#//@BAY WHY ARE YOU TEMPTING THE BEAST

[nixiefics]

A Tangle of Souls - Chapter 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Jaena)

Tropes: Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Targaryen typical incest, smut, swearing, drinking, canon typical violence and death

Jaena groaned as she stretched out her back. The journey from Casterly Rock to King's Landing via ship had been exhausting, to say the least.

Lord Lannister had made preparations to leave quite hastily, writing to his brother so that the Small Council knew to expect them. He needed to have her in place quickly so that their plan had enough time to develop. 

He had explained to her that they would bring her in under a guise - that he had found her injured after his men had subdued an Ironborn ship. This was vital, for they could not know that she was raised in Casterly Rock, ever. If their plan was to work, everyone needed to believe that she had been borne of Daemon while he had been traveling to Pentos after the war for the Stepstones.

Jaena had questioned him about why anyone would believe the story but Lord Jason had told her not to worry and to leave it to him; to simply focus on her Valyrian greetings for when they arrived. She had been practicing at Tysa for the entire week's journey - when she was not sitting on the deck of the ship with her face to the sun or a sketchpad in her lap. Tysa was a condition of Jaena's compliance, as was Maester Rewan. She had wanted people with her in Kings Landing that she trusted - people who knew her.

A new wardrobe had also been commissioned for her. Made of the finest Lysene silks and lace, in vibrant white, pale silver, pinks, and deepest red; more dresses than Jaena had ever had or knew what to do with. She'd stuck to her basic wardrobe on the ship, however, not yet willing to let go of the comforting feel of them. 

She had also refused a haircut. Lord Jason had brought in a woman from Lannisport but Jaena had screamed at the pair, clutching at her silken silver hair with her teeth bared at them. Her hair had grown with her, in that tower. It was all she had left of it now and she would rather be thrown into the bay than part with a single strand. 

Tysa had grinned at her that evening whilst practicing a braided style. "Can't let them take everything, little lady."

"Sȳz tubis, byka riñnykeā." she muttered to her reflection. There were light circles under her eyes, a sign of her seasickness, and her mouth held a trail of dried drool which Lord Lannister surely would have found highly offensive. (Good morning, little lady.)

"We're hours away from port, Jaena!" Tysa didn’t even greet her in her usual way. She just bustled in with the tray of eggs, cheese, and fruit and made Jaena sit down to eat; she got to pulling Jaena's hair into a braided style they had learned from a Tyroshi history book that Maester Rewan had brought up from the library. Most of her favourite styles were the ones from Valyria's beautiful old paintings but Tysa's capabilities had not yet reached those levels - she'd need three more people at least for the amount of hair Jaena had.

"Lord Lannister has requested that you wear the red dress today, with the silver trim." Tysa sighed. "A temptress, he'd said. She must be a tempting thing."

Jaena's eyes wandered to the chest holding her new wardrobe. The red dress was not so bad - better than the pink one from a very well-to-do Lysene dressmaker that showed all of her stomach and hips. Tysa had wanted to set it on fire the first time she had seen it but Jaena had managed to calm her down enough to only pack it at the very bottom of the chest.

"It feels strange, Tys," Jaena was almost too afraid to say anything aloud, lest Lord Lannister swiftly announce their return back to Casterly Rock and that lonely tower. "It feels like I'm walking into the mouth of a beast."

Tysa sighed and rounded the table, taking the young girl's hand tenderly. "Some beasts oft swallow you out of greed, my lady, and some for pleasure. We must just navigate these people together and I'm sure you will come out the other side unharmed."

Little solace for either of us, Tysa thought to herself bitterly. She knew of the Targaryen's and their ambitions. Jaena wasn't safe with either of her current options, but they had to make do until they found a better one.

When she was finished eating, Jaena allowed Tysa to dress her and fret. The older woman thought the dress made Jaena look years older than her mere nineteen and mumbled the entire time she was busy fastening the dozens of buttons on the back. The deep red colour reminded her of blood and the subtle silver stitching almost blended in with Jaena's loose strands of hair - this was not the girl she was used to seeing.

"Do I look like a lost princess?" Jaena muttered, hands trembling slightly as Tysa slipped a ream of silver bracelets over the girl's delicate wrist. "Do I look-

"You are perfect," Tysa said sternly. "You look exactly as Lord Lannister requested and you will make me proud by being brave and keeping your chin held high."

Jaena nodded. She knew her story - the one Lord Lannister had scripted for them - by heart and would do her best to adapt herself to any circumstance. She'd had many hours in her tower to practice acting as well as her art.

As the morning sun began to cast its golden rays over the horizon, Jaena stepped out onto the deck of the Lannister ship, her eyes adjusting to the brilliance after the dimness of her quarters below. Sea air enveloped her, carrying with it the distinct scent of saltwater and adventure. The ship itself was a magnificent sight, with its sleek hull gliding effortlessly through the cerulean waters, bearing the proud lion sigil of House Lannister upon its sails.

The crew bustled about, their movements synchronized as they prepared to dock in King's Landing. Ropes creaked as they were tightened, canvas sails flapped in the breeze, and the distant call of seabirds echoed across the waves. Jaena watched with fascination as sailors climbed the rigging with agile grace, their rough voices carrying across the deck as they shouted orders to one another.

Lord Lannister was standing closest to the bow side of the ship, hands behind his back as he surveyed the scene before him like a pretender king. He nodded silently at Jaena when she caught his eye, approval for the dress and her hair. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Ready? Jaena contemplated the lead weight in her stomach as she blinked up at the man whom she had known her entire life but, truly, knew nothing about. "As ready as I will ever be, my Lord."

He sighed heavily but accepted her answer, allowing her to stand beside him. As the ship drew closer to the bustling harbour of King's Landing, the sounds of the city began to mingle with those of the sea. The distant clamour of merchants haggling, the rhythmic clang of metal from the blacksmith's forge, and the lively chatter of the townsfolk created a vibrant tapestry of sound that filled the air.

On the docks, a figure awaited them, his presence commanding attention. It was Lord Jason Lannister's twin brother, Tyland, the Master of Coin. His sharp eyes scanned the deck until they settled upon Jaena, and a warm smile spread across his face. "Jaena," he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the harbour. "It's been too long. You've grown into quite the lady since I last saw you."

Jaena returned Tyland's smile as she descended the gangplank along with Lord Lannister, her heart fluttering with excitement at the prospect of exploring the sprawling city before her. As she approached, Tyland offered her his arm, and together they made their way towards the waiting carriage.

The ride from the docks to the Red Keep was a whirlwind of sights and sounds. Jaena gazed in awe at the towering structures that lined the streets, their imposing facades hinting at the grandeur that lay within. Market stalls overflowed with colourful wares, their vendors calling out to passersby in a cacophony of voices.

As they passed through the crowded streets, Tyland pointed out various landmarks, regaling Jaena with tales of the city's rich history. She listened intently, her eyes wide with wonder as they wound their way through the bustling thoroughfares toward their destination.

Finally, they arrived at the imposing gates of the Red Keep, its crimson walls rising majestically against the backdrop of the city skyline. Jaena's heart raced with anticipation as they entered the courtyard, her eyes taking in the splendour of the castle.

Aemond watched as the Lannister procession neared his father on the throne. Viserys was wheezing lightly, sweat upon his brow despite the early morning. He had heard rumours from the castle staff about Lord Jason Lannister's mysterious visit to King's Landing. Apparently, there had been some raucous with an Ironborn ship on the Westerlands' coast. Lord Lannister claimed that a girl had been found, battered, upon the ship. A Targaryen girl.

He could only see glimpses of a female figure among the Lannister men. From his perch on the steps next to Aegon and Helaena, he could see that she was dressed finely - undoubtedly the work of Lord Lannister himself - and that she did indeed have silver hair. He scoffed to himself and glanced at his sister. It was the same shade but many other lineages claimed silver hair - it did not make this girl a Targaryen.

"A girl of gold, shrouded in a beast of blue, their destinies entwined, a tale yet to ensue."

Helaena was picking at the sleeve of her dress now, bouncing as her violet eyes danced across the ceiling of the throne room. He reached out and claimed her hand, inclining his head in a manner of soothing. She was put out by the sudden arrival of guests and had begun her old habits again.

"Girl of gold, beast of blue…" her breathing tightened as the group stopped and everyone kneeled and curtsied. "Girl of… girl… beast is blue."

"Your Majesty!" Lord Jason Lannister, with his dark blonde curls, grinned up at the king. "Such a pleasure to see you and thank you for welcoming me on such short notice."

Viserys looked to be the very farthest thing from pleased but offered Jason a weary smile nonetheless. He waved Otto forward and the Hand of the King bowed shortly to Jason.

"Tyland alerted us to an urgent matter you wished to bring before the King." Otto's voice was loud enough to carry to the end of the hall. "So put forth your matter."

Jason Lannister nodded curtly, unamused that he had not been conversed with directly by the King. "Two weeks ago, my men reported to me a rogue Ironborn ship causing chaos along the shores and villages around The Crag. I sent out a ship of my own to put an end to their plundering and found instead, a ship with eight men aboard and a girl."

The crowd around the hall, bored courtesans, started their hushed whispers - much to Lord Lannister's glee, Aemond noted. This was what the man wanted; drama and scandal.

"The men were easily dispatched - they were drunk off their stolen wares and lazy - but the girl below deck was… in a state." Jason waved a hand behind him and everyone watched as a young girl stepped away from an older woman, dressed as a lady's maid. Now that Aemond could see her, he balked.

As she approached the king, the beauty of the girl was undeniable. Her long silver hair was styled in a Tyroshi braid, adorned with delicate silver filigree and small jewels that glimmered softly in the light. Yet, despite the meticulous styling, some strands had escaped their confines, framing her delicate features like wisps of moonlight, adding to her delicate beauty. Her lavender eyes, a rare and very striking feature, held a delicate allure, yet betrayed her nervousness as they flickered with uncertainty.

Dressed in a deep red gown that hugged her slender frame, she moved with a graceful timidity, each step hesitant yet elegant. The rich fabric of her dress flowed around her like a pool of blood, contrasting starkly with the pale perfection of her skin. Embroidered with intricate patterns of silver dragons, the gown whispered tales of ancient power and regal lineage.

Despite her shyness, there was an ethereal quality to her presence, as if she carried the weight of centuries of history and tradition upon her delicate shoulders. As she stood before the king, her hands trembling slightly, her gaze averted yet filled with a quiet determination, she embodied both fragility and strength.

"What is this?" Aegon was laughing. "Seven hells, was she bred by the Archmaesters in the Citadel, Lord Lannister?"

The girls' eyebrows furrowed and Aemond glanced at his father and grandfather, who were whispering to each other furiously. Alicent was pale, clutching at the seven-pointed star at her neck as she heard Helaena's whispers grow louder.

"A girl of gold, shrouded in a beast of blue, their destinies entwined, a tale yet to ensue."

Aemond, a hand on the hilt of his sword, stepped toward his sister and pulled her into his arms to calm her hysterics. He kept his eyes on the girl, however, as she twitched uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny.

"She was delirious and malnourished but otherwise untouched, Your Majesty," Jason went on, over the din. "My men sharply and thoroughly interrogated the remaining men and it was established-

"You said that all eight men were dispatched, Lannister." Otto narrowed his eyes. "How were dead men interrogated?"

"Dispatched of their weapons, my Lord Hand." Tyland smiled genially. "Three men survived - the leader among them."

The girl swallowed thickly as Lord Lannister returned his gaze to her. "The leader confessed that the girl had been taken for ransom from Pentos after it had been discovered that she was a… forgive my words, for I merely repeat them. He claimed that the girl was a dragonseed. Though I have other proof that she is a legitimate daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, not baseborn."

More chaos broke out as Aegon's laughing grew louder and Helaena whipped from her brother's grip and fled behind her family, covering her ears as she gasped for air. A lady's maid stepped forward boldly and gathered the young girl into her arms. 

"You have no proof… of these…" the king coughed. "These allegations, Jason Lannister. No proof beyond the words of rogue thieves."

Jason Lannister bowed in supplication, eyeing the Kingsguard and Aemond cautiously. "No proof perhaps from those sources, but I wrote to contacts in Pentos, and they… I have a witness to the girl's lineage, Your Majesty."

The grand hall doors opened again and another group started forward. The quartet of Pentoshi merchants stood out amidst the grandeur of the castle's surroundings. Their attire, resplendent in its opulence, caught the eye of onlookers and courtiers alike, marking them as individuals of considerable wealth and influence.

The first merchant, his dyed beard gleaming under the sunlight, carried himself with an air of confidence as he strode forward, his demeanour betraying no hint of apprehension in the face of the royal court. Beside him, the second merchant exuded an aura of refinement, his impeccable taste evident in every detail of his attire, from the shimmering jewels adorning his fingers to the subtle sheen of his oiled beard.

Following closely behind, the third merchant exuded an air of quiet authority, his gaze keen as he took in the surroundings of the Red Keep with a discerning eye. His attire, though understated compared to his companions, spoke volumes of his status among Pentos' merchant elite, a testament to his shrewd business acumen and formidable presence.

And then there was the lady, her beauty and grace a striking contrast to the stone walls and tapestries of the castle. As she walked alongside her companions, steps slightly quicker, her regal bearing and elegant attire commanded attention, her presence a testament to the refinement and sophistication of Pentoshi society. 

"Your Majesty and the esteemed court of Westeros," Tyland stepped forward. "I present to you Aerero Naerorlan, Nyessor Ostelion, Syren Nestyrion, and his daughter, Neseya."

As he said the woman's name, she broke from her group and rushed toward the young Targaryen claimant. Aemond watched shrewdly as the girl sank into the woman's tight embrace. He could only see Neseya's face as she buried her face in the girl's hair and rubbed her hands down her back. The girl was shaking, face buried in Neseya's chest and hands clutching the heavily beaded dress.

"Issi ao ōdrikagon, Jaena?" Neseya's voice, rich and warm, was like a comforting hug in sound form; smooth as velvet, carrying with it a sweetness that felt like a mother's love. Aemond strained forward, as everyone else did when the girl opened her mouth to respond.

"Nyke sȳz. Nyke daor ōdrikagon." Her voice was like honey poured over velvet, soft and sweet, cascading through the air like a gentle breeze on a summer day. Each word she spoke was a melody, soothing to the ears of any man fortunate enough to hear it. It carried a warmth that enveloped him, a tenderness that stirred his heart with every syllable. It was as if every sound she uttered was dipped in sweetness, leaving a lingering taste of joy and comfort in his soul. "Forgive me, my lords. I am not used to the Common Tongue."

This was as much a lie as it was not, Aemomd thought dryly. Her pronunciation of High Valyrian was perfect, as was her Common Tongue; there was not even a hint of the accent that even Nyseya carried.

"You claim this girl as your daughter, Neseya Nestyrion of Pentos?" Otto Hightower did not want to waste time. "You claim that this girl is the legitamate daughter of Daemon Targaryen?"

Neseya's spine straightened immediately as she turned toward the Kind and his Hand. "I do. Jaena was born to me nineteen years ago, in my home, with my father and all the people in this my party in attendance."

Otto looked at his own daughter, who had not moved since the girl had presented herself. "And what proof do you have that this girl, Jaena, is trueborn?"

The Pentoshi group moved and two servants brought forward a chest of rich mahogany. "My wedding gown, Lord Hand, as well as the bride's cloak. I also brought forth the High Priestess of R'ohllr who married us."

Aemond had not even noticed the woman. She stepped forward, her dark hair catching the flickering light of the torches that lined the walls. With every stride, her crimson robes swayed like the dancing flames she so fervently worshipped. The murmurs of the crowd hushed in anticipation, their eyes fixed upon the priestess as she emerged from their midst.

"In the year 111 AC, amidst the fervent glow of R’hllor’s sacred flames, Prince Daemon Targaryen and Nyseya Nestyrion united in a ceremony that echoed the very essence of my faith. I, Kinvara, High Priestess of the Lord of Light, presided over this union. As flames danced and prayers filled the night air, Prince Daemon and Nyseya exchanged vows, pledging their hearts and souls to one another in the face of the darkness that surrounds us. Hand in hand, they leaped over the flames, a symbolic gesture of their union, their spirits intertwining in the fiery embrace of our Lord."

The chest had been opened to reveal a dress of deepest black. The fabric, smooth as midnight silk, cascaded elegantly downward, each fold and seam meticulously crafted. Intricate patterns, reminiscent of dragon scales, adorned the edges of the dress, catching the light in subtle glimmers.

The bodice stood proud and regal, its lines a testament to the expert hand that had shaped it. Sleeves tapered to points like dragon claws, adding a touch of fierce elegance to the ensemble.

Drifting down from the shoulders was a cloak of blood red, its rich velvet folds suspended in midair. The fabric pooled gracefully around the base of the dress, a stark contrast to the darkness of the gown. At the neck, a silver clasp in the shape of a dragon's head held the cloak in place, a symbol of the ancient lineage it adorned.

As onlookers gazed upon the dress, they couldn't help but feel the weight of this revelation that hung in the air. This was proof, even without Daemon present to possibly refute it, the dress and cloak alone were proof of a union.

"Jaena was borne nine moons later." Neseya stroked Jaena's face tenderly. "After Daemon had left me to raise her."

"He would have said something!" Alicent had finally found her voice. She stepped forward with a frown, pointing a finger at the King. "Prince Daemon would have informed his brother of a marriage - seeing as he was already married to Rhea Royce at that time!"

Neseya blinked slowly at the Hightower woman. "His marriage to Rhea was barren. He sought children and found comfort in my arms during the war; I bore him a daughter and offered to raise her in secret, away from the machinations of Westorsi politics. And though the egg Daemon sent for her, did not hatch she is every bit as Targaryen as he is."

Viserys sharply looked at Ser Criston Cole, who took the silent order and immediately set off towards the grand doors.

"Though my brother… may not have told me of this marriage…" Alicent looked at Viserys, who gazed back wearily before turning back to the Pentoshi woman. "Daemon is… married… to Laena Velaryon, who bore him twin daughters."

"Polygamous marriages are not frowned upon in Essos, King Viserys." spoke one of the Pentoshi men, with the fine blue beard. "I was a Magister of the Free City of Pentos when this union happened and promised my dear friend Syren that I would not dissolve the marriage to Neseya now that the Prince is living in Pentos once again."

Aemond hummed at this series of conveniences but did not say anything. Jaena was standing, head bowed, next to her mother and nervously fidgeting with her dress. He watched her movements, so similar to when his mother picked and chewed at her cuticles - he almost wanted to take her hand just to stop her out of habit.

"Let us hear of the alleged abduction of Jaena by the hands of the Ironborn," Otto said, stepping down toward where the girl stood. "What happened, girl?"

Jaena lifted her head slowly and Aemond could see the tremble of her full bottom lip and tears lining her lashes. "My Lord, I…"

"The whole truth of it." Otto said, bitterly implying the very thing that everyone had been thinking.

Jaena's heart hammered against her ribcage as she met the eyes of the Hand of the King. He was a domineering man, to be sure, but it would be worse for her if she failed in her mission. "It was a day like any other, the sun painting the coastline with its warmth. I was out by the shore, gathering seashells, lost in my own little world."

"But then," she continued, her eyes clouding with fear, "I heard it. The thunderous clatter of boots against the rocks. Before I knew it, rough hands grabbed me, tying me up and muffling my screams. I was dragged away, and for days, I was stuck in that ship's cabin. It was like being in a nightmare, with nothing but the smell of salt and the constant creaking of the ship."

Aemond watched her shoulders tremble slightly and Neseya put an arm around them, whispering in Valyrian that she was safe now.

"At first, I was terrified," Jaena confessed, her gaze distant as she recalled those initial moments of captivity. "But then I realized, these men weren't monsters. They just saw me as a way to get money from my family. And as the days passed, I found moments of peace. Watching the sunsets through my porthole, reminded me of home."

Lord Lannister, whom Aemond had almost forgotten about in the moment, stepped forward. "The leader of the group had confessed that young Jaena was aboard their ship for two weeks."

Syren Nestyrion stepped forward, mouth tilting downward as he gazed at his daughter. "I was trying to gather the ransom together but Neseya wanted us to hire men from Golden Company to avenge Jaena. Nyessor Ostelion has good standing with them and will attest to my daughter's plea for blood - as any mother would."

Nyessor Ostelion, who smiled, did not have a chance to step forward and assert his claim for the halls burst open again and Ser Criston Cole came hurrying back in with the head of the Dragonkeeper's behind him. The man looked righteously furious as he bowed before the King and then rounded on Neseya. "Thirty years, I have been Dragonkeeper, thirty years and not one egg has gone missing under my care!"

Aemond wanted to argue that Daemon had once absconded with a dragon egg but then thought that the egg had been retrieved after the Dragonkeeper's had alerted to its disappearance.  

"The egg is here, Dragonkeeper." Syren said as he motioned for the servants to bring forth another wooden chest; its craftsmanship evident in every curve and detail. Intricate carvings adorned its surface, depicting scenes of dragons in flight and guarding their precious eggs. Silver fittings added a touch of elegance, catching the light and casting a soft glow. Inside, plush velvet lined the interior, providing a cushioned nest for the precious cargo it safeguarded. Nestled within the velvet lay the dragon egg, large and so deep black it seemed to absorb all light from around it. "Brought forth by Daemon Targaryen from Dragonstone and placed in Jaena's crib, as is tradition."

"It did not hatch," Alicent said as if it were the most obvious answer to their collective quandry.

"Neither did mine, mother." Aemond murmured, finally adding his own thoughts. "Or Rhaena's, for that matter."

All eyes turned to him then, the rider of Vhagar. Jaena swallowed as she beheld him staring down at her with his one violet eye, fidgeting beginning anew. He stepped down from beside Aegon, the laughing fool, and approached Jaena slowly, as if he were afraid to startle her.

"I roam the skies, a creature grand, in fiery depths, my heart does stand. Yet lost am I, in realms unseen, who am I, in fiery sheen?"

Jaena seemed to consider his words, lavender eyes - so startling against her pale skin - flitting from his mouth to his scar in a way that he'd never experienced. "Se zaldrīzes."

Hey everyone!

I just wanted to drop a quick note about something that really helps me out. If you’re enjoying my fanfiction, I’m thrilled to hear it! However, simply hitting the 'like' button doesn’t help spread my work for others to see and enjoy.

Thank you so much for your support and understanding!

If you could use the 'reblog' button and share your thoughts in the comments, it would make a huge difference. Reblogging promotes my work to a wider audience, and your feedback (both the good and the constructive) helps me improve my writing.

Best,

💕 Nixie 💕

[gomzdrawfr]

Gravity

this is a short fic of my oc Raven and Price, feel free to ignore this :] it's properly tagged ((I hope)) anyways if you do read it do lmk how you feel about it :3

word count: 917

Tags: angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, emotional hurt/comfort, character development and introspection of Raven, complicated relationships, pinning, idiots in love, Raven is simping real hard ngl, Raven is bad at feelings, so is Price, stolen quotes, brief mention of violence, author has not written fics in months

notes: Blue is Raven, Green is Price, Italics can be Raven's own thought or a third perspective thing

Maybe that’s what love is, finding the one person capable of utterly destroying you, but won’t

As this realization dawned on her, fear gripped her heart.

Not sure when it all happened, how it happened in the first place. A weapon like her capable of feeling something, a dormant part of her, long forgotten and locked away in the deepest part of herself, now comes spilling out, and she barely can keep them at bay.

This is why you never play with your food.

Perhaps the moment of realization came one night when she decided to observe him, as she often did, but this time it was different.

Instead of the usual sight of the Captain entering his office and burying himself in paperwork, accompanied by the sight of smoke from the cigars he favored (four in a night, to be exact), she saw a disheveled man. He stumbled into the room, one hand clutching a bottle, and collapsed onto the nearest sofa.

Drunk, that much is clear.

She found herself smiling behind the scope, a smile she quickly wiped away.

Focus. 

And so she did, her gaze tracing over his tousled, unkempt hair, the scarf on his neck that had shifted slightly and fallen off, revealing a trail of freckles cascading down from his cheek. Her eyes wandered down his back to his waist—how could a man his size have such a small waist?

But her favorite? His hands.

Rough, calloused, and adorned with faint traces of pink and green on his knuckles. His left hand, in particular, had a subtle prominence of veins, now loosely gripping the bottle.

What day was it to get this drunk?

She stepped closer.

When did she get into the office again?

Carefully stepping over the scattered papers and books near the sofa, she carefully squatted down, and gently placed her hand next to his on the floor.

Warm. Always so warm.

She felt the heat emanating from his palm, tempting her to hold it.

Perhaps she could, considering he seemed unlikely to wake anytime soon.

Despite her initial indifference toward this man, the Lieutenant now turned Captain she was supposed to kill, she couldn’t deny the growing curiosity she had for him. 

It’ll pass. She thinks.

It only gets worse, the more she watches him and the more they occasionally go throat to throat with each other, more things and feelings start bubbling up.

Suffocating, distracting….addicting.

This unexplained attraction that has now gone beyond mere curiosity and interest has fallen into a deep pit of attachment and want.

A dangerous development, one that she comes to realize all too late. 

It’s a mixture of frustration and anticipation, unsettled for the uncertainty and possibilities, on another, the inner beast clawing in the deep part of her chest that screams the need for something.

It wasn’t love, or was it?

Is love supposed to feel like this? The feeling of someone extending their hands into an open wound, a sliver of a hole that somehow cracked open, allowing them to touch the most broken, delicate part of their soul that had long been forgotten.

In all honesty, he had done nothing, if their banters and conflicts counted as nothing. 

A not-so-distant memory bubbled up. 

“Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet through that pretty head of yours, Raven,”

Price's voice was a harsh whisper, his fingers entwined in her hair, forcing her to meet his burning gaze.

That same old glare, always in control wasn’t he? 

“Growing a beard out, Pricey? It suits you” Price’s eyes widened for a split second, wavered even, before he regained composure.

Not as controlled as he would like to be whenever it’s her.

“How the hell did you kno- never mind that- answer the que-” “The hat sucks though,” she interrupted, a smirk playing on her lips. Another moment of silence, the cold feeling of the muzzle digging into her chin, but the grip on her hair loosened ever so slightly. “Does it actually?” “Yes” “Hm, guess I’ll wear it more often then” She couldn't stifle her amusement, even if she tried.

If he wanted to, he would have pulled the trigger a long time ago, and yet here they are.

Dancing around fire, blades and gunpowder like a couple of moths.

Both yearning for more, even if they know things will go up in flames.

She supposed, if she truly were to die in his hand, perhaps it would be worth it. 

Because death sure has gentle, ocean eyes. 

A grunt pulled her out of the memory as she returned to reality, it seemed the drunk Captain somehow managed to turn around and lay on the couch with the side of his face pressed onto the couch. How can he be comfortable like that? The sight made her chuckle lightly, as she leaned forward and brushed his hair away. The loose strands moved ever so slightly, soft in her hands, and she watched as the lines and wrinkles smoothed from the gesture.

I'm letting it happen aren’t I?

I’m going to let you love me, just as much as I love you, and let it ruin me. 

She planted a small kiss on his forehead, her lips remained for a few moments selfishly on the warm skin, as her gaze lingered on his sleeping form silently, a tender gesture that surprised herself.

It didn’t matter if she didn’t fully comprehend what love is, at least for now.

For now, this will do. 

additional notes: the flashback is inspired by this doodle The first quote is from John Green's novel, "The Fault in Our Stars."

[kaydreamman]

*kicks down your door* Hey Kay on the vtm questionaire for number 14 for death How do they feel about diablerie? for any of yours lol

heres the original reblog so anyone that wants can find the questions:

Wow so you come in, break my door and now you wont fix it? ok fine.

Since you wanted 14 and Diablerie(11) , ill do both for the vampires that more or less graced my blog and ill be doing these two as myself instead of characters since some of them wouldnt give you an actual answer and it was better formatted this way lol.

really long post ahead so read at your discretion

Bhima

III. DEATH

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

Its...something hed love to not encounter on either side. The act feels very harsh and..very wrong. Not something hed do ever.

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Bhima has frenzied once in the beginning of his vampire life when he was still getting used to everything and to his jumbled thinking. It did not turn out well. In the process he ended up killing his daughter because of how stressed he was for her in general and he simply blacked out when he saw her again. He sired her upon panicking about what hes done and its a whole mess he is trying to fix considering the siring was also not legalized.

Nazaire

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

He gets why someone would do it but they dont like the idea of stealing someones "life" for power and then also having part of their soul. Sounds like a cool concept at first but he wouldnt like it to happen to him so why do it to someone else?

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Yeah. A lot of clutch moments before they escaped the city he inhabited after their sires death and during the times he was hunted. It manifested in many ways. Some lunging at the vampires hunting them resulting in harm, sometimes results in self harm as well. He fed of a human once and they had to pretend they didnt. Never did it again.

Iulian

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

Act of power with dubious ties to it. Nothing he hasnt seen or that would be uncommon for vampires to do. He thinks getting power like that is a cheat code and a beneficial one if you get to it but not something hell risk his skin for.

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Thankfully for him, it has never happened.

Devon

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

Doesnt care. He wont do it but he doesnt care if someone does. No strong opinion towards it.

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

He has never frenzied even if he was close to multiple times before. He was able to get himself as fast as he could out of high stress situations or neutralize the problem before the beast could come out.

Ankur

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

Fun! Just dont get caught and its a plan. He hasnt done it but perhaps one day if he has the means for it, he might.

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Yeah, a bunch of times. He is a fun of the "riding it out" or "going with the flow" so he frenzied willingly before and it proved as a very beneficial thing though risky and very very messy. Covered in blood from head to toe and surrounded by bodies but satisfied and safe. Plus, if youre quick about it, no one will ever know about your messier tendencies :)

Cecilia

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

No. Below her. More honorable ways to get power.

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

She tried her hardest everytime to get the beast at bay since she holds a reputation so, no. She did not and is not planning to.

Nadia

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

Tempting. Havent did it but she isnt opposed to it.

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Nothing out of the ordinary, just very enraptured by one of her...meals that got way too messy. Only happened once tho.

Sunya

11. How do they feel about Diablerie?

Kindred do that to strengthen themselves and cover more ground by having more power, as always. Nothing shocking. They dont care about it though. They think its kind of like cheating and if you want to get big, why not set an example yourself instead of being a power sucking leech?

14. Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

No...they....made sure not to. Theres no way that his sire would in any shape or form take that and they wouldnt be a fan of finding out what happens if the beast gets their way and their sire finds out.

[chocolategir]

Vent below

What can quell this burning anger bubbling inside like magma? Where does this darkness come from just to bring me misery??

Is there a monster inside of me? Thrashing and clawing its way out, the only thing keeping it at bay is my morality. I feel that it is fighting to come out, and I'm fighting to keep it in. But I think I'm losing the battle.

It scratches at my insides, tearing my ribcage asunder. Ripping at my lungs, at my heart. It cries and yells for control, and I almost want to let it have it. But what then? I know what kind of monster I keep inside, and it is a horrible beast.

The things it wants, the things it needs. Every passing thought would become reality. The blood of innocents on my hands and teeth, the remains of fur and of skin between my jaws. This is why I fight.

The things I would do if it took control, the people I would hurt. It begs me, it pleads and tempts me. It whispers to me, "Just let go. You would feel better, why hold back? You know you want to do this, why keep pretending to be a good person? Just. Let. Go."

And I want to. I really, really do. My body yearns for blood and carnage. And I wonder... Is my body housing a monster? Or is it me?

[bugsyfics]

ravenous — s. michaelis

-> OCT. 16 : BREEDING KINK

SUMMARY: how intense can one man’s desire become? that’s if he’s a demon of course

WARNINGS: 18+, breeding kink, creampie, heat and mating elements, implied pregnancy

WC: 519

kinktober masterlist 2021!!

Sebastian looked rather pleasant unlike a ravenous demon. So naturally, the consuming nature of his heat was undetectable—even by you. Urge to breed was strong, and he’d have the strength to suppress it if it weren’t for that night in bed, and his close proximity to your flowering cunt as you began your first day of ovulation. Naive enough, you were unsure why you ended up underneath him. Lovemaking with Sebastian was always affectionate; he spent hours giving you undivided attention. Though this behavior… he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t enough time. Yet your suspicion grew as the night progressed and more clothes made home on the bedroom floor.

His eyes swirled fuschia and his jaw nearly sagged as he drank in your body, now bare. The severity in his glowing eyes and low growls caused your stomach to knot. You loved his touch, and the way he fucked you nice and slow, deep inside your fluttering walls. But this was unfamiliar, you trembled as he hovered over you, arms resting near either side of your head, caging you in.

“I must warn you,” Sebastian said, licking across his top lip. “I’m not feeling like my usual self, darling.”

Perhaps this was normal, after all he had tamed himself well enough to keep the beast at bay. From revealing his true form like any demon would have by that point.

You knew what he was. You knew how dangerous he could be with his biting teeth and razor sharp claws, and you should have been terrified. In fact, you should’ve been running out the door and screaming bloody murder when he approached you with faint concern about whether you’d enjoy this. Instead, you lay on your back, arms wrapped around Sebastian’s neck tightly as he leered down at you. His length twitched in his hand when he stroked from base to tip, ready to bury himself in that awaiting pussy.

“Your innocence… It's so tempting.” Sebastian sighed before slotting the head of his cock through your folds, catching dewy arousal that pooled there.

“It-It’s too much.” Your cheeks heated at the sensation of him pushing into you. He was huge. Not that you hadn’t noticed before, but the burning stretch of his tip reached places that felt nearly impossible to find. And you mewled at that. You barely had enough time to process it all.

“I’m afraid I do not have the restraint to be gentle,” he exhaled, appetence thick in his throat. Desires he’d long forgotten re-entered his mind more intensely, and itched to be satiated. Searching fingers trailed over your stomach and eventually rested at your thighs, imagining these areas much plumper, much fuller when you fell pregnant. His digits clenched over your thighs and dug into the flesh until he couldn’t hesitate anymore, and he thrusted to the hilt. “Forgive me.”

As Sebastian rutted his swollen cockhead to meet your cervix, his demon form emerged right before your eyes. Sharp teeth grazed over the smooth skin of your breasts, and a pointed tongue flickered over puffy nipples. You even surprised yourself, gushing around him at that.

His seed leaked out of your cunt after he came, and incessant thoughts played over: breed her. You watched as his cock grew again and you tensed underneath him. He nearly chuckled at your apprehension. After all, everything would take much getting used to… That of course was no exaggeration.

My, my, Sebastian thought, motherhood will look delightful on you, my love.

[delicioussshame]

[cries in fandom] I was supposed to work tonight and instead I wrote more of yesterday’s fic because I had the idea and couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Shen Qingqiu isn’t an empty nester. He has plenty of disciples still running around the peak, eager to learn and keeping him very busy.

It’s just that the generation that was already there when he arrived, Ning Yingying, Ming Fan and the others, are now fully grown cultivators, spending most of their time roaming the world on their own quests.

They bring him pride each time they visit, usually gifting him with obscure artefacts and rare volumes he spends days pouring over. It doesn’t quite make up for their absence, but it helps.

Still, he would have preferred Ning Yingying gift him something else the last time she visited.

He, of course, knew she would eventually cross paths with Luo Binghe. She was bound to. After much pondering, he had decided not to interfere. Her occasional visits to Luo Binghe weren’t enough to hurt her cultivation, and anyway Luo Binghe was usually careful not to let Xin Mo gorge enough to leave traces, especially on trained cultivators. She’d be fine.

Plus, when Luo Binghe would tire of hiding in plain sight and reveal his status as leader of the Demon Realm, his fondness for her would protect her from the consequences Shen Qingqiu himself might face.

He would probably be fine though. He’d just have to take a less adversarial take than his predecessor, who had fought to the death to “protect his disciple from the beast”.

Or he’d thought he would, until Ning Yingying, with a blinding smile that radiated unblemished innocence, had told her she’d booked him a session with her A-Luo, because, to hear her say it, he needed it.

He had been tempted to expel her on sight. Don’t thrown Shen Qingqiu into the maws of the beast! He doesn’t have your youthful beauty or girlish charms!

He hadn’t. Ning Yingying is just too caring. She hadn’t realised that just because she very much enjoyed Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu might not feel the same. Wrong tree. Because if he were attracted to men, which he was not, what a ridiculous notion, he would have made a move himself. Luo Binghe is soft on his favorite clients. He’d have nothing to lose by endearing himself to him.

Too bad he’s not interested. He had to refuse him.

He’d thought he knew what to expect when he’d gone to reject the offer as politely as he could. It wouldn’t do to offend him.

Sadly, all the foreknowledge of the world hadn’t been quite enough to shield himself from his unnatural charisma. He’d made a fool of himself, practically running out to escape the protagonist’s aura. Luo Binghe, how terrifying! His poor disciple had stood no chance!

Anyway, he can admit he is occasionally lonely. He misses his dear Yingying and his first disciple, whom, for all his flaws, Shen Qingqiu had grown fond of. It wasn’t impossible for Ning Yingying to have noticed, and to have tried to offer him company. Totally misguided, but understandable.

When he hears a commotion outside, he instantly goes to check it out. Maybe it will break his monotony.

He immediately regrets it. Why, why on earth are Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge fighting with enough strength that they could easily kill his terrorised disciples here on his peak! It’s way too early for Luo Binghe to have come out of the demonic closet! And why is he even here!

Shen Qingqiu turns towards his closest disciple. “What is happening here.”

The poor girl jumps at his tone. “Shizun! I’m sorry, I’m not sure, we heard rumours that Luo Binghe was at the sect, so we were curious, but Liu-shishu showed up and it devolved into a fight. I don’t know why.”

Huh. So Liu Qingge made the first move? Quite possible. He might have wanted to protect his sister’s honor.

That should be manageable. He raises his voice. “Fighting on my peak isn’t allowed. Stop at this instant.”

To his surprise, both swords freeze.

Shen Qingqiu despairs for this world’s mob characters. How come no one wonders why a courtesan can keep up with Liu Qingge? Why can’t they notice how Xin Mo oozes with malevolence? Can they only see Luo Binghe’s fabulously handsome face and physique?

He wouldn’t be surprised.

“Shen Qingqiu! How dare you!”

Shen Qingqiu blinks. “How dare I what, Liu-shidi? I’m not the one who picked a fight on someone else’s peak.”

He points to Luo Binghe. “Him!”

Beside his general existence, there’s nothing especially offensive about Luo Binghe? “What about him?”

“I thought you’d outgrown such nonsense, but he shows up here!”

Shen Qingqiu has no idea what is happening. “I’m sorry if his presence offends you, but I assure you I have nothing to do with it.”

“I’m afraid that’s a lie,” says Luo Binghe as Liu Qingge seems close to death via outrage.

Shen Qingqiu turns toward Luo Binghe. “How could it be?”

In answer, Luo Binghe brandishes… the fan he’d completely forgotten when he’d visited, shit! Did he come here, on his peak, holding this incriminating evidence as a badge of honor!?

Shen Qingqiu feels himself blanch. How can he clear himself of these allegations? Liu Qingge thinks he’s trying to steal his sister’s man! Once the War God of Bai Zhen is done with Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu’s head is next!

Luo Binghe continues like he didn’t notice Shen Qingqiu’s obvious discomfort, which he must have. “You left this behind the other day, and so I have come to return it. Let it not be said I am not a perfect gentleman.”

Oh no. He can hear consternation from some of his pupils, and definitely less consternated exclamations from others.

Liu Qingge has now plunged on Luo Binghe again, who dodges with too much ease. How can no one notice something is wrong!

Maybe the renewed fight will distract everyone while Shen Qingqiu discretely dig himself a hole deep enough to never have to come out.

Oh well, there’s nothing he can tell but the truth. No one will believe it, but since no one ever believed Shen Qingqiu, how will it be any different? “Please stop this fight at once. Luo Binghe, I thank you for bringing my fan back to me despite my rude refusal of your services. It wasn’t your fault my student misconstrued my interests. Again, I am sorry for your wasted time. Liu-shidi, I understand your sister’s paramour might not be your favorite individual, but please don’t assault the sect’s guests. Think of our reputation. What will people say?”

Liu Qingge stares at him with… stupefaction? “You’re not his?”

Yeah, he’s nipping that train of thought in the bud. The last thing he needs is his disciples thinking he’s some pretty thing’s toy. They would never respect him again. “No. He’s not my type. No offense intended.”

Liu Qingge remains still for a moment, before he plucks the fan from Luo Binghe’s hand and shoves it toward Shen Qingqiu. “Keep track of your fans! There are two in my home!”

Ladies and gentlemen, Shen Qingqiu, a man being berated in public about his chronic tendency to forget things like an unruly child. “Why should I care when Shidi is always so eager to bring them back to me?”

Liu Qingge flushes in anger.

Shen Qingqiu gives himself a point.

_______________

Things were light-hearted before.

Now, Luo Binghe is serious.

Not only did Shen Qingqiu refuse his advance, but he implied Luo Binghe himself wasn’t good enough for him, in front of his whole peak, before ignoring him in favor of flirting with another man, right in his face?

Never has he suffered such humiliation.

He had intended to be kind. To soothe and seduce the man gently until following Luo Binghe to bed would seem like the only logical option.

He bets Shen Qingqiu would have paid him for the privilege, and paid him well, regardless of his disciple’s previous arrangements.

Now, those options are off the table. When Luo Binghe is done with him, pleasure will have robbed Shen Qingqiu of the last of his voice, and yet he’ll still be trying to beg him for more.

He’ll be ruined to anyone that’s not Luo Binghe; unable to live without his touch.

Anything less would be an unsurmountable affront.

Shen Qingqiu better prepares himself. The fight might have been lost, but Luo Binghe will be the one to win the war.

[beardrabbles]

sweet sea shanty.

characters: GN!reader, leviathan

warnings: self-depreciating thoughts from leviathan

word count: 2,370

notes: based around the entirely baseless thought that, at some point, some of the brothers took to the human realm during the pirate era. i really can't NOT imagine mammon being a pirate for the sake of treasure and leviathan cutting loose for a short while as a full-on sea-monster. it's silly, but i like the idea. also, dang, it got long.

He was in the middle of a low level raid when he heard it — a familiar melody and equally familiar words, carried on the softest and sweetest of voices. How the voice managed to eek through his noise-cancelling headphones was beyond him, but he knew for an absolute fact that he hadn’t imagined it. Hands frozen over his mouse and keyboard, Leviathan listened.

   ❛ He skims the waves of blue and grey      Golden eyes in search of prey      But when he hears their desperate pleas      It keeps the beast at bay ❜

“You good?” There was another voice, this one louder and clearer. His guildmates weren’t impatient, but it was obvious by the way his character abruptly stopped moving that something had happened. Their always diligent, always present co-captain never took pause in the middle of a battle, no matter how over-leveled they were.

“I.  .  .”

“Why’d we stop?”

“Did he leave?”

“No, dumbass. Didn’t you hear him just hear him talk?”

“Bro, you good?”

It was the usual chattering amongst friends, but it came across as nothing more than background noise as the song that toyed with his ears continued to tug mercilessly at his attention. Try as he might, with hands pressed to his headphones and eyes squeezed shut, Leviathan couldn’t shove the melody aside. Soft. So soft and sweet and — damn — why did he feel in the deepest parts of his heart that he had heard it before?!

   ❛ Most would sing of their fear and spite      That scaly beast the sweet sea’s blight      But when he hears them sigh his name      He’s met with pure delight

     Leviathan, Leviathan      Come and claim your prize

     Leviathan, Leviathan      I won’t believe their lies ❜

The sound of his name was his doom. It sent a shiver down his spine and heat into his cheeks, the need to find the source compelling him to toss his headphones aside.

“BRB, I got — uh — stuff. Don’t finish the raid without me!” He pushed away from his desk and scrambled from his room, the hallway eerily quiet. He glanced from one end to the other, brow crinkling with mild annoyance. “I know I heard it.”

It came again, the sound of his name. Without his headphones to muffle the voice, it turned his temporary shiver into a persistent tremble. But now he knew where it came from, head snapping in the direction of the kitchen. Wasting no time, he stalked down the hall to confront the one that nagged at his sense of nostalgia — until he reached the door and realized with a start that it was your voice that called to him.

The door was opened a crack, a single amber eye peeking in through the gap. There you stood, a mop in hand and a bucket of soapy water at your feet. No one understood why you chose to manually tackle the chores, but neither did they try to stop you after you insisted that this was the way it had always been.

With every push and pull of the mop across the stones came another lyric, your gentle back-and-forth matching the steady rhythm of the sea shanty you sang.

   ❛ Leviathan, Leviathan      Come and claim your prize      Leviathan, Leviathan      I won’t believe their lies ❜

‘ But everyone else did.  .  . ’ That’s right, he remembered now.

His time at sea had been a short one, though he supposed a few hundred years was a lifetime to a human. It had been during the height of an era, when piracy ran rampant. The creaky old ships, the sailors that smelled of sweat and booze and salt, and the tempting taste of a soul lost at sea — now that he had been given those memories, he could recall it all with startling clarity.

But there had been one ship in particular that intrigued him.

No, it wasn’t the ship, he reminded himself. It was a person. A kind, thoughtful person that hadn’t allowed their opinions to be swayed by others. The stories they heard about a demonic sea-creature were true, but they had been adamant in their theories. They had claimed him merciful and caring, if a little misunderstood.

How naïve, defending a demon they hardly knew.

But they persisted, believing that they were the one capable of teaching the world that the one they called Leviathan wasn’t the heartless monster they claimed him to be. Their beliefs were baseless, as he had taken a staggering amount of souls during that time, but it was their unshakable faith in him and the song they weaved in his name that had drawn him out of the water and onto the ship where he met them.

‘ They liked me. I think. Maybe. I don’t know. ’ Always doubting, always weighed down by his insecurities. ‘ If you know that song, does that mean.  .  . ? ’

“Levi?” You had turned then to find him peeking, the unmistakable color if his eyes and the warm red of his cheeks giving away that it was the third-born hiding behind the door. He squawked indignantly, the door slamming shut. You propped your weight against the handle of the mop, eyes staring curiously at the wood. “I know you’re still there.”

“No, you don’t!” Then a quiet, “dammit.”

You snickered to yourself as the door swung open again. “Hey.”

“H—Hey.” His voice was low and quiet, eyes cast down to the floor. He fidgeted where he stood, his many attempts to speak putting a deeper and darker shade of red into his face. You were ready to wait, knowing that no good ever came from rushing him, but a thought dawned on you.

“Wait, weren’t you in the middle of a game?” You frowned, knowing that it was nearly impossible to drag Leviathan away once he started a raid.

“I was, but you——!!” He sucked in a breath, ready to rant, when he was struck silent with embarrassment.

“Me? What did I do? I’m cleaning!” Your frown grew more severe.

“You were singing! You tell me you’re not a normie, but you do all these cute, normie things, like singing when you clean. Who even does that?!” He was able to brings his eyes up towards you, but only to scowl.

“You heard me?” It was your turn to become flushed. You weren’t a loud or obnoxious singer. In fact, you kept your voice as soft as possible, not wanting to humiliate yourself in front of the demons that shared their home with you. “But I tried to be quiet.  .  .”

“I could hear it from my room.” He grunted as he shoved both hands into the pockets of his hooded sweater. “Where did you even learn that song?”

“Family.” You shrugged and discreetly snatched up the chance to route the conversation away from your embarrassment. “I think. Everyone says it was passed down from one generation to the next, but I can’t be sure that’s true. I’ve always liked it, so I sing it when I’m working. Why?”

He stared hard for a solid minute before it finally clicked.

“Oh!” You gasped and brought a hand up to your mouth. “No! Are you serious?”

“Do you know anyone else named Leviathan? lmao Did doing chores make your brain smooth?” His expression lightened up then, but yours continued to drop. He was adorable when he laughed, even if it was at your expense, but you felt a mite dumb for having not realized sooner that a song you’d clung to for so long was meant for him.

“I’m sorry, Levi. I won’t sing it again.” You assumed the worst: that it was meant only to be sung by your ancestor, or that he hated the song despite the meaning behind it. You would resist the urge no matter how strong it was because you cared for him.

“What?” His amusement died away in an instant. “W—Why not?”

“Well, didn’t it mean something to them? The one that sang it, I mean. My family always told me it was because they were fond of you.” You ran your fingernail over a chip in the wooden handle of the mop and diverted your gaze elsewhere. “Were you two, y’know.  .  . a thing?”

Leviathan didn’t think it was possible for his cheeks to burn hotter than they already did, yet he felt himself grow overheated and clammy at the mention of a relationship. “Ahahaa!! N—No! Seriously, you think I’m capable of something like that? Hah! P—Please, not a chance. Like I’d get invested in a human!”

“Oh.” Was that disappointment you felt? What a nasty, painful feeling. “Right, I shouldn’t have even asked. The Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy and the legendary Leviathan, the beast that would swallow ships whole, would never give a lowly human the time of day.” You shot him a pointed glance before returning to your work — only, this time, there was a slump in your shoulders and a distinct lack of your voice.

Leviathan stood there with his mouth agape, like a beached fish, unsure of how to best process your sharp tone and the abrupt lack of warmth in the room. He wanted to hear you sing the song if it meant hearing you say his name the way you had, all caring and kind and unafraid. No one had called to him in such a way in so long that he had forgotten what it was like to have someone that didn’t find him repulsive. But was it merely you losing yourself in the song, or had your heart truly cradled those words?

“W—Wait, can — can you sing it again?” He tried to mumble the words together and hoped you wouldn’t hear, but the way you turned gave away that you had. Leviathan flinched at your undivided attention, his own eyes focused on the long fingers he wrung together. “I d—don’t mind if you do.”

“Really? But——!”

“Don’t make me say it again!” Whined the otaku as he inched closer. The lower half of his face was hidden behind the baggy sleeves he bunched in his shaking hands, but it did nothing to mask his pink cheeks. “Just — sing it! Please.”

You didn’t take a single step forward, letting him meet you beside the kitchen island. With your weight still supported by the mop, you dared to lean forward the slightest bit. “Which part?”

You watched the color in his cheeks double in intensity, his refusal to make eye contact still as endearing as ever. “D—Do I gotta say?”

“I won’t know if you don’t.” You pointed out softly, encouragingly. Leviathan let out a huff, then — in a small fit of courage — finally let his attention fall on you.

“The part with my name.  .  .”

You were unable to help yourself. An amused giggle tumbled free from your lips long before you could think to catch it. You wanted to tease, and it would have been so easy, but he was clearly melting away into a puddle of pure anxiety and awkwardness in front of you. If you weren’t careful, you’d lose him for good.

“Leviathan~ Leviathan~” You feel into comfortable practice with the lyric, your voice wrapped tenderly around each and every syllable. But with each utterance of his name, poor Leviathan was struck with a shiver that wracked his entire body. You stood there before him, radiant and so willing to appease him. He could vividly picture you standing at the very front of a majestic ship, hands clasped against your chest and heart bleeding your every feeling into the unforgiving ocean in the hopes that it might lure him in. “Come and claim your prize~”

Could he? He couldn’t.  .  .

You were a feeble, silly, precious, darling, treasured human, and he was nothing more than a cesspool of sin and loathing. He was dripping nausea and you were a bright, healing light, one step below a real angel.

“Leviathan~ Leviathan~” Another shiver shocked down his spine, this one prompting his truest form to slither out from behind his glamor. Horns of branching coral, accented with thin, shimmering streaks of royal purple, curled away from his lavender hair. The scales of his long tail slid against the stone of the floor, the tip of it lingering apprehensively near the tips of your feet. “I won’t believe their lies~”

They were simple words, but the impact was similar to a decisive punch to the gut. But before he could stop himself, he asked, “why not?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound escaped. Brow furrowed, you took a moment to consider your words carefully. Then and only then did you grace him with a smile.

“Because I know you, and I like you. I don’t care what anyone has to say about you. I think you’re amazing, and nothing will change that!” You confidence was staggering even to yourself, but you meant every word. Somewhere, deep inside the cold of Leviathan’s heart, he felt fondness bloom. It had always been there, but he had been hesitant to let it grow. Damn you for making it so effortless.

“You c—can’t mean that! You can’t if it’s so easy for you to say it, like you don’t even have to think about it.” Yet he holed in on himself, body shrinking inward but demonic features remaining prominent.

“I don’t have to think about it. I just know it. And I do mean it. Whether or not you believe me, it doesn’t matter. I feel how I feel, so get used to it.” You huffed and made to return to your work, but the presence of something solid and thick around your ankle made you reconsider. His tail, loose but clearly wrapped around your leg, begged for you to remain where you were.

You raised an eyebrow and glanced to Leviathan again. He shrugged, a hand rubbing at the side of his neck.

“I’m in the middle of a raid, but do you think you could come to my r—room and sing it one more time? I just don’t want anyone coming in here and hearing you singing my name like that! Don’t make it weird, okay?!”

You sighed through your nose, but your lips were quirked upwards affectionately. “I’d love to.”

[starksvixen]

Reunited (Platonic)

Summary: Long ago, in a galaxy far far away...your home planet was invaded at the start of the Empire’s invasion. Your memory fails you of the event, only giving you a glimpse in on that day. Your brother, Din Djaren. A smooth flow through your veins. And a Mandalorian helmet. No one knows what happened to your brother, until a years later when you are reunited in an unexpected way. 

Warnings: Violence, cuteness overload from a youngling, not entirely accurate of the season 1 finale, angsty ending

-~-

The smooth metal against your fingertips is a welcome feeling as you help Mando prepare for liftoff, the child laying safely in your arms. Despite the comfort you felt in the motion, your heart was beating out of your chest with nerves. You and the Mandalorian were preparing to meet with Greef Karga, in hopes to get the Empire off your tail so the youngling could be safe. The plan seemed too shaky for your liking, but you followed Mando’s lead as always. 

He was all you had left. 

Sitting in the seat behind Mando, you look down at the sleeping child and a wave of memories washes over you. How you used to lay the same way in your Master’s arms after training long and hard. His soft Scottish accent rising you for your supper. Counting the soft grey specks appearing in his brown and blonde beard as you ate together. 

It had been well over a decade since you watched the monster that was Darth Vader pierce his very being with the red beam you had learned to hate. 

After Ben, or Obi - Was as you had learned to call him, died at the hands of Vader, you promised to never be under the Force’s influence in an effort to avoid joining the dark side. Despite your confidence in your choice, your lack of use of the power left a large hole in your life, just like Obi - Wan had left. 

You turned to bounty hunting to keep busy and get by. That’s when your paths crossed with the Mandalorian. It took some convincing, but Mando eventually pushed you into the duo you make up today. That hole had been filled by the masked warrior, and for the past two years, things were simple. He was your family, even if you weren’t blood. 

“(Y/N)?” his raspy voice echoes in your head. You wake from your slumber, feeling the small child still in your arms as he still snores.

“We’re here, aren’t we?” you ask, your voice crackling from the sudden change in sleep. 

Mando simply nods at you as he heads down to the cargo bay. You follow after him, gently waking the child in the process. Kuiil had made a floating bassinet for the child, which you simply laid him in before rolling your shoulders from your uncomfortable sleeping position.

“(Y/N),” Mando says while standing beside Cara, fumbling with one of his blasters. “Show her.”

You nod and take Cara to your weapons shelf, unlocking it and showing your range of Mandalorian and normal weapons. 

“Take your pick,” you say simply. 

Reaching forwards, you grab your favorite blaster, attaching it to your hip. A few bombs here and there and you felt prepared. But when you turn to Cara, you see the hilt of your old saber in her hand. 

“What the hell is this?”

You quickly snatch it out of her hand, gently sliding it into the empty slot of your belt on instinct, the leather still being tight from lack of use. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Quickly, you close the shelf and meet the rest of the group outside the ship. Mando holds his hand out to you from a top the giant beast he had mounted. Your hand slips in his like a glove, accepting the boost with gratitude as you straddle it behind him. The beasts slowly begin to move and every so often, you turn to check on the floating cradle that followed you. 

“Are you sure we can trust him, Mando?” you whisper. 

“I’m not sure of anything right now. But if things turn south, you grab the child and you get back to the Razer Crest, got it?” 

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

You sigh, not wanting to push the issue any further.

After some hours of travel, you met with Greef Karga and a couple of his men. Things were definitely still tense between the two parties. Nevertheless, you settled in part of the desert for the night, deeming it safer then wandering. Boy, were you guys wrong. 

Suddenly, birds easily the size of a X-Wing manifested from the darkness. You automatically guarded the child’s bassinet, watching as Mando in turn protected both of you. Blaster in hand, you shot at the birds to cover him and to keep them away from the child. After a close call with almost losing the child and your partner, the dust began to settle. 

You gently lift the child out of his bassinet, bouncing him around to soothe his cries as you walked into the group. They all surrounded Greef Karga, a nasty wound on his arm that Cara desperately tried to treat. That’s when you felt it. 

Looking down at the youngling in your arms, you could feel the cold, smooth touch of the Force tickle your skin like light wind. He whimpers softly, his tiny hand reaching towards the wounded man. Gently, you let him down beside Karga. Cara immediately reacted, trying to push the child away.

“No,” you say firmly. “Let him.”

Within a matter of seconds, Karga’s arm was healed and the child was back in your arms. Gently, you lay him into the bassinet, smiling softly at the youngling before sitting down in front of the floating egg. Looking towards Mando, you knew you didn’t have to look under his helmet to know he was shocked. With a soft smirk and a wink, you lean against the crib, falling into a light sleep. 

When daylight hit, all of you were back on your feet. As you approached the hunter’s city, Karga quickly revealed what the real plan was. To kill you and Mando. Instead, he killed his lackies.

“So what do we do now?” you ask through gritted teeth.  

“The Child won’t be left alone until the buyer is dead, so the hunters have no reason to keep following us.” Mando says from beside you.

“Well, I’ll pretend I captured you both.” Karga replies. “Bring you into the boss and then you kill him.”

“I’m coming with you, pretend that I helped capture you.” Cara adds.

Mando hands over his blaster, you following suit. But when it came to your saber, you became very hesitant, not wanting your last piece of Obi - Wan to fall into the wrong hands.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I ain’t got all day.” Karga says, holding out his hand. 

“Call me sweetheart again, you won’t see another day,” you reply quickly, tempted to pull out your saber and light it. 

You hear Mando chuckle softly from beneath the safety of his helmet. 

Slowly, you hand the saber over and let the pair of cuffs wrap around your wrists lightly. You follow Cara and Karga from behind, but you still peer behind you to make sure that Kuiil still has the child safe with him. 

-~-

To say your plan had gone smoothly would be a lie. Going from being in handcuffs to being holed up in the crumbling building was something you had seen coming yet you still walked right into. Using one of the tables as a shield, you listen as Moff Gideon tries to coax you into surrendering and leaving whatever safety the building was offering you. He goes on and on about his big gun, making you roll your eyes. But when he speaks of the Mandalorian, you stop and listen:

“Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin-” 

Din Djarin. 

Din Djarin. 

It echoed in your head like a bad song. 

The screams of that day came back to you as if their ghosts were haunting you that very minute. Your brother, Din, holding your fragile body in his arms as your parents ushered you both into the bunker. Listening to the muffled sounds from outside making you squirm within yourself. The Mandalorian that saved you both, only to turn around and tear you apart.

“Din, no!” you remember screaming as another Mandalorian split you up.

“She’s my sister! I have to protect her!” Din screamed at the other soldier holding him. 

That’s how Obi - Wan had found you. The soldier you fought against for days had tracked him down to train you. A force sensitive child had no place in the new Mandalorian ranks. You never saw your brother after that day. 

You look at the metal mask now, wondering what your brother looked like now, after all these years. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, tears streaming down your face at an alarming pace. 

“I couldn’t let you know, (Y/N). I would just put you in more danger.” he replies calmly. 

“But you practically begged me to join you!” you yell, jumping to your feet, your hand flying to your newly returned saber. “You kept me close enough and kept this lie from me!” 

“I wanted to tell you! But it never seemed like the right time!” 

“I would’ve gathered hear it from my own brother then the enemy!”

“Would you two calm down!” Karga yelled over both of you. “You can figure out this family squabble when we get outta here.”

Wiping away your tears, you distance yourself from the Mandalorian, watching the troops outside. Despite the mask, you could feel his eyes boring into you, most likely filled with regret. 

Part 2? 

Tag List: (leave a comment on the masterlist to be added) 

toribentleyva  mikariell95 edgy-wedgy-poo  tillytheslytherin  irishfaulk97 supergingerlocks  aeryn--sun  nedxwynert  forbidden-darkness

[emerald-amidst-gold]

13, 17 & 33 couples questions for dragon and wolf? <3

It is somft hours on this day! X3 And I am glad for it since that is what my brain, so let's roll it around like PlayDough! >:D

13. What is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

So, the hardest thing for Fane is to feel loved, or rather, to feel he deserves love. Everything warm, everything gentle, Fane feels he doesn't deserve those things because of what he's done in the past, both mortal and draconic. And I will stand by the consensus that Solas is an extremely gentle and loving lover because of how he approaches specific situations, calm and patient. Sometimes, the only thing that helps Fane feel a little more warm, a little more alive, a little more deserving is for Solas to sit with him, speak no words, and simply allow his presence to be felt. It's what Solas did when Fane was a dragon. He would find Fane, nestled away and spiraling further and further into his warped nature, and just assure the other there was somebody that understood, that cared. Intimacy in presence. That's Solas' go-to for Fane, and Fane's go-to for Solas. Neither of them pressure themselves onto the other, knowing boundaries and restrictions. They don't press for the sake of pressing. Solas will sometimes goad Fane into opening up, but only after watching him and deeming it is the only way to quell the tide of darkening thoughts. And Fane wants to assure Solas that he will always be by his side, that he will never again leave him to suffer or grieve alone. Their love is vocalized by existing within the other's sphere because mere presence was all they had years upon years ago.

Sometimes, the best thing you can do for the one you love, is to just let them know you are there, no words, no touches. Just simple existence and shared breath. That's what I adore about how Solas and Fane's relationship developed. I never expected it to go just so, but I'm glad it did. :3

17. Under what circumstances would they want to be left alone by their partner?

Fane and Solas are both creatures of solitude. We all know Solas was alone and relishes in solitude, content to observe happenings through visions in the Fade or from equally as curious spirits. Fane spent most of his earlier mortal years traversing the forests, eager to be free from the people he felt no kinship to, but somehow looked like, content to let nature dictate his path and his thoughts because he only found himself allowing them to spiral and wilt like fauna.

So, if Fane is having a hard time, from memories, from his nature bashing against the confines of his duality, from the world they had wrought, he'll want to be left alone because those are moments he needs to work through himself. Solas can only help him reconcile with his identity so much, and Fane doesn't want to make his sky do all the work of piecing him back together from scratch. Fane is going through his own path of self-discovery and there are some battles he has to face alone. Words are hard for Fane, so unused to being able to speak them and even more unused to the being heard, so he ends up doing a lot of things without saying what he's about to do or why. Solas understands this and gives him space because when Fane says, "Leave me be.", he knows there's a war raging on against a spirit so bright and a mind so dark.

33. Under what circumstances would they feel jealous?

Solas and Fane are fiercely protective of each other, but they try to hide that side from one another because they are true depictions of the wolf and the dragon that they embody. Vicious, dominant, and occasionally, vindictive towards whoever dared step into their territory.

Solas felt jealousy heavily during Halamshiral because he knew the ebb and flow of courtly intrigue and how one so adverse to it could be swept in its raging current, destined to drown and be eaten by the sharks that swam in its depths. Fane wasn't an oblivious fool during the Winter Palace. He knew the steps, although unrefined and somewhat clumsy, but he faltered at times due to the corruption in the place and the masks stunting his abilities to read eyes. He would stumble at heavy flirt by a Duchess or Duke, Comte or Comtesse, playing into their hands because his mind couldn't decipher how to act. They would chance touch, a brush of their hands against his arm or hand, tempting with power, oozing with influence. And how did Solas react when he'd see those touches, hear the filth spew from mouths that knew nothing but decadence? Well, a wolf's bite is worst than their bark. Briala's agents weren't the only ones in the palace that evening, and if a few nobles found their reputations in tatters, their extravagance ripped out from underneath them, and perhaps a bit of blood dribbling out from under a ridiculous mask, then the wolf was on the prowl and the shadows were its den, safe for none but it.

"Are you all right, vhenan? You appear out of sorts."

"This place makes my head spin and my stomach roll, so yeah, I'm 'out of sorts'. I'm just glad that Comte finally left me alone. I was about ready to snap his neck."

"Strange. He had obviously been infatuated with you all evening."

"Tch. Infatuated? More like idiotically naive, but when I last walked by him he seemed...terrified? Was that what I saw? Ugh, I don't know."

"Mm, I would not worry about it. Perhaps the shadows of this place proved too daunting is all."

"...What did you do?"

"Nothing. I have merely been standing here all evening, watching the machinations and enjoying the wine."

"Mm-hm. Well, I'll leave you to it...ma fen."

"Hm. Hunt well, ma'isenatha."

Fane's jealousy, or rather, protectiveness comes out around any Dalish they might encounter. Truthfully, Fane isn't much of a jealous type; he's protective, devoted, merciless to things threatening the one person he loves above all else. Most Dalish are more concerned over Fane than Solas, and that's how Fane wants it. He knows how the Dalish have treated his sky in the past, how they've attacked him for only offering the truth, and that will not stand any longer. And if some reason, some ridiculous reason an idiot clan member would chance trying to get closer to the sky, then the dragon defending it would spread its wings and bear its fangs. Warped perceptions be damned, cool nature denied, intervention assured.

...Okay, maybe Fane is a jealous type, but he's a dragon. They protect their hoard. :3

All in all, Fane and Solas know the other would never entertain another, but some instincts, some traits are merely instinctual, written in blood and bone, and that's why they try to keep their respective beasts at bay. Their actions regarding each other is born from not wanting to lose each other again, and they'll do anything to make that wish a reality.

Thank you so MUUUUCH! <3 <3

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 12

“Brooke?”  I shook my head when I heard Connie’s voice on the other end, the sounds of cartoons playing in the background told me she was home.  “Are you alright?”  The worry in her voice made me feel guilty for not calling more often, or checking in at least.  

“I’m fine, worrywart.”  I settled into my spot on the couch, smiling as I caught a whiff of Bucky’s scent.  “I -”  I took a deep breath and bit my lip.  “I’m sorry I haven’t -”

Connie shushed me.  “Stop,” I closed my mouth, worried that she was going to tell me that she didn’t have time for fairweather friends and that she had a family to take care of now.  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Brooke.”  It felt like my heart restarted.  “I can’t imagine how you must have felt coming back.”  I heard a rustling in the background and then the noise that had sounded like cartoons went away and it got quiet.  “Sorry about that, Bryn wanted to watch Tangled again.”

I smiled, my goddaughter, or she would have been if I’d been here to do the honors was three years old.  “Tangled is a good one.”  I was happy that Connie was willing to talk to me, that she was willing to make time, even if I’d pushed her away.  “Is that her favorite?”  

Connie laughed and I was happy to hear that it was as familiar to me as my own.  “She likes all of the princesses.  Joey is thinking we’re going to have to push up the trip to Disney by a year.”  I was grinning at the thought of Joey Amoruso playing girl daddy through the Magic Kingdom.  “Don’t worry, I made sure she got to see Beauty and the Beast, too.”  That got a laugh out of me.

“I can’t help loving Belle,” I argued, and listened to her snort.  “How’s your mom?”  Connie worked at her mom’s beauty salon, she’d started as soon as she was tall enough to reach around a customer’s head into the sink to wash their hair and after high school didn’t blink about going straight into cosmetology school.  

“You know Mertle,” her mom’s name was Ismerelda, but some hard of hearing old lady had misheard it once and called her ‘Mertle’ to our forever hilarity.  I laughed.  “She makes me do Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair now, every damn week, just because she got tired of doing the same style over and over.”  I remembered Mrs. McGillicutty, she was a sweet lady, but a little dotty.  “Today was my half day, Bryn’s preschool runs a half day every other day.”

“Who keeps her on the off days?”  I got up to grab a drink and listened as Connie told me all about the nightmares of finding childcare, even with an extended family like hers.  Falling back into the type of conversation that two friends have, if one had gone away for a while.  I grabbed a glass of water and my eyes landed on the flowers that Bucky brought me, a smile finding its home on my lips again, I sat down at the table and talked to Connie while I pulled the vase closer and played with the petals.  

Before we said our goodbyes, a good hour and a half after we’d started talking, Connie finally asked the question that I knew she had to have been burning with since she saw my name appear on her phone screen.  

“Not that I don’t LOVE hearing from you, Brooke, but what brought this on?  Why now?”  I’d wandered back to the living room, curling into the chair that Bucky sat in, letting the residual scent of him cradle me.  

“I met someone,” she squealed, causing a tiny mimic to happen from the background and I chuckled.  Good God, she had a mini me.  “You’d know him, actually -” I bit my lip.  “EVERYONE knows him or knows of him.”  I squinted, shit, should I tell anyone?  

“Tell me EVERYTHING.”  But then I heard a male voice, Joey her husband.  “Shit, the conquering man returns.”  I snorted.  “You are NOT off the hook, Brooke.  I expect details and a NAME.”  I promised she’d get both and then we said goodnight.  

I’d missed a text while I was on with Connie.  Another attempt at a selfie, this time it had part of another person that I found out was supposed to be Sam when I read the accompanying text message.  “See UR cuter.”  I was grinning, but the next message made me sigh.  “Stuck w/ Sam. :(“ 

Sad face emoji indeed, I thought.  Contemplating what type of reply I could send to a 106 year old without pushing him away or over a cliff, I went back to the kitchen where his flowers were still holding tight.  Thinking about how creative I felt like getting, I found the largest bloom, went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. I tried to remember what the women from Bucky’s younger days might have done to look tempting.  Dramatic eye, red lip, then putting the flower behind my ear I hoped like hell that I didn’t look completely ridiculous before clicking off a shot and sending it.  

“Too bad. Sam’s a lucky guy. :*”  

I was washing off my work and thinking about reheating some more leftovers for dinner when my phone chirped.  Glancing down I was left smiling by his answer.

“No, I am.”  

Dinner, a shower, then bed.  Well, after a LONG staring contest in the mirror where I did my own personal pre-bedtime mantra.  It was rote, and I did it with the same vigor that I’d done it with every other time.  And I was just as certain that it would work as well.  

Without Bucky, I had my bed remade and I was settled back on my pillows.  The soft blue glow of the television had been a nice addition, so I flipped it on.  Turning the volume down so it was the same murmur that was soft enough to not keep me awake, I hoped it would work as a surrogate for the anchor that Bucky’s presence seemed to be.

The flashes came red, blue, unnameable colors. The feelings of pain and suffering, darkness and terror creeping closer and trying to pull me back.  I still couldn’t see what caused it, where the pain came from, what was so terrifying that I felt trapped by it.  What or who was trying to drag me back to wherever I’d been was still as unknown as it had been when Thanos snapped his gold encased fingers and after the Blip the answers were still unavailable.  I didn’t feel as pinned down or as in danger or being yanked away from home, so I was still tethered to reality.  I just had to wait through it, to survive the feelings that I couldn’t figure out, until the flashes of colors came to let me know the end was coming and I was waking up - coming home again.

I woke to a text from Connie.  

“It’s McGillcutty’s day. Come visit me. PLEASE.”  I shook my head at the plea, but it wasn’t like I had plans or a job to get to.  I hoped she knew I wasn’t planning on spilling ALL while she was cutting hair and styling the neighborhood ladies, because I hadn’t been gone so long that I’d forgotten how fast gossip travelled.  

“Fine.” I hit send.  I got ready and grabbed some toast and a bottle of water.  My bag with a book, my earbuds and a charger for my phone, just in case, and I was out the door and heading to Connie’s mom’s salon.  

I was at the salon by the time both slices of my toast were finished and most of my water was gone.  Tossing the napkin I’d wrapped my breakfast in in the trash when I walked in, I almost missed the hush that fell over the entire room when I entered.  Almost.  Shit.  Standing up I realized that all eyes were on me.  Great.

“Brooke!” Connie beckoned to me from her station at the back of the shop, one she’d picked out when she was still washing hair.  “Put your eyes back in your heads,” she rolled her eyes.  “It’s JUST Brooke.”  I shook my head, only Connie would try to brush off the fact that I just walked into the neighborhood hen coop after steering clear of it for a full six months, and I looked five years younger than I SHOULD.  

Her mom grinned at me and called out a “looking good, Brookie” as I passed, getting a little red added to my cheeks, but aside from that Connie had shamed most of the clucking hens into at least pretending that they weren’t amazed by the very sight of me.  I made it to Connie’s station and found that she’d prepared for my visit by grabbing one of the waiting area chairs and brought it back so I wasn’t stuck leaning against the wall or counter.

Plopping down, I watched as she went about styling Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair.  After I’d said a polite hello to the elderly woman, of course.  It was almost mesmerizing, watching Connie wrap each curler with the blue washed thinning hair of the bird thin woman.  And as she wrapped she talked.  

“You remember how Tawny and Sam were planning on getting married the year after we did, right?”  I told her I did, and she snorted.  “Yeah, that went south so quick.”  I heard Margaret Andrews pipe up from two chairs down that it wasn’t all that surprising.  

“They were on again and off again so much growing up, I’m surprised either of their mamas let them make that much of a plan.” She offered up.  I bit my lip, the hen house was raring to go.  

Connie’s eyes met mine and I could see them sparkling with mirth.  And we were off, the mission seemed to be to get me back in the swing of things and she’d brought the troops.

I got another ‘selfie’ in the middle of my visit with Connie and I glanced at it and bit my lip.  It was marginally better.  Bucky was at least visible and discernible this time.  I couldn’t tell where he was, but the message wasn’t optimistic about my odds of seeing him soon.  

“Baltimore w/Sam.”

A sigh escaped and Connie glanced up from where she was cutting Kelly Taggert’s hair.  Since Kelly was someone who wasn’t exactly in our sphere prior to leaving school, much less before the Snap, Connie held her curiosity at bay.  Too bad Kelly didn’t get the memo.

“Bad news, Brookie?”  I glanced up, thinking about reminding Kelly that very few people had the privilege to call me that, and she most definitely wasn’t one of them, but held back.  This was Connie’s place of business after all.  

“Not really.  Just spam.”  Fuck it, why give her any grist for the mill?  Connie could smell my bull from a mile away, but Kelly didn’t know me from Adam.  

“I hate that, there should be a way to input a block for those automatically -” and she was off.  I grinned at my phone as I typed a reply to Bucky. 

A selfie was out of the question, not with this crowd.  “I’m socializing. Willingly.”  

Kelly was still telling everyone, because her voice could pound a nail into a wall it was so fucking loud and annoying, all her ideas for dealing with spam texts, emails, telemarketing calls and on and on.  I almost felt bad about setting her loose.  Until my phone chirped and I got another selfie from Bucky looking shocked in answer to my text.  

Tucking my phone away, I set back and let Kelly rant until Connie finished her hair.  

I stayed until closing and it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be.  Connie told me that her sister-in-law was keeping Bryn after preschool, and we had some time to just relax and chat.  I had a feeling she made those specific plans after we talked on the phone, she was just that freaking curious.  

She grabbed two cans of soda from the breakroom and plopped into the swivel seat her customers usually sat in while she played fairy hair godmother.   “Spill.”  I rolled my eyes as I cracked open my can.  

“You only invited me to hang out today to ply me for information about my personal life, didn’t you?”  I squinted over the top of the can as I took my first drink.  She grinned and nodded, not the least bit shamed.  Swallowing, I dramatically sighed.  “Fine.” I couldn’t stop the smile that started growing at the thought of Bucky.  “Do you remember when Mom and Dad took us to the Smithsonian?”  

She was staring at me like I was crazy and didn’t know where I was going to go with the trip down memory lane, but she nodded as she opened her own drink.  “Yeah, we were like ten.”  

I bit my lip.  “We were,” it had been a fun trip, just Connie, me and my parents.  For Connie who had siblings and me as an only child - we both had a blast.  “We went to the Captain America exhibit.” 

“God we went to ALL of the exhibits it felt like, your dad was gaga over the Air and Space one -” she stopped, suddenly HEARING what I said.  “Wait, the -”  Her eyes met mine and went wide.  “NO.”  

“I bumped into him,” my hand went to my chest, still a little bit tender.  “He’s - he’s amazing.”  

Connie leaned forward and looked almost exactly like she had when we were 15 years old and I told her that Todd Garrison kissed me behind the bleachers during the pep rally.  Wide eyed and excited, she bit her lip.  “Is he -” she looked like she couldn’t quite decide what to ask first.  “Tell me EVERYTHING.”  So I did, within limits, sort of. 

[highqueenjude]

i would love to see a hc or a fic where cardan has an ed. or childhood trauma. idk

Post-Snake!Cardan

hi anon! i know this isn’t what you meant, but i wanted to play with the idea of cardan being affected by his time as a snake. i hope you enjoy!

tw//panic attack, ptsd

Cardan was going insane. 

During the first week of listening to ballads performed in his honor, he was glad that at least someone could enjoy his time as a snake. Instead of reliving the horror of becoming a monster, of having instinct replace reason, pretending everything away allowed him to find humor in the whole ordeal. 

“You should see someone,” Jude had said one night, after being woken up from Cardan thrashing around due to a particularly bad nightmare.

“Why bother?” he had asked, playing at nonchalance. “I am dealing with it on my own.” 

But dealing with affairs such as this was not Cardan’s strong suit.  

He frequented the cellars and became more outrageous than before. He wore more gaudy clothes and partied all night long and into the morning.  

“Did you bathe in wine?” Jude had asked him one evening.

Cardan had pretended not to see the concern in her gaze.

They were laying in bed—she had convinced him of laying down with her instead of partying with the Folk, though he was tempted to return to the festivities. Anything was better than facing what had become of him. 

He had laughed off her concern and said, “Why? Do you want a taste of me?”

She had frowned and rolled onto her side, effectively ending the conversation.

Why couldn’t she see that he was fine?

Another week passed, and yet nothing got easier.

Cardan found that he had developed a fear of the dark. He would laugh at his own foolishness if the threat of being consumed by the darkness did not haunt him. 

At night, before he entered his bed chambers, he would have a servant light a few candles if Jude was not already there. He told himself it was so that he could see his surroundings, but it was really to keep him tethered to the present. 

The dark reminded him of what it was like to be a beast, locked inside his own mind. For the entire time that he had been . . . out of commission, he had been in the dark. Thinking of it sent a chill slithering up his spine. 

Even sleep was a terror to him. 

Some days, when Jude was particularly busy, he would wait for her to finish her tasks before he went to bed. He was terrified of sleeping alone, of being strangled in his sheets by the darkness. It was not a rational fear, but it was fear all the same. 

The Court was not much better. 

Courtiers and nobles all had the same questions. Jude tried her best to keep them at bay, but not even she—the High Queen of Faerie—could control them. 

What was it like as a snake? Do you remember what you did? How did it feel?

How did it feel? He wanted to scream. It felt like he had become a monster. He did not recognize himself in those days between waking and sleeping. For the entirety of his time as a beast, it had felt like he had been underwater, clawing his way toward the surface.

He felt like he was drowning now. He could vaguely see Jude in front of him, eyes full of concern. Was she drowning, too?

It was getting difficult to breathe. His lungs were on fire, he needed air. 

“Jude,” he gasped out. 

He saw her mouth move, but he couldn’t hear her. Everything around him was muffled. 

His vision was flickering in, out. Darkness, then light. Darkness again. 

What was happening to him?

He quickly concluded that he was dying. A shame, really. He was too short of breath to tell his wife how much he loved her. 

Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around him from where he had collapsed on the ground. Someone pulled him to their chest and held him close. They stroked his hair and whispered little nothings in his ear. 

After a few moments, he found that he could breathe. 

Through his haze, he managed to blink his surroundings into focus.

Jude was the one comforting him while he lay sprawled on the ground. His head was in her lap, though he wasn’t sure how he had gotten there. His limbs were shaky, but he made himself sit up.

“Jude?” He sounded afraid, but he didn’t feel weak. How could anyone feel weak when the strongest person alive was holding them up?

“I’m here,” she crooned. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re okay. You’re fine.”

“No, I am not.” His voice broke at the end. The admission was the truth, one he had buried for far too long. By saying those four little words, he had realized how much pain he had been in. How he should have listened to Jude.

Jude’s eyes softened. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Cardan could only nod. His mouth would not form words. He was still numb to the world, but he was beginning to regain feeling in his limbs again, as well as his heart. And there was nothing worse than that. 

“I do not want to go through that again,” he said as Jude rubbed tiny circles into the palm of his hand.  

“You shouldn’t have to go through it at all.” Jude did not sound pitying; she sounded mad, on his behalf. 

He was strangely calm now. There were no more courtiers breathing down his neck. The only two in the throne room were he and his wife. The only sound that could be heard was their breathing. 

“Thank you,” he said abruptly. 

Jude gave him a quizzical look. “For what?” 

“For caring.” 

Jude paused and reached up to cup his face between her hands. “I love you, Cardan.” She searched his eyes, and then repeated the sentiment again. “I love you.” 

Jude leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss on his forehead. “I will always be there for you. I promise.” 

No one had cared about him before like Jude did. It was a new and thrilling feeling, to have someone love you for you. 

“This will all be in the past soon. Trust me,” she said, and he believed her. 

Cardan knew that to beat this, it would take time and effort. But Jude was right: it would be over, and he would have her to thank. 

Because his love for her was strong enough to overcome his fear. His love for was a light in the dark, it kept him breathing. 

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 11

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover (If you can’t find it here)

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7a | 7b | 8 | 9a | 9b | 10

Let me know what you think in the comments or my ask box.

Chapter 11: A Room to be Shared

Summary: You decided to take a leap of faith and talk first, “General Hux said you might give me a tour of the ship.”This seemed to take his mind off of whatever was going through his head. “Yes,” he said clearing his throat. “We have time tonight if you would like to?”You nodded in agreement and he had a ghost of a smile on his face.

_______________________________________________________________________

You could feel the pressure of leaving the atmosphere but you did not experience any weightlessness which was disappointing. The ride was silent, no one spoke except for the pilot when informing station control of your arrival. You were very nervous, this being your first time leaving Earth and all. 

The pilot informed you all that it was safe to depart the shuttle. Kylo quickly and swiftly unbuckled himself and reached over to unbuckle you. In a way it made you feel like a child, but it also felt oddly protective. 

Kylo was the first to leave the shuttle, the other officers waited and followed after you. You all descended the ramp and paused at the base. General Hux was right. There was a large battalion of stormtroopers and a large number of officers and pilots waiting for you. They all saluted, Kylo nodded his head and he was off walking again. You were struggling to keep up with his long strides through the handier. Reaching the door he paused and turned to you as if he was now remembering that you were here, he took your arm in his and guided you through the long hallways of the Steadfast. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see two junior officers following you with your bags. 

Throughout your journey in the halls neither you nor Kylo spoke. Officers ducked out of the way and saluted. When you came to a cross-section there was a squad of stormtroopers marching the halls, they paused and saluted while you and Kylo turned down the other hall. Finally, you were in a section that hadn’t had many doors for a while and that no one seemed to be in. You both approached the door. Kylo punched in a code on the panel next to the door and you stepped in. 

The room was quite grand and white, brighter than you expected for a man dressed in all black. The room you entered was very large and had a large bay window showing the stars. There was no furniture in this room except for a podium of sorts that held a melted looking mask. To the right of the doors there were stairs that you could see leading to a bedroom, to the left of the room there were stairs leading to a kitchen. The whole place seemed bare—empty. 

The junior officers just left your bags by the inside of the door and left. You two were alone once again. Kylo let go of your arm, moved away from you and removed his helmet. A podium raised from the ground, this one had a layer of ashes in it he placed his helmet there. He turned to you but stayed silent. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words to say it. Instead, he grabbed your bags from the doorway and took them up the stairs, you followed him. He paused at the end of the bed and turned to you, unsure. His eyes were nervously darting from you to anywhere but you. He then went to a door on the left side of the room. It opened and revealed another bedroom with a bathroom attached to it. He set your bags on the bed. 

This whole situation was awkward, you could tell there were a million thoughts running through his head but he was unable to speak even one. So you asked, “Shall we have dinner soon?”

This snapped him out of his own thoughts, he nodded and gestured for you to head towards the kitchen. “I’ll have it sent over.” And with that, you saw a data pad in his hands as he quickly sent an order to the ship’s kitchen. In the kitchen of your shared quarters, there was a large dining room table, that you both sat at, beauty and the beast style. 

A few moments passed and just as you were about to speak again the door opened to the main room and a robot appeared with a cart full of food. Impressively the cart was able to traverse the stairs and the droid went quickly to work setting the food that Kylo ordered in front of you. The food seemed familiar but was still not something you have seen before. You wondered about all of the different species of plants and animals that were available to the First Order as food. You both began to eat. 

Kylo again seemed as if he desperately wanted to make conversation but was unable to find the right words. 

You decided to take a leap of faith and talk first, “General Hux said you might give me a tour of the ship.”

This seemed to take his mind off of whatever was going through his head. “Yes,” he said clearing his throat. “We have time tonight if you would like to?”

You nodded in agreement and he had a ghost of a smile on his face. You two finished your meal now with a pleasant silence. “What will we do with the dishes,” you ask. 

“A droid will pick them up while we are on our tour,” responded Kylo. You were both now in the big main room where he picked up his mask again and punched in a few messages to his data pad. Once he was finished and his helmet was on he gestured for you to take his arm again.

This felt nice like you were a princess and he was your prince, your knight. It made your heart flutter and you tried to conceal your blush. You were now out in the hallway, winding and turning until you were at the bridge. You both enter and the chatter you could hear while the door opened died immediately once everyone realized you were there. Generals Hux and Pryde were there, Hux spoke first:

“Supreme Leader, I see that you did decide to give Lady Y/N a tour this evening.” 

“Yes, she requested it,” said Kylo simply. “Would you explain the different aspects of the bridge to her?” And with that Kylo seemed to want to release your arm so you could follow the general. This saddened you a bit but you just followed along. 

“Certainly Supreme Leader it would be my pleasure,” said Hux, he then gestured for you to follow him. “My lady.” And with that, the general took you around the bridge explaining the different roles and introducing you to the officers. You could tell they were all on edge with Kylo there, especially because he was still standing where you left him but he seemed to be following you with his eyes. The officers being nervous as to not mess up, but they seemed more comfortable with the general. Once he was finished explaining everything and introducing you to everyone he returned you back to Kylo and you thanked him.

You took Kylo’s arm again and you left the bridge, you wound the hallways until you came to the med bay. Stepping inside you were met by a man in a white uniform. 

“Supreme Leader.” And he bowed slightly and turned to you. “My lady, my name is Dr. Xero Dabrini. I am the chief medical officer on board the Steadfast. I was informed to give you a tour of the med bay and to give your vaccinations.” And Kylo released your arm again letting the doctor give you a tour. By the end of the tour, he lead you into an examination room.

“Hopefully you will not have to really ever be to the med bay apart from your health check-ups. Now I will be administering all of the vaccines that we require, but first I will check your medical record to see what you are up to date on.” He used a larger data pad to pull up your medical record, you assume that they had it after you had been registered. After confirming your current vaccinations, he pulled out a device that had several needles in it. He prepared your arm with what you assumed to be a sterilizing agent and a numbing gel. You didn’t even feel the shots. He then took something that looked like a radar scanner and held it up to you. “You seem to be in excellent health. Now I have one question for you. May I ask if you are on any form of birth control?”

This question startled you. It was probably just standard procedure but it was also known to him that you were the Supreme Leader’s match. You wondered if this influenced the question because Kylo and you hadn’t spoken much to each other yet and it was not something you were ready for with him. 

“I currently have and an implant in my arm, I just got it three months ago, they are supposed to be effective for three years,” you responded. The doctor nodded and typed something into your medical record. 

“That is very good. The Supreme Leader may request that a First Order one should be put in, but for now, that will be sufficient.” With that, the doctor lead you back out to the main lobby to join Kylo again. You thanked the doctor and took Kylo’s arm again and he lead you down the halls.

You were tempted to ask him about what the doctor said, but knowing you had only spoken with him a little you were sure this wasn’t the time to ask him. He wasn’t expecting you to sleep with him, he gave you your own room. 

You came upon the hanger once again. This time Kylo took you around to the hangar and he talked about the different ships. There was a TIE fighter that was different from the others and he didn’t mention it so you.

“And this one,” you asked making him pause in front of it. 

He looked at you then at the ship. “This is mine. I designed this model when I was new to the First Order. Its faster, with its twin-ion engine and has two SJFS L-s9.6 laser cannons, two SJFS L-7.5 heavy laser cannons, an Arakyd ST7 concussion and mag-pulse warhead launcher and a proton torpedo launcher.” He seemed proud of it even though the vocoder hid what you assumed in his voice. 

“Sounds like only a very skilled pilot is able to fly it,” you said. Through the vocoder, you could hear him clear his throat as he glanced down at the floor. If he wasn’t wearing his mask you swore he was probably blushing at your compliment.

Regaining his composure he asked, “shall I show you one of my favorite parts of the ship?”

You eagerly nodded and smiled at him. One again you were off in the winding halls of the ship, knowing you would have to be guided for a while as it seemed hard to memorize where you were going and because there were no signs anywhere telling you where you were. 

You came upon a door and Kylo punched in a code. The door opened to a large empty room. He guided you in. On either side of the room, there were large windows. On one side it showed you a hangar bay, similar to the one you toured but this one had more cargo and seemed to be where they actually built ship, not just maintained them. On the other side, the windows were open to the stars. Both sides were beautiful in their own way.

Kylo removed his helmet for the first time during your tour. “I come here when I need to think. When I desire to be alone with my thoughts, where no one can disturb me.” 

He let go of your arm but took your hand and lead you to the hangar side. Your heartbeat was a mess. 

“No one is allowed in this room unless it is an emergency. But this room will always be open to you. There is a room like this on every one of the First Order ships. They are all open to you,” he said seriously.

You took this time to look at him in the eyes and appreciate that he was allowing you into a private part of his life. “Thank you Kylo,” and you gently squeezed his hand. Now you could confirm that when he slightly ducked his head that he was blushing, he also gave a small smile too. It made your heart swell.

He then lead you to the star side of the room. “My dream is to share every star in the galaxy with you. That they know how good the First Order is. And that they may know peace and order.”

The first part of that made you blush especially because he gently squeezed his hand as you did his. You two remained standing there staring into space for a few minutes before he put his helmet on once more and lead you out of the room. 

“This will be our last stop of the night,” he said pausing so the doors could open. They revealed a large throne room. In the entrance, there was a long narrow walkway that had holes on either side of it for no other reason than to look impressive. The narrow walkway opened up into a large expanse of the room. Long red curtains were covering the beautiful windows, you thought this was a shame. There were 4 devices, on tin each corner, they reminded you of Tesla coils as they came out of the floor. In the middle of the expanse, there was a large throne, too big for one person, but you suppose that was the point. In the room, there were a number of red guards that reminded you of the Knights of Ren from the pamphlet but were somehow different. 

“This is my throne room. I am not often here as much as my predecessor was, but I can be found here at different times of the day. I prefer to move about the ship and the planet that we are occupying at the time. To be involved with the daily workings of the First Order.”

Kylo brought you to the throne. “Sit,” he gently commanded. 

You were taken back by this, but you followed orders. He stepped back. Seeming too admire the sight in front of him. 

“The throne becomes you,” he said complimenting you. At this, you blushed and stood feeling awkward at the situation. He took your arm once more and lead you back to your chambers.

[shostakobitchh]

chapter 16: the rising deep sneak peek!

here’s a preview of the first part of the chapter! I will be on break starting Friday, and I hope to have it done in the early part of next week. enjoy! 

Severus stared down at the pocket watch, making certain that it read Gryffindor Tower before placing it back into his trousers.

Dumbledore turned away from the window to gaze back at him, rain battering against it. The room was quiet, save for the fire crackling in the hearth and Fawkes’ gentle preening. Even the portraits were silent, grave expressions on their faces as they waited for the current Headmaster to offer his opinion on the matter. Severus had come to him after making sure Miss Evans had climbed through the Fat Lady’s portrait, and there had not yet been a single word exchanged between the two, only solemn stares that conveyed the seriousness of the situation. Severus didn’t know where to begin, really, and he supposed Dumbledore didn’t either.

Unspoken words hung in the air between them, like breath curling into mist. It took every mite of Severus’ strength not to break something, to force himself to believe that Dumbledore cared about the girl’s safety as much as he did, and that he wasn’t being purposefully obtuse. They both had too much to lose if something happened to her — the thought was incomprehensible. The old man’s silence, however, was only adding to Severus’ uneasiness as the seconds dragged by.

once I started I couldn’t stop

it’s been in my dreams it won’t leave me alone

you don’t care what I do or what happens

Severus stifled the urge to check the pocket watch again.

“Minerva is quite upset.” Dumbledore finally said, the grim expression on his face unwavering. “Rightfully so, but I’ve convinced her to hold off any punishment until morning.”

Severus kneaded his forehead with his thumbs, leaning heavily against the back of a chair. “That’s your concern right now?”

Dumbledore hummed a short, quick sound, like he wasn’t quite sure. Severus knew, though — he knew that he’d been disturbed at what Miss Evans had seen, what she’d heard, and what she had done. Severus knew, because he felt it, too. It hung high above their heads, just below the vaulted ceiling, where the whir of magic usually was. The office’s once comforting glow now seemed ominous — warning lights, a red sun rising at dawn.

“It is a good thing you found her when you did,” Dumbledore went on, his voice heavy.

He could still picture Granger flying into his office, the door slightly ajar since Severus had been preparing to leave for dinner. There was a frantic, fresh sort of panic that Severus had not seen since Evans had crashed into him on Halloween. Granger hadn’t even managed to say whatever she’d flown down to the dungeons to say. Severus had known it was Miss Evans, and he’d known that it wasn’t good.

Severus swallowed roughly. “She said it’s gaining more of a form, becoming more corporeal.”

Dumbledore lifted his eyes back towards the window, wind slamming the rain against the glass. “It spoke to her again, you said? Did it demand anything?”

“No, it just… told her to act on her impulses.”

Dumbledore made a new kind of sound, one that was strong and disapproving. “That type of behavior cannot be tolerated, Severus.”

“It wasn’t her doing,” he forced through gritted teeth. “surely you realize that.”

“On the contrary, it’s for that very reason I must insist Ariel be dealt with, and swiftly.” Dumbledore said, his eyes dark and intense, like the storm outside. “Resorting to violence, even when persuaded, must be discouraged. She cannot fall into the habit of using force when faced with adversity.”

Severus’ temple began to throb. “She’s eleven, for Merlin’s sake. The little beasts brawl like common Muggles until they learn to throw their first Hex.”

“Ariel will be tempted more than any of them,” Dumbledore said seriously.

“You never gave a damn when Potter and Black threw punches for far less.” he snapped.

Fawkes stopped his grooming to stare up at Severus, as if he understood that he had let something slip he hadn’t meant to, and wanted to make sure he knew this. Severus sent him a warning glare, and Fawkes chirped, cocking his head at him.

“Those were far different circumstances,” Dumbledore said, not unkindly. “James was not Marked for something no child should be subjected to.”

Severus threw himself off the chair, balling his fists at his sides. “This is pointless. You need to do something — or better yet, let me have my way with Quirrell, if you truly think he’s somehow involved.”

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. “I cannot allow you to practice Dark Magic within this school.”

“Dark Magic can find whoever’s doing this!” Severus snarled.

“I forbid it, Severus.” Dumbledore's face was cold and unyielding. “Ariel cannot be exposed to such things, especially now.”

“She would not be exposed —”

“You are her father,” Dumbledore said, and Severus flinched. “if you were to fall into old patterns, she would inevitably make contact. She is too young and would not be able to resist the temptation.”

Like you, a voice whispered, you could not resist, and it cost you everything.

“It would keep her safe!” Severus shot back, but his voice wavered. He cursed himself for it.

Dumbledore’s eyes softened. “I know you worry for her —”

“Don’t mistake this for pity.” Severus hissed. “That girl is being hunted.”

He recalled her bloody knuckles, the way they shimmered in the pale light. Her thin face twisted in pain and misery, her black eyes shining with tears, and a childlike rage that Severus knew all too well. That rage would turn into hunger, and when it did, the girl would destroy herself from the inside out as Severus had, almost a decade ago. He’d spent so much time seeing Lily in the girl that he had forgotten that half of her was also Severus, and that she could be susceptible to the same darkness that had lured him in. The parts of Severus in their daughter could ruin her.

He would move Heaven and Earth to make sure that did not happen. He owed it to Lily.

“It cannot harm her, I promise you.” Dumbledore took a tentative step towards him, his robes trailing behind him. “I would not allow Ariel to stay here if I was not certain of this.”

Severus gave a humorless snort. “No, you’ll just allow it to torture the girl into insanity.”

“Which is why I am thankful that she is spending her evenings with you.” Dumbledore sighed, and it was a tired sound, one that Severus had never heard before.

He glared at him, wanting to rip that solemn look right off his face. “Detention isn’t going to keep that thing at bay for much longer.”

“No, but it will keep her under close watch. It hasn’t attacked her while she’s been with you, has it? I would suppose that’s for a very good reason.”

“Until it becomes desperate.” Severus said bitterly. “Then what would you have me do? I cannot fight an enemy I cannot see!”

Dumbledore ignored his question. Fawkes chirped happily at him as his brow deepened in thought, murmurs from the portraits amongst one another offering no possible insights. They’d insisted that they had never seen anything like this before inside of Hogwarts, but this was not news to Severus. There had never been someone like Miss Evans, either.

“Did Ariel mention what triggered this?” Dumbledore fell against the side of his desk, hands gripping the sides. There was a faraway look in his eyes, one that told Severus he knew more than he was letting on, but couldn’t decide if it was worth sharing.

“Draco was pining for her attention,” Severus muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “unfortunately, it seems that Lucius forgot to teach the boy some tact. He has the subtlety of a freight train, and has been ruthless in his approach.”

“I assume you’ll be speaking with him?” Dumbledore’s eyes flashed in a way that told Severus this was not a suggestion.

“I won’t be able to do much, if that’s what you’re implying. Draco will grow bored eventually, but once Narcissa and Lucius hear what Miss Evans did to their precious baby boy… well, Lucius will be mortified, but Narcissa will likely want blood.”

“All the more reason that Ariel must understand the gravity of the situation.” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “She does not need more enemies, although Minerva has mentioned that Draco has been particularly vicious. Have you seen no cause to intervene?”

He hadn’t — what the little dunderheads did amongst themselves, Severus couldn’t have given less of a fuck about. As long as they weren’t causing bodily harm to one another (Miss Evans had checked that box off tonight), Severus didn’t bother… well, unless he found out that one of his Snakes was being harassed by another House. Then Severus took great pleasure in exercising his authority over the little shits.

“Miss Evans has appeared unaffected.” Severus said, nonplussed.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I would beg to differ.”

“Obviously,” Severus snapped back. “I would think that the boy has learned enough of a lesson. The girl broke his damn nose.”

[wiltingbeast]

                                             Never Good Enough

          Well? This was always the goal, right?

     A strong summer storm had swept over the city before the sun even reached the horizon this morning. A steady downpour quickly settled in throughout the wards, the low rumbling of thunder from afar occasionally racing through the air. Most of the townspeople had no intention of being caught out in the rain, many already in the safety and warmth of their homes. Why would anyone willingly walk through this summer rain?

     Adam should have stayed inside today. There was no business for him to tend to. Yet he was too restless. The notification he had woken up to had clarified that something inside him had changed. From this day forth, he was finally back to full strength. His blade was as sharp as ever, his Semblance capable of tearing apart anything, without fail. Nothing was holding him back now.

          ... Right?

     How could this be possible? Doubt should have no place in his mind anymore. The mighty Adam Taurus, respected and feared by so many in Remnant, was finally at full capacity in this foreign land. And yet... Why does doubt continue to fester inside his heart? This very doubt is what compelled him to venture out today, deep into the Mistwood. A forest of mist and fear that kept so many others at bay... The creatures that lurk in the dark, the perfect prey to hunt. Adam made no effort to let anyone know about this sudden compulsion. If anything were to go wrong, no one would find him there. No one would look.

          Why should they?

     And so he went. The Faunus took his weapon and left the city, the rain not slowing him down one bit. His clothes were fully drenched before he even reached the Ward’s edge. Yet onward he went, the hunter pressing on with nothing but a compulsion pulling him along.

     Even the Mistwood was affected by the storm, the rain giving rise to thicker fog. These conditions were abysmal for most living creatures, their vision reduced drastically. Truly, only the mythical Denizens of this place would have any possible advantage. Such monstrous figures rule this domain, and all who have survived encounters with them warn others to never tempt fate with them. It was utterly foolish for anyone to willingly walk into the foggy maw of uncertainty.

     And yet he presses on. This compulsion he cannot resist, this urge he cannot understand.

          This power... This is my liberation.

               It must be what makes me free.

                    So I’ll prove it.

     For hours on end, he remained in that forest. The storm raged on all the while. The bull wandered on as if in a trance, his own mind finding difficulty in processing what all came his way. How many times did he draw his blade? Sometimes it was for nothing. Other times, blood was surely drawn. Right? What did he cut in those moments? It wasn’t his own blood dripping from Wilt’s crimson blade, so why should it matter? The shrill cries of pain certainly weren’t human.

     No matter how many creatures came to him, none could take away his freedom to do as he pleased. That’s what his immense power was for. Right? Isn’t this the feeling he lived for? No Grimm or other beast can touch him. No human can stop him. This is the freedom that all Faunus should be entitled to-- the power to dominate. This is what he wanted for everyone.

          Everyone? Or only for Adam Taurus?

     No matter how much blood was drawn, that doubt wouldn’t go away. It kept coming back, over and over and over...! It can’t be wrong to be powerful! Why should he be at anyone’s mercy?! Why can’t they understand...?!

          What am I not understanding?

     ......................................................................

     The storm had finally passed by the time night had fallen. The city remains relatively quiet, nothing disturbing the peace-- especially in Cotes. No late night travelers, no abnormal activity to be noted. Yet amidst this calm atmosphere, the distinct walk of Adam’s shoes occasionally slips past the silence. The walk of a weakened man, an unsteady pace. The wet ground below was occasionally tainted by a drop of bright crimson. Did it come from the blade? His clothes? What did it matter?

     The compulsion was finally gone, yet satisfying the urge did little to answer his questions and doubts. He had gone out to prove his power over the untamed wilds... So why must this hole in his soul continue to fester like this? For well over a year now, it has kept gnawing away at him from the inside. Why did regaining his power not alleviate Adam of this pain, of this doubt over his own existence?

          There is no war for freedom to fight. So why do you want to fight?

               There is no outlet for your rage. So why do you continue to rage?

                    There is no need for your existence here. So why do you wish to live?

     My burdens continue to grow... Will I ever truly be liberated?

[tsarisfanfiction]

Tremor VII

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen/Mature Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Alan Tracy, Gordon Tracy

Seventh and final part of my contribution to Hear from @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday challenge. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

So this was an absolute beast of a chapter to write.  There was enough potential content to be an entire fic in its own right, and maybe I’ll write that recovery fic one day, but for now I present this little glimpse of ‘what happened after’.

Virgil was jerked from his restless sleep by the sound of screaming.   The source wasn’t particularly difficult to identify, even with a sleep-fogged mind; after all, it was an all too common occurrence and had been as such for the past week.

Scott didn’t remember anything about his time with the Hood.  He’d told them, in a raspy, painful voice, that the last thing he recalled was the woman clinging to him tearfully, and then nothing until waking up in hospital, some two days after being rescued.  Unfortunately, it seemed his subconscious was not so amnesiac; amongst other things, Scott had yet to sleep a night through without being dragged out of it screaming.

“Scott!”  Virgil was at his side in moments, dodging flailing limbs to put a light hand on his brother’s chest.  “Scott, wake up!”  There wasn’t much he could do except wait for him to claw his way back into the waking world himself – they’d tried all manner of things in the days since bringing him home, but most seemed to do little but make him worse.  He ducked an arm that swung too close, aware that if Scott hit him, he’d do more damage to himself than Virgil.  “Scott!”

With a final cry, Scott heaved upright, eyes snapping open and staring at nothing in unconcealed terror.

“Scott?” he tried again, more softly.  “Scott?”

He watched as the terror receded, a softer, tired look replacing them.  Scott’s chest, initially rising and falling rapidly, fell back into a healthier rhythm, and after a blink he was back to himself, looking round at Virgil tiredly.

“Again?” he asked quietly, the hint of a rasp to his voice.  It was mostly gone now, the strong voice of their eldest brother recovering better than the rest of him, but after a night terror it always came back. Virgil nodded.

“Want a drink?” he offered, and watched Scott ease himself back down onto his reclined bed.  Another quirk – Scott couldn’t lie flat without panicking, resigning himself to an extended stay in the medical bay with hospital grade beds that allowed for a recline for the time being either until he could relax laying down again, or they replaced his bed with a recliner.

“Please.”  Virgil unwrapped a straw and put it in the waiting cup before holding it out.  Scott accepted it tentatively, loosely wrapping his healing fingers around it as best he could despite their minute tremors; Virgil didn’t let go.  He made a face at the taste of the water, lightly flavoured with honey and normally not at all to big brother’s tastes, but sipped at it regardless.  Another thing they’d learnt the hard way: Scott wouldn’t drink straight water, and panicked at the word.

Virgil didn’t know where the Hood was, and that was probably a good thing because if he did he’d be tempted to pay him a visit.  Gordon and Kayo had both informed him that the Hood was no longer a threat, and he would have to content himself with that, but seeing Scott panicking at the most supposedly-innocent of things was hard.  So hard.

“Did I say anything?” Scott asked, looking at him.  He wasn’t taking the gap in his memories well, not that Virgil could blame him. Waking up to both wrists and all fingers broken with no recollection of how they happened would have bothered anyone. Unfortunately for Scott, no-one who knew anything was talking, despite his demands to the contrary.

Gordon and Kayo had been tight-lipped about everything they’d no doubt seen, no matter what Scott said to them, and Virgil had no plans to ever let his biggest brother near the Hood again.

“Not that I heard,” Virgil told him, settling on the edge of the bed.  He never did, only screamed.  Scott frowned down at the cup.

A light knock sounded on the medical bay door, and John wandered in, their other brothers hot on his heels. Scott flushed, as he did whenever he realised he’d disturbed all of them, although Virgil suspected they’d all been awake anyway.  Just because they took it in turns to sleep in the medical bay with him didn’t mean they slept like a log in their own rooms.  He certainly didn’t.

“Mornin’,” Alan yawned, stumbling over until he reached Scott’s bed and curling up next to him on it. Scott gave him a soft look and shifted his arm to loop around him.  Assuming the drink was done with for the moment, Virgil retrieved it and placed it back on the table.

“Morning, Alan,” Scott returned, squinting around for the clock.  “What time is it, anyway?”

“Five oh five,” Gordon told him, huddling on the bed at his feet.  Barring Virgil, who was well aware it took all three of his not-bedbound brothers or Grandma to get him out of the room, Gordon was Scott’s most regular company. Even if he wouldn’t talk about what he’d seen, he’d definitely seen something, and the military persona he’d slipped into when Scott had gone missing hadn’t yet fully receded.  “Perfectly acceptable time to wake up.”  Virgil disagreed, but he wasn’t his insane brothers with their preference for crack of dawn workouts.

“Says you,” Alan mumbled, putting an arm around Scott loosely.

John pulled up a chair and positioned himself by Virgil.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked Scott, who shrugged and waved an arm, highlighting the various drips feeding into it – painkillers, relaxant, nutrition, all of which he needed in high doses.

“Not much of anything with these,” he pointed out.  John’s lips quirked up into a small grin.

“I suppose not,” he agreed, pulling up his tablet.  “You know, this time of morning might be perfectly acceptable for fishboys, but the rest of us aren’t going to be moving any time soon.”  Gordon pouted at him, but Alan proved his point by letting out a loud snore.  Scott glanced down at the youngest and gingerly manipulated him so he was leaning against him and unlikely to fall off the side of the bed.

“Teenagers.”  Gordon rolled his eyes, as though his age didn’t end with -teen, too.  Five in the morning was far too early to get into a debate over whether or not nineteen counted, and Virgil hurriedly smothered a yawn of his own.  Both his older brothers looked at him and he frowned back at them.

“Get some sleep, Virgil,” Scott insisted.  Virgil shook his head.

“If Scott goes to sleep will you go to sleep?” John bargained, only for Scott to turn on him.  Whatever protest he had died at the look on John’s face. Virgil couldn’t see it well from his angle, but he was pretty sure it was his stubborn one.

“Are you going to read them to sleep?” Gordon chipped in, and John raised an eyebrow.

“If that’s what it takes,” he agreed, and Gordon let out a bark of laughter.  Virgil groaned, and John looked at him challengingly.

The family dynamic shifted whenever John was home.  Not by much, and he was fairly sure their brothers barely noticed it, but then again they weren’t the ones being pushed from the position of second eldest when it happened.  When John was in space, all he had were words, and technology.  He could wield both to devastating effect – he wouldn’t be so good in space if he couldn’t – but it was with the full weight of his turquoise eyes in person that Virgil truly remembered that looking after their wayward eldest brother wasn’t solely his responsibility, and that he had two older brothers who would come down on him hard if they thought he was neglecting himself.  Scott’s bluntness could be brushed off.  John was like water, eroding away slowly but steadily until he got his way.  He didn’t raise his voice, turn things into a shouting match until someone backed down with a bruised ego.  He just looked, and that one look showcased the inevitability of the other caving, so why bother dragging it out unnecessarily?

Virgil yawned again, a traitorous reflex, and sent a glare back.  It had no effect on the big brother who had weathered many a “but Scott said” and “why?” in his life.  Not when all John had to do was glance at the big brother in question, who was eyeing him with outward concern, to win the silent battle.

Scott won’t rest until you do.

Using Scott against him was dirty, but no-one ever accused John of not being a manipulative devil when it suited him.  With an ill-tempered groan, because it was far too early in the morning to deal with all this no matter what Gordon said, Virgil dragged another chair over and slumped into it, reluctantly resting his head on crossed arms by Scott’s side.

“Thanks,” he heard Scott say quietly.  John’s reply was lost to the claws of sleep.

Virgil had been tortured by what-ifs ever since they’d realised Scott had been kidnapped.  What if he’d insisted they leave the site together?  What if he’d left Gordon with Scott?

What if they’d never found him?  What if he’d been killed and all Gordon and Kayo had dragged out of the Hood’s ship was a lifeless body?

Scott was home, safe but not yet sound.  Was that his fault?  Could he have done more?  Should he have noticed that the owner – the Hood – had his eyes on Scott?

Sleep was usually a good time for Virgil.  For the past few weeks, it had been anything but, and he roused again with heart pounding and Scott’s name on his lips to find the world was still dark.  John and Gordon had vanished, and Alan was still curled up against Scott’s side.  Scott himself looked to be asleep, breathing deep and even with his eyes closed. Compared to that first glimpse in Thunderbird Four, he looked positively healthy.

Virgil drank in the sight as he stretched his spine out.  Sleeping in chairs was never a good idea.  His subtle movements didn’t disturb either of his brothers, and he sighed. In a few hours, Scott would be awake enough to be agitated about his bedbound status.  He’d need a sponging down, too wary of a bath and panicky under a shower to try either of those methods again any time soon.  Bandages would need to be checked and changed, artificial skin to be eyed critically as it assisted with the regrowth of real skin on the worst-affected injuries.

Maybe they’d be able to get him to the den, Gordon’s nemesis the hoverchair waiting in the wings for a new passenger.  Pass a few hours with some family movies and appreciate that they hadn’t been fractured apart yet again.  Laugh and enjoy life, forget about the Hood rotting away in some WASP cell.

Maybe they could spend the day like that, no responsibilities, just a healing family together.  But for the moment, Virgil watched the brother he’d almost let slip through his fingers sleep, safe and getting-there-sound, and tried to forget the what-ifs that plagued him.

Fin

[ichorflame]

          @hypnosuwu​ — ♛.

          Tender DREAMS held the young prince aloft across the sea of unconsciousness. Nestled beneath plush blankets, his slight form was all but entirely obscured in a warm cocoon. A slow, rhythmic intake of breath was all that echoed within his private chamber — for none dared disturb the son of Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Not so out of fear, but rather out of pity did they allow Prince Zagreus to dwell within the realm of SLEEP a bit longer. For upon waking he would be confronted with the ever-inescapable wrath of his father. Despite the Underworld being well immersed with the element of fire, the gaze of Lord Hades held not a shred of warmth when set upon his indolent son. Not that Zagreus was entirely void of blame; his slothful nature and utter reluctance to live up to any degree of princely expectations was entirely of his own volition.

          To put it simply, the godling was undeniably LAZY and had little interest in the managerial aspect of his father’s house. 

          Perhaps this was in part due to his divine lineage, for what care does an immortal have for the finer aspects of DEATH? The concept is strictly mortal in design, thus Zagreus found little interest in the demands of the afterlife. While he did not necessarily see mortals as beneath him — rather the opposite, he found them fascinating — but such a delicate process would no doubt be disturbed, if not incinerated, by his aid. Experience begot understanding, and, lacking in such, how could he ever expect to properly assist the shades which oversaw the tedious work that kept the Underworld functioning? It was a fool’s endeavor and a DISASTER waiting to happen. One would think that after a fair few near-successful escape attempts and several centuries of records quite literally going up in flames, Hades would reconsider his son’s position in managing his house. 

          Yet no change was to be had, much to the dismay of numerous overworked shades. Oh, to be rid of the prince who was not so courteous as to even present for work in a timely manner.

          On the subject, Zagreus was — yet again — late for work. 

          Unbeknownst to him, time marched on outside his dreams ⟅ and his father’s ire surely increasing in his absence ⟆. This particular ILLUSION he was more than a little reluctant to depart and return to the waking world. Unclear, his mind’s eye could not decipher much from the dizzying, technicolor blur of his dream. Flashes of vivid hues dappled with a pair of dazzling evergreen eyes — unconditional LOVE in their verdant gaze — and intertwined among them flaxen tendrils glistening like endless fields of golden wheat. Perhaps if he reached, the little prince could grasp those fading strands, immerse himself in the gentle aroma of delphinium which graced that CROWN. However, same as always, the vision would gradually dissipate to leave him void of its tender light...once more cold, and alone in the DARKNESS. 

          Panic would grip him, familiar, yet no less startling to abruptly cast him back to REALITY in a tangle of bedsheets upon the cool tile floor. An inelegant heap upon the stone, Zagreus let a breathless sigh escape his fair lips. Should he squeeze his eyes shut against the rigid interior and flickering light of his bed chamber, perhaps he could still cling to the remnants of that dream? But the nagging sensation that he was inexcusably forgetting ⟅ read: dismissing ⟆ certain obligations would not let him linger. A grunt of exertion and the immortal was on his fire-touched feet, ready to start a day — or NIGHT — that had long since left him in its wake. 

         Despite his delay, the prince’s gate was far from hurried, if not dragging to prolong the inevitable CONFRONTATION with his father. Outside his private quarters, the House of Hades was lulled by the monotonous demands of supervising the dearly departed. The lounge across the hall was relatively at peace, save for the bustle of a few pots and pans and the cheerful hums of a certain gorgon. Shades shuffled about their business, tossing the occasional wordless greeting to the house’s heir in their vague expressions. Zagreus returned them in kind, with a nod of his head or brief wave in passing. 

          His mother, Nyx, was no where to be seen, much to his disappointment. At the very least Lord Hades had vacated the throne room — confirmed as he peered somewhat sheepishly around a grandiose pillar. To the left of the gargantuan desk lay the imposing form of CERBERUS, curled up as any ordinary hound and not one bearing three menacing heads. No matter how quiet his approach, one head was disturbed from its slumber. The great beast snuffled and tossed its shaggy crimson coat ⟅ several tufts dancing through the air to decorate the interior ⟆ and peeked one luminous emerald eye at the prince’s arrival. Quick-witted, Zagreus held a finger to his lips, signaling the highly intelligent canine to alert no one of his arrival. Cerberus was quick to obey the command of his favored immortal.

          ...And none too soon as it became evident they were not ALONE in the throne room.

          Blatant snores heralded the presence of a certain deity as the prince tiptoed around the corner. HYPNOS remained at his usual post, manning the entrance to the throne room to monitor newly arriving shades by the Pool of Styx. And, as per the usual, he appeared to be slumbering on the clock. The godling was hardly surprised in part due to the frequency of this behavior — which bordered on habitual — but also Hypnos being the embodiment of SLEEP itself. Were anyone to dare and doze off on the job with little repercussion, it would be him ⟅ Zagreus would know, for he too has nodded off and received no small amount of grief in turn ⟆. With his brother, Thanatos, nowhere in sight, who was to disturb him?

         Why, the LITTLE PRINCE, of course. 

         On silent steps, Zagreus made his approach like a predator hunting prey. The opportunity was far too tempting to pass on a harmless prank. A teasing smirk already began to curl his features at the thought of pulling one over on his entirely unaware KIN. Each step was calculated, mindful not to wake his target. Inch by inch, he neared ever closer, pausing only when Hypnos stirred in his dreaming. 

         Oh, what to do with you, my dear brother...?

         Possibilities blossomed in his MISCHIEVOUS mind, all manners tricks now at his fingertips. Craning his head up slightly, he eyed the snoozing god — eye mask slipping to obscure his features. A few tentative plans came to his childish musings, but all were tossed aside as a single leaf of crimson bay laurel drifted into his line of sight. The laurel crown upon his head — its leaves ever-falling like dying EMBERS — presented the perfect test: Just how deeply does the God of Sleep and Dreams slumber?

         Delicate stem pinched between his thumb and forefinger, his free hand rose to clasp his mouth in an attempt to smother preemptive fits of LAUGHTER. Cautiously, he lifted the leaf to the upturned nose of the leisurely floating Hypnos. His intent was clear: just a quick tickle. Would he wake with a start? Or  — if Zagreus could only be so lucky — smack himself directly to cease his incessant teasing?

          Only time would tell...but hopefully not drag on as the prince’s abs already ached from barely restrained giggles.