#Costly Affairs

[weeabooofficial]

Strength

Warnings: Language, fluff, mentions of death, violence, hospitals,

Masterlist

Pairing: Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: Here is my first Hawks fic! I really enjoyed writing this from Reader's perspective, as an outsider looking in on the chaos that was this whole arc with the LoV. I hope you enjoy! Divider by @/cafekitsune

You watched as Keigo’s eyes fluttered shut, letting himself relax under the feeling of your hands massaging the knots out of his shoulders. His brilliant wings were relaxed, draped across your thighs as he sat on the ground between your legs. 

Letting out light moans, you smiled seeing him so serene. It wasn’t often that you saw him like this, letting the weight of the world roll off his shoulders with each rub of your hands. You didn’t miss his breath hitching as your hands traveled up from his shoulders to his neck and into the gold tresses of his hair. 

“It should be illegal how good this feels,” he hummed.

“It should be illegal how much the commission is working you.” 

Keigo sighed and opened his eyes, tilting his head back to look at you. “Babe, you know I have no control over that.” 

Trying to ignore the adorable expression on his face, you quirked a brow. “No, but you should. It’s not like it’s your life they’re controlling or anything, oh wait. It is.” 

“Sweetheart,”

“I know,” you sighed. “You enjoy helping people, and that’s the only reason I haven’t walked in there and given them a piece of my mind.” 

A grin grew on his face. “You could always walk on me,” 

“I will stop what I’m doing and walk away.” 

Keigo chuckled taking your hand, and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I’m just picking on you baby, you know how much I like to rile you up.” 

“Oh, I do, now shut up so I can finish.” 

Doing as you said, Keigo shut his mouth and closed his eyes again loving; how your hands felt in his hair. It took everything in him to not whine when you moved your hands from his hair, back to his shoulders. 

Keigo would do anything if it meant that you would be by his side at all hours of the day. People would think he’s clingy, but Keigo loved just having you near to touch and hold. He needed it; it was the only way to help him truly relax.

You know that Keigo would never admit it, but he strived for your affection. He showed all the signs of being touch starved, and after working with children you could see he acted almost in a similar way when he needed you. Keigo didn’t know how to ask for affection, the closest he got being after a long shift and he just curls up in bed and buries his face in your chest. 

Occasionally you would ask, and every time Keigo would answer “I just like laying on your tits.” But you knew better. 

This was one of those days, but you decided to indulge a little more. It had been a long time since you spent time like this, giving him all the loving affection he needed. With the way his brow relaxed, you could tell it was working. 

With a smile, you took his chin in your hand before turning his head towards you. Opening his eyes for only a second, he closed them and let you press your lips to his. 

“I love you,” 

Your smile got bigger, sliding your hand up to cup his face pulling him closer into the kiss. 

“I love you, too.” 

Keigo hummed, lifting himself off the ground before laying you down on the couch. His body hovered over yours before he buried his face in your neck, effectively pinning you to the couch as he laid on you and held you close. 

Stroking your fingers through his hair, you listened to the sounds of his breathing as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“Hey, birdie?” 

“Hm?” 

“Do you–” Keigo buried his face deeper in your shoulder. “It’s nothing.” 

Stilling your hands, you looked down at him with a concerned expression. “Keigo? What’s wrong baby?” 

Refusing to move his face from you, he just shook his head. “Nothing, it’s stupid.” 

“Nothing you ever say will be stupid to me,” 

“Until I say something that will make you not love me anymore…” 

His words shocked you, what the hell was he talking about? 

“Keigs, where is this coming from?” 

Letting out a sigh, Keigo slowly sat up and shifted himself off you. Sitting upright, he rested his elbows on his knees staring at the floor. Dropping his head between his knees, he ran his hands through his hair. 

“You know,” he chuckled. “I’ve spent my whole life being told what to do, how to act, hell even what to wear.” 

Looking up at you through the corner of his eye, Keigo huffed. “Then you come along and throw everything for a loop, with your shining positivity. This occupation would have swallowed me whole if it weren’t for you lighting my way,” 

“Keigo–” 

“Y/N, please let me finish.” 

You nodded, crossing your legs underneath yourself. Placing your hands in your lap to show that you were listening, you motioned for him to go on. 

“I let myself get caught up in the glamor of being a hero, having everything I wanted in the blink of an eye. Meeting you, it showed me that I can be more, that everything means more when there’s something worth living for.” 

Your eyes followed how his body moved, every twitch, every shiver and shudder of his wings. This was random, normally he wouldn’t talk about feelings, and when he did it was because you opened the conversation first. 

“I love you so damn much, Y/N. So much, it scares the hell out of me. I’m scared you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not what you think I am.” 

Moving closer, you nestled yourself under his wing as he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you onto his lap. Pressing a kiss to your hair, you heard him let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Keigo, I don’t love you because of what the public thinks you are.” you started. “I love you because I know who you are. I’ve seen the real you, the guy who comes in at 3 a.m. with a bucket of fried chicken, ready for a movie marathon. The guy who may have his doubts about the hero community, but wouldn’t think twice about laying his life down for others.” 

“I fell in love with the man behind the charisma, the jokes, and corny pickup lines, and nothing is going to make me change my mind.” 

Turning his head to look at you fully, you could see the smile in his eyes along with complete adoration. You didn’t need words to know how much Keigo loved you, the way he loved you was enough. But there was something different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldn’t place it. 

Keigo had to tell you, he needed to tell you but he knew that it would only bring more trouble. You say you’ll always love him, no matter what he did; but you didn’t know what was about to happen. How was he supposed to tell you? 

Ever since he met you, Keigo’s number one priority was protecting you and maybe that’s why the Commission set him up on this job. Infiltrate the League of Villains, by any means necessary. But that meant involving you, and that was the one thing he refused. 

If he was going to do this, you had to be far away from him so no one would think twice about targeting you to get to him. 

Why couldn’t he let himself be selfish just this once? Take what he truly wanted more than anything, keeping you by his side for all eternity. 

That was a conversation for another day, he didn’t want to ruin the moment he had with you right now. This, what he had right now was worth more than anything to him, and didn’t want it to end. 

Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he felt you nuzzle into his neck giggling at the feeling of his stubble against your face. 

Unfortunately, another day never came. Within the next few weeks, Keigo was out later and later, coming home in the early hours of the morning. Sometimes he wouldn’t be home for days at a time, and he never gave you an explanation. 

Every time you asked, he would just shrug and say he was doing extra work for the commission and left it at that. 

It wasn’t until the Jaku Hospital Raid, that you finally found out why. You like every other resident in Japan, were glued to your television listening to the tragedy of Dabi, or Touya Todoroki; the long-thought-dead oldest son of Endeavor. 

You watched in horror as he exposed his father for the abusive manipulator he was. But that wasn’t what had you in shock. 

It was the clip of Keigo killing the villain Twice as he ran. 

What was he doing with villains, and why did he kill him? Immediately, you ran to your phone and dialed his number. 

“You know my name, leave a message.” 

“Keigo, I need you to call me back immediately. I don’t know what’s going on, but you–” you bit back a sob, “You just need to come home in one piece, okay?” 

Hanging up the phone, your eyes didn’t leave the television as the video was eventually cut off by the local news coverage of what was going on. There was no news of Keigo, or his whereabouts, keeping you in a constant state of anxiety. 

Was this why he was acting so differently? Did he not trust you with the truth? Whatever was going on with him, you were going to find out. 

It wasn’t until later that night, after hours of wondering if Keigo was alive or not that you finally got the call. Keigo was alive, but he was in the hospital being treated for his injuries. The nurse wouldn’t tell you what his injuries were, which meant nothing good. 

Grabbing your coat, and your keys, you were gone.

The roads were bare as you drove until you got to the hospital. Outside were lots of protestors angry about what they saw, and how they now didn’t trust their top heroes, one of them being the man you loved. 

Parking towards the back, you were met with Detective Tsukauchi who quickly led you inside. 

He was one of few people who knew of your relationship with Keigo, one of the few only good detectives left who wasn’t crooked. 

“Tsukauchi, where is he?” 

“I’ll lead you to his room.” And he was off, down the hall with you in tow following close behind. 

The walk up to the higher floors was quiet, with you not sure what you would find, let alone what you would say to him. 

Keigo killed someone, sure he was a villain, but he still took a man’s life. What were you supposed to say? All those thoughts died on your tongue when you saw the chaos that was the upper floors. 

Nurses were running from room to room, carting heroes on beds across the hall. Some were hooked up to oxygen machines, and others just getting a few wounds healed. What really hurt was that Keigo was in the midst of all this. All this pain, all this suffering, and you didn’t know a damn thing about it. 

The sound of your footsteps was lost amongst the sounds of machines, and voices, Tsukauchi walking with a purpose to stay out of the way. You soon learned Keigo’s room was at the end of the hall, where it was quieter by a small margin. Outside his door sat a man you recognized well, the former number one hero, All Might. 

You were about to open the door when Tsukauchi stopped your hand. Looking at him, you saw the furrowed look on his face. 

“Listen, you’re not going to like what you see.”

“I am perfectly capable of handling this, detective.”

Tsukauchi let out a sigh as All Might got to his feet. “A lot of it wasn’t his choice, he–” 

You let out a condescending laugh. “Oh trust me, if anyone knows the hell the commission puts him through, it’s me. I appreciate the two of you looking out for him, but I’m sure there are other heroes here who need you more right now.” 

Both All Might and Detective Tsukauchi nodded, before bowing and taking their leave to provide their assistance in other wings of the hospital. 

Taking a deep breath, you slowly opened the door preparing yourself for what you might see. 

But no amount of time could’ve prepared you. 

Keigo was laid out on the bed, his body wrapped in bandages. What wasn’t wrapped was either badly bruised or burned and couldn’t be wrapped. The worst of it was that his wings, his brilliant red wings, were gone. 

Immediately tears formed in your eyes, any and all words dying on your tongue at that moment. You weren’t sure if he was awake, asleep, or somewhere in the middle. Bursting into sobs was the last thing he needed. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly made your way to the chair next to his bed. Keigo did a lot of things wrong, and made a lot of mistakes, but did he deserve this? 

Sure enough, he was unconscious for most of the next few days. Only waking to ask for more meds, the rest of his words mumbled. During that time, you were filled in on what happened by Pro Hero, Best Jeanist. 

Keigo was sent undercover to infiltrate the League of Villains to procure information to help fight Shigaraki. 

What wasn’t supposed to happen, was Twice. No one knew the full story, just that he was Keigo’s informant and something happened that led to his death at the hands of the winged hero. 

It was five days before Keigo could speak, most of his bandages removed as he recovered from the burns on his back. 

“Birdy?” 

Your head snapped up to see him smiling at you, but something was different. His smile didn’t reach his eyes like it normally did, and that was the moment you knew he wasn’t okay. 

“Hey,” you smiled softly, taking his hand in yours. 

How could you look at him like that, like he was worth something? He did things no hero should do, yet you were here looking at him like he was worth a million bucks. 

Immediately, he began to sit up. “What’s– where’s–” 

Gently, you placed your hands on his shoulders helping him lay back on the bed. “It’s alright, you’re safe. Students are safe, you’ll be okay.” 

“No you don’t understand, I–” 

“Keigo.” 

His name made him stop in his tracks. The last person to call him by his name burned his wings off, ready to murder him for killing Twice. 

“I know,” 

That was all you had to say. He knew you knew, yet you were here waiting at his bedside. Maybe he didn’t mess everything up, maybe there was still hope for him after all this. Even when he didn’t have the strength to go on, there were others around him ready to give him a helping hand.

tags: @pinksthetics @history-be-written @loafingdragon @offendedfishnoises @knifey-shivdarks

[pricetagofficial]

The Little Merman -D.G. Part Four

Warnings: Language, some angst, heartbreak, I didn't really proof this so Im sure there are errors but I don't care, Dick is an absolute dork

Masterlist

Pairing: Merman!Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: Hello it's me, ya girl. I've had this written for a while but I finished this part not too long ago and so I decided to post it. It's been a long few days for me, with tornados and shit but I'm all good and everything is good. Big thanks to @offendedfishnoises for helping meeeeee

The next morning when Dick woke, he felt lighter than air. Having spent the day with you yesterday, it put him in a really good mood. His heart was aflutter and all he wanted to do was stare at the ceiling above him as his thoughts were plagued by your smile and laughter. 

The sheets were comfortable, and he never wanted to leave them but eventually, he would have to. He only had one more day left with you, his time was running short. 

Running a hand through his hair, Dick looked around and saw Alfred asleep on the pillow next to him. Even when he was being ridiculous, Alfred still stayed by his side. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Dick slowly sat up and looked out the window. 

The sun was rising beautifully above the horizon, dusting the sky in shades of orange, blue and yellow. Today would be the day, Dick had to get you to kiss him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t. The thought made a shiver run down his spine. 

Roy didn’t show up at all this morning, neither did Kyle or Victor, to help him out. Maybe they all were busy with their duties, they were your royal guards after all. It was a good thing Dick learned to dress himself, if he was going to stay a human he would have to learn eventually. 

Pulling on the boots provided for him, Dick slipped Alfred who had woken not that long ago and gave him pointers on how to fix his shirt. 

“Now Master Richard, remember. You need to be patient, Y/N is still a young lady and there are rules for her to abide by.” 

Dick nodded absentmindedly, listening but not really listening to what he was saying. The only thing that was on his mind was getting to see you again. 

Walking down the hall with a spring in his step, Dick heard voices mutter around him even giving him an odd look, but he paid no mind to it. 

Dick searched for you in the library, the kitchen and even tried knocking on your bedroom door, to no avail. When he checked your study, Dick knew something was off. Those were your favorite places, so where were you? 

Hearing voices down the hall in the foyer, Dick’s face broke into a smile as he made his way to the stairs. You had to be there with everyone else. 

As he got closer, Dick heard your voice and that spurred him to go faster. His heart was already beating wildly, just from the mere thought of getting to see you. 

It was when he turned the corner and stood at the top of the staircase when he saw it, or rather him. 

You were in the foyer, with Roy, Kyle and Victor that much was true. But someone else was with you, someone who looked suspiciously familiar. But that wasn’t what made his stomach drop to the floor. 

It was the way you were looking at him, like he held the world in the palm of his hand as the man towered over your smaller form. Your chin was held between his finger and thumb as he brushed your bottom lip ever so softly, and a charismatic grin on his face. 

“Who’d have thought it’d be love at first sight?” the man grinned, pulling you closer by the waist making your hands rest on his solid chest. 

Love? 

No, that couldn’t be it. Dick was sure you loved him, you had to! But, everything about what he was seeing told him the opposite. Was he nothing more than just something to pass the time? A charity case for you to take in? 

“I felt something pull me to the beach, and there you were.” you sighed dreamily, “I’m glad I made it when I did.” 

“Me too,” 

What happened next made Dick’s heart shatter into a million pieces. If he listened close enough, he could hear the crack as it did. He watched with watery eyes as the man tilted your head up further and pulled you into a kiss. 

Not able to watch more, Dick held back his sobs before turning and running back down the hallway. How could he have been so stupid? Wiping the tears threatening to spill, Dick ran to his room and slammed the door only to fall to his knees letting out a defeated sob. 

He was wrong, he was wrong about everything. You never loved him, and Dick was a fool for thinking you did. Now, he had to live with the mistakes he made. It was a mistake to take Slade up on the deal, it was a mistake coming here, and it was a mistake to follow his heart. 

If he had just stayed home and had gotten married like Bruce wanted, maybe then he’d be spared the worst heartbreak he’s ever felt in his life. 

Alfred looked at Dick with a heavy heart, after all he had given up for something he was so sure about, to see you in the arms of another man broke his heart. Something wasn’t adding up, after seeing the two of you together the night before, Alfred was almost convinced himself that it was genuine. 

He needed to figure this out. 

As much as he wanted to stay and comfort Dick, he needed to find the truth. 

Quietly, he sidestepped under the door and made his way down the hall. Following the sound of voices, Alfred made his way back to the foyer and watched as you and the mysterious man disappeared through the doors to the dining hall, with Roy, Kyle and Victor staying behind. 

“What the hell was that?” Victor asked, looking between his two friends. 

Kyle only shrugged, “You’ve got me, last I checked she was making googly eyes at Dick. I don’t even know who this guy is, do either of you?” 

Victor shook his head again, before looking at Roy. 

“What do you know?” 

Alfred moved closer, eager to hear more. 

Roy ran a hand through his hair, and let out a sigh. “I have no idea. I talked to her last night, and she made no mention of this new guy, Bruce or whatever his name was. I–” he sighed again. “I was convinced she was going to–” 

His voice trailed off, as he looked towards the door to the dining hall. “Whatever is going on, I don’t like it and I definitely do not like the new guy.” 

“What are we going to do with our friend upstairs? Do you think he knows about this?” 

Roy shook his head, “We can’t let him find out, it would break the poor guy's heart.” 

Alfred shook his head, it was too late for that. 

“Before we do anything, we need to find out more about Bruce. Who he is, where he is from, and see if there are any discrepancies in his story.” 

Kyle and Victor both nodded, Alfred agreeing with their plan. Good thing he was small, and could hide easily. Watching the three guards divy out jobs, they all went their separate ways.

Before he went down the steps, the doors to the dining hall opened and out you came with Bruce on your arm. Giving you a kiss, Alfred watched as he muttered something in your ear that made you fluster before he made his way up the stairs alone. 

Hiding behind a pillar, Alfred watched as he made his way down the hall almost swaggering in his walk. Following behind as quick as he could so he didn’t get lost, Alfred managed to keep up and slip his way through the bedroom door he disappeared behind. 

What surprised Alfred was seeing young Terra waiting in the room. Slipping behind a vase, Alfred stayed out of sight. 

“When you said you would be coming here, this wasn’t what I expected, Slade.”

Alfred’s eyes widened, Slade followed them to the surface world? But how would he know when and where to go? Was Terra working with him the entire time?

“You should know by now that I always follow through with my plans, and deals, kid.” 

Terra narrowed her eyes. “Now that you’re here, what is your plan with Y/N?” 

“Since you failed me with that bad luck potion, I decided to change up my plans. Instead of getting one kingdom when princey boy fails to get that kiss, I can still marry that princess brat and get the literal keys to this place. Then I can get rid of those brats and good old Bruce, and then there would be no one around to stop me.” 

Alfred watched the look on Terra’s face, she looked conflicted. 

“What are you going to do to them?” 

Slade casted Terra a side look as he looked at himself in the mirror, “What’s it to you? I’m not the one who sold out my only friend to a sea demon for revenge.” 

Terra clenched her fists, giving Slade a dirty look. 

“Listen, all I’m saying is that if you want to stick around, I suggest you stay out of my way.” With that, Slade slicked his hair back once more and stepped out of the room, leaving Alfred and Terra alone in the room. 

Everything made sense, Alfred knew Slade was up to something. Why else would he give a deal like that to Dick, when there was a possible chance he’d uphold his end? He had to find a way out of here so he could warn Dick, and get him that kiss and save not only his kingdom, but this one as well. 

Looking around, Terra seemed to be out of sight so Alfred made his move. Creeping out from behind his hiding place, he quietly made his way to the window. Climbing up the bed, and to the windowsill, Alfred could see a clear path into a neighboring window that would get him back on track. 

Before he could make a move, a hand grabbed Alfred and turned him around. 

Terra looked at him with a skeptical look, “Looks like we have a little spy.” 

Alfred stayed still, trying to play dumb crab. It seemed Terra didn’t fall for it. 

“I know what the advisor to the king looks like, and it seems he was spying.” she hissed. Alfred wiggled to get out of her grip. “Master Bruce will stop you, and you will not lay a hand on Master Richard!” 

Terra rolled her eyes and placed him under a cup on the dresser, “We’ll see about that.” Placing a heavy book on top of the cup, Terra fixed her appearance before opening the door. 

“You should know when you’ve lost, after sundown today it won’t matter what you do.” 

With that, she disappeared. 

Alfred hit his claws on the dresser. Now how was he going to get out of this? Dick needed his help, and he was currently stuck. Taking a look around the room, his options were limited; not only was he trapped in a glass but there was a massive book on top of it. 

Running into the side of it, his little crab body only bounced off the glass before he plopped back onto the wood. So that wasn’t going to work it seemed. 

Lifting his claws, Alfred began hitting the glass hoping to make enough noise or break the glass even. Time was running out, with the new knowledge of Slade and his involvement things were getting complicated. 

After what felt like forever, Alfred let out a sigh of defeat. He was truly stuck, and no one knew where he was. Dick was still in his room to his knowledge and no one else was aware of a talking crab that didn’t trap him. 

“What a mess this has turned out to be,” he sighed. 

No sooner did he speak those words, there was a flap in the air and he turned to see a seagull wander its way in through the open window. This gave Alfred an idea. 

Waving his claws in the air, he jumped and shouted trying to get the bird’s attention. 

“Hey! Hey you!” he shouted, banging on the glass. “Look at the tasty red crab!” 

Alfred watched as the bird’s head twitched, watching him dance around. “Come and get me!” 

The seagull paused for a moment before it flew towards Alfred, and as it came into contact with the glass and book Alfred ducked hoping to avoid its claws and beak. 

There was a crash, and Alfred was suddenly on the ground watching as the seagull panicked, flying around the room in circles before it finally found its way out of the window once again. 

Letting out a breath, Alfred relaxed before making his way towards the door. Scrunching in his shell halfway, he slid under the door and quickly made his way down the hallway. He had to get to Dick, and he had to tell him what was going on before it was too late. 

Squeezing his way under the door, Alfred saw Dick sat on his bed as he stared out the window. His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks tear stained from what seemed to be hours of sobbing at the thought of his unrequited love. 

Dick was a fool, thinking a girl like you would ever love him. 

“Master Richard,” Alfred started. “Things may not be the way they seem.” 

Dick slowly turned to look at the little crab, hoping his expression gave off the words he couldn’t speak. If he was going to try and tell him that things  could still go in his favor, Dick would have to refuse. He saw you kiss that man with his own eyes, and he knew Alfred did too. 

“I think our Lady Y/N has been put under a spell.” 

Dick turned his head away, refusing to listen. He couldn’t give himself any more hope, hope that you could still love him in return. 

“Didn’t that man look familiar to you at all? To make matters worse, I heard the lady-in-waiting talking to him and they confirmed it for me.” 

Dick still refused to look. 

Alfred was not going to continue putting up with this. Banging his larger claw against the ground, Alfred huffed and crawled his way up the bed and sat on the window ledge in Dick’s view. 

“Master Richard, I did not almost get eaten by a seagull for you to sit here and sulk about a lovely woman who is in love with you. Slade wouldn’t have to play dirty and use magic if he thought you were going to fail.” 

Dick’s attention finally turned to Alfred. 

“You are going to break that spell, and you are going to get your happy ending.” 

Alfred could already hear the words on the young master’s mind. 

“You and I both know that Slade is playing dirty to prevent you from getting that kiss. So we need to pull a page from his book and make sure you get your happy ending.” 

Dick wasn’t sure what to think, he was a little apprehensive. Slade was evil and twisted, and doing things the way he did was never good. But he was about to lose you to him, and he wasn’t going down without a fight. 

Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and looked at the crab in front of him. 

“To start, we need to get the rest of the guard on our side. From what I heard, they already are. I believe Master Roy will be a good place to start.” 

Dick nodded again, rising to his feet and straightening out his shirt. He had to find Roy and somehow convince him that he was not only human, but that a sea monster was trying to marry you to take over the land and sea. 

Seemed easy enough, if he could talk that is. 

Picking up Alfred, Dick set him on his shoulder and made his way down the stairs. This was his only chance, not only to help you but to prevent everything from falling into the hands of the wrong person. 

It didn’t take long for Dick and Alfred to find Roy, catching him on one of the balconies watching you and Slade promenade through the gardens. 

Roy was watching from afar, cause he didn’t like this new guy at all. Something felt very wrong about him, like every word out of his mouth was crafted to try and lure him into a spell. Roy knew magic existed in their world, he just never thought it would be used in such horrible ways.

Hearing shuffling behind him, Roy turned to see Dick there with a suspicious looking crab on his shoulder. 

“Oh, Dick. How can I help you?” he asked, trying to hide the scene below with his body. 

Gesturing him closer, Roy raised a brow and followed Dick to a private corner. “What’s going on?” 

Alfred nudged his chin, “You must describe Slade to him, he won’t understand me. You have to do this yourself Master Richard.” 

Letting out an exasperated huff, Dick motioned to his eye and covered it up. 

Roy just stared at him, confused. “You’re a pirate?” 

This was going to be a lot harder than Dick thought. 

After what felt like hours, Dick with Alfred’s coaching had given Roy a small grasp at the situation. 

Roy watched as Dick once again gestured to the crab on his shoulder, before making a sawing motion with his hands. He then followed up with the sign they created for this new guy, Spade, or something, as he pretended to be a pirate with a sword. 

“Your crab saw Spade,” he recounted. 

Dick nodded, before waving his hand as if he was casting a spell and then made the motion for girl. Spade wasn’t entirely correct, but Dick didn’t want to put in the extra effort to get the right sounds for the monster’s name.

“Cast a spell on a girl, Y/N?” he paused. 

Dick nodded again, before waving his arms around like an octopus. 

“Because he likes to dance?” 

Dick shook his head, he held up eight fingers before pointing at his legs. 

“Eight legs? What the hell does that mean? The man’s an octopus or something?” 

Roy jumped back seeing how excited Dick was that he guessed it right. “How do you know that he is an octopus, or that your crab can talk unless–” 

Dick nodded quickly, before pointing out the window to the sea and then to himself. Was Roy finally getting the hang of it? If he could just get him to figure this out, so many issues could be solved. 

“Unless you’re from the ocean too,” he concluded, his eyes going wide. “But that would mean you’re a–” 

Again, Dick nodded, getting excited. He was so close, so close to someone knowing the truth. There was no way he could stop Slade on his own, and Bruce was too far to get help from in a timely manner.

“Wait, are you the one she kept meeting out in the middle of nowhere?” 

Roy chuckled at the thumbs up. “Well, that explains a lot actually. But why can’t you talk? Y/N said you would tell her stories.” 

Dick made the sign for Slade again, before pretending to rip out his voice box. 

“Spade cut your throat? No, you’d be dead. He took… he took your voice?” 

Dick was about to cry, someone finally understood him and knew the truth and it only took an hour of their day. 

“So we have to find a way to stop the wedding, and that will help you somehow get your voice back?” 

With another enthusiastic nod, Dick smiled. 

“Alright, sounds like a plan. But we really need to teach you how to read and write English, not merperson.” 

Even Alfred couldn’t hide his laughter at that one. 

Even though Roy couldn’t understand him, he knew the crab was laughing too. 

“Alright, let’s find a way to stop the wedding.” 

Roy and Dick turned to head down the hall when they were stopped by Victor, Kyle and several other members of the guard. 

“You two aren’t going anywhere,” Victor kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, and watched the two of them. 

Immediately, Roy and Dick could see that something was wrong with them. They had a hazy look to their eyes, and almost a sickly look to their skin. If either of them had to guess, Slade spelled them too. 

“Aw come on, Vic? Why not?” 

“We are under order from Master Slade to keep the two of you away from Y/N at all costs.” 

Roy and Dick shared a look, “Well, I guess this complicates things.” 

TAGS: @niggxrette @littleredwing89 @offendedfishnoises @bluejay-the-geek @udiudijaye @restwellsoon

[headspace-hotel]

you know how people say "cats domesticated themselves?" I find this statement irksome because as i've been studying plants and particularly weeds, a theory has slowly been forming in my head about domestication that makes a lot more sense than other theories.

Basically, I think everything domesticated itself. Or rather, domestication involves adaptation and active participation on both sides.

Evidence for this is found in studying weed and crop plants—truth be told, most weeds are or were also crops.

Amaranthus, the genus that gives us the most costly USA agricultural weeds? All edible and healthy, and several members of the genus are domesticated. They were staple crops for Mesoamerican empires.

Kudzu, the vine so aggressive in the USA it turns trees into looming kudzu monoliths? It's been bred and cultivated by humans since the Neolithic in its native range, in China it was one of the main sources of fiber for cloth for MILLENNIA to the point that the Zhou dynasty had a whole government office of kudzu affairs. Kudzu roots are edible and they can be as tall as a human and weighing over 200 pounds, you can make them into flour, make noodles out of the flour, you can process them down into a starch and use it just like potato or tapioca starch and make all sorts of sauces and confections and stuff out of it. In Japan it was used for clothes too, if you see pictures of clothes worn by a samurai that's probably kudzu! It has loads of unresearched phytochemicals that probably have medicinal use, it's good for making paper, a researcher even made a biodegradable alternative to plastic out of it

Yellow Nutsedge is a food crop, Purslane is a food crop, at least some species of morning-glories are food crops, crabgrass is a food crop, Nettles are food AND fiber, Milkweed is food and fiber too, Broadleaf Plantain is food and medicinal, Dandelion is food and medicinal AND great companion plant (they used to sell them in seed catalogues around the 1890's or so!) and have y'all ever seen queen-anne's-lace along the side of the road? THATS CARROTS. That's the wild ancestor of carrots! (ofc don't eat anything you aren't 1000% sure you can identify)

Simply put. A weed is a plant that has co-evolved with humans. And most of them are Like That because they co-evolved with us. And honestly I reckon that many plants were domesticated in the first place because they liked to grow in disturbed environments near human settlements and agricultural fields.

Now thinking about this in terms of animals...when our domestic species were first domesticated, there weren't fences, there wasn't "inside" or any controlled environment to bring animals into, and if you tried to overpower or coerce any of those species, they would 100% just kill you. It makes a lot more sense if the humans were just following herds around, and it gradually developed into protecting those herds from predators and tending to them more intentionally until we were kind of just part of the herds ourselves.

a lot of people are familiar with Biblical stories and metaphors about shepherds...it's clear those guys were basically living with sheep 24/7. They were assimilated to the sheep lifestyle.

this theory kinda suggests that we've lost the ability to domesticate new animal species to some extent because domestication has never really involved removing an animal from its natural environment. Feeding wild animals and trying to socialize them to humans isn't in line with the mutualistic nature of domestication because it's trying to change the animal to our whims, and usually decreases the fitness of the animal rather than increases it. And domestication probably takes a long long time to reach the level where an animal can be a "pet" instead of a more distant form of domestication where the association is not as close.

EXCEPT. Animals that adapt to our environment are prime candidates for domestication. This actually checks out because rats and mice are some of the most recently domesticated animals, iirc. Basically, pest animals are the most likely to be domesticated because they've already started evolving into a relationship with us. Just like weeds.

An interesting side note is how both animals and plants can de-domesticate and become "weeds/pests" again. Like "weedy rice" is becoming a problem in some crops where rice has evolved into a weed. And with animals, there's pigeons who were domesticated by us and now their habitat is cities because they co-evolved with us.

[zapreportsblog]

hi!! can you do volturi x secretary!reader (platonic) who's just TOO GOOD AT HER JOB. she spells carlisle correctly, she doesn't interrupt, and she's like really professional. ALSO YOU FOLLOWED ME BACK LIKE I WAS SO SURRPISRD THANK YOU HAVE A GOOD DAYYAYAYYA

❝she’s just too damn good❞

✭ pairing : volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (Y/n) is the best damn secretary the volturi could ask for

✭ authors note : aww of course I’d follow you back :)

✭ twilight masterlist

The grand entrance hall of Volterra, Italy, echoed with the weight of centuries-old secrets and power. It was within these ancient stone walls that the Volturi, the ruling vampire coven, held their dominion. Aro, Caius, and Marcus, the three elder vampires who led the coven, sat upon their thrones, their crimson eyes filled with an ageless wisdom.

Their previous secretary had met an unfortunate end, her fate sealed by a single, costly mistake. Now, it was time to find a new secretary, one who could handle the delicate matters that crossed the Volturi's path.

(Y/n), a human with a reputation for competence and diligence, stood before the Volturi leaders. She pushed her glasses up on her face, the light catching the lenses and reflecting an intense determination in her gaze. She had no intention of failing in this prestigious role.

Aro, the most talkative of the trio, addressed her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I trust you won't follow in our previous secretary's footsteps. Her errors cost her dearly."

(Y/n) met Aro's gaze with unwavering confidence. "No need for the warning, sir. I take my work very seriously. I'm here to ensure that every detail is meticulously attended to."

Caius observed her with a critical eye, his expression stern. "You are aware that our affairs are highly confidential, and discretion is of the utmost importance?"

(Y/n) nodded, her resolve unshaken. "Absolutely, sir. My lips are sealed, and I understand the consequences of breaching that trust."

Marcus, the most reserved of the three, merely regarded her with a measured gaze. "We shall see if your actions align with your words."

(Y/n) straightened her posture, ready to take on her new responsibilities. "You won't be disappointed, gentlemen."

With that, she accepted the role of secretary for the Volturi, stepping into a world of secrecy, power, and ancient vampires. As she walked away, she knew that she had taken on a role unlike any other, one that demanded her utmost dedication and discretion. The reflection of her determination in those glasses was a symbol of the resolve she brought to her new position, one that she intended to uphold at all costs.

(Y/n) settled into her new role as the secretary for the Volturi with a fierce dedication. Her efficiency and attention to detail quickly became apparent to the coven's leaders. Aro, always one to appreciate those who could fulfill his demands promptly, decided to put her to the test.

One afternoon, he strolled into her office, his graceful presence demanding attention. (Y/n) looked up from her desk, her fingers flying across the keyboard of her computer as she organized files and scheduled appointments.

"Ah, (Y/n)," Aro greeted her with his customary smile. "I have a task for you."

(Y/n) nodded, ready to take on any request from her employer. "Of course, master Aro. What do you need?"

Aro explained, "I need you to post an aid about a tour for fifty people for tomorrows feeding, a rather impromptu event. I would like you to schedule it for me.”

(Y/n) didn't miss a beat. She continued typing on her computer, her eyes darting across the screen as she worked her magic with scheduling software. "Consider it done, master Aro."

Aro was taken aback by her speed and efficiency. He had expected this task to take some time, but within mere minutes, (Y/n) turned her screen toward him, displaying a perfectly organized tour for fifty attendees, complete with dates, times, and an itinerary.

His crimson eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "You work remarkably fast, (Y/n)."

(Y/n) looked up with a confident smile. "I pride myself on being efficient, master aro. Is there anything else you need?"

Aro chuckled, clearly impressed. "Not at the moment, my dear. Carry on with your excellent work."

As he left her office, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She had proven her worth to the Volturi leader, and her efficiency would undoubtedly serve her well in this world of secrecy and power.

In the serene garden of the Volturi castle, Marcus often found solace among the flowers that his late mate had once lovingly tended to. He wandered the garden, lost in his own thoughts, the weight of his immortal life bearing down on him.

One day, as he strolled along the carefully manicured paths, Marcus noticed something extraordinary. The flowers that had once withered away had begun to regrow, vibrant and beautiful as if brought back to life by some unseen force. He couldn't help but be struck by the sight, the memories of his mate's love for these flowers flooding his mind.

Marcus approached a lower guard who was on duty nearby, his curiosity piqued. "Who has been taking care of the garden? These flowers, they are flourishing once more."

The lower guard, a vampire who had served the Volturi for centuries, nodded respectfully to Marcus. "It is the human, my lord."

"The human?" Marcus asked, intrigued. "What is their name?"

The guard, who knew the human by the name the Volturi called her, replied, "The secretary (Y/n), my lord."

Marcus considered this revelation, the name sparking a distant memory. He had heard the name (Y/n) mentioned in passing, but he had paid little attention. Now, it seemed this human was not only tending to the garden but also reviving the memories of his lost mate.

With a nod of appreciation, Marcus continued to admire the blooming flowers, a silent acknowledgment of the human named (Y/n) for her care and dedication. In the garden, among the resurrected blooms, he felt a connection to his past and a glimmer of hope for the future, all thanks to the efforts of this mysterious human.

In the dimly lit halls of the Volturi castle, Caius, one of the coven's leaders, was growing increasingly frustrated. He had been searching for his favorite cloak, a luxurious garment of deep crimson, for what felt like an eternity. His irritation had escalated to the point where his voice echoed through the corridors as he yelled at everyone in his path.

"Where is it? Who has taken my cloak?" he bellowed, his tone venomous.

Vampires scurried to avoid his wrath, their wide-eyed expressions betraying their fear of their temperamental leader.

In the midst of the chaos, a soft and calm voice cut through the tension. "(Y/n)," Caius snapped, his crimson eyes narrowing as he turned to face the human secretary, "(Y/n), have you seen my cloak? I cannot find it anywhere."

(Y/n) stepped forward, holding Caius's missing cloak draped carefully over her arm. Her voice was composed, unruffled by his outburst. "Master Caius, you left this in your office. I've noticed it had specks of dried blood on it, so I've had it dried clean."

Caius was momentarily taken aback, his anger dissipating as he processed her words. He couldn't believe it. The usually distant and indifferent human secretary had not only found his cloak but had taken it upon herself to ensure it was cleaned.

"(Y/n)," Caius said, his voice softer now, "you did this for me?"

(Y/n) nodded, her gaze steady as she met his crimson eyes. "Of course, Master Caius. It's my duty to assist in any way I can."

Caius, still in disbelief, reached out to take the cloak from her arm. His fingers brushed against hers, and he felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation stir within him. He couldn't deny that her thoughtfulness had left a mark on him, one that he couldn't easily dismiss.

As (Y/n) excused herself and left the hallway, Caius watched her retreating figure with a newfound appreciation. It was a small gesture, but one that had touched him deeply, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this human secretary than met the eye.

The grand trial room within the Volturi castle was filled with a weighty silence as the three kings, Aro, Caius, and Marcus, gathered for a discussion. The subject of their conversation was none other than their human secretary, (Y/n).

"She's good at her job, almost too damn good," Aro commented, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "I can't seem to find a simple mistake in her work."

Caius nodded in agreement. "She's quick, and her work is effective. It seems we'll be keeping her around long-term."

Marcus, who often remained silent, offered his approval with a subtle nod.

The kings reached a unanimous decision. They would offer (Y/n) a gift, one that would bind her to the Volturi for eternity. They sent their most trusted enforcers, the twins Alec and Jane, to fetch her.

Alec and Jane, swift and efficient as always, found (Y/n) in her office. They approached her with the precision of a well-practiced routine.

"(Y/n)," Alec began, his tone even, "the masters request your presence in the trial room."

(Y/n) blinked in surprise but complied, following the twins to the room where the three kings awaited.

Once inside, (Y/n) stood before the Volturi leaders, her heart pounding with anticipation. Aro spoke first, his voice dripping with charm.

"(Y/n), in the short months you have been with us, your dedication and efficiency have impressed us greatly," Aro said, his crimson eyes locked onto hers. "We value your contributions, and we would like to offer you a gift."

(Y/n) couldn't hide her surprise. "A gift, masters?"

Caius stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "We offer you immortality, (Y/n). A chance to join our coven as one of us."

The offer hung in the air, a life-altering decision that (Y/n) had never expected. She considered her options carefully, her thoughts racing. The weight of eternity was a heavy burden to bear, but the allure of becoming part of the Volturi coven was undeniable.

After a moment of reflection, (Y/n) finally spoke. "I'm not sure what to say, masters, but thank you for the offer."

With her acceptance, the kings nodded in approval. The twins, Alec and Jane, moved closer, their hands lightly touching her body. “Alec -“ aro calls out and in second Alec has (y/n) wrapped in his dark smoke, her senses numbing within seconds. “Don’t worry dear, it’ll be over in no time.”

Over the course of three days, (Y/n) underwent the agonizing process of the vampire transformation. She endured the fire of change, sometimes which were numbed by Alec per the kings request and now she was emerging from the ordeal as a newborn vampire, her senses heightened and her existence forever entwined with the Volturi.

As her eyes fluttered open in her new immortal life, (Y/n) realized that she had become a permanent part of the Volturi coven, her loyalty and dedication recognized in the most profound way possible.

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)

summary:

the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

wc. 3k

tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system

you’re falling.

you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.

you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.

you’ve fallen.

black.

you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.

you dream. again.

the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.

you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.

you blink.

you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.

you are in troubled waters, after all. 

geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.

the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.

you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.

just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.

in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews. 

rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.

na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.

from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.

you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.

you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.

the baron raises his head from his seat, barely. 

“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”

you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal. 

“thank you, baron.”

a shift in the baron’s entourage.

outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?

they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?

you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of. 

your lips quirk up. you speak.

“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”

feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies. 

you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul. 

how delightful.

a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you. 

“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”

a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.

“escort them to the guest wing.”

servants surge forward. 

feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back. 

your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.

a feast.

one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.

the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun. 

the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet... 

there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.

finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.

it looks like a falcon.

you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.

you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.

her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.

“how is your brother?”

you grin. you’re being watched.

“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”

she scoffs, amused.

“he’ll learn.”

under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood. 

you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.

“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"

to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.

na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. 

“it is, my lord na-baron.”

mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.

his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.

you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for. 

soon. 

twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.

the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.

it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light. 

you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor. 

you feel a storm coming.

you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black. 

feyd-rautha.

he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.

“are you lost, my lady?”

“so it would appear, na-baron.”

a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.

his blade is at your throat before you can make a move. 

time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.

you will bleed, too.

your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.

“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”

he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.

“address me properly, my lady.”

he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.

“very well, my lord na-baron.”

a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.

“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”

he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-

carnage.

servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress. 

concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.

“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”

“and if i refuse?"

a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside. 

“you’re brave, my little atreides.”

“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”

his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.

“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”

“say please.”

his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.

“please.”

slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha. 

“who did this to you?”

“a fool who underestimated me.”

an assassin.

sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to

unhand you.

he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled. 

killed.

words are the weapons of the weak. 

that, you aren’t.

“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”

twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.

you flush a little. 

he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.

“more.”

“where?”

his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs. 

you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste. 

“where?”

you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.

he brings your fingers to his lips. 

you blink.

spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite. 

feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.

you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.

“you’re making quite a mess.”

bastard.

“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”

twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.

you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.

you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.

the fight hasn’t begun yet.

“you look thoughtful, daughter.”

you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.

your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.

“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”

silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.

“you will not speak of such matters again.”

“the emperor-”

“enough!”

you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be. 

horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.

on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.

you straighten in your seat.

the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease. 

“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”

your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen. 

you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.

his lips part.

show me who you are, my dear nephew.

he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started. 

you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.

by god, does he fight well.

a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger. 

you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.

“back off!”

that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall. 

no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up. 

there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.

feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.

his gaze finds yours.

the dream shifts. 

a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.

his eyes are blue. 

you freeze.

a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him. 

bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.

“you know what must be done, sister.”

you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.

“do you, little mouse?”

he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.

“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”

it’s too late. 

a jolt.

your eyes wrench open. 

“welcome back, atreides.”

the baron.

[capybaracorn]

Sweden resumes aid to UNRWA as Israel steps up Gaza attacks

First payment of $20m to be disbursed after Sweden gets assurances of the UNRWA’s checks on spending and personnel.

(9 Mar 2024)

Sweden has said it is resuming aid to the cash-strapped United Nations agency for Palestinians with an initial disbursement of $20m after receiving assurances of extra checks on its spending and personnel.

The UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA), the main humanitarian agency in Gaza, faced an unprecedented funding crisis after its major international donors led by the United States cut its funding over “terror” allegations.

Like several other countries, Sweden suspended aid to the UNRWA after Israel accused about a dozen of its employees of involvement in the October 7 Hamas-led attack before the conflict in Gaza.

Sweden said on Saturday that “the government has allocated 400 million kronor to UNRWA for the year 2024. Today’s decision concerns a first payment of 200 million kronor ($19.4)”.

To unblock the aid, the UNRWA had agreed to “allow controls, independent audits, to strengthen internal supervision and extra controls of personnel”, the government said.

[See article for embedded video] The Swedish move came after the European Commission earlier this month said it would release 50 million euros ($54.7m) in UNRWA funding.

On Friday, Canada announced it was lifting a freeze on funding for the UNRWA, after it joined the US, the United Kingdom and other countries in cutting aid in late January.

“The agency is at risk of death, it is risking dismantlement,” the UNRWA chief Philippe Lazzarini told Swiss broadcaster RTS in an interview aired on Saturday.

“What is at stake is the fate of the Palestinians today in Gaza in the short term who are going through an absolutely unprecedented humanitarian crisis.”

The UNRWA has been at the centre of efforts to providing humanitarian relief in Gaza, where the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs reported last month that at least half a million – or one in four people – face famine.

Israel has severely restricted the entry of humanitarian aid into Gaza by land, prompting the US and other countries to resort to stopgap measures such as airdropping meals into the enclave.

Such steps by the US, Jordan, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt have been criticised by aid agencies as a costly and ineffective way of delivering food and medical supplies.

The UNRWA has said that Israeli authorities have not allowed it to deliver supplies to the north of the Strip since January 23.

Al Jazeera’s Hani Mahmoud reported that in northern Gaza “we are seeing children dying in this enforced starvation and dehydration due to the famine spreading”.

He said on Saturday that three more children died at al-Shifa Hospital, as a result of starvation and dehydration, increasing the number of such deaths to 23.

At least 30,960 Palestinians have been killed and 72,524 injured in Israeli attacks on Gaza since October 7. The death toll in Israel from Hamas’s October 7 attacks stands at 1,139, and dozens continue to be held captive.

[See article for embedded video]

[botanicalsword]

House ruler in 5H • where to find love

5th House

Theme: Love, Children, Your Talents, Adventure, Speculation, Entertainment, Gambling, Sports, Creative Activities.

Related occupations: Actor, artist, athlete, etc

Chart ruler in 5H

In romantic relationships, they are proactive pursuers, expressing their feelings with enthusiasm and sincerity. They are unafraid to showcase their emotions, bravely pursuing their love interest.

2H ruler in 5H

Relationships can be costly, but with harmonious 5H aspects, they can be profitable, transforming love's cost into an opportunity. However, if there’s challenging aspects in 5H, they could incur substantial losses, possibly leading to distress and a feeling of helplessness.

3H ruler in 5H

In love, they often choose friends, neighbors, classmates, or childhood friends due to shared experiences, memories, and understanding. Developing these relationships can foster trust, understanding, and friendship, aiding romantic growth.

4H ruler in 5H

Most of their relationships are formed through introductions by family, friends, or fellow townspeople with common backgrounds. They rarely interact with people whose environments and experiences differ significantly from theirs. Their relationships are usually not with people from other locations.

5H ruler in 5H

Their love life is thriving, fostering strong relationships and potential romantic encounters, with support from family and friends.

6H ruler in 5H

Romantic relationships often develop in office environments, where deep connections can form. While this may add complexity, it can also lead to their satisfaction and happiness at work.

7H ruler in 5H

They may potentially marry their beloved, not through matchmaking, but by experiencing love's joys and trials to find their soulmate.

8H ruler in 5H

In a romantic relationship, sexual activity often occurs frequently. If complications arise in the 5H / 8H, there's a risk of deception involving both emotions and property. This could lead to substantial material losses and becoming overly entangled in their feelings of love.

9H ruler in 5H

It's easy to have long-distance relationships, online relationships, or even interracial ones.

10H ruler in 5H

There is a possibility of dating a boss. They may experience an office romance, a special circumstance where they meet and fall in love at work, causing sweetness and contradictions.

11H ruler in 5H

Their community ties could open up exciting romantic possibilities, potentially leading to a complex love triangle, adding intrigue and anticipation to their relationships.

12H ruler in 5H

Their emotional lives, filled with unexpected twists, include complex love triangles, potential infidelity, and possible love affairs, adding uncertainty to their love path.

❥❥❥

>> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

Quick Access to : ❥ Astro / Asteroid Indicators ❥ Synastry / Composite Chart Observations ❥ House Stellium Observations ❥ Astro basic info / Brief reads ❥ Asteroid database ❥ Personal studies ✧ spiritual journal

Exclusive access : Patreon

/ instagram : @le.sinex / @botanicalsword

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Twelve

Summary: Only a few months passed since the previous chapter but the year changed. A plot is discovered!

Masterlist <-previous , next->

123 AC Bloodstone, Stepstones

"Your Highness a letter from the capitol." Maester Roland approached you, handing you the scroll.

"Thank you, Roland." You said your thanks and the grey dressed man retreated to his wing.

"What is it mother?" Nymor asked trying to peek at the parchment, you chuckled at his eagerness.

"If you'll let me read I will tell you." He obediently moved away but waited impatiently.

"It is from Princess Rhaenyra." You announced skimming over the letters

"What does it say?" Nymor questioned, his need for knowledge insatiable.

"She will arrive on Bloodstone in a moons time, an important matter is to be settled." You answered a bit unsure of what the important matter is.

"Will Jace, Luke and Joffrey come too?" He asked.

"Perhaps." You mumbled caressing your swollen belly as you strolled with your second son through castle Bloodfyre. "Do you not wish to join Derran in Dorne?" You questioned

"I prefer to stay close to you, mother." He answered, and you couldn't help the smile that crept on your lips. You pressed a kiss to his curly silver hair.

The celebration for Aegon's six and tenth name day will happen in a moons time, half the realm was invited to castle Bloodfyre to celebrate such a joyous occasion. You were getting a migraine organising the whole affair, your pregnancy and constant tiredness didn't help either. Thankfully Daemon was a big help.

You walked with Nymor to the gardens, you could hear the familiar screeching of Aegarax, Gaelithox and Aerion's unnamed hatchling. The three baby dragons chased after one another occasionally breathing small bubbles of fire.

If the hatchlings were there it meant your sons were nearby. You walked to see Baelon, Vhaenor and Aerion listen intently to Daemon as two maids followed after them.

"Husband?" You questioned interrupting whatever Daemon was saying.

"Wife." he answered and slowly walked over to you, your boys being the first ones to run to you. Except for Aerion who was held by Daemon, the boy was almost one already.

"What were you telling them?"

"A story of their grandfather." He responded pressing a kiss to your lips, Aerion making a dissatisfied noise.

"Did you enjoy your fathers story?" You asked Baelon and Vhaenor who nodded quickly busy with talking to Nymor. Your second son eagerly answering their questions.

"Rhaenyra will arrive soon." You stated, glancing at your husband.

"Hmm? Whatever for?"

“She didn’t say. Only that an important matter has to be discussed.” You murmured.

“You’re as thick as thieves I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

You hummed agreeing to Daemon’s words. Your sons scurried off elsewhere leaving the two of you alone.

“How much will her visit cost us?” Daemon suddenly asked.

“I’m not sure, she didn’t specify as to who will accompany her. I think it is a rather discreet matter, a big entourage would prove to be a hassle. Why?”

“I have been going over the books regarding our spending. The port is doing well, the trade is blossoming but the cost of building a castle is still quite large.”

“Has dragon fire not reduced the costs enough all ready?” You questioned.

“That’s not the issue, the issue is gathering materials. We live on a group of islands where stone is most common. Shipping wood is a rather costly and tedious.”

“Then we plant trees.” You answered

“Those will not grow in time, my love.”

“I know but it’s a start. We are poorly defended with a half done castle.”

“Bloodstone is the heart of trade now a days, perhaps we could indulge in fine exotic goods.”

“Such as?”

“Dragon scale or teeth. Merchants, Essosi princess would pay good money for such a rare item.”

“Perhaps… and how do you believe we collect these rare items.”

“We have five hatchlings as of now, they grow therefore loose scales and baby teeth.”

“Yes, baby teeth. But perhaps you’re right. I’ll see to it.”

“No, my wife. You should not strain yourself.” He said firmly a loving gaze in his violet orbs. He placed his large warm palm on your flat stomach. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not pregnant, Daemon.”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“And how would you know that?” You quirked a brow at him.

“Call it father’s intuition.”

You chuckled at his words. He intertwined your arms together and you strolled through the castle gardens.

“Your Highness, a letter from Dorne.” One of your maids bowed and handed you to folded parchment. You nodded your head and dismissed her.

You carefully broke the orange seal and read. So many letters in one day you thought.

“What is it? Does Darren want to return home?” You stayed quiet reading the letter one more time. “My love?”

“Darren is sick, Maron writes that he suddenly fell ill and is has not woken.” You breathlessly said your fingers covering your lips. Fear overtook your body.�� I should not have let him go to Dorne… I have to go.” You said and begun walking in the direction of your chambers. Daemon trailed after you.

“y/n Darren is strong. He will be fine.” He tried to reassure you

“You don’t know that!” You silently shouted stopping. “He is my son! He is just a boy, what if he doesn’t get better. I need to go to him.”

“He has the blood of the dragon a simple illness will not take him away. Our blood is immune to normal diseases.”

“He is half Rhoynish, and do you not remember the shivering sickness? The one that took little Daenerys and killed half the realm?”

“I- I will watch over the children.” He finally relented

“Thank you…” You quickly kissed his lips and resumed the walk to your chambers.

You changed into a bronze and black riding leathers, and quickly departed to find Vermithor.

…

Sunspear looked serene from above. Merchants, artisans, farmers and other small folk filled the streets. The old Palace stood grand in the middle of the bustling city.

The sun high in the air illuminated the stained glass windows. Adding colour to the castle made of beige sandstone.

The bronze fury landed on the outskirts of the city, where he once rested during your time in Sunspear. A horse and armed guards were already waiting near the city gates.

“Princess y/n.” They bowed their heads and handed you the reigns to a beautiful white sand steed.

“Thank you, we must go quickly.” You ordered and galloped through the streets. The courtyard was mostly empty, Moran was already awaiting your presence.

“Good brother.” You approached and took of your gloves, letting Moran kiss the back of your hand.

“Good sister.” He answered “Darren is in his chambers.”

“When did this happen?” You quietly questioned, worried that if you were any louder your voice would betray you.

“Two days ago. The maesters are not sure as to what happened to him. He was fine and suddenly he collapsed.”

“My poor boy.” You whispered to yourself. “Have the maesters checked for poison?”

“No princess… Who would want to poison a child?” Maron was distraught.

“He is not just a child, Maron. He is the prince of Dorne.” You didn’t trust the maesters not even the ones who served in your home. You much preferred the healers from Braavos and Volantis. They were skilled and unbiased. The Citadel was in Old Town, it is dominion of Hightowers.

“Have any of the Essosi healers looked at him?” You questioned.

“No… The Maesters have said that they would do more harm than good.”

“And do you trust them?”

“To trust a man is a feat I think not many have achieved.”

“Do you trust me then?”

Maron looked a bit unsure at your questioned but nodded nonetheless.

“You were my brothers wife, you have two Dornish children. We are family.”

“Then as your family I advise you not to trust those grey rats.”

Maron was stunned.

“I will send for the healers that serve me on Bloodstone. For now I would like to be alone with my son.” You said as you approached the door to Darren’s chambers. Your good brother nodded and retreated. You entered the room to find a maester and few servants. “Out. All of you.” You ordered voice ice cold.

“Your highness, if you would give me a moment. I have not finished the treatment.”

“I do not care, leave.” You ordered, the elderly man hesitated but left after offering a small bow.

Tears danced in the corners of your eyes as you looked at Darren. His sun kissed skin was now sickly pale, you could see his chest moving up and down very slowly. As if the act of breathing brought him pain. You kneeled at his bedside and took his frail hand in yours pressing it to your forehead.

“My son.” You whispered tears choking your throat “My boy… What have they done to you?”

You were not a religious person by any means. The only gods you paid respect to were the gods of Old Valyria but in that moment, you would pray to any god out there. Preform a dozen sacrifices if it meant that Darren would get better.

“Mother…” He wheezed, your eyes shot up to see Darren’s misty ones staring back at you.

“Darren!” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you embraced his laying body. “Oh my son, my sweet boy.”

“Mummy” He cried “It hurts..!”

“What hurts tell me.” You frantically moved around him. He didn’t answer only stared with tears in his eyes and a pained expression.

“Sleep..” he croaked “Night..”

“What..?” You questioned

“Rat..” he slipped off to unconsciousness.

“Darren?” You meekly asked mulling over his words. “Sleep? Night? Rat?”

Was he poisoned? But by who and with what? You spent hours next to his bedside, hoping, praying for an answer.

You slowly rose from your feet and left the chamber. A lonely guard was standing in front of the door.

“Guard this entry. No one may enter until I return.” You ordered.

“As you command princess.” He straightened his back.

You slowly made your way to the maesters wing, knocking gently.

“Maester?” You questioned “I’m sorry for intruding at such a late hour but there is a matter of grace importance I wish to discuss.”

You heard shuffling and footsteps, the door slightly opened revealing the Maester.

“Your highness, how can I be of service?” He let you in into his solar. Various books and concoctions were scattered throughout the room.

"It is about my son." you answered taking a seat, the elderly man doing the same. "If i may ask maester where are you from?"

"A peculiar question, your highness." You raised and eyebrow and ushered him "I was born and raised in Oldtown."

“A magnificent city isn’t it? Never had the pleasure to visit.” You murmured.

“Yes, magnificent indeed.”

“Hmm… tell me what happened to your prince.” You ordered, the man furrowed his eyebrows.

“A terrible thing, the prince seemed to be fine lively and brave as he usually is. Then the other day he suddenly collapsed and hasn’t woken since.” He concluded.

“Collapsed where?”

“I do not know, your highness. I have tended to him in his chambers.”

“And you didn’t think to ask where he suddenly fell?”

“At the moment no. I think it was in the gardens.”

“You think?”

“Pardon me, I was quite overwhelmed with stabilizing the princes life to ask.”

“Hmm” You nodded fixing your posture in the uncomfortable chair “What do you suspect his is?”

“Oh it is quite difficult to tell, his symptoms are fatigue, headaches.”

“You’re a maester, tell me your diagnosis as of now.” You hardened your stare at the grey rat.

“I would suspect it is perhaps a sun stroke.”

“Thank you maester, I apologize if I have been rude. I simply worry for my son.”

“It is natural for mothers to worry for their children.” He nodded, you left his chambers. Your blood boiling, he is an accomplice he has to be.

For now you had to take your son with you. You were a fool to believe he would be safe here in his home. Dorne only recently and begrudgingly joined the seven kingdoms. The other kingdoms influence was scarce, especially the crownlands. The Dornishmen valued their independence above anything, that was proven during the conquest. Perhaps they feel betrayed by your husband and son who agreed and upholded the tract made with your grandsire.

Thoughts swarmed your head as you approached your son’s door. A maid waited by the entrance tray in hand.

“Princess.” The guard acknowledged your presence slightly startling the poor girl.

“Who are you?” You questioned not recognizing the maid.

“Celia, your highness.” You noticed she did not posses the accent that most Dornish had.

“And what are you doing here?” You approached the younger girl.

“I bring tea and medicine to the prince.” She quietly answered, you could see her hands trembling.

“Calm down, child.” You said “I’ll take this off your hands.” You tried to grab the tray but the girl evaded. “No..!” She said a bit panicked.

“No?”

“I-I the kitchens instructed me to deliver this to the prince myself.”

“And whose order in the kitchen is more important than that of a princess?” You questioned.

“Yours, your highness.” She meekly answered. You took the tray from her and the guard stationed outside his door opened it for you. Before entering you leaned into the man’s ear.

“Keep an eye on her.” You whispered, the man solemnly nodded.

You placed the tray with the medicine on the table. You raised the steaming cup to your nose and took a whiff. A rather sharp and irritating smell hit your nose. This was not tea, that much you can tell. You have dabbled in herbs and medicine in your youth. Often making concoctions for your grandsire and then husband.

If this were a poison it was rare and difficult to detect. You stood in the middle of the room pondering over the events of the day. You sighed and walked over to the door.”

“Bring me the girl.” You ordered the guard, he obliged and a few moment later a knock interrupted your thoughts.

The maid from before was slightly shaking in the guards hold.

“Do not fret, Celia. Come, sit.” You invited the servant girl to the table. The cup of tea still steaming.

The girl was squirming under your gaze, her gaze was focused on her lap.

“Are you Dornish?” You questioned, she slightly shook her head.

“No.” She whispered timidly.

“Where?”

“I am from a small village east of the Honeywine river.”

“Oh? You must be scared being in an unfamiliar land.”

She simply nodded.

“Who sent you here?”

“My father is a merchant from Oldtown, we moved to Sunspear for better opportunities.”

“What a touching story, you must be parched my dear.” You smiled slightly “Drink.” You ordered moving the cup in her direction.

“That tea is for the prince, your highness.” She objected.

“The prince is unconscious. He will not mind.”

“I cannot it would be improper of me-“

“Improper? As much as refusing an order from the princess of the realm”

“N-No”

“Drink.” You now ordered the smile disappearing from your lips. The girls eyes widened, her breath became more rapid.

She tried to steady her breath as she stared at the teacup. After a moment she took it in her hand. “I am not t-thirsty, you highness. You sent her a cold stare. She obliged and pressed the cup to her rosy, slightly parted lips.

Once the liquid was to flow through her throat she slammed the cup on the table.

“I-I cannot, I’m sorry.” Tears flowed through her nervous eyes. She hiccuped pressing her head in her hands.

“What’s in the cup?” You questioned roughly grabbing the girl by her hair and making her look at your face.

“Poison.” She wailed.

“What kind?!”

“Nightshade..! I’m sorry!”

“Who gave you the order?!” You shouted at her tightening the grip on her locks.

“There w-was a man in the kitchens! He gave me the tea and told to deliver it to the prince!”

“More!” You ordered searching for answers in her eyes.

“I do not know!”

“Say or I will feed you to fire! You tried to kill my son! A boy of only three and ten! Your prince!”

“I did not mean to.” She cried and wailed stumbling over her words.

You let go of her hair.

“Guard!” You ordered, two men walked in “Bring everyone working in the kitchens out in the courtyard.”

“Princess it is night-“

“Now!”

The two scurried off and nodded.

“You will tell me who gave you the poison meant to kill my son.”

She quickly nodded, groveling on her knees.

You stared from the balcony as the guards gathered every worker from the kitchens. The girl, Celia was standing next to you.

“Show me.” You ordered. The girl nodded and scanned the crowd. Her finger pointed towards a man, tall and rather skinny. You nodded at the guards and they took the screaming and trashing man to the dungeons.

From the corner of your eye you beckoned a knight over.

“Make sure the Maester doesn’t leave his chambers.”

He bowed and left, his armor rattling with every step. You handed to girl to another knight. You will questioned the both of them in the morning. For now you needed rest.

…

You stared with disdain at the man before you, kneeling and chained.

“Name.”

“Harrold.” He answered, his confidence not wavering.

“Were you the one to poison my son? Your prince.” You calmly asked, the man shook his head and you nodded at the dungeon master. He took a step forward in his hand were heavy metal pincers. The burly man grabbed Harrold’s hand and with the pincers he grabbed his nail and pulled. The man wailed in pain.

“Will you tell the truth now?” He cried and cried.

“Y-yes!” You nodded at the dungeon master to remove another nail.

“That was for admitting that you were lying before. Now speak!”

“I received the money, order and poison from a man. I-I don’t know what he was called. He just said he serves in the red keep!”

“And the girl? Celia?”

“She’s just a servant!”

“And the man, tell me more!”

“I-I do not know!” Another nail another scream.

“Who was the man?!” You demanded.

"I don't know! He just gave me the poison!"

"No ordinary man can afford such a poison... or make one!" You nodded at the dungeon master to remove another nail.

"T-The maester!" He finally screamed out in pain.

"What of the maester!?"

"He m-made the poison! A man just gave it to me!"

“What was he wearing?”

“A-a cloak!”

“What color?!”

“G-green.” He croaked out, and it is as if time stopped.

Green

…

A fortnight passed and Darren begun waking up more and more. His strength was coming back, the color in his face and eyes as well.

You watched with fondness as he devoured a duck roasted in honey with potatoes on the side. A cup of honey milk in a cup next to him. A food taster was now present for every meal he ate.

“Mummy, are you well?” He asked.

“I should be the one to ask you that, my love.” You mused placing a spare strand of brown hair behind his ear.

“You’re pale, and you do not eat.”

“I simply am worried for you.”

“Really? You look like this every time you’re with a babe.”

His words stunned you, and then you thought. You were not missing your moon blood, not yet anyway. You felt fine, tired but you wrote of the tiredness as a result of your son’s poisoning.

“We will return home soon. Once you get strong enough.”

“I am strong enough! I want to see Aegon and Nymor and the rest of my siblings.”

“I shall think about it.”

But he was right, there was no point in keeping him in Sunspear. He would be much safer on Bloodstone.

“Your highness!” A guard burst through the doors to your son’s chamber. You frowned worried. “A dragon spotted a few leagues away from Sunspear.”

“What did the dragon look like?” You questioned.

“Golden.” The guard answered.

“Aegon...” Darren whispered hopefully. You sighed deeply palming your forehead.

“You stay here, I’ll retrieve him.” You sighed standing up and leaving his chambers. You could hear the flapping of wings and the familiar screeches of Sunfyre above the city. Vermithor bellowed glancing up at the sky.

To your surprise Aegon was not the only person riding Sunfyre.

“Nymor.” You stated a bit on edge “What are you doing here? Aegon Sunfyre is too small to saddle two people.”

The two boys jumped from the dragon and your son jumped into your arms, Aegon following.

“We heard that Darren is sick, mother. I had to see my brother.” Nymor answered a bit harshly, which was unusual for him.

“He is fine now, and you Aegon?”

“Darren is my friend.” He murmured avoiding your stern gaze.

You sighed deeply. “Very well. Come along now."

You stood in the doorway watching your sons reunite. Nymor flung himself on Darren's bed, round cheeks stained with tears. Aegon on the other hand stood next to the bed, his hands awkwardly put behind his back.

"Derran!" Nymor cried, his elder brother chuckled and caressed his curly silver locks.

"Im alright, brother." He mused "Aegon, I-... It's good so see you." He awkwardly stated.

You raised your eyebrow in surprise. They never acted like this, they were comfortable in each other's presences, often skipping lessons together or being up to no good. You had to question them about this later.

"Yes..." Aegon muttered back, slightly sheepish.

"Mummy how could you not take me with you!" Nymor complained, freeing himself from his brothers embrace.

"I did what I thought was best. What if you have fallen ill? What would I do with two sick sons." You slightly teased.

"But he wasn't sick, was he?" Aegon questioned, you sighed deeply approaching Darren's bed.

"No, he was not."

<-previous , next->

Taglist:

@nessjo

[hadesoftheladies]

I find it very unfortunate that most people have a very romantic, heroic and “male” view of revolution or activism. Most people imagine it as sudden, loud, violent, glorious, public sacrifice and bleeding in the street. You think of protest and you think of destruction of property, bonfires and gas masks. It is sometimes, big and large donations. These can lead to change, but they oftentimes risk being performative.

Revolution and protest, I think, are actually very quiet affairs. Revolution is reading and learning to deconstruct culture and human behavior. Your own mind, where the colonization happens. I think Revolution happens in the daily choices of what we choose to consume. When people live their lives as protest rather than wait for a big moment. I think boycotting shouldn’t simply be about getting companies to bend the knee. It should be about divesting from an entire industry of exploitation. Our way of life should change. Revolution is us changing. Changing our minds and choices. And living in such a way that we create a community, however small, of different living. Where we buy each other’s soaps and wooden spoons and rely on each other’s expertise instead of buying a subscription (and I’m generalizing here I am aware bc activism must be intersectional to be effective). It is far more impactful that I stop consuming dairy for a lifetime than that I starve myself for a month in protest. It is far more costly to these corporations and to the status quo that I alter my life.

Men’s idea of glory is dying for their beliefs. That is the predominant narrative of heroism. Everyone dies. But living in accordance to your principles? Living as radically as possible? That’s rare and that takes a whole lot of work. An entire lifetime of boycotting is far more destructive to these systems than simply punishing yourself or putting pressure on others in the heat of a mob. It is far more revolutionary to think the forbidden thoughts and so do the uncommon thing. By living this way, we open a door for a new way of living for others. And when we create a new system of living as a community, we set up pillars here and there that will eventually hold up the future we are trying to build. It takes longer. The best works of art take longer. Quality takes more time and focus than quantity, and too many of us are worried about the quantity (how many people can we get to post the black square) rather than quality (how do my decisions impact those around me and how can I use that?).

I think that’s why so many of you look down on things like separatism and veganism. It is less sensational and more (at least in perception) inconvenient. But I have contributed to the environment way more by not eating meat than I would by donating thousands of dollars to green charities. And the reason I am vegan is because other vegans helped me integrate into that lifestyle. They “socialized” me so to speak. Separatism socializes women and men, too. Women separating socializes future policy makers and little girls that would have otherwise (likely) ended up in abusive relationships. It’s not glamorous: does that make it less impactful?

I think revolutionaries are not the ones that merely give a nice speech for the newspapers or volunteer (I am NOT saying volunteering is not worthy or valuable activism). Rather I think revolutionaries are the ones who are willing to change how they think and how they live first. I think the greatest thing a person can give to their causes is their entire life. Not money. Not suffering. Not a few days in the soup kitchen. Their entire way of living. Their consumption habits and their civic activities. Their intentionality in interpersonal relationships.

I think that’s how anything’s ever gotten better in the first place.

[fourthwifematerial]

garden of forking paths | 四 | part i. guilty

yandere lord tengen x fourth wife, eiji. word count: 7,077. explicit content. 18+ MDNI >>

man proposes, heaven disposes.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains ultimatums & coercion of an intimate nature, deception, forced marriage, dubious consent on all fronts, foreplay, degradation, consummation & deflowering, forced orgasms, self harm (not in the way you might be thinking) & scarification, nonsexual voyeurism, an off screen rape & accompanying aftermath, murder, threats of suicide, and a very apologetic author for taking on another behemoth when she still has works in progress

She’s never worn a piece so fine as her sister’s wedding kimono. 

Bathed in white, the shiromuku settles heavily on her body and soul… A chilling wave passes through her as she stares herself down in the mirror. Crown to cunt, settling deep in her gut. Her nerves are at a fever pitch, threatening to boil over and lash out at any moment.

She hardly recognizes the woman staring back at her. Hardly an easy feat for one such as Eiji. The heavens saw fit to bring flesh to her reflection, one she was forced to protect their whole lives.

On their worst days, Emiko was more her charge than blood. A painful reality for the younger of the two. Years spent in her shadow, ready to strike those that would see her harmed. For flowers so lovely as the twins, it was ugly work in the Red Light District.

No. Her looks were always a matter of contempt rather than ignorance. The bride is abundantly aware of what she looks like.

The palette, however, is new.

A traditional visage for a traditional bride. Something the girls at the brothels were never granted beyond the realm of a marriage born from ashinuke or a buyout.

She couldn’t give into the temptation to touch. She wouldn’t risk damaging the canvas, eyes and lips painted as they were.

There was little need for it before all this. It wasn’t something she ever envied or missed. The closest she came to seeing herself with a full face was her sister. 

Still. Not a trace of either sibling in the looking glass.

Eiji has never looked so beautiful. Nor as frightened.

Even through the beads of sweat lining her temples, she was grateful for the katsura wig concealing her sparse hairs. Remnants of her days in the Sisterhood, her cut had yet to grow past her ears. Her keeper was generous enough to postpone the marriage until after their wounds had healed.

It wouldn’t do for the ruse to end on such a glaring oversight. 

The pins adorning the piece look costly. Too extravagant for one as modest as Sister Eiji. Hazarding a guess, it looked to be worth more than a month’s wages at the brothel.

Cocking her head to the side, her eyes catch on the embroidered flowers that rest upon the uchikake. The sharp angles and thorns give birth to a dangerous suggestion.

“Not enough…”

She gives voice to the intrusive thought before thinking better of it. Seppuku is on the girl’s mind, though she’s not fool enough to follow through. Would that she could and spare herself the devastation of this whole affair.

A delicate touch presses on her shoulder. It’s soft, but there’s an edge… as if the owner doesn’t have the strength for a proper scolding.

“Remember what this is for,” breathes a hushed voice of admonishment. “If I’m to marry him, I’ll never forgive you.”

Standing vigil is her better half. Wrapped in more fabrics than she’s accustomed; her kimono a muted black, with what little she has left of her once prized locs concealed under a zukin. The wimple is an unassuming periwinkle. Nearly so blue as the virgin snow.

While Eiji might dance with the idea, Emiko has every intention of bedding it. Neither sister needs the reminder… 

Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if need be.

The threat lingers unspoken between them. Emiko draws back her hand, holding the wataboshi with a white knuckled grip to match. Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, she collects herself with a sniff. 

They meet each other’s gazes in the mirror, color on their lids nearly matching at this point. While one wore rouge, the other bore far less intent. Her eyes are red rimmed from endless days and nights spent sobbing. The anger and resentment, the fear, the loathing—it’ll end her life before the blade has a chance to. 

Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, Emiko nods in approval.

“You’re ready.” Her voice is broken, still shot from the fight. 

Drying the twin tracks running down her cheeks, she lets her go.

No processional. No one to give her away. No tears in tribute.

She doesn’t even see their betrothed until the purification rites. 

For as taboo as it sounds, she doesn’t consider Lord Uzui to be her husband. All the same, she’ll take her sister’s place as his lady wife. She has no choice, not if she wants to keep her alive and unmolested.

It’s all she can do to keep her sister in her prayers as she draws water into the chouyuza’s ladle, washing their sins clean. Twice, in as many hishaku, before rinsing her mouth with a third.

Uzui works himself over in silent tandem. Much as she’s loath to admit it, his refined montsuki haori and golden hakama make the man striking… gorgeous, even. His starlight hair was worn up when last she saw him. And now it rests, barely grazing his broad shoulders. 

This is the closest she’s been to someone of the opposite sex who wasn’t a client. He hardly made a favorable impression to start. She didn’t know him well enough now to gauge his intent. Whether she’s walking into a den of wolves or a field of rabbits strikes her as a mystery she wouldn’t solve until he was already inside her, she’s sure of it.

Their union is a somber affair before the Shinto priest. Intimate. Tense. Almost severe.

The priest gives the blessings. 

With the marriage announcement, Uzui bows where they stand. She realizes too late that she missed the prayers in favor of the mounting anxieties taking root. Nudging her out of her daze, she follows suit. Muscle memory and a lifetime of obedience takes her hand and guides the path before her. 

The saké teases her lips and she finds herself tempted to drink before long. It’s not until passing off the small and medium cup that they are permitted to imbibe. She focuses on her throat, still burning from the alcohol as they move on to the rings. It keeps her present of mind enough to fulfill the task she’s been charged with.

A ring is slid on her finger. His handling isn’t rough with her but he’s hardly gentle. When she does the same, she notes the calluses on his battle-worn hands—a testament to his years spent honing his skills in combat.

The warmth throws her. She stills beneath his touch… Even worse when he’s cast his garnet gaze on her like that. With that smile on his lips, he almost looks fond. He turns her hand over and gives her wrist a small caress, far more tender than he’d been with the rings.

She has the grace to blush. The watashobi only allows her so much coverage from his prying eyes, so she takes advantage where she can. His vows barely register. When it’s her turn, her voice is a hollow echo of the priest’s dictation.

“I will marry this man,” he says.

“I will marry this man.”

“No matter what may come, I will love him, console him, help him. Until death.” 

“No matter… No matter what may come, I will love him. Console him. Help him… Until death.”

“These things, I swear.”

“These things… I swear.”

The shrine maiden presents twin Sakaki branches to the couple. In turn, they place the branches upon the altar. Together they bow twice and clap in quick succession. 

With the stinging of her palms and roar of her ears, it’s over.

It’s finally over.

In every other respect, this is only the beginning.

There was before Tengen… and after.

In another life, she might have been simple… a simple girl of simple means, grown into a simple woman.

What bliss.

No simple girl would ever endure the hand fate had dealt her. They’d never even know it’s touch, let alone see the blow coming.

Back when Eiji had a purpose, she was a nun.

Her mandate was as simple as things went for her. Find your sister, they told her. Find her, mind her. The task proved easier said than done for an Oiran in the brothels of Yoshiwara.

No. If she was anything like the girls to grow up not knowing any better, she’d have thought it a heavenly night. 

The scene was a deep wash of cerulean and coal; falling snow aglow with what moonlight peered behind the kawara roof. A contoured edge ran crisp over the engawa, shadows and flakes stopping in tandem before she could so much as wet her feet.

It was the tenderest mercy she would be afforded in a place such as this.

The languid stream of smoke bled from her lips, too soon to think over another drag as she set her gaze on the abyssal sky.

Her brows furrowed, eyes pleading the heavens for intervention when she couldn’t will the tragic whimpers and panicked groans from breaching the walls.

The only warmth known to her was the burn between her fingers and the fury in her veins, neither poison more bitter than the last. 

If her lungs didn’t fail her, it was bound to be her heart.

After a terribly violent gasp, Eiji tossed the remains of her cigarillo into the mounting snow, the pressing need for quiet far surpassing any desire for escapism. Flush palms ran over the veil concealing her ears. 

Enmeshed in a deathbed of white, the snuffed out embers found themselves buried under the fresh flakes. 

“Stop it.” A whispered bid—painful as it was fruitless. She broke on the words, knowing they’d never reach the bedroom. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

If that fucker didn’t come soon, she was going to have to finish the job. Tear the stuck pig limb from limb, out of the frying pan and into the fires of Hell. He would bleed for this.

She wouldn’t betray her vows. She only sought to avenge her sister’s rape. Nothing more, nothing less.

You can’t afford to fall apart. You know she can feel you. You have to be strong for her.

And before she could make good on that promise, there was nothing. Not a breath, not a sound.

The silence was deafening and nearly so oppressive as the screams.

The divine stall, dutifully prostrate before the raging tempest. 

Any relief felt was dead on arrival. She knew better than to get comfortable. Her shoulders were still wound tight as a bow primed for the shot. Tense and waiting. 

Rooms away, Eiji could hear the pleas so viscerally… 

“Eiji—” she cried, her voice a death rattle that cut to the marrow. “Sister… Help me.”

                                 a crash in the distance.

                                 a whisper of fabric on the 

                                 wind. 

                                 the final screams to prelude              

                                 disaster.

The shoji was barely ajar before she’d pushed her way inside. She rushed past the hall of incredulous voyeurs, all with the same questions on their minds and lips.

She didn’t even know where they’d put her tonight. She had to follow the commotion like a dog after a vendor in the streets.

Desperate. Near rabid with its goal to fulfill. Out for blood.

If she centered herself, she could be by her side in an instant.

But her mind was racing. She had no time, no focus. All of her being narrowed on the sole objective of leaving this place for good.

Ashinuke beckoned with an outstretched palm whose finger curled so seductively, there was no need to ask twice.

The door flew open with a shout, “Emiko!”

She surveyed the room. Save the cowering fuck in the corner, it was a barren sight.

Dragging him by the collar of his disheveled robe, she hauled his sweating hull from the ground.

“Tell me where they took her,” she demanded. “I’ll gut you, I swear it.”

He shook beneath her. When the night air kissed the tracks on her cheeks, she didn’t have to look hard. There was a gaping hole in the screen of the shoji, ushering the cold inside.

You cried for me… 

She shook the memory, focusing solely on the path ahead of her. Her entire world fixated on what little she could see from outside the door; a mere pinprick of vision in that busted screen. All she was able to manage were the snapping swords of some third party who’d entered the fray.

The pig squealed, fear coursing through him at the prospect of a fight.

“Useless,” she spat.

Blood came when the words failed him. The blade from her sleeve made fast work of disposing his filth without preamble or mercy.

                                       sank into his ear… 

                                       pull out game for

                                       the gods.

                                       …dragged across 

                                       his throat.

He slumped pitifully at her feet, exsanguinating below her turning frame. She was already following after the chaos—dried her tears and righted the cloth just under her eyes.

The body was still warm as she made for the biting cold.

Eiji sullied the courtyard’s pristine canvas. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Didn’t make it very far in the dark; someone flew overhead, missing her entirely. 

What should have urged her all the more only brought her to her knees.

She couldn’t afford to falter like this, not when the wager was her sister’s life. 

“No one’s after you,” she muttered to herself. “There’s no time for this… Get up.”

She had to press on. So why couldn’t she move?

Eiji refused to give way to the fear. Surveying the perimeter, there was little to be done and less to be seen.

It had to be now.

Closing her eyes, she leveled her breath. Slow. Deliberate. 

She emptied her lungs with a hiss in her throat and put her all into seeking Emiko out.

With the rolling of her stomach subsided, she picked herself off the street. 

Nails bit crescent moons into the meat of her palms, arms trailing behind her as she took off into the direction she foresaw. 

She felt her. She saw her in mind’s eye. 

Smelled the cracked wood in the air. Burnt, not yet ablaze. 

Blood… so much blood.

Eiji found her before too long, limbs akimbo under the caved-in front of a vacant business.

Her sister wasn’t alone. Shock coursed through her as she took it all in.

Three women crowded the body. One at her head, keeping her still, as the others made quiet work of removing the debris from her broken form.

She didn’t have to turn to know they were less alone than the moments that had passed. “Is she dead?” The man asked, feckless to a fault.

He was an eager one, wasn’t he. If this had been out of character for the man, if he’d been a stranger to them… surely they would have reacted.

The smallest among the women only threw herself at him with tears in her eyes.

“Lord Tengen,” she sobbed. “We couldn’t find the lair. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded towards Emiko, his eyes never straying from her unconscious frame. “And the girl?”

“An Oiran.” The name fell from Eiji’s lips with the ease and vitriol of a curse, “Kyogoku House.”

Every stranger encountered this night turned to her, suddenly occurring to them she was worth acknowledging at all. Turned on her just as quickly.

“Kakushi are meant to be seen… not heard,” he warned with a snap, all bitterness.

An incredulous echo fell from her lips, “Kakushi?”

He pinned her down, swiftly and effectively cutting the indignant echo from the root.

“Now what did I just say.” 

The man towering over wasn’t asking, not remotely. He looked at her nearly expectant, all but daring her for a response.

Thick arms neutralized the struggle, pressing into her to drive the point home. Voice lowered in tandem with his head, the words in her ears enough to fill her gut with coal. 

“If you’re going to interrupt, at least make it worth my while. Might just be tempted to take matters into my own hands and modify the offense.”

“Don’t. Please… stop. You can’t touch her. Please don’t touch her.”

Eyes fell shut as she laid witness to the swan song rasping from her sister’s bruised lips. 

Tears streamed, hot and itching. Time slowed to a crawl. “Emiko. Forget about me,” she bade. “You have to save your strength.”

Gravel dug into her cheek the rougher he forced her down. A hitch in her breath. Eiji kept her gaze fixed ahead, locked on the carnage. 

The women on assist weren’t concerned with lowering their voices. 

“The hell’s a nun doing in the Red Light District?” 

“You can’t say that in front of her, idiot.”

She burned under the heat of their scrutiny. Even more as his touch grazed her prone form, searching for weapons. It seemed he’d been blessed with brains to match his brawn and beauty after all.

“You’ve got red on you,” he noted. “You must have seen something.”

“Not my blood.” The words ran cold on her tongue. Near metallic as the blood staining her veil. “He’s dead now.”

“And the demon spared you after it fed?”

“Sir, there was no demon.”

He turned her over. Crouched over her thighs, urging her to continue.

“Patron. Something took her and he was a shit witness. I eliminated my sister’s rapist. If you have complaints, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

“Eliminated, huh?” He pressed, incredulous. His eyes returned to the women tending to Emiko’s injuries. “Don’t suppose she’s one of ours?”

His aubergine companion spoke with unbidden ease. “Lord Tengen.” A pressing gentleness, as if shepherding apoplectic cats in their twilight years rather than the man straddling her. “In polite society, there are certainly ways to extract such information.” 

He eyed her beneath his rippling thighs. Considered the account she’d woven for him. “You really don’t know anything?”

“If I knew what you were talking about, I’d tell you.” She met his gaze, beseeching. “Please, just help my sister. Kill me for my crime if you must, but please… She needs to leave this place.”

When the weight on her thighs was suddenly relieved, she had little time to breathe. He loomed over her, making fast work of tossing her over his shoulder.

“Don’t go getting too dramatic on me, Sister. Isn’t blind faith supposed to be your thing?” He gave her backside a condescending slap before taking off.

Too burnt out from the fight to argue, she merely allowed herself to be lulled by his hellish pace.

She hadn’t slept in so long. The push and pull of the jostle took her back to that day.

Fractured memories of the shore. She was no more than a child then. Now a woman grown, the bitter cold kissed her cheeks.

She looked out on the water’s edge. The drag of the waves. The crash as they touched back down.

Walking into the sea, she collapsed. Falling onto her knees, the water soaked her kimono. She abandoned her zukin, letting the habit drift away. When she looked down, there was an isolated pool of blood.

Her eyes widened, hands shaking as she dragged her touch underneath. The source of the bleed was heavy. She pulled desperately, fighting the mounting tide and her own limitations. 

When it breached the surface, she was loathed to lose her grip.

She knew that face. She wore that face. 

Realization dawned on her and she was all the more desperate to retrieve what the watery grave that saw to claim from her. 

Limp in her arms. On death’s door, if she hadn’t crossed the Sanzu River already. When she opened her eyes, they were worse than void—they were dead.

Eiji woke with a start, her own eyes locked on the ceiling of the infirmary with a scream locked in her throat.

The medical wing remained so unclouded, so quiet, there was a small part of her that considered she might be dead already.

Eyes blinking into consciousness, she wondered to herself how everything got so fucked.

“The prodigal daughter wakes,” came a rasping welcome.

“Emiko!”

She nearly tripped over herself trying to reach out to her; the hand beckoning her closer so small under the covers. 

Closing the distance between them, Eiji was treated to a slap to the cheek. She didn’t even register it at first. Her expression thrown, ears roaring. 

“You’ve killed me, bringing me here.” Her voice was as weak as her will to live. “Good as signed my death warrant, you bitch.”

Eiji stared in shock before it hit her as one thousand blows.

She was asleep.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t protect her. Hell, she was barely able to find her on time. She’d failed her and the burning realization that there might be more threatens to consume her.

“What happened while I was out?”

Emiko turned away with a hiss—either from aching injuries or her own malcontent, she’ll never tell. “You heard what Lord Tengen said,” she groused. “Demons and the like. He works to annihilate them…”

Her throat went dry in an instant. “What?”

“Sissy, I’m tired.”

Already having rolled to her side and brought the bedding past her ears, Emiko’s eyes pooled. She let the tears fall away from view but couldn’t hide the way her shoulders shook.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

Thoughts swirled in a vicious cycle. She was as furious as she was suicidal.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

The unspoken reverie was loud enough to hear even separated from the bond their blood allowed.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

It was all Eiji could do to crawl into bed with her, arms wrapped around her trembling body. 

“Are you more angry that I couldn’t save you… or that I did?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Emiko rolled to face her sister, curling tight against her as a babe to its mother. 

“Too late,” she teased gently. Her voice is gentle as the touch that ran up and down her back. “Then tell me. What is it?”

“Just cursing the heavens for damning us with this face and body. And all the bastards who came before Uzui.”

Eiji kept her eyes on the wavering fist curled around the sterile linens they both wore. Trailing her fingers up her back, she brings her palm to her sister’s hair. Pulled her in close, stroking her scalp. She said nothing, merely gave her the means to speak.

“He’s a Hashira. Former Shinobi, by his own account.”

“Shinobi,” she echoed, incredulous. Aren’t they meant to be a dying breed?

“I can’t deliver on the promise I made. I was coerced into accepting his hand, it was the only payment he wanted…” Emiko kept talking over her, vision clouded as if in a daze. “I couldn’t just let him kill you… we needed safe passage.”

A fresh tremor coursed through her. The sight chilled Eiji’s blood.

Bloodshot eyes nearly so vacant as her dream stared back. She didn’t have to hear it to know. 

“Emiko… look at me.” She was desperate with tears of her own threatening to break.

“I can’t go through this again. I refuse. Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if necessary.”

Her head shook, stunned to silence.

“Those women are his wives. Says I should get used to them.”

“I can’t let you go through with this!” She refuted further, “I won’t. Not for my sake.”

Holding her hands flush against her ears, Emiko’s eyes shut. Face twisting in anguish and grief, she pushes away from her. “Sleep first, then dream.”

“I’m not dreaming. I’m pleading… Let me help you.”

“You don’t understand,” Emiko argued. “That night… It left me with scars, scars you haven’t seen. He saw me. He saw all of me.”

Eiji’s face flushed with anger. “He fucked you?”

“No… He only kept me talking while I was bandaged. Said he wants to wait until the wedding night to touch me.”

“Show me,” she insisted. “If he’s seen it, I need to see.”

It’s a beat before either moved, let alone spoke. Eiji pushed herself off the bed to stand on shaky ground. She was wary, but didn’t argue. Her sister looked away in a pastiche of offered modesty.

“You can look,” she prompted, voice faint.

When Eiji returned her gaze, visions of that night returned with a vengeance. 

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Breaking on a sob, she saw her under the roof collapse so vividly as she did that night.

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Her sister’s skin was tattooed, marred with the visible representation of her own failure. Hypertrophic scars cut around her waist. A contracture piece gnarled on her back. Superficial grazes claw across her breasts. 

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

She had to avert her eyes, choking on her own shame. She would never forgive herself. 

Head raised to the heavens, she was anywhere else.

“The Madame will never have me back now,” Emiko noted wryly. “At least there’s one good thing out of this mess, even if it won’t last—”

With the shattering of glass, the words died in her throat. It took seconds for her eyes to catch up, watching her sister follow after the broken vase. Eiji was there, already on the ground. There seemed to be no rhyme, reason, nor method to her madness.

“What are you doing?”

She sifted through the rubbish on hands and knees, seeking out the perfect instrument for her needs. She’d have to start soon while the sight was fresh in her mind… The rest were tossed aside.

“I’m not letting you down again.”

“What does that even mean?” She pleaded, “Eiji, stop… You’re scaring me.”

And still, she refused her. Not until hope was secured.

Lord Uzui ushers his bride inside the bedchamber, quickly sliding the door shut behind him.

no prying eyes, no vying wives.

Eiji makes to sit on the marital bed, still lost to the events of the day. It’s an absolute miracle her knees haven’t given out already.

“Not so fast.” 

The command chills her to the marrow. He’s behind her before she can react, let alone flee. Uzui pins her in place, a belt of his corded arms wrapping around her middle. Despite the warmth, she’s frozen in place as she stiffly shies from his touch. 

His voice in her ears only drags her further. “Let me look at you.”

It’s not permission he’s after. He’s taking what he wants tonight.

Kissing down the column of her neck, he gives her tit a rough pinch. The assault punches a groan out of her throat, “Lord Tengen, please.”

“Look at that. My prized whore acting like a virgin for her husband. How quaint is this.”

“I just don’t want to sully the garments.” She pushes past the fear and finds her voice. “With all your wives, I don’t see you stopping at four… who knows when you’ll need it again.”

The man drops his arms. There’s a soft sound, almost muffled. She looks over her shoulder and he’s laughing behind a manicured fist. Her eyes widen, the whiplash becoming all too much to bear.

He watches her, watching him. He doesn’t react to being caught. Doesn’t scold her or tease. Merely lowers his hand, leaving only a seductive beam in its wake as he leans forward to take the wataboshi hood from her head.

His gaze lingers on her lips. Before he thinks to act on base impulse and desires, he turns to place the hood away for safekeeping. She trails after him and shirks off the uchikake, offers him the robe and fan. Fingertips graze, earning a hum of anticipation from her husband.

“If you’d prefer me not to do the rest, I suggest you undress yourself.”

She bows. “Thank you, Lord Tengen.”

“Your respect and frugality are refreshing.” A sigh escapes him. “With any hope, you’ll rub off on the others… In more ways than one, I imagine. And I can imagine quite a lot.”

Her cheeks flush at the suggestion. 

He gropes her ass as he passes, already stripping as he takes his spectator’s seat at the foot of the bed. Uzui watches her as an expectant beast would his prey. She takes a steadying breath when he bids her to start.

Eiji thinks of the shamisen players in the brothels. She wills the strings to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes are closed as she tugs at the knot of her obi-jime… 

No more than a feather on the stream, the silken cord spills to the floor with unbidden ease. 

Her ivory obi joins the pool of fabric at her feet. She gives herself over to the music, abandoning her nerves.

Deftly unfastening the datejime leaves her kimono hanging loose. She sheds the rest like a second skin, stepping out of her confines in only her slip of a nagajuban.

More than a chrysalis. A rebirth.

The juban is her only defense. She knows it’s guileless to hope, to dream. It’s all she could have wanted just to keep her sister from the bedchamber.

No. She will do what needs to be done.

When the last whisper of cloth leaves her exposed, she’s quick to cover herself. A futile gesture born from her days in the convent.

A hand catches her wrist and she’s far too exhausted to fight him. Neither for her body, nor her modesty.

Fingers curl around her own as he guides her to the bed. Pushing her gently, back flush against the futon, he holds her in check with only his right hand; keeping her arms raised so nothing might obstruct his view.

He appraises every inch of her flesh, taking his left to explore with the pad of his touch.

neck and collarbone. sternum. breasts.

Kneading her aching tit, Uzui nods in approval. “Scratches are gone,” he notes. “Didn’t even leave a scar.”

her ribs. her waist. 

He traces the lesion with reverence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of more use to you then.”

The words tumble from her lips before she can stop them. “You’re blameless,” she says under her breath. 

“Come again?”

“My… my sister. She feels every bit of shame for that night. There’s nothing left. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Moments pass without a word. Just when she’s about to take it all back, he’s pressing kisses into the worst of it.

Eiji chokes on a whine, eyes widening in shock. “Ah!”

“I think your sister would disagree with you there,” he whispers tenderly against her belly. “I only met her once but she looked like she wanted to kill me for even breathing the same air as you.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, conflicted between the sensations roiling through her and the threat of being found out. She keeps her mouth shut. Neither pleasure nor information would pass her lips. Not when she’s come so far… 

She would not let her down again.

Once she found the ideal shard of glass, she made fast work of undressing herself.

“What are you going to do?” Emiko asked desperately.

Eiji walked to her sister’s bedside. She caressed her face. “I’m going to protect you.”

She returned to her own bed, drawing the curtains around her.

Before she lost her nerve, she pressed the glass into herself. She kept digging the piece further inside until she was certain it would take.

She ignored the cries and pleas of her sister. She had to do this. She had to make this right.

With a trembling fist curled around the bloodied glass, she took a leveling breath. 

“Once more,” she urged herself.

She dragged the piece along her back, piercing herself to the hilt. Eiji didn’t need a reference to know. She’d never forget for as long as she lived… It would take her a great deal longer to forgive herself.

Falling to her knees, she curled in on herself… With her body shaking from the shock of it, the deed was finally done.

“Never… Never…”

He laps at the trail of pink with his lips, relishing what reactions slip past her schooled features.

“Even still, it’s healed up nicely,” Uzui remarks, dragging her back with him. “Clean margins, not a trace of infection.”

“You certainly know your way around a battered woman.”

“If you recall, my girls are former Kunoichi. Scars are a part of the work culture… You’ll fit in perfectly, my little prize.”

Eiji masks her disgust with a breathy titter. “And here I thought I’d scared you away,” she quips.

“Thought or hoped?”

With those three little words, the room chills around her. She won’t allow herself to falter.

“I am but a traumatized woman.” A dangerous answer to feed a dangerous question. “You don’t think they're mutually exclusive?” 

He bullies her legs open with the mass of his bicep. Abandoning her arms, he locks her in place with a firm hold on her hip. Rakes his nails against the meat of her thigh, all too quick to soothe the path with his tongue, just as before.

“Answer me,” he growls against her.

Before she can think better of it, she pushes against his shoulder. He buries his face in her cunt, undaunted by her silent protests. 

One swipe of his tongue and she’s gone.

“I… I thought!” Her thighs tighten around him, despite herself. “We had—ngg! We had a… a deal—”

A harsh slap to thigh has her opening back up for him. She stifles a cry behind a shaking palm. He carries on batting at her clit in rapid succession, her groan turning helpless when he buries himself past his knuckles. 

Two fingers with a wail on the third, too thick as they scissor inside.

She’s anywhere else.

The cacophony of noises bleeding from her lips has her mind racing in tandem with her pulse.

Unrelenting pleasure. Blinding sin.

He makes quick work slinging her legs over his shoulders. Colors her thighs with his affections, cups her cunt. She jerks further into the assault.

Propping himself on the balls of his feet, he suckles his fingers. Uzui laves up the juices, savoring every morsel of her essence. 

“And you’d never do anything to rescind a deal, would you, sweet Emiko.”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t dare dignify him with a response. If Uzui wants to go fishing, he can drown in her silence for all she cares.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases her all the more. Middle finger lapping her juices, he fucks them deeper every time. His wrist twists without resistance. It’s all she hears. He latches onto her clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and her own wetness.

Bracing for the forced release, she maintains a white knuckle grip on the sheets beneath her.

Thighs shaking. Stomach tensing. But it’s over before she can fall over that razor thin edge.

He pulls out without mercy, without warning. She sobs at the loss, sweat beading along her temples and brow.

Uzui takes his time spreading her lips, appreciating her cunt twitching around nothing apart from a watchful eye and wandering touch to match. He slaps her tit, diving back into the fray. She’d scream if she thought it would help.

She’s never felt anything like it. 

His nose prods her clit while he gives her a tongue lashing she’s never known. He laps up her juices like a condemned man drinking his last.

Hooking his fingers, Eiji sees white. She came under him and he fucked her right through it, fingering her while spreading his idle hand over her middle. His pinky caresses her scar with such care, almost worship.

It takes her far too long to register he’s been grinding into her splayed thigh.

He’s hot on her bare skin, heavy and thick… She doesn’t have to see him to know.

As if he can read her trepidation like a damn book, he takes her hand and drags it encouragingly over his cock. “You can touch,” he offers.

She says nothing, denying him all the more. Pushing against his advances, she means to end this encounter. Any longer, she fears he may see fit to fuck her into the little hours.

He pushes her back no less than three times before relenting. Fed up with her efforts, he scoffs angrily. “Should’ve brought Suma in to sit on your face,” he laments, all petulance.

Tossing her over his shoulder, he settles her before the bureau. 

“Hands against the wood,” he instructs her curtly, nodding where he wants her. Damn bastard’s already slotting a knee between her legs. “Forearms, too.”

When she does so, he roughly forces her back into an arch. Eiji hears the whistle of the strike before the pain registers. Feels the dresser’s chill graze her nipples before the burn on her bottom. She grits her teeth, detaching herself from the scene.

His touch roves across the handprint left behind before drawing back to hit her again.

Appreciating the canvas before him is a short lived reward.

One hand with an iron grip on her chin forces her attentions. He pinches and gropes what he can reach with the other, the taunting lilt of his voice never leaving her.

“Open those eyes.” The order sends tingles down her spine. “Let me see my gorgeous bride.”

Another thrashing leaves her crying out. He tightens around her jaw, tears flowing freely now.

She does as he commands, her deep brown gaze at last meeting his scrutiny.

It’s when she catches sight of herself in the mirror that her resolve nearly crumbles at his fingertips.

where did emiko end…

                                      …where did eiji begin?

He takes her in his arms, flush against her back as he cages her against the dresser. Uzui sucks a bruise just under her ear, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He feeds his cock inside her, ears singing with every scratch of her nail against the wood. 

A rough gasp tears its way through her. Eiji remains frozen to his whims as he callously fills her to the hilt. Barely four thrusts as he meets no resistance.

He can’t help but groan at the sight of her. 

Stuck-still, she’s too shocked to move, to speak or breathe. 

It’s not long before he tires of her cockwarming and his grunts fill the room with a renewed pace. One sharp snap begot the rest and her cunt fell so tight around him.

He sets a punishing staccato, the sounds of them filling the room in a symphony gone wrong. Coaxing the cries from her, Uzui kept pushing and pushing… bottoming out until he was coming apart himself. 

“How can a whore like you be so damn tight,” he murmurs, nearly slurring his abuses. “All that work getting you open? What a waste…”

Beads of sweat make a mess of his forehead, the silver strands of his hair catching on his skin. She flushes beneath him as he nears his release.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he commands. “I want you to see who’s making you come.”

She holds more than her will as she looks at her husband. She holds her contempt. Her rage… Her every motive and intent. That’s why it’s such a shock to them both when she meets him thrust for thrust for thrust. 

even as the wooden borough grates against the floor and wall. even as he works his spit inside her asshole.

“Fucking close—”

He throws his head back with a trembling exhale and stuttering hips. Eiji’s unbidden wails fall on deaf ears as he spills his seed.

His shaking breath echoes off the walls in a strange marriage of ecstasy and quiet discontent. Would that he could, he’d stay buried inside her forever. 

Uzui pulls out with a hiss, beyond loath to leave her pristine warmth. Releasing her, his gaze falls to their combined fluids trailing down her legs. He spreads her cheeks, reveling in the sight of his debauched bride.

Spent. Humiliated. Done. Eiji rests her weary head against the wood, between her trembling hands.

No blood, she relishes inwardly… with Lord Tengen none the wiser, Eiji has fulfilled her duty. If there was a shadow of a doubt, it’s gone now. He wouldn’t find proof of her innocence. It was gone by her own hand the day she gave herself her sister’s scars. 

Kisses press against her spine, all the way down to her tailbone. He massages her bruised and bruising flesh while huffing in the musk of their consummation. She twitches under his watchful eye and it’s all the prompting he needs to dive back in for seconds, albeit gently this time.

The deft tongue that pleasured her is the deft tongue that cleans her. She doesn’t shy from it this time. He feels the stark contrast as she bears down on his face, grunting his approval as he lazily stokes himself.

It’s not just for her benefit. Tengen knows that despite the closed doors, this intimate moment was always going to be shared.

Not his wives. Not even the heavens.

He knows the nun is sitting vigil at this exact moment, waiting outside those very doors to tend to her battered sister.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that was her role back in Yoshiwara. Poor girl’s never known the touch of a man, has never come apart by another’s tender care… judging by her disdain that night, she’d likely only ever heard the shameful encounters of brutes and bastards. 

Who was he to deny her? To deny either of them?

If the Sister wanted a show, he’d give that holy voyeur the most flamboyant fucking of her damned life.

Emiko sits beneath a wash of indigo, the stars shining bright enough to spite her. She wrings her hands, anxiously praying he’d be done with her soon. The sun was barely set when they arrived back from the ceremony… He’s had her in there for hours.

It’s all she can do to pray he’d leave her soon enough.

“Stop it.” The familiar prayer falls from her lips, a hush of a bid. She broke on the words as her sister had done so many nights. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

In the quiet isolation of the veranda, the only voyeur is the moon above. Emiko weeps for her sister. She weeps for herself.

No one will mind. No one is around to hear it.

[7-wonders]

8 - "You look like you were jealous" - Subtle Smut Sentence Starters - Morpheus/Dream.

Morpheus never worried about men flirting with the reader because he knows his lover has a preference for women. Lately, a woman in the workplace has been not only flirting but also dreaming about the reader, and that makes our emo kitty jealous. Morpheus starts looking for the reader at his workplace saying that he has important things to talk/do with her, but in fact he knows that this woman wants to ask the reader out on a date, which is why he always appears and intervenes.

You can say that this woman has all the characteristics that the reader likes in a woman. Reader would obviously be bi/pan.

I don't know if that's how it works, forgive me if something is wrong or confusing, I don't speak English. You can obviously change whatever you want. 💓💓💓💓

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the reader being jealous. Now it's Morpheus's turn, and I giggled the whole way through writing this. Enjoy!

•••

As the King of Dreams, Morpheus is privy to the dreams that each and every being with a consciousness holds dear to them. Though he is not in charge of desires (that’s his sibling’s department, and it’s one he’d like to stay far away from, thank you very much), dreams and desires often share the same space and are sometimes even the same thing.

This is how he finds out that there’s someone, a mortal, nonetheless, that is interested in you romantically.

Jealousy is not a feeling that Dream of the Endless has been overly familiar with during his long, long life. Possessiveness, yes, but for the most part, he has had no reason to be jealous (except for the Killala affair, the first, and probably only, time that he had ever been genuinely jealous). Not to sound pompous, but he is Endless. What need does he have for an emotion as petty as jealousy? In fact, if one were to ask him, he would say that he had never actually been jealous before and that if he had, it was so long ago that he did not remember what the emotion felt like.

No, he’s not familiar with jealousy, but what else would he call this…odd, simmering anger that threatens to eat him alive? After all, it had only started when he had sensed you, or rather, a version of you, in someone’s dreams, and found said version of you engaged in sexual intercourse with a dreamer. It was only after Morpheus declared the dream to be over that he went in search of the offending dreamer, only to discover that it was none other than Johanna Constantine.

As you would say, Morpheus shot himself in the foot. After all, he was the one to introduce you to Constantine when the occultist was having trouble summoning and speaking to ghosts. You just so happened to have the abilities of a psychic medium and were more than willing to help out when the situation had been explained to you. You worked well together and ended up continuing your professional partnership after the original job was finished. At the time, Morpheus had prided himself on a job well done. Now, he was wishing that he had forced her to make a costly deal with his sister if only it meant that she would stop meeting up and working with you.

It certainly doesn’t help that Constantine was a naturally flirtatious creature, calling you “gorgeous” or “love” whenever she talked to you, or teasing that she would be ready and available should you finally decide to leave Morpheus. Worse is the fact that, when it came to women, Morpheus knows that Johanna is what is referred to as “your type.”

He distinctly recalled a night spent with you and Hob Gadling, listening as you recounted the follies of prior relationships. Hob had just finished explaining speed dating in the eighties when you told him that, after years of denial, you had had the startling realization after your last relationship that you did actually have a type, with that type being “brunette girls with an attitude.” Unfortunately, that was very much Johanna.

Morpheus doesn’t understand why it is that he’s feeling so upset, so jealous, over this situation. He knows with every fiber of his anthropomorphized being that you are loyal and faithful to him and that you are just as obsessed with him as he is with you. But as Johanna’s infrequent dreams of you take on a more romantic tone, he cannot help but become a slave to jealousy.

Morpheus had to do something. He could not, he would not, lose you to anybody, but especially not a mortal, and definitely not a Constantine.

So he begins to…appear spontaneously when he knows that you and Johanna will be working together. Matthew calls it “staking his claim,” and perhaps that’s what it is. What else would he call showing you affection in front of your coworker, affection that he is not good at giving when in public, for no reason other than to remind said coworker that you are very happily taken? It’s a rather genius plan, he believes. Subtle, too. If he were to be questioned as to why he shows up at the most inopportune of times, he would simply claim that Time works differently in his realm, and therefore it is impossible to know what is considered a “good time” to see his beloved.

Morpheus is able to delude himself into thinking that this is all working perfectly until after the third time he tries this act. You’re excited to see him when he interrupts your and Johanna’s research into whether the entity she’s dealing with is a ghost or a poltergeist, and you eagerly accept the kiss he offers to you. Still, he notices the look that you and Johanna share when he asks if you might be willing to end your meeting early, and he becomes uncomfortable at the thought that you both know what this is. No, Morpheus tells himself, he’s covered his tracks extremely well.

“Well, Jo? Think we can continue this tomorrow?” you ask upon getting the hint that Morpheus would rather be anywhere but here. “We have been at it for a while now.”

She sighs in faux petulance before nodding. “Aye, could use a break, let you and Sandy get on with your marital activities.”

Morpheus glowers at the exorcist, but you just snicker under your breath and remind her, “We’re not married.”

“Yet.” Johanna glances at Morpheus and winks. “Better hurry up with that, else someone might swoop in and steal your girl.”

“Thank you for the sage advice, Constantine,” Morpheus bites out before turning to you. “Are you ready to depart?”

You nod and take his offered arm, allowing Morpheus to sweep you away to the Dreaming faster than you can even think about saying goodbye to your friend.

When you land in his chambers, you grab his arm before he can try to escape based on the pretense of needing to return to tasks that are apparently pressing, but not pressing enough that he couldn’t escape to see you for no real reason. “Wait,” you say. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” Morpheus asks, for he is not about to deny your request.

“You’ve been acting weird.” You pause. “Weirder than normal. And you only act this way when I’m working with Johanna.”

“I do not believe that has been the case.”

You grin, and he knows that you’ve figured out what he has been doing. “Morpheus. Are you…jealous?”

“That is preposterous,” he says immediately, trying to dispel the notion from your mind.

“Really? Because, to me, it sure looked like you were jealous.”

“I am no such thing!”

Instead of trying to argue with him, because there’s no point to that when you both know that he’s lying, your triumphant grin softens to something sweeter. “It’s okay to be jealous, you know. It’s a very human emotion.”

“I am not human.”

“I know. But you do carry the entire subconscious of humanity, so it makes sense that you’d feel our petty human emotions.”

“Suppose I am…jealous,” Morpheus says the word as if it pains him to do so. “That would not upset you?”

“No! If anything, I’m just curious why you’re jealous. And why it’s Johanna that you’re jealous of.” 

The fact that you have no idea why he feels this way makes Morpheus feel even worse about the jealousy that he’s experiencing because it’s obvious that, to you, he has no reason to be jealous. Morpheus so badly wishes to manufacture a crisis somewhere in the Dreaming so that he may escape having to talk about his feelings.

“I am aware of your proclivity of women that are much the same as Johanna Constantine,” he says instead. “I am also aware of the affection that she harbors for you, an affection made obvious in her dreams.”

“Johanna doesn’t have a crush on me! That’s just how she is, she flirts with everyone!” you argue.

“I can assure you that she does. I will let you see her book if you wish.” He knows that you’re not doubting him in the slightest, but he also wants you to know that just because he’s jealous does not mean that he’s making things up.

“No, if you say it’s true, then I believe you. But what do you mean, my proclivity towards women–” you mutter the last sentence, trying to figure out what Morpheus meant when suddenly you remember the exact same conversation as him. “Huh, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

It clicks together for you now, and you grab Morpheus’s hands so that he can’t run away. “Yes, girls like Johanna have traditionally been my type. But lately, my type has changed.”

“It has?” He knows what you’re going to say, but he wants to hear you say it. If Morpheus is going to be indulging his more human emotions, then greed may as well join that list.

“My type is you, Morpheus. Not people like you, but you.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, leaning his forehead against yours. Morpheus straightens after a moment when fear runs through him like lightning. “You will not tell her of this, will you?”

“No, I wouldn’t talk about our private conversations to her. Plus, it’s embarrassing enough to have a crush on someone that you know is taken. I don’t want to call her out and make her feel bad about it.”

“You are wise,” Morpheus praises.

“Then might I wisely suggest that you allow me to show you just how little you have to be jealous about?” you ask, already leading him back towards the bed.

He smirks. “You may.”

His secret bout of jealousy, he’s relieved to discover, will remain safe with you.

[weeabooofficial]

Sundress [18+]

Warnings: Language, smut, public sex, im sure there's more I just can't remember.

Masterlist

Pairing: Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader

Word count: 1.2K

A/N: This has been buried for like a year and I am kinda sorry? I have no idea why I never posted it, so here you go!

divider by @cafekitsune

Kyojuro watched your form as you soaked in the sun, the two of you were having a picnic in a secluded area of your favorite park with the wind blowing by. You were standing by the ends of the pond holding your sunhat on your head with your bright yellow sundress flowing in the wind. 

Of all things, why did you have to wear the damn sundress?

Every time the breeze passed, Kyojuro would tilt his head to try and catch a glimpse of your plush thighs but each time you would hold the skirt of your dress down and enjoy the view before you. 

Sensing a pair of eyes on you, you turned to see Kyojuro watching you intently. He was leaning back on his elbows, with his ankles crossed in front of him. His bright hair was blowing in the wind, his vivid eyes meeting yours as he beckoned you closer. 

Smiling at his gesture, you promptly turned and made your way over to your lover. You watched him as you approached, and noticed the way his eyes raked over your body, sending shivers down your spine. 

You knew what this dress did to him, and that’s the exact reason you wore it. Kyojuro had impeccable patience until it came to you when you teased him with little touches here and there, followed by kisses that lasted just long enough that had him whining when you pulled away. The sundress was the final touch to really try his patience. 

Once you were close enough, Kyojuro took your waist and pulled you down to straddle his lap. His thumbs brushed over your hip as he pecked your lips. 

“Enjoying our lunch out, beautiful?”

“I love it, thank you for bringing me.” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Anything for you, Y/N.” 

“You,” you pointed at his chest. “Are incredibly cheesy.” 

“And you,” he pulled your hips against his, making you gasp at the sudden contact. “Are such a tease it’s not fair.” 

Pulling at the hem of your dress, Kyojuro slowly slid his hand up your thigh underneath your dress. “You know exactly what this dress does to me,” 

Pouting your lips just enough, you batted your eyes. “I have no idea what you are talking about Kyo,” 

Raising a brow, Kyojuro slid his hand higher before being met with the fact you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest as you pressed yourself against his chest, the lack of bra was obvious as the top of your dress clung to your chest. Unable to take it anymore, Kyojuro crashed his lips onto yours earning a satisfying sound from you. 

His hands came up to cup your bare ass, massaging it with his fingers as he lay claim to your mouth.

“You are making it really hard not to rip this dress off and fuck you right here,” he muttered against your lips. 

Your hands made their way into his hair, pulling at the strands to tilt his head up towards you more. 

“Do it then, fuck me.” You breathed. 

It was like a fire lit inside him, what were once gentle touches were now rough as he manhandled you onto your back and worked on getting his pants below his waist. Taking your hands in his, Kyojuro held them above your head as he bunched your dress at your hips. 

“Look at you, all wet for me.” he hummed, swiping his fingers through your folds. “Is this what you wanted? For me to take you in the middle of this field?” 

His domineering attitude left you speechless, unable to say anything only nodding at his words. 

Leaning down, his lips connected to yours in a passionate kiss. His grip stayed on your wrists while his other hand slowly worked you open as he swallowed each little sound you made. 

Feeling his fingers brush a spot inside you, had your back arching into him with a cry of his name. “Kyo–Kyo! Please!” 

Hushing you with a kiss, you were met with his warm smile, with something lingering behind his eyes. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll take care of you. Have to get you ready for me.” 

Scrunching your eyes shut, you nodded. His fingers felt heavenly, the way they brushed all the right spots as they slowly stretched you open. Your needy whines rose in frequency and volume, telling him how close you were. 

Digging your nails into his muscled back, you tipped your head and moaned his name as you gushed over his fingers. Kyojuro continued to thrust his fingers, groaning at the feeling of your walls fluttering around them. 

Feeling you come down, he pressed soft kisses to your head and hummed. “You did so good, baby, you ready for me?” 

Taking your hips in his hands, Kyo pulled you closer as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Hovering over you, Kyojuro lined his cock up with your entrance before slowly pushing into you. 

The stretch felt good, filling you with his thick cock. You tipped your head back, moaning at the feeling. The sensation of your walls being stretched to take him, almost too much as Kyojuro hissed at the sudden warmth.

Letting out quiet curses, Kyo buried his face in your neck as he continued to thrust deeper within you until he was buried to the hilt pressing kisses to the skin. 

Pausing for a moment, Kyo cupped your face and made you look at him. 

“I want you to look at me while I fuck you,” he said, his intense gaze not leaving yours. 

His eyes were like fire, with the passion burning bright behind them. They put you into a trance, keeping your eyes on his as he began to move his hips more. 

“Oh fuck–” you gasped, digging your nails into his back. “Kyo–more!” 

Letting out a low chuckle, Kyojuro watched your face contort as he picked up the pace and kept going making sure he hit the deepest parts of your cunt. 

“Such a good girl for me, taking my cock so well.” 

A whine escaped you, nodding as you kept your eyes on his. The thrill of fucking outside in the open makes you hesitant yet eager to please your lover.

“Gonna fill you so full with my cum, you’d like that yeah?” 

“F–Fuck, please–” you gasped, unable to say much else from the feeling of Kyojuro splitting you open on his cock, quick pants falling from your lips as he picked up the pace. 

Feeling the intensity of his eyes on you only made the moment more intimate as he continued working you to your peak, using your whines and moans as motivation to keep going. 

Your grip on him tightened as you cried out his name, coating his cock in your slick. Feeling your walls tighten around him, Kyo moaned lowly before he thrusted a few more times, filling you with his hot seed. 

Panting heavily, you closed your eyes and laid back on the blanket before a heavy weight dropped onto your chest. 

Opening your eyes with a grunt, you looked to see Kyo had made himself comfortable with a smile on his face. 

“I love you so much,” he smiled. 

Brushing his bangs out of his face, you smiled back. “I love you too.”

@pinksthetics @history-be-written @narakussy @loafingdragon @nanaoise08squad @shinox @hex-the-rabbit

[pricetagofficial]

The Little Merman -D.G. Part Five

Warnings: Language, a little bit of angst, some violence (particularly against Wally)

Masterlist

Pairing: Merman!Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: Hello everyone! Look at me being semi-consistent with updates. From where this series is tracking, there is going to be one more part and maybe an epilogue. I hope you all enjoy this!

“Quick! Take a left!” 

Dick nodded and ran, turning left only to be met with a balcony that led out into the shore. 

Turning to face Roy with a questioning look, he saw him turn the corner and stop to catch his breath. “No time to wait, grab your crab and let's just hope we make this jump.” 

Before Dick could even pretend to voice his concern, Roy grabbed his shoulders and launched them both into the ocean. The two of them fell only for a few moments before they crashed into the waves below. 

Dick didn’t have to worry about Alfred as much as he had to make sure he made it back to the surface. His eyes burned, opening them underwater trying to get his bearings to see what way was up. He caught a glimpse of Roy, and swam the same direction as he did. 

Breaking the surface, Dick took a deep breath and fought to keep his head above water. The one thing he missed about his tail was how powerful it was. It easily could’ve kept him and Roy afloat. But here he was, tailless. 

Feeling something nudge his side, Dick saw a familiar orange friend. 

“Long time, no sea.” Wally chuckled, helping keep Dick afloat. “Get it? Sea?” 

If Dick could talk, he would’ve told him how stupid it was. 

Wally only laughed, and pulled Dick after Roy who managed to find a little portion of the beach to take surface on. Letting out a sigh of relief, Dick pulled himself onto shore, with Alfred crawling up beside him, Wally staying nearby in the shallow part of the water. 

Laying back on the sand, Dick draped an arm over his eye trying to catch his breath. There were so many words Dick wanted to yell at Roy, but that would be saved for later. 

Roy took a look around as he wrung out his hair. “Is that big weird looking fish a friend of yours too?” 

Dick simply nodded. 

“Cool, so we have a crab, a fish, a human merman who can’t talk, and a captain of the guard on the run from an evil sea octopus.” Roy counted, putting a finger up for each thing. “Did I miss anything?” 

“It seems I missed a lot.” 

Both Dick and Alfred turned to look at Wally with an unamused look. 

There was a loud foghorn in the distance, Dick and Roy standing to see a large passenger ship taking off into the sea. It seemed in all their scheming, and running from the others, the wedding had been put together and you were off to marry a literal monster. 

Dick’s eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. You were so far away, how was he going to ever catch up, and stop it? 

Roy looked over and saw Dick going gray, wavering on his feet. Rushing over, he threw an arm over his shoulders to keep him up. “Woah there, Dick you have got to breathe.” he coaxed. “We will fix this, but you have to keep your cool.” 

Hearing Roy’s voice helped ground Dick to reality, Alfred’s light tapping as he stood on his foot. Taking slow deep breaths, Dick was able to see clearly again and keep himself standing. Nodding a little, Roy hesitated before letting him go. 

“Is there anyone else we can call for help?” 

Dick looked between Alfred and Wally before he nodded. “Master Wallace, you stay here with Master Richard and help him with anything he needs. I will go and alert Master Bruce of what’s going on.” 

Sparing a last look at Dick, Alfred nodded before he jumped into the sea and swam off. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Dick pushed back his doubtful thoughts. He couldn’t afford to think about the possibilities of losing you to Slade, and watching the destruction of his kingdom and yours at his hands. Looking at Roy, he gave him a firm nod. 

“We have to get you on that boat, got any ideas?” 

Dick looked around, they didn’t have much at their disposal. They were surrounded by rocks, sand and some driftwood that rolled in from the waves. None of it seemed useful to them, especially when none of them had magic of their own. 

Slade had to have something to channel his magic through while he was on land. Running a hand through his hair, Dick began to pace across the sand. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Slade before they were chased out, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to act it out to Roy considering he’s never met him before that morning. 

Roy watched as Dick paced, eyebrows raised. He could tell there was a lot going on in his mind, but he was at a loss for communicating as well. Roy had no idea where to start, other than to ask a thousand questions to try and narrow things down. 

“Hey, Dick hold up a second.” 

Dick stopped in his tracks, looking at his companion. 

“We need to stop Spade, right? And he used some sea magic or whatever on Y/N to put her under a spell?” 

Dick nodded, fidgeting with his shirt. 

“How did he cast a spell on her in the first place if he was on land?” 

Dick’s eyes widened. That was a really good question, Dick looked expectantly at his fishy friend to see if he knew the answer. 

Wally just simply looked between them, before he finally got the hint that Dick was now asking him. 

“You know this is better suited to Alfred–” Wally stopped as Dick threw a rock at him, dodging out of the way. “Okay, rude. But all magic has to be used through an object, at least in our world. Slade is from our world, so he has to abide by the rules even on land. For Bruce it’s the Trident, Talia, it’s her emerald necklace, Kori has her massive amethyst crystal, and wasn’t there a Chrysocolla stone you were supposed to inherit when you took over? ” 

Dick stood there and listened to Wally’s ramblings about the various magic users they knew and what granted them their magic. 

He really wished he paid more attention in his studies. 

Going through the items, the only one different was Bruce and his trident. But that was the only legendary item left of their world, the rest destroyed in wars against other kingdoms and humans. 

Emerald, amethyst, chrysocolla, ruby, sapphire, all the major families of the undersea world have a powerful gemstone that was the root of their magic. Was it possible that Slade was in possession of one too?

Looking over himself, Dick wasn’t in possession of anything that could be in relation to a gemstone. Walking over, Dick gestured to Roy to hold his hands up. 

“What are you looking for?” 

Letting out a sigh of defeat, Dick made a circular shape with his hands before pointing at the rocks around them. 

“A round rock?” Dick waved him on, “A stone?” 

Dick nodded quickly. 

“A stone is how you do magic in your world?” Roy watched as Dick nodded his head around, making a so-so motion with his hand. 

“Alright, so Spade has some sort of magic stone. Do you know what it looks like?” 

Dick shook his head, before motioning to places a gemstone would normally be.

“These stones are something you typically wear?” At this, Dick nodded again. 

Roy thought back, he was more concerned for you than he was assessing what the man was wearing but…

“Does the stone have to be big? Like something to fit a ring?” 

Dick nodded enthusiastically. 

“And if I told you he was wearing a ring with an unnaturally blue gemstone on it?” 

Both Dick and Wally were jumping, the latter yelling. “That has to be it!” 

Dick nodded in agreement, finally they were getting somewhere. 

Roy grinned. “Now this is the beginning of a plan my friend.” 

It took them less than half an hour to come up with a plan, and another 20 before they caught up to the boat that was floating just off shore of the castle. With the help of Wally, both Roy and Dick managed to get across the water in a timely manner. 

Gripping onto the rope hanging off the end, Roy and Dick shared a look. After this, there was no going back. They had to get Slade’s ring, break the spell and find a way to fight a sea demon. 

“Once we get on deck, we are going to be found pretty quickly. You leave the fighting to me, and you get that ring.” 

Dick nodded, the two of them sharing a last smile before he began to climb. Once he was on deck, he ducked behind a few barrels and hid from the oncoming guards. He couldn’t risk the chance of them being under Slade’s spell like Victor and Kyle were. 

Quietly, he crept through before he came upon the large open deck where the wedding was taking place. 

“If anyone should object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

It was now or never, Dick took a deep breath and ran. Before the guests, you or Slade could process what was happening, Dick dove and tackled Slade to the ground. 

“What the– you!” Slade growled and kicked Dick off of him before straightening out his suit. “You don’t know when to accept that you’ve lost do you?” 

Dick only grinned, with a cockly tilt to his head as he rose to his feet. Behind him, he heard a load of commotion, sparing a glance back to see a variety of sea creatures finding themselves on board to cause chaos and stop the guards from reaching him. 

Hopefully, Roy made it alright. 

Slicking his hair back, Slade grinned a smarmy grin. “You can’t just leave well enough alone, can you? You had the perfect life, but you had to have more. Now look where that’s gotten you.” 

Dick glanced at his right hand, and sure enough there it was. A ring with an unnatural blue stone on it.  Standing up straight, Dick clenched his fist. He had to stop him, time wasn’t on his side and he only had so much of it before the sun set. 

“Dick catch!” 

Looking to his left, he saw Roy tossing him a sword. Diving to catch it, Dick turned back to Slade barely reacting to his attack in time, blocking his sword with his. 

“Seems our young prince has learned a few things, but you won't win this, kid. No one has ever beaten me, and you won’t be the last to lose.” 

Dick glared before pushing him back, gaining his balance before their duel began. 

Slade was the better swordsman, Dick barely able to hold his own. Ducking a slash to his throat, Dick grabbed a vase and threw it at him unaware of others around him. Slade’s attacks were relentless, Dick keeping up the defense. 

Slowly, Slade had backed him to the edge of the boat before disarming him, pressing the blade to his throat, gripping the front of his shirt as he dangled him overboard. 

“You know, I was going to use you to get Bruce to hand over everything to me. But you’re too much of a nuisance to be kept alive, guess I’ll send you back in pieces.” 

Slade raised his blade, to bring it down on Dick who tried desperately to hold back his wrist but his strength was waning. 

Suddenly there was a crash, and water and roses came down around Slade’s head stunning him for a few moments. Looking behind him, Dick saw Tara there, with vase shards in her hands. 

“That’s for trying to hurt my friend.” 

Taking his moment, Dick pushed out of Slade’s hold and grabbed the ring off his hand. The second it was off, Dick felt a rush of wind around him with the sound of distant voices among it. 

A soft blue light rose out of the ring, it swirling around him in the air. The more Dick listened, he realized it was his own voice he heard. 

 “The toughest of sharks, through the darkest of depths.” 

“You look tired Timmers, why don’t you get some rest?” 

 “You what, Bruce? You decided to marry me off without so much as telling me, let alone asking if I wanted to marry her?” 

“You and I both know Bruce is never going to change his mind. I love Kori, but we are just friends.”

“I want you to make me human.”

You watched, your vision coming into focus with the scene in front of you. The black haired man–no Dick, was caught in a whirlwind and...

Why were you in a wedding dress, and why didn’t you remember how you got there?

Suddenly, the blue light went into Dick and the wind fanned out around everyone leaving Dick standing there with a wide eyed look. 

“Dick?”

At your voice, he quickly turned around. “Y/N?”

Dick almost jumped at the sound of his own voice, before he threw his sword and the now black ring aside and ran to you. Meeting him halfway, you ran into his arms as he wrapped them around you tightly. 

“Oh my god, Dick you’re talking!” 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I did something incredibly stupid and–” 

“Dick, whatever you did it’ll be okay I promise.” 

Dick cupped your face making you look at him. “No Y/N, you don’t understand. I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time–”

You ran your hands over his chest meeting his eyes. “Tell me what?” 

“Y/N, I’m not from here. I’m–” 

Dick was cut off by a loud crack of thunder before he began to feel his weight get heavier. Hitting the deck with a loud thud, you watched with wide eyes as scales formed on his face, and where his legs used to be was now a large massive, blue tail flapping against the deck. 

Kneeling down beside him, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Dick was a merman, you’re merman from all those secret meetings. How did you not put it together, all the signs were there from the moment he appeared on the beach barely clothed and unable to walk properly. 

“Dick, how did you–” 

There was a low chuckle behind you. Turning to look, you saw your almost husband rise to his feet. 

“You’re too late, kid,” he grinned, picking up the discarded ring. 

Dick looked out to the horizon and his blood ran cold. The sun had set, he lost. Dick now was a slave to the sea demon, for all eternity.

Taglist: @offendedfishnoises @littleredwing89 @restwellsoon @bluejay-the-geek @niggxrette @udiudijaye

[swordbisexual]

in awe, there I stood

It starts the morning after the party.

Gale has been to parties. Several of them, in fact: all high Waterdhavian society affairs, with the toast of the magical set all convening to speak sidelong about their own prowess. He’d been something at those parties, with the goddess’ sigil on his ear and an aura of grand importance accompanying his every gesture. He was always in his finest robes, always ready with a witty rejoinder, always above reproach thanks to his place as Chosen.

Not so at last night’s party.

The tieflings brought, along with several casks and bottles, a raucous sense of abandon so unlike their cowed and meek collective within the bounds of the Grove. He should, in theory, be far more sparkling company than any of them. And yet, he found himself alone, and morose, and nursing one of the least disagreeable bottles of red just outside the safe and cozy confines of his own tent.

It’s a wonder that Vissenta came to speak to him at all, but she has proven herself a wonder over and over again. For a devotee of Kelemvor - a Doomguide in the making, she’s said, and who is he to argue the point when she drops her brash facade to lend a comforting hand to those on their way to meet the Guide Himself, no matter their provenance - she is awfully bright and alive, positively vital, hands and skin and smile brimming with warmth like to the fire that refines steel. She sauntered over to him with a bottle of her own in hand, the end of her plait swaying in time with her hips and her smile as wide and sharp as a wolf on the prowl.

What else do you like about me?

So many things, from her hair to her eyes to the way the muscles of her thighs flex beneath her mail, and her smoke-soft voice, when she swears like a sailor in the Dock Ward just as easily as she sings a somber and sacred dirge.

Were I to recite that list…

Perhaps he should have. It might have bought him a little more time, a little more of her laugh, a little more of the foolhardy hope that they might be able to make something more than a wistful fantasy.

With my condition as volatile as it is…

And now, in the too-bright morning light after a breakfast punctuated by the too-loud enthusiasm of Halsin’s emphatic insistence that they find a way to Moonrise Towers, Gale is confronted once more by Vissenta’s bold-faced determination.

“If you consumed another artefact,” she says, her voice so low he nearly misses it as she kneels to pretend at helping him check over his things as they pack up camp for what might be a long, arduous journey indeed. “How long would you have before you might get…”

He thinks he knows exactly what she’s getting at, but he doesn’t want to hope for it. “Before I what, exactly?”

She peers at his telescope, leaning down to peek through the glass at what’s only a blazing blue sunlit sky. “Is a kiss going to blow us all sky-high?”

“Gods. That would be a way to go, wouldn’t it?” He tries to sound lighthearted, if only to disguise the way the thought makes his heart race. She’d imagined such a thing before, with picture-perfect clarity, so vivid that even seeing the fleeting impression of it through the Weave seemed to take the air from his lungs and turn the ground beneath its feet into a shaky thing indeed. “That seems to be a costly line of inquiry.”

Vissenta straightens, lips set in a line, and she reaches beneath the collar of her surcoat to pull out a locket. It’s one the tiefling couple - young, worried, haggard beyond their years from child-rearing and gods know how much time on the run - gave her as thanks for saving their daughter, and even now, Gale can sense the weak glimmers of the Weave that dance around it. She pulls once, sharply, so the chain’s clasp snaps apart, and she presses it into his hand. “Let’s try.”

He doesn’t mean to. He shouldn’t destroy the bauble so, little as Vissenta might actually use it to cast any lights in the dark, but already the hunger in his chest lurches out to take, and take, and take. It soothes an ache he’s nearly forgotten is there, so low and present it’s become these last several months, and only in its absence does he know that he needed such relief.

Vissenta’s fingers close around his, and the balm to his hunger is followed by an incredible warmth. Warmth flares to heat as she raises up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth. His eyes drift shut on a sigh; her hands and lips are both as wonderful as he’s imagined, just this side of rough, cloaking a softness beneath that approaches the sublime. He wants to feel her lips on his, wants to taste them, wants to drink in the musky herbal scent of her as she presses that sword-callused hand to his heart, and—

Too much. It’s too much.

He leans back and tries not to look too deeply into the wounded flash of her stare. “I—”

She lets go. “Right.”

Gale tries again. “My apologies. It’s just…”

Vissenta licks her lips and takes a breath. “Next time,” she says, slowly, “we need something stronger.”

He nearly can’t believe it. “Something…?”

She nods, once, and squeezes his hand once more before letting go. “Next time.”

[tyttetardis]

Donmar Welcome Event 16th Jan 2024

Also went to a member's welcome event that the Donmar had, which was basically an hour where they served something to drink and told us a bit more about the theatre and the upcoming shows.

The invitation did say they'd have an exclusive tour of the place - on and off the stage - which I'd been quite excited about - but that didn't actually happen :(

Still, it was rather interesting! Learned a few things about Macbeth as well :)

Apparently, the stage stains very easily - which is why I'm baffled at how easy it apparently is to clean, but guess they must have some really lovely red dye that isn't as stainful as pretty much anything else that's dyed red. It also scratches easily - the movement on the stage can easily create little creases where the blood can get stuck.

I'd only seen the bloodbath on the floor once, so hadn't noticed, but was told that it comes up through the floor - probably why it differs so wildly each night how and where David is covered in it!

(As an aside to that - on the first night there wasn't a bloodbath - he was struck with the knife and there was a bit of blood on his shirt instead - now there's no blood at the wound)

Someone asked them about filming productions (not specifically about Macbeth - and they didn't say anything about it) and they told us about the process of deciding whether to record a production or not as it's a very costly affair to do so - which is why it's not something they just automatically do for everything.

They said that either the NT will ask them if they record a show - which means they do everything, and therefore is obviously the much cheaper option for themselves. The NT will let them know what benefits there might be in it for them - but as far as I understood they won't really earn much if anything from it.

So, the second option is for themselves to invest in filming a production by bringing in a third-party filming company that they pay for themselves. It's obviously a much more expensive way of doing it - but they'd also get more money back from it if it sells well in cinemas or online. Obviously, they have gone with the second option - so hopefully that's because they think it has really good marketing potential!

They mentioned that they are always very aware of the fact that not as many people get to see their performances as would probably like to see them - so it's always part of their considerations whether to film it or not when they create a new production.

One of them joked that they could probably keep up a production like Macbeth for three years and still sell-out - but that the theatre is known for putting on about 6 productions each year, so there's a limit to how long their runs can be - plus there's also the availability of actors to consider.

Someone asked if actors (I assume meaning, big name actors) takes a pay-cut to work with them - and yes, they do. Everyone is paid the theatre-standard no matter who they are. The only extra benefit they might offer big names is a taxi to get to the theatre and to escape back home afterwards.

Ah, yeah, think that was about it - everything else was more or less just about the upcoming productions, memberships, and other general things :)

Edit: Oh, forgot to mention that their focus will always be on the production as it's on, then on any potential transfers and then on releasing it for cinema/online - so if they filmed something it wouldn't be released until the live show is done - and sounded like they wouldn't necessarily say anything about it having been recorded (or not) until then as well. So don't think we will hear anything about the plan for it until the show is over.

[indignantlemur]

Any thing else you're willing/wanting to share about Kelenthor the Clanless?

I am absolutely willing to talk about Kelenthor the Clanless!

Kelenthor the Clanless was born to an impoverished family belonging to no Clan, as his name suggests. Rather than place an additional burden on his parents, who struggled to feed not only themselves but their seven other children, Kelenthor left home at the remarkably early age of thirteen to find work in the cities.

Kelenthor first found work in a dye factory, and then a second occupation in a potter's guild. This, it is thought, was where his life-long love affair with art first began. Hard work and diligence saw him rise through the guild ranks, and his connections at the dye factory allowed him to access materials that would otherwise be far too costly for his means. At first, he experimented - trying to find better ways to impart pigment to various mediums, mostly - and dabbled in pottery and sculpture as a means of making additional income.

Kelenthor's rise to success was not linear, however. Indeed, he suffered many setbacks. The dye factory went out of business, and he lost access to many of the materials needed to supply his additional income. The potter's guild failed after the guild leader embezzled too greedily (and was summarily executed.) Most of his early pieces were rejected from galleries and auctions, considered too rough and unrefined to stand beside the works of pedigreed artists.

Jobless and facing imminent homelessness at the age of sixteen, the man who would eventually become one of the greatest artists in Andorian history begged for menial work as a workshop assistant - not even an apprentice - under a local mason and sculptor of middling renown. This mason was Yshrel, a man born to Clan Hras, and while he himself was no great talent he was steady and competent - and had an eye for spotting talent in others, but he had already taken on three apprentices and could not afford the cost of another.

Despite this, it was Yshrel who noted Kelenthor's budding talent, often finding the younger man shaping discarded stone and ice in a quiet corner when he should rightly have been working. Yshrel never once seriously reprimanded the younger Andorian, though he certainly would have been within his rights to do so. As long as the workshop was tidy in the morning and the tools were undamaged, Yshrel was considered very permissive regarding Kelenthor's movements and activities within the shop. If some of the larger bits of scrap stone and other materials disappeared now and then - well, they were scrap. What did it matter? Kelenthor learned his craft from the sidelines, often observing Yshrel's apprentices and lingering during the day to listen to the mason's lessons on structure, support, and the correct techniques. He made clumsy mistakes, true, but he learned from them and refined his technique despite his lack of professional tools, turning discarded hunks of rock and bone into small works. Over time, his works became more and more delicate and intricate, though Kelenthor never showed them to anyone. Indeed, he hid them, storing them in an unused and forgotten crate at the back of the workshop, covered in woven tarps and hidden from sight.

It was pure chance that Yshrel found the crate, one late night when he was going over his inventory and calculating the materials needed for his next commission. There are no sources to tell us what happened that night, when Kelenthor snuck back into the shop to work on a small chunk of delicate marble, but if there had been they might have told you this:

Yshrel opened the crate with puzzlement, at first, neither recalling what it contained nor why he'd placed it so far back in storage for something that did not have nearly enough dust to account for its placement. The back of the storage area was reserved for commissions which were never paid for, due to varying circumstances, and represented a number of financial losses of which Yshrel was not proud. That he'd wandered this far back into the building was purely to see if anything could be repurposed, and he had not been particularly hopeful about the notion. Expected half-finished pieces and perhaps broken sculptures, Yshrel was astonished to instead find dozens and dozens of fully finished pieces, each no bigger than a man's hand, of such delicate and complex design that it brought tears to his eyes. There, a woman's veil so thin that it was translucent; there, a bust in miniature of himself, all his rough features faithfully recreated down to the scarred and notched musthaa of his left antennae; there, a tiny model of his workshop, down to the heaps of discarded stone and ivory littering the floor around a half-finished block on the central platform, and the tools one of his apprentices never remembered to put back in their proper places. The details were carved with such care and such clear love that it brought Yshrel to tears. It was the bittersweet grief of a man who has worked all his life to achieve the level of skill that another, working off of discarded scraps, had readily mastered under Yshrel's very nose. A lesser man might have grown furious, jealous - even outraged. Few would have entirely blamed him if he had. Instead, Yshrel extinguished the light he'd carried and sat, waiting, in the dark to see who came to open the crate, compelled to lift out the small bust of his own face and trace its features despite the darkness. That was how Kelenthor stumbled across Yshrel, some hours later, the old mason's antennae hung low and eyes bloodshot, rough hands cradling the miniature sculpture of himself. "This is your work?" The mason asked, voice rasping and rough. "...It is." Kelenthor replied, antennae stiff as he braced. There was a long silence, then, during which Kelenthor did not dare breathe. "Tomorrow," Yshrel began. "You will spend your day working as usual, and your evening in my private workshop. You will do this every day." "You are not dismissing me?" Kelenthor's antennae twisted in confusion. "No," Yshrel sighed, setting the miniature bust back into it's original place within the crate with as much care as one would handle a newborn child with. Then, he added wearily, "But I cannot take you as an apprentice; there is nothing I can teach you that you do not already know - and every apprentice must create a masterwork to be accepted into a Guild. This will be yours. I will register you as an apprentice in the morning."

Sadly, this is all just speculation. There are no sources, and neither Kelenthor nor Yshrel ever spoke of such things.

What is known is that one day, quite abruptly, Kelenthor became an apprentice to a man who already had three other apprenticeships underway. It was an unusually short apprenticeship as well, by all accounts, and afterwards Kelenthor and Yshrel worked quite closely on a number of commissions. Kelenthor finished his masterwork and presented it to the Guild for appraisal two and a half years after becoming an apprentice, with Yshrel's full support. Kelenthor is noted to have given the entirely of his first commission's pay to Yshrel as a gesture of gratitude, and continued to direct a portion of his earnings to Yshrel's workshop for many years after.

Kelenthor and Yshrel had a lifelong friendship, and it was said that of all the mourners at Kelenthor's funeral, it was Yshrel who wept the most bitterly of them all.