#A Sea Of Troubles Part 1

[tsukasalover]

(credits to ssruis)

This song is the only thing keeping me going I do not play about mr showtime 😞 nothing ruined me (made my life better) the way this song did

(Sendn. Me songs to do this with in my ask box… sniffle…)

[somnoir]

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - Part 1

Prompt: Dan kills the joker and unintentionally becomes a crime lord

Dan didn't mean to become a Crime Lord. It wasn't his fault that the Joker was fragile and easily killable with one punch to the head. He didn't know that the seemingly immortal clown was easily killed once the impact practically snapped his neck. So yes, Dan didn't mean for this shit to happen. Not when all he wanted to do was go to college, make sure Danny and Elle weren't attracting trouble back in Gotham academy.

It wasn't his fault that the crazy bastard thought it was a good idea to nab his siblings and try to use them for ransom. It's not his fault that his first instinct was to introduce his first to that pennywise knock-off. It'd not his fault that this city was haunted by vengeful ghosts that wanted to tear that motherfucker to shreds.

They were supposed to lay low after the mess with their parents and their name changes.

But nooooo!

They had to have an absolute hatred for clowns and now he's somehow made himself a crime lord. Why the fuck were the Joker's goons so fucking stupid?! They either tried to kill Dan for killing their boss or they tried to fall under him and make him their new leader. It was like a fucking cult in his eyes. Seriously, what the absolute fuck was going on with this shitty city?

It's not like he could call Jazz and say "Hi sis! I killed a crazy clown and I'm now the boss of his weird goons. I also might end up on the local vigilante's hitlist."

Yeah, no. He's not doing that.

But this might not be so bad... Not really. Being their boss could be treated as a source of income if he utilized the Joker's shit properly. I mean, he couldn't always rely on the fruitloops money, not when Vlad could turn traitor and use the money against them. He needed to find a way to support his siblings, one way or another.

And Clockwork did say to get a hobby. If not mass genocide then he could resort to carefully planned crime. Yes. This could work. He'll make it fucking work for the sake of his siblings.

Besides, if he was a crime lord—in motherfucking Gotham—he doubts that the GIW will even try to fuck around in a city where a ghost controlled some part of the criminal underworld.

Oh... Oh, he was gonna fucking do this.

(Clockwork watched as his most troublesome child shifts from world ender to crime lord. At least it was an upgrade from mass genocide.)

Nightwing didn't particularly know what to make of this mess. There were rumors of a new crime lord, of a new rogue.

One day, Joker's body was dropped into the harbor and found by the workers, all confused and scared as to why the Clown Prince of crime was dead in the water. It was humiliating in the Joker's standards, to be discarded like trash into the sea rather than have his body displayed for everyone to gawk at. The clown would have adored being glorified but whoever the hell killed him knew this and fucked the guy up bad.

His head snapped and his corpse tossed out like leftovers.

Jason had laughed, outright celebrated and Crime Alley was as festive as it ever was with the Red Hood blasting music through the streets and partying like there was no tomorrow. All of Gotham was celebrating, parading through the streets with pinatas that looked like the Joker. Harley would drop down from whatever roof she was on and swing her bat at the pinata, spilling red candy as everyone cheered and laughed. It was morbidly glorious.

But the festivities didn't erase the fact that someone had killed the Joker and knew what to do to disrespect him in the worst ways possible. It wasn't long until Joker's old lackeys were rallying to someone—a new boss. It wasn't odd for goons without bosses to move on to find different jobs, but for all of Joker's old minions to work for the same person? This was definitely the guy who killed the Joker.

No name, no appearance, nothing. Just quiet activity with organising his new goons to do strange errands. Stuff that didn't point them in the direction of criminal activity.

"You got anything?" Dick murmurs as Tim slouches over the batcomputer, watching as his younger brother sneered at the screen.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He snaps, "All footage of this new rogue is immediately corrupted."

Babs hums, "And it's not like it's altered after it's been taken. The distortion happens live. They either have some tech on them or they're a meta who can avoid cameras." She adds, taking a leisure sip of the tea Alfred kindly offered them. "Whoever this is doesn't leave a trace aside from this shitty footage."

Tim groans, "I officially hate this guy!" He almost tosses his mug out of anger, shaking his head.

"Does Jason have any info on this one?"

And like the fucking menace he was, Jason pops up without another word. "He goes by Wraith." No one was startled, just sparing him a glance before nodding.

"That's it?"

"The goonions adore him." Jason shrugs, "Guy's been quick. Dealing with shit like Black Mask and other trafficking operations. Some of the kids he's saved wear clothes that have this specific symbol on them. It's a good tactic mind you. Tells people to fuck off and don't come anywhere near the kid or else he'll sic whatever bullshit he has in someone."

Dick narrowed his eyes, "Is it effective?"

"Hell yeah! One of the kids got kidnapped just last week. I went to save the poor thing but he walked out of that warehouse while the kidnappers were bleeding and sobbing." Jason once again grins, "Little Tommy threatened me if I try to arrest Wraith."

"So more anti-heri than villain. Good enough, at least." Dick sighed, shaking his head as he narrowed his eyes on the screen. More distorted footage.

"Thanks for the info, little wing."

"Just updatin' you guys. Heard some rumors that Harley's on the hunt for Wraith to thank him."

Great...

It's been a solid two months since the death of the Joker. Batman and the rest of his birds were increasingly wary of the Wraith and his two new associates that went by Phantom and Specter. No footage on the three could ever be recovered, making them all assume this was the work of a meta.

Most of them weren't sure if this guy was a threat or not. Red Hood, on the other hand, had a fairly positive opinion on the guy who's been hanging traffickers by their legs and immediately staking their claim on the kid to keep them safe.

The new crime lord was slowly dismantling the criminal underworld and building it back up to their design.

"FUCKING HELL!" Dick glared at the screen again, "That's Wraith's doing, isn't it? No way did the Riddler blow up that building."

"Wraith's only been dealing with traffickers so far. Why would he do this?" Steph murmurs, staring at the recording of a building that had suddenly went off. Numerous were dead, some barely survived.

"That's the motherfucker's symbol." Dick pointed to the glowing green symbol that looked liked a fire with some obscure letter they couldn't really make out. (Was it a D or a P?)

"Okay... Why would Wraith blow up a building and kill everyone?" Jason immediately asked, seeming to be defensive of the man. "He doesn't just kill people, Dick."

"Even so..." Bruce grunts, clearly displeased with the bloodshed. All that death...

"We're going after him." Bruce announced, "I'm not putting of the Wraith investigation anymore."

Dan stared at the pictures of the bodies, pudding out smoke without a cigarette in sight. His new minions—they preferred the term goons—were clearly apprehensive and continued to observe their new boss's expressions. This explosion had been his first act of pure and utter violence, a massacre of sorts.

He glances at Danny who melted out of the shadows, startling his goons.

"Can't say I'm not upset but I get why you did that shit." He begrudgingly admits, sitting across Dan. Phantom was a reluctant associate to his new organization of crime—ish.

"They weren't just trafficking kids, squirt. Pimping them, killing them and selling their organs, hosting matches and making meta kids fight to the fucking death." Dan clicked his tongue, "No redemption in that, Phantom."

"I get it, alright!" Danny snapped, "But the you've gotten the direct attention of the Bats now. They're gonna come for us, Wraith."

"Boss?" One of the goons—Dan remembers him as Jeremy Nelson. One guy just trying to support himself and his kid, trying to keep his sweet little daughter in school with as much money as he could get. Dan remembers giving the man a raise and a jacket with their family's symbol stitched into it—one for little Marigold.

"I'll deal with it. For now, you guys spread the word on that shit. I don't want anyone thinking I killed a bunch of kids." Dan growled, "My reputation can burn for all care, but like hell am I letting people think I hurt kids."

With Jeremy leading the other goons, he nodded and hurried out of the office to spread a word. The former Joker goons had taken a liking to their new boss, preferring his ways rather than their dead one.

"Jazz won't like this, y'know." Danny sighs, "I'm not gonna tell her. Never. But she'll find out, one way or another."

Dan frowns, "You think I don't know? It's Jazz, Danny."

"Yeah, yeah. I just didn't expect you to be like this. Crime Lord and everything."

Dan snorts, "I was the world ender, brat. This is mild compared to what I've done."

"Yeah, sure."

He shook his head, "You've got your own problems, brat. The Observants are still fussin' about you being king, your majesty."

An identical scowl looks back at Dan, and he's reminded that this kid is him. An alternate version of himself and yet they were brothers now. "I know. You killing the Joker fucked some stuff up. Apparently, the motherfucker was cursed to hell."

"Meaning?"

"He's got a lifetime of people in his shadow. Vengefu souls that want him dead." Danny huffs, "Had to deal with the paperwork cause everyone's wantin' a taste of him. I'm workin' on letting Walker release him so his victims can execute his soul."

"Cruel, little king."

"I'll give you his file. Bastard deserves to have his soul destroyed." Danny viciously grins. And once again, best reminded that this twerp is him. They were one and the same, different as well.

"Alright, alright. Fuck off now. We've still got some bats and birds to deal with." Dan immediately showed him away, noting Danny's eye roll.

"Better prepare a birdcage then."

Part 2 | Masterlist

[dark-moonlust]

Tentacle Trouble PART 1

Pairing: Tentacle monster x human f!reader

Summary: you decide to explore a cave that is surrounded by stories of a tentacle beast. You find exactly that, get pounded in all holes and bred.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, dub-con, dark monster smut, explicit tentacle smut, p in three holes, HEA. Don’t like, don’t read.

Find the series here.

The dimly lit cave echoed with the roar of the ocean.

You ventured deeper, drawn by the stories of the creature that dwelled within its depths.

You were determined to uncover the truth.

You didn’t expect to find a monster. These were baby tales.

But your were wrong. So very wrong.

The presence lurked and watched you and before you could escape, thick, slick tentacles trapped you. Your clothes were ripped and tossed away, slimy tentacles roaming your body, their weight keeping you a captive. You found yourself being lifted, suspended in the air while wriggling appendages wrapped around your wrists and ankles, keeping your limbs wide apart.

The creature emerged from the shadows, its body a huge round mass of tentacles, each one glistening with a strange slickness. A huge head, and at its core were three glowing eyes, deep blue, like the ocean sea. They seemed to reach into your soul.

“Holy shit!” You gasped, unable to believe your eyes. “I’m so fucking dead.”

A husky voice filled your mind, you realized it came from the monster. “No one shall hurt you, little human. You are here now, your life is mine, your little holes are mine,” it drawled. “I will mate and love you endlessly.”

“Fuck you, you perverted—”

“What a filthy mouth.” A sharp slap against your ass made you gasp in surprise. “Quiet, noisy human.”

You shrieked and moaned as he repeatedly slapped your ass, pausing a little to caress your sore bum before delivering more smacks. No matter how much you wiggled and screamed, you couldn’t be set free. The slimes moved on to slap you pussy, finding it delightfully slick and plump.

You thrashed at each blow, the slaps were light but awakened a strange pleasure inside you.

You hated your treacherous body.

The monster didn’t seem pleased with your thrashing so he pushed one thick tentacle into your parted mouth. It plunged down your throat, stretching your lips and causing you to gag. Moist suckling noises resounded as it fucked your throat, thrusting back and forth until you no longer fought the creature back.

Gluck… gluck… gluck… gluck.

The cave echoed with your lewd slurping sounds as you were forced to swallow the sweet nectarine liquid dripping from his tentacle. Each drop aroused you, invading your system and intoxicating it with desire. In seconds, you were soft and pliant, more than eager to let him have his way with you.

“That’s more like it,” you heard his voice in your mind. “Beautiful human. My little mate.”

“What—hmm,” you gulped down more liquid, “is it?”

The monster’s voice rumbled through you. “That, my little one, is my elixir. It shall make you immortal and prepare your body for me. It is an elixir that only I, the master of these depths, can produce.”

You struggled to speak, a shiver running down your spine. Immortal elixir? It terrified and intrigued you. You looked into the creature’s eyes, asking for answers.

“Only my mate is deserving of my elixir. Now hush, do not fear.”

More tentacles came out of his body, of various shapes and lengths. They travelled over your flesh, leaving trails of slickness wherever they touched. It made your shiver. One tentacle slithered up your inner thigh, brushing around your pussy before slipping inside your depths. Shivers of pleasure ran through you as it fucked you while another slithery appendage rubbed your clit round and round.

Two more tentacles snaked over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your pouting rosebud. You squirmed and cried out around the tentacle fucking your mouth when the pulsating appendages slipped past the tight entrance of your asshole. The fit was tight but the tentacles were incredibly slick. Slowly, oh so slowly, they filled you up, inch by inch, until they were buried deep in your guts.

“Mnn…mnhaa!" You breathed through your nose at the way you felt, all holes filled.

When the tentacles started to thrust, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The tentacles were all over and yet, you felt no pain, just blinding pleasure. You willingly surrendered to the feral ravishmest. The cave filled with the symphony of your high-pitched cries and the furious plap-plap of tentacles filling your body.

The creature’s rhythm grew faster, the tentacles working in perfect harmony.

By now, you had two tentacles buried in your cunt and three more crawling up your ass. The one fucking your throat hadn’t receded and kept feeding you its delectable elixir.

The insistent fucking brought you to a shattering climax. Your body tensed and you cried out around the thrusting appendage in your lips as waves and waves of pleasure crashed over you.

The creature didn’t stop its pounding.

Your voice continued to echo through the cavern. The slimes in your ass pistoned fast and hard but the ones in your pussy stopped and pressed against the entrance to your womb. You tensed, the pressure causing you to wince. You felt a soft pop, followed by the heavy weight of eggs. One by one you felt them as they were deposited deep inside you.

“Ugh .. ungh—" you whimpered and came hard, the walls of your cunt contracting around the ovipositor. Your whole body spasmed as the creature bred you and made you its mate.

It felt like hours later when the slimes exited your holes. The intensity subsided, but your belly was bulging with his brood. The creature gently lowered you to the ground, its tentacles wrapping protectively around you. You lay there, spent and satisfied, your mind reeling from the unbelievable experience.

The creature’s glowing eyes regarded you with a strange, almost tender curiosity. “You did well, my mate. Took six of my eggs on the first try. I am proud of you. Sleep now, little one. I will take care of you. Forever.”

And you did, your eyes shutting as you let go in his embrace. You had found what you needed, a new world of pleasure and otherworldly love.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine refusing to wear a boiler suit while travelling with Law…

Part 1 | Part 2

“Absolutely not.” You said while scowling at the jumpsuits that were expected to be worn by the Heart Pirates. Bepo had offered an orange one but you made a face and pushed it away assuring the bear that while he looked great in it, you wouldn’t.

“I’m a Straw Hat. I’d rather drown in the sea before wearing a uniform.”

Law had been leaning against the rails while watching the scenario play out. The Polar Tang was still docked as the crew restocked supplies. You had been helping load some crates when the matter of dress code came into the mix and you absolutely refused to entertain the thought.

“It’s mandatory.” Law stated. It was a simple request that he expected for his crew - wear appropriate gear while aboard the submarine. “While you’re staying with us, you’ll follow the rules just like any other member.”

Crossing your arms, you threw him a scathing glare as if silently challenging the man. You took a step forward and pressed a finger into the tattooed skin of his chest. You were so furious that you missed the way he jumped at the touch.

“I’ll follow every command while I’m confined to this vessel. But if you want me wearing something that hideous, you’re going to have to undress me yourself.”

Bepo squeaked in surprise at the directness. Shachi and Penguin lowered their heads to conceal their smiles while most of the crew were bustling on the dock.

The expression that fell over Law’s face was priceless, amusing anyone who was in vicinity at the time. His mind betrayed every controlled thought as a great many images flashed before his eyes - of him peeling back each layer of clothing until you stood nak- stop yourself! Law willed almost having to bite his own tongue to bring himself back.

Out of the Straw Hats, you and Robin troubled him the least. But between you and Robin, you made him stumble the most and he never knew why.

When the man recollected himself, you were still standing before him, arms crossed. Still daring him to make you wear the uniform.

Law couldn’t find a way to respond that wouldn’t prompt another retort from you so he stepped back, turned on his heel and exited the conversation entirely.

“Do what you want.” He said and then disappeared into the ship.

Bepo lowered his paws, eyes wide. “He didn’t shout or punish you.” He realised and looked to Shachi and Penguin who were also quite bewildered.

You huffed. “Good. His grip around here is like a damn vice.”

Ikkaku walked by with a barrel and smiled at you. “He’s had to be otherwise we’d be sunk by now.”

Unfolding your arms, you forced all the tension away. Well, as best you could. You looked out onto the open seas and missed your home aboard the Thousand Sunny.

“He seems like he overreacts.” You muttered. Almost instantly the crew around you belted out in laughter clearly familiar with their captains dramatic ways.

Part 1 | Part 2

~ More imagines here ~ (for more One Piece)

A/n: I’m finally up to Law and Kid in the Sabaody Arc! Let’s go!

[squirrelwithatophat]

How the Chantry (and Orlais) Turned Kirkwall into a Police State

One aspect of the Dragon Age series that I’ve always found odd is the way in which rather crucial political and historical context surrounding major conflicts the player must decide tends to be relegated to codices, outside materials (e.g., books), and optional dialogue with minor characters... meaning that many if not most players don’t seem to end up actually seeing it.  Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts (Dragon Age Inquisition) in particular has become somewhat notorious for what it left out, but it’s far from unusual.

With regard to Dragon Age II, there’s a popular perception among fans that the troubles in Kirkwall can be attributed almost entirely to rogue behavior on the part of Knight-Commander Meredith and various evil blood mages.  This is understandable given the overall narrative framing and Bioware’s aforementioned problem of making key context very easy to miss.  But once we take a look at the full picture, it ought to be clear that the Chantry did not simply “fail” in their responsibilities towards the mages or towards the citizens of Kirkwall more broadly — they actively created and maintained the very nightmare they later professed to be dismayed about.

Moreover, despite the running Mages vs. Templars theme, the mages were hardly the only one's who suffered under Meredith's rule. Indeed, Kirkwall endured a brutal 16-year-long dictatorship (9:21-9:37 Dragon) that came into being courtesy of the Chantry and the Orlesian empire and only fell due to the mage rebellion.

Here I’ll describe in detail (with sources and citations) the story of how the Chantry turned Kirkwall into a police state and one that ultimately descended into what the writers themselves termed "genocide."  

The Templar Coup of 9:21 Dragon

Our story begins with the conflict between Viscount Perrin Threnhold of Kirkwall and Emperor Florian Valmont of Orlais.  

With the beginning of the Dragon Age (the era), the Orlais had experienced a major loss of territory and influence.  In 9:00-9:02 Dragon (the exact dates conflict), the Fereldan Rebellion led by Maric Theirin and Loghain Mac Tir overthrew Meghren, the last Orlesian King of Ferelden (personally appointed to the position by Emperor Florian himself), and reclaimed their country’s independence after nearly a century of Orlesian occupation.  These events are described in detail in The Stolen Throne. Emperor Florian, however, remained reluctant to recognize Ferelden’s sovereignty -- with peace between the two countries not being fully established until his death and the ascension of his niece Celene to the throne in 9:20 Dragon -- and may have been eager to reassert Orlesian influence in the region.  Perrin Threnhold, meanwhile, ascended to the position of viscount of Kirkwall (also formerly occupied by Orlais) in 9:14 Dragon.  At some point during this volatile period, Threnhold decided to raise money by charging what the Orlesians regarded as unreasonably high tolls for passage through the Waking Sea, which also controlled Orlais’s sea access to Ferelden and its capitol, Denerim.

For reference, here’s a map with my highlights:

The Orlesian Chantry, founded by Kordillus Drakon I (the first emperor of Orlais), had from the beginning been dominated by Orlesian interests.  According to World of Thedas vol. 1 (p. 56): “The Orlesian capital, Val Royeaux, is home to the Chantry’s Grand Cathedral, the center of the Andrastian religion’s power.  Over multiple Blights, the Orlesians have used the Chantry to expand their influence beyond the nation’s impressive borders, notably to the north into Tevinter territory and southeast through Ferelden.”  The Chantry, not surprisingly, had backed the Orlesian invasion and occupation of Ferelden, most recently under Divine Beatrix III (probably) and Grand Cleric Bronach of Denerim. It should be noted that this is all part of a pattern of highly-aggressive and imperialistic behavior that has persisted for centuries from the early years up to (potentially) the events of Dragon Age Inquisition.

It also cannot be emphasized enough that the Templars are the Chantry’s army and were created by the Chantry in the first place.  They do not simply hunt and guard mages; they fight the Chantry’s wars and carry out its policies.  Quote: “the Order of Templars was created as the martial arm of the Chantry” (Codex: Templars).  According to First Enchanter Halden of Starkhaven (8:80 Blessed), “While mages often resent the templars as symbols of the Chantry's control over magic, the people of Thedas see them as saviors and holy warriors, champions of all that is good, armed with piety enough to protect the world from the ravages of foul magic. In reality, the Chantry's militant arm looks first for skilled warriors with unshakable faith in the Maker, with a flawless moral center as a secondary concern. Templars must carry out their duty with an emotional distance, and the Order of Templars prefers soldiers with religious fervor and absolute loyalty over paragons of virtue who might question orders when it comes time to make difficult choices.  It is this sense of ruthless piety that most frightens mages when they draw the templars' attention: When the templars are sent to eliminate a possible blood mage, there is no reasoning with them, and if the templars are prepared, the mage's magic is all but useless. Driven by their faith, the templars are one of the most feared and respected forces in Thedas” (Codex: Templars).  Likewise, a Chantry official confirms that the Templars are both “the watchers of the mages and the martial arm of the Chantry” (Codex: Seekers of Truth).  In Dragon Age Origins, the (unwillingly) Templar-trained Alistair elaborates, “Essentially they’re trained to fight. The Chantry would tell you that the templars exist simply to defend, but don’t let them fool you. They’re an army... The Chantry keeps a close reign on its templars. We are given lyrium to help develop our magical talents, you see… which means we become addicted.  And since the Chantry controls the lyrium trade with the dwarves… well, I’m sure you can put two and two together...  The Chantry usually doesn’t let their templars get away, either.”

In response to Threnhold’s intolerable restrictions on the Orlesian navy’s movements in its traditional sphere of influence, Divine Beatrix III, an acknowledged “friend of the emperor” (and predecessor to Divine Justinia V of DAI), ordered the Kirkwall Templars under Knight-Commander Guylian to force open the Waking Sea.  Viscount Threnhold retaliated for this obviously-illegal military interference by ordering the Templars expelled from Kirkwall and later executing the knight-commander.  Then-Knight-Captain Meredith Stannard led the remaining Templars to storm the Keep and arrest Threnhold before appointing a weak viscount unwilling or unable to resist her control.

From Kirkwall: City of Chains by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi (Codex: History of Kirkwall: Chapter 4):

Taxes were crippling and Perrin Threnhold used the ancient chains extending from “the Twins” standing at Kirkwall's harbor—unused since the New Exalted Marches—to block sea traffic and charge exorbitant fees from Orlesian ships. The Empire threatened invasion following the closure of the Waking Sea passage, and for the first time, the Chantry used the templars to pressure the viscount. Until that point, the templars had done nothing to counter the Threnholds even though, as the largest armed force in Kirkwall, they could have. Knight-Commander Guylian's only written comment was in a letter to Divine Beatrix III: “It is not our place to interfere in political affairs. We are here to safeguard the city against magic, not against itself.”  The divine, as a friend to the emperor, clearly had other ideas.

In response, Viscount Perrin hired a mercenary army, forcing a showdown with the templars. They stormed the Gallows and hung Knight-Commander Guylian, igniting a series of battles that ended with Perrin's arrest and the last of his family's rule. The templars were hailed as heroes, and even though they wished to remain out of Kirkwall's affairs, it was now forced upon them.  Knight-Commander Meredith appointed Lord Marlowe Dumar as the new viscount in 9:21 Dragon and she has remained influential in the city's rule ever since.

Given that this was written by a Chantry scholar, the self-justificatory rhetoric surrounding the viscount and the Chantry-instigated coup ought not be surprising.  It appears, however, that in Kirkwall itself popular perceptions of Viscount Perrin Threnhold are in fact fairly polarized.

Whereas Brother Genitivi calls Perrin’s father Chivalry Threnhold “a vicious thug who took power through a campaign of intimidation” and Perrin Threnhold “even worse,” an unnamed servant writing 7 years after the coup paints a rather different picture (Codex: Viscount Marlowe Dumar):

What happened to Viscount Perrin Threnhold was a travesty. I served in the Keep, and my blood boils when I hear people call him a tyrant. He was a good man who tried his best to free Kirkwall from the control of those who use power for their own purposes. It's always been that way here, hasn't it? Long ago it was the Imperium. Then it was the Qunari, then the Orlesians, now the templars... when have we ever ruled ourselves? He tried to kick those templar bastards out and give us real freedom, and what did it get him?

Whether Threnhold was an evil tyrant or a nationalist hero (or both or something else entirely) is beside the point, however.  He was not overthrown for mistreating the citizens of Kirkwall; he was overthrown for opposing Orlais and the Templars (acting as an arm of Orlesian imperialism and in defiance of their official duties).  Seneschal Bran, himself no fan of either Threnhold or the Templars (and the only character to ever discuss the coup out loud), points this out in an easy-to-miss optional conversation in Act 3.

Hawke: What happens if they [the Templars] don’t like the [nobility’s] choice [of viscount]?

Seneschal Bran: Do you know how Viscount Dumar’s predecessor, Perrin Threnhold, left office?  He was a tyrant, certainly, but his rule was not ended until he actively sought to expel the templars.  “The good of all” is inexorably tied to what is good for the templars.

It’s unclear whether Knight-Captain Meredith was acting on her own initiative in toppling Threnhold or whether she received prior encouragement from the Chantry, but either way, what is certain is that the Chantry moved quickly to legitimize her actions and bolster the new order.  Moreover, the intent to seize power for the Chantry and its military forces rather than “liberate” Kirkwall from the depredations of a tyrannical viscount can be seen in the way they illegally imposed their own viscount (one kept submissive through threats of violence) rather than allowing the people to choose or at the very least following accepted selection procedures (i.e., allowing the nobility to vote on the next viscount). Indeed, this refusal to let the nobility select the viscount as per tradition is the basis of Orsino's protest at the beginning of Act 3.

In any event, Grand Cleric Elthina, as the highest-ranking representative of the Chantry in Kirkwall (appointed to her position by Divine Beatrix III herself around 20 years before Act 1) and thus exercising authority over its Templars, presided over the show trial at the end of which Threnhold was imprisoned and later murdered in his cell. Then she rewarded Meredith with a promotion.

According to the codex for Knight-Commander Meredith:

She is credited with removing the previous viscount, Perrin Threnhold, from his position after he attempted to have the templars expelled from the city in 9:21 Dragon.  The acting knight-commander was arrested and executed, and Meredith led a group of templars into the heart of the Keep to capture Threnhold. He was tried and imprisoned three days later by Grand Cleric Elthina and died from poisoning two years later. Meredith was subsequently elevated to her current position.

While merely implied here, Elthina is explicitly confirmed to have given Meredith the position of knight-commander in the first place in World of Thedas vol. 2 (p. 193):

Following Threnhold’s arrest, Grand Cleric Elthina appointed Meredith as the new knight-commander.  At Knight-Commander Meredith’s suggestion, a new viscount was chosen: a man named Marlowe Dumar.

Then in blatant violation of Kirkwall’s own laws and traditions -- again, dictating that the viscount be chosen by the nobility -- the Chantry had allowed newly-installed Knight-Commander Meredith to select the new viscount.  If approached in the Templar-occupied Viscount’s Keep and spoken to in Act 3, Seneschal Bran will explain:

Bran: When a line is judged unfit, or ends, we appoint from Kirkwall’s elite.  Or we would, if the situation was normal.  But it is not.

Hawke: Who nominates a new viscount?

Bran: A consensus of the nobility.  Normally.  And a willing nominee.

It seems to be the general consensus that Marlowe Dumar was chosen specifically because he was weak and willing to play the role of Templar/Chantry puppet (a subheading in Dumar’s WoT v2 entry even explicitly calls him “The Puppet”).  Meredith, after all, is not only responsible for his appointment but has been threatening him into compliance from the very beginning.

Again, Brother Genitivi writes quite bluntly: 

Knight-Commander Meredith appointed Lord Marlowe Dumar as the new viscount in 9:21 Dragon and she has remained influential in the city's rule ever since.

And quoting once more from the unnamed servant:

Now the Chantry has chosen Lord Marlowe Dumar as his replacement. After weeks and weeks of arguing, after telling the nobility that they would be choosing their viscount, after everyone saying it was time to use a new title—why not "king"? Why keep using the name imposed by the Orlesians? And after all that, the Chantry chose him. I suppose I can see why—everyone thinks he has the spine of a jellyfish, and it does seem that way.

Truly, he has the templars on one side, the nobility on the other, and everyone expects him to solve all their problems—yet he has no power to actually accomplish it. He keeps the peace as best he can, and I think he does a good job even if no one else does.

Likewise, to quote from Marlowe Dumar’s entry in World of Thedas vol. 2 (p. 184-185):

The new knight-commander, Meredith, appointed Marlowe to the seat, much to his surprise.  Just before he was crowned, he met in private with the knight-commander at the Gallows.  Marlowe was escorted, surrounded by grim templars, to Meredith’s well-appointed office, and there, she explained her reasons for the choice.  Kirkwall was filled with entitled degenerates... “With my help, you will turn this city around,” she said.  “We will be allies.”  Meredith’s message was clear: Remember who holds power in Kirkwall.  Remember what happened to Threnhold when he overreached.  To drive her point home, she presented Marlowe with a small carven ivory box at his coronation.  The box contained the Threnhold signet ring, misshapen, and crusted with blood. On the inside of the lid were written the words “His fate need not be yours.”  Marlowe ruled Kirkwall without incident for almost a decade, in no small part thanks to Meredith’s backing.  During his reign, the templars grew even more powerful, and the knight-commander’s influence was evident in almost every one of Marlowe’s decisions.

And from Meredith’s entry in WoT vol. 2 (p. 193):

Meredith presented Dumar with a carved ivory box at his crowning.  All present witnessed the viscount going white as a sheet as he opened it... It is not known what the box contained, but the reaction from Dumar made its importance to him obvious.  What is certain is that Dumar never openly or strongly defied the templars.  Over the course of his reign, Meredith’s grip on Kirkwall grew ever tighter, and Dumar’s failure to act absolutely contributed to the events that led to the mage rebellion.

According to Lord Bellamy, “a longtime political ally of Dumar’s” (p. 193):

“Dumar had a good heart.  A good heart and a weak will.  On his own he might have made a good leader, given time.  But he wasn’t on his own.  The knight-commander was always there, looking over his shoulder.  She let him know she was watching, that he wore the crown at her sufferance.  Meredith appointed him. This was a nobleman of only moderate wealth, with little influence.  She knew she could control him and there was little he or anyone else could do about it.”

Ultimately, the coup not only secured Chantry control over Kirkwall but furthered their (and the Orlesian Empire’s) geopolitical interests in the Free Marches as a whole. After all, the “Free Marches is [sic] best known as the breadbasket of Thedas. Its farms along the banks of the great Minanter river are the source of much of the continent’s food” (World of Thedas vol. 1, p. 65), and as with many a real-world “breadbasket,” its natural abundance and misfortune of lying between multiple empires had made it the target of one invasion and occupation after another. After the slave revolt of 25 Ancient toppled the Tevinter Imperium’s hold over the region (see Codex: History of Kirkwall: Chapter 2), the city-state of Kirkwall fell to Qunari invasion in 7:56 Storm, then invasion and occupation by the Orlesian Empire in 7:60 Storm, and finally gained its independence about 45 years later in 8:05 Blessed (see Codex: History of Kirkwall: Chapter 3). Prior to the Chantry-instigated coup, Kirkwall had enjoyed independence under a locally-chosen viscount for around 115 years, with Viscount Perrin Threnhold himself ruling for 7 years.

Other city-states of the Free Marches have likewise fallen under the Chantry’s sphere of influence (if not outright control):

Starkhaven is ruled by the Vael family. According to the codex for The Vaels, “They remain devout, dedicating at least one son or daughter per generation to become a cleric in the chantry.” The sole potential heir to the throne of Starkhaven is of course our DLC companion Sebastian Vael, “The Exiled Prince.” To quote from his first codex: “Sebastian Vael is the only surviving son of the ruling family of Starkhaven, which was murdered in a violent coup d'etat. Sebastian cannot forget the irony that he still lives only because his family was so ashamed of his drinking and womanizing that they committed him to the Kirkwall Chantry against his will… Since then, his belief in the Maker and His plan for Thedas have been unshakable. Embracing his new role, Sebastian took vows of poverty and chastity to become a sworn brother of the Chantry... until word of his family's deaths forced him to take up worldly concerns once again.” Elthina appears to have been playing mind games with Sebastian from the very beginning -- first she agrees to have him confined in her Chantry, then poses as a secret benefactor helping him escape from her clutches, with the revelation of her identity as said pretend benefactor leading him to embrace her authority and the life of a Chantry brother with genuine enthusiasm (see the Sebastian short story or his WoT v2 entry for details).  After his family’s murder, Elthina urges him to remain with her rather than reclaim the throne.  Yet when he gives up on seeking the throne and actually does attempt to return to the Chantry during “a crisis of faith,” he is “turned away by Grand Cleric Elthina, who believed he had not yet committed fully to either course” (see Codex: Sebastian - The Last Three Years), leaving him confused and even more under her thrall than ever.

Ostwick is dominated by the devout, staunchly pro-Chantry Trevelyan family. According to the codex for Trevelyan, the Free Marcher: “It is an old and distinguished family, in good standing among its peers, and with strong ties to the Chantry. Its youngest sons and daughters—those third- or fourth-born children with little chance of becoming heirs—often join the Chantry to become templars or clerics.”

Tantervale is certainly... special. According to WoT vol. 1 (p. 71): “Chantry rule is all but absolute in Tantervale, earning the city its dour reputation. The city guard is obsessed with enforcement. A street urchin would get a year in the dungeon for something that would get him a pat on the back in Orlais” (p. 71).

But let us return to Kirkwall, shall we?

"The Puppet”: The Reign of Viscount Marlowe Dumar (9:21-9:34 Dragon)

Viscount Marlow Dumar’s status as an impotent tool of the Chantry and its Templars appears to be common knowledge in Kirkwall.  Various characters, from city guards to lowlifes like Gamlen, casually refer to Meredith as if she is head of state and defer to her authority.

Immediately upon approaching the gates of the city in the first quest of the game, The Destruction of Lothering (Act 1), the following exchange occurs:

Guardsman Wright: So Knight-Commander Meredith wants us to sort you all out. Most of you are getting right back on your ships, though.

Hawke: That's a templar title. Why would a city guardsman answer to the templars?

Wright: We don't answer to her... but she's the power in Kirkwall. Don't know what would happen if the viscount went against something she wanted... But he's sure never taken that chance.

Likewise, if asked about “the word on the street,” Corff the bartender remarks as early as Act 1, “People say Meredith's the real power in Kirkwall, not the Viscount. Even Dumar answers to her.”

Ordinary citizens appear terrified of Meredith, and with good reason.  During the quest Enemies Among Us (Act 1, set in 9:31 Dragon), we get the following exchange with the sister of a Templar recruit:

Macha: I pleaded with him not to join the Order, but he wouldn't listen. You hear dark rumors about the templars and Knight-Commander Meredith. And now my brother is gone.

Hawke: (“Are templars so bad here?”) In Lothering, some templars died protecting villagers. I never heard any dark rumors.

Macha: And those are the stories my Keran adored. But it is not like that here, serah. There is a growing darkness in the order. They prowl the streets in packs. Hunting. And now, they say their duties put them above us, that they have the right to... take people from their homes. It is frightening.

Hawke: (“Tell me about Meredith”) What do people say about Knight-Commander Meredith?

Macha:  Oh, she has many admirers. They laud the service she does in keeping the mages in check.  But others say she is terribly fierce and utterly without pity. That she sees demons everywhere.  It is dangerous even to whisper such things.  People harboring escaped mages just disappear.  Templars interrogate and threaten passers-by.  My friend has a cousin who’s a mage, and she says he was made Tranquil against his will.  You hear more with each passing day.

Of course, Knight-Commander Meredith’s reign over the Gallows was notoriously brutal long before she came into contact with Red Lyrium.  Writing 3 years after the coup (but 7 years before Act 1), in 9:24 Dragon, Brother Genitivi remarks that "Kirkwall has been a tinderbox since becoming the center of templar power in eastern Thedas." As early as Act 1, mages in the Gallows can be heard crying out, “This place is a prison,” and “Knight-Commander Meredith would kill us all if she could.”  When asked if mages are imprisoned, the guardsman replies, “Used to be, back in the Imperial days. They kept slaves here until the rebellion. Now the templars run it and use it to lock up their mages. Guess not much has changed” (The Destruction of Lothering, Act 1).  Karl Thekla’s final letter before being turned Tranquil (with such illegal uses of the Rite having been repeatedly reported to Meredith) “said the knight-commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made Tranquil for the slightest crimes” (Tranquility, Act 1).  If Hawke questions the truth of these accusations, Anders responds, “Ask any mage in Kirkwall. Over a dozen were made Tranquil just this year. The more people you ask, the worse the rumors become.” (Elthina also appears to be aware at least to some extent of the subsequent ambush, in which a Tranquil Karl was used as bait to ensnare his former lover).

According to the short story Paper & Steel (focusing on Samson): “Under Meredith, freedom was a cruel dream for Kirkwall’s Circle mages. They were often locked in their cells, watched night and day by templars who were told any step out of line was suspicious. All those young magelings, told that magic was a curse, that they were dangerous, and that they had to be shut indoors all their lives looking out through those windows. Some went mad. Others, mad or not, tried jumping.”  And from First Enchanter Orsino’s entry in World of Thedas, vol. 2 (p. 195): “Every time a mage died by their own hand, Orsino would hear Maud’s final words to him: 'This is no life.’ The templars didn’t seem to care about the suicides. Most had the courtesy to say nothing at all, but some would snigger when they thought no one was listening. 'One less to worry about.’ ‘The only good mage is a dead mage.’ Orsino’s anger at the templars grew...” (Note that this began long before Orsino became first enchanter in 9:28, three years before the start of the game). It's also worth noting Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford quite explicitly attained his position as second-in-command of the Kirkwall Templars position because of his anti-mage extremism, later including violence against those perceived as mage sympathizers and their families.

To name more specific abuses, the Gallows features whipping posts (with dialogue confirming the reliance on whipping) and multiple other medieval torture devices, including a rack, a pillory, and iron maidens.  We also see numerous references to casual beatings, sexual assaults, forced Tranquility and facial branding, long-term confinement in dark cells, and permanent family separation (e.g., Emile du Launcet).  Escape attempts are typically punished with summary execution, according to multiple sources (e.g., Ser Thrask, Ser Karras, Grace). According to Ser Thrask, the most sympathetic Templar (besides Carver), kindness to mages would be a "badge of shame" among among his colleagues. For more, I recommend checking out the “DA2 mage rights reference post” by @bubonickitten​. Again, note that these are cruelties largely occurring prior to or during Act 1, long before Meredith started going insane due to Red Lyrium.

If Feynriel is forced into the Circle at the end of Wayward Son (Act 1), the ex-Templar Samson says, “I hear they got your boy Feynriel locked up in the Circle. Bad business, that. It ain't all templars that're bad. It's hard luck being born a robe, but most places, they make it work. That bitch Meredith runs the Order in this town like her private army. You don't toe the line, you end up on the next corner here in Darktown.  I don't think you got to hate mages to love the Order.  But Meredith don't agree.” Samson, it should be remembered, had been expelled from the Templar Order for passing love notes from the mage Maddox to his lover.  For the crime of “corrupting the moral integrity of a templar,” Meredith ordered Maddox turned Tranquil.  According to Cullen in Before the Dawn (DAI), “Knight-Commander Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offences, believe me."

Ordinary citizens appear to be well aware of at least some of Meredith’s reign of terror in the Gallows, given that various NPCs (including some who do not personally know any inmates) will refer to it.  During Tranquility (Act 1), for example, a mob of Ferelden refugees threatens the party over fears that the latter intend to turn in “The Healer of Darktown” to the Templars. One exclaims, "We know what happens to mages in this town.  And it ain’t gonna happen to him." Moreover, the knowledge is sufficiently widespread as to have reached faraway countries.  A note dated 9:35 (set between Acts 2-3) from a mage of the Hossberg Circle in the Anderfels expresses utter horror: “I have heard that in the Kirkwall Gallows, mages are locked in their cells with barely room to stretch, let alone exercise.  I can promise you that any mage of the Anderfels would be stark raving mad after a week of such treatment... No wonder Kirkwall has such trouble with blood mages” (WoT v2, p. 173).  

And through all of this, Meredith has the support of the Chantry and more specifically Grand Cleric Elthina.

Not only did Elthina appoint Meredith to her position in the first place (WoT v2, p. 193), but if asked her opinion on Meredith in Act 1, Elthina snaps, “Gossip is a sin, child. Knight-Commander Meredith has an admirable devotion to her duties. It is not my role to form opinions on her character.”  An odd statement to make about a subordinate, since Meredith reports to her directly (as knight-commanders legally do to the nearest grand cleric).  The codex for Knight-Commander Meredith confirms at as of the end of Act 2, “she enjoys the grand cleric's full support and has free rein in Kirkwall as the commander of its most powerful military force.”  According to Elthina’s codex, many claim that Elthina “allows Knight-Commander Meredith more leeway with each passing year.”   According to World of Thedas vol. 2, which tries to put a more positive spin on Elthina’s role, her detractors “say her stubborn refusal to exercise her Chantry-given authority allowed the conflict between the templars and mages to escalate, finally resulting in the disastrous mage rebellion of 9:37 Dragon... Since Elthina was loath to exploit her authority as grand cleric, she refused to order either the mages or templars to stand down when tensions flared.  Many believe that she could have forced one side to retreat by showing her support for their position, but Elthina refused to take sides” (p. 196-197). This is at best an abdication of responsibility to dependents for someone intent on remaining in power.

Moreover, Elthina’s dominance over Kirkwall appears to depend in large part on at least appearing to manage Meredith and her troops.  According to her codex, “People frequently turn to her to mediate disputes—particularly those involving the powerful Templar Order, over whom she holds authority as the Chantry's ranking representative.” So Meredith as military leader rules both the Circle and the city-state through fear and violence, while Elthina maintains her power by playing Good Cop to Meredith's Bad Cop. Both then maintain a pretense of legality and legitimacy by fronting Viscount Dumar as the public face of the regime.

And this dual-power system works quite well for them -- at least until Meredith starts losing her mind under the influence of the Red Lyrium idol.

[A link will later be provided for Part 2 on Escalation and Direct Rule. If I ever do get to it 😭😭😭]

[rafeyswrd]

for your rafe cameron series 🧡!

i hc that rafe hates that his shy gf is a people pleaser so whenever ppl ask reader for/to do things, he tells them no and teaches reader to be selfish sometimes

sweet girl . part one.

part two.

. . . finally done with uni and travel work so!!! i have not written in too long, so hopefully i have done it some justice!! part 1 because i truly think it deserves more :(

warnings. manipulative rafe? oblivious reader. bad friends lowkey.

Rafe Cameron adored you to the ends of the earth, every breath you took called his name. He cannot think of any quality you owned in which he disliked (maybe, slightly, being a pogue). But God he could not stand how nice you were. You knew it was a bad habit, a habit that made you likeable for all the wrong reasons. 

Your heart was racing, and the base of your palms overloaded with sweat. No matter how many times you tried to relieve the stress, your mind would not stop reeling. It took days of convincing on your friends’ end, but it finally came to their luck when you’d hesitantly agreed.

Terrified. Terrified is the word you would use to describe how you felt. You were in shambles just thinking of the ocean, the deep seas scaring you in ways you would rather not imagine. But your friends needed you, after constructing a plan to get another batch of gold – all they needed was you.

“Are you ready?” JJ asked. Your shaking hands were gripping the edge of the boat before you nodded. 

You tried, you really did, only you felt the panic settle in when your legs were the only identifiable object below you that did not jitter you. Your eyes stung painfully, and you were sure they would swell soon enough. After every exhale you did, water filled your lungs and the fish that trickled by your trembling feet, did not help but cause a worrisome tremble of your body. 

It was a long while with overwhelming darkness consuming you, and time didn’t register then, not until Rafe’s angry voice was loading through your ears.

He was beyond furious. He wasn’t supposed to leave you alone today, but how could he say no to you when you were practically begging? (it did not take much — in fact.)

Rafe stood near his bed, watching your breathing steady and lashes gently flutter open. He paced near you with haste speed, before sitting down near your arms. “Do you know how stupid you are?”

“wh-what?” 

“You wanted to keep this relationship a secret,” his breath shook with every word he spat out, yet the touch on his hands were laced with gentleness. “So you better stay outta trouble. I can’t come ‘n get you around your shitty fucking friends.”

You sat up slowly, taking notice of the way your clothes lay folded on his desk chair, his own clothes hanging loosely around your body. You knew Rafe cared about you, he is your boyfriend, but it never crossed your mind that he’d find anger in your misery. 

You gulped, shrugging your shoulders yet your hands still circled by his, “I-I don’t get it, they’re my friends and they asked, it was a risk anyone would tak-”

“No the fuck it’s not, my God Y/N,” he dragged his hands over his face, before leaning close to you. “No friends would ask you to jump into the fuckin’ ocean knowin’ you’re scared shitless.”

His jaw clenched and you squint your eyes at the furrow of his brows, “Rafe…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” The frown residing on your face was evident, reaching out with one hand to clasp his rough hands with your own, and another tenderly caressing the creasing of his skin.

You didn’t understand his anger, but it was justified in your head, nonetheless. How could he ever be wrong in your eyes?

Not a second had passed and he was already mimicking the sadness plastered onto you, before using his other hand to caress your cheeks — a touch so soft sighs escaped the pair’s lips.

“Baby,” he cleared his throat, “Im- m’not mad at you. No one loves you like I do. I wouldn’t risk your life; your friends are selfish.”

He cradled your head onto his chest, wiping and pressing on your pouting mouth. “‘s not the first time either, you care too much ‘ts going to hurt you.” you shrug into his chest, heart aching at the sound of his own beating erratically breath your ears.

Rafe sighed, gulping and leaning onto the headboard, “gonna have to have me stuck by you all the time, i’ll be your backbone while you get to be all sweet ‘n shit.”

“you think i’m sweet?” a saccharine giggle escapes you at the roll of his eyes, and Rafe tightens his hold on you, knuckles white as you draw mindless patterns on his chest.

[circeyoru]

The Only Reason _ Part 4 *END*

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Worker!Reader - Mana Chaos AU]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 (here)

You sat behind Kaisel while Jinwoo willed it to obey him without trouble. A sudden shift was all it takes for your arms around Jinwoo’s waist to tighten like your life depended on it. Well, it does since you were a few thousand feet above land and sea. You could hear Jinwoo’s rich chuckle at your hold and enjoyed your dependency on him for safety, even when you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

After Jinwoo completed that high-ranking dungeon with ease, he was initially supposed to be sent back to his cell and put in a straitjacket. Though, you managed to convince your other Personnel colleagues to let Jinwoo roam around a bit, with your supervision, of course. While you did say ‘roam around’ it was actually a family visit for him, it has been a while since he last saw them face to face. You had no family to speak of, but you understand the family bond and love.

Jinwoo was no monster or beast overtaken by power and strength.

You guided him to Jeju Island, the island you brought under his name but with your wealth. A gift of sorts, since you thought Jinwoo would prefer if he could use his powers and train in a more secluded spot. Plus, you had been planning this move with his mother and younger sister for a while too. 

Not long after Jinwoo was admitted, you did a background scan of him while Personnel 001 was busy testing Jinwoo and subjecting him to their games under the excuse of writing up Jinwoo’s qualities and potential harm. You have never liked 001, but you can’t deny they were talented in some sense, so you never fought against it.

While you went over Jinwoo’s background, you found the records of his earlier days as an E-Rank Hunter, the lowest of the low. Not a pretty past story, he was in constant warzones over his caliber, facing difficulties that you saw as hard to deal with. Then you saw his protectiveness and care over his mother and younger sister. That was what got your attention. He voluntarily placed himself in the facility to protect his family.

Naturally, you had to see for yourself the two people he cared for. You dressed comfortably and went to them outside of work when they both would be at home. While you made your way there, you noticed some Guards stationed from post to post to monitor Jinwoo’s residence. Some had moved away when they recognized your status, none questioned why you were there, for no one is allowed to question a Personnel.

You brushed your clothes before you knocked and waited for an answer. There was obvious sounds coming from inside, but it was long until a response came.

“Go away.” The voice of a young girl shouted through the door. You deduced it to be Jinwoo’s younger sister, Jinah.

“Hello, I would like to have a chat with Hunter Sung’s family members, I mean no harm.” You announced your purpose.

There was another long silence before the door creaked open and half the face of an older woman was seen. “Please leave us alone. You already took my son away from us. What more do you want?”

You forced yourself to stay as professional as you could, stopping yourself from sighing. Not because things weren’t going smoothly, but because things progressed in such a way. Not only is a member of their family gone and treated like a tool, but they were also observed like some suspect. “Mrs. Park, I truly mean no harm or ill intent. If you wish, I will call off the guards stationed near you as proof of my sincerity. I’ll visit another time.”

And you did as you promised. While you were dealing with your work, you’d have glimpses of Jinwoo in the testing area with Personnel 001. It was nothing short of experimentation and everyone was all for it, thinking and taking another S-Rank Hunter as the perfect test subject to toy with without regards for the consequences.

Briefly, you’d see Jinwoo’s eyes lock on yours and you’d see the sharpen in them, though also a softness. You’d turn away or would have your attention cut off abruptly due to something and the thought was gone like the wind.

It took some time, yet worth it when you earned trust from Mrs. Park Kyung-Hye and Jinah. They had a lot to share about Jinwoo and gave you a picture of Jinwoo before he became an S-Rank Hunter, even before he worked as an E-Rank Hunter. The things you never found in the background check was all there to give you a clear perspective of who Jinwoo was as a person.

That’s why. When Personnel 001’s death was announced during work, you were neither sad nor grieving. You quickly saw through the cause labelled as ‘accidental’ and saw the culprit. Hunter Sung Jinwoo snapped. After what happened with Personnel 001, no one wanted to work close with Jinwoo if they could help it, so you took up the slack.

As expected, Jinwoo had intentionally done it for a reaction and change of some kind. You’re thankful to him for pulling out a thorn at your side, so you wanted to repay him in some way. You’re reminded that the two females truly loved and cared for Jinwoo as much as he does for them. It was heartbreaking to see them separated once more after reuniting for a moment.

So why not earn an opportunity where they could meet?

It started small. A disposable device so that they could text each other. A phone call with a burner phone provided by you. Then, a video call. Last was sneaking Jinwoo out of the building through the shadows. He called it <Shadow Exchange> with a cooldown of a few hours; in those few hours, he spent it to the fullest with his family while you would stay in the cell to keep watch and ensure no one knew Jinwoo was gone.

It was something that heavily relied on trust. For if Jinwoo were to decide he’d rather stay with his family than return to the cell, that would be it. You nor anyone else could restrain him or bring him back, and your place within the facility would plummet (but that was none of your concerns). With what you know of his abilities, he could have left the country and sought somewhere safe to live with his family without issue. 

Still, he returned every time.

The perfect opportunity came when the Jeju raid was prioritized. You were in the meeting on how to deal with it. An alliance with Japanese Hunters. It was risky to have the S-Ranks in public, even riskier with S-Ranks from another country. Some wanted Jinwoo to be on the assault team, but you disagreed, saying it was not good to use a trump card when the Japanese Hunters seemed to be playing something. 

The team was decided between you and the other Personnel with the advice of Go Gunhee, a head figure of the Hunter Association before the EMI took over. That old Hunter still had a good say over what happened with Hunters, especially the high-ranking ones in the country. He was the only S-Rank allowed to remain among the public due to his fragile and slowly routine health; the only precaution against him was the <Outrage>. So, the association building became the headquarters for the EMI Korea branch.

You were going to go with the selected Hunters to Jeju Island, along with a few Personnel from the Japan branch. However, when Jinwoo or his Shadows overheard you’d be going to a dangerous raid to supervise with another Personnel, he was quick to demand your presence in his cell and threaten to <Outrage> if you had gone to said raid.

So you stayed in the facility building while watching the raid broadcast live through body cameras on the Hunters. You and everyone else’s eyes were glued to the scenes. The others were focused on wishing for the raid’s clearance. You were focused because you hoped—prayed—for the Hunters’ safe return. They were still Hunters.

Why can’t anyone see that? Understand that?

You recall the moment Cha Hae-In was knocked out on the verge of death, Min Byung-Gyu was killed with his head devoured, Choi Jong-In’s mana had long since ran out, Lim Tae-Gyu was outmatched and rendered useless, and Baek Yoonho and Ma Dongwook’s defence and strength were depleted due to lack of energy. The talented S-Rank Hunters of Korea were about to be wiped out since the Japanese said they were falling just as quickly.

There was no time to lose. There was only one answer. One hope for this nightmare.

“Open the door.” You coldly instructed the guards. 

You didn’t care that they flinched and fumbled out of their seats to do as you ordered, unable to hide their phones that played the live stream of the raid. You also didn’t miss the gossip from the other guards silently cheering that their job might be lighter with empty cells, meaning they hoped for the S-Rank Hunters’ fall.

The doors slowly opened for you, and you made your way through them, approaching the darkness. You took exactly five strides, and you knew you’d be standing in front of what would be the side of Jinwoo’s bed. He’d be sitting by the bedside, waiting for you with a smirk. His glowing eyes betray his location and his anticipation of your sudden but expected visit.

“Clear the Jeju Island Raid.” You spoke firmly.

“I’m not interested in doing charity.” Jinwoo’s eyes closed. You heard ruffling and then faint footsteps that were made on purpose since his movements could be compared to that of an assassin or even a ghost. You felt his presence before you saw his glowing purple eyes closer in front of you. “So I’ll have to decline.”

“For me. Do it for me.” You knew. You knew well that the only way to get through to him now was to you. From his interest, it turned to obsession and then to possessiveness. You knew you were the only reason Jinwoo hadn’t broken out of you once he knew you were shielding and treating his family with care, not out of manipulation but out of the rare kindness of your heart. In his eyes, you were a gem among trash.

Jinwoo hummed and chuckled. You felt his forehead against yours and his hands cupping your face with gentleness anyone else would shake and think it’s impossible for a Hunter of his status. “Of course. How could I refuse? It’s great that you know how much power you also hold over me and not just the other way around.”

Your hands reached up to pat his cheek, though you ended up with his neck due to the darkness and height difference. Jinwoo giggled as if he was ticklish. You pouted with a blush and uncharacteristically reached higher on your tiptoes to pat his cheeks. “Time is of the essence.”

“At your command. You just lead the way.”

Your memories brought you back when you noticed the familiar island. You pointed down for Jinwoo, and he guided Kaisel to fly down. From the air, one could see the built mansion and the playground and fields around. Surrounded by forests and a few pathways that connected the mansion to other areas of the island. There were some of Jinwoo’s Shadows out and around on the island like guardians. 

“This place is counted as private property; no one can step foot here without permission. If they do, they could be punished. This is my gift to you and your family, also an apology for what you all have endured.” You spoke as the ground came nearer and nearer. You saw the mansion doors open, and his mother and little sister came out to greet him, all smiles and tears. “I’ve removed you from the facility records and became your official Guardian. So you don’t have to return there any more.”

Kaisel landed and Jinwoo looked back at you. “Won’t you be reprimanded for what you’ve done?”

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s about time I did this for the Hunters. I’ll do the same for the others back at the facility as well. There are plenty of small islands they can use and inhabit too, so—”

“No.” Jinwoo gripped your hands tightly. He suddenly carried you in his arms and jumped down from Kaisel’s back. Out of reflexes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his collar. His words made you look back at him. “You can’t do that for the others. Don’t just free me and forget about me.”

“But I…” You were at a loss for words. You thought Jinwoo would be more content with this since he would logically care for his family more than you and let you do your work.

“Big brother!”

“Jinwoo.”

The calls of Jinah and Kyung-Hye interrupted your sentence, and you didn’t want to dampen the otherwise tearful reunion. Jinwoo placed you on your feet. “We’ll talk later.”

You watched the two hug Jinwoo and he smiled in their presence, so innocent and childish, a stark contrast to the attitude he’d give to any other soul on the planet, apart from you in some cases. Now that you think about it, you look back to see Kaisel had long melted into Jinwoo’s shadow, and showed you the scenery of the sea. Did you even prepare for a way back to the facility or off this island?

As your head turned back to Jinwoo, he flashed you a carefree smile.

Oh. You missed that detail.

Note: Last one for this month, I think. And this marks the end of the series! Thanks for coming along for this ride! There's not much to continue from this point on cause Jinwoo basically got his freedom back, but who knows. Maybe I'll get some ideas and continue, or this would stay as the end~

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

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[elysians-adventures]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐈. Part 1

masterpost

Being a kindergarten teacher, you have your fair share of troubles regarding loud kids. But you didn't realise that on this school trip, a certain someone will make you experience your worst fear in your entire teaching career.

5 kids + 1 manchild = chaos. This wasn't the brother of Yuuji Itadori you were expecting!

“Miss! Nobara stole my toy!” 

“No I did not! Shut up!” 

The wailing of children made you exasperated, watching Nobara's and Megumi's squabble before the class boarded the coach. The brown haired girl had stolen Megumi's dog toy, one of a pair. Your lips puckered, crossing your arms:

“Nobara, give it back. Remember what we said about taking things without permission?”

The little girl gave a whimper, glancing downwards with a look of guilt, “It's mean…” 

“And?” You asked, putting on your best teacher-sounding tone.

“...And if we want something, ask first~!” She repeated in a jingle, obviously something that you had instilled in your students' brains for some time.

Nobara looked to her right, turning to Megumi and stuttering out, “Can I play with it?” 

“No!” Megumi snatched the plush back, earning a scowl of disgust from the other child. 

“Meanie! Meanniee! Go away!”

You had been a kindergarten teacher for two years now, watching classes grow up and leave, but this was by far the most boisterous of them all. Nobara Kugisaki, Megumi Fushiguro and Yuji Itadori were all the resident troublemakers, though, speaking of Itadori– he didn't show up yet. You look around, trying to spot locks of pink hair within the sea of excitable children.

Last week, quite spontaneously, you had been told that there was a new parent chaperone joining the field trip; Yuji's older half-brother– Choso Kamo. Assuming that you hadn't seen anyone with pigtails with the little rascal alongside them, you assume they must be both running late. 

“Megumi, let that little brat play with the toy, both of you screaming is pissing me off,” a gruff voice spoke. You turned back to the arguing duo, noticing a newcomer patting– rather, manhandling Megumi's head. Toji Fushiguro. 

“But I don't wanna!”

“Do it, or I'll sell you.” 

The black haired child gave a groan, finally nodding to Nobara's request. Internally sighing, you gave a wry smile to Toji, trying to telepathically remind him not to swear around kids. He seemed to get the message, holding his hands up in false defence. 

“Whoops. I'll do better, Miss L/N,” he joked in a high pitch, earning an eye roll from you. 

You two had a close friendship, meeting each other in university and later named godmother of Megumi by his late wife (the man would never bother with sentimental stuff like that). 

“Have you seen Yuji? Or his brother? The coach leaves soon…” you shot the question towards Toji, who had also taken up the role of parent chaperone by Megumi's incessant requests (begging). 

“Yuji Itadori…?” He paused, thinking, before his face contorted into a laugh, “Oh! That kid! Nah. The one that plays with Megumi? I'm friends with his older brother, y’know?” 

“Oh?” You shot a questioning look towards the seeming off handed comment Toji gave. Choso didn't seem like the type of guy to keep Toji around as a friend, but you were always willing to be proved wrong.

“Yea. Goes to the same MMA club as me, shit guy. Probably running late, dick stuck in some bitch and forgot the time.”

You give Toji a hard elbow at his rather loud tone near the kids. He smiles, shrugging carelessly. Though, it did make you wonder, who exactly was he talking about? Yuji's older brother had always seemed like a well adjusted guy, if you ignored his tendency to act emo. And he was always punctual to stuff, so this situation made you slightly worried. Itadori had no trouble cheering up the entire class, his selfless nature not lost on you. Whoever raised him did an amazing job… 

“Should probably load these fuc– kids… onto the coach. Where's Nanami?” Toji looked around, before spotting the blond-haired teacher. He turned on his heel without a goodbye, walking towards him. 

Toji was right, it was getting late, the driver was probably irritated at the entire ordeal. You gave a sigh, hoping that the two finally would show up. 

You rolled your shoulders back, and raised your chin, standing tall.

Clap! Clap!

The storm of children grew silent at a moment's notice. 

“Good! Go to Mr. Nanami and sign yourselves in! Straight line, remember!” You gave them instructions, seeing them clamber towards the two chaperones. The line was not as straight as you'd hoped, but it was fine enough for a group of six year olds.

Now, onto the matter of the late chaperone and child. You grasped at your phone within your pocket, opening your contacts. As policy, or rather as common sense, you saved all the parents’ numbers onto your phone. You scroll until you find ‘Y’, scanning over the names. 

… ‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuko's Mother’ …

You frown, when were they two? Probably a glitch. You tapped into one of the names, waiting.

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ri–

“What?” The deep voice that responds makes you jump,  absolutely not what you were expecting. This absolutely was not Choso, unless he had a vocal chord surgery or something. In the background, there were sounds of humming cars. Traffic jam, perhaps? You try to maintain a level of professionalism.

“Hi, I'm calling regarding the school trip. I'm wondering–” you were cut off by a youthful voice. 

“Gaah– Sukuna! Hurry up! We're late! I'm sorry Miss L/N! Hurry up, hurry up!” Yuji's frantic tone makes you smile, the boy obviously panicked at the prospect of missing the thing he had been looking forward to for months. 

“Shut up! Fuckin’ bastard… yea, we're almost here.” The voice, which you took as ‘Sukuna’, mumbled in an annoyed tone. So this was Toji's MMA friend? You could tell why they were friends now. 

Thumping sounds were heard in the background, but you ignored them, continuing: “Well, I'm sure Yuji wouldn't like to miss the trip. The coach is leaving in a few minutes, but if you need more time I can talk to the driver for you. How far are you?”

“Stop kicking my seat, you little shit! We're five minutes away, just wait,” the last part was hissed in a commanding tone, a scowl unknowingly painting your face. You already didn't like him, and you were never good at hiding your emotions. 

“Well, alright, I'll call you back soon if you aren't here.” Not wanting to hear the rest of the sibling spat between them, you promptly hung up. The blatant swearing, insults, and punctuality. He was going to be worse than Toji. 

Instantly after the call, you tap onto your work email, trying to see whether there had been some mixup with the guardians. It wasn't a huge deal, Yuuji was going to get here regardless and the job was easy enough for a teenager if anything. You scroll down to the form submitted by Choso Kamo– only to find that he had pulled out at the last minute, being replaced by a ‘Sukuna R. Itadori’.

Groaning, you turned back to the group, who had been dwindling to around ten kids in line. 

“Nanami!” You called, “Can you tell the coach driver to wait a little longer?”

The pitiful look on your face managed to soften Nanami's stern gaze– though not fully. With tight lips, he gave a slight nod. Something told you that the five minutes were not so true. 

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes passed before a car pulled near the group. A black Toyota, its slick form resembling a teardrop. You watched as the backdoor flew open, Yuji Itadori beelining straight for you. Backpackless, and without a care in the world, he gripped onto the fabric on your legs as he neared. 

“Miss L/N!” He hugged your leg, “I'm sorry! Can I get on the bus–”

“Oi, brat!” 

Both of your attentions were pulled back towards the car, the happy reunion making you momentarily forget that there was supposed to be another different person here after all. 

A tall man emerges from the vehicle, a tiny Spiderman backpack slung over broad shoulders. Jesus, how tall was he? About six foot, you surmised. He donned a tight black vest, with matching grey zip up hoodie and sweatpants pulled over himself– obviously in a rush, considering the creasing. The man combs through pink hair with his fingers, giving you a glower.

He neared the pair of you, chucking the bag towards the smaller child. Yuji caught it, blowing a raspberry towards him… this was his brother, was it not? In reality, you had completely forgotten that Yuuji had an older brother directly related to him. You've gotten so used to Choso picking him up after school, you've just defaulted to him.

“Miss! ‘Kuna made me late! Blame it on him!”

“Now, now, it's alright. The coach hasn't left yet, but catch up with it now! Who knows, it might just drive off without you now…” You feigned a face of worry as you crouched to meet his height, looking towards Nanami. The smaller of the pink haired duo was alarmed, grasping his backpack and sprinting towards the teacher.

 He was too fast for a six year old, you knew that for sure. 

Standing to your full height, you face Sukuna, trying to ignore how you comically dwarfed him. Are you short because he was tall, or was he tall because you were short? Such philosophical questions were pushed to the back of your mind as you nodded for him to follow you to the coach. You earn a grunt in response, the muscle bound man starting to walk ahead of you.

 ‘Alright, you don't like to follow, noted…’ You think. 

Trying to make small talk on the thirty second journey, you decide to bring up Toji as a common interest: “I heard you go to the same fighting club as Toji. What was it, boxing?” You purse your lips, thinking. You messed up on purpose to see if that would strain any more conversation out of him.

“MMA,” he answered bluntly. A pause, nothing else came out of his mouth. 

‘Alright, the silent type, noted…’ You think.

The both of you arrive at the coach, the driver giving you the most piercing glare you might have ever experienced in your life. It almost made you shudder. Scanning over the bus, you make sure everyone's seated. You assumed Nanami had already checked the kid's seat belts with his methodical nature, but one more pass through couldn't hurt. Letting Sukuna figure out his own seating situation, you walk and check the seat belts until you make your way towards the back, seeing a specific trio fiddling with Yuji's seatbelt. 

“Ah, let me do it sweetie,” you took the seat belts and swiftly buckled it, patting it to signify the task was done. 

“Thank you, miss,” they hummed respectively. 

“You're welcome.”

You make your way back up the coach, looking now for free seats. Nanami was sitting alongside Junpei, trying to break up a squabble between him and Mahito. Toji was sitting in the only lone seat at the very front of the coach, scrolling on his phone. That left you… your eyes narrow. 

Next to Sukuna? You just hoped he wasn't one of those people that smelt when you got near them. You sat.

He wasn't, rather the opposite, a subtle cologne filling your senses. Although, his man spread did invade a bit into your space, so you tried to reclaim it by also man spreading– though not as blatantly. 

“This ’s to a museum, right?” He questioned, staring at his phone. Glancing at it, you see that he has a privacy screen. Considering the comment Toji had thrown out previously, maybe you didn't want to see what was on his screen.

“Huh? Yea, the national museum. They're all so excited,” you smile earnestly, “especially Yuji. He hasn't stopped talking about it since he found out.”

“Hm, ‘s that so,” he slurred out in response. 

‘Alright, the coach ride will be in silence then, noted…’ Your eye twitched. Could this guy at least act amiably? Discarding Yuji and Sukuna's brotherly relationship– which you expected would be at least rocky, it seemed there was not a bone of politeness in this man towards strangers. 

You could feel someone's stare on you, intense. Peeking around you, your sight finally landed on Sukuna's red irises boring through you. Did you fuck up somehow, and now he was going to fillet you using his MMA skills? You quickly break eye contact, internally sighing. 

Sinking into the leather-bound seat, you tried to distract yourself, choosing to think of all the mess the kids would make during the hour trip. How many would throw up?

.

.

.

Answer: one. 

Mahito must have fed Junpei something earlier, because the projectile vomit that came out of the poor kid was not natural in any sense of the word. You almost feared he'd straight up die. Soon calling his mother to pick him up, Yuji and Megumi said bye to their dear friend as he disbanded the bus. 

Nanami's pristine suit got, needless to say, utterly demolished. The teacher scrambled off the coach when they arrived, in search of an actual toilet in place of the coach's small dingy one to clean up at. If anything, though, it would be more beneficial to buy a new shirt. 

“Take care of them!” He bellowed as he rushed into a nearby bakery, trying not to pay mind to the dirtied water dripping down his shirt. 

“Okay!” 

Now, to get them off. A task easier said than done. 

Thankfully, most of them were capable enough to pry their seatbelts off of themselves, though one or two needed some help. 

“It's okay, sweetie, I'll do it.”

Yuji gave you a beam, “Thank y–”

“You can take your own seatbelt off, brat. Don't waste my time,” Sukuna's voice came from behind you, making you jump. Glancing at him, you could tell he was towering over the pair of you– arms crossed. 

“It's fine, Sukuna. Yuji's just tired from all that sitting, no?” You coo towards the boy, who nods vigorously. 

“Yea! I‘m tired!” Itadori fakes a yawn, and you pinch his cheek: “Let's not go overboard, now. Off you pop!” 

Yuji grabs Nobara and Megumi's hands, and rushes off the coach, barging past Sukuna. The action earns a giggle from you, not lost to Sukuna's death stare. 

“Let's get off before they all run away from Toji,” you hummed, trying to mutually make your way past Sukuna. He didn't let you pass, stocky frame blocking the way. 

You stand for a second, waiting for him to move, before you speak up, “Umm… excuse me.” Trying to slip past between the seats and him, he finally let you go with another hum, this time sounding a bit more pleased. You frown, what was that about?

Coming out of the coach, the children stand timidly at the side of it, Toji watching over them with a bored gaze.

“Y'know, Y/N, I regret this already. This shit is so boring,” he mutters under his breath as you approach. He turns to the other ‘parent’ chaperone, smirking, “I wish you were there last Saturday, y'know…” 

Tuning out of the conversation, turning to the kids. Their chatter filled the air, so you rolled your shoulders back ready to clap– 

“Oi, shut up!” Sukuna clicked his fingers alongside the bellow, and it all fell silent without a moment's notice.

What… What was this power? It took you months of training just for them to hear your claps and calls for order, but this outsider manages to silence your class at the click of a finger? You stood in awe. 

“Fall in line! Anyone out of it will get chucked in a dinosaur's maw, got it?”

As if choreographed, the children lined up perfectly. Not one shoe or hair out of place. You weren't sure if they knew what ‘maw’ meant, but you felt as if the message got through without problem. 

He nodded towards the line, passing you full responsibility now. Perhaps, you had underestimated him. You nod back in thanks, a small smile threatening to appear on your lips. Sukuna turns back without a welcome on his lips, looking unimpressed. 

“Alright, sweeties! I know you are all excited, but we have to enter the museum quietly, all right? After we all sign in, we'll wait for Nanami and split into groups. C'mon,” you go in front of the queue of children leading them in. 

They follow you in, followed behind by Sukuna and Toji still talking– which you humorously think they're a little too like ducklings following their mother. But that metaphor quickly fizzled out when you realised in this situation, you would be the mother. You could never imagine raising them…

The museum had tall roofs, and its pillars resembled an ornate grecian style. Arches weaved above the roof, supporting the building, the interior remaining the modest brown of the brick. 

The class looked up in childish awe, eyes shining at the gigantic structure, gazing up at the pterodactyl replicas hanging as if in flight. You manage to quickly check in with the receptionist, and were told that two extra tour guides were on their way.

Nanami soon came back with a new shirt, the plastic wire of the price tag still hanging from the collar. His face was still turned in the iconic stern look, a glint of disgust still evident from the twitch of his lip. 

“Groups of five, quickly,” he stated with mechanical efficiency, trying to split the class equally. Without turning, he addressed the adults, “I'll be taking a tour guide with me. Toji, take one too. Sukuna and Y/N will stay together. Take Yuji with you, or he'll run off.” 

You didn't even have time to argue back at the pairing, you opened your mouth and suddenly there was a group of toddlers grasping at your feet as if you were some sort of deity. You didn't even have to corral the kids, Nobara and Megumi staring up at you expectantly.

“Let's go, miss!”

“I want to see some Egyptian stuff!”

“Bleh! Boring… Dinosaurs!”

“Mummies! Mummies!”

“ ‘Kuna! Mr. Kento said: you AND miss!” 

Yuji was busy trying to pull Sukuna closer towards your shared group. He was quickly pushed off, Sukuna finally rolling his eyes and neared you keeping a few paces behind, his expression a mixture of boredom and (shared) irritation. You didn’t seriously have to spend the next two or more hours with this self-absorbed prick, did you?

“Okay, okay! We're going!" you finally managed to say, smiling despite the chaos unfolding around you. 

As the groups started moving, you noticed Nanami leading his group with his usual stoic demeanour, already taking over the guide's job and explaining the historical significance of the museum's layout. You almost felt bad at the despondent look at the tour guide’s face, pouting miserably as they followed Nanami around. 

Toji, on the other hand, seemed to have his hands full with a particularly energetic child who was attempting to scale his back onto his shoulders. You worried they were going to fall, but that wasn't an issue when he took hold of the kid by their collar accompanied with stern talking to. 

The museum had massive, great pillars at every corner with vast displays. There were sections which you methodically scoured through, first the Chinese artefacts, then the Egyptian– old kingdom and new kingdom split into two different rooms. 

You had spent a bit too long reading about a mummy pair, brothers from what the hieroglyphs were supposedly saying, too invested in your own world to realise it had gone scarily quiet. Too quiet for a group of children, nevertheless if that group contained Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you rip your attention away slowly from the mud-stained coffins, as if you were trying to avoid seeing the scene in front of you.

 There were two reasons for this silence: someone had gotten hurt, or they all ran off. You especially hoped it wasn't the latter as Sukuna was meant to be watching them, and the register was meant to be done in time for lunch soon…

Your eyes come upon the second reason. Your small group of 5 disappeared into thin air. At least Sukuna seemed to be gone too, hoping that he had simply led them off into the new kingdom room. With a quickened step, you make your way across the hallway opposite.

Nothing.

What? Did they really leave you behind? Your lower lip protrudes as you're in thought, pacing aimlessly further down a corridor. Perhaps they have gone further down, one of them wanted to see dinosaurs, or something along those lines.

“You seen them?” A nonchalant tone asks, followed by a slurp.

“Have I…  seen them?” You spit back incredulously, your optimistic daydream of the pink haired bastard looking after the group quickly shattered like glass. He was standing next to a display of old Japanese artefacts further down, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, he found the time to pick up a drink at the museum cafe.  Thankfully, you hadn't picked up on this fact, or else you're sure you would have strangled him. 

“I thought you were looking after them,” Sukuna states, unbothered by the lazy look in his eyes. He gestures towards the exhibit he must’ve been distracted by, a large wooden sculpture of a god, “Kōmokuten, Heian era of Japan. Interesting?” The last part of the sentence was worded as a rhetorical question, followed by a nod by the man as if agreeing with his own statement. 

He continues: “Not interested? Anyway, where the hell are they? I thought you were looking after the–” 

“No, you were looking after them,” your angered whisper-yells were countered by a scoff by the pink haired man, sipping the beverage in his hand. You almost wanted to knock it clean out and pour it all over that stupid dyed hair. Actually… was it dyed?

Now that you think about it, Yuuji always seemed to have pink hair too, though the underside was brown. Did they have special brotherly hair dying sessions? 

“They’re kids, how fuckin’ far could they have ran?”

Tuning back into the conversation, it was your turn to scoff, “They're fucking kids! They could be on fucking Mars by now for all we know. Oh god, okay… let's follow the hallway down.” 

Attempting (but failing) to mask your worry, you bit your lip as you rushed past him and all the– truthfully interesting– exhibits. Another time, maybe. There was a loud slurp, before you heard thudding footsteps behind you. 

“Do you even know where you're going?” His gruff voice asks, you can feel his head peeking out from behind to look at the side of your face. 

“... Down there.”

“Stop. Fucking stop for a second, jesus. Let's look at a map of this place before you get us lost too.”

Sukuna grabs your shoulders, attempting to pull you back to the hallway you were previously. You wanted to spit some snarky comment about how you weren't going to be in this situation if it wasn't for him, but your tongue caught itself. 

You give in, sighing, and trace your steps back to a large display board. Right now, you were in the Japanese section, so if you followed it down– it split into two directions. Not so good. 

“They wanted to go see the dinosaurs,” you mutter to yourself in revelation, bending over to see the section on the board lower down. 

A loud sip, “Then let's go.”

You turn your head, ready to agree, until you see him nonchalantly texting on his phone. Your eye twitches.

“Put that away,” you hiss, uncaring to try to keep an air of friendliness, “You lost them and you can't even be fucking bothered to look. We have to get them back in at least–” you look at your phone, “-- at least the next 20 minutes. Can you please just help and not act condescending?” 

He switches his attention to you, his eyes glaring at you. Unmoving in his gaze, he raises an eyebrow. 

“Fine.”

“Thanks,” you spit out, full venom, obviously not thankful. Standing to your full height, you turn on your heel without caring whether the man was following you or not. But the thudding footsteps behind you signified as much.

You passed back by the Japanese displays, taking a cursory glance over them. Really, the statue Sukuna had tried showing you didn't pique that much of your interest. It looked rather, strange if anything. The man must have unique tastes. 

As you rush past them, you spot a certain black haired boy staring at a scroll– also from the Heian period. 

“Megumi!” You call out, relieved at having found at least one of the children. Sukuna grabs the boy's hand before you had the chance to scold him, and does your job for you:

“Who told you to run off, you brat?” He spits, crumpling the cup underneath his fingers. Megumi, unperturbed by the harsh words (perhaps training he had gotten from having Toji as a father), stared nonchalantly at the taller man. 

“They went to go look at the T-Rex, but I said I wanted to see this,” Megumi points towards the scroll, and you look to follow. Sukuna huffs, unsatisfied by the answer but knowing he isn't going to get much more tightens his grip around Megumi's hand.

“One down, four to go,” he glances at you with a humorous tone, but without a smile to match. 

You think it cute that Sukuna holds the little boy's hand in such a way, making sure he can't run off. He must be used to Yuuji's antics. Talking of Yuuji, Sukuna doesn't seem to be very nervous at all at the prospect of losing him.

“He's fine,” he states, sharp and short. The twitch in his brow isn't lost on you, however. Megumi yawns, trying to slip out of Sukuna's graso and back into your own– but the man pulls harshly, hissing. 

“Don't run again, jesus. These kids…”

With a smirk, you walk ahead of them, “They're probably running from you.”

–

Unfortunately, during your walk– halfway to the ‘dinosaurs’-- the three of you weren't able to spot any other lone children. Or rather fortunately, which indicated that they were still together. 

Sukuna had now resorted to letting Megumi piggyback him. The little boy rested his head against salmon-pink locks, eyes closed as if in dream. 

“Hey, why haven't you just called the museum staff?” The pink haired man asks, staring at you.

You blink, frowning. You can feel your cheeks burning up, the sensation uncomfortable, “It's embarrassing…” 

Your words were barely heard, so Sukuna furrows his brows: “Huh?”

“It's embarrassing,” you repeat, not daring to look behind you. 

There was a pregnant pause.

“Who the fuck cares about embarrassing?” He scoffs. 

“I do. It's my first proper trip and I've lost them. Plus, I know where they are! What's the big deal!”

Honestly, you don't believe your words. You knew kids, and you knew how small their 

attention span was. They could have already switched sections by now, or even wandered out. That sent a chill down your spine.

But for now, you were willing to hazard being irresponsible for the sake of your dignity. Not very good, is it?

 “At least it's like a… two minute walk,” you reasoned to yourself. Your steps hurried. In truth, if you didn't find them right now, you were willing to go straight for the intercom. Stupid you–

“Miss!” A higher pitched voice wailed out.

> part 2 (wip)

[thesirencult]

Your Shadow. Messages from the darkest part of your soul.

a reading by @thesirencult

Sidenote: Personal readings are now open! One question for $11.

Pile 1

4 Of Cups, 5 Of Cups, Justice

You are not that familiar with your shadow, on the other hand, she knows everything about you. She knows how you get pessimistic at times and doubt your own power and God's ability to create a powerful being, you. She knows that you refuse to try hard enough and then blame the law of attraction and all those bloggers and tarot readers for filling your head up with positive bullsh*t. She also knows that you don't want to know her. You cry over spilt milk and the same old stories, never looking around to see that the world has changed and evolved, yet, you refuse to change.

I want you to remember this: Thoughts=Perception=Vision=Action. Your thoughts create a web, behind which you look at the world and that becomes your vision. According to your perception and vision for the future you take action. If your perception is fragmented and your thoughts troubled, then the vision will be blurred and you won't take action or the action you will be taking could further harm you. Doubting that you can transmute negativity to positivity will keep you stuck and it does you no justice. It offends your shadow, how could you think that you are weak when you have such a powerful shadow. Our shadow is analogous to our potential light.

I know that you're feeling jaded. At times you think "Why am I even trying?" Your shadow is the part of you that feels overlooked by the Universe and by Fate. Life has been unjust to you. At the same time, you are well equipped as the Higher Forces wouldn't be sending you all those challenges if you didn't have all the skills and the strength to sail through the rough seas. Don't take for granted your abilities, it's like taking for granted absolute gold. Stop being passive and not taking action then being sad you never see results. Stop sticking with something long enough to see the first waves crushing your spirit and then bailing out, hurting your self esteem and reinforcing the idea that you'll never make it through, thus satisfying your ego! Sweetness, how could you make it through if you don't try to ride the waves?

Facing regret and coming to terms with the fact that what is lost is lost will help you. Taking responsibility for your actions and doing the best you can with what you have will also build your character and show you how capable you are at withstanding storms. Cause and effect is everywhere in the Universe, we can not expect to avoid it, we can only hope that we learn how to work with the energies to make the most out of it.

Pile 2

Queen Of Pentacles, 8 Of Cups, The Tower

Aha! I caught you sneaky little shadow! Be honest Pile 2, how much fun are you having with your Shadow, because you guys are basically eachother's soulmates. You are one of those rare people who have no issues with their shadow. It has made her sympathize with you and actually side with you. At times you let her consume you and that can scare you.

Your shadow, is beautiful. It thrives in chaos and unpredictability. There are times that those cracks in your personal matrix let you see something brighter than what you thought was behind the curtain. It scares you that even though you are tired of shifting and surviving through crises, at the same time you crave the beauty of the deconstruction. You like the pandemonium and the darkness. You like it when your shadow takes the wheel and lets you sit back and relax while enjoying the embers of the wildfire. These type of events let you display your creative potential.

Your shadowy side is the one who craves control and abundance. Wealth and status, while at the same time despises order and surface level interactions. She doesn't like to kiss up to anyone. She is independent and powerful. She doesn't care what others say. She wants to help you see that these parts can be intergrated with your lighter side to make you unstoppable.

Inner voices, echoing your parental figures' limiting beliefs stop you from reaching your true potential. Your shadow feels rage. She wants to burn everything to the ground and rebuilt it again. She wants to be independent cause, duh! there is no one to rely on. You are the parentified child, aren't you? The one stuck in survival, never feeling quite at home, yet craving safety, no, desperately needing safety and hanging on to what's left off from the fire. This is your soul, a master at thriving through chaos destined to crave stability.

Something else I'm seeing is that you think taht you don't deserve to rise up and hold a certain status or position socially or professionally. You say "This is not meant for someone like me." You rush through interactions and the pleasures of life. Never stopping to smell the flowers and regulate your nervous system and root chakra. A warm and charitable soul, made to feel not enough and made to think that they have to enable others' ugly behaviour to be accepted, that they have to mother everyone and excuse all offending words, because "hurt people hurt people, but I'm not hurting, I'm strong enough!"

Strength doesn't have to equal suffering. You don't have to suffer to prove how strong you are. You need to realize that what will help you evolve is to invest in your own self and take a chance to spoil the little kid inside of you.

Self imposed fears are blocking your momentum. You tend to avoid anyone who shows they appreciate you and shed light to your brilliance, while at the same time you hang around those who reinforce the belief you are not enough. You have the potential to be am abundant person in all aspects, don't le your potential fo to waste.

At this moment, you are more empowered than ever before. You deserve much more than what you've been settling for. Your shadow trait is that you want to feel appreciated, seen and spoiled by someone and that's more than okay! You are able to transmute weakness into power. Realize that wanting love is not a weakness, it's a strangth. We live in a world where it's considered a weakness to crave partnership and appreciation. We shame the need for external validation, yet your safety cushion it's just that: your internal validation system is "broken", as you are a high achiever with big goals and objectively better at reaching those heights than others, yet you are less satisfied by your results. This enables you to work more on yourself, your shadow and towards your desires but at the same time you are your own harshest critic. This goes against many self-help books you will come across but, please, focus on how others see you, especially those that shower you with compliments, as they see the real you and your brilliance, while you only see the shadow!

Another thing that you do is that your prefered method of escapism is that you take more time than it is necessary to reach goals, work on yourself or isolate, thinking that you have not done enough and you do not trust yourself and your brilliance. This happens because you are prone to falling for a cognitive bias something similar to the "anchoring effect": you rely too heavily on the first piece of information, in your case feedback, you have received. You have anchored yourself to old stories and you make subsequent jidgements and decisions based on those first experiences. This is a slippery slope and it also leads me to a form of moral disengagement you might have notice din yourself. You let yourself dissolve your boundaries more and more when it comes to others and you let your negative thoughts and self-image influence more and more your decisions through this negative loop.

Give yourself some grace. I want to help you open a positive loop, so I will leave you with this: You deserve love, beauty, nice things and walks with your soulmate at sunset. You deserve the last piece of cake and the first spoonful of ice-cream. You deserve kisses in the rain and smiling until your cheeks hurt by the fire with the love of your life. Cheers to a new era, where you don't let old stories dictate your future.

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (1)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: two, three, four, five

Word Count: 2,6K (i was inspired by god itself)

Warnings: none, lot of context (i promise the next chapter will have way less filling), light flirting

A/N: I HAVE ALREADY THOUGHT ABOUT AT LEAST 5 CHAPTERS MORE, I HOPE SOMEONE LIKES THIS FIRST ONE BECAUSE I'M ON MY KNEES FOR THIS DAMN CLOWN. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in other parts! (Side note: i'm spanish, so if there's some mistakes, i'm trully sorry, i don't have beta readers).

It's not enough to suddenly find herself locked in a box with 3 idiots she met a matter of hours ago, no; To make it worse, as it could not be otherwise, it turns out that she is in a bloody circus, ''kidnapped'' by a band of pirates that she recognizes as soon as she sees the red and white tent over their heads, the distressed faces of the poor people that make up the audience, and the costumes of the band around them.

She sighs, and wonders what the hell she's doing there despite knowing perfectly well what kind of decisions have led her to that damned place. Wanna know what happened? Let's recap, shall we?

(Y/N) (S/N). That name doesn't sound familiar, right? Very few know it but the reputation that accompanies the person who responds to it is very famous throughout the 4 seas. She is not a bounty hunter, nor a marine, neither a pirate or a pirate hunter, like the green-haired hottie with whom she finds herself in such trouble, or a thief, like the ginger who she bet, will escape running without looking back at the slightest opportunity she finds.

No, she's a mercenary. She doesn't work solely for money, otherwise she would go against the most bloodthirsty and ruthless of each sea, and that doesn'tt interest her, because she would put herself on the radar of both the pirates and the marines.

No, she is contacted through different channels, none of them direct, and if the job interests her, amuses her, or even piques her curiosity, she accept it. She goes after all kinds of people, whether they are pirates or marines, gangsters at the top of the terror scale or criminals who, like her, tried to keep a low profile.

However, and as we were saying, despite trying to remain anonymous, she is good at her job, a born strategist with an incredible facility to adapt and blend in with her surroundings to sneak into the most remote places, so her existence inevitably began to be noticed along the seas, rumors about this young mercenary with an angelic face, who only responded to her own morals and of whom few escaped to tell the tale.

And this is how she met that group of weirdos who found each others through the power of the plot's convenience; her last assignment was to steal the map from the Grand Line. There are not many, these kept safe and protected in large fortresses throughout the globe, and among all those that she could have tried to steal, she made the horrible decision of going for the one that was closest to her, encountering those three idiots in the crossfire of the disaster that unfolded in Shells Town.

How did she end up giving up the assignment and at that precise moment there, with them?  Simple: Luffy piqued her curiosity. And there are few things stronger than (Y/N)'s curiosity.

"Hey, I know you. I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town, you're the clown guy. Umm, uh… Binky, right?" Luffy exclaimed, as confident of himself as usual.

Buggy, she mentally corrected, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes at the same time the clown corrected loudly and dramatically listed his many nicknames. Which she was sure, only he called himself.

''Wow, you have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are.” The audience gasp. There's confusion in the boy's face, and an almost psychopatic tic in the clown's one. ''What did you just say?'' Buggy asks lowly. ''Just that everyone knows who you are.'' Luffy repeats.

''Nose!? Are you making fun of my nose!?’’

Then came the slap, like the one someone usually gives when a friend is trying to steal their food or touch something they definitely shouldn't. Buggy is killing the straw hat boy with his eyes but the gesture is so… innocent.  She expected threats with knives, to be honest.

And because of the unexpected, she almost let a laugh escape in the form of a cough but she controlled herself fast enough to not grab unnecessary attention to her.

''What's real is...'' Buggy resumes the conversation, getting some distance with Luffy to walk around the rest too.  ’’I’ve been scheming for months to steal that map from old Axe-Hand moron…’’ (Y/N) sees how he approaches her, but she didn't expect him to close the distance between each other so much, his nose almost touching her own, sharp blue eyes fixed on her from a slightly lower perspective. The truth is... that she also doesn't know how to tell if that nose is real or not, but now she really wants to touch it to find out. Dear God, what a realistic texture. It’s incredible.

Pressing her lips together in a contained expression as she shakes her head, she raises an eyebrow, letting him know that the joke wasn't as funny as he hoped, and he clucks, accepting defeat in such good humor that no one would say, that is a kidnapping and someone would end up dead by the end of the day.

She heard of him. His reward was not one of the highest but neither one of those that go unnoticed in the East Blue. He was also an eccentric, of course people talked about the blue-haired, red-nosed clown who terrified his victims in a macabre way. Those who survived ended up traumatized.

He is, or at least looks, younger than she imagined, and he fit right in with the urban legends of evil clowns kidnapping children and then dismembering them. She wonders, silently, thoughtful eyes scanning his face and body language from a distance, if this is some softie on the inside with high aspirations in life who was unfortunate enough to bump into someone who traumatized him and hence all this show and facade of the cruel and heartless clown -to protect himself as the good cliché he seems- or if, on the contrary, he is, simply and plainly, a yandere who craves attention no matter how he has to obtain it.

If she remembers correctly, there was also a rumor that he ate a devil fruit. Just like Luffy, which it doesn't take long for the clown to discover after Zoro tries to save the situation by showing off his reputation -obviously it doesn't work- and Nami does exactly what (Y/N) predicted. Not her fault, either, she doesn't owe any of them anything at all.

''Okay. Here ends the theatrics.’’ The lights go out and it’s then that everyone can small the disaster in the air. A chill runs down the back of (Y/N), who tends to infiltrate without being seen and avoids, whenever possible, a direct encounter; hand-to-hand combat is not exactly his specialty. And given the circumstances is impossible for her to know if the daggers she usually hides in the side of his combat boots -for emergencies like this one- are still there. ''I know one of you has my map, and I'm gonna get it back. What was it you said, Rubber Boy? That it was in a safe place?”

How long were they unconscious before? Enough to hijack the ship, get to land, and move 4 dead weight bodies to that circus, locking them in a box. By that point she would bet some member of the gang would have thoroughly searched the ship, and them too. Disgusting.

Buggy takes a last, attentive look at both Zoro and Nami, ruling out that one of the two has the map because when the girl tried to flee, Luffy was not shocked thinking that perhaps she would steal it from him. Which leaves the two of them, Luffy and her, alone with him.

''So, please'' the clown gestures to his subordinates with his head. ''make these two guests uncomfortable in the green room. I’m gonna have a chat with my stretchy new pal and…’’ His eyes jump to her, tilting his head to the side with genuine curiosity. ''this beauty that was incapable of taking her eyes off me.''

Fuck. Was it that obvious?

''Doll, you are the only one who hasn't opened your mouth yet and I don't think it's because you’re a shy little flower.'' He begins, circling around her like an animal hunting its prey, analyzing it, hoping to see a chink of weakness to attack. ''Are you bored?'' He asks almost in a whisper near her ear. ''Is that it? Are you so, so bored that you don't think it's worth enough interacting with the rest of us?'' Breaking away from her when he realizes she doesn't falter, he smiles a huge, threatening smile, looking her up and down in such a way that it almost makes her feel dirty. "Or maybe you're the one who has my map, and you're quiet to try not to attract /my/ attention."

She? The map? Wearing such tight pants and top? Yeah, maybe up her ass, but she's not the one who is going to tell him otherwise because if he, or one of his subordinates, comes to search her, she could take advantage of the opportunity to steal some sort of weapon from them.

In particular from Buggy; (Y/N) saw the knives he keeps in his coat and… she wouldn't mind taking a closer look at that interesting nose.

"Busted." She finally admits with a lopsided smile, raising both eyebrows when she sees the surprise on the clown's face. He didn't expect such a cocky response, did he? "I'm not the type of person who likes to attract attention, the spotlight is for others who are more... flashy." She pronounces it honeyedly, repeating the same nickname he used before, pointing at him with a gesture of her chin. "However, I'm not going to tell you where the map is. If you want to find it, come and search for it yourself."

Shrugging her shoulders, she stretches out both arms in a gesture that invites him to come closer. Bold, he thinks, more than pleased with this unexpected turn of events, taking some steps in her direction. She adds once more: "although I would be surprised if you hadn't already done it during the time we have been unconscious"

"Me?" He points at himself, stopping right in front of her. "Take advantage of a defenseless young lady?" He almost sounded offended if it wasn't for the shit eating grin and the eager way he was scanning her body now. "What kind of degenerate do you take me for?"

She scoffs, and Buggy, unsure, seems to consider -for some long seconds- whether or not to do the job himself, (Y/N) being too calm for how helpless she seems. But surely, he knows, she doesn't have any weapons on her; his subordinates were in charge, as she said, of searching all of them as soon as they were brought to the circus.

In the end he gives up, because he would be damned if he dared to refuse to thoroughly touch this mysterious woman who may, just may, have his map hidden somewhere. He strongly doubts it, tho.

Soon enough, he moves again, standing then behind her, and without asking permission, he doesn’t need it either, his hands start roaming her shoulders and sides slowly, making sure to feel anything weird between her clothes and the skin underneath. Like the fucking map, folded until it is nothing more than a small piece of paper easy to hide. 

Because that is the whole point of that scene, right?

"Go on, be my guest." she says sarcastically, trying to stay calm and breathe slowly, because (Y/N) likes to pretend to be made of stone, but not /that much/. The pressure of those gloves against her already tight clothes and the hungry way she knows those -green? blue? difficult to say with those circus lights- eyes are watching her every move make her heart beat a bit faster in something she’d call /the average amount of nervousness when a known, wanted pirate search for something we wants while threatening to kill you if he doesn’t find it/.

Buggy, on the other hand, is so engrossed in his task that his usual cocky smile has disappeared a few seconds ago; he is waiting to feel a change in the girl's body language to be able to guess if she has it or if, on the contrary, this search will be saved in his memory as no more than a small pleasurable pause after all the stress that the goddamn map is putting him through. Because he can't deny it, she's actually a beauty, and in other circumstances he wouldn't mind getting to know her in a funnier way. At all.

Inhaling deeply, wetting his red lips with his tongue, he lets the air out slowly, tilting his head to the side to see her better. He should hurry up and stop making that scene as intimate as it's becoming, audience and all, but he's a thorough man. Or that’s the excuse -explanation- he will give to whoever dares to ask.

"Where the hell did you hide my map?" He asks melodiously as he finishes searching her torso, his right hand starting to go a little lower, getting dangerously close to her hipbone when (Y/N)'s right hand flies up and catches his wrist between her fingers, stopping him dead in his tracks. She couldn't help it, she acted on autopilot, she is not ready to be the main character of a porn movie with audience included letting him roaming all around as he pleases. "Not between my legs, so keep lowering your hands and I'll cut them off." she threatens, turning her face to look at him standing behind her.

Right back, as if those words were magical or something, the huge, shit eating smile of his returns to the lips of the unstable clown, and without letting go, he makes her spin, facing her with both hands on her waist, strongly keeping her in place, sharp eyes fixed on her, and without realizing it, she stops breathing for a second. "You promise?" He whispers, pleads almost, in an amused, delighted tone of voice after such a threat. She was way interesting than he expected, not as shy or scared as an unarmed girl like her should be. He likes that. A lot.

However, he has -sadly- things to do and he did in fact, already lost time with her. His eyes betraying him the moment they land on the girl's lips, Buggy winks at her with a cocky expression and pulls away suddenly, raising both arms "Another disappointment, how many more can our audience endure? You’re the only one left, Rubber Boy, don't let me down." He points him, moving closer, while (Y/N) just stays there where he left her, wondering what the fuck just happened and why does her heart run so fast now.

Adrenaline, probably.

"Take her with the others" he ends up saying to a couple of members of his gang, to which she responds by moving on her own in the direction of where they have taken Zoro and Nami before, preventing them from guiding her by force and discovering the knife she stole from Buggy when he got so damn close to her, and which she secretly hid between the waistband of her pants and her shirt.

Risky, she could cut herself with the smallest movement at the least expected moment, but it was way worse to see herself unarmed.

Buggy, infatuated, takes one last look at her and, raising one hand, waves his fingers in the air with a huge smile on his face as he says goodbye to her.

"See you later, love."

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 1 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇chat we made it to the sequel

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The morning sun streamed through the palace windows, casting a warm glow over the grand dining hall. The smell of fresh bread, olives, and honey wafted through the air as Telemachus sat at the head of the long oak table, his tunic slightly wrinkled from the night before. He leaned back in his chair, chewing on a piece of bread while reading a scroll detailing the affairs of the neighboring islands.

Y/N stood by the open window, her hair catching the light as she gently rocked baby Adonis in her arms. The boy cooed softly, his tiny hands grabbing at the loose strands of her hair. She laughed lightly, brushing the strands away and kissing Adonis on the forehead. “You’re already causing trouble, little one,” she murmured to him, her voice tender.

Telemachus glanced up from his scroll, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched them. “He gets that from you,” he teased, reaching for the honey jar. “You were always a handful.”

She shot him a playful glare. “And yet you married me, trouble and all.”

Telemachus chuckled, dipping a piece of bread into the honey. “Touché.” He set the scroll aside and leaned forward, his expression turning more serious. “Speaking of trouble—or avoiding it—there’s something we need to talk about.”

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it?”

“Prince Raphael of Skiaphos is arriving tomorrow,” Telemachus said, his tone steady but cautious. “He’s coming to discuss strengthening alliances between Ithaca and Skiaphos.”

Her brows furrowed as she adjusted Adonis in her arms. “Strengthening alliances? Why now? Ithaca has never had much to do with Skiaphos.”

“That’s exactly why,” Telemachus explained. “Skiaphos has been growing in power, and they’re strategically placed. An alliance with them would secure our trade routes and bolster our defenses. Raphael himself requested the visit.”

She tilted her head, her lips pursed in thought. “And do you trust him?”

Telemachus shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t trust anyone who smiles too much, and from what I’ve heard, Raphael is practically a ray of sunshine. But diplomacy is part of ruling, so I’ll hear him out.”

Adonis babbled loudly, as if protesting the idea, and both his parents laughed. Y/N kissed her son’s cheek, then looked back at Telemachus. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to be on our best behavior.”

“Speak for yourself,” Telemachus joked, smirking. “I’m always charming.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her smile. “Just don’t let him charm you right back, husband. We wouldn’t want you swooning.”

Telemachus laughed, a full, genuine sound that echoed through the hall. “Not a chance. Besides,” he said, his gaze softening as it rested on her and Adonis, “I already have everything I need right here.” Her heart swelled, and for a moment, the world felt perfect. They were a family, safe and whole. She looked at her husband and son, surrounded by the quiet peace of the palace.

——

The waves crashed against the hull of the Skiaphosian ship as it sliced through the sparkling blue waters toward Ithaca. Prince Raphael stood at the bow, the salty breeze ruffling his dark hair and the silk of his finely embroidered tunic. A soft, melodic laugh echoed beside him, though no other crew member dared approach. “Stubborn, aren’t they?” Aphrodite’s voice purred, sweet and laced with mischief. She appeared as if she had been born of the sea itself, her flowing robes shimmering like the foam atop the waves.

Raphael’s lips twitched into a half smirk as he turned to face the goddess, unbothered by the divinity before him. “Stubborn doesn’t begin to describe them. They speak of loyalty, yet resist the very man who could offer them the world.” He scoffed, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “They don’t know what’s best for them.”

Aphrodite smiled, her eyes glinting like polished pearls. “Mortals are flawed that way, my prince. But perhaps you simply haven’t shown them the right… persuasion.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be, oh goddess of love? A gilded promise? A stolen kiss? Women are creatures of emotion, easily led astray.”

Aphrodite laughed, the sound rich and melodious. “They are more complicated than you think, Raphael. But with my blessing, even the most stubborn heart will bend. She will be yours.” She reached out to brush her fingers along his cheek, and Raphael shivered under her touch as though struck by lightning.

His smirk widened, his confidence swelling. “Then I will take what is mine.” The ship docked onto Ithaca’s rugged shore, and Raphael stepped onto the wooden pier, his polished boots clicking against the planks. The Skiaphosian entourage followed behind him, their bright banners snapping in the wind. Raphael adjusted his golden circlet, his face calm and regal as he made his way toward the grand palace of Ithaca.

The gates opened as heralds announced his arrival. King Telemachus stood tall at the entrance, his expression neutral but guarded. Raphael approached with a wide, practiced smile, extending his hand in greeting. “King Telemachus,” Raphael said, his voice smooth and diplomatic. “It is an honor to finally set foot in your magnificent kingdom. Skiaphos has long admired Ithaca’s strength and resilience.”

Telemachus clasped Raphael hand firmly, his grip just strong enough to hint at his suspicion. “The honor is ours, Prince Raphael. We look forward to discussing what benefits an alliance may bring to both our lands.” As Raphael nodded and began exchanging pleasantries with Telemachus, his eyes swept over the palace courtyard. They landed on a figure standing near the fountain—a woman, radiant and graceful, cradling a child in her arms. She was speaking softly to a servant, her curls glinting in the sunlight.

Y/N.

Raphael breath caught for the briefest moment. Her beauty was otherworldly, her presence magnetic. She turned slightly, and their eyes met. She froze, her expression polite but wary as she gave a slight nod in acknowledgment. Raphael smile shifted, a glimmer of something predatory behind his charm. “Your Majesty,” he said, turning back to Telemachus, “I trust you keep only the finest treasures in your palace. And I see that extends to your family as well.”

Telemachus’s gaze darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. “That is my wife, Y/N,” he said evenly, though the subtle edge in his tone was unmistakable.

Raphael smile didn’t falter as he replied, “A truly fitting queen for a king as noble as yourself.” But as he glanced back at Y/N, his mind was already spinning with possibilities. Aphrodite’s voice echoed in his head, soft and triumphant. “She will be yours.”

——

Seated at the long council table was Prince Raphael of Skiaphos. Raphael stood as they approached, a polite smile gracing his lips. “King Telemachus, Queen Y/N,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I hope we can find common ground that will benefit both of our kingdoms.”

Telemachus nodded, his tone courteous but firm. “Trade is vital for all of us, Prince Raphael. I trust the goods you’re offering are of high quality. Ithaca has no need for anything less.”

Raphael chuckled lightly. “Of course, Your Majesty. Skiaphos prides itself on excellence in all things.” His gaze, however, drifted away from Telemachus and settled on Y/N.

Y/N, busy arranging parchment and scrolls on the table, noticed the prince’s stare and offered him a polite smile before quickly returning to her task. Telemachus, noticing Raphael’s prolonged gaze, subtly shifted his stance, stepping slightly closer to his wife. Raphael cleared his throat, attempting to mask his awe with a question. “Queen Y/N,” he began, his voice soft, “do you often assist in trade discussions? You seem to carry a wisdom beyond your years.”

She blinked, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. “I only assist when my husband deems it necessary,” she replied diplomatically. “Trade affects the wellbeing of our people, and it’s important to approach it with care.”

“Indeed,” Raphael murmured, still staring. The way her voice carried itself—gentle but assured—seemed to pull him in further. He barely registered the maps and numbers Telemachus was now pointing to, instead focusing entirely on her presence.

Telemachus shot him a glance, his tone sharpening slightly. “Raphael, do the proposed routes align with what you’re offering for trade? I wouldn’t want any misunderstanding once the agreement is in place.”

Raphael blinked, finally dragging his gaze back to Telemachus. “Of course, of course,” he stammered, leaning over the map. But even as Telemachus laid out logistics, Raphael’s eyes occasionally flickered back to her, his thoughts a whirl of admiration.

Y/N, noticing this again, shifted uncomfortably and busied herself with taking notes. When she glanced up, her husband’s jaw was tight, though he continued discussing terms with an air of control. “Queen Y/N,” Raphael interrupted, causing both her and Telemachus to pause. “Forgive me if this seems bold, but I must say—it’s rare to see a queen who not only commands respect but also embodies such… grace.”

She blinked, the compliment catching her off guard. “You’re too kind, Prince Raphael,” she replied, her voice even. “But let’s not stray from the matter at hand. This trade agreement is crucial for both our lands.”

“Of course,” Raphael said smoothly, though the admiration in his eyes lingered. “You truly are remarkable, Queen Y/N.”

Telemachus’s patience visibly thinned, though he maintained a composed exterior. “Raphael,” he said firmly, his tone leaving little room for interpretation, “let’s stay focused. Time is of the essence.”

Raphael inclined his head, finally pulling his gaze away from Her. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, though a faint smile lingered on his lips as if he had discovered a treasure he couldn’t quite let go of.

——

The sun was setting over the golden shores of Ithaca, the waves lapping gently against the sand as Prince Raphael walked along the coastline. The crisp sea breeze tugged at his dark hair and carried the faint scent of salt and blooming flowers. He moved slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his thoughts heavy yet tantalizingly sweet. Beside him, invisible to all but him, walked the radiant goddess Aphrodite. Draped in shimmering fabrics that seemed to flow like liquid light, she watched him with a sly, knowing smile. Her voice was like honey, smooth and intoxicating, as she broke the silence.

“You’ve been quiet, Raphael,” she teased, though her tone was rich with mischief. “Your heart is aflame, and yet you say nothing. Tell me, what consumes you so?”

Raphael stopped, gazing out at the horizon where the sun dipped low, painting the waters in hues of orange and gold. He inhaled deeply, as if trying to steady himself, before speaking. “It’s her,” he admitted, his voice tinged with longing. “Y/N. She is unlike anyone I have ever seen. There is a grace to her, a strength… She carries herself with such dignity, yet there’s something untouchable about her. It’s maddening.”

Aphrodite chuckled, the sound light and melodic. “Ah, the queen of Ithaca,” she said, her eyes glittering with amusement. “A wife. A mother. And yet, you look at her as though she were crafted just for you. How bold, Raphael, reminds me of someone else.”

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, his tone both desperate and defensive. “Her beauty is unparalleled, her voice lingers in my mind like a melody I can’t forget. She belongs in a palace of gold, treated as the goddess she resembles, not hidden away in Telemachus’s shadow.”

Aphrodite stepped closer, her smile growing. “And what would you do, my dear prince, to make her yours?” she asked, her voice low and coaxing. “Would you challenge the Fates themselves? Would you defy the gods?”

Raphael turned to her, his dark eyes ablaze with determination. “Anything,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I would give anything to have her by my side. Telemachus doesn’t deserve her. He’s soft, unrefined—a weak king who barely knows how to cherish a gem like Y/N. She should be mine.”

Aphrodite tilted her head, considering him with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. “Such passion,” she mused. “And such arrogance. Do you not fear the wrath of the gods, Raphael? To take another man’s wife is to invite ruin.”

“I fear nothing,” Raphael replied, his voice laced with both pride and desperation. “Y/N and I—we are meant to be. I see it, I feel it. And if the gods will not bless our union, I will force her hand.”

Aphrodite’s smile turned sharper, almost predatory. “Force her hand?” she repeated, stepping closer until her voice was a whisper in his ear. “You would risk all for this woman? You would set the world aflame to claim her?”

Raphael nodded without hesitation. “Yes,” he said firmly. “She will be mine. If Telemachus stands in my way, then so be it. I will do whatever it takes to bring her to Skiaphos—to her rightful place by my side.”

Aphrodite laughed softly, the sound echoing like a chime on the wind. “You amuse me, prince,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Very well. I will guide your hand. But beware—love is a fire, and even gods can be burned by its flames.” Raphael said nothing, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared below the waves. In his mind, he could already see Y/N standing beside him, her hand in his, her son in her arms. Whatever it took, he would make that vision a reality.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

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[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)

Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 4296

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.

Masterlist

You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.

Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.

Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.

Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.

Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.

Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.

“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.

Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.

“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”

The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-

Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.

“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”

“She is my only daughter.”

“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”

“She is a child.”

“A Targaryen child.”

“She is my child.”

“Then let her prove it.”

“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”

“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”

“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”

“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.

“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”

And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.

So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.

“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.

As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.

You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.

A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)

You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.

There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.

One.

You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.

“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.

“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”

“Do you not offer him food?”

The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”

“Offer him better.”

“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”

“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”

“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”

And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.

Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”

Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”

And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.

Two.

Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.

“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”

“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.

You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”

“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)

“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”

Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.

“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”

Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”

“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”

“Not my brother?”

“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”

“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.

“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”

“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.” 

“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”

And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.

But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.

Three.

It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.

You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.

Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.

So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.

Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.

And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.

“Father.” She greets.

“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”

The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”

“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”

“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.

“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”

“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”

“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.

You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”

“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.

You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”

“Very well.”

“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”

“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.

“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”

No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.

“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.

“It is my duty to my house.”

He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”

To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.

“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”

He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.

“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”

Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.

Four.

The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.

At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.

“Mother?”

Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.  

“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”

You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”

“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”

“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.

“Your grandsire is dead.”

You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”

“Yes.”

“You did not wish for this.”

“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”

“That is not a solution.”

She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”

You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.

“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.

“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”

Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.

“What of my brothers?”

Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”

“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”

“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”

“She has gone to Dragonstone?”

“She has.”

“And no one has come for me?”

“They have not.”

For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.

“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”

Your fear swells, “Mother.”

“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”

“I ca–”

“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”

“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.

“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”

“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”

Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.

“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”

Five.

You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.

You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.

(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Lando/Oscar (Part 2)

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you can find part 1 here

nsfw: fly the ocean (in a silver plane) by @settsplitt | E | 2.6k Lando and Oscar are fighter jet pilots who share a room on base. Oscar doesn’t seem to think much about the risk of what they do, but it consumes Lando. This is an excellent character study and builds such a big world out of very brief moments. “Hot” and “existential worry” hold hands in a circle around this fic.

He’s practically fucking useless in the briefs and debriefs. He just feels his brain slipping away, to the sky and the seas and angels 10. He knows other people are noticing, but honestly, if they want him to be normal they should fucking put him back with Oscar. None of it matters, anyway, because Lando never has any control.

nsfw: Keep Talking by @wanderingblindly | E | 2.7k This is such a beautifully written fic! The trust and comfort here is really moving - it's a soft, syrupy sort of story, that unfolds beautifully. Love it!

With practiced hands, he slides his fingers into Lando’s curls and scratches lightly at his scalp. It shoots like lightning down Lando’s neck, ringing in his ears. 

no proof, not much (but you saw enough) by @ipleadbritney | T | 3.5k Soulmates. Lando and Oscar are pulled aside by the FIA, suspected of an illegal soulbond. What I liked about it: The character voices in this story are absolutely spot on. It's Oscar's point of view and his anxiety about the situation underlying his calm demeanor is a delicate balance this author depicts beautifully.

“Yeah?” Oscar wonders which version of Lando he'll get. Will it be the one who's hyper focused on every tiny detail, including the curls of his hair? Will it be the one who's living proof why some kids deserve to be leashed? Or will it be the Lando who flirts as much as he breathes, one step away from launching his OnlyFans account?

nsfw: Reasons Why Lando Norris Might Be A Werewolf by @fenesacha | E | 3.9k Oscar, a werewolf, starts to notice small things about his teammate that may mean Lando is a werewolf too. (He's not.) What I like it: This fic is funny and breezy with great dialogue and an Oscar perfectly happy to shift gears and take it in stride when he realises Lando isn't a werewolf, but he is something else Oscar hadn't expected.

“Your dick comes off?” Oscar blurts out before he can stop himself. Lando stares at him like he’s stupid, which makes a change. “I don’t have a dick, Oscar. It’s a packer.” Right. Oscar’s not entirely sure what a packer is, but he’s got the gist of it all. “No dick. Okay. That’s cool.” “Is it?” “Yeah, mate.” Oscar’s not a bigot, he’s just having to mentally correct every fantasy he’s had for the past God-knows-how-many years. “You’re trans, then?” “Yeah, but it’s not common knowledge, so don’t go telling all your friends.” Lando turns his head so that he’s looking at Oscar, then frowns. “Wait, so you’re not trans?” “Uh, no?” “Huh, thought you were. You give off those vibes.”

worth the trouble (it was an honour) by @maaxverstappen | G | 4.6k Oscar and Lando started something, knowing it would end. It's all sweeter than it is bitter. I'm absolutely entranced by this fic. The emotion comes across so clearly, such a perfect, gentle bittersweet feeling. I don't re-read fics often, and this is one i've found myself returning to regularly.

They were always good at that, talking without words. Sometimes, and Oscar would never admit this, he would think cough twice if you hear this, being both surprised and relieved when Lando stayed quiet.

nsfw: you signed up for this by @strawberry-daiquiris | E | 6.9k This is a wonderful magical realism au where older!Oscar time travels back and teaches Oscar how to treat Lando properly. I think writing the same character twice and all that separates them is time gone by is so impressive. it really shows great writing skills and characterisation. The smut was obviously so well written but what I loved so dearly about this is how philosophical it was, so much growth for these characters within a single evening. A true must read for the landoscar community!!

He’s looking at himself, like some kind of fucked up mirror at a funfair. It’s him, but there are lines he doesn’t recognise, a heft to his upper body he can’t feel. His face looks older, and his teeth annoyingly, a little straighter. Oscar finds, to his horror, that this is him but hotter. Less hair though, at least there’s that. “Hello.” Not-him-but-him says, with a little wave and a sideways smile. Next to him, Lando giggles, and when Oscar turns to look at him he’s returning the wave, wiggling his fingers and letting the sheet he’d pulled up to his neck drop to right below his nipples. “Stop flirting with him!” Oscar exclaims, then reconsiders his point. “Or me. Or... alright, actually mate, who the fuck are you?”

force majeure by debrief | T | 7k Oscar and Lando get bodyswapped. The author absolutely nails the voices of both characters, Lando's chaotic way of speaking versus Oscar's more measured tone. Its largely constructed as a series of text messages until the last act, which is an inspired way of showing when a character is freaking out - Lando's messages in particular get more incoherent and full of typos when he's upset. The way they gradually draw toward one another as their situation isolates them (anyone else they confide in is erased from existence after), being one another's strength and comfort and support, is really beautiful to watch unfold.

craving for caprficns sn caprin sc capri sus suns capri suns and like so theyre usually on the lower shelf in ther corner i kown cause i alswasy get then here even tho theyre pricier priceri pricier and like they werent there and i double checked i asked the emploeye that was stocking the shelves in the next aisle and she sad said she dones t know what a capri usn is?? she even asked me if it was a zodiac sun zodiac sign shit i cant cry over caprin sun osc

nsfw: love along the way by @gaslybottoms | E | 10k AU, sex work/adult entertainment. Oscar is a videographer for an adult entertainment studio. Lando is one of the performers. Oscar sees Lando struggling emotionally after intense scenes and wants to help him. Lando, though, is very reluctant to accept it. This is a wonderful fic - Oscar is hurting so badly for Lando and is desperate to comfort him, but he can only be brushed off so many times before he gives up. He is so worried for Lando that he misses signs of distress in himself, which ends up bringing about a resolution to the situation in a way nobody (including me!) expected.

It’s cheesy. A line literally straight from a porno, and one Oscar has heard so many times over the last year or so. He shouldn’t find himself hating the way it sounds, curling around Jenson’s tongue as he chases his release. He’s not even a bad guy. Outside of filming, Oscar likes him. He’s always up for a laugh, and he makes an effort to get to know about all the people that work in the agency, not just the actors he’s supposed to do scenes with. He’s always supportive, offering advice from a mature point of view. And yet. Right now, Oscar can’t stand him. The way that he gets to take care of Lando in a way that Oscar can’t, because Lando doesn’t open up to him the same way. The way of telling Oscar how he feels, not how he might open up around Oscar’s -

the sun (in your eyes) by @wisteriagoesvroom | M | 11.3k Lando stumbles upon a flower shop. Oscar's flower shop, to be precise. This is a wonderful florist!Oscar au. What I love so dearly about this is that the author has taken the lyric/concept of "you don't have to say i love you to say i love you" and applied it to flower language. How creative and clever. I love how throughout this fic Oscar and Lando really become what the other person needs, they are always there for each other. All of it just feels so safe and comforting. The dialogue is witty and fun and the descriptions are really well rounded. And as the cherry on top, this was written For Me so its wonderfully perfect.

Home. Home is pine needles and Ribena and his first car and a return ticket to Heathrow and taking your seat at your local cafe and the baristas knowing your name. But home can also be this: an open door, a room full of flowers and green and life. A cup of your favourite tea and a snack you’ve come to associate with the word comfort. A conversation with a man who offers you a safe harbour, with no conditions to be anything other than to be what you are.

nsfw: you're burning up, i'm cooling down by @foggieststars | E | 12.3k Lando and Oscar have an understanding, Oscar doesn't get to come until Lando decides he's been good enough. This fic is so good and it might be my most reread f1 fic ever at this point. The dialogue is amazing and feels so real and on point for both Lando and Oscar. Their dynamic is so fun and sexy and well written and it makes so much sense for them and what I feel like landoscar would be. I lack the words to accurately describe how good this is: the writing, the plot, the sex are all phenomenal.

He teases Oscar about it, sometimes. How badly he wants it - to win, to be good. Lando asks him if he ever gets hard in the car out of some twisted desperation to please people. He loves thinking about Oscar’s muscled thighs clenching together in the car, vibrations running through his whole body, sparking little points of contact. So Lando lets the little game drag on into the race build-up sometimes, when Oscar is okay with it.

under my skin by @lellabellawrites | M | 16.8k An AU in which Oscar and Lando are serial killers who have a meet cute while dumping bodies, and fall in love. This fic absolutely floored me with how good it was, how this pair of incredibly dangerous people managed to focus all that intensity on one another. Their devotion to one another is absolutely touching, even if you can never forget what they do for fun. Oscar is methodical and calculating, Lando is more impulsive, which is perfect characterisation and shows how well they fit together, the Yin and Yang of it all. The ending left me breathless.

Oscar knows exactly who this man is now. The Quad County Killer sprung up last summer and has been on quite a spree lately. A handful of Oscar's kills have been attributed to him, which should be a relief from the extra cover it brings, but instead only pisses him off. This guy works recklessly, leaving his kills out in the open like he wants to be found out. Oscar would like the papers to give him a little more credit than that. "I work better alone." His disdain must be evident as the man relents with a sneer of disappointment. "Could you at least help me drag this down—" "No." "Fine." He takes one end of the duffel and heaves it over the curb with more strength than Oscar would have expected from his slender frame. "Did you sink yours or float?" "Sink. I'm not an idiot." "Alright. Rude."

you be time, i'll be space by littleplumtree | M | 50.8k Lando and Oscar are part of a space exploration team with the goal of finding sentient life outside of earth. why I like it: This author is a master of the details. Every piece, every detail, every action and reaction, they all serve to make the story richer and more vibrant. The characterization, too, feels comfortable and real. It's a joy to read.

With his eye to the microscope, Lando makes a heart wrenching little sound of relief. “Oh. Oh my god. There you are.” Oscar leans his elbows on the bench and stares into the tank. There’s nothing to see with the naked eye, but in that water is something that could one day, given all the time in the world, evolve into something like themselves. Maybe one day they’ll build pyramids and cry at sad movies and invent Tupperware and come up with a thousand different ways to insult each other online.

nsfw: Casual by @loquarocoeur | E | 95k AU, college roommates. Lando is perpetually horny and unlucky when it comes to hookups. He suggests that he and Oscar should just be friends with benefits, you know. Casual. Oscar agrees, even though he is madly in love with Lando and knows its a recipe for disaster. Lando gradually starts to realise the same. I am insane for just how good this fic is. It's not that the guys don't talk, they talk all the time and even communicate about their unique situation, they understand one another deeply and yet they still don't realise what space they occupy in one another's hearts. They are completely compatible in bed, if only they knew - Lando in particular is self conscious about the way he gets in bed and fights his very nature, all while not realising Oscar likes him that way. The angst is heavy but they get there in the end, while it has plenty of funny dialogue moments to lighten things. The characterisation is wonderful all round.

“So I stopped asking for sex and now we haven’t fucked in like five days which should be fine, but I don’t know, I’m getting desperate and he's just, like, fine, so maybe he doesn't need the sex, maybe he doesn't want the sex anymore, but he just can't admit it—” “Okay, Lando, I think you’re really overthinking—” “No! Because you see the fucking isn’t the only thing, the thing is that somehow we’ve sort of accidentally slept in the same bed for like a week and now we’re sort of fighting so I couldn’t sleep last night.” “Accidentally... For a week?”

[holllandtrash]

6t1 girlie going to celebrate that p2 real nice I reckon

silverstone celebrations | lando norris

continuation of the 6 to 1 series (read part 1 here)

lando gets a podium, his first one at his home race and surely that calls for a celebration. it's unfortunate, however, that the hotel walls aren't soundproof.

word count: 3.5k tags/warning: slight smut, fingering, female receiving, lando's a little shit but hey it's his podium, poorly translated french im so sorry, also not rly edited that well

Lando squeezed you so tight over the barriers, lifting your feet off the ground despite there being a clear fence to separate the drivers from their teams. There was no doubt in your mind that he would pull you over if he wouldn’t get in trouble from the stewards. 

The neon hat fell from your head as he kissed you, not like you cared, you hated it anyway. ‘You look like a highlighter’ Charles had said when you showed up in the paddock on Friday sporting the new Grandstand merch line Lando came out with specifically for this race. It was true, though. You looked like a highlighter all weekend, but you knew Lando loved seeing you in his merch and god were you easy to spot when he got out of the car in parc ferme. 

In the sea of orange and black McLaren crew members, there you were. Tears streamed down your face as you waited to congratulate Lando for his P2 finish. You were selfish about it too. You didn’t care that there were other people around you waiting to congratulate him, Zak Brown included, his family included, you wanted to kiss him and you wanted the world to see how proud you were that Lando had claimed a podium for the first time at his home race.

You pulled back, hands cupping his face. You couldn’t tell if your palms were sweaty or if Lando’s face was damp with sweat, it didn’t matter honestly, you just needed to look at him. You needed to see the excitement on his face, you wanted to take this moment in.

His hand covered yours as his eyes were squinting from how large his smile was. “We did it. We did it! P2, we-”

“No, you did it,” your voice came out broken, your happy sob choked you up and Lando nodded. He did it. You laughed, because how could you not. This was the happiest you had felt in a long time. “You did it, Lando. And I’m so, so proud of you. I love you. You did it.”

He gave your hand a squeeze before he was pulled away by someone else. A driver, a crew member, you weren’t sure. The rest of that celebration turned into a blur and it wasn’t until you felt champagne being sprayed on you as Lando stood atop the podium did it sink in that he accomplished something truly incredible at his home race. At McLaren’s home race. This would be a moment he would remember for the rest of his life and with every bone in your body, with every fibre of your being, you were proud of him. 

Witnessing Charles’ accomplishments through the years had always brought you a sense of joy but this was something else. As Lando pointed at you from where he stood, a few metres above everyone else, you couldn’t explain the feeling in your chest. There were no words to explain how you felt, you just wanted to embrace this victory and be there for Lando. 

Maybe it was because Lando said ‘we’. We did it, he told you. Staring directly into your glossy eyes because to him, the two of you were a team as much as him and McLaren were. His victory, his second place finish and you were very much a part of it. You were his biggest supporter, his loudest cheerleader, his motivation. He wanted to do well for McLaren of course, always, but god there was no better feeling in the world than having a good practice time or a decent quali session and seeing the look on your face. You were proud to call him yours and Lando desperately wanted to make a habit out of seeing your wide smile and teary eyes. 

Honestly, he couldn’t believe it when you showed up on Friday wearing the neon Grandstand jumper. Lime green? Highlighter yellow? It was bright and hideous, is what it was, but Lando loved it and then he loved it even more seeing you in it. He didn’t know you had planned on wearing it, having shown up to the track later than him but it was a wonderful surprise. 

And then Saturday, you showed up in the t-shirt and the baseball hat, the same blinding colour and he loved you even more for it. 

Sunday, he was certain you’d wear something else. The paddock was also a fashion show for some people and he knew you liked to dress up.

But no, there you were again. Baseball hat, bright green jumper, you even managed to find a pair of cotton shorts in a similar colour and you could be seen a mile away. You hated it, but you loved Lando, so you could sacrifice your dignity for his home race.

Of course, you changed as soon as you could. Deciding on an orange cropped cami and white trousers, colours that highlighted your summer glow and showed just enough skin that it had Lando rubbing his hand over his face as he muttered something under his breath about how beautiful you were. You had just strapped on the second heel and straightened up when Lando came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

Your head rolled back onto his shoulder when his lips found your neck. His soft and slow kisses on your already hot skin had your breath hitching in your throat. You leaned into his chest, pressing your back as close as you could to him. Every inch of you that touched Lando lit a fire within your core.

“We could skip dinner,” Lando’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as the idea flowed from his mind into your ear, something he wanted to suggest earlier. A lot earlier.

He wanted to drag you into his driver's room and watch you drop to your knees in front of him. He wanted to leave marks on your skin in the backseat of the car with the partition rolled up. He wanted to pin you up against the wall as soon as you stepped foot into the hotel room, holding your hands above your head until you were begging to touch him.

But god forbid he had post race duties that kept any of that from happening.

The debrief. The fan stage with that disgusting shoey, but he had to keep his promise to Daniel about keeping the tradition alive. The individual thank you’s and handshakes to everyone he passed in the garage and paddock. And now the dinner with friends and family that was technically his idea but would it be so bad if he cancelled? 

Or at least, showed up late?

“We have a reservation-”

“Doesn’t mean we need to be the first ones there,” Lando pointed out, a deep chuckle emitting from his throat. One of his hands trailed downwards, playing with the button on the front of your pants before popping it open. His pinky traced over the thin material of your panties and there wasn’t a single word of discouragement that passed your lips when he pulled the zipper down, just a quiet whimper and Lando could have sworn he heard you say please.

You rolled your hips against him, feeling the tightening in his own pants as he spread his palm across your abdomen, fingers gripping your skin. 

He dipped past the hem of your underwear, the tip of his finger just barely teasing your clit. You swallowed, lifting your hand up to drag your nails through the hair on the back of your neck, pulling his lips to your neck once more because if you were going to feel Lando you wanted to feel him everywhere. 

His hand slipped further down, using his middle finger to swipe through your folds, already feeling how wet you were for him. What he didn’t know was there had been a pool forming since you first thought about celebrating his podium finish. You were as desperate for him as he was for you.

“Lando,” you whispered. His name was your plea, asking him to do something aside from his painfully slow motions. He took your earlobe between his teeth and you tightened your grip on his hair in response, your body reacting to him and his touch the way it always did. 

“Don’t rush me,” a breath of a laugh fell from his lips as he pressed another kiss to the spot below your ear. The slightest bit of pressure was applied to your centre as his thumb brushed over your clit. “Only fair I get to celebrate the way I want, don’t you think?”

“Let me treat you, then,” you tried to suggest, more than happy to switch positions and bring him to the edge before dinner. But you shouldn’t have been surprised when Lando’s response was to tighten his hold on you, his clothed erection pressing into your backside. 

“Maybe later,” he pushed the idea aside, wanting nothing more than to see your knees go weak and hear you call out his name because God only knew it was a better experience than any podium ceremony could ever give him. The crowd cheering for him was one thing. But you begging for him? Otherworldly. 

You opened your mouth again to argue with him, but your words escaped you when Lando pushed two fingers past your tight folds, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. He took his time until eventually he was knuckles deep inside of you and all you could do was cling onto him for dear life, a quiet chorus of please and faster encouraged him to find a steady pace. 

Lando’s breath on your neck and his fingers sliding in and out of you had your legs giving out. If it wasn't for him physically holding up you’d be a goner. One particularly hard thrust upwards from him and the most beautiful moan echoed off the walls. He scissored his fingers against your walls, fighting back a groan himself when you clenched around him.

You were lost in your own little world that you didn’t even notice Lando trail his free hand up until it came to a stop where your jaw met your throat. His grip tightened, thumb finding your chin to tilt your face towards him as you rested on his shoulder. 

“So pretty,” he praised, dragging your lower lip down ever so slightly. You stared up at him, wide eyes, fluttered lashes, stammered breaths…a sight he wanted permanently seared into his mind. 

It wasn’t right. You should have been on your knees for him. It was his day, you wanted to show him just how proud you were, you wanted to congratulate him with his cock hitting the back of your throat until tears streamed down your cheeks.

But Lando loved this. You could celebrate your way later. Right now, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

He picked up the pace of his fingers, determined to bring you to the edge before you had to go to this fucking dinner. As far as Lando was concerned, he’d be happy enough with you as a meal. The mental image of you spread out on the bed as he dipped his head between your thighs was almost enough to convince him to call off the celebration tonight. 

Almost. 

Because the idea of being able to tease you throughout the rest of the evening was too good to pass up as well. 

You swallowed heavily, feeling the familiar build up in your core, that burning sensation spread through your veins. An awaiting euphoria that only Lando could deliver to you. 

His eyes darkened, recognizing the way your walls clenched around him in anticipation. His assault on your pussy quickened, the thrust of his fingers, his thumb over your clit, all of it was bringing you to the edge. 

So one could imagine, this was the worst time for there to be a knock on your hotel room door only a few feet away from you. 

Lando’s hand covered your mouth, knowing you were one who struggled to be quiet. Your eyes widened, your heart rate picking up and Lando only made the situation worse by not stopping. You could have sworn he sped up even.

He cleared his throat and called out to whoever was on the other side, waiting in the hall, “Yeah?”

“Just checking to see if you guys had left yet,” Charles' muffled voice came through the door. “Want to share a car?”

Lando, with a devious smirk on his face as his motions became stronger, rougher, happily answered knowing how much you were hating this. “We’d love to! We’ll be out in a moment, hang tight, mate.”

Charles said something else, something you didn’t catch as you were too focused on controlling your breaths behind Lando’s palm and praying that these walls were sound proof enough. 

This was horrid. Knowing your brother was right outside the door as Lando worked desperately to push you over the edge.

He trailed his lips to your ear, “I hope you're close, love. Would hate to keep him waiting.”

You nodded, your whole body quivering. You were so close. 

Lando slowly dropped his hand from your mouth, finding the look of sheer panic on your face to be amusing. 

“You can be quiet, can’t you?” He taunted, knowing damn well you couldn’t. 

“Lando-” it was hard to even get his name out, closing your jaw immediately when a moan threatened to escape next. 

Another harsh thrust of his fingers had your hips bucking against him. It was a stark contrast from the way his thumb softly grazed over your cheek, his eyes encouraging you to give in, let go. Lando certainly didn’t give a single shit if your brother heard. 

And you tried to be quiet, really. You bit the inside of your cheek as your orgasm hit you hard. Lando kept you steady and upright against his body, slowly working you through it. You fought with yourself to keep from shouting his name but there was nothing you could do about the angelic moan passing through your lips. Lando buried his face into the crook of your neck, a low rumble emitting from the back of his throat. 

When you stopped pulsating around his fingers, Lando slid them out of you. He kissed your neck and then your cheek and then tilted your face to kiss your lips, gently, lovingly, softly. It almost made you forget your brother was quite literally waiting for both of you.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Lando rolled his eyes, “You can’t hate me today, I got a podium.”

“Then I hate you tomorrow.”

Lando nodded, “That’s fine.” He kissed your cheek again as you lifted yourself off of his shoulder. He patted your butt as you turned around, “Go change, I’ll stall.”

Usually he would opt to lick your juices clean off his fingers, but he decided washing his hands would probably be the best decision. He adjusted himself as much as best as he could before looking down the hallway, not letting himself get distracted as you slipped a skirt on.

Lando opened the door to the hotel and nodded at Charles who was leaning against the wall across the way, head down as he scrolled through his phone. Charles barely acknowledged him, avoiding his eyes as he muttered something about how the car was waiting outside.

You joined them in the hall a few minutes later. Lando looked you over once and then twice, eyes narrowing at your hair but not making a comment about how you probably could have brushed it again. He just played with it as you walked next to him, both of you hoping he could smooth it out enough before you reached the restaurant. 

Charles climbed into the front seat of the awaiting car while you and Lando climbed in the back. You attempted to make conversation with your brother, asking him about the debrief, but he wasn’t giving you anything in return. One word answers at most.

You pulled out your phone and texted Lando. He heard.

Lando snickered when he read your text, coming to that assumption as well with the way Charles avoided making eye contact. Instead of answering you, Lando slid his phone into his pocket and decided that the best thing to do would not be to let the situation simmer, but to bring the pot to a boil.

“Charles,” Lando cleared his throat, his hand dropping to your thigh. “It’s nice of you to join us tonight, really.”

Charles nodded, “Yeah, anytime.”

“Well I’m not you, you know? My podiums are quite far and few between so I like to celebrate when I can.” 

Charles nodded again as you shot Lando a warning look. He ignored it, of course, because at the end of the day you fell for someone who was more immature than they ever cared to admit.

“It’s nice that Y/N’s here too, to celebrate with her,” Lando added. You squeezed his hand harsher than needed and he winced in slight pain, but didn’t let up, even when Charles chose not to respond. “Yeah she’s a great motivator-”

“Please stop talking,” Charles finally said, pleaded, actually. You could see him raise his hands to his face, breathing deeply into it. His voice was muffled as he spoke, but the pain in his voice was clear as dear. “For the love of god, Lando. Stop talking.”

Lando burst out laughing as your cheeks turned a bright shade of red. 

“Charles-” you started.

“Nope,” he cut you off, staring directly ahead at the road in front of him. You could only imagine what the driver was thinking about this interaction. Charles refused to turn over his shoulder to look at either of you. 

“We didn’t-”

“Arrêtez de parler,” Charles repeated, asking you now to stop talking. “Dites à Lando que si j'entends encore cela, je mettrai le feu à sa voiture.” Tell Lando, if I ever hear that again I will set his car on fire.

“Quelle voiture?” Which car? Not that it really mattered, but you would have preferred if Charles didn’t commit a felony during a race weekend.

“The McLaren,” Charles answered, in English, to let Lando know he was talking about him and his car despite him not being aware of the threat that just came out of his mouth. 

Lando leaned in towards you, “What did he say?”

You shook your head, not wanting to dive into it right now and thanking your lucky stars when you pulled up outside the restaurant. Charles practically sprinted inside, bypassing Daniel and Carlos who tried to say hi to him. 

When the two of you stepped out, Daniel approached you with some concern, nodding his head towards the doors, “What’s up with Leclerc?”

“He heard us,” Lando answered point-blankly. He and Daniel were still incredibly close, you shouldn’t have been surprised at how honet Lando was.

“He heard you?” Daniel repeated. “What does that mean?”

“He heard us,” you said, more emphasis on the word of the hour without getting into too much detail. It took a second, but Daniel’s face was priceless as he dipped his head back and laughed. He had to cover his mouth with his hands to keep from making too loud of a scene. 

Lando slid his hand around your waist, pulling you into his side as Daniel’s laughing fit continued. You wanted to hide your face. Actually, no, you just wanted to hide. You didn’t want to make eye contact with your brother, ever again. 

“Poor kid,” Daniel managed to get out, still chuckling. “But hey, congrats I guess-”

You reached forward, hitting Daniel’s chest and he stepped back, hands up in defence.

“For the podium,” he clarified, still grinning from ear to ear. He adjusted the hem of his collar, sending a wink towards the British driver before turning and walking inside. You and Lando waited a second, watching as Carlos clearly asked Daniel what that was about but Daniel brushed it off, telling him to ask Charles.

You stepped forward, but Lando’s hand on your waist moved to your wrist as he pulled you back. His eyes scanned over your face, seeing your red cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from your skin, losing you to the anxious way your eyes darted everywhere.

“Hey,” he whispered, hands trailing up your arms. “I love you.”

You laughed, because how could you not? Only Lando would feel the need to assure you he loved you after practically being caught by your brother, which was, technically, Lando’s fault.

“I love you,” you repeated back. “But for both of our sakes, I hope you never get a podium ever again.”

“Ah,” Lando grinned, sarcasm already heavy on his tone. “My biggest motivator, such kind words.”

“I mean it.”

You didn’t, obviously. You wanted nothing more than to see Lando’s trophy shelf filled to the brim. You wanted to see him standing on top of the podium week after week. You wanted to get used to seeing him spray the champagne over the other drivers and the crowd.

But if this was going to become a regular thing, you were certainly going to need to change the way you celebrated. Or at least, you'd be sure to confirm that the walls were soundproof.

[circeyoru]

You Think It’s That Easy? = Requested

[Yandere Human!Alastor x Arranged Marriage!Reader]

The Request (1) + (2)

Part 2 is out, please check Masterlist for the link

I supposed that it would be heavily implied that Reader here is female, cause I can’t imagine Alastor’s time letting male and male into a marriage. Sorry to my male readers!

A friendship between families is not something to be happy about. At least, to the children of the two families it isn’t

“Darling, meet Alastor, for now you two aren’t of age yet, but in time, you two will be married.”

That line was what chained you down to another without room for rejection or say. Luckily, Alastor himself wasn’t keen on the idea as well, so whenever you two were out of your parents’ sights, you two were off to do as you please

Your parents ran a successful shipping company, leading them to be absent throughout your childhood. They sent you to live with their friend, Alastor’s parents, later the idea of marrying you two was formed. Alastor’s father ran a factory, producing metal and machinary, so he was well off. There wasn’t a thing out of place, except maybe the greedy he has to money

With the lack of parents, you had to rely on yourself and you had plenty of private lessons to prepare yourself before going to going to school. You saw Alastor’s father as a sinful man that leeched off of your parents’ fame. The idea of marriage was mainly from him as well, since he wanted more compensation on top of what was given to him while taking care of you

Alastor was more of a mama’s boy, as you took notice. Very obedient to her, yet when it came to his father, he was much like a doll. You also saw his father as abusive, though he played the kind and sweet father figure when you were around, when you were out of sight, his switch is flipped. You leaned to Alastor’s wounds when you caught him reaching for a med-kit in the dead of night

The two of you made your peace with the arranged marriage after sometime spending at school. You two also thought of just going through with it since either of you found ‘love’, nor did you two want to disappoint your parents

A glorious wedding day supposed to be the best day of one’s life was a dull ceremony for you and merely a formality for Alastor. Vows spoken with the intent to break, rings exchanged as mere jellewery, and a kiss shared just as a performance on stage. Somehow, the smiles on your respective parents’ face was worth the trouble

You two moved out and lived in a mansion that was affordable. You two slept in separate rooms, nearly nothing was shared. The situation was much like a roommate. Nothing between you two suggested that there was the concept of ‘love’

Though an odd friendship of mutual acceptance and private support was formed. While you both had your fair share of friends and connections, you knew you could always rely on the other for anything because you’ve known the other your whole life and seen the ugly side of the other and accepted it

Like when Alastor’s father was accidentally killed in a factor fire and his mother passed away from an incurable disease not long after. Or your parents that died from a shipwreck while out at sea during a vacation you refused to go. During these traumatic times, while people around you two tried to claw at you, the other would protect and be a source of comfort

That’s why you two agreed to have the marriage stay in tact. It will be broken off when either one finds a partner that was ‘true love’

And that time came faster than imagined. You found that love you wanted, you didn’t tell anyone, opting to keep it a secret. You had a face to put on, so does your love. You knew Alastor would understand, in fact, he’d be ecsatic for you. Since this meant he would be free of this playing house game. You honestly figured Alastor had a lover of his own as well, since he returns home so late and would immediately head to the showers to clean before falling asleep

Everything planned for your leave, you didn’t inform Alastor and thought it was fine for you to just leave with your love. You did and none was the wiser. As a form of curtsy and thanks, you left Alastor a great sum of money, a letter of farewell, your wedding ring and signed marriage divorce papers. If he wanted, maybe you two could do on a double date?

While you were happy and dandy with the arrangement, Alastor found himself unable to go through with it when that time come. His hands crunched up the letter and he shoved away all that money. You see, he never expected it, but he fell for you in a way it wouldn’t be considered normal. You were someone he just want to let go

Starting that factory fire was easy, call it a trial. He hates his father, yes, but he also wanted to see if you’d break off the marriage since his father was the one to suggest the idea. But you didn’t and offered him a shoulder to ‘cry’ on, he realized then, that he prefered your presence other than his mother’s

“Alastor, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, My Dear. Accidents happen all the time.”

“No, it’s not!” You suddenly hugged him out of nowhere, you knew perfectly well of his aversion to touch, yet you hugged him tight and provided your shoulder, “Don’t hold it in, Alastor. It’s not good for you. I’ll be right here for you.”

Slowly, Alastor returned the hug. His arms wrapped tightly against you, he let his face bury between your neck and shoulder and forced tears out. When he felt your hands patting the back of his head and soothing his back, a sickly grin formed. He likes this.

He realized his love for you when you mentioned some unsatisfactory suitors that approached you even when your wedding day was near. He killed a few and faked some accidents there. Then he had that was your parents that wanted to stop the wedding since his father was dead and you didn’t appear interested in him

So he found some people with a grudge against your family and planned an accident during their vacation. He appeared as your knight in shinning armour when those some people targetted you. He catched them away, but he just had to off them for attempting to harm you. There, after everything blew off, he offered his hand in this staged marriage as a form of support to you. You needed a husband to rely on, even though you have the money, a lady such as yourself can’t last long alone

The moment you accepted, he got to work. Rooms changed to a shared bedroom, you two would appear as a couple in cafes to enjoy meals and breaks. Everything to make it seem like you two were truly a couple instead of what happened before

Alas, his time with you was very limited. With his popular radio shows and nighty activities, he couldn’t keep up with you. But in his eyes you didn’t change much, so he continued. He noticed you were happier, but when you didn’t tell him anything, he didn’t know what was happening. He assumed you had a successful deal made or the like

“Darling! Dear! I’m home!”

But all that returned his greeting was the empty silence of the mansion.

To think you found your love without telling him. He was careful to eliminate any potential lovers of yours. How did he miss this one?! He’ll admit he was busier than usual, but he had been keeping an eye on you. What went wrong?

As dramatic as it sounded, he felt like his life was sucked out of him when he saw the papers on the table. The flowers he brought, which were your favourite, and the ingredients he brought to make your favourite meal were long discarded on the floor. He left work early to celebrate your anniversary with you and you left?

He scrambled up his and your shared bedroom, your personal belongings and stuffs were all gone. He went to his study, your files, documents, and books were all gone. He went to the kitchen, your favourite kitchenwares were gone too. His knees gave out beneath him, you truly left. You left him

“I wish you a happy life with your lover, Alastor! Don’t mistreat her! And it’s not proper to stay out too late into the night, Alastor~” Those inferno words that taunted him. He could practically hear your voice teasing him from the letter. Did you think he had a lover too? How could he when he loves (is obsessed with) you?

Blasphemy! 

The next day, ladies were eager to comfort him and console him. The news of his divorce and that he was a free man was all over town, no doubt something you did to ensure that he and his supposed ‘love’ can be together in public. He was in no mood to entertain them

Alastor buried himself in his work, radio broadcasting and killing. As much as he wanted to hunt you down and kill whoever stole your heart from under his nose, he can’t. The two of you were famous in your own rights and it would cause quite the scandal that both of you might not recover

So he took out his witchcraft book. Binding souls request both souls’ blood and hair, he had collected yours beforehand. A sacrifice, the body in front of him will do well, it was the some person that tried to copy you and earn his love

He’ll see you in Hell and when he does, Alastor will not let you go

Note: Another story that's not {Unwanted Soul}! I'll probably continue that one when all the votes are in. At least, the new plotline will be like that.

Since this request was a long time ago, I went and made it longer than others. Hope you like this one in the meantime!

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

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@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

[sunnysidesevenup]

SSR - Arlo Wake - Applepom Groovy

Vignette - Not Here For You Guys (Part 2)

[Part 1]

read fic under the cut!

Arlo sighs, trudging through the snow and adjusting the gloves on his hands. He was surprised Epel would give him an outfit—considering they weren’t really part of the same “group” at the moment, but he suspects it’s probably a bribe of some kind to not tell Vil if the boy slips into his accent.

It seems Epel has the wrong idea about him, though—Arlo would never care enough to go any extra bit out of his way to get him in trouble. He’d only tell on Epel if he was already planning on talking to their housewarden, something which he wasn’t planning on any time soon. He didn’t ask permission for this trip, after all, and getting scolded by the older boy was far too much of an annoyance for him at the moment.

…The outfit was nice, though. He didn’t necessarily need it, his tolerance to the cold similar to any merfolk from the Coral Sea, but he liked clothes similar to this. He’d always had a preference for soft, knitted things—it was one of the first items of clothing that he’d been able to tolerate when he came to the surface. Maybe he could be a bit nicer to Epel on this trip, if nothing else. Although he probably wouldn’t see him much.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he slides it out, removing a glove so he can touch the screen. A text comes through, from the exact reason he’s even on this silly trip, and he can’t help the smile that crosses his face.

He never thought he’d ever go to another town just to hang out with someone—but things had really changed for him.

It wasn’t bad.

In fact, it was quite nice.

Neige <3: Make sure to wear warm clothes!

Arlo: I am. Epel gave me some.

Neige <3: Oh, that’s so nice of him! I was worried about you in this cold.

Arlo: You do remember I live in the ocean, right?

Neige <3: I can still worry!

Arlo: Are YOU wearing warm clothes?

Neige <3: hehe, you’re so sweet! <3 I am, some locals were nice enough to give me some!

Arlo feels his cheeks flush, luckily not as easily noticeable in this cold. He turns his phone off and slides it into his pocket, no longer able to look at the messages. It’s too embarrassing.

Getting called things like “sweet” by Neige isn’t new to him, but it will always feel strange. Things like that are not how he’s used to being described, nor would anyone else ever dare to think it. But no matter how much he acts like his regular self around the RSA student—scolding people who bother him, making little comments, smiling wide and threatening with a row full of razor sharp teeth—Neige still calls him “sweet”.

How else is he supposed to react, other than to happily go along with whatever Neige wants? It’s only natural.

Of course he’d go where he’s invited. He doesn’t know why Epel was so surprised in the first place.

Finally, he reaches the town square, where they’re supposed to meet. Booths selling various products line the street, and the fire pit in the center makes for a welcoming sight. Even more welcoming, however, is the sight of a certain black haired RSA student.

He’s standing near one of the booths, clad in similar clothing to Arlo. He’s talking happily to the seller, always able to strike up a conversation with strangers. The seller hands him two cups just as Arlo approaches, and the mer tilts his head.

“You wanted two drinks?” He asks teasingly, and Neige spins around, his eyes lighting up.

“You’re here!” He says excitedly, and then holds out one of the cups. “It’s for you!”

Arlo’s eyes widen, surprised, and he hesitantly reaches out to take it. “…What is it?”

“Apple cider!” Neige laughs, “Most of the things here are apple.”

“Right.” The mer says, taking a sip. It’s good, like most of the apple products in Epel’s hometown, and the warmth from it helps dispel any last lingering chill he feels. “How much was it?”

The RSA student makes a displeased sound, shaking his head. “I invited you, so I’m paying for it.” Arlo opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off again. “C’mon, let me treat you! Please?”

…How is he supposed to say no when Neige stares at him with wide, pleading eyes like that? No way.

He clicks his tongue. “Okay. But I’ll buy you something on this trip, too.”

The other boy’s eyes soften, and the look is so fond that Arlo has to look away. “Okay.” He agrees easily, and then adds, “You look really cute in that outfit, by the way!”

Arlo feels his heart rate speed up, the unmistakable heat of his cheeks turning red appearing again. “It’s not too different from my sweaters.” He says, half a protest, but Neige is having none of it.

“You look cute in those, too!”

“Stop it.” Arlo mutters, embarrassed. Neige can’t call him cute when HE’S the one who so clearly fits that description. It’s not fair that he can say compliments so easily, when the mer feels like he’s going to bite his own tongue attempting it. It’s not even close to fair.

“Are you embarrassed?” Neige giggles, and it might be a tease but it also might be a genuine question, but either way it only makes things worse.

“You can’t just say things like that.” Arlo responds, finally finding the courage to meet his eyes again. He finds the boy happily grinning at him, but forces himself not to look away again. “That’s something you say to someone you’re dating.” He tries reasoning with him.

Neige tilts his head. “Is this not a date?” He asks, immediately short circuiting Arlo’s brain.

Right, right, land people have a different definition of date, don’t they? Yeah, that’s what’s going on here.

Arlo bites his lip, looking away, “Let’s go look at the other booths?” He changes the subject, unwilling to acknowledge or talk about any sort of “date” anymore.

He doesn’t see it, eyes trained on the ground, but Neige’s expression falters, and then turns sympathetic and determined in equal measure. “Okay!” He says, agreeing easily, and then reaches out to grab Arlo’s glove-clad hand in his own. He tugs him forward, bright smile returning to his face. “I saw a bakery a little over there! Do you like sweets?”

“…They’re not bad.” Arlo answers, following along behind him.

Neige turns back to look at him, “Let’s get something there, then! And we can sit down and you can tell me all about your week.”

The mer smiles back, unable to resist, “I’m sure your week was much busier than mine.” He says.