest clue. 

The emotions began turning a darker turn when the work turned into an obsession. Jazz had plunged into her schoolwork and part-time jobs to afford whatever was needed for the siblings to survive, fondness becoming slowly poisoned by anger. Anger for the portal. Anger for the food other kids had, that they didn’t have to work so hard for. Anger that she knew what starving felt like. 

Anger that she was so weak. 

Then the day of Danny’s death. 

The darkest part of her history, the last embers of her hopes and dreams, of the siblings escaping smothered. Danny’s death scream forever etched into her brain. 

(It should’ve been her.) 

She hated those pages of her journal, the emotions of grief-anger on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to rip them out. No more than she could destroy the confessions of protect-rage-grief, the confessions of the darker timeline she shouldn’t remember. 

On very last page was the contingency plan Jazz herself had created.

Code Graverobber.

That siren wasn’t any ordinary ghost siren, no, it was the one Tucker had programmed himself- it was the quickest way to alert every member of Team Phantom and Tucker had made sure that none of them could mistake it for a Fenton ghost alarm. No, Code Graverobber was in effect. 

Phantom had been captured by the elder Fentons. 

(Fate has a way of setting itself right.) (Death wants its due.) With a bleeding, sobbing and vivisected Danny cradled in her arms, Jazz left Amity Park behind for what she prayed to the Ancients was forever. The Fentons died that night, though the official records would claim they were killed in a explosion due to the highly unstable inventions they created, taking the lives of their children as well. No one really dug around in the wreckage of Fentonworks, not for the bodies of the family within, with the chance of another explosion happening should rubble be shifted the wrong way. 

Jack and Maddie Fenton died.. 

But Jasmine and Danny Nightingale lived on, in Gotham City.

The last of those three days she spent locked in her room, Jasmine wrote a letter to a future version of herself, tucked inside one of her favorite books now lost in the destruction of Fentonworks. To my future self, Forget me in your happiness.    Love, your past

A/N: BEHOLD!

Ahem. This is the original chapter 1 that I never finished or published. It's not my favorite or my best, but I unburied it for the 300 milestones. Thanks for reading!

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER III - ambience

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, sharp objects, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, threats, drowning, gunshots

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 6,9K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II GAME OF GO CHAPTER IV

Ambience (n.) the strong urge to avoid someone or something

Her father was an intimidating man, or at least he wanted to be perceived as one. As a triad leader, he had a reputation to uphold. He needed to be feared. Despite being his firstborn, she was still a mere woman in his eyes.

There was a time when Y/N believed her father saw her to be more than just a woman. He had softened when her younger brother was born after she turned fifteen. Her brother’s name was Wang Bó Chéng, a name that carried the promise of great success. How poetic. 

According to the original plan, she would marry Yamamoto’s son, and her brother would inherit their father’s empire once he retired or passed away. However, the young kingpin had other plans. Yoongi would patiently wait for her father to make a mistake.

If you were to ask Y/N if she was loyal to her father, she would answer yes. If you were to ask her if she loved her father, she would say she loved him like she loved God — an entity she believed in but couldn’t see. At other times, this would be a devoted proclamation, but in her current situation, it was heartbreaking. 

The young leader believed God had led her down this path to him, and she strongly opposed His decision. Her faith was slowly fading, and all she could hear were the echoing cries in her head, tears of sorrow like a Lacrimosa.

“Tomorrow morning, we leave for Chosen. We’ll meet your father there,” said Yoongi when he returned to the garden. She had heard about the famous Chosen Hotel; there was no need for further explanation. The luxurious hotel served as a cover for his less legal activities.

“Can’t he come here?” She hugged herself, seeking more comfort. Yoongi approached her but didn’t take his previous seat.

“I don’t trust him enough to invite him to our home, sweetling,” he honestly admitted. This was his home, not headquarters. He had brought her to his home as his future wife, not a prisoner.

“What did he say?” she asked softly. She knew her father must be fuming, despite Yoongi’s attempts to fool him.

“He wants to see you. He wasn’t pleased that I proposed without his presence. He wanted to marry you off elsewhere—” he scoffed.

“—I had to persuade him that an alliance with our clan would be a better decision,” he spoke so openly. However, she remained guarded, not letting him deceive her.

“Apart from that, I’m hún dàn for halting his plans for you.” She couldn’t help but laugh. Her father could be quite amusing when he wasn’t behaving aggressively towards them. He had lighter sides and moments when she even smiled for him. All this was enough for her to cloud all the bad memories. ’Always remember the good ones’ her mother used to say, ’it will keep you sane’.

“I have work to do. Can I trust you enough to leave you in the garden?” he asked, his voice filled with seriousness. Can he? Let’s see. She simply nodded, and he stepped closer to her once again. He bowed down and planted a kiss on her hair, an endearing act of affection perhaps.

“Be good for me,” he said softly to her hair before leaving her alone in the garden. She wasn’t foolish enough to run immediately, even though the desire to do so burned within her.

An hour. That’s how long she waited, strolling the garden until she spotted a back door. Carefully, she requested a warmer blanket from a naive girl who had no inkling of her plans. She slipped the ring off her finger and dashed to the back door, slamming it open. She couldn’t risk running through the house to the front; that would be far too reckless.

As she stepped outside, she was surprised to find herself on a street. A few meters away stood a smaller hanok, next to it another, and another, forming what seemed to be a small village.

There was no turning back now. Guided by her heart rather than her brain, she chose to go left, as anyone would when faced with indecision, unknowingly altering her destiny once again.

The familiar sensation of fear and adrenaline flooded her veins as she desperately tried to find a way out of the maze. She dared not look back as she frantically searched for an escape route. So far, Y/N didn’t see anyone, and the sky was setting down. The sky was growing darker and darker every second, and there was no source of light anywhere apart from the homes she was surrounded by. Panic set in as she realized she was running out of time. Finally, she noticed a small opening in the wall and quickly squeezed through it, just as she heard someone call out her name. He knew. She knew she had to act swiftly.

She ran as fast as she could, her heart pounding in her chest. It was eerily quiet, too quiet even, only the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Y/N needed to find a place to hide and gather her thoughts.

Once again, she instinctively chose to go left, down the dark street. Doubts plagued her mind. Was this escape merely a trap? Did he already anticipate that she would try to flee? Her dress clung to her skin, just as it had when she crossed the borders a few days ago.

She stopped in some kind of courtyard, a little park perhaps, to catch her breath. Suddenly, she can hear footsteps and echoing laughter. Confused, she hesitated, unsure whether to stay or run.

The first one to spot her, from the couple walking in her direction, was the young girl that hitched and stammered, “Seokjin?” Her plea was barely audible. The doctor looked at his companion in confusion before following her gaze, locking eyes with Y/N. The Chinese girl’s heart sank as Seokjin sighed.

“I’ll be civil and will give you a minute before I have someone report your location,” he said, his tone deadly serious. Without hesitation, she ran as fast as she could.

“Aish—she is only going to end up broken to the core…” She heard his words like she would be still standing there, but she resolved in her mind that it wouldn’t happen today.

Another crack in the wall assured her that she might have a slight chance to flee unharmed. She skimmed through it, seeing no other hanoks, a smile and laughter of happiness escaping her lips.

The gunshot that landed just less than a meter away from her petite form put her joy on hold immediately. It couldn’t be. She had come so far in that vast maze of hanoks. The forest in front of her seemed inviting, but she knew that taking another step would provoke another bullet.

Y/N didn’t know how long it took her to get away nor how long it was till he got to know she vanished. It felt like minutes, but it might have been way more — the village was too large. He had brought her here because it was more difficult to escape. Now, she finally understood.

Y/N has to decide now. Would she run for her life, or surrender and avoid the fatal bullets that could strike her from behind? “God, I want to live, I promise—” whispered she. Another gunshot echoed, this one landing even closer. She screamed.

“Be careful, goddamn!” she heard someone yell in Korean. Was this her chance to escape? There was no time to decide. Her legs are already moving.

“Someone get her before she will get the bullets in!” Another yell. This one sounded frustrated, tired even.

“I can make it.” She declared, manifesting her freedom one more time. “I can.” Determined to succeed, blinded by the darkness, she didn’t hear or see another man approaching her running figure, until he tackled her to the ground.

“You’re one stubborn woman.” A voice she had heard before but couldn’t quite place.

“No!” she screamed, desperately kicking and punching the man that was now dragging her back to her limbo.

“Behave nicely, and just maybe he won’t slaughter anyone,” he warned her. ’Will he go on a killing spree?’ She wondered. ‘Will lives be lost because of her selfish desire for freedom?’ Only God knows if she will get her answers.

“Very kind of you to join me for dinner, Jagiya,” said the devil, his voice dripping with cruel and cold undertones of aggressive sarcasm. Y/N was forcefully thrown into a chair in the open room, overlooking the garden she had been occupying when she attempted to escape. 

There was an opening in a wall to enter the koi pond on which this room was atop. The lights were dim, but she could see his well-drawn face. The scar makes him beyond intimidating. 

She noticed a young maid kneeling next to the opening in the wall, her hands tied behind her back and tears streaming down her face, her mouth gagged with fabric. A pinch of anxiety and sadness stung her like a poisonous bee. This was not what she wanted. She whipped her head back to address the leader who never let his eyes leave her. Never again.

“Let her go,” Y/N venomously demanded. The leader smirked. “It wasn’t her fault—” she began.

“Oh, so she did not leave you alone, allowing you to fly away, my little dove,” he sang, his aura intensifying, causing her breathing to quicken and her heart to race.

“Deal with me,” said she. “Leave her out of this.” In her mind, she imagined grabbing the chopsticks laid out on the table for dinner and using them to wipe the grin off his face. But she could never bring herself to harm another person again. Even when it comes to him. A vulnerability within her.

“That’s not what I want to hear from you, pretty,” he replied. The young Kkangpae motioned his hand in command to the man standing next to the terrified girl. The man grabbed her and forced her into the koi pond. Y/N’s eyes reflected pure panic once she realized what is going to happen.

“Stop!” Y/N yelled as she tried to stand and rush towards them, but she was forcefully pushed back down into the chair.

“I’m waiting,” he taunted, clapping his hands together, instructing the man to submerge the poor girl in the water. The sound of raspy, wet gurgling sent chills down Y/N’s spine.

“Please stop!” she begged him. The girl struggled, kicking, and splashing, desperately fighting for her life. But the leader maintained an indifferent gaze, caring little for the girl’s fate. She let his fiancée escape.

“I don’t know what you want to hear!” she cried out. Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears. “Please let her go!” But he remained unmoved, patiently waiting for her to realise. She had to think quickly, or the young girl would die.

“Say it,” he urged, trying to coax the words out of her. Her eyes darted across his face, searching for a solution. And then it hit her. Há dún.

“I’m sorry…” she choked out, her voice trembling. Having his hands clasped together, pressed against his mouth, he smiled. He extended his hand, and the man pulled the girl out of the water just in the nick of time. Not a minute, seconds and she would have drowned. Y/N watched as the girl coughed and whispered her apologies.

“Thank God.” She prayed. What if she had her killed? The thought of that breach in her path terrified her.

“Next time, think twice—” For the first time, she felt enormous fear looking into his eyes. “—I won’t be so merciful.”

“You’re so lucky we’re not married, yet. Otherwise, I would have to discipline you more severely,” he spat at her sobbing figure. Y/N didn’t want other innocent people to be pulled into her mess. She hugged herself, shivering from the cold wind blowing through the open room and the water nearby.

The young leader sighed and pulled out a pack of Golden Bat cigarettes from his pocket alongside the velvet box that was hiding a ring she abandoned. Setting it in front of her with a loud thud that made her flinch. He gestured for her to take it as he lit his cigarette.

“If you take it off —” said he exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night air, “I’ll make sure you won’t be able to do so ever again.” His tone was cold, his gaze determined, piercing into her soul. He desperately wished to win her heart differently, but his methods had brought them to this point.

“So, where did you want to go exactly? To see your Sire? The cousin who betrayed you? Or are you still dreaming of sailing to the new world?” He mockingly mused aloud. She remained silent, allowing her tears to dry on her face.

“Your father is on his way to Seoul to negotiate with me. Now, I won’t let you go, and, as a matter of fact, I don’t mind putting a bullet right in between your daddy’s eyes.” Yoongi declared and Y/N stared at him with terror in her eyes. She knew very well what would happen to her family if her father was deceased. Slaves to whatever clan they would fall under. Her father has too many enemies around the whole of Asia.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Y/N won’t believe his words easily, desperately hoping he was bluffing, trying to get her to cooperate.

“Oh, I would. So, I suggest you’ll behave,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s the only rule you must follow Y/N. Obey or face the consequences, or next time it could be your little sister in the pond.” He took a drag from his cigarette, attempting to calm himself down. Y/N swallowed hard and shook her head, signaling her disagreement.

“Now, be a good girl and put the ring back on.”

Morning came sooner than she wished for. Her ears were concentrating on the sounds outside of the room that was providing her momentary salvation. He isn’t to be seen, at least not yet. Y/N slowly sat in the bed, pushing the thick blanket away. The room feels cold, the fire has gone out sometime in the middle of the night.

“Good morning, Buin.” Said new voice. Y/N fixated her eyes on a maid she had never seen before. ‘Has he killed the girl after all?’ She was worried. Who wouldn’t be. This maid seemed to be older, more mature.

“Is the girl alright?” Y/N didn’t think twice to ask. The maid ignored her questions, opening the window on her left side.

“Sajangnim is requesting you to have breakfast with him.” Said the maid, with a monotonous voice.

“Is the girl alright?” she asked again, slowly and more carefully. The maid stopped whatever she was doing.

“Yes, Min Buin,” said the maid. It got Y/N to see straight again. However, she couldn’t pardon her entitlement.

“I’m not Min as of yet.” She said, more intimidatingly than she wanted. The Chinese woman wants nothing else but other people to not fear her. She ain’t her father, or Yoongi. Such a soft name for such a cold calculating man.

“Sajangnim ordered us to call you either Missus Min or Buin—”

“There is no need to call me either, Y/N it is or if you insist, I’m still Wang.” Y/N responded to their statement that her abductor ridiculously requested. She made a mental note to make herself clear to him about such matters.

“I understand, Buin.” No, she doesn’t, thought Y/N. She will continue to blindly listen to that calculating bastard that is probably sipping coffee right now, soaping his hands for her.

 “Today is very cold outside, I suggest you pick more warm clothing, Buin.” The maid addressed her again. The end of October is too close. If she will be lucky, Y/N shall be a free woman by next year. She just needs to whip a plan, without hurting anyone. There is still a very little, tiny hope inside her.

Y/N spends a minute recalling his words about this place. That it is his home, she knew. But that the whole hanok maze she ran through yesterday is in fact home for the closest and highest members of his clan, she didn’t realise. Y/N’s family lived far away from other members of the clan. Her father wished so. In case of treason or attack, they would be safe, as no one, not a single soul knew where exactly Wang’s family home is. Y/N doesn’t presume that Min thinks only of himself and his greater good. He might be selfish himself but aren’t we all. Wang Zimò was the most selfish man she ever knew. Unfortunately for her, she inherited this selfishness and couldn’t stop thinking whether she should attempt to run so soon.

“Please don’t try to escape Buin—” The maid was interrupted by another one entering the room.

“Buin, Sajangnim sent me for you.” The elder woman said. Y/N dusted her now clothed form and took a deep breath.

“Very well.” Said Y/N and took a first step outside the room.

It was still very early in the morning and all she wanted to do was hide under blankets and never leave. That wasn’t an option for her, not anymore. She needs to breathe this anxiety out before she sits by the table with him again.

It must be really cold that they won’t eat outside, nor in the open outside room on the koi pond. She was glad for the change of surroundings as seeing the place where the girl almost died because of her, could only benefit him in breaking her fighting spirit.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us!” She heard Seokjin’s cheery voice, and she was not even in the room yet. Y/N swayed her hips, walking to the low chair that was left for her to sit in. Her long black qipao dress with golden details is caressing the contours of her form.

“Sweetling, you gave my lady quite a scare yesterday.” Said the doctor, sipping on his cup of coffee. Y/N never tasted coffee. Her father was strongly opposed to the foreign beverage and strongly preferred tea. ‘We’re Chinese’ he was beating his chest, proudly. And now she is with the Korean enemy that has been fighting Japan's Yakuza rule for years now. Perhaps, her little being will bring peace to the clans after all.

“You angered this fella really good.” He continued.

“Send my apologies to your lady, it wasn’t my intention to startle anyone.” She said softly while sitting down diagonally from her so-called husband to be.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked her, voice low, filled with a hint of concern.

“Did you?” her tone capturing her sass. She refused to let him off the hook easily, Y/N has a full right to be angry at him for dragging the poor girl into this mess. Y/N will take it with the pain if she has to, but no one should suffer at her cost.

“I would sleep better if you were next to me.” Backfire, his words catching her off guard. Y/N did not expect him to be so open in the company of another person.

“I’m not your wife,” her voice steady but laced with a hint of defiance.

“But you will be,” he said firmly.

Her brow furrowing as if deep in thought. “Will I—?” She mused, drawing out the uncertainty. “It comes to my knowledge that it ends with ‘I do—’”

“If I have to hold everyone at gunpoint for you to say those words, I will.”

Y/N’s gaze pierced through him, a mix of frustration. “So romantic,” she finally uttered, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, aren’t you a lovely couple, you two.” Seokjin chimed in, sarcastically.

Y/N rolled her eyes, drinking her tea. “We have to depart very soon, so eat, dove.” Yoongi said, making her roll her eyes yet again. However, as she could practically hear her stomach, after skipping dinner — having no appetite — she was indeed happy to eat.

Y/N felt tears welling up inside as she sat down in the Cadillac next to him. A scarf tied tightly around her eyes prevented her from seeing the world outside his secluded little kingdom.

“I’ll take it off in a minute, don’t worry,” he reassured her. But what use was it to take it off for only a minute? Wouldn’t she be able to see the rest of the journey? Y/N tried to make sense of his intentions, and her understanding came when he removed the scarf.

Darkness surrounded her as the car engine roared and echoed loudly through the underground tunnels. She couldn’t see much, but she knew they had already made at least three turns, left and right, navigating yet another maze. Her mind raced, trying to comprehend the nature of the place he called home. As if reading her mind, he provided answers to her unspoken questions.

“We cannot live right under the enemy’s noses. Nobody knows how to get here or where this place is,” he explained. She understood why it is so, her own family home was well hidden – but not unreachable.

“I was in a forest once I got out of the village…I thought we were—” she said, deliberating out loud.

“You’re a smart woman, my love, but that’s not quite true, —” said he and even in the dark, she could see him smirk. “—least, partially,” he added.

“There are several mountains around Seoul — under one of which we are now, but I won’t disclose the exact location,” he revealed. Y/N’s thoughts began to piece together, desperately trying to determine their whereabouts. And then it hit her.

“No…” she uttered, quietly, realizing that if her deduction was correct, she would never be able to escape unless she climbed high walls or discovered the secret underground exit. Yoongi laughed, fully aware of her epiphany.

“Yes,” he confirmed simply.

They were in a hidden valley, nestled within the mountains, providing sanctuary for him and his family. “I hope this puts a halt to the master escape plan you were for sure cooking up,” he remarked with a touch of sarcasm.

‘Motherfucker’ she thought to herself. Even if she had decided to run to the forest that day, she would have only ended up at a dead end instead of finding freedom. A tear escaped her eye right when the car emerged from the tunnel reaching its surface, the light outside shining through the front glass. Y/N had no idea how far they were from Seoul or Incheon. For the first time in forever, she wished she wouldn’t run from Shenyang.

“Is there anything I should know about your father before we arrive?” Yoongi spoke after a minute of tense silence.

“I don’t think there is something you don’t already know,” she replied.

“I know what others may know but is there something specific you know as his daughter?” he rephrased his question, seeking a more coherent answer from her.

“Don’t be fooled,” said Y/N simply, only seconds before the buildings of the city came into view. The young leader furrowed his brows at her statement but quickly understood its significance.

This ornate architecture stood as a symbol of luxury and sophistication in a changing world. The intricately carved pillars and balconies, the glistening windows reflecting the golden rays of the last of autumn sun. Y/N marveled at the grandeur of the scene before her.

“I want to speak to him alone first. I shall call for you once we’re done,” the young leader was keeping his hand on the small of her back once they arrived at the reception of the Chosen Hotel that previously belonged to the Japanese Yakuza. It was only later after the First War that the ownership shifted to Mins.

The polished marble floors, the grand chandeliers illuminating the lobby, and the sound of footsteps echoing through the vast space. Y/N heard about this famous hotel and its westernised luxurious style that combined several cultures around the world. It wasn’t so different from the hanok he resided in, but his house felt more like a home than this. She could hate him all she wants; this she can’t deny. Despite her hatred for him, she couldn’t deny the enchantment his home evoked, especially with the surrounding nature.

Y/N nodded in response to his words. There was no point in starting another fight. He led her to another part of the hotel to wait. Just as she thought she would have a chance to explore and search for a breach in his security, her plotting came to an end when she saw a familiar figure sitting in what appeared to be a sunroom.

“Mā…” Y/N said softly, tears welling in her eyes once her vision settled on her.

“Be good,” Yoongi whispered in her ear and left them alone. She did not take another second standing there and eagerly ran to hug her mother.

“Oh mā,” she cried in her embrace, listening to her comforting heartbeat. 

“What were you thinking, my child?” Y/N’s mother said softly, lovingly caressing her hair.

“Mā, I didn’t know it would end up this way, I promise. I thought… I thought—” she stammered.

“I know my child. I know,” her mother reassured, understanding her feelings all too well. “You have to stand even stronger now.” After they sat down, her mother wiped away her tears.

“You are not marrying the prince any more. You’re marrying the king.” Any remaining hope Y/N had that her father might not agree to Yoongi’s proposition and refuse the marriage dissipated. She knew her fate was sealed, and she wondered if death was her only means of redemption and freedom.

“He is intimidating but so charming at the same time,” her mother remarked after a moment, giving Y/N time to process the harsh truth while she was touching the white smooth pearl necklace that hung around her neck.

“He could be a good husband,” she continued with the words Y/N never wanted to hear from her.

“Mā, he abducted me—” Y/N tried to argue. She couldn’t believe her mother’s approval.

“Weren’t you running away anyway, my dear?” the older female interjected.

“Is Father going to punish Chan-yeol and Daiyu, Mā?” she pleaded for answers. All of this was spinning in Y/N’s mind heavily. She couldn’t understand why they would betray her father and give her away to the enemy.

“He can’t —” her mother began, “Chan-yeol was never loyal to our triad, to begin with.” Her mother confirmed her fears, making her realise that seeking solace with them was a mistake that had unintended consequences.

“What about the deal with Tokyo? Won’t you be in danger, Mā?” She wasn’t curious, Y/N’s worry for her family was genuine.

“I don’t know much, darling, you know your father,” her mother replied, gently caressing her cheek.

“But as it comes to my understanding, leader Min has an offering for your father that may solve this issue.” Her mother picked up a cup of freshly brewed coffee, taking a careful sip.

“Ugh, this tastes even more disgusting than I remember,” she exclaimed, prompting genuine laughter from Y/N.

“I’m happy to see you laugh,” said a voice coming from the entrance to the sunroom. “Sir?” Said Y/N standing up, not sure how to address the man speaking to her.

“Park Jimin—” The man introduced himself to her and her mother politely. “I believe we have already met when we arrived, Mr Park.” Her mother said, smiling softly.

“Yes, indeed,” he replied, returning her smile. It seems that Jimin runs this hotel, as she discovered in their small talk before, he said words Y/N wished he wouldn’t.

“I shall escort you to our leader,” he said, smiling softly at her with a tinge of pity. Y/N wasn’t ready to see her father yet nor Yoongi. She could feel a knot forming in her stomach. Reluctantly, she hugged her mother tightly, not wanting to let her go.

“He is different, my child. You are no longer a princess-to-be; he shall make you his queen.” She whispered in her ear to eliminate the chance that Jimin would hear her. The older woman gazed into her daughter’s eyes one more time and said quietly.

“Be a queen.”

Polished hardwood floors gleamed under the soft glow of the sun, casting a warm and inviting ambience. The air was filled with a faint aroma of cigarettes and hard liquor. A traditional screen, painted with scenes from nature, stood proudly against one wall. Soft rays of sunlight filtered through traditional hanji paper windows, casting gentle patterns on the room’s surfaces deep within the hotel. Y/N didn’t know how long they had been in the hotel, but it must have been right before lunchtime. The inhabitants of this living room were not a company she would voluntarily choose to be in.

Her father was seated with his back facing her, and on the other low cushion sofa, the young leader who just outsmarted the enemy. She could smell the cigarettes more intensively as she stepped closer. Yoongi smiled at her for a second, and once he saw Wang’s attention turn back to him again, he smirked.

“Y/N,” he said softly, encouraging her to sit with him. She needed a nudge from Jimin to make the steps toward him, sitting right next to him and facing her father. She stared directly into his eyes as the older male tried to read her and assess her demeanour.

“Who helped you?” her father broke into the silence. Y/N shook her head, smiling softly out of despair.

“Is this what you seek to know?” she replied with a tone he couldn’t recognise. Of course, she was the most rebellious child he had fathered, but he couldn’t overlook the change in her.

“Oh, I apologise. Are you alright my dear child?” he said mockingly, touching his heart. He did care about her, however he had never shown her the kind of love, to make her stronger. Or at least, that was Wang Zimò’s narrative of his truth.

The young leader carefully watched their interaction, sipping on his drink. “How long did you know?” her father asked her yet another ridiculous and ambiguous question.

“Know what exactly? I have no idea what you have in your mind,” she replied stoically, falling into her habit of speaking to her father this way. There was no use to argue with him.

“Are you playing stupid to protect someone?” said her father, smashing his drink to the conference table that divided them.

“She did not know, sir,” said a third party in the room, standing diagonally from her father. Kai. Her cousin. She did not expect him to be here.

“So, your mother did not reveal this wicked plan to her,” He spat out. ’Auntie?’ she thought in her head.

“What are you talking about?!” she raised her voice, an octave higher, drawing attention to her question. Her father laughed and scoffed in disbelief.

“My dear sister seemed to plot behind my back to marry you off to this bastard.” Yoongi only rolled his eyes at the insult thrown his way. In any other scenario, he would have his head. The young leader couldn’t do so. At least, not yet.

“I’m confused,” Y/N said, looking at all of them, searching for an explanation.

“She made a deal with him, and in exchange, you’re the peace offering to Min’s clan. She turned her back to Yamamoto’s without my knowledge,” her father explained angrily.

She would never marry that Tokyo boy. Her head started to spin. “Why wouldn’t she tell me…” she whispered, about to break down.

“If I knew she would abuse my love for her, I would never allow you to study and marry you off right away,” her father scoffed.

“You two were far too close to each other. Tell me the truth daughter, did you know?” he raised his voice at her, only forcing Y/N to shake her head yet again.

She’s not here anymore to explain it to her from point A to Z. Y/N was only instructed to run once her aunt rested her eyes for this lifetime. She only knew that with her aunt being gone, the arranged marriage to Yamamoto’s son would follow right away.

‘Don’t be fooled,’ echoed in her head, and she hoped that Yoongi remembered her words.

“Well—” her father clapped his hands, standing up “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s said and done.” He moved closer to the fireplace, ready to approach his daughter.

‘Don’t be fooled,’ the voice in her head echoed again. “Are you alright, love?” Yoongi whispered to her. She shook her head in denial, trying to breathe but suddenly feeling suffocated.

“We’ll be on our way. The wedding ceremony will be held at our premises,” said her father, closing the distance between them and approaching her daughter.

“We’re leaving Y/N.” If she wasn’t confused enough, she was even more so now. Her mind was screaming inside.

‘Do not return to China’ her aunt’s words urged in her head. She knew it was a trap, if Yoongi would let her leave with her father, they would likely send soldiers the very next moment they would be out of the enemy’s territory. She warned her that her father wouldn’t give in without a fight. Perhaps, this is a trait she inherited too.

‘Don’t be fooled,’ she never prayed harder for him to realise what his father was doing. Damn the freedom, it could wait. By returning to China, she wouldn’t have a chance to escape again.

“We have not agreed on that. My fiancé will be staying with us,” the younger leader said coldly. Y/N looked at Kai with pleading eyes. Now or never. She stood up and ran towards Kai who expected her to pull such a stunt. Y/N never took it lying down.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get far, sadly. Her father grabbed her by her long hair in a tight grip, causing her to fall to her knees with a painful cry.

Y/N could hear the sound of guns being drawn too loudly. Panic overtook her body as everyone started screaming and aiming for each other’s heads. She was shredding inside. Y/N’s father didn’t release the grip on her hair, no matter how much she cried. The young leader wanted to murder him and paint the walls with his blood for touching her.

“Let her go, uncle,” she heard her cousin’s voice, which made her thoughts stop. Y/N could feel how her father tensed up when his kin put a gun to his head. She looked at Yoongi in confusion, tears in her eyes making her vision a little blurry.

“It was you! You fucking traitorous dog! You helped her!” her father screamed fanatically, his eyes wide and face red.

“You wretched little ungrateful rats!” her father screamed, tugging her closer to him. “I’m taking my daughter home, and once you come to your senses, we shall deal with the wedding.”

The leader didn’t lower his gun. “And I said, she is staying with me,” he stated, more determined than ever to keep his word. She could hear the music in her ears again as tears of sorrow streamed down her cheeks. Mourning herself.

‘Be a queen’ her mother’s words echoed in her head. She has to decide now.

‘God help me. I shall follow your testament if you help me one more time,’ she prayed. The shining silver blade lying on a stack of papers on the conference table caught her eye. The metal gleamed, reflecting the surrounding light. The blade, slim and graceful, tapered to a refined point.

‘Don’t be fooled.’

‘Be a queen.’

Voices screamed in her mind. She acted quickly, grabbing the sharp letter opener, and cutting her hair off right where her father’s hand was wrapped, holding them punishingly tightly, making contact with his knuckles.

Y/N felt her head freed from his grasp, and stood up quickly, stumbling into Yoongi’s awaiting form. A silence fell upon them all. Everyone stared with astonishment at the young mistress.

Wang Zimò was surprised too. Shocked even. He gazed at the black, soft hair that was still in his fist and slowly raised his eyes to his daughter and his enemy.

His daughter and his enemy.

“Is this your decision? You want to be a traitor?!” he said with venom in his words.

“I’m no traitor when my loyalty doesn’t lie with you anymore.” Y/N proclaimed, even though she knew it would only draw the young leader closer to her. He was indeed very proud of her at this moment — holding her with his free hand and covering her shaking body partially. Hearing her words, made him push her to his back even closer.

“Very well,” Wang Zimò seethed. He hated to lose, but he knew better than to start another fight right now. “I shall see you at the wedding, daughter,” he said coldly, letting her cut hair fall to the ground, and took the first steps towards the door.

“Kai let’s go. I shall deal with you at home.” He spat, not even looking back.

“You do not command me no more, uncle,” said Kai, standing his ground.

“What did you say?!” The elder Wang turned back to him.

“Mother’s dying wish was for me to stand with Y/N and Mins,” he said, not even looking into his eyes. Y/N’s breath hitched again. Now she understood Kai’s betrayal of her father. Firstly, when he helped her escape and now when he pointed his gun at his head for hurting her.

Her father was furious, but he couldn’t do anything about it. The dying wish was to be honoured by the family, no matter what. His sister had known exactly what she was doing in her lifetime and beyond.

He clenched his fist, his anger reverberating through the room as his knuckles collided with the nearby wall. The force of the impact made Y/N flinch within the firm grip of the young leader.

“I’m proud of you, daughter,” he unexpectedly said, his words hanging in the air, surprising everyone. Her father never uttered such words. Her eyes widened in disbelief. But his next words shattered any hope of genuine warmth.

“You escaped me and outsmarted me. I’m truly mesmerised by how you’ve finally grown to a person who can stand up to me,” his tone devoid of any affection.

“Shame you were born female,” he sneered, his words dripping with misogyny. Disgust flashed in her eyes as she stared at him.

“Will you outsmart and escape him?”

A question she doesn’t have an answer to.

A battle she had yet to fully think through.

I N T E R L O G U E

“You are a thorn in my side, Mr Min,” said the older man to the scarred leader of this territory. Yoongi stood by the window, a glass in his hand, his arm stretched out to touch the wall next to it. He was looking over at the Wongudan, the Temple of Heaven, which stood proudly just meters away from the hotel. A place he couldn’t wait to stand at the altar, tying the knot with his beloved.

“And I won’t be for much longer if you agree to my terms,” he positioned himself to face the Chinese triad leader.

“My own kin betrayed me. My sister,” the older male said in disbelief, as if he were talking more to himself than to Yoongi.

“Your sister was a very wise woman. She knew that this was the better option.”

“You slaughtered my men—”

“And you slaughtered mine. My father within them, may I add,” Yoongi interjected, growing angrier with each passing moment. He felt the pain in his chest, remembering the day his father passed away.

“I have every reason to kill you and your clan—”

“Y/N is part of our clan too, boy,” he retorted, attempting to ridicule him. Wang Zemo could not oversee the young leader’s affections towards his daughter. From the way he spoke about her to the visible tense of his body once her name was uttered.

“That would change sooner or later,” said Yoongi, his determination shining through yet again.

“She is hard to manage. Are you sure you want a wife who will constantly challenge you?” He pushed his round eyeglasses up.

“I have my ways to humble her,” he replied, knowing well that he would have to assert his authority to make her a fine wife. A loving one, perhaps, in time. She had been allowed to spread her wings too far for his liking, encouraging her to disobey any authority, not just him.

“You must have been in my sister’s favour when she gave you Y/N, knowing that she was betraying her clan.”

“Or saving you, Mr Wang. Her ulterior motive was to save your clan—”

“That could have been ensured in the treaty with Yamamotos.”

“Do you really think that would work out? They’re Japanese, too proud to be the ruling country.”

“—not for much longer. Least according to your master plan, you made with my beloved sister.” he said, mocking the entire situation.

The young leader remembered and strongly believed the words of the older female that loved his bride so dearly. She would never do anything that would hurt her, and he wished Y/N will understand that and come along once she will get the know the truth.

“If a single thing goes wrong in your little plan, Mr Min, you’re as good as dead.”

“The same goes for you, Mr Wang,” Yoongi replied, his voice filled with unwavering resolve.

to be continued

author’s note: uf, I hope you had some time to process the two previous chapters in and I promise I'll let you breathe out before I'll throw chapter four at ya ♥

Thank you so much for any comment, reblog or simply showing love to this fic. It means the world to me ♥ Let's join a hate train for Y/N's father together, he makes Yoongi look like the good guy here, whatcha think?

Also I tried to add everyone who asked to the tag list, and if you want to be in too or you ain't tagged properly, comment or dm ♥ For some undisclosed reason, I cannot tagg few accounts, if someone knows why, pls hit me up.

Sending a big shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta reading this chapter!

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

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©pennyellee. please do not repost

[acourtofmenandthirst]

Show Them

Tamlin x Reader. If you don’t like it, don’t read it :) I feel like after all of the events of books 2-5, he’s learned how and why he was wrong, and he’s been kicked a lot while he was down. It’s about time for him to redeem himself and find love too ok?? So here is my rendition of the start of his redemption arc. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, trauma

Word Count: 8.7K

You huffed a sigh, wiping your hands at the hem of your thin dress, ridding yourself of the flecks of mud and dry blood. With a squint, you picked at your palm, trying to pull the thick wooden splinter from your skin. Fourth one in an hour, you rolled your eyes to yourself, glaring at the pile of wood and debris - what previously held the roof over your head. 

You eyed the deep scratches embossed in the wood, the ones that no doubt belonged to the Naga that roamed the nearby forest. They’d looted and torn your house to the ground, much like your neighbor’s home and the shops in the town. After the High Lord had disappeared years ago, the hierarchy had fallen - there were no more sentries to guard the village, to threaten the Bogge and keep the wraiths at bay. 

Not that you had many belongings, but you needed to find as much food as you could. You dug around for scraps of food, money, jewelry - anything of value that you could trade for shelter. But fuck, you came up with nothing. Your house was nothing but a pile of dust, all your belongings gone with it. And it was getting dark, the sun almost completely disappearing behind mountains in the distance. 

You’d have to beg your neighbors for sanctuary, even if just for the evening. They were no doubt already locking up their homes and arming themselves with all the blades and spears they could find. Deciding you would return in the morning to continue, you turned away from the pile of remains - only for your eye to catch on a glimmer in the woods. 

The shadows had already long fallen over the forest, the black of night seeping in from the treeline before you. You were met with a pair of eyes, glowing and bright green, the golden sunset mirrored in the glossy shine. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart stilling in your veins. There were many creatures that roamed the Spring woodlands, many more creeping in on the territory now that it lacked a High Lord. The water wraiths from the Summer Court encroached in the waters; after hearing that their neighboring sisters no longer paid the Tithe, they swam over in droves. Some were shifters, moving onto the unprotected lands to mark for themselves, others were sirens, with shimmering eyes that promised the brightest future, so beautiful that they lured the young Spring males to the coast, robbing and drowning them for pleasure. 

But these eyes were different, a deep emerald, slanted inwards and narrowed - canine, feral. Studying its prey, waiting for attack. You’d heard rumors of the Autumn Court hounds, the ones Beron and his sons roamed around with. How they could track Fae down between courts, tear their throats out without even revealing themselves - some were rumored to have two heads. But you watched those shining green eyes until the beast turned away, tucking itself back between the trees and disappearing into the darkness. 

___________________________

You were back on the street at the break of dawn, graciously thanking the family that housed you for the night, offering to bring them anything valuable you could find from home’s wreckage. You kicked at the dry sticks and stones on the dirt road leading to your little plot of land, cursing at the fallen trees and dying brush. 

It seemed the Spring Court curse wouldn’t be lifted any time soon. You’d worn a godsdamned mask for years - a doe: the most innocent animal of Spring, silent and small in a court full of sly foxes and brash wolves. The supposed cursebreaker returned to your court only to tear it apart from the inside out, playing spy for the Night Court the whole time. The Autumn Court emissary had left and your High Lord had disappeared - no heir or kin left behind. He abandoned you all and took his power with him. 

Some said he left and sought refuge in the Summer Court - that only Tarquin would be kind enough - naive enough - to offer him solace. Others thought he died, that Feyre killed him and there was nobody else to take the powers of the High Lord. You weren’t sure you believed either of those rumors. Nobody was brave enough to tread to Tamlin’s manor and find out for themselves; only the Mother knew what creatures resided there, Fae or otherwise.

The pile of wood and stone remained untouched overnight, you had to drag yourself over to your old land. It wasn’t worth anything, nothing was anymore. It felt barbaric, almost: digging through the mud and destroyed earth for something to barter with. It seemed that your court had been through nothing but devastation since you’d been alive. You were only just a hundred years old when the land was cursed by Amarantha - spent years in a mask followed by a stint under the mountain. When the curse was lifted, the Spring Court lasted about as long as the celebrations. As soon as life turned back to normal - whatever that truly was - the Night Court infiltration was exposed, Pyrthian was brought to war, and your home was destroyed. 

You groaned, both of your hands wrapped around a heavy log of wood, surely it was the heaviest in the pile. You groaned, gritting your teeth as you tried (and failed) to move it. Your hands slipped, dry bark breaking off the wood beam, causing you to slip and fall backwards right on your ass. You cursed, denouncing the Mother. Perfect start to the fucking day, you’d thought. A whole day of failure awaits. 

“Do you need a hand?” 

Your head snapped up, nearly giving you whiplash as you turned to the side. You narrowed your eyes, the tall male standing just in front of where the sun was rising, shadow cast over his front. But you made out his light hair, glowing in the bright light, a halo cast around his head. His shoulders were so broad, his white shirt tight around his arms but loose around his waist, the fabric shifting as the wind blew past. He held a hand out to you, palm raised. 

Your gaze dropped to his waiting hand, which you gladly took. His skin was rough, calluses around his palms and over his fingers. He pulled you to your feet, almost too easily, and had you balancing over the pile of bricks and shingles. “Thanks,” you mumbled, releasing his hand and brushing the dirt off the bottom of your dress. No use - there were days old mud stains all over it already. 

“Is this your home?” His eyes surveyed the debris you both stood over, face still shadowed from the sun. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was,” you’d scoffed, propping your hands on your hips. The male frowned, his shoulders hunched a bit. You cocked a brow at him, at the rainy evergreen smell that cascaded off of him. His blond hair was unkempt, sun-frayed and tangled at the ends. You took a step closer, onto the large wooden beam that had just bested you. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, cheeks tinged pink, chin tilted downwards. Ashamed.

You nodded, standing taller, walking across the wood so you were positioned on the other side of him. The male turned with you, not allowing his back to face you. He mirrored you, perhaps in self defense, as you looked like you were the one scouting your prey. His features became sharper as he faced the sunrise, shadows looming over his face now washed away. 

Those emerald green eyes watched you carefully, narrowed, just like those from the forest. His sharp brows furrowed as he watched you assess him, as you put together the pieces rather quickly. 

“What would you be sorry for?” You questioned the High Lord. “Did you knock down my house?”

Tamlin didn’t respond, just stood in front of you, those light eyelashes caressing the tops of his high cheekbones as he blinked at you. His jaw clenched, tongue ran over the back of his sharp teeth as he mulled over something to say, only to come up short. 

You took his lack of response as an answer in the negative. “Then you have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I didn’t stop them,” he replied, voice hoarse. It was as though he hadn’t spoken in years, as if he’d spent far too long roaming the forest in his wolf form. His body was wracked with shame, remorse, and anguish. He didn’t feel the pain when he was outside his Fae form - he didn’t have to bear the anguish of witnessing what happened to his court while he disappeared into the brush. 

You nodded in agreement. And while you spent these past hundred years angry, just so frustrated at what had become of your life, you couldn’t find yourself to be upset with him. 

Your home had been destroyed, your family gone, everything from the life you once had stripped away entirely. But what could you do? The past had already come and gone, there was nothing you could do to change it. 

The male before you felt the opposite, though. His mind was reeling with the resurgence of the memories from the past century. The masks, his friend and former lover gone - ran away to the Night Court, to the male that had murdered his family - under the mountain, the war, the Cauldron. 

Gods, all of it was his fault.

His court was destroyed, but it wasn’t the war, it wasn’t the other High Lords infringing on his territory. No, it was all him. It was the lack of his presence in his court that destroyed it from the inside out. And looking at your face, the dirt smudged over your brow, your cheeks splotched from spending days in the sun without shelter, he’d wanted nothing more than to tuck his tail between his legs and disappear back into the woods. 

But you were too captivating, your gaze leveled him completely. You didn’t tear into him, didn’t yell at him, didn’t hit him, not the way he knew so many others wanted to. He didn’t know how to help you, how to apologize for abandoning his court. He didn’t have any money to give you, no doubt he assumed the Spring Court estate had been robbed and looted. He wasn’t sure what valuables were even left anyway, after passing on money and jewels to the Archeron family. 

“I’d like to help you…” Tamlin trailed off, the words lost. His eyes roamed over the fallen house the two of you stood on. “Rebuild.” His green eyes flitted back up to you, to the doubt and surprise laced over your features. You swallowed, shoulders shrugged in indifference. Gods, you probably hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him. “If you’ll let me.”

“I’m not sure what there is to rebuild,” you replied, kicking at some stone with your dirty boot. “I’m just looking for...” What were you looking for? “Anything.”

Tamlin nodded in understanding. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to come back to, didn’t know what he would stumble upon after he’d returned to his home court. While he was no stranger to being alone, to feeling like an outcast, utterly unworthy of his position in life, he’d never been able to relate to his old friend Lucien so much. While the Vanserra had been banished from his home court, Tamlin felt like the Spring subjects would band together and exile him from his own court, too. 

But the male stood still, nothing but the wind blowing his tousled hair around his sharp jaw. He was surely waiting for you, for your permission to return to his life in Spring - a new life, perhaps: a chance to rebuild your home and his life. He needed to earn his place as the High Lord, hell - he needed to learn what it meant to be a leader, to earn the trust of the Spring citizens. 

“Well, help me move this, then,” you said simply, gesturing to the dark wood. 

You’d quickly come to realize the male just had pent up anger, stress that may have been best relieved by throwing stone and brick around. He was quiet, not speaking unless you’d ask him a question or give him direction to move some debris. Tamlin watched you carefully, just as he had the other night, eyes glossy and pointed, observing how carefully you tended to anything that may have once had value to you. But you hadn’t made much progress, finding just scraps of clothing, a broken necklace, or some rotten food. 

“I was in love once, too,” you stated out of nowhere. You kept digging through the pile of broken furniture and wood, head tilted downwards, eyes focused on the task at hand. 

Tamlin’s ears perked up and he straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers to remove some of the mud that had caked his palms. He wiped at his brow, the sweat that had built up over the past few hours. He wasn’t sure what to say, you gave him nothing to work off of, offering nothing but confusion for the poor male. 

You looked up at him only for a moment, plopping down on your ass with a sigh, resting your aching legs. “It can make you do some fucked up things.” 

He almost laughed, would have, if it didn’t burn his throat on the way up. “Even more fucked up things once you’re out of it.” 

The sound that pushed past your lips sounded like absolute heaven. It was the only salvation the male needed after years spent growling at beasts in the woods. The giggle that erupted from you - the pure surprise at the High Lord’s comment - it made his heart stop. 

But he couldn’t help the deep stabbing feeling through his gut. Guilt. He shouldn’t be enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter, the shine of the sun in your hair, your pretty smile. He shouldn’t enjoy life anymore, not after what he did to yours - to everyones. It was why he shut himself out, far in the thick Spring forest, away from all salvation, any shred of comfort he might have been able to find. After Feyre had left, after Rhysand returned to twist the knife in his once stone chest, there had been no point, no return at High Lord once everything had crumbled. 

“Well, Tamlin,” you sighed - the first time hearing his name on your lips. He quite liked the sound of it, but promised not to get used to it. “I think it’s about time we fix some of those fuck ups.”

He rolled his eyes, kicking a heavy log from the top of the pile. “And how do you suppose I do that?” 

You huffed another breathy laugh, raising your head and squinting up at him, the sun risen nearly fully in the sky. “You do nothing,” you replied simply, propping your elbows on your knees. “We are going into town.” You opened your palm, that broken gold necklace 

And Tamlin felt like folding himself in half and kneeling over that damn pile of rocks. The necklace you’d worked for hours to find ready to trade at the town center. He was absolutely sick. His mind flashed back to the days of the Tithe - how he sat atop his throne, gold jeweled crown atop his head, waiting rather impatiently for the Spring Court subjects to pay their dues. In a court where he did next to nothing to save them - after fifty years of looking for a way out of Amarantha’s plan - they still owed him. 

Tamlin had a lot of regrets. 

He didn’t know how to act, how to rule a court. Didn’t know how to save his people, how to make up for the lost years. 

There was a lot to make up for - he knew it better than anyone. 

He just didn’t know how.

You watched his mind reel, how his sharp green eyes fell to the pile of wooden scraps beneath his boots. His dark blond brows knitted together, lips pressed in a firm line, jaw clenched. His chest moved up and down with every breath he took, each one he forced in his lungs. The golden strands of his hair moved around his pointed ears, dancing over his shoulders in the wind. 

“I don’t think I can,” he replied, voice just above a whisper. 

You pushed yourself to your feet and reached out for him, for the tanned skin of his forearm. You held your fingers around his wrist, the touch shocking the male out of his daze. His breath caught, his mouth and throat suddenly ran dry. “You have to come back. You need to return to us.” 

He tried to force himself to swallow, to will his voice to work and reply. To us. He was the only one who could fix what he’d fucked up. He didn’t know exactly how, but you were right. It would start with the return of the High Lord, with the promise of forgiveness from his subjects. He’d have to beg for forgiveness, pray that they would grant him amnesty. 

He nodded though, which was all he could muster the strength for. He let you keep hold of his wrist - he didn’t even know how long it had been since another Fae had touched him - and guide him off the pile of debris, not missing how your boots skidded along the loose bricks. He reached out with his other hand to steady you, a firm hand on your hip as you stumbled to a halt, managing to remain upright. 

By the Cauldron, you felt good. Warm, delicate, you smelled like the gardens after a fresh rain. He dropped his hand just as quickly, before his mind really fell into the gutter. Perhaps the years of solitude had finally gotten to him, he thought. He had officially gone mad. So he stayed composed, letting you drop his wrist from your hand - not without a backward glance at him. 

“We’ll see what we can get,” you continued, beginning to walk towards the center of the town. You lived far enough on the outskirts that not many others passed by, none alerted to the fact their High Lord had returned. “The blacksmiths will probably be the only ones who will trade for it. Nobody really has use for gold anymore.” 

He noted the drop in your voice, the bleakness that laced your tone. Tamlin walked only a half step behind you, yet he towered over you, his chest cleared above your head, shadow fully engulfing you. “How is the food supply?”

You knew it felt foreign for him, especially to ask now after years of his disappearance into the woods. But you could tell he was trying, gathering his bearings and reassessing the court - where he needed to start first. “Not great, honestly. There are only a few who have enough weapons to hunt in the woods.” 

Tamlin knew all too well what lurked in the woods. They would be lucky if they could catch deer or rabbit, let alone an elk or mare. “I’ll see what I can manage to catch tonight,” he replied grimly, lips pressing into a frown. Under the moon was the best time to hunt, where there were surely no endangered Fae out, when the large beasts went to roam the woods, using the cover of night to avoid the hunters. The only thing that would be able to catch them lurked just behind you: a wolf. 

You eyed the clouds that began to roll in overhead, dimming the sun’s bright light. “That would help,” you replied, hoping the words of encouragement would ease his mind, but not sound too desperate that they scared the male. 

You walked the rest of the way in silence, peaceful albeit awkward. Tamlin’s fingers twitched at his sides - it was almost as though he barely remembered how to walk as a Fae male. You knew those green eyes that watched you from the forest were his. The second you saw the High Lord that morning, you realized you’d stared into his wolfish eyes - hungry and chilling, sad and remorseful. 

His gaze shifted from left to right constantly, walking through the clutter of buildings and broken wood. Half the buildings had been looted, some torn down entirely. Fae gathered around stands and what was left of the remaining shops. He felt their eyes burning into him, heard the murmuring ringing in his ears. Some were confused, others outright scared, but none approached him. 

You took Tamlin to the dim stone building, the only light pouring in from the window and cracks in the walls - no faelights or candles in sight. “He and his wife have the baked goods - there aren’t many other iron pans left in the town, he’s got the bulk of them.” Your eyes flitted around the shop, at the pile of iron ingots stacked on one of the tables. “I could never manage enough to get one, to bake my own bread over the fire.” You shot Talmin a sharp look, then eyed the shop owner across the room. “Good morning, Oleander,” you greeted the old male, hunched over a table lined with gleaming metal knives. 

The hairs on the High Lord’s neck stood, a chill running down his spine at the sight of the swords hanging on the wall, the bows and arrows piled in the corner. “(Y/N),” he replied gruffly. “What brings you in?”

You turned back to Talmin, getting eyes on the male to ensure he was still in toe. “I was wondering what you might give me for this gold.” You held the necklace out to him, the cracked pendant and broken chain gleaming in your dirty palm. 

“Ah,” he breathed, grabbing the necklace with his own filthy hand. “Given the condition, I’m afraid I can only give you…” He squinted at the old pendant, what seemed to be a depiction of the Mother with flowers braided throughout her hair. Tamlin’s mother once had a similar one. “Last week’s bread.”

“Old bread?” Tamlin couldn’t help but scoff, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

The blacksmith’s eyes show up toward him, as if his eyes and ears deceived him. Oleander, clearly half blind, squinted at the High Lord. “Do you have an issue with my pricing?” He questioned Tamlin - who was certainly not used to the bite back from his subjects. “I think I’m being more than fair to the female.” He looked Tamlin up and down. 

“Fair?” Tamlin barked a laugh. “You own all of the weapons and food in the town and you’re telling me what’s fair?” He didn’t miss the sight of you backing up, right out of the corner of his eye. You inched towards the door, palms facing outwardly behind you, feeling as soon as your backside touched the door jam. Oleander stood, broad and burly, inching forward toward the both of you. By then, the shop had dimmed, dark clouds rolling over outside. The Fae had gathered around to watch, to see the High Lord for the first time in nearly decades. 

“Oh,” he laughed, standing, grabbing one of the polished knives. He raised his voice and stepped closer to Tamlin, cornering him out the door in the same direction you were fleeing. “The High Lord has returned to preach on decorum.” Tamlin dropped his hands to his sides, unclenched fists, not looking to start the physical fight, but prepared to defend himself. He could surely take the old male on easily, even if he had been armed with half the swords in his collection. “After years of abandonment, of leaving his people to suffer at the hands of the beasts, he’s come to exhort fairness and righteousness.” 

The Fae outside watched as you and Tamlin joined them outside the shop, many of their interests piqued at the sight of the golden haired male. 

“He’s back?”

“I thought he had died…” “He would be better off that way.”

“Never thought I’d live the day I would rather see Beron than him.”

“Shut up, he’s returned to help.” “No way - he’s just going to start the Tithe again.”

There were giggles amongst the murmuring crowd, laughing surely at the old Fae male that had the High Lord backing out of his shop. There were no words he could say to ease the crowd, to change their minds, to earn their trust. He wanted nothing more than to shift back into a wolf and hide away in the forest alone. 

“We didn’t come to make trouble, Oleander,” you spoke up calmly, empty hands raised in surrender. “He’s come to make peace.” 

He rolled his eyes, amongst another burst of whispering from the gathered crowd. “Peace,” he spat. “That’s what we all used to know before he abandoned us and left us for dead.” 

Tamlin’s jaw set, anger flashed through his eyes. There were some agreements exchanged by the other Fae. There were very few who sought to give their High Lord a second chance. 

Fuck, second or third? Or fourth chance? Tamlin couldn’t count. 

“We’re leaving, okay?” You inched closer to him, right until your shoulder pressed up against his bicep. “But please - ” you turned to face the crowd, what Tamlin could only assume were your friends, others you could consider almost family. “Please, just keep an open mind. If you’d been shunned, abandoned in the woods, you’d want us to accept you back.” There were a few nods, but many blank stares as you began walking away from the town, back towards the forest clearing. “No more hatred. We’ve had decades of spite, of shame.” Before you turned on your heel, before you grabbed Tamlin’s forearm to pull him away with you, you added: “Let us find peace again. Together: united as one court.” 

Fuck, Tamlin thought. You’d spoken all of the things he should have said. He wondered if you’d practiced that little speech, if one day you secretly hoped he’d come back so you could preach that very surmon. 

Tamlin pushed that thought far down in the depth of his mind. 

But perhaps Oleander had a point. Perhaps they would all be better off taking care of themselves without the rule of an artificial High Lord. They surely managed to come this far. It wasn’t like Tamlin would be able to protect the town himself - he’d have to rebuild armies before infrastructure, to guard the town from the forest before they could sift through the remains of the down. 

You’d dragged him along nonetheless, guiding him anywhere but the town. It was back toward your home - what remained of it, anyway. But the sky was grey by then, dark clouds shielding you both from the once bright sun. The soft crackle of thunder reverberated from the Summer Coast. “I’m - ” you cut yourself off with a sigh, dropping his arm, but continuing on your trek. “I’m not sure where we can get shelter for the evening. I don’t think anyone will let us stay for the storm.”

You were surely not on your way to make any amends, though. You just kept walking back towards your little plot of land, not that there was anywhere for you two to take cover until the rain washed away. 

Tamlin kept his eyes trained in front of him, not daring to spare a look at your shining eyes as he spoke. “Follow me.”

So you did. You almost didn’t recognize it, afterall, it had been almost a century since you’d walked that path. Nature had reclaimed most of it, the trail completely gone. Tamlin’s long legs stepped over vines and fallen logs, and he held your hand for balance as you followed in his footsteps - he’d even lifted you through particularly muddy patches, simply lifting you up and placing you down before him like you weighed nothing. 

The walk to his manor would have taken a mere half hour on horseback, perhaps just over an hour had the path remained. But it would take a few for the two of you to find your way back to the Spring Court Estate in the condition of the forest. Especially as the rain started to fall, the heavy droplets hard against your skin as they fell from the sky. 

You walked for what felt like the whole first half in silence. Nothing but the sound of Tamlin slicing thick leaves and branches, clearing what he could from the once barren path. You listened to the rain, to your own ragged breath as you struggled to keep up with the male. 

You watched his golden hair darken as it became damp with rain. His white linen shirt clung to his back and arms, you’d noted the ridges carved deep into his body as his muscles flexed, working around the forest that overtook the path. He slowed once the two of you stumbled upon a clearer area, falling into step beside you. 

You could feel the tension radiating from him, his fists were clenched at his side, the hairs on his arms stood up. He wasn’t used to wondering the woods as a Fae, hell - he hadn’t been in Fae form in years. Those woods felt all too familiar to him out of his wolf form, reminded him of all the times he’d fucked up in that very spot. He needed to distract himself, clear away the memories of his friend Lucien, his once lover, his newfound family. 

“I was in love once,” he said, voice gruff, muffled from the sound of the rain falling against the wide leaves. He repeated your sentiment from earlier - an acknowledgement of his past, perhaps even an apology. “But I’m pretty sure she was fucking my emissary.” 

You’d nearly choked. 

“That’s - uh - ” Gods, what do you say to that? 

He shrugged. “My feelings for her weren’t fake,” he continued, nonchalantly, as though he’d had nothing but time to come to terms with what had transpired. You supposed he did, though, and were sure that was the only thing on his mind. “I just didn’t know how to act.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep what little body heat you had, as the cold water sent shivers down your spine. 

He shrugged. “Someone ought to hear the truth - ” Tamlin paused, only for a moment, as his green eyes narrowed in on the estate before you both. Trees covered the once stony walls, vines and thick ivy woven up all the windows and over the balconies. “You seem to be the only one who will listen.”

“I don’t not believe you, Tamlin.” You let him lead the rest of the way, pushing past the thick brush that guarded you from the estate as you neared the large castle. “Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.”

At that, Tamlin dipped his head, turning to the side only slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your solemn expression. The rain had dripped down your face, over the curve of your nose and over your cheeks. He admired the way they clumped on your eyelashes, how you didn’t have a care in the world all covered in rain - perhaps you had more important concerns. Much too worried about where you’d sleep that night, where you next meal would come from, if you’d have shelter from the beasts, than to worry about his sob story. 

But you caught his gaze from the corner of your eye, where you’d found those bright emerald eyes washing over your form. Shadows cascaded down his straight nose, his eyelashes nearly touching his cheekbones. You’d wondered if it was the wolf in him that gave him those long eyelashes and thick hair, his sharp teeth and chiseled jaw. He carried himself like a High Lord, shoulders back and chest puffed out - perhaps the closer he got to his home, the more normal he felt. It was a routine, the same path he’d often walked with his friends: Lucien, Bron, Alis, Hart, those that worked for him yes, but also the only ones he could consider truly his family. 

Tamlin used the small knife he had to cut though the thick vines over the stairs. He’d moved each of the fallen logs, twice as heavy because they were waterlogged, and cleared the pathway to the front doors. He wanted to create a wide opening, should you decide in the middle of the night that you’d want to escape - run away from him, from the court. He didn’t want you to feel like a prisoner - he scoffed to himself, he apparently had a knack for that. 

He’d opened the door for you, watching as you gathered the hem of your soaked skirts and your muddy boots squished against the stone steps. You nodded in thanks, unable to move your eyes away from the entryway. The ceiling was fully glass, and despite the rain and clouds, cast a looming light onto the marble walls and floors. The rain echoed in the walls, the fat droplets hitting the roof hard. The heavy curtains and canvases on the walls had been ripped to shreds, rock and stone cracked and scattered along the hallways. The grand staircase was broken, missing a few steps, the railing half gone. 

You wondered what war went on here, while Tamlin tried to forget exactly that. 

He hadn’t been to his home in years. But he knew what would be left to salvage, the rooms he’d lost the energy to tear completely apart. So Tamlin followed you in, guiding you down one of the corridors. “We should be able to find some blankets and clothes this way,” he said, voice just above a whisper. It was so deep that it vibrated in your bones, sending shivers down your freezing spine. 

He’d stirred you through the wide halls, pulling you away with a firm hand on your hip when you’d tried to move toward the great dining room. His hand was hot on your waist, right at the curve of your back as he pulled you one step closer to him. “Not that way.” His eyes were fixed on the mahogany doors, hiding whatever may lie beyond. While he was almost certain he’d left you with the idea there may be Naga or wolves or some other beasts beyond those walls, he didn’t want to correct you with the truth. The gross truth that that’s where he left the elk Rhysand brought him so long ago, no doubt rotted away and disintegrated into the table - that, or it would have been swept away by some creature, perhaps for food or simply to play with its carcass. Either way, he didn’t want to find out. 

There were holes in the roof, in the floors above, that leaked through the halls. You stepped around the puddles, dodging the stream of rain that fell from the ceiling. Tamlin pushed open one of the many doors in the long hallway, a dark bedroom on the other side. “It’s not my room, don’t worry.” 

You turned up to face him. He looked weary, uneasy being back in this estate. “I wasn’t worried, Tamlin.”

He released a breath, his chest visibly falling at your words. He followed you in, closing the door to shut out the cold that the rain had brought to Spring. He’d brought you to one of the guest rooms, never had been occupied by a member of his court. It went untouched during Tamlin’s rage, there had been no evidence of life to destroy. He’d managed to rummage around and quickly find some candles, digging through drawers and closets to find a dry book of matches. 

While Tamlin lit the room, you were drawn to the soft couch in the corner, pulling every blanket and piece of cloth you could find. Gods, it had been so long since you had a good night’s rest, since you sat on a plush sofa and had the softest blankets around you. But you had to wait. Your dress was soaked, you’d been dragging water and mud behind you that whole time. “Do you have any…” you trailed off with a sigh, assuming the male didn’t have any spare dresses lying around. 

You actually would be more concerned if he did. 

“There may be something,” he replied, picking up on your predicament. He sifted through the armoire again, the flickering candles aiding his search. He’d come up with some clothes, a few linen pants and loose shirts. He held everything out to you, a pile of clean fabric. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn clean clothes. Tamlin noted how your eyes widened, like you’d hit the jackpot, like you’d never seen pajamas before - clean clothes. He cursed himself once again for cursing his people, for abandoning them and forcing them to live in destroyed homes and a looted town. 

You pulled a handful of clothes from his offering, your wet skin crying out for warmth. “There’s a bathing chamber that way.” He nodded to the door far off in the corner. “Doubt there’s any water but…” he trailed off with a shrug. 

“Thank you,” you replied, legs practically begging to take you to the bathroom and change into the pajamas. So you’d scurried away, grabbing a candle to light your way into the bath chamber. The mirror was cracked, covered in dust. But you quickly shucked off your wet dress, grabbing the shirt from the pile and wiped yourself dry, wringing out your hair in the fabric. You pulled on the next shirt, the huge cotton long-sleeve that fell halfway down your thighs. No doubt it had been designed for the High Lord, perhaps even his emissary. But you’d take what you could get, throwing on another shirt for warmth, then the linen pants. You fisted the waist, pulling one of the strings from your dress bodice to tie the pants snugly around your waist. 

Through the dirty mirror, you made out the dark circles under your eyes, your tired eyes and wild hair. You suppressed a sigh, too tired to care one bit. So you returned to the drawing room, finding the High Lord in a fresh set of clothes as well.

He was trying to busy himself, sifting through the pile of blankets you’d managed to create, even adding a few more to your pile. He didn’t want to be rude, to fall onto the soft couch or bed without first making sure you were taken care of. 

His heart stopped when he turned, seeing you swimming in the Spring Court clothing, even just those too-large pajamas. You looked so relieved, so comfortable and, honestly, ready to pass out for the evening. So he cleared his throat: “You can have the bed.” It was all he said, added a head nod towards the other end of the room, where the mattress was, nothing but some sheets atop it. “I was going to give you these.” He gestured to his pile of blankets. All the soft looking ones in one pile, the thin scratchy material separated behind him. 

“We can share the bed, no?” You made your way toward him and grabbed an armful of the blankets he’d folded. “We could both use the nice bed, I’m sure. I imagine it’s been longer for you than me.”

Tamlin cocked a brow, watched as you trudged over to the bed, dumping everything atop it. “I’ve managed just fine.” 

You glanced over your shoulder at the male. “Bring those other ones,” you called out, ignoring her words. “We’ll probably need them if this rain doesn’t let up.”

Tamlin shook his head to himself but did as told, not in the mood to argue with the female, especially not the beautiful one wearing his clothes. So he brought over the rest of the blankets, even the scratchy ones, and helped you make the bed. It was haphazard, sure, some of them not big enough to cover the whole bed, a patchwork of covers, some yours, some his, then the ones stitching you together down the middle. 

You climbed in immediately. 

The sigh you let loose from your lips almost had Tamlin on his knees before you. Your back cracked when you laid down, plush mattress cushioning your spine in a way you hadn’t felt in a long while. You slept on the hard wooden planks of your neighbor’s floor since your house had been torn down, freezing and stiff. You hadn’t remembered the last time you’d had a full nights rest. 

The same went for the male beside you. He’d been holed up in some cave on the Spring-Autumn border, where the wind whistled past and the cold seeped through the rock into his bone. His thick golden fur only did so much to protect him from the chill. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten himself killed out there, and he didn’t even want to think about everything he himself had killed in those past years. 

“What made you come back?” Your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, he blinked a few times before pulling the covers back and joining you on the opposite end. He was careful to leave space, to not encroach. His palms caught on the scratchy fabric of the blanket he’d laid on his half, calluses hard and broken, left from his many years of tearing apart flesh with his paws. 

“I was tired of being a coward,” he replied humbly. “I ran away from everything that happened. Pretended like it never happened and shut myself away.” He ran a hair through his half-dried hair, fingers getting tangled at the ends. 

“You were alone?” It was a cross between a question and a statement, he wasn’t sure which you were going for - probably the former. 

“I’ve been alone my whole life. Everyone I come across either leaves or tries to kill me.”

He felt you turn, shift on your side to gaze at him with what little light remained of the candle. Tamlin kept his eyes trained on the covers above him, unable to face the pity that probably laced your features. “Did they try to kill you?” Your voice shook, afraid to even ask the question, terrified of the response. 

He offered you a half shrug. “They left…willingly,” he’d added, mulling over the words in his head. “Though I suppose I not-so-willingly let them. I don’t know how to keep friends, it seems.”

“I suppose that’s better than the other option.”

Them killing him. “Better when it’s not your own family, too.” It was no secret the previous High Lord had a knack for starting wars, for sending his sons to fight his battles for him. Tamlin had a reputation far before his powers even matured - his brothers’ even more so. But what you didn’t know was that they were ready to kill him the instant he matured into a stronger male. He wasn’t glad they were dead, but he was glad he was safe - even if only for a little while. He had found few friends before the curse, a lover afterwards, even. But just like his father and brothers, he could not show love, no matter how hard he willed it, he kept fucking up. 

That’s what it felt like, at least. He supposed he was the jester of the Spring Court in the end. The friends he’d had and the lies they told him: you never made me feel like a prisoner - her voice rang in his head. Soon they were gone, twisting the opposite tale to the male that murdered his family. Nothing could be forgiven in Prythian, no reconciliation to be made between courts. There was no coping, no help from his friends, no one to confide in. So he did the only thing he knew how: shut himself out. Just like he had his former lover, keeping her safe in that very estate. 

He kept every Fae who remained in Spring safe from himself, even if that meant casting himself into the woods. 

You shifted only a bit, but close enough that you reached over and tucked your soft blanket around his shoulders, over his chest that had nearly gone cold from the rain and chill outside. You were close enough that Tamlin could pick up on your flowery scent, that he noted the small hint of honey and cherry blossom lingering along your skin. 

It had been so long since he’d touched another Fae, since he felt someone care for him. He couldn’t help it - his head fell onto your shoulder, right where the crook of your neck met your collarbone, a perfect fit for the crownless male. “And how have you fared, Tamlin? Now that you are a free male?”

Free. 

Free from what? From his duties as a High Lord, surely he’d abandoned them years ago, letting the Naga and the beasts of the Spring Court take over the sacred land. Free from Amarantha’s glamor, the shackles she’d chained him with under the mountain? Free from the binds she kept on his mind, the nightmares - memories - he relived each evening? 

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be free from it. 

He didn’t know how to cope. Not when the only people he’s ever cared about left. Not when his best friend left him when he clearly needed the most help, not when his lover left to wed his mortal enemy, then bare his child. But he apologized to her, for all the trauma he must have caused, locking her away, fearful of who else from Prythian would come to spite him by taking away the female he loved, by he saving her mate. 

He cursed himself. Surely, someone ought to have a happy ending. Might as well have been her. 

He was upset, in fact. When it all came down to it, everything was traced back to his anger. He was blind to his own emotion, it’s what caused him to act without thinking - a strategy he’d never seemed to master, not like the other High Lords. It ended up causing him his newfound family, his Court, it got the Archeron sisters caught and thrown into the Cauldron, it spurred the war. He was a failure, he’d lost the Spring Court and his pride alongside it. He’d been played like that godsdamned fiddle. 

And Tamlin let himself lie in that dark cave night after night, rotting in a lifetime of regret. 

He could only shake his head, nose rubbing against your skin that poked out from the loose collar of your  - his - shirt. “I swear I will rebuild the Court, (Y/N),” he whispered, breath warm on your skin. His lips just barely touched your skin as he spoke. “I promise it, I’ll run the beasts out and fix the mess I’ve made. Even if nobody believes me, if they’ve lost all faith in me.”

Your hand fell downwards over the blanket you’d placed over him, fell down the soft fabric over his chest. “Actions, not words.” He tilted his head up, and those deep green eyes met yours instantly. His gaze washed over your face, over the sheer determination and strength, but in utter admiration as you spoke. “Show them.”

You lifted your hand, fingers twitching in hesitancy, but your mind worked too fast. You brushed your hand over his cheekbone, over the strong jaw and tanned skin. He nearly shivered, nearly broke out in a godsdamned sob. 

Tamlin was fighting to keep his emotions intact, to stop himself from absolutely crumbling apart in the safety of your arms. He slowly shifted upright, sitting beside you, back against the headboard just as you sat. You never moved your hand, save for your thumb running over his cheek, tracing where the light stubble had grown in over his jaw and cheek. 

His own hand fell to your hip, safely above the covers. But the added weight of him caused the shift, the simple weight of his large hand on you sparked something inside of you. 

So you leaned in. 

You didn’t know what it was. If it was the fact you’d hadn’t been held in years, the fact you laid in bed together, cold from the rain and nearly out of candles. If it was the fact that he’d opened up for what probably was the first time ever, the male with the worst reputation - his ill temper, his tendency to fight, how godsdamned beastly was - laid out and vulnerable in your arms. 

Your lips met his softly, a firm enough kiss where you felt equally matched, as if he, too, was waiting for you to do it; but soft enough that he would pull back if you did, that he would restrain himself from going further, should you realize you’ve made a mistake. 

You did the opposite, though, barely breaking away for breath, parting your lips just enough to gasp for air before pushing against him once more. Your hand raked through his long hair, so Tamlin had no choice but to do the same. His fingertips wove through your own hair as his hand rose from your hip to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to the side. 

He tasted sweet, not what you were expecting from the male whose scent lingered with the sultry forest and fresh morning dew. He was gentile, too. His tongue moving only to trace your bottom lip, nothing more. Your lips moved over each other in sync, breathing in tandem and letting those soft sighs escape between the two of you.

You pulled him closer, winding your other arm around his neck as you laid back, sliding further onto the bed where he had to drop a hand beside you to hold himself up. But he kissed you anyway, like you were the last breath of life for that dying male. 

Perhaps you were giving him life, that spark he needed to reignite the male inside of him who he once was. 

Your hand trailed down his chest as he continued deepening the kiss, lips moving quickly over yours, growing hungrier, more desperate. You fisted at his loose shirt, not even bothering to untie it, just slipped your hand underneath from the bottom where it hung so loosely from his body. His abdomen shivered under your touch, your fingertips tracing the hard rigid muscle. Tamlin sighed against your mouth, trying (and failing) to suppress the groan that built up in the back of his throat. 

So he’d pulled away, the sound of your lips parting from his loud and wet, a sound he’d practically forgotten about over the past decades spent alone. His forehead dropped against yours and you felt the tickle of his hair against your cheek. “I can’t - I’ve already caused too much destruction. I’ll hurt you.”

It didn’t feel real - he had to stop himself, break free of the dream he was surely living in. Another female, not only giving him the time of day, but who cared for him without even knowing him. He huffed a loose laugh, and muttered to himself: “I’m going mad.”

His lips were still far too close to yours. They barely touched as you spoke. “Take it out on me.” You tilted your jaw up, just barely high enough to capture his lips with yours. “I can take it, Tamlin.”

He shivered, I’ve heard that before. “I don’t want you to have to.”

You peered up at him where he gazed down adoringly at you, from underneath those long light eyelashes of his. He’d bent down for one more kiss, all his passion put behind that one last time of your lips pressed together. 

He only pulled away when he ran out of air. 

He slotted down beside you, his arm curled under your shoulders, the other crossed above the blankets, the piles of soft and scratchy ones, and fell over your bodies to rest on your hip. You fell asleep with your face buried in his chest and your arm flung around him, dreaming of the promise tomorrow held. 

[coralinnii]

being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy

feat. Riddle, Leona

note: this is kinda a long post, can be interpreted as gn!reader, reader is different for each character, I might write blurbs cuz I like the villain/ess genre

part 2 part 3

series masterlist

For heroes to succeed, a villain must fall. Novels, films, and games taught generations to never pity the wicked who stands in the heroine’s way, but you couldn’t bring yourself to follow these sentiments. Your heart goes out to the villains and villainess who drowned in their grief, trapped in a heartless situation, and abandoned by their beloved. Why is it their fault they fell in love with someone who doesn’t love them back? Could their lives be different if given the choice?

“Why couldn’t they be loved too?” You had your final thoughts as you drifted to sleep, only to wake in a startling new yet familiar reality.

Where is this and why do they keep calling you by the villain’s name?

You woke up in your favourite tragic romance drama as an antagonist after you were apparently hit by a croquet ball during a match with your fiancé-to-be, the son and future heir to the Rosehearts empire. Seeing as your family was prominent in high society, you were given the title as a queen candidate despite the young age of both you and Riddle. Feeling guilty over your accident and obedient to his mother, Riddle agreed to the engagement and your family agreed "on your behalf"

The two of you were only children when your engagement was announced but the queen was already adamant in molding Riddle into the perfect monarch, which would result in a volatile tyrant who would be tragically taken down by his true love, the heroine, and her group of rebels. Not that you as his partner would ever see it anyway as Riddle ended up sending you to jail for breaking one of his many rules and eventually perished in your cell.

You thought of two ways to avoid your pitiful death. You would either find a way to break your engagement with Riddle and leave the empire or work to avoid his fate as a tyrant. Seeing as how your family would rather let you die than annul the engagement and feeling bad to leave Riddle to his doomed future, you began your work to befriend and "un-tyrant" him.

You started by inviting the red-haired heir to your home under the guise of royal studies but really you were making play dates with Riddle and his friends that his mother despised, the marquis’ son Trey and the mischievous son of a merchant Chenya. You were delighted to see Riddle enjoying the moments of childish bliss and how beat red he would get when you held his hands before pulling him around the hallways with Trey and Chenya chuckling ahead of you two.

“Riddy, why won’t you give me a nickname?” You teased the redhead but he took your words seriously, as he always does with you.

“I-I wouldn’t know what to call you”

“Mine isn’t very creative either, you know” You giggled at the blooming red hue on your betrothed. “Anything will do. Something that you think would suit me or reminds you of me”

“…Then how about…”

As joyous as your time was, you kept track of impending events that may trigger Riddle’s descent into his tyrannical path.

Then you remembered. One day, the queen found out about his visits to the village with his friends and soon forbade her son to interact with anyone without her supervision, using you as her spy.

When Trey suggested a specific market festival happening at the village, you lied to Riddle and chose to stay behind in your mansion as the boys went off to the village. As you expected, this was the fateful event as the queen came by your home to inspect her son’s study progress.

Though you feared his mother, you kept your doors shut and refused to let her into the room until Riddle managed to climb back through the window. Outraged by your insubordination, his mother immediately annulled your engagement, stripped off your status, and demanded for your imprisonment. At Riddle’s tearful begging however, you were instead sent to a tower not to be seen by the royal family or your own, not that they wanted anything to do with you after this incident.

Years passed and you were unaware of how the story progressed now that you were out of the picture. Occasionally, Chenya would sneak to your tower and tell you of the outside world and bring you letters from Riddle, who blamed himself for your predicament. You may dislike the unreasonable queen, but you could never hate the sweet boy you had the pleasure to have known.

You failed to change the story and now you couldn’t even see the boy you came to cherish. Chenya offered to help you fake your death and escape but ultimately you shook your head.

“I can’t do that to him. I can't leave him like that.”

Although, the letters you used to receive were dwindling as Chenya told you that Riddle was getting too busy and the queen kept strengthening her reigns on Riddle’s actions. Based on the last letter and Chenya’s implications, you surmised Riddle was to inherit the crown soon and he have forgotten about you or have just abandoned the burdensome prisoner. So, with a bittersweet smile, all you could do now was ask Chenya to deliver your last letter.

“This will be my last letter, Riddy. I know you will lead this kingdom with benevolence. All I hope is that you find someone who loves you dearly as I did”

Believing you have failed, you decided with a heavy heart to escape your prison and leave the empire forever. However, before you could... 

“We’re here to bring you to the imperial palace” the blue-haired knight explained as he and his red-haired colleague made way for you to exit your prison. Confused, you were forced to follow them as they led you out of your tower. You tried to ask the knights, but all the messy-haired knight could say was “no one can figure out what that crazy king is thinking”

You rode off in an extravagant carriage away from the tower you've spent your adolescence in. Nerves were getting to you as the carriage brought you closer to the capital. Did Riddle call for you or was it really the queen? With a sinking feeling, you wondered if Riddle call you to finish what his mother started all those years ago?

"No, it can't be. Right?"

Without a chance to tidy yourself, you were rushed to the throne room where sitting proudly at the king’s seat was your childhood friend, already a king at the age of 17.

Before you could decide how to conduct yourself, Riddle was already making strides to you, everyone watched with bated breath as their strict monarch now stood face to face with you.

“Rosie…” he whispered your old nickname and you immediately responded.

“Riddy- I mean Riddle- I mean your majesty!” You fumble with your words as Riddle’s piercing grey eyes looked into yours, who chuckled as he gently took your hands in his, the same way you used to with him as children. You grew flustered over the attention, a warm glow was blooming in your heart.

However, that feeling dissipated when his expression steeled itself and he waved his hand to his knights and attendants.

“Well, what are you all waiting for? Kneel!”

Within seconds, everyone in the room fell to their knees and lowered their heads as they greeted their kingdom’s newest royal addition, you. With your hands still cradled by your apparent husband, you realized the story may have changed slightly but your king was the same. You still have to help your red-headed companion from his fate as the tragic tyrant.

It’s still not too late, right?

The novel was really well-received by female audience because it was set in a woman-dominated kingdom where the female lead learns to fight and lead as the future queen. Her biggest obstacles were dismantling the rebellious antagonist group led by her husband’s uncle and the second prince, Leona Kingscholar who was now your arranged husband.

Thankfully, you reincarnated a decade before the heroine was to debut so you could assess your predicament before the story could begin. Leona, despite his portrayal in the series as an irredeemable villain, was your favourite and you were determined to change the story for his sake. You were his partner, right? Why wouldn’t you want your husband to be happy?

What confused you was that your grumpy husband was so different from the story. His nephew Cheka, who was said to fear his uncle, adored him. Clinging to his leg, begging him to play for hours of the day.

For as much as Leona grumbled and complained, he gave into his nephew’s pleas and played with him, which was really just pushing the more rigorous play activities onto you or his closest attendant Ruggie while he naps nearby.

Things started to click when you returned to your personal quarters after playing chess with Leona who refuses to hold back (not because he finds your frustrated expressions adorable as you rack your brain to one-up him, of course). You overheard the servants badmouthing your husband, giving false comments of sympathy. “He’s so smart but sadly he’s just the second prince”, “he has such potential but alas he’s only a title with no power in the palace”.

You told him about this but to your horror, Leona told you he knew about how the people of the kingdom sees him. He broke your heart when he told you as told he was telling himself

“It’s true, isn’t it? I’m nothing to this kingdom. The pitiful prince”

Screw your husband. You weren’t going to let this continue in your mansion. With Ruggie’s help as well as the assistance of a new knight named Jack, you gathered all the servants who ever dared to speak ill of the second prince. With hidden (and albeit sadistic) delight, you fired every single one of them without giving them a chance to explain themselves with only your last words to them.

“Your words were an insult to a member of the royal family and worse, to my husband. Leona may have let this insolence be, but I’m far less forgiving”

The servants were quick to run to the current king and queen, thinking their king would reprimand your “power-crazed rampage”. However, the royal couple was quicker to banish them from the palace.

Leona cornered you in the bedroom you two shared (for appearance's sake), demanding why you would go such lengths for someone like him. His intimidating figure and glare may scare many but not you as you locked your eyes and unhesitatingly replied

“No one belittles the prince who is beloved and respected”

Although, those who sing praises to your husband are not safe from your scrutiny. You remember the names of the aristocrats from the rebellion group who dare think to use Leona as a puppet and you weren’t having that.

#protectivepartnermode

Sick of your stubbornness, the traitorous aristocrats went behind your back to speak to Leona, hoping to entice him to betray his family and spouse in favor of immense power and a harem of beautiful women and men at his feet. Afterall, you two were bound only in political marriage.

Hah, wrong move

Leona was growing more irritated as the aristocrats cried and begged for his forgiveness as they were pinned down by the royal guards. Where did they find the galls to disturb him with worthless notions of their utopia. He was supposed to be heading to the garden to start his teatime with you. As amusing as it was to him to imagine your pout as you impatiently waited for him, he knew not to let his beloved wait too long.

“That herbivore can hold a grudge” he mused.

To his annoyance, one of the traitors still thought he had the upper hand, pulling himself from the guard's grip to hold onto Leona. He thought he could change the mind of the once hopeless prince. He pleaded, surely a powerless outsider couldn’t be worth giving up the throne?!

His thoughts were cut off with a crunch and a scream, his. He looked to his hand that was reaching out to Leona, seeing it bend painfully under the heel of the prince's foot. Did the lazy prince just break his hand? With his growl and a nod of his head, the blabbermouth ex-aristocrat was pulled away by the guards.

“Make sure his tongue is cut”

[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter II

Here is the long-awaited Chapter II. Seeing all the love and support for this series has been amazing, I hope you guys love Chapter 2 as much as Chapter 1 <33

Chapter III (3) is going to have some Daemon/OC moments, which we love. I was going to add everything into Chapter 2 but I have placement at the moment and it'd be easier to post it in two halves, just so there isn't a longer delay in waiting.

Dance of Shadows is up next to be updated, so keep an eye out <33

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

There was a baited silence, the air stifled with the pungent smell of betrayal as Rhaenyra simply stared at the girl who had called her father Kepa.

"Father. Who is this?"

Rhaenyra's voice was quiet, but it was drowning in echoes of dread - she knew, of course she did.

It was hard not to find the similarities between the girl and her father. She had the white hair of a Targaryen that was wisped and curled at the ends just as her own father's. The girl, young and bashful, stood with her shoulders straight and head held high despite the worry that poured off her in waves.

It was a feeling Rhaenyra recognised - the feeling that she may have disappointed someone she cared so deeply for.

Rhaenyra's mind then turned to Alicent, thinking of her hazel eyes - the very eyes she felt watching her every step during her days at the Keep. The very eyes Rhaenyra found herself searching for amongst bushels and trees, even from the heights of her dragon and in the depths of the sea. A colour that had brought comfort in memories that existed far too long ago and yet seemingly felt like it occurred only a moon ago.

Alicent's eyes would grow green as she grew in passion, glowing the very colour of her hometown banners when it called to war.

But this girl - her eyes, whether she was worried or happy, it seemed they would flicker with warmth. Her eyes burned golden in the flames of the Keep, but Rhaenyra was sure the shadows of everlasting darkness would rise along with the sun.

If that was not all, where Alicent's skin was pale from her time confined in the Keep or hidden within the walls of the Sept, where her father's hue grew green and grey from overpowering sickness and the looming presence of death pressed up against his throat, this girl stood in front of her was a rich complexion that was rare to see amongst the people of King's Landing.

This girl was not a child of Alicent's, but there was no denying she was her father's.

Had Viserys raised a bastard? An orphan?

Had Alicent accepted her with open arms and a loving heart?

Would she truly do that? Why?

Why, when she could not accept Rhaenyra's own children, would she accept the bastard of her husband who was to be loyal and loving?

It did not make sense.

This did not make sense.

Viserys remained ignorant to Rhaenyra's calling voice, to her silent pleas and growing confusion. He pretended he could not feel the dragon awakening in Daemon's blood nor the hesitation of his grandchildren as they sat straighter in their seats.

Viserys forced himself to spare a glance upon his other children - Helaena was hunched over a quaint object hidden in the palms of her hands, Aemond sat rigidly upon his seat, face bare from emotions and his seeing eye caught on the figure of his sister and Aegon, his eldest son - the child he had been longing for, for decades, the child he had never been able to love - lounged upon his seat, his sister-wife on one side and an empty seat on the other, a drink in hand as he gazed at Alaynha with shining eyes.

His eyes found themselves back to his daughter, who stared at him with guilt and admiration hidden in the depths of her eyes - she would seek his praises and his love wherever she could find them, and this time was no different.

***

"Kepa?"

He was giving Alaynha that look again, the look that brought a tumbling feeling of pity to fall into the pit of her stomach - to churn and grind as she tried to not think of all her father had lost, and all she had never been able to have.

She wondered, for a moment, whether it was her mother he saw or Rhaenyra's. There was a part of her tempted to ask, but under the heated gaze of her uncle and the calculating stare of her half-sister, she found herself growing uncomfortable with the attention. She wished to move towards her seat, to sit next to her brothers, where she knew she would be safe from the prying eyes and interrogative nature of Rhaenyra's family.

But Viserys hadn't answered her yet, and she would hate to learn that she upset her father. So she stayed, remaining stood upright as she called to him - "kepa, I do apologise. I must have gotten quite distracted on my dear Tolīmorghon, I fear I did not pay mind to the time."

Ghost.

Daemon's eyes sharpened at the word - he was the Rogue Prince who conquered his dragon when he had just turned a man, the warrior who searched for the fiercest beast to ride alongside in the skies, the Forgotten Heir who was overlooked just as his beast had been, until Daemon had found him - Daemon knew of the dragon the girl spoke of.

He marvelled in quiet admiration, and it was then Viserys spoke. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, preening up to the young girl as though he was seeing her anew - "Alaynha, my dearest. I am most joyous you could join us, your King forgives your delay."

Daemon watched as the girl who stood so brightly amongst them all grew calm at her father's words, hiding the relief she felt behind a broad smile. Still, she stood, a waiting figure as her eyes fell upon them.

Upon him.

Her eyes glittered as they marvelled upon his presence - of all the stories her father had told her, the ones of his younger brother, Daemon, held a special place. To listen to the bouts of his adventures, to see her father's own excitement as he would recount Daemon's fiercest battles. It was all a sight to behold, all occuring within the rare fractions of time her father could breathe without the milk of the poppy being poured down his throat.

Daemon's head was angled towards the table, feigning disinterest for the sake of his wife, who watched him out of her periphery. But Daemon's eyes, violent and brash, traced over the girl who stood in front of him as she unashamedly did so too.

It did not take Viserys long to notice her wandering gaze, a knowing sigh tearing itself from his throat in the form of a scratchy cough. Still, he kept himself composed. He knew of Daemon's proclivities, but he knew that with Rhaenyra bound to him, he would not try his hand at any other maiden. Let alone his youngest niece.

Alaynha glanced back at her father at the sound of his rough cough, cheeks heating as she realised she must've been caught. But still, she waited for her father to address her, "it has been too long, my child. Too long, that you have been apart from your eldest sister. I hope meeting now can make amends for the mistakes of my past."

Viserys had always been vague in his words, but he was even moreso now. There was an awkward silence echoing through the room, as Viserys' words sounded as an affirmation for Alaynha's heritage.

Rhaenyra did not speak, nor smile, nor blink.

Daemon did not break his predatory gaze, hand limp upon the table as he held Rhaenyra's hand within the palm of his own.

"It is nice to finally meet you... sister."

A hesitant smile drew itself across Alaynha's face, but she did not give in to the festering panic within the confines of her chest. She waited, hoping Rhaenyra would speak.

She did not.

Rhaenyra blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Much like her father, Alyanha's words had caused her to see anew. Yet, this time, it seemed as though she was looking through the girl rather than at her.

Alaynha floundered for a moment, eyes straying from Rhaenyra's passive stare to meet the hard, stern look of Aemond. Her brother had not failed to notice Rhaenyra's feigned ignorance, the action causing rage to burn through his seeing eye.

Before Aemond could make his anger known, it was a voice - quiet and slow, a tone so distinct from the violent warrior who spoke that even Rhaenyra held her breath, eyes twitching as she glanced to her left.

It was Daemon who had spoken, Daemon who had replied. Daemon, who did not stray his eyes from the girl that stood, fingers fumbling and eyes darting to-and-fro from her brothers to her estranged sister. It was Daemon who saw her, whilst her own sister pretended as though she was just another Lady of the Court.

Another shadow hidden in the depths of the Keep.

"Niece. I fear my brother's actions have left you estranged from mine own, but no more. We are of one blood, so we are of one family."

His words helped to dull her thudding heart, though his face had a sarcastic smile pasted upon it - as though his words were tasteless and false - there was a smouldering spark of curiosity that set his violet eyes alight.

Alaynha nodded, a polite smile upon her face - "it is good to finally make your acquaintance, Uncle. Father has spoken most graciously of your time in the Keep."

Daemon raised a brow, his hand leaving Rhaenyra's to trace a finger against his lower lip as he suppressed the smirk that began to grow upon his face, "I am sure he has."

He spared Viserys a glance, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he thought of all his immoral and scandalous acts throughout his time in the Keep, and wondered what it was exactly his niece had been told.

Daemon looked back at Alaynha, admired how, despite the stifling sense of discomfort that filled the hall, she still stood - waiting.

But waiting for what?

Daemon instead looked towards his daughters, eyes falling upon Baela and Rhaena as a proud smile stretched across his face - "these are my daughters, Baela and Rhaena - your cousins," his eyes then moved to the boys who sat next to his children. His eyes traced over the dark brown hair of the heirs of Ser Harwin Strong, skimmed over the muddy eyes that sung whispers of their heritage, and continued, "these are their betrotheds, Rhaenyra's sons."

Daemon paused for a second, turning his head towards Rhaenyra. He waited, seeing if she would speak and acknowledge her sister who waited with eager eyes and a pleasant smile, but Rhaenyra's eyes now lay upon her empty plate and the hand he had previously held sat fisted in her lap as she ignored her sister once more.

Daemon cleared his throat, turning towards the boys to nod at each one in turn - "this is Jacaerys. And this is Lucerys, his younger brother."

Lucerys.

The pleasing smile upon her face melted as her expression soured into a look of apprehension, and Daemon tried his best to ignore the nagging feeling that clouded his mind at the sight of such a smile disappearing much too soon.

Her eyes now began to move in earnest, darting between the boy named Lucerys and her brother, Aemond.

She had known Lucerys would be in King's Landing, that she may cross him in the Keep. But she had not thought she would see him now - sat timidly across from her brother, who only seemed to sit straighter as he noticed her horrified glances.

This was Lucerys. The boy who had stolen her brother's eye - the boy who had taken so much from Aemond and not paid a drop of blood in return.

Sure, Aemond had gotten a dragon in return. But to lose a part of yourself such as half your sight, it could not be compensated for, even with a dragon like Vhagar.

Alaynha knew. She knew of how her brother grew somber when he would escort her on walks past rivers and lakes and catch a glimpse of his ghastly reflection. She knew of how her brother would grow short-tempered when he heard the snide remarks of the Ladies and Lords of the Courts, about his scar and patch. She knew of how his tongue grew sharper when he would be reminded of what he had lost, despite what he had gained.

It was Alaynha, with child-like glee, who offered her older brother a sapphire gem. Alaynha who promised if he wore it in place of his unseeing eye, then women would fawn for him from all the Seven Kingdoms. Alaynha who helped him build the courage to remove the blood-stained cloth from the broken and shattered mirror within his chambers, to replace it with one ten times its size, to find love in what he had lost and to embrace it too. It was Alaynha, who had held her brother tearfully as he reassured her in a tone that sounded too much like defeat, who had built her brother back up from the scattered pieces Lucerys had laid to waste.

And now, it was Alaynha who stared at Lucerys, the boy who had broken her brother and changed him into a man, when he only ever had to be a child.

Aemond could see her distress, could see how her eyes clouded as memories of seeing her brother's face - bloody and scarred - shrouded her mind. Aemond wanted to move, wanted to help. He wanted to guide back his dear sister, but he was also stuck in such a dark and pale reverie.

His mind sank into the depths of his childhood without consent, his thoughts incoherent as the reality of today began to meld with the echoes of the past.

So it was Aegon who moved first.

He watched his brother, who sat still with a rigid spine and tensed shoulders, stare at Alaynha with a heavy gaze.

It was Aegon who knew of the insecurities that plagued his brother, and how he had made it worse by trying to help - sending him into the arms of whores who showed him lust and affection, despite his marred face and clumsy hands.

But he could do this. He could help this time.

When Aegon stood, his movements were silent, but as he drew to his full height, Daemon and Rhaenyra could not help but watch him.

He rounded the table and his face grew passive, watching the curious stares of a protective Jacaerys and a guilty Lucerys. He paid them no mind, having waited enough to begin dining that he would use his sister as an excuse to hurry the affairs so he may return to his chambers to indulge in his favoured proclivities.

His steps were graceful, despite his stomach which was sated and heavy with the most favourful of wines. And when he stood in front of Alaynha, drawing her eyes to look upon him, he pretended as though he could not feel the burning gaze of his uncle nor half-sister. He pretended he could not feel the belligerent stare of his grand-sire nor the suspicious gaze of his mother. And, well Viserys had simply not spared him a glance - eyes glazed in a haze of pain as he watched the scene unfold and hoped, deep in his heart, the children he held closest to his heart would care for one another, even if it's for his sake, and not their own.

"Come sister," Aegon's voice was soft, a gentle drone that was nothing like that unsavoury tone he took up with his maids and whores.

"Let us dine, you must be hungry."

Aegon did not let her protest, taking her hand in his as he led her to the table and waited for her to take her seat.

Aegon hesitated, if only for a moment. His gaze crossed the table, and found the deviant stare of his uncle. It was as though he took Daemon's glare as a challenge, and whilst keeping his eyes upon his uncle, Aegon pressed a tender kiss upon the crown of Alaynha's head, before taking his seat at her side.

It was now that Daemon could not control himself, and a vicious smile crossed his face at the actions of his nephew. He sat up, leaning closer towards the table as he nodded towards Aegon - a challenge indeed. But Daemon was not one to lose.

***

The tension had slowly begun to dull, even Rhaenyra had sunk into her seat as she waited for Alicent to finish her prayers before they could dine.

Still, Rhaenyra did not so much as glance up at Alaynha, preferring to lay her hand atop Daemon's and fiddle with his rings as his hand laid in a gentle fist atop the table.

Daemon, on the other hand, careful and observant, let his gaze travel over the newcomer and let his mind fester with theories and tribulations. There was a part of Daemon, dark and troubled, that wanted to know more of the girl.

There was a part of Daemon that had a spark sent through him, and it felt as though he was almost set alight.

It was hard for Alaynha not to notice his shameless stares, and she had tried her best not to meet his eyes despite it seeming as though he wished she did. Her heart pattered at a hurried pace whenever she so much as brushed her vision against the outline of his figure, and she knew if she met his gaze her cheeks would heat in defeat, and such a notion would be hard to dismiss in the face of Alicent and her children.

So she took to watching her brothers converse, but her ears remained listening out for the voice of her uncle - a deep rasp, slow and dangerous. Alaynha found that she would not dislike being on the receiving end of such a voice.

As Alicent's prayers come to an end, her next words have Alaynha's eyes flashing towards her - "and to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest."

Alaynha frowns, "has something happened to Ser Vaemond?"

She knows her words sound naive. It was not hard to guess what had happened to Ser Vaemond, but a part of Alaynha was much more concerned with why.

It was Otto, his face sombre, who spoke gently to the girl, "I fear, dear Princess," begins Otto, "the petition had gotten slightly out of hand - it seems Ser Vaemond Valeryon paid the price with his life."

Though his voice sounded sorrowful, there was a tinge of anger in his words as though he was exasperated by the turn of events that had happened in Alaynha's absence. Perhaps if she had been there, she could have helped prevent the bloodshed.

Before Alaynha could ask him for further clarification, Rhaenyra speaks, "his lies and acts of treason are what sent him to his deathbed."

"Oh," there was a tense silence echoing through the room as Rhaenyra waited to see her youngest sister's reaction to the news. A part of Alaynha wanted to know more, wanted to know what was said. But she could not ask, not like this when her family - old and new - had been at each other's throats since Alicent's betrothal to the King.

Alaynha hesitated for a moment before she continued, "well, mother always says it is a terrible act to lie," she concluded, nodding her head as though she agreed with Rhaenyra's stance, "it is most immoral. Isn't that right, Muña?" Mother.

An indulging smile tugged across Alicent's face, "it is, my sweet."

Alaynha shares a beaming smile with her mother, pleased by her praise, before looking towards her father with pleading eyes, "can we eat now, Kepa? I haven't eaten since I mounted Tolīmorghon."

Viserys lets out a boisterous laugh and concedes, it is the first he has let out after weeks of being subdued by the milk of the poppy.

And it is the first laugh, a true and melodic sound, that Daemon had heard escape from his brother since Aemma had passed.

His heart picked up at the sound, his eyes finding the grinning face of his brother as Viserys stared across the table, eyes shining with a jovial sense of joy, towards his youngest daughter and sweetest child.

Daemon chose then to stare at her, too. He found himself tracing over her every feature, as though he was committing her to memory so he could never forget.

Daemon had been the one insistent they return to Dragonstone as soon as the matter of Driftmark has been settled. His wife had wished to remain upon King's Landing for a moon or so, to remain close to her father as she grew closer to her labours.

He now sees Rhaenyra, who darted her gaze between her lively father and beaming half-sister, and believes they may switched positions entirely.

There is an itching shadow in the confines of Daemon's mind, a man starved and raging, that grew stronger as he continued to let the thoughts of his niece wander in his mind.

Daemon fears he would not leave King's Landing as the same man he returned as.

He feared he did not want to leave at all.

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Helpful, in a Heterodyne Sort of Way (ch3/3)

Summary: Klaus arrives in Mechanicsburg to retrieve his son, who he believes has been kidnapped by the Heterodyne. (And Gil has. Just not by the Heterodyne Klaus thinks.) Saturnus (doting grandfather and old school Heterodyne to the core) is determined not to let Klaus ruin his granddaughter's date.

AO3 Link

In deference to the fact that Mechanicsburg was an independent city state and not part of the Empire, Klaus kept Castle Wulfenbach at the traditional two leagues.

Because his son had been kidnapped by the Heterodyne, he landed one of the smaller dirigibles directly outside the front gate and walked right in.

Klaus moved through the streets of Mechanicsburg like the one-man army he was. Tourists and citizens and even Jӓgers scattered before him, but Klaus didn’t notice. He was drowning in his own thoughts, struggling to keep his expression under control, to display anger but not…

He had not felt fear like this since the day Gil was born, when the midwife stood before him and Zantabraxus, two small bundles in her arms, and asked them which one to keep.

He had not felt so angry at another person since the day he came home to a shattered castle and learned that the world had been torn to pieces in his absence.

He had not felt so angry at himself since the day he woke up in Skifander, sprawled out before a long-dead queen’s gate.

To be made a fool again. 

The youngest ever Lady of Mechanicsburg had looked up at him and told him, with such sincerity, that she wanted peace. She didn’t want to be an adventurer, but she didn’t want to run around terrorizing people either. And she’d seemed so sincere, and Klaus had thought that Teodora could do as good a job with a girl as with two boys, and Saturnus had looked so resigned—annoyed, but not resentful—that Klaus had believed her.

He'd believed her.

Klaus reached the foot of the great hill and began to climb towards the looming bulk of Castle Heterodyne.

When Teodora died, the world had tensed. A teenaged Heterodyne on the throne, with no voice of sanity to balance out the counsel of Saturnus Heterodyne? Surely, that would be it. Now the peace would end, now would come the fire and the terror and the war.

It had not come. Lady Heterodyne had shut the city down for a week of mourning and declared all seven St Teodora’s Days (none of the Popes had bothered to coordinate with each other) official holidays of Mechanicsburg. And that was it. And everyone had thought—well, that’s that then!—and relaxed.

Oh, Klaus kept an eye on her, watching for warning signs. But he had been braced—the world had been braced—for a Heterodyne. For armies of monsters, for death and destruction. For a return to the days of old.

Not even he had been braced for a Mongfish.

And she took his son. His son! It was too precise to be a coincidence. Even if Gil wasn’t the only young man spirited away to Mechanicsburg, for Gil to be chosen despite all the dangers it held, despite the retribution she had to know Klaus would bring down on her…

It was all too easy to imagine Lady Heterodyne smiling Lucrezia’s smile and saying ‘you know what would be funny?’

Saturnus was waiting for Klaus at the top of the hill with a giant, shameless grin, lounging back in his chair as if he had simply stepped out to enjoy the sunshine.

“Klaus!” he cried, cheerfully. “Welcome, welcome! So kind of you to drop by.”

Klaus strode forward until he stood directly in front of Saturnus, drowning the man in his shadow.

“Where is my son.”

“You’re looking well! Fantastic coat, by the way. You should really give Agatha some tips. She can do stunning, but bombastic intimidation is a mite out of her reach—”

“Saturnus.”

“Hmm?”

“Where. Is. My. Son.”

All manner of Sparks and noble families had quailed beneath that glare, had immediately rolled over and surrendered just to get Klaus to stop looking at them like that.

But Saturnus was a Heterodyne, and the ability to be intimidated had been bred out of them long ago—if they’d ever had it to begin with. His grin simply widened.

“Having dinner with Agatha.”

Klaus’ eyebrows shot up, and Saturnus tutted, shaking his head.

“No need for that look, Klaus, get your mind out of the gutter. All propriety has been observed. This is a civilized introductory dinner between two youths of genteel breeding.”

For a brief moment, Klaus forgot his anger and fear in the face of sheer amazement that Saturnus could refer to the Heterodyne family as genteel with a straight face.

“He’s fine,” Saturnus said, still with infuriating good humor. “He seemed quite taken with Agatha, to be honest—”

Bile rose in Klaus’ throat. No. Gil was intelligent, he was sensible—sometimes, about some things, surely about this—he would never fall for a woman after she had imprisoned him against his will.

But the words history repeats itself pounded in his skull like the Doom Bell, and Klaus found himself striding past Saturnus without another word.

Saturnus didn’t try to stop him, and neither did the castle, which should have been his first warning. He threw open the doors, strode into the main hall of the castle—did not stride into the main hall.

He was in a small, comfortable sitting room, with a crackling fire and a few soft armchairs, walls lined with shelves crammed full of books that were probably all banned in multiple countries. Overhead he heard a distinctly mechanical sniggering.

Behind him came the distinctive tapping sound of Saturnus’ chair, and the ominous groan and boom of the main doors closing—faintly, as if in the distance.

Klaus whirled around, and Saturnus smiled at him from in front of a perfectly ordinary sized door, not nearly large enough to be the main doors. Klaus shoved the man aside and wrenched the door open. It let him out onto a long hallway, one side of which had large windows overlooking an inner courtyard.

“Gilgamesh!” Klaus roared, but of course he got no answer.

It was a nightmare. The nightmare, throwing open door after door, down hallways and stairwells that never seemed to end, streets that went nowhere or doubled back on themselves; hearing Gilgamesh wailing in the distance but unable to tell which direction it was coming from; his wife calling after him she is the heir, this is how it must be; green-haired guards without faces grabbing him with hands like stone; and Klaus half-fell through another door and was once again in the small sitting room where Saturnus was waiting for him.

Smiling.

“Come on, do you really think you’d be able to track him down in this castle all by yourse—”

Klaus lunged. Before even the castle could move, he was across the room with his hand closing around Saturnus’ throat, hauling him up out of his chair, his dead legs dangling uselessly.

“You will release my son,” Klaus ground out through his bared teeth, rage and fear feeding each other into greater and greater heights. “You will release him to me now, or I will finish what the Other started and burn your family and this town until there is nothing left but ashes.”

Dust trickled down onto Klaus’ shoulders. He raised his eyes and saw the stone block hovering overhead. Waiting. Klaus lowered his gaze and met Saturnus’ eyes, which were no longer looking quite so amused.

“I will take you with me,” Klaus said, his grip tightening.

“Right,” Saturnus said, voice slightly strangled because Klaus was strangling him slightly. “How about you put me down, and the castle doesn’t crush you, and we start this conversation over like civilized gentlemen.”

“You have never been civilized in your life.”

“Neither have you. But we are both good at pretending, when we need to.”

Klaus’ heartbeat began to return to normal, and the fog of mindless terror to diminish enough that he could think clearly. Sort of clearly, anyway. At least enough so he could realize that killing Saturnus, while immensely satisfying in the moment, would not help Gil.

Gently, Klaus lowered Saturnus back down onto his chair, which shuffled itself into position so Saturnus did not need to readjust himself.

Saturnus backed the chair away a little, rubbing his throat, and gave Klaus a wry smile.

“To answer your question, as I said, Gilgamesh is having dinner with Agatha. He is safe and sound, physically and—as far as I can tell—psychologically. And for the record, he’s here of his own free will. Now, anyway.”

“Do not lie to me!” Klaus snarled, temper flaring again, ignoring the threatening grind of stone-on-stone overhead. “He was seen with a woman matching the description of Lady Jenka of Mechanicsburg. Lady Jenka, who was then abruptly and urgently recalled to Mechanicsburg, leaving with a large wooden crate—”  

“No,” Saturnus said, sarcastically, clearly unable to stop himself. “A woman traveling with large pieces of luggage, is there no end to Mechanicsburg’s depravities.”

“It had airholes in it!”

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m not saying I didn’t kidnap him, I own up to that—and for the record I did it gently, not so much as a bonk on the head. Jenka used a very mild soporific; he just took a nap and woke up here. I’m saying that Agatha was all set to let him go, and he said he’d like to stay for dinner.”

Klaus snorted derisively. 

“Do you seriously expect me to believe Lady Heterodyne went through all the trouble of having him kidnapped and brought here, only to let him go? Short of some plan to lure him in with reverse psychology, I refuse to believe—”

“I kidnapped him,” Saturnus interrupted, disgruntled. “Who said anything about Agatha–” Saturnus stopped, eyes going wide, pieces falling together. “Red fire, no wonder you’re in a state.”

“I am ‘in a state’ because you kidnapped my son.”

This time, Saturnus’ smile was bitter and humorless.

“But would you be in as much of a state if you didn’t so intimately know Lucrezia Mongfish for what she was?”

Klaus did not answer. His first instinct was to say yes, but…well. The thought of Gilgamesh hanging over a vat of acid while a Heterodyne cackled maniacally by the knife switch did invoke less terror than the thought of him alone in a room with Lucrezia.

“She’s not her mother, Klaus. She may look like her, but it’s no deeper than that. She’s a Heterodyne through and through. Not my brand of Heterodyne, more’s the pity, but she is still a Heterodyne. We don’t do subtle.”

“You don’t consider a quiet kidnapping to be subtle?”

“And how long did it take those shadow men of yours to figure out who took him and where? Probably before Jenka even left the dock.”

“Hardly,” Klaus said. “They wouldn’t have let her leave, if they had.”

But the man was making a fair point. Lucrezia didn’t kidnap her men—she simply wove a web and let them walk in of their own free will. She’d even let them think it was their idea.  

“I swear to you, Agatha was about ready to bite my head off when I told her.” He rubbed his chin. “Might not have been quite as mad at me if I hadn’t waited to tell her til after he was tied to the chair and dinner was ready to serve. She really was going to let him leave, and he very much insisted on staying.” 

“That would be an extremely foolish thing for him to do.”

Saturnus snorted, amused.

“Right, because love never made any man act a fool.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s never even met her before.”

“No,” Saturnus agreed. “But I’ll tell you now—the way he looked at Agatha when he first saw her? That’s how I looked at Teodora, and love made me enough of a fool that I didn’t realize she’d ruined my sons until it was too late. Huh! And now, between her and Agatha, I’m practically domesticated. Didn’t even consider invading Paris to get at him!”

“I would say it far more likely because you knew the Lady Heterodyne wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes. I would not burn down the world for her, Klaus.”

He said it with such determination, such seriousness, that at first Klaus couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a joke.

Then he remembered who he was talking to.

“That’s…very touching,” Klaus said, and mostly meant it. Then, abruptly realizing he’d been sidetracked, drew himself up. Very firmly, he said “Willing or not, I will take my son home.”

“No,” Saturnus said, just as firmly. “Or rather, not yet. He’s the first one she’s really liked that I’m sure can keep up with her. I’ll admit, I’ve gotten a little desperate—you wouldn’t believe the kind of young men who have come swanning in, looking for her favor.”

Klaus noted that Saturnus had not said "and out".

A sudden change came over Saturnus. He sat up straighter in his chair. He met Klaus’ gaze with eyes that burned with a fire that rivaled the depths of hell. When he spoke, his voice was solid steel, and for a moment Klaus could see Lord Saturnus as had been of old, the terror of Europa.

“But I truly believe he could make her happy, and if ensuring her happiness means bringing the wrath of the most dangerous man in Europa down on my head, so be it.”

Klaus considered this. On the one hand, he only had Saturnus’ word for any of this. On the other, it was hard to imagine Saturnus would be hiding the fact that his graddaughter was returning to family form, instead of gloating from the rooftops.

And, Klaus was forced to admit, it would be out of character. If she was responsible, it would be the first act of old-school Heterodyning from Lady Agatha—

Klaus remembered Duke Leffert’s attempted invasion the previous spring, and the mountain on the far side of the Heterodyne Valley that now had a big hole in the middle, and corrected himself. This would be the first unprovoked act committed by Lady Agatha in the nearly ten years she had ruled Mechanicsburg.  

“Very well,” Klaus said, stiffly. “But I am not leaving without him.”

“You can have him back as soon as they finish dessert,” Saturnus promised, grinning again. “Now come on, let me pour you a drink. You could use one.”  

‘Per my lady’s standing instructions, I am reminding you of the doctor’s orders,’ the castle said.

“Duly ignored,” Saturnus said cheerfully, moving his chair towards a laden drinks cart.

"You know, Wulfenbach, I didn't think much of you in the old days. But I'm glad to see you've gotten all that heroing out of your system and settled down to build a good old fashioned evil empire. And you’re doing a marvelous job! "

Klaus was very glad Saturnus' back was turned to him. 

“Yes, it does my heart good to see someone keeping the old ways.” 

Klaus managed to get his expression under control just in time as Saturnus turned around. Saturnus held out a crystal cut glass half filled with a dark purple liquid. Klaus did not hesitate to take the glass from Saturnus, or to drink from it, which pleased the old man greatly.

"Ha! Not an ounce of fear in you, eh?"

"I've made myself immune to most poisons,” said Klaus, looking down at the drink in puzzlement. “Especially the rare ones. " He sipped the drink again, and mentally weighed how much he wanted to know what the flavor was against how much he did not want to know what was made of.

"See! You know what you're doing! I'm not at all surprised by your choice of son.”

Klaus looked up, dragging his attention from the drink, which was reflecting the light in a very strange way.

“My choice?” he repeated.

"Heh. Perhaps I've said too much. No good giving you a reason to assassinate me, eh?"

Klaus did not particularly like the sound of that.

“Let’s just say, I’d be careful of those Sturmvarous people. That boy knows some things about Gil you might not want to get out.”

Klaus made a mental note to burn Sturmhalten to the ground as soon as he and Gil left.

Saturnus chuckled.

“Look at that face! Would you believe Agatha thinks you’re still good? I think it’s just because you used to run with her father and her uncle. People change, I tell her! If she’d seen you just now, oh, I’d like to see her try and call you good after that little display.” He wagged a playful finger at Klaus. “Don’t think I missed that subtle little dig about my grandson, either! A man after my own heart.” 

Never before had such warm approval caused Klaus so much shame.

“It was over the line,” Klaus admitted.

“Oh it was!” Saturnus said, with evident enjoyment. “And I’ll bet you’re teaching Gilgamesh all you know, eh? Nature and nurture! He’ll make a fine overlord.”

Klaus kept his face neutral, even when Saturnus winked at him. Only when Saturnus took a drink did Klaus allow himself to grimace.

‘Lord Saturnus, the lady is–’

Klaus was suddenly aware of pounding footsteps and shouting. The door burst open, Klaus tensed, and the Lady Heterodyne came tumbling in. Right on her heels was–

“Gilgamesh!”

The wave of relief could have brought Klaus to his knees. Gil was unharmed, though his clothes were slightly rumpled. His eyes were shining and slightly manic, but no more than was usual for Gil under the influence of the Spark. 

“Father!” he said, startled, but not displeased. “What are you doing he–?”

“Grandfather!” Lady Heterodyne interrupted. She grabbed the arm of Saturnus’ chair. “The blue orb things in the grey hallway, are they lamps or lightning generators?”

“Lamps-”

Agatha whirled around and jabbed a finger at Gil. 

“Ha!” 

“--that generate lightning.”

“Ah-HA!” Gil exclaimed. 

“Still primarily a lamp!” She swung back around to Saturnus. “I need them. Castle! I want the electrical laboratory prepped! I need you to reroute the extra power to the salamanders, and if you can’t, find a place to dump it that won’t kill all the fish–” 

“Father!” Gil said. “Did you bring the castle? Can you bring me my lightning generator–”

“—lamp!—and tell Van to have the river blocked off for the next few days just in case—”  

“Oh! And can you bring my weather enhancer, my weather dehancer, and my electromagnetic–” 

“There's no time!” Agatha cried. “The storm will be here in half an hour!” 

“You know what, nevermind, I'll just build new ones. Let's go!”

Gil and Agatha took off, leaving the door hanging open.

Klaus stared at the open door, listening to their excited shouting fade as they ran down the hall. He shut his eyes, knowing, knowing without even needing to look, that Saturnus was smirking triumphantly. In the distance, Gil laughed.

He sounded…very happy.

“So! Solstice at your place this year?” Saturnus asked, somehow managing to gloat a question. 

Klaus downed the rest of his drink in one swallow. 

-

“You know,” Gil said, in the dirigible on the way to Castle Wulfenbach, “it’s the funniest thing—Saturnus thinks I’m adopted.”

Klaus’ brow furrowed.

“He told you this?”

“It’s why he kidnapped me in the first place. Apparently, he overheard Tarvek Sturmvoraus saying my real father is Petrus Teuful. I don’t even know where Tarvek got that idea in the first place.”

Klaus, keeping his face perfectly neutral, mentally crossed destroy Sturmhalten off his To Do list.

“I can’t imagine,” he said.

[timdrakescoffeecup]

(Updated Sometimes) Tim Drake Fanfic Masterlist

cw's will not be included, so make sure to check the tags. also might include some jason fics too

Bang, bang by Ididloveyou_once

Tim asks Jason to teach him how to use a gun. (One shot, funny)

The Long Way Home by itsnatalie

Tim and Jason get trapped in a labyrinth that shows their worst nightmares. (Multi, angst, hurt/comfort)

like falling water by naheka

Dick crashes at Jason's place, hopped up on fear gas. (One shot, funny)

Bet on it by Lysical

Damian needs Jason's help to hide something from Bruce. (One shot, funny)

Deliver Yourself by forestgreen

Jason adopts his younger self. (Multi, angst)

Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee)

Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.

When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.

But most of all, Tim is alone. (Multi, angst)

Home by sElkieNight60

Tim forgets who he is. (Multi, angst)

Late Night Langoustining by whaleofatime

Jason adopts a lobster. (One shot, funny)

two against the world by carolinaa

While following Batman and Robin, Tim finds a puppy. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by Ultrageekatlarge

Tim blackmails Batman into helping him arrest his murderous uncle. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

See Life As a Worthy Opponent by TriviasGhost

Tim goes to a universe where he never existed. (Multi, incomplete)

The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks

What the comics neglected to cover after Bruce returns from being lost in time. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Obedience by Sohotthateveryonedied

Something is seriously wrong with Tim—Jason just knows it. Ever since the Mad Hatter incident, Tim has been acting completely different, and the worst part is that no one believes Jason when he tells them so.

But when the truth is eventually revealed, the whole family comes to realize that the situation is far worse than anyone could have ever predicted. (One shot, angst)

To an Athlete Dying Young by SonoSvegliato

A series detailing Tim’s ascension to Robinhood, with angsty Red Hood vigilantes in the background. (Multi, angst)

Matters of the Heart by DM (Nyerus), Nyerus

Kon need's Tim's help with an investigation in Metropolis. Feelings ensue. (Multi, Timkon)

It Wasn't Real (But We Were Happy) by lurkinglurkerwholurks

“Everyone’s fine. You don’t need me anymore. I told you, Bruce. I told you I’d stay until you didn’t need me anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I stayed too long. I should have... I shouldn’t have waited so long." (Multi, angst)

occam's razor by Beatrice eagle

An in-universe reddit thread about Jason's death. (One shot, funny)

To Try, To Err, To Try Again by theLiterator

Tim knits Damian a present. (One shot, wholesome?)

let's get mischievous by CreamofTomatoSoup

Tim's friend gets possessed by Dionysius. (One shot, angst)

Whoopsie by MichaBerry

Tim forgets to tell that he lost his spleen. Oops. (One shot, angst?)

Latchkey by goldkirk

Tim Drake is thirteen, runs the famous BatWatch blog that has spiraled hilariously out of control, has absentee parents that suit his purposes just fine, is training himself to run the streets at night, and is doing absolutely peachy, thank you.

Alfred and Jason disagree, and get Dick and Bruce involved in figuring out their weird nextdoor neighbor kid’s life. Everything goes uphill from there. (Multi, hurt/comfort, this is a MUST READ for timfics)

Trouble Magnet by strikeyoucolors

"It's like you've been synchronized into passively hostile acts against Tim. Did he do something? Were you brainwashed? Because I now have a son who has been crushed, had his face broken, and been shot. All incidences of friendly fire. " (One shot, funny)

Echoes of You by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

Milk white skin beneath the mud, black hair hanging in muddy clumps around his ears. Blue eyes staring back at him, animal-bright and dilated in the brief moment before he flinches back from the light with a cry of pain that stabs through Jason to the soul. (One shot, angst)

A Simple Life by RenaRoo

Tim Drake is living a simple life in one of the worst parts of Gotham. He makes the best of it, though. He makes for himself the only life he's ever known...

He thinks. (One shot, angst)

The Wound Begins to Bleed by audreycritter

Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around.

Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother. (One shot, brotherly bonding)

Hey, Lawman! by dinolaur

Tim goes MIA during lunch. (One shot, funny)

Gotham Banksy by LananiA3O

After finding out that he remains unavenged, Jason returns to Gotham, but instead of deciding to kill Bruce, he decides to channel his rage into a more creative endeavor: spray-painting Gotham until the message is loud and clear to everyone: fuck Batman. (Multi, angst)

Breaking News: Local Teen Given Intervention For Normal Behaviour by yellowrooster

Tim ends up in an alternate dimension where he's considered a drug addict. (One shot, funny)

Bay Through Hell by GordandV

Tim is mermaid. (Multi, AU)

Hot Dog, French Fries by eggmacguffin

Damian tries to hide that he's been hit with a truth serum. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

What happens in Vegas by Ididloveyou_once

Tim and Kon get married in Vegas, while drunk. (Multi, timkon)

Quarter past midnight by Aaren

Instead of being found by Talia after crawling out of his grave, Jason becomes a nurse. (Multi, canon divergence)

(Un)Wanted by Mika-chan (mikarin)

Tim gets kidnapped. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

A Midafternoon Beetdown by whaleofatime

Jason cosplays as a organic farmer. (One shot, funny)

Liminal Space by Calamityjim

Bruce's habit of collecting strays isn't limited by dimension. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Can't Stay Down (a Documentary) by SonoSvegliato

Tim gets his tonsils removed. (Multi, funny)

Surveillance by smilebackwards

Tim is a civilian who contributes to crime fighting by taking surveillance photos and leaving them on the desktop of the Batcomputer. (Multi, found family)

Chemistry of a Car Crash by anthologia

Tim gets into a car crash. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

Bet It all On Red by centreoftheselights

Instead of becoming enemies, Robin and Red Hood form an alliance. (One shot series, canon divergence)

False Dichotomy by heartslogos

Red Hood calls Red Robin's bandoliers "super convenient idiot handles". (One shot)

don't take you guns to town by kreestar

batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne. (One shot, angst)

Stubborn by audreycritter

When your butler mom calls and says, "Go check on your brother," you don't argue. You just do it. (Multi, sickfic)

I'm Just Fine by girlgeekjf

After rescuing a group of kidnapped children, Tim reflects on what he could’ve done better. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

A Christmas Miracle by Mithen

Damian and Dick go undercover to bust a child-kidnapping ring whose members dress up as Santa Claus. (One shot, funny)

Confidence Lost by C_R_Scott

Everything about Neal Caffrey’s past prior to his 18th birthday is a mystery, even to him. However, when someone unexpectedly recognizes him by a name that he has never used as an alias before, he learns that the biggest con of his life is literally his life. (or, tim is neal caffrey from white collar) (multi, crossover)

Exit Wounds by incogneat_oh

Did you hear this one? A vigilante walks into a warehouse and kills the joker. (One shot, angst)

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You) by lurkinglurkerwholurks

Five times Jason saved his siblings, and one time they saved him. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Normally People Pass Out After by WriterfromGotham

Tim donates blood. (One shot, angst and fluff)

In Living Memory by DangerBeckett

Jason remembers why he stays out of other people's business. (One shot, angst)

Set My Mind To Wandering by Tabithian

Tim goes on a vacation. (One shot series, angst)

A Little Bit of Sunshine, A Little Bit of Rain by ohwhatevrewhatevr

For once, Tim is happy with his life. (One shot, fluff?)

American Ninja Worrier by DangerBeckett

Tim hires a ninja intern. Jason becomes concerned. (One shot, funny)

The Wrong Boy is Breathing by heartslogos

Tim visits Jason's grave all the time. (One shot, angst)

Jason Todd: The Not-So-Outlaw by GoAwayOlivia

Jason Todd isn't what Batman made him, he isn't what the Joker made him, he isn't what the League of Assassins made him, and he isn't what the Lazarus Pit made him. He's his own person and he's taking himself back, one home renovation at a time. Also he might just make friends with the people who are supposed to be his brothers while he's at it. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

The Art of Conversation by glassgoblin

Robin needs to talk to a friend, but everyone is a little busy. (One shot, angst)

Road Rage Robin by heartslogos

"I’d be doing humanity a favor.” Tim grinds out, “And I would get away with it. I could totally get away with it. I’ve done worse.“ (One shot, funny)

How to be a male Batgirl by Blackjay27

There are many ways to help Batman and Robin, but no matter which universe he's in, Tim's method will always end with him in a costume on Gotham's rooftops. (Multi, canon divergence)

I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus by pupeez4eva

It’s Christmas time, and Damian is on a mission - to stop this ‘Santa Claus’ fellow from molesting his older brother. (Multi, funny) (this fic is so funny it made me cackle out loud)

Favourite Strangers by SpiritsFlame

It's been six months since Bruce's actions led to the death of Superman. (One shot, crossover with the movies?)

show me yesterday, for i can't find today by indent

Then: The year is 2013. Jason Todd is alive, fourteen years old, and about to follow Sheila Haywood, his birth mother, into the hands of the Joker. All he wants is to save her life.

Now: The year is 2018. Jason Todd was dead. But now he's a nineteen year old vigilante about to take down the latest C-Lister rogue. Unfortunately for him, its a rogue that specialises in time-travel technology. And what starts as an easy takedown...ends as a time travelling phenomenon.

The two Jasons swap places. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Retrograde Motion by Lysical

All Jason wanted was a case that was simple, clean, and far away from the latest mess in Gotham. Magic wasn't the Outlaws' area of expertise, but they soon found themselves investigating a dark wizard with a penchant for organ harvesting.

When an accident on the case leaves Jason as a clueless seven year old with a memory that's spotty at best, what else can his team do but go to his family for help? (Multi, hurt/comfort?)

anglerfish by envysparkler

Robin was having a horrible night even before the Red Hood showed up. (One shot, angst)

Tso'ape Mumbichi by keeptogethernow

Tim is Talon. (Multi, AU)

Kodokuno Shoujo (A Lonely Girl) by C_R_Scott

A tale of two Robins wrapped up in an Asian-style horror story. Tim Drake goes to Japan for business, both for Wayne Enterprises and Batman Incorporated. However, when he returns to Gotham City, it's Damian Wayne who discovers he brought along more from his trip overseas than just his luggage and mission report. (Multi, horror)

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Help by Loxare

Jason never went to Gotham after he emerged from the Lazarus Pit. Instead, he went to Bludhaven to begin his reign of terror. (Or Jason adopts all the children of Bludhaven.) (Multi, fluff)

Lean on me by Musingsofthesky

Tim just wants to hang out with Bruce. Too bad his cold has other plans. (One shot, sickfic)

The Ol' Switcheroo by AutumnHobbit

Damian takes a bullet for Tim. (One shot, angst)

Meant to be by protagonistically

Tim takes a bullet for Bruce. (One shot, angst)

Juneberries by MichaBerry

When Tim is taken, Damian has to come to terms with his own insecurities, and how he really feels towards his older 'brother'. When he does, it might be too late. (Multi, angst)

though the sun continues to stand by metropolisjournal (TKodami)

Tim in the movie universe. (Multi, angst)

The Time We've Got by DawnsEternalLight

While on an emergency Redbull run, Tim tries to talk to his adopted father. (One shot, fluff)