#<- and then sneak in to escape any revenge

[squidsinashirt]

Y’know, I think I might just lap the island a few more times before I land…

Shame, that’s a real shame.

You’ll never know 😏 but thanks anyway, I’m a fiver up when PCW pays up.

Your favourite photo of the last month? 🥰

This was actually a really awesome swim and is really cool shot showing the light refraction but it also features the request of no less than 42 of my ask inbox because ‘you post V thirst but not S’ so…

Have at it, hellsite. You all owe me at least ten bucks each. I’ll waive the fee if you marry him and take him off my hands though 😏

[flopsxii]

random tokyo revengers head canons (most are x reader, a few aren’t.)

feat. sanzu haruchiyo, sano ‘mikey’ manjiro, mitsuya takashi, matsuno chifuyu, inui seishu, haitani rindou, baji keisuke, haitani ran, kokonoi hajime, kazutora hanemiya, sano shinichiro

tw. violence, drug usage.

my note: just some stuff that came to mind :P

𐙚 bonten!sanzu is definitely the type to make his victims play russian roulette, changing the odds each time to increase his excitement. he would also probably make his partner play if they were unfaithful.

𐙚 despite how aggressive everyone views mikey he is definitely a really affectionate lover. he would cling to you all night, light snores escaping his lips and becoming impossibly closer; tangling his legs with yours. however, sharing his food is a step too far for mikey, he would definitely find a seperate portion for you though!

𐙚 rather than confessing in a traditional sense, mitsuya would definitely confess to you through a letter and a heartfelt gift. most likely something he’s made himself, with you specifically in mind. with his heart on his sleeve and a shy smile on his lips, mitsuya would hand you a small bag, containing a letter with your name written messily on the front and also a neatly wrapped gift he hoped you’d love.

𐙚 one of chifuyu’s favourite ‘dates’ with you are days you spend by his side in his store. even if you just sat there looking impossibly beautiful and he rushed around the store with so many tasks ( arguable looking like he’s losing his mind), he’d feel somewhat calmer knowing you were there with him. plus, all the animals had someone to cuddle with, proving to customers how domesticated they were.

𐙚 seishu adores mundane things. cooking, cleaning, sleeping, showering, bike rides and shopping becoming that much more precious because you’re there. he’s sure that these things would be a bore to him if he were to be on his own. but ever since you came along, that has never been the case.

𐙚 despite how much time he already spends inside his store, chifuyu would definitely spend multiple evenings a week just playing with the animals and making sure they’re content rather than being a home. don’t worry, peke j comes to work with him and has so many new friends!

𐙚 rindou definitely runs his sets by you. if you praise it then he is hyped to present it to an audience at he and ran’s club. it honestly depends on your reaction, if he’ll play this set or play it safe and reuse an old one.

𐙚 conveniently, all of mitsuya’s prototypes are your size and somehow every piece looks like it was made for you; which it probably was. at this point, mitsuya designs clothes subconsciously with your figure in mind and since they fit and look so good on you, you just happen to have to model each and every piece.

𐙚 going out on extravagant dates is never on keisuke’s agenda. it’s not because he doesn’t want to spoil you and show you off, he simply doesn’t feel the need to go on these types of dates. simply smoking a zoot with each other is so impossibly intimate, having deep talks with his lovely partner is all he could ever dream of. plus… saving money on snacks, za and movies is 100% better and he’s certain you agree too!

𐙚 no one could ever suspect it, but ran loves it when you colour in his tattoos. he’s sure his friends would poke fun at him, calling him a simp or any other insult they could think of, but seeing that smile on your face as you play such close attention… he would take any insult to see it again and again.

𐙚 there’s many reasons why koko loves you. maybe how ethereal you look, how supportive and loving you are towards him… but above all else, you could be one of the only people that don’t want him for money. koko will send you money as a surprise, so you can buy yourself something nice but nine times out of ten, you will send it straight back. the other one time, you’ll come bounding home with a gift for him in your bag!

𐙚 mikey is definitely the type to sneak into your house late at night, whining about how he just missed you so much and he couldn’t wait till morning. most days, you’d wake up and find mikey almost on top of you when he wasn’t there the night before.

𐙚 if you happen to be related to any of toman, you can bet that instead of having one other brother, you now have a whole gaggle of them worrying about you. even if you’re out with your friends, you’re bound to find at least one member of toman nearby. just in case, of course!

𐙚 kazutora trusts you, keisuke and chifuyu more than anyone else and he’s been so thankful for his support system after his time in prison. however, no one sees the raw, vulnerable and so impossibly kazutora side of him. he thinks he’d been seen as weak but he’s so thankful he has you.

𐙚 he splits his time almost evenly, bikes and you. shinichiro loves both so much! however, he loves when he can mix both together! the feeling of your arms wrapped around his waist and your head leaning against his back… he couldn’t ever think of something so perfect. perhaps, he’ll build a bike just for you and then you can race each other!

𐙚 despite your hesitance, sanzu is definitely the type to convince you to try substances with him. ‘it’s a bonding experience!’ he’d exclaim, a red punisher on the tip of his tongue, taunting you to take it. his blown out pupils and cute smile is all the convincing you need before you press your lips against his, slipping the pill from his mouth and into yours.

𐙚 on the rare occasion that you do accept an expensive gift that kokonoi gives you, he’s overwhelmed with happiness when he sees you wear it or use it during your daily life. he loves that he can spoil you!

𐙚 ran loves that you and rindou share a close friendship. aside from you, rindou is who he trusts the most and the fact that he can spend time with both of you at the same time… it’s just a dream come true!!

[limethefirst]

So one, your fics are amazing like omg. Two can i make a request? For movie shadow x a reader who maybe has been seriously injuired and maybe gets close to death just like maria did after shadow had gotten close to them so shadows rushing them out to try and get help from gerald or just anyone after they infultrated gun. Not wanting the next person he cares about to die.

Pain

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

warnings: minor sonic 3 spoilers, mentions of death, injury, bodily harm

summary: after a mission gone wrong, Shadow finds you and tries his hardest to save you before it’s too late

a/n: im happy you enjoy my shadow fics I genuinely cannot express how grateful I am to see so many kind words coming from so many different people🥹 here’s your request! I hope you like it <3

You weren’t asked to infiltrate GUN, no, that was something volunteered to do. You planned to sneak in and insert the chip needed to deactivate the system for the Robotniks to activate the vault.

Simple in and out with no casualties, but you weren’t able to get out, caught in the cross fire that your boss was causing up above in the vault.

Your chest began to tighten as you tried to get out, but every hall had a surge of security roaming, per orders of the new lady in charge. So there you were, suck at the bottom of the building that you had no idea how to get out of.

Then there it was, a loud booming noise causing the entire structure to rumble; slightly knocking you off your feet. You fell to your knees trying to stabilize yourself as the rumbling stopped, but before you had a chance to use this a way of escaping the ceiling above you began to crack.

Quickly snapping your head up you cursed yourself for even volunteering to do this, a testament to try and prove your worth to Robotnik was the whole idea behind it.

Slowly the ceiling above you collapsed in some places, narrowing your route of escape. Your mind was racing with millions of plans on how to get out. You sent a small distress signal to your team, alerting them of your location in case they could get you out.

Just as you’d done that the small bits of ceiling that had fallen were right above where you were trying to run. The door was in front of you and freedom from this was nearer than you’d originally thought.

Not wasting anytime you bolted for the door, once you made it you tried to open it, only to realize that there was something holding it shut. You were trapped with no way to get out.

You stood there, still trying to push at the door when a sudden crack got your attention, before you could even react a chunk of the ceiling at hit you. It was painful and hard to see, the dawning reality of the situation making you panic.

Laying there felt like waiting for death to come, it was so scary, slowly you felt yourself losing consciousness. The stress and pain mixing leaving your body to shut down on itself.

Shadow saw the distress signal, he knew something was up, but he hesitated. He was about to leave, deciding maybe you could handle yourself. This was his chance to finally get revenge for Maria, then he stopped.

It was when he saw the building crumble in certain places, due to team Sonic’s muscle man, that he thought back to the signal you’d sent. He was torn but ultimately knew what he was going to do.

Teleporting there was mayhem, the bottom area where you should’ve been was terribly dirty, pieces of debris left and right. Then he saw you.

Your eyes were closed and your breathing was heavy, it looked like you had a cut in some places where the ceiling had hit you. His quills began to glow, indicating his intense emotion and rage that replaced his gloomy expression.

Shadow found himself at your side, trying to remove all of what was covering you without causing you any harm. He was fast but tried to stay calm, he knew he would be of no use if he rushed it.

Shadow was still kneeled at your side, this scene reminiscent of one he’d been at before. He tried to lift your back and head into his arms, he hadn’t teleported with humans before, but he had to in the moment.

Because Shadow knew he had to save you, and he only knew one person who would. So he rushed, rushed together find Gerald and plead with him to save you, that you were worthy of being saved, you had not wronged them there was no reason to let you die. Shadow would not let you die, he would not let the person had grown to care for die.

[lomlompurim]

What if instead of waking up in the mushroom body, sqq woke up in a doll.

Something something while lbh was away in the abyss, sqq without noticing offended a misterious (demonic-succubi-esque???) cultivator with a weird thing for making dolls. She had dolls all over her secret workshop that she very kindly let him into when she heard about the famous Xiu Ya sword being in the city.

What she wanted of him? Who knows, sqq couldn't bring himself to care. She probably wanted his money or try to steal his hair, the hair of those dolls seemed very much like real hair, although he had to admit the level of details on these dolls were amazing.

(she wanted to trick him into buying one of her cursed dolls and steal his life energy little by little, but got wifebeamed by widow sqq during their conversation about how talented she was to be able to make so many dolls, and without really understanding he rejected her with little to no emotion on his face)

So she cursed him, and since sqq didn't feel anything bad at the moment he thought it just didn't work and left, not sparing the curse a single thought after their encounter.

The rest of the story goes as usual, excep that after he self detonates his soul doesn't go into the mushroom body, instead it got directly into the shape of a doll in the workshop of this woman.

His first thought is thinking someone snitched the mushroom body bc wtf wasn't he supposed to wake up under the dirt??? Why this place smells slightly familiar? Like paint and humidity and floral perfumes?? and why everything looks fucking giganourmus?!?! A teapot should NOT look that big from his position....Oh no, did the mushroom body turned out as small as a squirrel? WhAT is happening?!

And then he looks at his arms and legs, and he has joints. White paper skin with joints in his wrists, elbows, torso, waist, knees, feet. And he panics, a lot.

The woman who cursed him starts monologuing about how she trapped him now, and you are mine, I made this doll specially for you master shen, this is my revenge for your insolence to leave me yada yada- Sqq stoped listening a while ago.

Somehow he manages to escape from this woman and now he is roaming around as the size of some apples. Everything is huge. Everything is dangerous, even the grasshopers! And this body is fragile! He can't feel heat nor cold, neither hunger or other things, but he is useless with no spiritual veins inside, and if someone is not looking carefully, they might crush him. And the way back to cq is gonna be a hell of a trip! But he needs airplane to fix this. He can't stay as a doll forever! He needs a mushroom body and then fly into the sunset far from this mess! Adiós! Goodbye! So his new plan is to infiltrate into cang qiong, look for that rat and disappear. Sneaking into some disciple's pouch must be enough to break in.

Something something it only had passed a few months since lbh stole sqq's body and everything is still very fresh. CQ mountain is a hot mess. Sqh frankly needs to lay down and take a nap. Lqg keeps figthing with Lbh practially every day and coming back beaten bloody, he has his king pestering him and a lot of paperwork to do, Lbh is a pain in the ass, Yqy is really close to snap and start a war with HHP, and he knows nothing about his bro. So yeah. Such a great time to be alive.

The mushroom bodies should had been ready, right? He must be alright...Yeah. He has enough already to keep him busy. Cucumber bro is gonna come out and stumble across at any moment. No one would bat an eye if he takes a nap, right? He deserves it. He is overworked enough for another lifetime, his head hurts, his bones hurt everywhere, a short nap should be fine...

Until he feels something small tugging his robes and a cold tiny finger poking his eyelids. But he doesn't want to. He is very comfortable on the floor of his office. Whatever bird decided to pick a fight with his face can keep trying.

"AIRPLANE, WAKE UP, YOU HACK! I NEED YOU TO FIX THIS! WHY IS A WITCH WITH ANACHRONISTIC HAUNTED DOLLS IN THIS NOVEL? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

That voice. That fucking annoying voice was of just one person and one person only. He opened his eyes, looking for the source of the unmistakable voice of his No1 hater, but he came across with a pretty porcelain doll. With a very ugly sneer in it's face.

"W-Wha-?...Bro-?!"

"Fucking finally! Why are you sleeping on the floor in your ofice?! I was looking around your bedroom like an idiot! Do you know how close I was to falling from your window?!"

-TBC-

[inkcrowsnest]

Birdcage

You feel the cold grip of fear course through your veins. One moment you were sitting by the campfire waiting for the Destined One / Sun Wukong to come back the next a group of yaoguai showed up and took you captive. Large clawed hands ding into your arm as you’re lifted effortlessly off the ground. Kicking, screaming, you do everything in your power to escape. 

But it’s useless. You're dragged further and further away. 

Taken to a cave deep within the mountain, the cavernous lair is cold and haunting. It stinks of flesh and rot. Littered on the ground are bones of people who met an unfortunate end. You’re going to die. That’s the only thought running through your head.

But to your surprise the leader of the group has different plans. Instead of being turned into dinner, you're thrown into a massive birdcage. The bars are too narrow for you to squeeze through and you have nothing in hand to pick the lock. 

A day and night passes. 

You’re left to your own devices inside that lonely birdcage. With only the occasional visit. Your kidnapper does nothing, simply watches you inside your cage. You cling on to the hope that soon you’ll be rescued.

Destined One

[-] Starts to immediately go on the search for you the moment he realizes you’re gone.

[-] His one goal is to find you and make sure you are safe. His eyes narrow as he looks for any clues that will lead him to you. When he does find the cave, he initially sneaks inside but is spotted.

[-] The ensuing fight is a mess. His staff is swung left and right. Pushing through the enemy until he reaches you.

[-] Busting open the birdcage, DO rushes to your side. Pulls you into a hug and immediately starts to check you for injuries. When he’s sure that you’re okay, he’s going to slump against you.

[-] The stress of worry finally caught up to him. Both of you walk out of that cave together,exhausted but relieved.

[-] He’s going to follow you everywhere. Need to collect herbs and vegetables for dinner that day, he’s going to be at your side carrying anything you find. Need to take a bath, well better be comfortable with sharing a bath. 

[-] You’re going to have to reassure him that everything will be alright. And only after you’ve given him kisses will he relax.

Sun Wukong

[-] WHO WOULD DARE KIDNAP YOU?! Sun Wukong, known for wreaking havoc in heaven, earth, and the underworld, is beyond  furious. It’s not a matter of if he’ll find you, but a matter of when he’ll find you.

[-] Will do anything within his power to get you back. If he can’t do it on his own, he’ll threaten to cause another incident in heaven if they don’t help get you back.

[-] When he does find out where you are being kept, his first instinct is to storm in and take you. But, not wanting to risk you getting hurt, Wukong transforms into a small beetle and sneaks inside.

[-] Seeing you inside a birdcage causes him to detransform. The fight that follows is bloody. He shows no mercy to those that kidnapped you.

[-] By the time he’s done, you know that no one would think about ever kidnapping you.

[-] Wukong is going to check to make sure that you’re alright. Will tend to any wounds you may have gotten. Will make sure that you eat something and will stay by your side. 

[-] For the next couple of days, Wukong is going to be clingy. He’ll never admit it, but the thought that you could have died keeps him up at night. He has a lot of enemies that want revenge and any of them could try to hurt you.

[-] Keeps you within sight and reach. His tail is going to be wrapped around your waist or wrist.

[-] Is going to hold you closer at night, dreading the idea of waking up to you gone. He’ll only ease up when he knows you can protect yourself. Expect to get personal one-on-one training with him.

[britishassistant]

Three Little Words (x Infinity)

Yuu looks him in the eyes and says, solemnly, “I love you.”

The notebook page they’re holding up reads “Pick a god and start fucking praying Trappola.”

In his defense, it was an accident!

So maybe he thought it’d be funny to sneak a frog eye down the back of Grim’s lab coat as revenge for his stolen bread earlier.

And maybe Grim had shrieked, leaping up and clinging onto Deuce’s face as he tried to escape from the slimy sensation.

And maybe Deuce, blinded and suffocated by fur, had begun flailing wildly and managed to knock Yuu into the cauldron where the potion they were meant to make was brewing.

“So,” He finishes with a flourish. “It was all an innocent mistake! No one’s to blame here.”

“NO, YOU’RE DEFINITELY IN THE WRONG!!” Deuce and Grim yell.

“I love you.” Yuu seethes through gritted teeth. “I love you, I love you, I—”

“Down.” Professor Crewel’s riding crop thwacks the table in front of them. “You bad boys are certainly deserving of some discipline, and remedial lessons. The potion you were meant to be brewing was one of False Appearance, created by the benevolent Witch of the Seas so that those she helped could appear as their love’s ideal.”

His crop hovers an inch or two away from Ace’s nose. “So tell me, puppy, what did you add to the draught that left the Prefect like this?”

“Uh.” Ace wracks his brain. “I, I mean, we followed the recipe exactly, right? Two grams of walrus whiskers—”

“Grams?” Deuce interrupts. “Wasn’t it milligrams?”

“What? No.” Ace points to the worksheet where the instructions are listed. “Look, it says g, not mg. How’d you add a whole letter that’s not there?!”

“Oh.” Deuce has gone pale, eyes flicking over the rest of the list. “B-but we did everything else right, Professor! We added the apple blossom petals, the ground seashell was meant to come later, the muse’s heartstrings…eh? We didn’t have a vial of distorted mirror shards, did we?”

“Oh, s’that what that was?” Grim folds his paws. “The silvery stuff was so sweet and crunchy, I thought it was a snack for us.”

“Since when does Crewel give us snacks during class?!” Ace hisses. “Also if you thought it was food, why didn’t you share, huh?!”

“I love you.” Yuu’s head is buried in one hand. With the other, they scrawl, “I’m throwing you all out of a window.”

“It’s almost impressive.” Professor Crewel raises an immaculate eyebrow. “Through your thorough botching of this recipe, you bad puppies have managed to create an entirely new potion that renders the drinker unable to say anything other than declarations of love. If it had any practical use, we’d be talking about submitting your results to an academic forum.”

“However, given how little walrus whisker was put in, it’s difficult to say if these compelled confessions are true or false,” Ace feels a chill go down his spine.

The professor glares at them. “I can say that it will be exceptionally tricky to craft an antidote, especially given that we have no way of knowing how permanent these effects are.”

“I love you.” Yuu’s voice is strangled as they write. “I love you.”

“What’s going to happen to me then? Am I stuck like this?”

“Hopefully not, but we’ll see.” Professor Crewel sighs. “I will do my upmost to create a draught that can reverse these effects. You bad boys are to serve detention to help me do so, and supervise the Prefect at all other times to ensure their condition remains stable, and that they do not cause unnecessary turmoil to others. Understood?”

The four of them share a Look.

Crewel pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering. “By the Seven, I’m too old for this shit.”

[applemilkie]

Masterlist for Tokyo Revengers

Master's Masterlist

General/Multiple Characters:

milky-mink's masterlist (mostly Tokyo Rev.)

Yeosatinyngz's Tokyo Rev. Masterlist

b-0-ngwat-3-r-deactivated202404's Masterlist 🪦

Their hand slips during arguement (Taiju, Kazutora, & Hanma) (sfw)

Tokyo Rev. charts, random (sfw)

Tokyo Rev. Men (basically all) ~ as BF HC when they get jealous (contains some nsfw)

Tokyo Rev. Men in heels HC (sfw)

Tiktok thin-eyebrow prank on Tokyo Rev. Men (Draken, Nahoya, & Souya) (sfw)

Tokyo Rev. Men reacting to South being a caring older brother (Takemichi, Draken, Mikey, & Baji) (sfw)

S/O is lonely at school, what bf does (Smiley, Rindou, & Kazutora) (sfw)

Yandere!Mikey, Chifuyu, Izana, Ran ~ HC s/o's parents demand break up for safety (sfw)

How ppl found out ur dating (lit any popular + pretty male character) (sfw)

Tokyo Rev. Boyfriend HC (Mikey, Draken, Baji, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, Hakkai, Kazutora) (sfw)

They accidentally brush ur hand with theirs (Mikey, Draken, Chifuyu, Kazutora, Mitsuyu, Hanma, Kisaki, Baki, Smiley, & Angry) (sfw)

Sentences from their s/o that makes them cry (draken & Mikey) (sfw)

Pregnancy Announcement (chifuyu, Souya, & Nahoya) (sfw)

Yandere Headcanons (Hanma & Senju) (sfw)

You're a cheater (Emma, Takemitchi, Mitsuya, Kokonoi, Manjiro, Hakkai, Wakasa, & Izana) (sfw)

What age Toyko men like (sfw)

How Tokyo Rev. Characters Camp (sfw)

A Brief Description of Toman at an Amusement Park (sfw)

Bonten:

Yandere!Bonten ~ Executive reader being 10x closer with her secretary (sfw)

Yandere!Bonten ~ Finding you again later on in life (sfw)

Yandere!Bonten ~ Making Bentos for them (sfw)

Yandere!Bonten ~ Escape them + getting captured + ur preggo (sfw)

Mikey:

Yandere!Mikey ~ Forgotten Marriage Promise (nsfw)

Yandere!Mikey ~ HC of Darling who secretly shares Candy (sfw)

Yandere!Mikey ~ as a soft yan(sfw)

Yandere!Mikey ~ Escaped him and left (sfw)

⇡ pt.2. he finds u

Yandere!Mikey ~ You'll always be mine (sfw)

Baji:

Yandere!Vampire!Baji ~ My Bloody Valentine (nsfw)

Yandere!Baji ~ Bare your teeth for me (nsfw)

Yandere!Ghost!Baji ~ Alone no more (sfw)

Yandere!Baji and Kazutora ~ HC (sfw)

Kazutora:

Bully!Kazutora x reader ~ Want you so bad (nsfw)

Yandere!Kazutora x reader ~ Birthday Stalker (nsfw)

Tiger Hybrid!Kazutora (nsfw)

Step-brother!Kazutora x reader (nsfw)

Kazutora x reader angst ~ The other women (sfw) (This one hurted me badd)

Yandere!Kazutora ~ Bloody Love Letters (nsfw)

⇡pt.2. Yandere!Kazutora ~ Bloody Love Letters (nsfw)

⇡pt.3. Yandere!Kazutora ~Bloody Love Letters (nsfw)

Yandere!Kazutora and Baji ~ HC (sfw)

Hanma:

A Round of Poker (nsfw)

sneaking into ur room (nsfw)

Kisaki:

Kisaki violating Takemichi's gf (nsfw)

crushing on ur boss (nsfw)

ex-bf sells u too Kisaki (nsfw)

Nahoya:

How would they treet you quiz ~ Yandere (sfw)

Souya:

Yandere!Souya gets jealous (sfw)

Yandere!Souya ~ Jealous ogre (sfw)

Sanzu:

Sanzu's phases all put tgt in a room (sfw)

Basic (Canon Info abt him) (sfw)

Daughter of Manjiro (nsfw)

Kakucho:

Yandere!Kakucho ~ Baby Trapping (nsfw)

Yandere!Kakucho ~ as ur secret admirer HC (sfw)

Yandere!Kakucho ~ Not just some stupid crush (sfw)

Izana:

Yandere!Izana ~ w/ a Nanny Darling (nsfw)

Taiju:

Yandere!Taiju ~ Reader gets kidnapped and lives with him HC (sfw)

Wakasa:

Yandere!Wakasa ~ How he handled reader's rejection (sfw)

Pah Chin:

Pah Chin appreciation (sfw)

[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter one: falling for me, dear?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Slytherin!reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating

Chapter one summary: While trying to hide from your ex-boyfriend Mattheo, you run into a potential ally and the scheming starts.

Warning: Swearing, allusion to cheating

Author's note: I prefer using I instead of you to refer to the reader. Feel free to comment if you’d like me to tag you when the next one goes live.

Aahh I'm so excited to publish this! It's my first time writing fan fiction and doing a series. I used to write fictional one shots years ago when I was 15. Anyway, enjoy reading! Happy to receive feedback.

main masterlist | series masterlist | chapter two: practice?

What is Mattheo Riddle doing in the library at this hour? He’s supposed to be in class.

I close my book and grab my bag. Trying to tame my racing heart, I sneak off to the shelves. He can’t see me, nope. He no longer has the privilege to interact with me in any way, not since he broke my heart.

I curse inward, walking back, further down the shelves. My eyes dart from him and the exit, mapping out my escape plan. If I wait for him to pass the next five rows of shelves, I can—

“Oof,” I drop my book as I hit something behind me. No, not something. Someone.

I nearly fall but then strong arms catch me. “Falling for me, dear?” I hear a deep, playful voice. Lorenzo Berkshire, we knew each other casually but he and Mattheo are rivals despite being half brothers so I never had much opportunities to speak to him when we dated.

“Ha, funny Berkshire. Maybe if you didn’t randomly stand by shelves, then people wouldn’t knock into you,” I say grabbing my things off the floor and composing myself.

He raises an eyebrow, “maybe if you didn’t walk backwards, you’d actually see where you’re walking.”

“Maybe if your brother stuck to his schedule and he was where he needed to be then I wouldn’t have to go sneaking around the damn library at my damn school. Like I’m the one who did something wrong,” I reply.

“First of all, it’s half brother. And second—what?” His eyebrows knit together.

“Why are you avoiding Mattheo?” His voice softens.

I look away from him and my cheeks burn. “I just don’t want to see him,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. It’s been three weeks yet the memories felt fresh in my mind. A night of forbidden kisses and broken promises. I can feel my eyes sting and it takes everything in me to hold it all in. 

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but knowing Mattheo, it was definitely his fault,” he says. I look at his grinning face and smile back. 

“Listen,” he leans in conspiratorially and holds his arm out to lean on the shelf.

Footsteps grow louder as Mattheo approaches, watching you smiling up at Lorenzo while he stands intimately close to you. “Get a room!” He chides.

Lorenzo smirks at you then turns to face his brother, “stalk much? If you missed me, brother, you could have just called.”

“Fuck off, Enzo,” Mattheo bites out. “I heard a thud and had to see what is was about.”

“Always looking for trouble,” Lorenzo tsked. “You know what? I’ll take your advice. I’ll fuck off and we’ll get a room.” He turns towards me, “what do you say?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I take his hand and force a smile, looking at Mattheo for the first time in weeks. God, I missed his brown eyes and those dark curls.

I inwardly slap myself to stay focused. “Thanks for the advice, Mattheo,” I say sweetly. I hold my head high and leave the library with Enzo, my sadness transformed to anger.

“Thanks for the save,” I bump my shoulder against Lorenzo’s once we’re far enough away from the library. 

He bumps my shoulder back, “any chance I can annoy Mattheo is a great opportunity in my book.”

“So listen,” I start, an idea forming in my head. “What if we continue to annoy him?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” He asks.

“By continuing this” I point between us. I didn’t expect it but I felt courageous speaking to Mattheo earlier when I was with Enzo. It felt good.

Lorenzo smirks, “darling, if you wanted to date me, all you have to do is ask.”

I hit his shoulder playfully, “fake date. Honestly, I’m still getting over Mattheo. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m not yet ready to date for real.”

“Let’s do it!” He agrees enthusiastically.

“Wait,” I stop walking. “You agreed too easily, what’s in it for you?”

“Aside from the kindness of my own heart?” He smirks. I roll my eyes.

“Fine. Here’s a tale as old as time: my father wants me to marry a pureblood. Given my dating history, he doesn’t trust me to make the right decision so he’s been setting me up with his friends’ and allies’ daughters this past year. Now normally I don’t mind wining and dining with beautiful ladies, but at this point, I’m exhausted,” he sighs.

I frown, “Shit, that’s a lot of pressure. But why? We’re still young.”

“Right, but he wants to have a strategic marriage that will keep our social status or even elevate it,” Enzo explains.

I catch on, “My father is influential in the political sphere so it would definitely help you.”

“We don’t actually have to date, don’t worry. But it’s enough to keep him off my back just until we graduate and then I’ll have more room to breathe.”

“So that’s why Mattheo was annoyed earlier! If we date, he’ll think you might marry me and then his ex-girlfriend would be his sister in law,” I realize. 

“Exactly, it’s a win-win situation,” Lorenzo grins then looks at his watch. “I have class in ten minutes. Meet me at my dorm later so we can go over the details in private?” I nod in agreement.

Lorenzo leans closer, “can I kiss you on the forehead?”

“Why of course, fake boyfriend,” I whisper with a small smile, finding an odd comfort in his proximity as he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. A few students around us whisper, witnessing something new to gossip about. 

Fake dating, what could go wrong?

main masterlist | series masterlist | chapter two: practice?

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 7

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: non-explicit smut, Geta being an oblivious jerk

Chapter word count: 2.7k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Daphne didn't come back for a long time. Geta finished bathing and put on the clean tunic she had set aside for him, and still she hadn't returned to the hut. Feeling slightly worried and wondering if he had offended her somehow, he made his way outside to look for her.

A full moon was casting its light over the hills. Every stone, every leaf was painted in silver, and the lingering heat of the day felt less intense in such a cool, tranquil world. Even the insects were quiet. The only sound that broke the silence was Geta's own wheezing breath—the bath had tired him out more than he realized—and a splashing sound coming from the cistern. He turned toward it.

Daphne was sitting on a rock by the cistern, with her back to him. She was bathing, just as he had, by pouring water over herself using a dipper.

Looking at her, Geta suddenly understood why poor Actaeon had risked the wrath of Diana and death by his own hounds to spy on the goddess. He'd thought that Daphne looked like Aurora in the light of the rising sun, and now, under the moon, she had transformed yet again into Luna. In that silvery light, her body glowed with its own radiance, and drops of water on her skin sparkled like diamonds, so he couldn't tell where her flesh ended and moonlight began.

His arousal came back with a vengeance, a stiffening fire coursing through him, throbbing, aching, and he stood stock still on the hillside overlooking the garden, too mesmerized to even turn away. Had he been stronger, had it been any woman other than Daphne, he would not have hesitated to storm down to the cistern and take her right there and then, but a little voice in his mind told him that Daphne would not take kindly to that. He reminded himself that she was the only person standing between him and certain death, and it would make things rather awkward for him if he were to force himself on her. But it was more than that. Even now, sitting naked as she was, something about her struck him with awe, something stern and imposing, not physically but spiritually, something he dared not touch, lest he sullied it.

Just as he'd decided to return to the hut and take matters into his own hands, Daphne called to him, her voice ringing loud and clear in the stillness of the night. "Romulus? That you?"

Hades. How did she know? Had he made that much noise coming into the garden, or had she eyes on the back of her head? Now would be the time to apologize for spying on her, or even to sneak away as silently as he could, but he only mumbled, "Yes."

"Are you going to stay there?"

"Why?"

He couldn't see her face, but from the sudden turn of her neck, he could guess at the flush creeping up her face. "Because I like to get up, and I've forgotten my towel," she said quietly.

Her confession sent a lightning stroke through him. She was in his power now. He could do what he wanted with her.

But what did he want with her, exactly?

"I can fetch it for you," he said. His voice came out breathier than he'd expected, probably because the walk down to the garden had tired him. If not, why was his heart beating so heavily in his chest?

"Please."

But he didn't. Instead, he sidled down the garden path to the cistern. This close, the scent of soapwort was stronger than ever, making him lightheaded. He could just see the slope of her shoulders, the curves of her waist and hips, a hint of the soft swells of her breasts behind the washcloth she was clutching close to her chest. Her skin looked so smooth and white, but he imagined it would be cold and hard as marble upon touch.

"Are you still there?" she asked, after a moment.

"... Yes."

"My towel?" she prompted.

He balled his hands into fists. What was the matter with him? He had never been cowed by a woman before, and he'd be damned to the pits of Tartarus if he was to be cowed by this peasant woman now. A new but familiar fire—the fire of rage—rose within him and momentarily blotted out the fire of lust. Who did she think she was to order him about so? Did she think she could reduce him to a blushing, blubbering mess just because she was sitting before him naked? Or was this a clumsy attempt to seduce him? By Jupiter, he had seen thousands of naked women. In his bed at the palace and at the camps, in the baths, at orgies, even in the Colosseum, as female gladiators or criminals facing punishment. Only rarely did they move him. He would show her that just because he'd taught her to read and held her hand and comforted her, it didn't mean he was some village boy for her to toy with as she pleased.

The cistern was dug into the side of the hill, and with Daphne's position, right on its edge, facing the slope, the only way he could face her was running down the slope himself. He refused to go to the trouble.

"Turn around," he said.

She stiffened. "Why?"

"I want to look at you."

"...Why?" There was no anger or fear in her voice, only genuine curiosity.

"You've seen me naked, but you won't let me see you?"

It took a while for her to answer. "That's different," she said. "You were ill and I had to wash you. I took no pleasure from it."

"Who says I'm taking pleasure from this?" he said, unable to stop a smirk.

Daphne twisted her head around. Just as with her voice, there was no anger in her eyes, but the look in them wiped the smirk off his face. It was a searching, probing, penetrating look, seeking something only she knew.

"You didn't fetch the towel," she said.

"I told you, I want to look at you." Now he knew what he wanted with her. He wanted to see her squirm in front of him. He wanted to see those sharp eyes veiled by her dark lashes. He wanted to see those strong lips quivering in fear and more. He wanted to tame her. He wanted—Hades, he just wanted her.

"Turn around," he said again.

Without realizing it, he had used his imperial voice, the voice that once sent senators and soldiers scrambling to do his bidding, the tone that once sent concubines and prostitutes to their knees. Yet Daphne barely even blinked. Still keeping her eyes on him, she got to her feet and stood facing him. Before Geta could take a good look at her, or indeed even feel the thrill of having won, she raised her hand, removed the pins holding her hair, and, with one shake of her head, covered herself with its dark mass. Then she picked up her things and stalked away, her head held high, her hair streaming behind her like a cape.

Alone on the hillside, Geta watched her disappear into the hut. He didn't quite understand what had just happened. Somehow Daphne had bested him, though at what, he couldn't tell.

***

She shouldn't have talked about Galen, Daphne reflected, as she sat by the kitchen table in her chiton, combing out her damp hair. It had brought back so many memories, both sweet and painful, and they, in turn, had stirred up her feelings so much that her mind became muddled. Why else had she—had she—why, she'd practically exposed herself to a man, a stranger!

Her cheeks flushed when she remembered the moment by the cistern again. So he'd wanted to look at her, hadn't he? Well, she hoped he'd had his fill.

Once she'd gotten her clothes on, Romulus had slunk in after her and gone to bed without a word. At least he'd had the grace to look embarrassed. Daphne wanted to feel embarrassed as well, but the heat burning her up from the inside was quite different from shame.

She had been feeling that heat for a while now, ever since that morning they watered the garden together, perhaps even before that, ever since that disastrous day her father came looking for her and Romulus had pulled her into his arms. But it was definitely after the morning in the garden, when she started to notice how his eyes followed her with an unmistakable look, how his hands lingered on her, how he found every excuse to touch her or brush up against her. The fool probably didn't even know he was doing it.

Daphne knew she ought to feel offended, but somehow, she couldn't muster up the outrage. It certainly wasn't the first time she received such looks of lust from men, and certainly wasn't the first time she felt some stirrings within her either—after all, she was a healthy woman, past her prime perhaps, but not so old as to be completely devoid of want and urges. Only she'd had so few chances to pursue those urges. She wouldn't pretend that she had been celibate since Galen's death, but her love life in the past eight years had consisted mostly of quick, largely anonymous encounters with travelers who passed through the village or whom she met on her own travels, never with anyone so close to home. It was bad enough that her father was the village's drunk; she didn't need to gain a reputation as a trollop as well.

Sometimes, she wished she could remarry and not worry about her reputation, but she couldn't give up her independence, no matter how precarious it was, for such flimsy security. Most men looked at her and only saw a widow, an easy mark for their lust, nothing more. The Adala scribe was the only man whose intentions had been serious and honorable, but he had wanted her to move to town with him after they married, and she couldn't leave her hut and her work to become a housewife. And of course, there were the potential husbands that her father kept throwing at her, but most of them were his drinking and gambling cronies, and that would simply be trading one kind of prison for another.

But with Romulus, it was different. Since Galen, she had never spent so much time, close, intimate time, with a man who was not family. True, she didn't know anything about where he came from or who his people were, and he was exasperating and suspicious and possibly dangerous. Yet there was something in his eyes, something infinitely sad that sent stirrings to her heart, quite different from the stirrings that his touches and his looks sent to her loins. He tried to hide it beneath his usual scowl, but she could see it, perhaps because she often felt that sadness herself. It made her want to reach out to him, hold him, comfort him, and have him comfort her.

And then tonight... She had never talked about Galen with anyone, only her grandmother, who had been a widow herself and understood not just the grief but also the fear of finding oneself without a place, without a purpose, the disappointment of having to return to one's parents and going from being a wife to being a daughter again. Romulus probably didn't understand it, but he'd tried, by Hera, he'd tried. When he put his hand over hers, she'd almost burst into tears. It had been so long since anyone held her hand. Such a simple gesture, but it had endeared him to her forever. It didn't help that his back was there, so broad and sturdy, and the hollow between his shoulder blades was just the right shape for her to place her cheek. The moment their skins touched, a sudden wave of desire had crashed over her and settled everywhere—in her chest, her veins, and between her legs—burning with such a fire that it frightened her.

That was why she'd gone to the cistern. She'd thought that a cold bath would quench that fire.

It hadn't.

She'd heard him shuffling down the garden path, of course. She'd known he was standing there, watching her. And so she'd called out to him, just to see what he would do. Only when he hadn't done anything, she'd let her fear win and covered herself up again.

Daphne glanced at the closed door to the bedroom. What was he doing behind it? Asleep, or thinking of her as well? Back at the cistern, what would she have done if Romulus hadn't simply stood there and watched her with those dark, dark eyes? If he had pulled her into his arms, if he had kissed her, if he had done more than that, would she have welcomed it?

She asked herself all these questions, and the answer was "yes" to all of them. She liked him, for all his moods and mysteries. And—for Daphne was honest and pragmatic—there was the reason of convenience as well. Nobody knew Romulus was staying with her, and he would soon be gone, so a tryst with him would pose no threat to her way of life or her reputation as a respectable widow.

The fire continued to rise within her. She pushed the tip of her hairpin into her palm and pressed her knees together, trying to find some pressure for relief, but there was none. There was only the fire, pooling, pulsing in her lower belly.

Well, who would judge her? Not the dead. Not Galen, who had kissed her so tenderly before he left for Caledonia and told her not to wait for him. Not her grandmother, who Daphne believed had taken plenty of lovers herself after her own husband passed away from swamp fever, making her a widow at twenty-five with two young children. As for the living... they couldn't judge what they did not know.

She dropped the hairpin onto the table, letting her hair flow free. Then she got up, strode across the room in a few decisive steps, and opened the door to the bedroom.

The moon was dipping low now, leaving the lamp in the front room as the only source of illumination. Romulus was in bed but not asleep. She could tell he wasn't asleep, because even in the dim glow of the lamp, she saw his shoulders tense up the moment the door creaked open. But he didn't move, didn't turn around. He lay still as a statue, his face to the wall, breathing slowly, expectantly.

She took another step into the room. "Romulus?" she called. Her throat was dry. She swallowed, and swallowed again. "Could you help me unfasten my chiton, please?" she said. "The pin is stuck."

He turned around and sat up. He looked at her then, really looked at her, fixing his eyes on her instead of just stealing glances over his shoulder and behind tree branches. She doubted he could see much with the light of the lamp behind her, but she could see him, and the look in those dark, unfathomable eyes took her breath away and pinned her to the spot.

He got up and came over to her side. He didn't ask why she was taking her chiton off after she had just bathed. He didn't say a word. Silently, he fumbled with the pin on her shoulder. There was a tiny ping of the pin coming free, and the linen drape fell down, baring her breast. She heard him suck in a breath.

"The other side too," she told him. The other pin came off, and her chiton fell to the floor with a soft swish. They were standing close now, so close, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. She wondered if he could hear her heartbeats, which were so fast that she couldn't breathe.

His own breath felt hot against her neck. One of his hands closed about her waist, steering her to the bed, while with his other hand, he shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. She could no longer see anything, only feel his fingers stroking her, scorching on the cool skin of her belly and her thighs, feel the coarse linen sheets under her back and the softer linen of his tunic against her taut breasts, making her long for his hand, or better yet, his mouth there, and then feel the heat and weight of his body as he pulled the tunic up and pushed into her.

A small cry escaped her, more from surprise than pain. It didn't stop him, and she was glad, for she did not want him to stop.

Memories of her wedding night came to her mind then, unbidden—she a girl of seventeen, her poor Galen only a year older, the two of them giggling together, nervous and giddy. They'd planned to get married, but not for another year or two, until they had saved up enough money to properly start a life together. They'd thought they would have all the time in the world. What fools! That spring, Galen had been conscripted, and when they learned the ban on marriage for soldiers had been lifted, they had hastened to get married, not wanting to wait until Galen came back gods knew when. Even then, it hadn't occurred to either of them that he might not come back. They had been too young, too full of hope. It was a quick ceremony, witnessed by her grandmother and Master Kavos, who no doubt had been dragged there by the old woman on threats of death. Then Galen had carried Daphne over the threshold of his hut as traditions dictated, while her grandmother chastised them both for laughing.

Three days later he'd left, and six months later came the news he had been killed somewhere in the cold and faraway hills of Caledonia. Galen had been an orphan and left no will, and when some distant cousin turned up and kicked Daphne out of the hut, she'd had no choice but to go back to her parents. If it hadn't been for her grandmother, she would have been living with her parents still, with a heart full of grief and a barren belly, for they had not been together long enough for Galen to give her a child.

Three days. Only three days they'd had, just long enough for her to know what it was like to share her bed with someone else, but not long enough for her to memorize his shape or his touch.

None of her other lovers had reminded her of Galen. So why did Romulus? Why was her body rising to him as if it had always known him? Why did his touch, clumsy yet so confident, stir in her such a familiar fire? Why did her legs fit around his waist and her heels dig into the back of his thighs as if they were made to be there, why did her arms wrap around his back, pressing him to her as hard as he was pushing into her? And why, when he finished, leaving her with only a shimmering sweetness that hovered just beyond the edge of her skin, did she cling to him, wanting more?

But he was already retreating from her, body and mind. She held on to him, running her hand through his hair, damp with sweat, searching for his mouth, wanting to plant a kiss there, to seal this connection, this intimacy they'd just shared, but he turned away, and the kiss landed on the side of his neck instead. He pushed her off, as though her kiss was a bee's sting, and sat away from her, pulling his tunic down.

She lay there for a moment, sweat cooling on her skin, chilling her despite the warmth of a summer night, while he sat at the edge of the bed, a dark shape in the dark room, a stranger once more.

So he wasn't any different from her previous lovers then. Just another man.

When the silence became unbearable, she got up with a sigh, collected her chiton from the floor, and went into the front room.

The fire was reduced to embers, so she stoked it up and put the kettle on. While the water was heating, she cleaned herself up, put on a fresh tunic, and dug around the shelves until she found the jar of wild carrot seeds. It was running low—she must remember to gather more this autumn—but there should be enough, as long as none of her patients needed to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy. She ground up a handful of seeds in her mortar and added it to a cup of boiling water. Then, sipping the drink, she retreated to her cot, watching the garden outside the window under the murky half-light of the setting moon. A part of her hoped he would come and join her, but another part of her was relieved that he didn't. He was a stranger, she reminded herself. He would be gone soon. It would not do to get attached to him. What had just happened between them was an act of impulsion and empty passion, born out of loneliness, nothing more.

Chapter 8

The Romans did use wild carrot seeds as a sort of "morning after" pill. I chose it instead of the more commonly known herbal remedy of pennyroyal because apparently wild carrot seeds are safer. Don't quote me on that though!

I'm taking a break from Christmas through to the New Year, but I will be back in a couple of weeks. Thank you for all your support so far, and see you guys soon!

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

[french-unknown]

hiya, can i request hcs of straw hats reacting to their s/o getting seriously injured because of a marine?

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin 𝐂/𝐖: fluff, hurt/comfort 𝐀/𝐍: hiya! (〃´・ω・`)ゝ 𝐖/𝐂: 1k +

| m a s t e r l i s t |

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

✧ The escape that he had previously taken lightly, with all the crew arguing, immediately took on different propensities when you were hit in the chest by a bullet from a Marine soldier.

✧ Luffy suddenly stopped laughing when you collapsed.

✧ He asked the others to take you back to the boat safely while he was left alone behind. He even refused Zoro's help.

✧ He returned an hour after you and, as the boat moved away from the coast without being bothered by any world organization, he came to join you in the infirmary.

✧ Throughout your convalescence, his days consisted of keeping face with his crew and living their adventures but, as soon as evening came, he would sneak into the infirmary to talk to you about his day. He told it to you in every detail without doubting for a second that you would eventually open your eyes.

✧ You were a survivor in his eyes. Period.

✧ As soon as you woke up, he brought you a piece of meat before even kissing or cuddling you.

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

✧ From the moment you were injured and he looked up at your attacker, the Marine himself saw his life flash before his eyes.

The East Blue demon may have been on the other side of the battlefield, but he distinctly felt the drop of sweat running down his spine at the swordsman's murderous aura.

✧ On the other hand, so caught up in his revenge, Zoro didn't think about getting you out of the combat zone.

He stayed next to you in order to defend you at the cost of his life but, not for a single second, he thought it would be a good idea to send you to Chopper. He was too caught up in his rage to think about it.

✧ It was Robin who moved you to the boat and Zoro growled when he saw your body going away.

✧ His bounty had increased when you regained consciousness.

✧ You finally recovered but he didn't let go of you when the next fight arrived. He tried to discreetly hide the stress in his stomach at the thought of you being hurt again.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

✧ From the moment she saw you bleeding, Nami became uncompromising. She won't go to the battlefield to fight if she knows she has no chance but she will have a cold rage.

✧ Tyrannical Nami appeared.

✧ She ordered several members of the Straw Hats to take special care of the one who hurt you. She sent Sanji first because she knew she would be able to convince him easily however, if you were really badly hurt, she would give the mission to Zoro to make sure they suffered. Even if it meant forgiving him his debts.

✧ When you returned to the infirmary, she led Chopper by the nose so that he could work hard to treat you. She might even push him to the point of making him cry or exhaust him.

✧ She couldn't bear to lose anyone else.

✧ Yet, when you woke up, she denied having worried about you. Instead, she told you that you were stupid to put yourself in such danger like that.

𝐔𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐏

✧ No matter the terror that cut into his stomach or made him want to cry, he overcame his fear to come and protect you.

✧ He pretended throughout your convalescence that he wasn't worried about you and that everything was fine. However, after dark, he would come to your room in the infirmary every night to sleep next to you and beg you to open your eyes. Not to die. Not to leave him alone.

✧ Seeing you, helpless, dying on a bed reactivated his traumas about his mother.

✧ His physical condition deteriorated because of the anxiety that was eating him from the inside. He was far too agitated to sleep, eat, or even think.

✧ The whole crew would see that he walked like a caged lion but he didn't want to bother anyone with his problems and traumas. He will eventually explode and tell them everything, and they will support him through this difficult phase until you are fully recovered.

✧ That didn't stop him from bragging about your rescue once the whole story was done.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

✧ As soon as he saw you on the ground, he immediately gave up his competition with Zoro over who would beat the most Marines or who would defeat the strongest. He forgot the swordsman and his taunts, to see him leave, and he went towards you as quickly as his legs carried him.

✧ He brought you back to safety as soon as possible.

✧ He watched over you throughout your convalescence. He didn't leave your room unless it was to cook for the crew or to wash himself. Otherwise, he took up residence on your bed or the chair next to it.

✧ No matter how hard the crew tried, he didn't get through the door.

Chopper tried to get him out—to take some time for himself—by promising to watch you but Sanji refused. Robin offered to take care of you while he slept in his own bed but he didn't leave your side. Nami asked him to visit the city together, and carry her shopping bags, but he didn't look at her. Even Zoro tried to trouble him to take his mind off you but Sanji didn't pay him any attention.

✧ His life only resumed when you woke up.

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

✧ At first glance, she maintained impressive composure.

✧ She was very methodical in the procedure to follow: she formed a cocoon around you while she reached you, she protected you closely, brought you back safely on the boat and ended up entrusting you to the doctor.

✧ As soon as that was done, she returned to the battlefield and all hell broke loose on the entire Marine squadron.

✧ Even Luffy let her finish the fight without getting involved.

✧ Throughout your convalescence, she stayed with you without really worrying. She believed in your resistance as much as Luffy. She stayed quietly reading her book in the chair in the infirmary while waiting for you to wake up.

✧ The only indication you had of her concern when you opened your eyes was when she came to kiss and hug you as soon as you woke up. You were surprised but quite happy since she wasn't someone who was demonstrative.

✧ Chopper opened the door at that moment to check on you and ran away when he saw you kissing.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @iheartamora @bontensh0e @opchara @d @lys-ada @xomingyu @parkyrr @yasmiinberkaa @dozcan123 @anotherproblemsos @cellgore @sketchmilk @kai-wifey

[nekrosmos]

Tell me your silliest takes on Nikolai and Price? <3 Or any headcanons you have of either of them, really.

Silly NikPrice, I can do :3c

I think Nik is a hugger even in his sleep and sometimes Price wakes up in the middle of the night because he has to piss and can't escape those massive bear arms (and Nik would try to pull him closer even as he's sleeping) and it's a silent battle that ensues, often ending in Price giving up.

When Price is being particularly grumpy or strict for some reason, Gaz likes to act mysterious and say "I know a way to calm him down" to Soap and Ghost. He never lies, however, as all it takes is for him to send a text to Nik, and for Nik to send a picture of himself in various states of undress to Price. The face John makes when he glances at his phone, only for his ears to turn all red as he fumbles an excuse that he has to go check something in his office, is something the 141 never gets tired of.

Most of the time, Nik makes the big gestures. That man is a romantic and now that he finally has John, he's gonna make him feel like he's the most beautiful man in the world. However, sometimes Price surprises him too. The smile on Nikolai's face when John gets him with something he didn't expect is worth everything to John. The love making that follows is out of this world, too.

Nik loooooooves to find ways to sneakily touch Price when he really shouldn't be doing that. Maybe they're sitting around a table negotiating important intel with shady people from Nik's side when Price suddenly feels Nik's boots against his crotch and sees him smirks at him from across the table. Asshole. Or maybe the two are undercover in a van, eying an area at night for someone they need to crab, Price's eyes glued to his binoculars when Nik's hand suddenly sneaks past his belt and boxers and starts teasing him. Even worse, the person they were waiting to retrieve finally shows up and Price has to grab a guy while almost fully hard and unsatisfied. Thanks, Nik.

Sometimes they like to slow dance together. Just the two of them, in Price's house or his quarters, whatever. They put some quiet music and just start doing it naturally. It's gentle, it's quiet, it's just them and they can finally have a moment to breath and enjoy each other's embrace. John never feels more at peace than when in Nik's arms, and Nik is happy to oblige, big hands stroking through Price's hair and staring into his blue eyes. Sometimes one of them ends up saying a very, very bad joke, and they start laughing, almost uncontrollably, more out of exhaustion than anything, and they end up falling on a nearby couch or bed and they laugh and laugh together like nothing else in this world matters but them.

Nik watching Price struggle to order food in Russian while they're in a russian speaking country. He could help him, but it's just so damn adorable to watch him fumble through his words and see John's panicked glance turn back to him when he failed to order coffee for the third time in a row. John's revenge is to speak in slang he damn well knows Nik won't understand for the rest of the day.

Every time John is cold in bed, snuggling close to Nik, it reminds him of that time when they were way, way younger and got sent off somewhere in Eastern Europe in the middle of winter, and the two had to bunker down in a shitty hotel, in a shitty bedroom that (gasp) had only one shitty bed and whose heater was broken. It had been a little bit awkward at the time, and Nik had offered to sleep on the floor, which John had refused, offering it in return, only for Nik to also shut him down. Eventually, the two had climbed into bed, backs turned to one another, until John began to shiver uncontrollably, the thin blanket not helping with the freezing temperatures. Quietly, Nik had turned around and gently wrapped his arms around John. None of them said anything, no words were exchanged, and Price quickly stopped shivering. There were no mention of this happening the day after, or the day after, not until years later when the two began their relationship and Nik admitted it had been extremely difficult to stop himself from kissing the back of Price's neck that night, or let his hands wander. Price admitted the same, and the two had laughed it off. There had been plenty of opportunities to do just that since then.

[imawholeassmood]

What's in a Name

"Oh rao, I can't believe it." Kara works to contain her excitement as she nears the tiny shadowy figure stalking her in the unkempt grass outside her apartment. "This is really happening," she squeaks, "the cat distribution system has finally picked me."

The little void peers up at her with mischievous green eyes, it's backside wriggling with anticipation. Kara crouches and waits for the impending attack.

It comes with a burst of energy that burns hot and fast, then fizzles just as quickly as the black cat halts it's attack and stares at Kara with all the regret and panic of a teenage girl who just told her best friend she's in love with her. Not wanting to scare the cat, Kara hesitates, but the thought of this little cutie spending another minute on the streets compels her to scoop it into her arms and promptly rub her nose into its face.

"Right," she says and holds the cat at arms length, a quizzical gaze on its face. "Bath first."

***

Kara takes care to get the water temperature just right. Scratchy does not appreciate the effort. Claws scrape against her skin as Shadow fights against her, desperate to escape the soapy water. Kara hadn't actually found any fleas on Toothless during her physical exam to evaluate the cat's condition, and for that, she was grateful. She couldn't stand the idea of this baby being in any worse condition. A little prick digs into her finger and she mumbles, "ok, not Toothless."

She rinses the last of the suds and begins to wipe Bones with a towel. While the fight may have ended, Kara can't help but think it's a temporary reprieve, if the look on Merlin's face tells her anything. Those green eyes bite through her, clearly plotting revenge. Kara thinks it might be a good night for an all night movie marathon.

She wraps a dry towel around the still scowling cat and a tiny paw pokes out of the opening near its head, trapped like it got stuck mid escape. A disappointed huff let's out from the wet nose and Kara giggles at the adorableness.

"Here," she says," let me help you with that." She works to tuck the paw in the towel but not before dropping a kiss on the pink toe beans. "Beans," she tests the name. The cat throws a scowl at her. "Well if you have a name you prefer, feel free to share it."

The cat meows at her, and it draws a laugh from Kara whose whole body relaxes and swells with love. She drops a kiss on the furry forehead.

"I'll work on my pronunciation."

***

With Noodle cleaned and dried and now hiding under Kara's bed, licking herself to perfection, Kara works on preparing what amounts to a small buffet for each of them. She sets the takeout boxes on the table for herself and a plate of various wet and dry cat foods on the floor for Zephyr.

"Dinner's ready," she calls out, then wonders if she should take the plate to the bedroom instead. Building trust with cats sent by the universe can take time, and Kara's mind spirals with thoughts of what horrors Anubis might have endured while living on the streets. She's halfway to planning Calypso's catio to ease the transition from rugged outdoor cat to spoiled house cat when she spots the dark figure lurking along the wall. Kara freezes.

She debates her best course of action - does she offer her hand with a pspsps or do nothing? They stare at each other. After a moment where nothing happens, Kara averts her eyes, sending her gaze to the ceiling where she spots a spider in the corner. Great she thinks, let's hope Raven doesn't have an appetite for arachnids.

Kara's pulled from her thoughts by crunching near her feet. She sneaks a peak and sees Shuri ferociously air chomping a mouthful of dry food. A face-splitting grin splashes across her face.

After watching Potsticker test each of the offerings, finishing all but two samples, Kara once again attempts to build rapport.

"You don't have any allergies do you?"

Xena cocks her head and looks at her. Kara swears if this cat were human, there'd be a quirked brow to go along with that look.

"You're very expressive," she muses. "I wonder what you're thinking."

Unice meows at her, and Kara wishes she spoke cat.

***

She's struggling to stay focused on the movie with Ripley hiding away somewhere in her apartment. Kara hasn't seen the cat for hours and worries the progress she thought she made at dinner might have just been her hopeful imagination.

By the time breakfast rolls around, Kara's convinced Peony is plotting to kill her. Neither of them slept. Kara kept an eye out with her x-ray vision and noticed Nala spent the entire night exploring, poking and prodding with her pink-toed mitts at every window, door, latch, hatch, or moving part that might lead to a way out of the apartment. Every few hours, Jynx would check on Kara, looking almost annoyed to find her awake and looking back.

Kahlua's nowhere to be found when Kara's ready to head out to CatCo. She unlocks the door and calls out, "I'll be back soon, Calliope."

A flash of black streaks across the room and knocks into Kara's legs as soon as the door cracks open. Kara catches herself and stumbles into the hallway. Mittens is running around the hall, knocking into door after door. At the end of the hall, she stops in front of the elevator, looks it up and down, then turns back to Kara.

Little Yoda's ribs vibrate with heavy puffs and her eyes are wide. Kara approaches her slowly.

"It's ok, Izzy," she purrs. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Green eyes dart around. As if realizing there's nowhere to go, the fight leaves her.

"I know you're scared," Kara says, "this is a new place and we're still getting to know each other. But, if you'll give me a chance," she swallows, "I promise you will never again know a day without love."

The look on Dotty's face softens and it melts Kara's heart. The cat looks back at the elevator one more time before walking towards Kara. Grace, with all her regal elegance, brushes against Kara's ankle. It's the greatest moment of Kara's life.

***

"What is that?" Alex asks when Kara arrives at the DEO.

"This," Kara says, straightening herself and hooking her thumbs behind the shoulder straps at her chest, "is Griffin." The name is met with an immediate meow of objection. Kara looks down at the cat strapped to her chest then looks back up to Alex. "We're still deciding on a name."

***

It goes like that for a week with Kara toting the cat around with her. Bumblebee tries to run away at least once a day and continues to deny Kara's ideas for names. The day Dino curls up with Kara while an episode of Golden Girls plays on television is the day Kara thinks her heart might explode out of her chest.

With Athena's head buried in the crook of her neck, Kara strokes gently along her side.

"I love you, Tess," she breathes into black fur. A soft thrum purrs against her.

***

Kara enters the DEO panicked and sick with fear.

"She's gone, Alex," she manages to say through garbled, teary heaves. "I have to find her."

"Who?" Alex says and squeezes Kara's arms both to steady her and calm her.

"Ma'am's," Vasquez interrupts, "you might want to see this." She holds out a remote and turns on a television.

A news report shows an aerial view of a glass skyscraper with a large "L" emblazoned on the face. The ticker reads "Missing CEO found safe."

Before Alex or Kara can ask, a commotion stirs near the door. Agents scurry and someone yells, "you can't go in there."

Alex straightens herself to face the approaching party and sets a hand on her hip holster.

Kara wipes tears from her soaked cheeks.

A woman with alabaster skin, jet black hair, and deep red lips marches straight towards her. The tailored black suit commands the attention of every pair of eyes. Pale pink heels clack against the linoleum. Kara swallows the lump in her throat.

The woman stops inches before Kara, uncaring of the weapons pointed at her. Green eyes bore into Kara.

At long last, red lips curl into a smirk and a strong eyebrow quirks. She moves her head next to Kara's, so close Kara can feel the warmth of her breath against her ear when she purrs the words, "my name is Lena."

[stormsthatrage]

Prisoner AU snippet:

Kisuke sinks into the shadows of the corner of Yoruichi’s office, crossing his legs and tilting his head up to stare at the bare wood of the ceiling.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Forget the how — he’s still stumped on the why. For what possible reason could the Ryoka have killed Lieutenant Aizen?

It’s incredibly clear that the Ryoka isn’t playing a long game. No, if anything, the Ryoka was planning on the game having ended far before now. Kisuke sincerely doubts he even meant to be alive this long.

Kisuke closes his eyes, imagines the moment he first saw the Ryoka. It’s an easy scene to call up. Something about it has Kisuke on edge, and not for the obvious reasons. Ever since it happened, he’s found himself going over it again and again, his brain unable to let it go. Something about that moment felt so wrong — still feels so wrong — and he can’t pinpoint why.

The Ryoka had been kneeling next to Aizen’s corpse, arms drenched in blood from the elbow down. The shorter blade of his zanpakuto (and wasn’t that interesting — a dual wielder) had been shoved under Aizen’s chin, up into his brain. The larger sword was on the ground, gore covering its edge. The body had been covered in gashes; before going for the head, the Ryoka had, in no discernible order, stabbed the lieutenant in the lungs, cut his torso open from high between his ribs down to his gut, slit open his femoral artery, severed his spine, and ripped his heart out of his chest — thoughtfully placing the displaced organ next to the corpse’s left ear.

Kisuke, the first one to track down the missing lieutenant, had still gotten there well after the blood had cooled.

The Ryoka, knees in the bloody mud — (and how long, Kisuke wonders, had he been there?) — had turned his head towards Kisuke. “I’m pretty sure he’s actually dead, this time,” he said, conversationally, as if commenting on the flavor of a good tea.

Kisuke had drawn his blade, then. The Ryoka, strangely enough, made no move to retrieve his own. Instead, he had just sat there, staring at Kisuke.

And then his gaze had drifted downward, towards Benihime’s bared edge, and it seemed for all the worlds that in that moment the Ryoka lost every bit of energy that makes a person a person.

Before Kisuke’s eyes, the Ryoka slumped, and his gaze went vacant. Like he had been a marionette, and all of a sudden his strings were cut.

Kisuke had waited for backup before approaching the Ryoka, although even then, he had doubted there would be a struggle.

He had been right. The Ryoka had let them take his zanpakuto from him, let them put him in chains, and had let them lock him in one of the onmitsukido cells. There had been no resistance.

Since then, the Ryoka hasn’t tried to escape, let alone attempted to kill anyone else. He barely moves. Nothing seems to bring life to him. Even if Kisuke were allowed to use physical methods to extract information, he doubts the Ryoka would fight back.

Killing Aizen was the end goal, that much is obvious. But why?

For a brief time, Kisuke had entertained the thought that maybe the Ryoka had been meant as a distraction. But for what? He had quickly discarded the idea. Any heist would have been easier than sneaking into the Seireitei without notice and murdering a Shinigami Lieutenant. And if a second, higher-ranking assassination had been the goal, it would have been best done before killing Aizen; predictably, people were now uneasy, and guard rotations had increased dramatically.

Kisuke uncrosses his legs, stretching out one in front of him. “So why did you do it, then,” he murmurs.

Revenge against the Court Guard? No, he would have tried to kill more than just Aizen had that been the case. With his power and ability to go unnoticed, he probably would have succeeded, too.

Revenge against Aizen? An absurd thought, one certainly not worth wasting his time on.

Kisuke drums his fingers against his knee, trying to think. Why? Why would someone murder Lieutenant Aizen so viciously? What could possibly be —

He freezes.

“Kisuke?” Yoruichi says, catching the flare of alarm in his spiritual signature.

He ignores her, desperate not to let the thought fade.

Vicious.

Vicious.

A vicious murder.

The way the Ryoka had done it had been so vicious, hatred obvious in every wound inflicted. And the Ryoka, he had had no interest in continuing his warpath, after. He had given up, as soon as it was done. It was revenge. Of course it was revenge. All the signs are there, why had he not thought of that before. Why did he —

But he had, hadn’t he? Just a few seconds ago, he had —

He had dismissed it, but he doesn’t do that, he’s trained, he knows better than to discard a theory based on personal assumptions —

Why did he have that personal assumption?

Because it was Lieutenant Aizen. He would never have done something —

But —

Captain Hirako. Didn’t Captain Hirako chose Aizen as a lieutenant because —

And then. And then that time someone broke into his lab, and he —

He can’t remember.

He can’t remember.

“Oh, fuck,” Kisuke breathes.

There are gaps in his memory, and now that he’s focusing on it, he can feel where a foreign power, a… a zanpakuto’s power, fading, now — he can notice it because it’s fading, it’s power is lessened — is trying to affect his thought patterns.

Trying to keep him from thinking about how… about how dangerous Aizen was. Trying to keep him from remembering when… when…

Aizen had broken into his lab. Stolen research on… no, theories, it was theories about the —

The —

Hogyoku.

“Oh, Soul King,” Kisuke breathes, horror washing through him, ice-cold.

He has the worst feeling that the Ryoka, sitting in an underground cell several floors below Kisuke’s feet, may have just saved them all.

[honor-cxde]

Dreadwing and the Wreckers

// a rambling by yours truly.

So we know that in Dreadwing's introduction episode ("Loose Cannons"), Wheeljack and Seaspray were Wreckers set to rendezvous in order to try and regroup after the unit splintered. We also know that Dreadwing intercepted their comms, beat Wheeljack there, and set up a proximity bomb to try and eliminate them both. Now, Jackie never had any radio contact with Dreads, but he recognized the bomb the second he saw it and knew who it belonged to.

So, they had met.

Fast forward to the Jackhammer shooting the Sky Claw down on earth. The whole episode ends with the Autobots in a port somewhere, trying to save Bulkhead from the bomb Dreadwing planted on him.

But, wait. How did we get there?

I think our favorite blue and gold Seeker has a deeper relationship with the Wreckers than what was let on.

He knew who Wheeljack and Seaspray were by name. At LEAST he knew Jackie on sight -- after being shot down and subsequently escaping, Dreadwing calls Jackie, on the Jackhammer's frequency, by name, to challenge him.

Wheeljack and Bulkhead both respond. Because Wreckers don't call for backup, they call for cleanup.

They go, and split up. Wheeljack confronts Dreads head on while Bulk, unbeknownst to the viewers, has circled around the back. The Seeker seems to have second thought and runs, ending up in a dead end.

This is one of the things I like about Dreadwing: he's a planner. And he is, tactically, extremely good at it. He failed at every assignment in the show, it is true, but his methods were VERY clearly well-thought out and planned.

In this particular case, he set up his bombs before they ever even got there. He knew where he wanted Wheeljack to end up, and how to get him there, but here's the kicker:

He knew Bulkhead would show up. And that was more important to his end goal.

Dreadwing had a bomb set high, on its own, near the ledge above where Bulkhead ended up standing, thinking they had the 'Con surrounded. There's no reason for Dreads to do this unless he knew without a doubt Bulk would be there (remember earlier in the episode, when the gas station blew and our Seeker made his getaway, Bulk was there. Dreadwing saw him, and knew who he was.)

So he knew that Jackie would come at him from the front, and Bulkhead would sneak behind, and he planned for it. His ultimate goal wasn't to destroy the two of them, though -- he wanted Optimus, and as many of Team Prime as he could get in one location to try and eliminate them all in revenge for Skyquake's death.

So he buried the two Wreckers, dug Bulkhead out, and drug his ass to the port, where he set up his second trap. He knew WHO Wheeljack and Bulkhead were and could plan based on what he obviously knew about how the Wrecker unit worked.

So I don't think Seaspray was Dreadwing's first Wrecker kill. Not by a long shot. I think he was the hyena that skulked in the shadows, nipping at their heels. But he didn't come at them all willy-nilly, he knew he'd get obliterated if he did, so he was a patient predator. Much like a lion, he went after them when they had split up, only targeting one, maybe two, at a time.

I think this bastard has more than the average kill count and a chunk of them were Wreckers.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[sincerelyverena]

⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X GN!READER ‘in a world so fake, i say your name praying. you are my angel and my saint.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver and you form an unlikely bond over his hatred for the cattons and your thirst for revenge. but when you dance with the devil, you're bound to fall. for satan himself or something far more sinister...

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐major character death ﹐strangling (non-sexual) (sorry yall) ﹐ drowning

inspired by the pure energy of hot, smothering justice and betrayal kali uchis vaya con dios radiates. enjoy, my lovelies! also felix is so babygirl, y'all just don't like him in this.. ;]

Oliver Quick was your saving grace.

You were more willing to admit he was your soulmate. Oliver Quick. Meek, unsocial, glasses-wearing Oliver Quick. He took you by the hand — and the heart — guiding you into Oxford's inner circle. A place for you to unravel your sabotage and a root for Oliver to plant his destruction in. A place for your ascendancy to seep through the cracks and weave between the breaks.

More specifically, Felix Catton. The college's golden boy, the beloved playboy of Oxford, and why you were so dedicated to fitting in in the first place.

Felix Catton and the entire Catton name were the root of all your problems. They took every opportunity you could've been offered in their palms, tearing it to shreds, and pummelling it into dust. Without even realising it, they had sabotaged everything you could've known.

The limelight of one of the downtown bars you all had travelled to flickers upon Felix, the neon glow outlined every discreet detail he bore proudly on his face. The captured appeal in every crook and dent, to the extent that any flaw he may have possessed is gone and buried before anyone could've noticed.

Felix Catton had the school population wrapped around the slimness of his fingers. Hell, even the once hardened aquamarine of Oliver's eyes softened ever so slightly with every passing grin of Felix's mouth. Every clasp of his back. Every manipulative lie that he’d utter with a smirk pasted on his face. Every sickly-sweet word that sweetly left his lips.

But not you. Even after four rounds of whiskey martinis, you felt like the only sober person in the room. You knew Felix and his family for what he was. 

Selfish, all-wanting, all-ruining rascals.

Your own family once had close-knit ties with the Cattons. Years before your mother was even impregnated. Your grandmother had whispered tales of summers at Saltburn as if it was a fairytale. Endless courtyards, wide, luxurious estate grounds. Wild parties. Even wilder sex. At a young age, you had grown a thirst for experiencing anything that remotely came close to the experiences bored into you time and time again. You needed to quench your cravings, but nothing came near.

Things may have been different if the Cattons sunk your parent's business. For good.

Even the most naive garnered a sense and even an adoration for gossip and rumours as soon as they'd step onto Saltburn grounds, reputation was adorned upon a gold-plated pedestal. The root of striking words and poison-tainted oaths is Lady Elspeth. A wheat-blonde-haired bitch that brought your family so much misery.

A couple of words that escaped the snake's mouth destroyed generations of work. A whole family business deteriorated into the dust, and she didn’t even bat an eye.

This series of unfortunate events resulted in your mother passing you onto your grandparents, fabulously wealthy (but not as wealthy) and luxurious in their own right. 

They raised you under their family name. Esmeray.

This granted you easy access into the prestigious inner circles of Oxford, invited by Felix Catton himself. He had noticed you a few scarce times prior, typically on Oliver’s arm, Ollie, who took it upon himself to sneak you into various VIP parties for the cause. Any remotely attractive person is enough to catch Felix's eye, and lucky for you, you were drop-dead stunning.

That's why you weren't the least surprised when he extended an invitation to stay the summer at Saltburn. The next step is avenging the Marzena family name. For good this time.

Saltburn couldn’t have ever compared to the fairytales whispered in your ear during your childhood days. Those tales did it no justice compared to how stunning and profound the estate truly is.

The molten sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and flecks of pure gold ascended throughout the gradually darkening sky. Pure summer drifted through the air, sending a warmth of contentment to settle in the pit of your belly. But your job here wasn't done. It was far from done.

The warmth in your belly reverberated through your shoulder as a firm hand clasped upon the brink of your silhouette.

"We're going to be late for dinner, sweetheart." Oliver's slow words reached your ears, his thumb gently tracing circles into the shining glimpse of skin that wasn't enwreathed by the inky, silk fabric you wore for the Catton’s strict dress codes.

Even though Oliver's hands were glacially cold — practically comparable to ice — the molten glow of his touch rolled throughout your frame pleasingly. This causes your lips to unfurl into a not-so-concealed smile. His words could engrave themselves into your mind, and he knew it as fact. "Come along now."

You tore your eyes away from the purely otherworldly scenery available at your will. In the minute or so that Oliver managed to garner from you, the radiant golden brinks of daytime were gradually drowned out by the raven shadows of nightfall.

"I think I’m in shock." The words escaped your lips with a half-suppressed laugh that reverberated lightly from your chest. Your mind raced to piece together the proper syllables necessary to describe the unfiltered beauty of Saltburn. “This is all so…”

"...unreal?"

Oliver finished your sentence for you in a matter of seconds, as if he plucked it out of your fluttered head. His hand shifted, arm rolled over the base of both of your bare, garmentless shoulders. Draped. Practically protectively he wordlessly guided you towards the door of your temporary suite. Temporary. For now, at least.

"Mmm… something like that." You quipped in turn, deciding with promptness to sink into the mere gentleness of his touch. The work of his hands alone arrowed straight to the pump of your heart and occasionally the heat of your core. These newly established sentiments that you’ve garnered for Oliver Quick had brought you a whirlwind of devotion to successfully come to fruition.

It wasn't an unacknowledged fact between the two of you that a spark had conquered itself, gradually. Every touch. Each glance. Every word that two of you had come to share. Oliver's intensity, his willingness to take you into his hands and never release you. And your revering homage, your tendency to treat him as if he were a god. 

The Catton's were the most oblivious. Oblivious to their guest’s steadily swelling obsession. For each other and the downfall of their own, the destruction that played as a constant in their heads.

In order to play the part, you and Oliver separated from each other in front of the rest of the household to confide in both your constant alliance and devotion. You found sociability and acceptance in Farleigh and Venetia. Stingy, ego-brimming relatives to the Catton name. Oliver confided in Felix and even Elspeth, that as much as you disliked that fact. Alas, you weren't a stranger to the occasional lingering glance. The crinkle of Oliver's midwinter blue eyes, the tug of his sensually plump lips into a gradual, subtle smirk that occupied a lump in your throat. You drove him crazy the same. Or so you thought.

In the quietest hours of Saltburn, you found yourself curled up against Oliver’s silhouette. His godly arms inched around the frame of your torso, pulling you towards his strapping — and occasionally bare — chest. You often found yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck. Inhaling the fragrances of honeydew and tangerine, the scent that virtually dripped off of Oliver’s altar of a body. A newfound pinkness tainted your cheeks.

"We live in a cruel world, don't we, darling?" Oliver proceeded to fill the silence one sleepless night with his deliberate drawls. His wide palms combed through your scalp absentmindedly. You could feel his warm breaths misting your ear every other second.

"We're living proof of that, Oliver." You gently reminded him.

"They sit on their golden thrones," Oliver raved onwards, irritation hung on every word. You didn't have to advert your eyes upward to know that his chiselled jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck flexed accordingly. "While I had to grow up with an ignorant weasel for a father and a pill-popper for a mother."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, the pillow under your head sunk under the weight as you essentially crawled towards him. Captured his lips with your own, the taste of spearmint toothpaste meddled within your tongue as he proceeded to tangle into you. The kiss alone was fiery, frantic as Oliver poured his past and present into the serene bubble the two of you had formed, together.

"That'll all be behind us soon." You reassured him with each brush of your lips.

"Very soon, my love. They'll be the ones on their knees begging for our mercy."

Those meaning-filled kisses transitioned shortly into something more, the noises of willing gasps and the frantic rustle of garments echoed throughout the suite. In the head-whirling cloudiness of lust, you weren’t to notice the boy who stands with his ear pressed against the other side of the door. Lips thinned. Eyebrows drawn together.

Felix had heard everything he needed to know.

The racketing denouncing of the door caused your head to snap toward the cause. You’ve spent your morning in solitude, with a cup of steaming tea and a handful of your thoughts. Yet the peace you’ve marinated in over the past few hours dissipated as you witnessed Oliver stand there with promptness, hand still pressed deeply against the door handle. The silence drew throughout your suite, disturbed the slow, heavy grunts that reverberated from him.

Something was wrong,

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath.

"We're leaving after the house party tonight." He announced at last.

Your teacup almost slipped from your palms. Your breath quickened, fumbling to set the object aside before you made a start towards Oliver. And the man — who seemed more like a boy at the moment — inclined his toned arms around the sleight of your waist, clutching for dear life. He held you close. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. You felt each puff of breath escape and fill him, emptying him and deeming him whole. Your arms secured around his shoulders, triceps tucked behind his neck.

"24 hours is more than enough." You deemed.

"You think?"

"I believe."

As you spoke, you felt the muscles that once rippled rigidly against your hands loosen the slightest. Your digits traced absentminded patterns into the hem of his shirt.

“You’re tense.” You pointed out, falling back momentarily in the process. Your eyebrows drew together as you took in the strained look blatantly playing on his face. With the amount of stress filling his ocean-remanent eyes, he had looked to have aged a decade.

Oliver's hands braced towards your jaw, long digits framing your face as he leant in. He peppered a feather-weight kiss to the top of your head. You couldn't have missed his shaky inhales grazing the cuff of your ear as he inched forward.

“I have a plan.”

That's how you and Oliver found yourselves occupying the brink of your unmade bed, the cup of half-drunken tea still allocated in your hands and a look of fierce determination glowering in his unwavering gaze.

Wordlessly, Oliver lapsed a singular, broad hand in the vicinity of his dark dress pants, fingers gliding beneath the denim material. Your breath is lodged in the centre of your throat at the very sight. Your thoughts began to drift, internally perplexing if his grand plan was to fuck his griefs out on you. That was until he retrieved a ziplock bag from his briefs, cocaine weighing the plastic down.

"Oliver Quick. You are a fucking genius." You whistled at the glimpse of the thin, pale powder. Oliver's intentions were as clear as day and the motions for revenge were just as evident.

The pressure and strain that pulsated behind Oliver’s eyes softened with every syllable that escaped your lips. His gaze never left yours, deliciously prominent. A somewhat startled squeal echoed throughout the bedroom suite as Oliver hauled you up using the agency of your hips. Your legs sprawl on both flanks of his thighs as he reposed you across the sleight of his lap.

"C'mere 'n say it to my face then, princess."

The house party that arose thereafter that evening was open to all extravagant guests who were deemed worthy enough to be invited personally by the Cattons. You were bursting at the seams with scorching adrenaline at the thought of all of these unsuspecting capitalists, oblivious of what was about to transpire.

You and Oliver remained on contrasting sides of the estate, a fact that brought a sense of yearning. And you yearned for nothing more than to blow the night with the man you deemed to be your beloved. Alas, the two of you weren't established. And you both had a murder to fulfil.

One day.

"Shh..."

Oliver's voice was hushed, his whispers interlinked with a domineering raspiness as the two of you venture away from the club scene of heroin, alcohol and the prominent hue of arousal and cigarette smoke. You spied Felix, his celestial silhouette still visible from a fair distance away. He's accompanied by one of the well-heeled invitees, one of his idolizers who had spent the majority of the night garnering his undivided attention.

You crushed your drug stick underneath the heel of your footwear as you proceeded to wander behind the individuals ahead. They advanced towards the vast bridge that adorned one of the numerous rivers the estate occupied. Which acted as a hook-up spot for most, obvious by the number of condoms and cigarettes scattered upon the planks.

You gave a wordless prayer for the estate maids for their grounds inspection at dawn. But you knew God couldn't help neither you nor Oliver now for what you were about to accomplish.

It was childishly easy. Snag one of the champagne bottles from the downstairs kitchens and instil half of the ziplock bag's contents into the beige substance. Shook it until it was dissolved. Oliver seized it by his side.

By the time the couple approached the bridge, Felix already propped his midnight flings up on the fencing, palms grappling behind their thighs to keep them fixed in place. Their calves squeezed around the roundness of his hips, digits fumbled urgently to undo the leather clasps of his belt.

Within a minute or two, a strangled moan rang throughout the otherwise hushed air as Felix buried his head into the crook of their neck.

Anticipation pounded through you with each step you made. The heart of the Cattons. Soon to be executed under the guise of revenge. And what a bloody revenge it would be. Oliver's vacant hand intertwined with your own for a beat of a second, a rapid squeeze capable of sending any possible doubt into destruction. Replaced by a flutter of warmth that uncoiled in your chest.

Felix had taken notice of you both hastily, balls deep in his oblivious affair – who was spluttering and whimpering around his shoulder. The chorus of smacking flesh subsided, the strike of Felix’s hips diminishing as the man stared at his former friends with a bewildered expression.

"The hell are you doing here?" Felix demanded, grunting a half-hearted apology to his now flustered entanglement as his palms clung to their waist, pulling out with a fluent jerk of his hips. He was in every respect flaccid now, no doubt.

Oliver wasn’t phased in the slightest. "We need to talk, Felix."

“What the hell?”

The individual who once occupied the bridge had already recomposed themselves, looking daggers up at the colossal man that towered over them. Felix scarcely spared them a glance. They seethe at his lack of response, before steamrolling past you to rejoin the commotion back at the estate.

Rendering them alone.

"There's nothing to talk about," Felix contended. He broke his gaze as he heeled momentarily to adjust himself. Sloppily. There’s a shakiness in his hands.

In your eyes, he's the remnant of a fallen angel. Shadowed eyebags dominated the space beneath Felix’s whisky-glittering eyes, his wolfish-like face wiltering, hollow cheeks thinned out excessively to be presumed normal. You acknowledged it was a fact that everyone else's value of him wouldn't budge. Not even a dent. Not even in the grave.

Oliver thrust the sabotaged bottle against Felix's Herculean chest with a forceful arm, prompting him to grab hold. Your pulse rang in between your ears. You wished you could’ve engraved this moment in time into your mind.

"You're right." You reasoned. Your words seemed foreign to your ears as if it were someone else that was speaking. You could only pray that the ecstatic nervousness that jolted throughout you wasn't manifesting outwardly.

Oliver’s fingers laced within your own. The sweat that prickled along the curve of his palm signalled to you wordlessly that he was experiencing the same, intense elation that grappled at your abdomen and twisted. "We'll see you back at Oxford, yeah?"

Felix scrutinizes the somewhat empty champagne bottle in his palms (courtesy of you pouring it out an hour prior). His words falter and for a moment you begin to ponder if his perception of you two was corrupted for good. Nevertheless, Felix fixated immensely towards your linked hands.

"Yeah. I'll see you back at Oxford."

As you and Oliver diverged from Felix, you could hear the droughty gulps of the spiked substance. It was apparent to you that you'd never see Felix again after this moment. The reassurance of that fact, set in stone, brought about a flutter of relief to overtake the apprehension you once esteemed.

A slow, deliberate smile crept onto your lips.

As predicted, the entire Catton household fell apart after Felix was found. He collapsed on the wooden tiling of the bridge, sprawled out with a mouthful of his puke pooled around his ever-paling silhouette.

It was obvious he suspected. He trusted them anyway and attempted to save himself in the process.

Even though you both were invited to the funeral a couple of days after the fact, the rock-tossing (an off-putting tradition in the Catton family) was regarded as family only.

You sat, only an hour later, bare feet dangling off of the edge of the bridge as Oliver attempted to retrieve each rock from the drafts of the flowing river current.

"Don't fall in and drown, Ollie!" You exclaimed, playfulness irking your tone as you grinned down at him. The sight of Oliver, ass-up, in an attempt to grasp the smooth, memorial rock was a sight to witness indeed.

Oliver turned his head and snapped out of his focused determination to flash you a similar smirk. "I'd have to be bound and gagged for that to happen, sweetheart."

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

Alas, your plans towards the Catton family and their demise were practically writing themselves. Venetia was becoming heavily depressed by the absence of Felix and Farleigh (whom Oliver framed and resulted in him having to exit Saltburn for good).

With a few metal blades smuggled into a porcelain bath and a few encouraging words from Ollie, the woman was found bathing in her crimson remains. Funeral. Rock-tossing. Rock-retrieving.

"Be careful the rock doesn't weigh you down, Ollie!"

You continued to tease him as he soon approached you. Oliver's typically straight, combed-over locks of caramel were drenched. The waterdrops highlighted the olive of his skin, and you wished desperately to kiss all the droplets away.

Oliver took hold of your waist, pulling you in. A droplet of water splashed against the end of your nose, causing a stray laugh to rise out of you.

"If I'm goin' down, you're goin' down with me."

Oliver lowered his head, his water-dripping, plump lips placed a long kiss on the end of your nose. The sudden shake of his wet strands caused water to spray all across your face.

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

Laughing felt foreign to you. Especially when you were smuggling a dissolvable pill or two in the alcohol-infested substance of both Sir James and Lady Elspeth's glasses. It lies atop the tables decorating either side of the king-sized bed. They were preoccupied with the purposeful ruckus Oliver was causing downstairs and lurched up from their sleeping quarters to investigate.

Like all the victims before them, it was elementary. James and Elspeth evolved into a habit of indulging in a few (or five) drinks before bed. The tendency to stress drink evergrowing with the funerals and departures that lined up before them. Before their own.

Oliver slid the build of his toned arms around you, sensing his biceps straining straight into your waist. You watched as the drugged solution dissolved into nothingness while he watched you. A singular reached upwards towards your mouth which was pulled back into a grin. He bore a cool palm over your lips.

"If you keep laughin' like that, you're gonna give us away." His voice rumbled into the curve of your ear. The assertive husk of Oliver’s tone was enough to cause you to fall silent, only the ghost of a smile flickering upon your lips.

Elspeth dreaded the idea of the lovers ever considering their departure from Saltburn. James desired the absence even more. You both decided to make it easier for them.

A choked cry echoed out, barely five minutes later.

Oliver towered over the end of the bed. He never wanted it to transpire this way, but Elspeth refused to bloody die off. Your lover's fists decorated the weak column of her throat like a collar, harsh palms proceeding to crush down against skin and bone without a sleight of hesitance.

"Sweetheart, look away." He evoked.

You couldn't.

Elspeth gawked up at Oliver with wrinkled eyes. Once brimming with adoration. Now dull with despair, her calloused hands went as far as to claw against the relentlessness of his hands. Elspeth's air supply grows limited, a strangled outburst that escapes her at this realisation.

It didn't take long for her to stop fighting, and collapse against the paled corpse of her husband. You peppered lightweight kisses along the gaping nail marks dressing the skin atop Oliver’s hands. Oliver's blood was left smeared across the frame of your lips. Like he was your sacrifice. Like you were a god.

He looked at you like such.

Disposing of the bodies was even simpler. As you laboured to wipe the bedsheets clean of any possible evidence, Oliver tossed the carcasses into the wide, sprawling woods a mile or two away from the estate. The wild animals are bound to eat away at the rot infecting the pale, cold meat.

From scum, you came. Now scum you become.

The Catton Family Players music box is anchored to a table, presented in the middle of the foyer. Four smooth rocks perched on top. Even though there wasn't a funeral explicitly necessary in this case, it grew to be a game. You and Oliver took turns tossing the engraved rock into the rivers before plunging after them.

In no time at all, whatever garments you possessed were cast aside. You were shoulders-down submerged in the pummelling waters, each movement rippling the moana-blue waves.

Oliver bore his arms around you, encompassing your waist to keep you afloat so you would be able to soak in the scenery ahead of you. Submerged in the serenity of nature. With only the limelight of the sun sinking below the horizon to keep you two company.

You trusted him not to drop you. Of course, you trusted him.

Why wouldn't you trust him when he gave you everything you had ever wanted? His lips pressed warmly against the curve of your forehead. You were both skin to skin, but it didn't feel enough to you. He could’ve been inside you (in whatever way that struck the imagination). And it’d never be enough.

"What's happenin' in your pretty little mind, sugar?" Oliver hummed, his articulation was in the form of a mere whisper. Yet, the rumble of his words solicited you with so much warmth you had to take a second to respond.

"You." His eyebrows raised at the simplicity of your words. "How lucky we are."

The familiar warmth of that chuckle you love so much leaves his chest in a glowing reverberation. "We are a lucky pair, aren't we, darlin'?"

You would've never guessed for revenge and lust to be written on the same page. But through vengeance, and the motions of murder, you had gained your other half.

You had never felt happier. Never felt more whole.

And you loved him. You loved him so immensely. Nobody could have ever doubted that fact in the first place.

That's why you were the most bewildered when you stirred from rest, aroused into waking. You had foreseen residing in Oliver's arms, in the master suite the two of you now occupied. You were in Oliver's arms, yes. But not in the way you hoped for.

That's exactly how you got to this point in time.

You strain and challenge the thick ropes constricting the frame of your ankles and wrists, alerting Oliver to your consciousness. You incline your head over the brink of your bare shoulder, catching a glimpse of nothing but fields surrounding the two of you.

A river draws closer and closer in the distance.

You attempt to will yourself to speak, but your lips are harshly taped shut. Oliver doesn't need to receive your words of interrogation anyway, as he proceeds to speak.

"You were always a feisty one." He comments loosely, voice casual as if you weren't bound and gagged in between his defined biceps. His bare feet hit against the ground beneath him, muffled by the field's natural grass dressing,

"What a shame it had to be this way."

As the river grows nearer and nearer in your line of view, you spy something bland and metal perched on the rocks beside the streaming current. It's rougher today. A contrast in comparison to the passive waves you and Oliver bathed in the few days prior.

Your eyes rounden in realisation.

Fully aware of the restraints diminishing your speech, you attempt to grill the man above you on why the hell he possesses a weight. No properly audible sound manages to slip out.

A dry snigger escapes Oliver. "It would've been too obvious, my dear. I mean, we're the last ones standing." He falters in step, the waves of the river's current join the throbbing of your heart, roaring between your ears. Oliver inclines downwards, fingertips as gentle and purposeful as ever as they tease the edge of the tape. "What a tragedy it'd be for my lover to be taken away from me as well."

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes.

The tape rips away from your lips, strangling a cry from deep within your throat at the throbbing pain that overbears you. Oliver tosses the tape aside without a second thought, the pad of his thumb rubbing easing circles into the somewhat swollen attributes of your mouth. "Shh..." 

"Oliver, this isn't fucking funny."

"I know it isn't, sweetheart."

The man you thought you loved lowers his head and meets a feathery kiss against your lips. Once. Twice. Thrice. He leans upwards, and an indescribable emotion flutters in the whirling aquamarine of his eyes. "But it has to be done."

Oliver's broadened palm takes hold of your mouth harshly, sinking his slender digits into the flush of your cheeks. A sharp distinction to the flutter of his lips seconds prior. You howl your protests into his fingers, writhing in his overpowering arms as he works to lock the weight onto the rope decorating your ankle. Your howls turn into sobs that wrack your chest with each breath, the colour promptly draining from your face. Oliver stands right at the edge of the rocks lining the river, decorating the roaring waters below.

Molten tears ride down your cheeks. Your voice rasps. "Ollie?"

"Yes, princess?" He still garners the ability to serenade you with the sweet tinges of his words, as if you weren't on the way to your inevitable death.

"Venetia was right about you. You're fucking sick in the head."

There isn’t a trace of aggravation that crosses Oliver’s face. His unruly eyebrows raise for a moment, overcome by amusement as he scrutinizes you darkly.

"Now, now. Let's not forget who was by my side the entire time."

He's right. You know he's right. You glare up at him with a twisted combination of loathing and horror at the enlightenment. You took down every one of the Cattons by his side. He took you under his wing and assisted you in getting your way against the people you've despised for the majority of your life. This was your way of repaying him.

"I'll see you in hell, bastard."

These are the very last words you manage to seethe before your bound silhouette is freed from Oliver's bone-chilling palms. Before your entire physique sinks into the freezing waters, swallowing your entire body whole as the weight anchoring your leg propels you further downwards.

Your last breaths escape you in a gust of bubbles, rising desperately to the top as you reach the bottom of the makeshift hell you were tossed into.

The last thing you see is a rock with your name on it.

—Pues mírame a los ojos, dime si ves el vacío que deja amor perdido— "LOOK ME IN THE EYES, TELL ME IF YOU SEE THE VOID THAT LOST LOVE LEFT BEHIND"

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST

[theknightmarket]

Knight, knight, knight- a somewhat wholesome idea popped into my mind. The da is stuck inside the mirror right? What if they gained powers that allows them to travel through dreams? In a sense they have their adventures depends on the host person/enity and they just go along with.

and okay what if dark knew what the upsidedown world is capable? And its what drives dark to never fall asleep (aside not needing one) and also why is he so hellbent chasing and taking revenge on mark so when its all over, he'll take his rest, be with the da for eternity

"Good morning, sunshine."

In which Dark and the DA interact through unconventional means. Tw: death mention Pages: 17 - Words: 6,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The first time, you weren’t sure what had happened. You weren’t sure if it was good or bad. You weren’t sure whether it was because of something you had done, or it was just a random event, some miracle that had gotten you out of that mirror. Hell, you weren’t sure what was actually happening. How you got to some kind of bank or museum was pushed to the back of your mind, but so too were the events occurring right in front of you. It was embarrassing that this was the happiest you had been in decades, even if it was understandable.

To hear the distant whirring of inefficient streetlights, to see something other than a boundless sky of complete blackness that wrapped around you, under, above, disappearing into the floor and reappearing from the ceiling – it was enough to push you close to tears.

But confusion overruled that, instead, making you wonder why that was all you were given, why you couldn’t smell, or feel, or even taste.

And then horror rattled your senses as you watched a body step out from where you were standing.

Your initial idea was inaccurate.

Because you did not exist here.

Because you were not standing at the edge of a row of bushes, shaded by the night and staring into the doors of a building.

Because you were not out of the mirror.

Never mind being close to tears, you felt a few stray drops link up at the base of your jawline. You were scared to wipe them away for fear of finding yourself without hands.

So, what was this? If you hadn’t suddenly escaped from the mirror without your knowledge, why could you see a pair of criminals decked out in all black somewhere that was distinctly not a similar shade of void?

You asked yourself this, knowing fully well that you couldn’t give yourself an answer, and you wouldn’t get an answer for the foreseeable future. There were, however, some things that you managed to deduce over the course of the next hour or so – an indistinguishable period only because time seemed to be ever-so-slightly off.

That was the first of your clues; over the course of the adventure that you watched play out in front of you, each move from room to room took only the flick of a wrist, while the people you were following stared at each other for minutes at a time in complete silence. It was anyone’s guess as to when the clock would leap forward or jam its own mechanisms.

The second clue required no experimentation. It was simply that they didn’t acknowledge you at all. They didn’t make any indication that they could see or hear you. You were lost to them, worse than lost, they didn’t know you were there in the first place. They just sneaked around the museum, completely unaware of the person staring them dead in the eyes.

Had this experience happened any earlier, you might have felt more than a distant sting, but, as it was, it didn’t bother you too much. You were used to being ignored, cast away, forgotten. At least this was by people that you didn’t already know, people that you hadn’t survived the worst with, people that you didn’t trust with your very life, people that you once cared about and who you once thought cared about you.

Maybe it did bother you, just a little.

The third clue came a lot later than the others, but it spearheaded the theory that you were constructing in the back of your mind. Or, rather, the theory that you had constructed because the thing that gave it away?

It was when it all ended, and you were dumped unceremoniously back in the darkness, alone and uncertain of everything. That was one of the worst parts. Having occupied that space for nearly a century, you had been so sure in your knowledge of the place. You were in a mirror – there was nothing else there but you – you were stuck there. The most comfort you could find in the situation was that it wasn’t going to change.

But then it did, and you were pushed back to square one, taking tiny steps around the void, constantly worrying that a single foot in the wrong position would send you crashing through the ground. It was torturous to have your safety ripped away from you again, but what were you supposed to expect? Fate wasn’t kind, and it treated you like its personal plaything, only the game had morphed into something a little crueler.

Your theory, as unstable and undeveloped as it was, was that it was just a dream. In your state between life and death, your oh-so-generous master Fate had designed little shows for you. Entertainment was rare in the void, so what was kinder than giving you some? Never mind the fact that it drove you insane, you should have been grateful to get a glimpse of a life you could have lived had you not gone to that forsaken party. No need for you to lament your cruel undeath. The dreams were a kindness.

You didn’t know how it happened, how you had magically appeared somewhere else, so you didn’t know how to get there again. The outside, if that was what it was, quickly became a distant memory. It was fleeting, a whisp of smoke that intertwined itself between your fingers and then disappeared. It faded, just as the adrenaline and hope did as the seconds ticked by on a clock you couldn’t see.

And then it happened again.

By the end, you were on the edge of a breakdown. The shambles of your mind repulsed each shard of itself, trying to escape from the impossibility you were trapped in. You felt each crack that spiderwebbed across the surface. You felt each tap-tap-tap of tiny splinters falling. You felt it fighting the scenarios you were forced into.

This dream had the same people, but they acted completely different. They traded out their heist gear for formalwear, but their date didn’t last long. It devolved, like the other situation had, into weirder and weirder ends. Body doubles, a proposal, a prison much like you had seen before. Neither of them seemed to notice the similarity, though, and they went along through their routes without a care in the world. It might have been cute had it not made you sick to your stomach.

Regardless, though, you were distracted in the very final moments.

You had to admit, you were interested in how this one would end. It was a 50/50 with one of the original pair holding the gun, between two men who looked the same, both promising they were the one to be trusted. You weren’t paying attention, not initially. You had been tagging along behind the two for the better part of the entire day, and, at some point, you got bored enough to find more entertainment in the scenery than in the dilemma they were facing.

You missed nature more than you missed manslaughter cases.

You didn’t know who they shot in the end, but one of the men was laying on the ground when you snapped back to the ‘present’. You supposed you were meant to feel some kind of sympathy for him, the way that he crumpled to the ground, but it was difficult to find any emotion here. Instead, you leaned against the building that the two who were left ended up at. It was another of those jumps in time, not that any time could be wasted in a dream.

Was it bad that you were apathetic to all this? You knew it wouldn’t have consequences; you would return to the void again when this was all over, alone, and easily forgetting the events of the dream – but it still felt wrong to be so nonchalant about it. If you were any other sort of person, the kind who hadn’t been left alone for a century, being dragged into another scenario might have borne excitement. Seeing people, whether or not they saw you, might have given you hope.

But you weren’t that kind of person, and you weren’t excited or hopeful. You were a ghost, sent adrift in a house too new for you, ignored by the living who now inhabited it, and why shouldn’t you have been? They had no reason to care about you, they didn’t have to acknowledge you, they weren’t—

A spark of electricity like a bullet shot through you when you noticed the man sitting at the table. Not only had he not left yet, like the person you had been following, but he was staring straight at you.

The rising of your stomach made you think you were going to throw up. The quickening of your breath made you think you were going to pass out. The widening of his eyes made you think he felt the same. Neither of you acted, not for the first moments that it took for you to assess the situation, assess him.

Dark suit, dark hair, dark eyes. The only color about him were the rings of red and blue that waved off him like watercolor paints added to a canvas. They resisted one another but equally drew closer to the man’s edges. Regardless of the fight between them, he sat perfectly still. If there hadn’t been a certain look in his eyes – the glaze of someone who was both relieved and terrified – you might have mistaken him for being calm, however, there was that glaze, and it was a combination you were knocked breathless by because it was him. You recognized him.

And a similar sense of fear and comfort fired off in the chambers of your heart, hitting the walls as though they were a batting cage.

You took the first step, physically, and metaphorically. You didn’t think you would remain upright if you didn’t latch onto the empty chair for support as you muttered, “Dark?”

Your voice was rough in your throat. It felt more like you’d spat up a coat of oil than a real word. Years of disuse, the silence of the void that bid you follow suit, years of misuse, screaming into the pitch blackness for just a chance of an echo.

Hearing your own name sent back at you had you stumbling. Suddenly encased by your lost reality, you didn’t notice Dark jolt forward in his seat, hand barely outstretched and mouth semi-parted. Neither of you knew what he intended to do, but you acted first, dropping into the chair.

“How,” came his next words, slow, quiet, gentle like he was soothing an animal or someone he found dying on the road, “how are you here?”

Only his first question, and you couldn’t answer it. Not perfectly accurately, anyway, so your rough estimates would have to do. “I don’t know, I-I followed… I followed someone here.”

His fist clenching on the table caught your eye, but you were stopped from asking about it when he tried to clarify for you, “Mark.”

A myriad of other curiosities appeared – a frigid tone, bitter but unsurprised, and the warbling of the blue and red lines around him, among others – and yet they dissipated just as fast when he met your eyes. The search for something apparently proved fruitless; he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and cocked his head to one side. A silent question. 

Why weren’t you angry?

Because you were completely fine upon hearing that name. In Dark’s mind, he considered it impossible that you should stay draped in the chair after the man that caused your demise was mentioned. No malice surfaced, no anger, no sadness, just a blink that was nothing more than an instinct. 

Maybe it had something to do with the years you had spent alone, or maybe you never held it against him in the first place. The actor had been unstable for months leading up to your reunion. The events weren’t expected, of course, and in no way would you have chosen to go through that if you had the ability to go back – but they were what happened. Resignation softened your body language and your mind, prompting you to pay more attention to the present than the past.

Right now, Dark’s comment only served to add to your theory.

“Why does it have to be Mark?” you asked, knocking the man across from you out of his stupor. “Why can’t I have followed the other person?”

His brow furrowed, and it made you wonder how much he knew about the situation, the thought that followed being how much he would tell you.

“Because they—” Dark drew into himself as soon as the words escaped his mouth, “—are not the one dreaming.”

It was your turn to look curious. You were a person of fact by nature. Magic and demons and expansive, blank voids, they were fairytales used to scare children back into their beds at night. Simply put, they weren’t real. And the power of dreams? What stock were you supposed to put in that?

So, without another option, you said, simply, “Explain.”

And explain Dark did.

Having one third of your form come from the void had its perks, especially in describing its powers, the influence it had, what it could do. And, as you proceeded to hear, it could do a lot – more than you had ever imagined it capable of, given the absolute nothingness of it – but the thing that interested you the most was the accessibility of it.

Things like the entities, the ones that made up Dark and took over Celine’s body, were able to use the void like a hub. It allowed them to jump from place to place within seconds. Without a physical form, it would have otherwise been difficult to move around. Hell, it was difficult to move around, because getting out of the void was much harder than getting in. It required one very specific ability.

One that you did not possess.

“And you put me in there.”

“I did.” 

He said this with no emotion. It wasn’t an apology, nor was it a threat; it was a simple statement of fact, an admission without the guilt. You didn’t know if he had the ability to feel it. As far as your knowledge went, the inhumane entity within Dark took away the chance of it, leaving only the reality behind, as unbelievable as it sounded.

“Did you know I wouldn’t be able to get out?” was the only thing you asked.

This time, there was a short pause before he answered. The memory unwound in his mind while he processed the question. You had asked if he knew, and he asked himself the same thing. Objectively, yes. There was no way that a human – flesh, bones, blood – would be able to leave the void, and Dark understood that. He had never believed otherwise.

And yet, there had been something else behind his actions, because it wasn’t his intention to keep you locked up inside the mirror.

Slowly, tasting the words in his mouth, he repeated, “I did.” The response felt right, he wasn’t lying, but…

You watched as Dark leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table and head resting on his clasped hands. Everything was deliberate. His suit jacket didn’t crease if he didn’t want it to, and his tie stayed flush against his shirt where it was meant to be, but the look in his eye made you think he was anything but conscious of the present. This seemed to be affecting him more than you, and you were the one with the vitamin D deficiency. 

The confirmation that yes, he knew kept repeating like a broken record in Dark’s mind. However, it wasn’t because that puzzled him. Really, it was the only thing that made sense. What actually threw him through a loop was the simple fact that it hadn’t mattered. Trapping you in the void, keeping you away from the real world, was not the logical option. If he had been looking for the best way to carry out his pledge of revenge on Mark, getting rid of Damien would have been the best option. He had the obligations of the mayor of a city, he had an awkward relationship with the actor – both too distant and not far enough – and he was so, so painfully emotional. Painfully human.

Celine hated Mark so much that she thrived on the plan’s progress. The thought of revenge nourished her and made Dark stronger. She had the determination he needed to go through with it all. She was the obvious choice to keep in that amalgamation of souls. The entity was staying, and that was that, no deliberation required. 

That left just you and Damien. 

Dark had seen you work, or, rather, Damien had the memories of you in the court room. To surmise, you were good, very good, and you were able to separate your emotions from the case. While the witness on the stand was hurling profanities, you made eye contact and stood your ground. If the prosecutor started floundering, you pounced on the opportunity to tear about their words. You were exact, efficient, and a force to be reckoned with. 

But poor, sweet Damien? He was always at the back of Dark’s mind, his best excuse for a conscience that constantly reminded him what the moral choice was, regardless of whether he had taken the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that. He was persistent. He was a liability. It wasn’t a shock that he turned out to be the only thing stopping him from latching on to Mark in one of his dreams and killing him when he woke up.

So, the question was: why did Dark push you out and keep Damien?

As if sensing the answer was in arm’s reach, something – and he said something, but he knew what, who, it was – forced him to look up and at you.

Well, that explained it.

Dark’s inner monologue took no more than thirty seconds, even with the strange tick-tock of the clock in a dream, and you watched him and nothing but him in that time. You were still looking at him when he snapped back to the present. As though someone had snapped their fingers, you saw the calculating cold, the pressing tension, the rampant search for an answer melt away in layers to reveal the truth behind it all. As he leaned back into his seat and laid his arms out on the sides, the creases at his eyes softened and a faint smile pulled at his lips.

“The mirror was not meant to be a prison,” Dark started to explain before he was overcome with the pointless need to take a deep breath. Your expression of pure curiosity pulled at his unmoving heart, squeezing it in a grip that he didn’t describe as uncomfortable. Gently and unable to look away, he continued, “And I’m sorry that it was one. I intended it to be a sanctuary, of sorts.”

A flash of confusion darted through your eyes, and Dark rushed to continue before it could turn into suspicion. “I wanted to keep you away from Mark, away from the consequences of everything.”

It was at the end of that sentence, with perfect timing, that his neck was snapped to the side. The bones popped and the nerves twisted. He tried to play it off, but you clearly noticed. Your concern made his heart clench just as painfully as his neck, so he brought a hand up to show that he was fine.

You didn’t believe him, and he didn’t make it any more convincing when he said, “You would have died.”

You knew that; your body was dead on impact, but that wasn’t what he was talking about. Instead, because of him, your soul was alive, even if it only existed in the confines of a metaphysical world. 

A question about the integrity of your survival died on your tongue as you registered the strange frown on Dark’s face. It twitched at the sides, threatening to pull further down, but he kept it as straight as he could. The same couldn’t be said about the few tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. He almost succeeded at containing his emotion until one betrayed him and slid to his jawline with a mutter of, “I had to save you.”

“Thank you.”

His breath caught in his throat at your response. For all his monologues and explanations, he hadn’t expected you to be grateful. You, of all people, thanked him, and it wasn’t a joke. He had never seen as genuine a smile on anyone’s face, him not having met more than four people notwithstanding, to the point that it almost lit up the gray of his skin to a normal tone.

And you did mean it. The man in front of you – the one currently tearing up at the mere possibility of losing you – wasn’t malicious. Being the district attorney had given you the almost magical ability to tell when someone was lying. It had served you well in court, and it served you well here. The conclusion you came to took no longer than a few seconds. Personal history did have its benefits, after all, and you had learned long ago how to not be impeded by a pretty face. From all the evidence in front of you, Dark was trustworthy.

You trusted him.

“Of course,” he replied as his hand darted to the lapel of his jacket to sturdy himself. The attention was almost too much, and he found his mouth moving before he understood what he wanted to say. “You said you followed Mark here?”

You nodded, disregarding the fact that Dark had told you that you had followed Mark, for his sake. You also didn’t mention his shaky attempt to compose himself and waited for his next words. You weren’t in any rush to speed things along; for all you knew, talking to Dark was the only thing keeping you in this dream. It surprised you that you hadn’t been dropped back into the void yet, but you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, it had its other advantages.

You hadn’t seen Dark since the first time on that fateful night, and it took everything out of you to not see him, or anyone else, again. When you were in the pitch black, you imagined that you would get attached to the first person you saw, and it was a shock to you when that wasn’t the case. The nature drew you in before Mark or his partner in crime could, but you had still tried to talk to them. During your experimentation, you had whispered in their ears, yelled at them, said all manner of things to get their attention, but none had worked, so you quickly moved on. Nothing kept you around them.

But there was something with Dark. The space around you shifted, as if the dream itself recognized the moment and gave it a wide berth. Out of respect or fear or nothing, you didn’t know, yet it was undeniable that it happened, and you were glad it did. You wanted to preserve the bubble of safety that had molded around you. There was a part of you that bargained with the dream, as inane as that sounded, to get more time with Dark. The clock worked differently here, so why couldn’t it grant you a slower pace?

Unaware of your mental bartering, Dark pushed on with his questioning. It came as a surprise to you, having not been focusing at all on the present. 

“How?”

You had to take a second to remember what you were talking about, but, when it came to you, you realized you weren’t able to give him much.

“I don’t know. I’m normally stuck in the void, but lately it’s been tossing me around. I went somewhere else before, a heist of some kind. It was much more complicated than this, though.”

You hadn’t paid much attention to the paths this time. There was much less to explore, and the hope of having escaped had worn off. You were fairly certain they were the same people, too, so any contact was old news. You weren’t interested in the heist dream either, not after the sixth time you ended up outside that museum with the pair of thieves.

Despite that, Dark appeared to make up for your lack of enthusiasm; he practically lunged, one hand steadying his body on the back of the chair as he leaned forward, so much so that he was half bent over the table between you.

In a breathless voice, he asked, “Where?” It was more of a demand, really, colored so from the unfamiliar want. It took a moment for him to realize himself, and he then sat back down in the seat. One hand went to card through his hair, throwing it about haphazardly as he amended, “Where were you? I… I was there, but, evidently, we didn’t see each other.”

As you thought through your response, Dark took the time to reprimand part of his mind for his outbursts. He couldn’t afford to break down right now, there were far more important things at stake that made getting distracted too risky, no matter how much the voice in the back of his mind begged to be let loose.

Before you opened your mouth, he managed to similarly berate his general self for thinking it a semi-appealing idea.

“I was distracted,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It all felt so real.”

When you stared down at your hands, the outlines of your fingers shimmered, and the veins on the undersides of your wrists pulsed with white light. How were you to know you weren’t alive? Were you a fool for thinking you had escaped, for being tricked, like an owner who had thrown a ball for a dog but just held it behind their back? You went off chasing it, of course, not noticing the stranger things around you. You were too obsessed with the mundane and the possibility that you had a body when you should have known that you didn’t.

Hearing that Dark had been in the same place, maybe, at one point, right under your nose, a deep sense of regret unfurled in your stomach. You had lamented not being able to talk to anyone, but you had ignored the one chance you had at it. If you had just paid more attention, your heart wouldn’t be trying to destroy itself.

As if sensing your spiraling discomfort, the red and blue lines around Dark flared and spasmed. They whipped out at places and curled in at others, mimicking radio waves with their peaks and troughs. It brought your attention to the current moment, and you were glad it did because you became acutely aware of the expression on the face of the man opposite you.

In the midst of the cold, calculating cover he tried to pull, there was a hint of desperation peeking through the weak spots. His eyes, ever the window to the soul, were still glossy with unshed tears, and his mouth, no matter how much focus he put towards smirking, dipped for seconds at a time. You wanted nothing more than to lean forward and comfort him, but the dream was an unkind thing; your legs didn’t cooperate, you were unable to move an inch to brush the drops away.

You offered him the most you could, saying gently, “This feels different.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so.”

Any reason you had in mind was wiped away when a tingling sensation danced at the tips of your fingers. It was something like a limb falling asleep, but it was spreading fast. Your heart rate sped up to a dangerous speed as it got faster and faster, turning into a wildfire that stopped you feeling anything, and it only got worse when you looked down.

Your hands had completely disappeared, the space empty where they had been before. Looking to the ground, you saw nothing but a neon white, which likewise surrounded you when you glanced around you. This hadn’t happened before, and it was terrifying you.

“It’s okay,” Dark said. Thankfully, he didn’t sound panicked – you didn’t think you could handle it if he wasn’t as calm as he was – and he even went so far as to start explaining. You had always liked knowing things. A smile snuck onto Dark’s face as he remembered the singular time that you had been forced to explore negative capability in university, which ended with you throwing the textbook out of the window. In any other situation, he might have teased you for it, but you didn’t have the time.

“The dream is ending,” he started, trying to sound confident despite the fear of not seeing you again nestling itself in his heart. “I suppose you’ve never strayed this far from the start before.”

You shook you head; at the end of the heist, before you were dumped back into the void, you had been standing just where you began, in front of the museum. Now, you didn’t know where you were, but you calmed yourself with Dark’s clarification. Well, his clarification and the pressure of his hand against your upper arm. The contact was inches away from empty air, and you feared for a moment of irrational indulgence that it would speed up and you would lose the feeling. 

Your attention snapped back to Dark as he continued talking, “It works outwards. Everything will disappear eventually, but we’re on the edge. We have time.”

He refrained from telling you exactly how much time you had left here, all too aware that it would make you flounder. He had watched the environment disappear before. It wasn’t comforting and it wasn’t pretty, so he preferred staying in the darkness, where it wasn’t as obvious that everything was gradually fading away. Finding you in the daylight was a stoke of luck, a miracle. The only reason why he was out there in the first place was because…

“Mark is around here, too.”

You nodded, a simple confirmation or more complicated agreement, he wasn’t sure, but he stood from his seat, nevertheless. Your torso was gone, now, nothing but a shimmering outline that was gradually disappearing itself. You were close to completely returning to the void, and there was a part of Dark that was unimaginably frightened it would be for the last time.

Another part reminded him of what he was supposed to do, told him it would help you if he adapted to this, convinced him that it was the right thing to do. It surprised him when the resistance that normally came with that simply didn’t.

His legs moved on their own towards the parking lot, where he knew Mark still was, but your voice stopped him before he passed you.

“Come back safe, alright?”

How was he supposed to say no to you? When you were looking at him with such trust and belief, it was impossible.

He leaned down to press his lips against your forehead. Your skin was surprisingly warm, considering your situation, but that might have come from his natural coolness. Still, it was nice. A good contrast that had the back of his mind focused entirely on the feeling. 

“Of course.”

The shimmering was gone, and you along with it. 

Dark stepped back, registered a strange satisfaction in his heart, and took a deep breath.

The actor was dead within the hour.

It didn’t take much, surprisingly. In fact, it was quite easy. As Dark stood above Mark’s finally vacant body – returned once and for all to the state it should have been in – he found no burst of adrenaline. No anger, no sadness, no passion. Nothing but the dull hum of satisfaction, just the same as the one from when you had disappeared. It was done, and that was that.

Mark was dead. Damien and Celine were appeased. 

His job was complete.

He dropped the bloody axe to the floor, the clatter and thud not reaching his ears. Someone else would bury the body. Another would open an investigation into his death. A deep cut, like one from felling a tree, wasn’t going to be described as natural. It didn’t matter, though; arresting someone who should have already been dead was as difficult as murdering one. Dark had nothing to fear.

He also had nothing to do. There were no more plans to be made, no more vengeance to be enacted, and you had told him to come back safe, right? Maybe taking a rest wasn’t such a bad idea.

The manor, Dark’s base of operations that he loathed to call his base of operations, was quiet when he arrived back. It didn’t bother him, he had never appreciated the bustle and boom of all the parties once hosted there. It had prompted one part of him to find a safe space in a spare bedroom at one end of the house, and that was exactly what he needed – somewhere to be that didn’t come with the strings of tracking down Mark.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and groaned as he closed it again. Despite the confines of a tailored suit, he didn’t stop himself from falling onto the untouched sheets of the bed. It had been so long since he had laid down; for the past century, he had either been ramrod straight or sitting in his chair, and laying sideways across a desk hadn’t done him any good.

This position was much better. Was this the kind of ‘different’ you had spoken about? He hoped so, with the relaxation that ran through him. It was enough to coax him to close his eyes and let it all go, like a siren at the edge of a boat on stormy seas.

And then came the voice of one, too.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Slowly, Dark opened his eyes again, with the distinct feeling of trust firm in his heart. A new voice in the manor would normally be cause for concern, but he knew the voice. He knew you.

The only thing he didn’t know was what was happening.

When he knocked himself out of his sentimentality, Dark was greeted by the sight of you against the backdrop of the moonlight. He was still in that room, resting on the bed, but everything seemed altered in some way. You were the most obvious difference, and he was half sure that you were behind the softness of the scene, as if, in the time he was out, you had painted over the furniture, the walls, the light itself.

You dropped down on the edge of the bed as Dark pulled himself into a sitting position.

“I’m not,” he started, but he was forced to trail off. He didn’t know how to verbalize a single thought, and yet that wasn’t as frightening as he thought it would be. With you, he didn’t think it possible to be scared. Still, he tried again, “You’re…”

You shook your head and reached to place your hand over his. This was the first time you had made contact with him, and he quickly found he never wanted it to end.

“No, I’m not alive,” you answered his silent question, “and neither are you, by the looks of things.”

“I don’t understand.”

You didn’t expect him to. When he had sat across from you, he radiated a certain poise and manner that only came with certainty. You had seen it in witnesses, prosecutors, clients. They all acted the exact same when they were on their home turf, and when they were moved away from it.

Luckily, Dark was taking it better than they did – there was less yelling and cursing and threatening – but there was still the undercurrent of concern.

It was your turn to explain as you said, “You killed Mark. You did what you needed to do.”

“Exactly, he’s gone.”

He said it with a small smile, but his downturned eyebrows and deeper breaths betrayed the confusion.

You brought your other hand over his unattended one and collected the two into a grip. “Oh, my dear, he’s not the only one who can dream.”

Taking advantage of his lapse in troubled thoughts, you dipped your head to lightly kiss the exposed skin of his knuckles. They were weathered by time, a statue left outside too long, and you hoped to sooth some of the damage the elements had done.

“You look tired,” you muttered.

“I am.”

“Go on, then.” 

You tried not to return your hands to his when you saw the flash of fear on his face as you took them away to gesture vaguely at the headrest. A trio of fresh, fluffed pillows lay there, and, although you wondered just how comfortable his suit could be, you wanted him to relax some. This wasn’t the waking world, after all.

While Dark shifted to remove his jacket, you drifted towards the fireplace along the wall opposite. The burst of flame calmed down quickly, blending into small embers behind the grate. 

“From what I’ve been able to figure out, it’s a replica of the manor from its better days. I think it’s empty but sometimes I hear…”

In a case of excellent timing, the distant squeal of childish laughter came from down the hallway. It was followed by footsteps, quickening, and then sliding into another room. You never saw who exactly was out there, but based on the man staring at the door, you were safe to assume the possibilities.

“Better days,” he repeated, nodding to himself, and then looked back at you. You always were so smart.

You returned to Dark’s side after securing more logs in the hearth, though you hesitated, standing awkwardly with a hand to your chest.

No words were needed for him to realize your thought process, so he offered a hand of his own, which you took without further deliberation. It took another soft tug for you to relax against him, at which point he curled an arm around your shoulders and brought you as close as possible, but it was solely your decision to reach up and undo his tie, draping it over a post once it was fully removed.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

You were content to leave it at that. Hell, you had been content to stay standing beside him while he slept, but this was much better.

Dark, however, pressed a kiss to the back of your head, sighed, and mumbled, “How do I know I won’t wake up?”

You twisted in his hold to look at him. For all the love and trust his eyes held, it wasn’t enough to completely mask a genuine desperation.

“Do you want to wake up?” you asked, simply and plainly.

He responded in the same fashion. “No.”

“Then you won’t. It’s your dream, after all, and I think you deserve to rest.”

That was all it took for the fear to melt away. Dark’s eyes fell shut, and he knocked his head against yours for a moment, just to savor the feeling, before he fully leaned forward and connected your lips.

It was a tired, late-night kiss that you shared. You wouldn’t lie, you had imagined you would have one after a rough day at the office, pressing cases and pressing clients that got on your nerves, instead of finally relaxing with a man you had never thought you’d see again – but it still served the same purpose. It made your heartbeat slow and your shoulders drop. The slow dance between the two of you brought smiles to your faces, tender and loving. It was a silent agreement that this was the ending you had hoped for.

What a dream this was. 

[Thank you so much for requesting, and I'm sorry for the delay! I thought that I’d be able to get more done over these past weeks, but college projects have taken up a lot of my time, unfortunately. On the other hand, if anyone wants to take about British witchcraft in the 1600s or mental health post-World War 2, hit me up, because I’m about to knock my teeth out over this :D! On a lighter note, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed <3]