#I just figured out what 'weak to poison does'

[valliass]

Castti is even more busted than I thought she was

[yurinaa-world]

“𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝒹!”

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jiaoqiu, Moze, Aventurine, & Sunday x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: he's turned into a kid?

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

“Jiaoqiu, that's enough sweets for you.”

You're worried, truly. Jiaoqiu has this insane sweet tooth, at this rate, when he turns back into an adult his teeth will be black, sore, and full of cavities by then and of course, you’ll be to blame for being unable to resist his cuteness.

His tail sinks and his ears frown down whilst he sits on the stool with his head down in sadness while you lecture him about his health and give him restrictions. Child Jiaoqiu doesn’t know better at all, refusing to talk or do anything after this revelation came out. (he burns his mouth as an adult & numbs his moth as a kid, how ironic)

He thinks you’re just a jerk, ruining his fun and not having any kind of love for him left so he returns you the same attitude (even though you're doing it for his sake). Huffing while putting the candy on a tall cabinet. “Come on, Let's go get dinner.” you offered, after a sigh left your lips at the grimace look he had on yet even with this offer he refused, snapping his head to the side and not even looking back. 

“I’m not going, not unless you give me my candy back.”

Well, you can see his eyes shifting to the side, seeing if you cared enough to listen to his little demands of wanting Cavities and landing himself in a Yaoqing local dentist's office because of your weakness for his pleads. BUT, not this time, no way are you letting him have his way.

“Jiaoqiu,” you mumbled his name as you walked over to him, your tall figure looming over him, casting a shadow which even caused him to be frightened. Staring back up with doe eyes before shutting them the instant you raised your hand.

“Stop it!” he wined, feeling your finger gently pinch and pull at his ear in discipline, while you grinned down at him before your other hand went to touch his stomach which caused him to jerk back a little. 

“You better be grateful that I love you so much or else I would have let you riot your stomach away with those sweets.”

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “��𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

He looked so cute! His little form hiding in the corner while glaring at you with such weary, that you might just shatter from it. He looked so cute as a kid! But Moze turning into a little kid wasn’t what you expected but here you are, sitting a bit far from the corner, and refusing to leave him.

His one arm had bandages on it, several bandaids everywhere, along with cloth taped onto his cheek. A sad appearance that an ordinary child shouldn’t have but it’s Moze and you already have an idea of what kind of life he’s lived.

Smiling at him every time he moves his head up to look up at you, which causes him to just glare and lay his face back onto the knees he’s brought close to his chest.

“Your smile makes you look stupid,” he mumbled the sound of his voice slightly muffled by his knees.

Wow…you can’t help but be left speechless by his words, Moze had never once insulted you—in his words, he would rather die than do something like that. Yet with this predicament he’s in, you’ll let it go (and his cute face).

“Does it make me seem less threatening to you?”

“Don’t think I’ve let my guard down, it’s always the idiots that are most threatening.” He begins going on a rant, you’re not even sure what he’s going on about but it’s just like any other kid with a hyper fixation on things, and he’s prepared to scare you on everything.

“It’s known that you should never suck the poison out of a wound with your mouth….”

It just gives you an opening to get closer to him.

Like a snake in the bushes, you get close enough to the corner, trapping him there. He let his guard down! Clenching his teeth waiting for your next action and thinking how he’ll counter it if he could.

“You're so cute, Moze!” You gush, wrapping your arms around his neck while rubbing your cheek against his and giving him loving kisses all over his face. He’s in complete shock, eyes wide with his mouth agape while his body freezes at your actions.

“I could just take you away!”

your approach is odd...It must be love bombing! people like you don’t exist and like a fool stated your reason! Wait you’re taking it a bit too far! Stop smothering his face with kisses!

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉”

“It’s so cold.”

He was adorable, his beautiful eyes had so much life to them, cute face, he wore rags for clothes while hugging his shivering body to keep himself warm in some way, which broke your heart.

 “Is it cold? wait for a second!” You immediately run to get a blanket to warm him up with, wrapping it around him and making sure no air gets in. Watching him still shiver in the blanket, it would take time for him to even warm up in the first place, Yet you hear his sniffles and slight whines.

Which causes you to do the only thing you can.

Firmly holding Aventurine close to you, having him in your lap, you hugged him very close as if he would slip away. Taking your hand and touching his smaller ones, the cold flesh made you shiver as well, like a shock when you first touched, both of your body temperatures clashed.

He enjoyed it while you shivered.

“Do you feel less cold now?” You smile at him, watching him hold your hand close to his body so he can feel the heat more.

“It feels so nice. Thank you.”

He smiled back at you, and your smile got wider, feeling the connection between the two of you. Watching his eyes quickly begin to droop, sleep taking him away while keeping him in your lap, and gently caressing his head.

“I’ll take care until you turn back, even if it takes forever.”

💫𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾��𝓎"

Watching little Sunday gush over a simple picture book you had lying around, looking at it with stars in his eyes, and going “ah” or “oooh” while his wings flipped when tiny twists happened in the story. It's too cute! It's good that he took a day off but not when he was turned into a little kid! And it’s not like you can make him go to work like this, can you?

“On Friday he ate through five oranges, but he was still hungry.” he reads, a confused expression plaguing his face, while he takes in the words

“He eats so much? (Name), do you know why he eats so much?” 

His question might’ve just gone in one ear and out the other, watching his confused expression while his wings flapped, It’s too cute! 

Normal Sunday is always to control himself in every situation, never letting himself go in front of anyone else but you and his wings are a big part which causes him to restrain himself to the fullest extent.

The second he sees you staring at his wings for a tad bit longer than you should have, his cheeks turn a rosy pink color—feeling insecure about your gaze on him, his hands going to his wings, gently touching the feather while shifting his gaze to the side in pure embarrassment.

“Is there something wrong with my wings? Are they ugly?” He moped, which made you immediately reassure him. “Of course not! You're so adorable in every way!” you sputtered, trying your best to make him feel better, which made you calm down when his expression twisted into a gleeful expression.

“Really you think so?” he chirped, losing his attention from the book he was reading, it seemed like he wanted to hear more sugary compliments.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[b1rds3ye]

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[missingbat]

Some very strange AU with suffering, murder, depression, blood-- & A FLUFF, OF COURSE♡(>ᴗ•)♡(>ᴗ•)

And I came up with some random foolishness when I was poisoned and had a fever for three days. Please note that they may contradict each other because I am an inattentive person(ಡ‸ಡ)･ﾟ｡

Ichiji began to have the beginnings of emotions at the moment X, and since he is not a stupid boy, he realized that Judge was leading him by the nose, brainwashing and blah blah blah. Well, he didn't want to dance to someone else's tune, so he cosplays Sora — he swallowed the poison that she drank when she was pregnant, and that's the result. A crippled teenager runs from the assassins of Jerma, cursing the whole world and himself, as well as trying to find a cure so as not to end up like a mother.

In a fit of rage, he cut up his tattoo, and when he came to, he realized that he was now just a weak, pathetic person who was bleeding and who could die from such 'stuff'.

He was taken in once, and then he found out that the family that took him in had been killed by the assassins of the Judge.

Ichi, before meeting the Pirates of Spades, worked as a mercenary and informant who is constantly on the run and has no contact with anyone for a long time.

He says he doesn't have anyone and can't go back anywhere.

Because of the appearance of emotions, he is constantly under stress and endlessly replays in his head the crimes that he committed and could not influence, but still hates himself and blames himself.

Haphephobia is in a very advanced stage. Partly due to ignorance of the consequences after using poison, you never know what will happen to the surrounding people.

Out of habit, he holds back any emotions, and in principle behaves like an arrogant asshole.

The hump is literally loaded with various weapons. If you take it in your hands, you will get a loud metallic crackle of all that metal. But he walks noiselessly, lol.

Like the most normal and ordinary man, sleeps with a dagger in his arms. (Don't go near him, he'll throw a knife at you)

Severe cognitive imbalance when he looks at himself in the mirror.  Ace, like Luffy's real brother, will blurt out that Ichiji looks like Little Red Riding Hood when they first meet. Ichi will say that he must have been hit hard on the head as a child." (WTF? How did you know?!?)

"I'm not a good person, Ace. You don't know anything about me."

Periodically there are attacks of coughing with blood, but he, of course, does not say anything to anyone, does not explain, but snaps and says not to go where you are not asked to go.

One day Deuce is going to get all worked up about how it's really not right and normal for Ichi, that he should be chained up in bed, not running around with a stupid capitan and covering his ass. Ichiji will tell that Deuce is doing the same thing." And Vinsmoke is right, BUT Deuce DOESN'T DO THAT WHEN HIS ORGANS ARE MELTING(＃`Д´)-- (Ichiji persuaded Deuce to keep quiet, and Deuce decided to keep a low profile on this "I can handle it myself".)

Deuce vaguely resembles Niji(if you get stoned in the end and get your eyesight -10, but still-), so Ichiji feels some kind of softness towards him. he or she trusts him more than the others.

I'm still trying to figure out how tumblr works, even though I don't understand English at all and use a translator to understand what's going on (￣ ￣|||)

[2018-01-20]

if you still have your 1k words of kissing satoru pls bestow it to me 🧎🏽‍♀️i’m grabbing him by the back of his blindfold and making out with him fr

pairing. high schooler!gojo satoru × gn!reader

content. fluff + one kiss, implied that reader is shorter than gojo, somewhat proofread (i hate everything) read slowly!!

sticky-note. IM CRYING the way u worded this ask made me want to write an entirely new thing of making out w gojo 😭 ty for sending this in leeee 🫶

it is no secret that gojo satoru looks like a good kisser.

he’s attentive; one large hand on the small of your back to hold you steady while the other rests on your hip, eyes on you to see if you’ll make the first move. to both his and your dismay, you don’t move a single inch.

“i can’t do it,” you finally say, exasperated, pulling away to quickly hide your face in your hands. you awkwardly twist away from his figure, unable to stand the way that you’re able to see his stupidly pretty eyes through his sunglasses. it infuriates you to no end. “i give up. this is too embarrassing.”

“that’s so mean of you to say,” gojo whines not unsimilar to a toddler, but there is only amusement in his tone as he lightly tugs on the waistband of your pants, trying to get you to turn back around. “shouldn’t you be honored to kiss the one and only gojo satoru?”

“shutupshutupshutup,” you chant, mostly to yourself than to the obnoxious boy behind you. you swat weakly at his hand while trying to ignore the demonic voices in your head.

it is no secret that you’ve liked your classmate for a long while now. as cute and funny (and hot) as gojo is, he is twice as annoying and unpleasant. you swear he makes it his daily goal to get your blood boiling every chance he gets. that is the sole reason why you don’t plan on professing your love anytime soon: due to the fact that shoko will forever be disappointed in you and will never let you live it down if she knew. you don’t even want to think about what utahime would ultimately think of you.

he continues to bug you, “c’mo-on...” you can practically hear him sporting his signature smug grin. “do you really wanna go back to jujutsu high like that and kiss suguru instead?”

at that, you spin around in an instant—a mortified look on your face that further urges you to stab an accusatory finger at his chest. “y-you’re a damn liar! there is no way that there is an actual curse who’s goddamn antidote requires you to kiss someone when you get hit.”

sneakily, he wraps a palm around your wrist but makes no move to push your hand away. “but you just got touched by that cursed spirit, right? doesn’t your skin feel all sticky and itchy, like i mentioned?”

as much as you hate to admit it, you know that he’s right. before the two of you had gotten into the fight in the first place, he warned you not to get hit and the symptoms you would have to face if you did. your skin does feel like you just took a swim in poison ivy, and your head feels dizzy with a sudden migraine that should not be there, since gojo had instantly caught you the moment you faced a hit from the cursed spirit.

“b-but it doesn’t make any sense,” you sputter out, a weak last-minute resort. you really do not want to kiss gojo satoru—at least, not because of a measly curse—and have to hear him blab about it later on to your friends. you rant on, “if such a technique exists, then why didn’t you just kill the thing right away? aren’t you the strongest? why am i even on this mission with you?”

“hey!” he feigns an offended gasp, “are you saying that you don’t like hanging out with me?” he groans and dramatically lays an arm on his forehead, reminding you of a mistress in distress. you stare blankly. “how cruel of you. and besides, just because i’m the strongest doesn’t mean i can kill a first-grade so quickly.”

you keep staring at him with a disapproving look, but he only looks back at you with a joyous glint in his eyes. “...you’re insufferable,” you finally huff out, your hand still in his. but the both of you can hear the undertone of surrounder in your voice.

you stand awkwardly still in front of him for a few solid seconds, narrowing your eyes as he returns your defeated glare with a sheepish smile. you can’t help but sigh to yourself—you’re going to have to prepare yourself for a mouthful from shoko when you both head back.

you let him pull you closer when he tugs at your hand, your other palm moving to rest on his chest to steady yourself. but even then, you don’t get to kiss him until he leans down from that freakishly tall height of his— gently meeting his lips with yours.

it isn’t a quick peck. in fact, it’s a sweet and slow kind of kiss that makes your heart skip a concerningly amount of beats. a free hand of satoru’s moves up to softly cup the back of your head to deepen the kiss. nothing about his movements show that he’s in a rush to get the whole ordeal over with—and as much as you would like to lie and say that you hate it, you can’t help but step forwards to reach him better too.

your mind is in so much of a daze that you don’t even realize that satoru turned his limitless infinity just for you.

when you finally step back into reality and—reluctantly—pull away, gojo is grinning brightly with his sunglasses tucked into his hair. you didn’t even notice that he pushed them up to make the kiss more comfortable for you. however, you do notice that your skin still very much feels uncomfortable on your body and your head is pounding (whether it be from the symptoms or the kiss, you don’t really wanna know).

“you’re so cute,” gojo chuckles unabashedly, laughing again when you avert your gaze with another huff and a warm face. you are more than used to his flirty remarks and his more-than-platonic habits, but somehow it feels more... genuine this time around.

“and gullible,” he suddenly adds, the out of blue comment making you turn back towards him with a raised eyebrow. you squeak out a sound of surprise when he unexpectedly, but gently, pushes your head downwards, his other hand now in your line of sight. you feel more confusion swirling in your head when you see him holding a small vial with some clear, greenish liquid inside of it.

“here’s the real antidote,” gojo casually cheers, and he does not have a single shame in the world. a whole minute seems to pass by until you connect the dots, and when you do, the first thing that pops up in your mind is the thought of absolute murder.

“are you serious?” you practically screech. “you made that whole kiss thing up?”

[storywriter007]

You'll Remember Me - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n suffers the consequences of her and percy's tragic tale

warnings: cursing, heartbreak, character death, betrayal

genre: angst

word count: 869

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

as y/n killed the monster, she felt herself get cut on the gut. she fell backwards and placed her hand on her stomach. she stood up shakily, lifting her sword. they were in the middle of a battle, she couldn't die now. she tried to swing, but her attempts were weak. she tried to walk, but her feet dragged. she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. she looked at the cut that had grazed her abdomen, and realized it wasn't from any blade, it was from a poisonous spike on the monster. she'd been poisoned. she desperately searched the perimeter for someone who could help.

she saw her best friend, swinging rapidly and summoning hurricanes.

"percy!" she yelled.

he looked over, concern washing over his face, but he made no attempt to come her way. annabeth ran up and grabbed his arm.

"percy, this place is falling apart! we need to leave, now!" she yelled.

pieces of the ceiling began to fall as flames erupted. percy stayed in his spot. annabeth said something to him. y/n couldn't figure out what it was, but his gaze softened as he nodded his head. the two of them ran towards the exit. y/n laid on her side as the temperature rose. exhaustion took her over.

he had left her. her best friend, for six years, had left her to die. where was his loyalty now, when she needed it?

but y/n understood he had shown his loyalty. just not to her, to his girlfriend. to annabeth. and now she'd die, because his loyalty was her betrayal.

y/n felt blood spew out of her mouth. she was going out the way she had always wanted to, guns blazing in the middle of a fight that made a difference. it wasn't an unsatisfactory death. suddenly, y/n heard a voice.

"y/n!" the familiar voice called out. "don't give up on me!"

somebody desperately tried to drag her out of the burning building. she felt the concrete graze against her skin as the weak force tried to save her. he pulled her out and laid her in front of the broken building. she was barely alive.

"she doesn't have much time left!" he panicked. "c'mon y/n, just give me five minutes, we're going to get you to the ship and everthing's going to be okay!"

she knew the voice. she knew who it was. it was the boy she'd befriended when he was young. she'd practically been his sister. she knew it was nico di'angelo. he had come back for her. she felt another person kneel down by her. she could she his raven black hair and his sea green eyes.

"what the fuck percy!" nico yelled. "how could you do this! it was just the three of you!"

"i had no choice nico!" he defended.

"liar!" he screamed. "you told me the same thing when my sister died! and, now, now, i'm going to lose the only person who has ever cared about me because of you!"

y/n could tell nico was on the verge of tears.

"please, y/n, don't leave me now." percy pleaded.

"i've loved you a long time, percy. ever since you and i went on our first quest when we were eleven." she said, using her remaining energy to give a confession she should've given a long time ago. "it broke me to see you with annabeth. it still does."

"y/n.."

"you'll live a long time, percy. years without me." she continued. "you'll find camp half-blood strangely void, because when you come to find me, i won't be there."

he looked at her with tears in his sea green eyes. oh, those beautiful eyes.

"you'll remember me. when you see the stars, when you look at our photos, when you see friendship bracelets, when you talk to your mother and she'll ask, 'why don't we go visit y/n? she's only a block away.' always, your heart will be yearning for me." she paused. "and your mind will give you the unconvincing comfort that you had no choice." she spat, bitterly.

he kneeled besides her, speechless.

"nico." she said, lifting her hand up to hold his. she felt weak. "i'm sorry you have to see me like this."

tears fell from his eyes.

"but, i want you to know that i believe in you. i have faith in you. i always have, and i always will." she paused, knowing these were her last words. "you are a hero."

she felt her eyes shut.

"y/n!" nico shook her. "y/n!"

she didn't awake, she felt herself drifting.

"you destroy everything that matters to me!" nico screamed at percy. "you're a fucking monster!"

she felt at peace. she felt as if she was above the cruel world of unfair gods and tortured children.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

percy sat next to annabeth in his home. the war was over. the demi-gods had won. but at what cost?

"percy." sally called.

"yeah?" he responded.

"why don't we go visit y/n? she's only a block away." sally asked, placing cookies in a box for the first real friend her son had ever made.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

hope you guys liked it :) just had to remind you guys that i am an angst writer

yes i did reference dangerously yours

[ohai-there]

post canon SVSSS x minato hokage era naruto crossover where it's scumplane (bcos i love scumplane) heading to the elemental nations on official business for some reason or another (maybe theres a barrier between their lands to prevent leakage of spiritual energy or somethign) SJ hates being alive purely because it means he's in SQH's debt for ripping him out of SQQ's body that Shen Yuan was inhabiting and reviving SJ (because SY decided to fuck off and live his best life as the demon emperor's wife and Cang Qiong NEEDS a peak lord for Qing Jing)

canonically immortals are extremely beautiful (even SQH is described as a 'proper' face iirc) and SJ is like TOP TIER beauty, but also immortals are sometimes described to have faces 'carved from jade' so I imagine when they step into immortality, they no longer have micro expressions and have like... crazy control over their facial muscles - so it kinda freaks out the ninjas, because the only emotions they can see is exactly what scumplane want them to see (SJ - disgust, usually. SQH - cowardice/flattery)

Scumplane also have 0 sense of danger when it comes to shinobi - they're immortals and old (lets say this is an indetermined amount of time after canon wraps up) so things like mundane steel and mortal poisons mean nothing to them when theyre so old. They also don't even bother holding back their tongues because what can these mortals even do to them? Worse comes to worse, they just seal up the worlds again, or just wait out for all these mortals to die (a strategy they use for troublesome emperors or politicians).

They also bring their disciples (Ming Fan specifically because I want him to have a redemption) and after canon had wrapped up the PIDW's story finished, everyone in the world actually bounced back into their rightful places (e.g. MF suddenly got a second puberty, his face improved to be beautiful as it should be and his intelligence returned to the level that the head disciple of the scholarly peak should be).

I want it to be during Minato hokage's short, short tenure - Minato is 23, a war hero and recently hired as ninja president, Konoha just came out of a war and suddenly the daimyo is paying WELL and hiring for the best teams of Konoha to escort these foreigners who are so otherwordly beautiful and so otherworldly RICH, like, the material of the clothes they wear puts the daimyos court to shame, they can pay in pure gold and stones thrumming with power.

SJ's whole thing is like... based on image. So imagine SQH bowing and being like 'ooh thank you for your hospitality' and SJ just grabbing him by the back of his collar and hauling him up like 'wtf dont even bother bowing to this guy. Have some face. he's only got the same rank as you AND he's a fucking child.'

(He's figured that Daimyo = weak emperor-ish, because what kind of a emperor only has control of such a small land AND has others in nearby lands with the same, competing title????. Hokage & Konoha is like the sects, and all the peak lords of CQS are of the same rank as a sect leader. Of course, they all defer to YQY officially, but tbh all the peaks run like their own individual sects, and SJ has never allowed himself to act below YQY in rank)

During Minato's reign, Orochimaru is still a loyal Konoha shinobi.... his interest in immortals makes him soooooo crazy invested in them....

SJ looks at Orochimaru who's questioning him on immortality and is like, 'out of all these people, you are the closest. Your mind is too unstable, however (ironic, coming from SJ) and you still cling too tightly to the material world. Abandon all worldly matters and immortality may be in your grasp, if the heavens deign it so.' acting like he's a good teacher or something, while SQH is in the background, the voice of reason like 'SHIXIONG WTF!!! WE'RE NOTT SUPPOSED TO BE GIVING UP THE SECRET TO IMMORTALITY TO THE MORTALS OF THE FORBIDDEN REALM????'

Maybe SQH does know they're in the naruto world, and knows what naruto is, (hc that the water walking we see YQY do in the donghua was ripped off from naruto, when SQH was still writing PIDW) but it's been like 200+ years! He can't remember shit!!! This is all new information to him!

[silentmoths]

Some HSR Thirsts

Because I've been fucking star-railed this last week and also I promised @dustofthedailylife that I would write a svarog thirst if she finally pulled welt. so since this exists, you can guess what happened!

Svarog/Yaoshi/Kafka x Reader

NSFW, nothing explicit perse but all very heavily implied, Robot/monsterfucking, does fucking a god cound as monsterfucking?, Svarog is a giant vibrator, Yaoshi and their many hands, also Yaoshi having an aphrodesiac venom in their scorpion tail, maybe a little implied dubcon in kafkas case? I dont...think it is but its there as a warning in case.

Ok but Svarog, who definitely knows what sex is, of course he does, he has an entire database to access, and lets face it, this man has probably already accessed it when looking up ‘how to parent’ information because at one point or another he’s going to have to give clara ‘the talk’

(no, we wont talk about how his version of the talk is going to be the most embarrassingly clinical talk ever to exist. rest in peace clara.)

But he does not, for the love of anything, understand why you want to have sex…with him.

Nonetheless, he does not stop your hands roaming his chest plates, he doesn’t really stop you from doing… anything really, because… whatever this is  makes you happy, and that’s all he wants. 

He’s confused when you ask him to touch you, but he does it anyway, all while sifting through his databanks to figure out both why and where. 

This is also the day you discover that Svarog has an… interesting vibration function in his hands that he claims was once for easing stiff muscles of his old human commanders before he was abandoned.

Yeah it’ll sure ease you alright.

Admittedly��he does like watching you squirm…it does… something to his servos.

Though, he thinks he may have created a monster, because now every day, without fail…you’re asking him for a hand. 

Perhaps one day, when he has done enough research…he might just reveal that one…extra modification that had been made to him before everything went to shit.

One day he will allow you to delve below his trousers and maybe one day he will use that…modification, to finally give you what you want, since it seems you’re unwilling to find another mortal to fornicate with.

Besides

perhaps …clara could do with a mother figure around.

----------

Some say the Aeon Yaoshi, of the Abundance, is a cruel and evil creature.

This does not stop you from seeking Their favour.

However when they finally do appear before you, you get so much more.

Six hands, long and delicate, trailing your skin as they pull you close, unearthly voice whispering in your ear, telling you they’ve heard every prayer, every plead and call for them; how they’ve been watching you all this time, and now they have come to bestow the blessing you’ve been seeking.

But only if you can endure one last trial.

In some depictions you had found, Yaoshi is endowed with a scorpion's tail, so it isn’t a shock when the appendage curls around your body, the tip pricking into your thigh. You feel the warmth of the poison spread through your body and you moan for it. Yaoshi only hums their praise 

Their venom makes you feel warm and fuzzy, it makes their touch intense and vivid, most of all…

it makes you want to give yourself over entirely

You feel hands touch places that have never been touched by another, you feel their teeth and their tongue. You hear their praises.

And then you wake, in your bed. 

At first, you think it was a dream, but then you sit up.

You were naked, your muscles ached, but it was a sweet ache, soft around the edges, and there on your thigh, where they had stung you with their venom…

the symbol of abundance

----------

Soft hands, and an even softer voice, leave you weak in the knees.

“Ready to talk yet?” Kafka muses quietly as she presses a single finger to your collarbone, and you immediately fall back against the table, your arms still bound behind your back. 

You should be struggling. You should be fighting back.

But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t incredibly turned on by the stellaron hunter who had kidnapped you, and was now apparently intent on interrogating you.

“You’ll….have to try harder than that.” you rasp, trying to sound intimidating. 

By the way Kafka’s smile widens ever so slightly, it’s failed completely, and you’re once again left reeling as she approaches, leaning over you like a cat who’s just caught their mouse.

“Will I?” her voice is so soft, and yet so very dangerous as her ruby eyes narrow in on your face “My…are we a little smitten? Your face is all red.” 

Goddamn it.

“I’d never-”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic.” She interjects as she perches on the edge of the table beside where you lay, she shoots you a look…an expression you can’t quite discern for a moment, until you realise her own eyes are raking down your body.

hungrily.

You watch her bring her hand to her mouth, teeth closing around the finger of her glove before pulling the offending article off; your heart is jackrabbiting in your chest.

“I think…” she hums as she leans back over you, magenta hair falling between you both like a waterfall. This was dangerous, so very dangerous.

But the moment her hand presses against your belly, and slowly begins its slow gaze downward, pressing shamelessly beneath the waistband of your bottoms? You’re a goner.

“I think I have other ways to make you sing that we’ll both enjoy…don't you think?”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

I will be starting a Starrail specific taglist shortly so if you want in on that let me know!

[antebunny]

a cuckoo in the nest

(part three. for @authenticaussie whose comments on parts 1 & 2 inspired me to write this. i might actually finish writing the whole thing now hehe).

Premise: fae!Tim AU where Tim's parents gave him to the fae when he was nine. Now he's twelve, part fae, and trying to escape the Unseelie Queen. He strikes a bargain: if he can make every member of the Wayne family love him by the end of summer, he can leave. If not, he must stay with the Unseelie Queen forever.

Meanwhile, Bruce strikes his own bargain with her: he gets Jason back, safe and sound. In return he takes in this creature of her choosing, which resembles a human boy. Of course he won't let it hurt his family, but he'll play along for Jason's sake.

[part one] [part two]

~

“What the fuck, Bruce?” 

When Bruce’s eldest bursts into his study he knows it’s going to be a long afternoon. Dick has spent much more time around Wayne Manor since he brought Jason back, but he and Bruce haven’t spoken much one-on-one. So Dick approaching him now means he’s ready to fight.

Dick waits for the doors to slam closed behind him before he demands: “Why didn’t you tell us that Tim’s our neighbor?”

Bruce sighs and gestures for Dick to take a seat in the green velvet lacquer chair across from his desk. “What are you talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Dick rages, “I know you knew that Tim used to be our neighbor before his shit parents gave him away. You didn’t think this was relevant information for the rest of us?”

Usually Bruce is pretty good at figuring out what line of thought Dick is racing after like the world’s largest bunny rabbit. He’s not subtle and in fact is usually openly cheerful about it. In this case, however, Bruce struggles to connect the fae in his house with anyone living in Bristol. He mentally sifts through all the information stored in his brain about the current and past Bristol residents (very paltry, compared to his database on the most effective acids and poisons) and finally comes up with Jack and Janet Drake, of Drake Industries. They’d had a son of approximately the right age of the fae–or what the fae appears to be. 

Bruce reminds himself that just because the fae looks and acts like a human child doesn’t mean it is anything even remotely human. Like the Unseelie Queen it will exploit every weakness and loophole it can find in the bargain if Bruce lets it. That said, he is reluctantly impressed by the fae’s acting. Of course, the fae says and does things that are transparently unusual for a human child, but given that the fae is not a human at all, it’s doing a rather convincing job of pretending to be one. More than pretending, it attempts to stir sympathy and protective feelings from the other members of Bruce’s family through its lost little boy act. Worst of all, it’s working on them. 

“Tim…Drake,” Bruce ventures. 

Dick rolls his eyes explosively (quite the feat for anyone but Dick, for whom it is a natural talent). “Yes,” he huffs. “At least with Jason you told us you fished him out of a dumpster. Tim you just dropped him here without a word. I mean I’m trying to include him and stuff but…you aren’t exactly making it easy, B.”

Even though Dick is mad at him, Bruce can’t help the creeping feeling of fondness. It’s been a while since Dick sat in that chair, and Bruce had nearly forgotten how he sprawls, half-noodle, half-boy, into any container he’s put into. Dick has a way of being laidback and looking comfortable everywhere, even at galas where he is distinctly uncomfortable. In Bruce’s office, he looks right at home. When Dick was younger, he used to insist on sitting in the chair even though his feet dangled half a foot off the ground, determined to be grown-up and taken seriously. Now he overflows, draping himself over and around an old wooden chair that no longer fits him. 

The memories remind Bruce exactly of what exactly is at stake here. It’s no longer just Jason. Dick, Alfred, even Barbara who is spiritually his, and the mantle of Batman depend upon Bruce winning this battle with the fae. 

Unfortunately, the Unseelie Queen’s bargain with Bruce has trapped him in an awful cycle. In order to protect Jason, he must act as if this fae is a regular human boy. But in order to protect his whole family, he must not only keep an eye on the fae but also convince them to be on their guard around it. 

“It is not easy,” Bruce enunciates carefully. 

Dick rolls his eyes again. “Boys, you have a new little brother, his name is Tim Drake, I acquired him through dubious and doubtless wacky magical means. Boom. How hard was that?”

It is deeply distressing to Bruce that the fae has convinced Dick that it is Tim Drake. A lucky coincidence, perhaps, that the real Drake boy is approximately the right age? But why him, out of all the boys in Gotham? Bruce doesn’t believe in coincidences. He’ll have to look into that. 

But first, he must rid Dick of his delusion. He has refrained from interfering with any of the fae’s interactions with his children of Alfred so far, terrified that he might jeopardize Jason’s life. Now the fae goes too far. Nevertheless, Bruce has faith in his children, in his brilliant, clever, caring boys. They’ll figure the fae out.

“It is not easy,” Bruce repeats. “It is…impossible.”

“Impossible to say what? His name? Where you got him?” Dick’s eyebrows knit together when Bruce stays silent. “B. What type of magical means?”

Bruce sits ramrod straight. He places both palms flat on the desk, brushing aside some old papers on WE finance reports. Stares right into Dick’s eyes. And says nothing.

“Ohhhhhhhh.” Dick leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. “I see what you’re saying. Or what you’re not saying. I’m picking up what you’re putting down.” He waggles a finger at Bruce, frown replaced with his typical cheeky smile. “Don’t worry B, me and Babs are on the case. We’ll figure this out for you no prob.”

“Hnnnnn,” Bruce says neutrally.

“Hehe, I knew you couldn’t suck that much at communicating.” Dick springs up and leaves the office whistling what seems to be birdsong, in a much better mood than when he entered.

As soon as the doors close again, Bruce sinks into his chair with a deep sigh. Dick knows something is awry. He’ll get Barbara, perhaps his friends on the Titans, and definitely Jason whenever he finds out, to solve the mystery for Bruce. He has faith in them. He taught Dick everything that he knows, and Dick is plenty innovative on his own. If nothing else, his establishment as Nightwing has proven that he can roll with the best of the best. Bruce is unbearably proud of his kid. Now he just hopes it is enough.

Bruce is nearly certain he did nothing to imply that the fae is not human. Perhaps he implied that the fae was “acquired,” as Dick put it, through magical means, but that by no means implies that the fae itself is not human. It isn’t, of course, but that is for Dick to find out through no suggestion or help on Bruce’s part. 

He knows that Dick will agree with his decision to bargain their safety for Jason’s safe return. The only person he suspects might disagree is Jason himself. Already he can picture Jason lecturing him if and when he finds out: accusing Bruce of doing it for himself, of being unbearably selfish, of forcing Jason to bear a responsibility he never asked for. And Bruce will bear it all because it’s all true. He saw a way to have his son back without having to break his moral code and he seized it. Jason can call it self-serving and hate Bruce all he wants, because Bruce would do it again in a heartbeat. 

-

“So, Timmy,” Dick says casually, “are you a metahuman or what?”

Barbara, Dick and Tim are in the middle of a near-empty Staples when Dick pops out with his invasive question. They’re shopping for school supplies, since come fall Tim will need to go to school. Bruce has registered him, through a combination of fake and real forms, for Gotham Academy. Tim’s memories of school were his first to go from Before, when he was purely human. Needless to say he’s not looking forward to school again. But he’ll be going with Jason, and maybe they can talk about it even though they’ll be three grades apart. He’ll get to know kids his age who will learn his name and never think twice about using it. Anything that makes Tim more human is a good thing, in his book. 

“Dick, for the love of God,” Barbara groans. She casts a quick look around the Staples. Luckily, no one is around to hear. 

Sometimes she wonders how she got caught up in not one but two school shopping trips for Dick’s little brothers. No less than eight employees and customers at the various stores they’ve stopped at have given them strange looks, no doubt thinking that Dick and Barbara are a tragically young couple to have a kid Tim’s age. She isn’t sure who would be most embarrassed if she corrected them, so she said nothing.

The truth, that Barbara is a freshman in college taking her high school boyfriend’s new kid brother shopping, potentially sounds stranger. Add in the part where they’re trying to acclimate the kid to human society, and Barbara’s certain she’d be kicked out of the store.

“What?” Dick protests. “I have a deal with B. C’mon Timmy, you don’t want your favorite big brother to lose to the big bad B, do you?”

“A deal?” Tim warbles.

“Yeah,” Dick persists doggedly. He still hasn’t figured out what triggers Tim, so for now he continues until Tim comes to some internal resolution. “He doesn’t think I can figure it out. C’mon Tim, my ego’s on the line here.”

Tim stares at the blue spiral notebook in his hands. Both Dick and Barbara lean in, anticipatory, as he turns it over and over. Despite Barbara’s reservations about Dick’s timing and bluntness, she’s also desperately curious about where the new kid comes from. All he has been able to tell her so far is that Bruce seems to have sworn some kind of oath not to talk about the details.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Barbara adds, only a little reluctantly. “But you know, no matter if you’re an alien or a cyborg or a sentient piece of mud, you’re a part of the family, right?” She gestures in a wide circle, to encapsulate the absurdity of their situation. 

Two first-year college students, arms full of Ticonderoga pencils, notebooks, binders, rulers, calculators and the like, all for a not-quite-human twelve-year-old boy. Jason insisted on getting his own trip, which really made Barbara feel like she and Dick really were parents with two kids competing to be the favorite. Jason also strong-armed Barbara into agreeing to a Dragon Ball Z marathon next weekend. She really doesn’t know how she’ll explain that one to her new college friends. They already think she’s a bit strange for still dating her high school boyfriend. 

“I’m not…I made a bargain,” Tim whispers. He trusts them, even though he grips that notebook so tightly it folds over. Weeks ago he gave Dick and Jason his true name and they have never used it to make him do something he doesn’t want to do. Surely, if he can trust them not to use his name against him, he can trust them with this. 

“With who?” Barbara asks immediately.

“About…?” Dick prompts at the same time.

Tim ponders over the phrasing until words lose their meaning. There really is no safe way to explain that he made a deal with the Unseelie Queen to secure their undying affection in exchange for his freedom, is there? No matter how he says it, he’ll be outed as the emotionally manipulative little infiltrator that he is. In the end, all Tim can do is shake his head. “If I win my bargain I’ll be fully human,” he evades.

“Oookay.” Dick attempts to fit this piece of information into his catalogue of Timmy facts. So far it includes “used to be Timothy Drake, age nine” and “my parents handed me over as part of a mysterious deal” and “I’m not fully human (anymore???)” and “Bruce can’t talk about where he found me” and now “I made a bargain with my own humanity.” It’s not making any goddamn sense. Dick has some amount of pride in his skills as a detective, and Tim’s situation is pretty thoroughly destroying it. The only through-line he’s found is an awful lot of bargains and deals. Which perhaps explains Tim’s overreaction to Dick saying he made a deal. Whoops. 

“But you know,” Barbara jumps in again, “you don’t have to be fully hu–”

“I want to be,” Tim cries. “I want it back. I will be–”

Someone clears their throat. At the end of the notebooks aisle, a Staples employee points at the analog clock on the western wall. It’s rather unhelpful as a visual signal, since only Barbara can read it.

“It’s almost closing time,” the employee explains delicately. They look anywhere but Tim’s teary face or Barbara and Dick holding hands. 

-

“Mr. Wayne,” Tim says bravely, “can we talk, sir?”

School starts in a couple of weeks. Tim is running out of summer, but he has Alfred, Dick, Jason and Barbara firmly on his side. Last week Jason taught him how to make frijoles and tried to get him to read Jane Austen. Neither attempt succeeded, but the intent was there. Dick tried to teach him parkour, which went much better. His one remaining problem is that Batman still does not want him at all. 

So he corners Batman when the man’s alone with one solid plan of action, a heart full of hope, and two shaking knees. 

Batman stares down at him suspiciously. “Yes.” 

He turns away abruptly and Tim hurries to keep up with his long strides. After so long in the human realm, he no longer have the floatiness they once did. By the time Batman makes it to his office, Tim is panting. His feet hurt. He worries and waits in the corner as Batman shuts the doors, shutters the windows, and manually activates enough security measures to shock Harry Houdini. Is he in trouble? He hasn’t even done anything yet. 

Wordlessly, Batman gestures for him to take a seat. “What is it.”

Tim collapses into the chair. His feet dangle half a foot in the air. “I would like to make a deal.”

“No.”

“Please, Mr. Wayne.” Tim can’t cry yet, he hasn’t made his proposal. “I–I think–”

“I said no–”

“I’m offering information!” Tim says quickly. His hands, driven to distraction by all his stress, twist into pattern after pattern in his lap. “I can tell you what I can do and how the fae work.”

Batman is a regular human who operates in a world of gods and monsters. He works with the most powerful superheroes. He leads the best of the best. In order to do that he plans. He needs information, and there’s only one area where Tim knows more than him. 

Batman’s eyes narrow. “And what do you want in return?”

The same love and affection he gives so freely to Dick and Jason. But Tim knows better than to ask for that. That’s why he’s proposing this deal in the first place. He can’t trick Batman into loving him the same way he tricked the others, but maybe he can offer his services. Maybe if Tim is useful enough, good enough, that will be enough for Tim to get to stay. So instead:

“A Nikon D850,” Tim answers. “It’s a camera, sir. For nighttime photography.”

For a tortuously long moment, Batman just stares at him with that dark, unreadable expression. There isn’t a hint of emotion, much less affection, in his eyes. Tim’s hands flap around loudly. He jams them under his thighs to quiet them. 

“Done,” Batman says tonelessly. “Now tell me everything you know. And,” he adds, voice dropping to a growl, “I will know if you’re lying.”

Despite his promises to himself, something hot stings Tim’s eyes and tickles the back of his throat. He’s not sure if Batman has magic powers, but he doesn’t doubt the threat for a second. 

“Right,” Tim acknowledges, only a half-step from crying. “Well. I was born Tim Drake. When–”

“I know you purport to be Timothy Drake.”

Tim’s shoulders hitch. Batman’s interruption cuts, paper-cut-like, into his thin skin. One wrong word from flinching, one quarter step from crying. 

Batman pins him to the chair with cold eyes. “I already said I will know if you’re lying. Try again.”

It’s so unfair that Tim almost bursts into tears just from frustration. Just because his parents sold away his right to be Timothy Drake doesn’t mean that he wasn’t born human. But he knows better than to argue with Batman, so he takes his second chance and changes the subject. 

“Yessir. Sorry, sir. I can teach you how to find fairy circles,” Tim offers. “The trick is not to look for something out of place. ‘One may enter the realm of the fae wherever the–”

“–Wherever the wild and mundane meet,” Batman interrupts, voice so flat he sounds bored. Unspoken is the order: tell me something I don’t already know.

Tim had forgotten that Batman journeyed to the fae realm by himself. It isn’t as though he stumbled upon a fairy circle by accident and decided to strike up a deal with the Unseelie Queen. He must have researched how to locate fairy circles by himself. He’s Batman. What in the world can Tim possibly tell him that he doesn’t already know?

“I can tell you about the abilities of the fae in the human realm,” Tim suggests, nearly despairing. “We can commune with plants. We are more in tune with the weather. We can, um, float a little. Sometimes. I think I can also make people not notice me. It’s like a veil on people’s senses. Like I’m always in their per-fory–per-fi-fory–periphery vision–”

“You can also make plants grow a little fast,” Batman interrupts for the third time. “You sometimes cause video footage of you to corrupt. You attract the loyalty of animals, both wild and domesticated.” His lip curls. “You are a superb actor.”

Somehow Tim doesn’t feel complimented. The underlying dark tone to Batman’s observations is I told you I was watching you. But it is the lip curl, a small, nearly intangible action, that finally breaks Tim, not a word or even anything serious. Just the slight hint of a sneer on Batman’s face even though the Unseelie Queen has accustomed Tim to far worse condescension and Batman isn’t even wrong to judge him. Hasn’t he tricked the rest of Batman’s family into loving him with his acting?  

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. A tear escapes and leaves a cold trail on his cheek as it snakes its way to his chin. He fights the urge to vomit. “I can teach you how to use a fae’s true name against them,” he whispers.

When he opens his eyes, Batman is watching him cry with a blank, apathetic face.

“To test that,” Mr. Wayne says slowly, “I’ll need to use yours.”

All at once Tim is struck by the childish desire to close his eyes and wish himself into a world where Batman never looks at him like a dangerous, evil, life-sucking parasite. Wants so dearly to deny the existence of this world where he must replace the Unseelie Queen with his hero. But Batman demands it must be so. Declares that Tim has no other use. So Tim trembles and shakes and falls apart in that oversized lacquer chair until he’s cried his little heart out, but in the end he gives Batman what he wants.  

“I understand, sir,” Tim says miserably. 

It won’t be forever, Tim vows to himself. If Mr. Wayne accepts him, if Tim is allowed to stay, then one day he will be fully human again. One day his name will hold no power over him than it would over any human. Mr. Wayne doesn’t want to use it like the Unseelie Queen does anyways, he just wants to verify Tim’s honesty, which is fair because Tim has done nothing but lie since arriving to Wayne Manor. 

Even though it feels awfully cruel. 

Tim scrambles through his memories to recall how it was explained to him. “A fae is under the thrall of whomsoever can speak their true name.” Then he struggles to verbalize what it actually feels like to have your name used against you. “But the effects–they’re temporary. It’s like…a rubber band. You can pull it into a shape but the moment you stop it instantly snaps back. And if you use it again and again and again then it works less and less and less.”

“Fae names suffer from diminishing returns.” Mr. Wayne looks just the tiniest bit amused. At least he’s not interrupting Tim this time.

Tim has no idea what that means, but he nods anyways. “And it is easier to command that which is easily given. The…effect is…quicker.”

When the Unseelie Queen says dance then Tim is swaying before his body can communicate with his head, but when she says won’t you stay with me forever, Timothy Jackson Drake? then Tim digs his heels in and refuses. You can be the prince of my Unseelie Court, little one. Drink the blood of stars, dance with the mad and the lost, and serve at my feet forevermore. Tim shudders and shoves the memory away firmly. It won’t ever come true. Tim won’t let it.

Tim straightens to the fullest height offered by the giant chair, acting for all the world as if he is making a business deal with an equal. “You may use Timothy Drake,” he offers primly. “Though it doesn’t work very well on me.”

“But of course.” Bruce assumes that this is because Timothy Drake is the assumed name of a fae who refuses to give Bruce its true name. He cannot say he blames it. “Stand up, Timothy Drake.”

Tim pushes the chair back and stands. He blinks. Feeling return to his legs as pinpricks of sensations. He sits back down. 

For the first time, Mr. Wayne’s gaze breaks away from Tim. He casts about his office in search of a command which Tim would be reluctant to do yet doesn’t break Batman’s moral code. Tim, who had begun to recover his nerve, starts to tremble again. Mr. Wayne received the information of fae’s true names positively, so Tim became more confident. Now he worries that Mr. Wayne received it too positively. Where is his line? What wouldn’t he order Tim to do, if he could? 

“Come here, Timothy Drake,” Mr. Wayne commands finally. 

Tim’s legs move of their own accord again. They carry him around Mr. Wayne desk until he stands before the man. He may be a liar but he is not so good that naked terror isn’t written plainly on his face. He keeps his hands behind his back and lets them twist around and around out of sight.

“Now,” Mr. Wayne says. “Timothy Drake. Take a step to the left. Right. Spin. Sit. Up. Right. Left. Left. Jump. Down.”

The rapid volley of commands ends with Tim flat on his stomach, chin stinging fiercely from its introduction to the floor. His body interpreted down as fall on your face for him. He gets back to his feet unsteadily and waits for more. 

“Take this batarang.” Mr. Wayne pulls it out of one of the desk’s many secret compartments. “Timothy Drake. Cut my hand.”

Tim lurches, batarang between his fingers, for one heart-stopping moment, towards Mr. Wayne’s outstretched hand before he gets himself back under control. Batman watches just as unemotionally as before as the batarang nears his unprotected palm, as Tim wars with himself.

“I don’t want to,” Tim pleads. “Please, Mr. Wayne.” His hand shakes violently. “Please don’t make me.”

“Stop.”

The batarang clatters to the floor. Mr. Wayne leans back in his chair, unaffected. Tim staggers back to his own chair, cheeks stained anew with hot tears. 

“It feels like someone altering who you are.” Tim offers this truth in a last, desperate appeal to make Mr. Wayne understand. “It’s like someone possessing you. I know it’s not very powerful, Mr. Wayne, but–it hurts. It–”

Mr. Wayne raises a hand. “Enough.” His voice is just as gravely as before, but it feels a little more gentle. “I believe you.”

The next morning, a Nikon D850 appears in Tim’s bedroom. He leaves it on his nightstand. In a week he’ll pick it up and head to the streets where he first found Batman and Robin. But for now, the sight fills him with dread. 

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི never be like you; a.tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x black!fem!reader

word count - 1.1k

warnings - language

summary - aurélien takes some pleasure in reminding you that your new man will never measure up. you hate that he's right.

you've been doing a good job, you think.

a good job of pretending you're over him, that you've moved on, that he's just another chapter in your past. you've convinced your friends, your family—even convinced yourself on your good days.

the new guy's nice. safe. predictable. the kind of man who buys you flowers on fridays, texts back within minutes, never makes you guess.

but that's the problem, isn't it? he's nothing like aurélien.

and maybe that's why you're standing here in front of aurélien's apartment, three knocks away from a mistake you've been telling yourself you're done making.

he opens the door like he was expecting you, that same smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he's wearing those grey sweatpants—the ones you once claimed made him look too good for his own damn good. it's like he knows exactly what he's doing, standing there with that easy confidence, like he's already won.

"figured you'd show up sooner or later," he says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "you always do."

you roll your eyes because of course he starts with that. "don't flatter yourself," you snap, even though you know it won't faze him. nothing ever does.

"too late for that, isn't it?" he steps aside, letting you in, and you hate how easy it is for your feet to move, for your body to follow him like it always has. the door clicks shut behind you, and it feels like all the defences you've built crumble with that sound.

"trouble in paradise?" he asks, turning to face you with that cocky smirk still playing on his lips, because, somehow, you always find yourself at his door when something happens with your man. "what is it this time? he forget your favourite colour already?"

"you're an ass," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

"yeah, but you didn't come here to tell me that," he says, stepping closer, and you hate how your heart races when he does. "you came here because you know it, don't you?"

you hate this. hate him. hate the way he's always so sure of himself, so damn certain about where he stands in your life. "know what?" you grumble, trying to keep your voice steady.

"that he'll never be like me," aurélien says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "none of them ever will."

"you're so full of yourself," you shoot back, even though the words feel hollow, even though you know there's truth in what he's saying.

"am i?" he challenges, his voice dropping lower, that dangerous edge creeping in. "because every time you're with him, every time he holds you, you're thinking about me, aren't you?"

"no," you lie, and you know he can tell because he laughs—a low, mocking sound that makes your skin prickle.

"you're a terrible liar, y/n," he says, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "and you know what's funny? you could've picked anyone. anyone in the world, and you chose him. him." he says the word like it's poison on his tongue. "like he could ever come close to what we had."

"you don't get to do this," you huff annoyedly. "you don't get to stand here and act like you're some gold standard.”

he leans in closer, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, the air between you charged with all the things you can't—won't—say out loud. "but i am," he murmurs, his eyes boring into yours. "and you know it. you hate that you know it."

"stop," you manage, but it's weak, half-hearted, because even now, even after everything, you want him. and he clearly knows that too.

"tell me," he presses, and there's something darker, more desperate in his tone now. "tell me he makes you feel the way i did. tell me you don't miss the way i used to touch you, the way i made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world."

you swallow hard, your throat tightening. "aurélien—"

"tell me," he repeats, and you can see it in his eyes—this need to be right, to be the one thing you can't let go of. it's twisted, really, the way he needs this validation, this proof that no one else could ever take his place.

"he's good to me," you say instead, voice barely above a whisper. "he's kind. he cares."

aurélien's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you see something flicker across his face—something that almost looks like pain. but then it's gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "kind," he repeats, like the word's some kind of joke. "you really think 'kind' is gonna be enough to keep you warm at night?"

"maybe it is," you snap back, desperate to cling to some sense of dignity, some shred of control. "maybe i don't need you."

"you do," he says, so sure, so certain, it almost breaks you. "you'll always need me."

"you're wrong," you say, but the words catch in your throat, betraying you.

he steps closer, his hands finding your waist, and it's like every nerve in your body comes alive at his touch. you hate how familiar it feels, how right it feels. "look me in the eyes," he says, voice low, rough, "and tell me he makes you feel the way i do. go on. say it."

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because how can you? how can you lie when he's standing here, looking at you like he's the only one who's ever known you, who's ever seen you? and maybe that's the worst part—the fact that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you tell yourself you're over him, he's still there, in every corner of your mind, every beat of your heart.

"that's what i thought," and there's that smug look again, that knowing, infuriating smile that makes you want to slap him and kiss him all at once. "he'll never be me, y/n. and you know it."

"i hate you," you say, but it comes out weak, choked, and he just laughs, pulling you closer until there's nothing between you but the truth you've been running from.

"no, you don't," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "you hate that i'm right. that's what you hate."

and as much as you want to fight it, as much as you want to prove him wrong, you can't. because in this moment, with his hands on your skin and his breath on your lips, you know that he's right. that no matter how many times you try to move on, no matter how many men you let into your life, none of them will ever be him.

and maybe that's your curse. or maybe... maybe it's your truth.

[snailsrneat]

Yandere Vil Schoenheit Headcanons

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

TW: Kidnapping, Stalking, Posioning

-----------------------------

I think if anyone got literally any of the overblot boys as their yandere they'd be pretty fucked.

Mostly because the overblot boys hold a lot of power and have tons of magic.

Vil, specifically, however is one of the few who won't ever use his magic on you.

No instead he'll just use potions on you (:

When you two first met, it wasn't exactly love first sight, more like first word.

Cause when he saw you, he wasn't impressed.

'This is the prefect everyone's been so obsessed over? Really?'

He honestly thought that you'd be more impressive, more magnificent and elegant if you will.

His first impression of you however immediately changed when you had begun barking orders at fellow freshman in an attempt to defeat him.

Never once has he seen a freshman, one as weak you, calling the shots amongst the student body.

Something must be different with you. And he had to figure out what.

From then onward he recruits Rook to spy on you and learn what your day-to-day patterns are like.

In the process Rook also listens in and learns all your secrets. All of which he reports to Vil.

The Vil learns about you the more he falls in love with you.

He obsesses over every single detail of you, from little moles in unseen places to the formation of stress wrinkles crowding over your forehead.

Every minute detail that he can find, he wants pepper with kisses and tell you just how weak in the knees you make him.

A part if him feels silly for getting weak for someone as mediocre as you, but the other half of him wants to steal you away and lock you in his bedroom so you never have to be troubled by those horrible boys you call "Friends".

In fact...that's a fantastic idea! Why hasn't he thought of this before? That way he can watch you up close.

No longer will he need Rook to do all his stalking, not when you're already here and so close.

When he kidnaps you he does it under the guise of you try a new tea blend he was given. But, unfortunately for you, the tea just so happens to be spiked.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry dear, I didn't think one of my own fans would try to spike my tea! Here let me help you get to the infirmary~"

He's an actor so he's very good at being melodramatic.

Instead of waking up in the infirmary, you wake up his bedroom, with your arms chained to the bed posts and dressed in expensive satin pajamas.

When Vil comes into the room and notices your struggling, he chides you for bruising you beautiful skin.

He doesn't release you from the chains, but he does his best to keep you comfortable.

"Only the best for you, darling. You shouldn't worry yourself with such needless things. What you should be thinking of is me, and only me. Understand?"

If you ever try to escape, don't.

I'm warning you, if Vil catches you trying to escape it'll be worse than just staying chained to his bed all day.

It's even more terrible if you've been getting "closer" with him recently, because now he knows that he shouldn't trust you fully. Ever.

If he catches you, he'll no longer allow you to be comfortable.

Instead of that nice comfortable bed, you sleep in a dog cage in the corner of his room.

And the days have started to blur together now, he started poisoning your food to make sure you don't do anything.

Most days your too tired to anything, let alone fight back or come up with escape plans.

If he has to start treating you like a baby he doesn't mind, he likes making you depend entirely on him.

"You know you did this to yourself, right? Trying to escape was a foolish endeavor and you must face the consequences of your actions..aw, you're crying darling. Don't cry, it'll give you wrinkles. Don't worry my love, this hurts me more than it hurts you. Now drink this."

-----------------------------

[franzkafkagf]

okay so i want to hear about your take on aegon i know you like him and all (so do i no matter how much i wish not to) but whyy

yess thanks for asking, I love being insane about him<3

I think Aegon is such a wildly tragic character– many asoiaf characters are but I'm so drawn specifically to him; he didn't want power or responsibility or the crown. It all was bestowed upon him against his will, and he shouldn't; putting on the crown is his definitive death sentence. The coronation scene has got to be one of my favorites in the season– he is quite literally walking up to be butchered like a sacrificial lamb, there are tears streaking his cheeks in the scene! I love the tragedy of it, the way it couldn't have been avoided anyways; his fate was sealed from the very start! He was quite literally dead from the very beginning.

I'm going off a mix from the book and the show but I actually love what they did with the character in the show? The book version does have some hard-hitting moments from him that are missing ("What sort of brother steals his sister's birthright?") but there wasn't that much there in terms of characterization and relationships. And wow, did they deliver on that in the show; I'm gonna give whoever came up with his mommy issues a forehead kiss.

Because YES! He and Alicent are reflections of one another– Alicent suffered under the heavy boot of Otto, turned into the perfect daughter, turned into the perfect queen for him. She recognizes that this was wrong and abusive of him, then she turns around and does the same thing to Aegon– the poison DOES drip through, the wheel is NOT broken!! It's BRILLIANT.

@atopvisenyashill put a GREAT tag under one of my posts–

#he looks like her and he’s weak like her so why can’t he get strong like her.

While Alicent persevered, Aegon crumbled under the pressure. He is miserable when we meet him– and he should be! He is unfit for the role of king, but it is his destiny nonetheless, everybody tells him so. It destroys him.

It's so sad too and I cannot help but to feel bad for him. No one knows where he is in ep 9, I don't think he has anyone to confide in; it must be lonely. Everybody seems to have written him off already– he is a drunk and a failure at being heir, being a son, being a father. He tries to prove them wrong later, and does in some aspects.

His loneliness plays into another aspect of him that I really love; his desperation to be loved. He will never be enough for anybody, he probably knows it deep down.

"[Aegon is] desperate to be loved but destined to be hated." – Tom Glynn-Carney

Obviously there is the carriage scene with Alicent that shows this. But I also really love the moment in his coronation, where he basks in the people's affection and cheers. He is poised to bleed out in front of the throne, he was crying and fighting for his life not to take the crown just minutes before. But now he's here and they love him and he can't help but love that.

He takes the crown to protect his family (the show does hint at that with Alicent telling him as much in ep. 6– in the book it's much more explicit with Criston pressuring him on the day of the coronation itself) and then his son DIES because of it! And he drinks and rages and drinks some more; he must've blamed himself. He goes to battle, flies too high (figuratively), and he FALLS; he burns and falls to the ground. He isn't made to be king. He knows. He does it anyways.

"You have already written yourself into legend, you survived dragonfire" – Larys Strong in season 2 (probably)

He survives, he is gone for over a year, unable to do anything but he SURVIVES. He escapes the capital, takes Dragonstone, he falls AGAIN, he loses most of his family; but he still goes on. Fueled by what? Maybe anger, or bitterness or just pure lust for revenge. It doesn't matter. He must've realized somewhere on the way that this was always meant to go this way, ever since he put the conqueror's crown on. It doesn't matter.

And then he dies and it's not grand or spectacular or anything like that. He drinks poisoned wine, nobody even sees him die, they only find him after. It's so uniquely lonely.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 6

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Kate and co.’s lively voices could be heard throughout Crown’s castle’s garden.

There, two figures slink about unnoticed.

Nica: Oh, sounds like they’re having fun. Crown’s closer than I thought. They’re like a “family”.

Ring: …

Nica: What’s wrong, Ring? Do you want to be their friend?

Ring: Ah, well…

Nica: You can’t. You know we’re not here to make friends.

Ring: I know that. I’ll only follow what you and Dari tell me to do.

Nica: I don’t want to control you like a puppet, Ring. But if that’s what you want, then I will.

Eyes peek through a blue-grey gap before landing on Roger.

Nica: Roger Barel. Apparently he’s conducting research on Cursed Ones.

Ring: Research on Cursed Ones? That guy…what does he want to do?

Nica: Who knows. Maybe it’s research that’ll interfere with our ambitions. The kind that will shake the meaning of our existence.

Ring: …Should we eliminate him? No one will notice if I take care of it.

Nica: What are you talking about, Ring? We’re here as goodwill ambassadors. We have to stay white and clean for now. Besides, that guy can be both poison and medicine for Vogel, so let’s let him go for now.

Ring: But— 

Suddenly, his lips curled into a ferocious smile.

Nica: The nail that sticks out gets the hammer* and beautiful flowers get plucked. Let’s just hope no one else notices him and makes him disappear.

--

—Meanwhile.

Within the palace, “Her Majesty the Queen’s Privy Council” is full of frustration.

Privy Council Lord: A few days ago, “Vogel”, an organization under German rule, arrived as goodwill ambassadors. Why don’t the chief of Vogel and his subordinates show any interest in us? Instead, they’re only interested in “Crown”...

One member spat out words full of hatred, and the others joined in on cursing Crown.

Privy Council Lord: With strange powers called curses, they do whatever they want under Her Majesty the Queen. This stain on our country must be erased!

Privy Council member: Her Majesty must be out of her mind, keeping these cursed monsters as pets.

Privy Council Lord: As the Privy Council, we must protect Her Majesty before Crown’s existence becomes known to the public.

Privy Council member: Crown must be dissolved then.

This was what “Her Majesty the Queen’s Privy Council” wanted.

Privy Council member: …But to object to an organization directly under Her Majesty’s control, you must know a weakness.  

Privy Council Lord: Let’s look for a weakness immediately. The best kind to take Crown down.

Little did they know that darkness was about to creep back into “Crown”...

--

Kate: *sigh*...I’m finally done.

Finally free from my self-defense class, I trudged up the stairs with wounds all over.

(I need to work my legs out more…)

Exhausted, I rubbed my weary legs that wouldn’t even let me climb up the stairs.

Concealed under my skirt was a garter belt holding a gun wrapped around a leg.

The gun was a gift from Roger.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: Kate, I got something for you. The best from Victor’s armory.

Kate: A…gun?

Roger: Give it here. I’ll teach you how to shoot.

When I handed the gun back to Roger, he immediately fired at a distant target.

(Amazing…)

Roger: The height you hold the barrel depends on the opponent’s feet. In close range, point it down. Long range, horizontal. If you’re in a room, on a train, or some place with obstacles, you can point it up. But keeping it steady takes practice. If the muzzle’s shaking, you have a higher chance of hitting a comrade so the basic rule is to aim down.

Roger explains while demonstrating with the gun.

Roger: That’s about it. Now we just have to practice.

Kate: I’ll give it a shot…

The gun was placed back into my hand and I held it up like I was instructed.

Roger: Grip it like this. Yeah, good. Keep your finger on the trigger…no, don’t squeeze it. Loosen up.

Kate: Okay.

Roger: Relax. Just pull it back.

Roger’s hand slowly moves away from the gun and I pull the trigger.

—There was a dry sound and a bullet grazed the target.

Roger: A little more to the left. Fire them all.

Kate: …

I repositioned my arm and fired in rapid succession.

Roger: Out of 6 rounds, 1 was a hit. 2 grazed the target. Not bad for a first time. I’ll add this to your training so you better start doing push-ups every day. Also— Kate, use this as a last resort. Got it?

~~ Flashback end ~~

(At the time, Roger looked a little scared…no, he looked serious)

My breath shuddered at the memory and I heard the sound of a piano coming from somewhere…

(It sounds beautiful. Who’s…?)

I followed the sound and opened the door.

William: …

There sat William playing the piano.

He glanced at me, raised his fingers high and then continued playing dramatically.

The song eventually comes to an end with a decrescendo and as the final note fades, I give a generous round of applause.

Kate: So it was William playing the piano so beautifully.

William: Thank you for the praise, Kate.

In response to my applause, William gracefully placed his hand on his chest and then suddenly lowered his gaze.

William: Ah…He gave you a gun. Robin with a gun is quite the image.

Kate: H-how did you know? It’s concealed under my skirt.

William: I could tell from the way you walked. When going undercover, be careful not to let others notice.

Kate: The way I walked…I hadn’t considered that.

William: However, it looks like you’re growing well. The “robin growth map” was it?

(Ugh…it’s embarrassing hearing it said to you)

William’s smiling, blood-red eyes held a subdued power that seemed to see through everything.

(William’s a curious person)

(It’s like he knows everything, but I’m not uncomfortable)

William: Kate, do you know why Roger uses a hunting rifle?

Kate: No…Now that I think about it, Roger’s the only one that uses one.

(Everyone else uses either swords or pistols…)

Roger’s hunting rifle stood out and as an amateur, I thought it looked difficult to use.

Kate: I was under the impression that hunting rifles were used by people with good eyesight. So initially I wondered why.

William: One reason is that he used to go hunting with his father, so he’s familiar with it. The other is because of his “abnormal hearing”.

My eyes widened at the unexpected answer.

Kate: Ah, Roger can tell where a target is by listening out for them!

William: That’s right. Rather than risk injuries at close range, he can shoot from a distance. It’s very like Roger to value efficiency. However, those are the reasons he gives. I’m sure there are others.

Kate: Other reasons…?

William: Did you know, Robin.

William spoke softly.

It was like he was telling a fairy tale.

William: In war, 80% of those given guns wouldn’t “dare” to shoot the enemy.

Kate: …I didn’t know that.

The percentage is a lot higher than I expected.

Kate: Even when faced with the enemy, it might be too much pressure to shoot another person…

William: What if it’s a hunting rifle? A hunting rifle’s original purpose is to hunt beasts, not people. It would be an undeniable evil for a former doctor to kill someone, even if it’s to condemn them.

At that moment, I remembered—Roger’s serious expression when he was teaching me how to use a gun.

William: I heard from Victor that when Roger joined Crown, he chose the hunting rifle.

Kate: He chose the hunting rifle on purpose…?

William’s smile was an affirmation.

Roger willingly chose the hunting rifle to kill people and condemn them of their evil, while also having the skills to save lives.

Roger had more knowledge about medicine than anyone else, yet called himself a former doctor and lived in darkness.

(...The more I learn about Roger, the more questions I have)

Why did Roger decide to live on with Crown?

It wasn’t just out of curiosity—that is obvious…

(Would I be able to ask him why?)

(And William…)

Kate: Um, why did you give me this information about Roger? 

William: Hm?

Kate: You don’t seem like the kind of person that says things without a reason.

William: I see…

William frowned in thought.

William: Perhaps it’s because humans are creatures who meet people and gain wisdom at the right time.

Like the scriptures in the Bible, his words weren’t immediately understood.

But it felt like I received some sort of “guidance”. 

Kate: I don’t really understand, but..thank you.

William: You’re welcome.

Kate: Ah, that’s right. William!

(There was something I wanted to ask him)

Kate: I was told that the palace library has books on medicine.

William: Books on medicine?

Kate: Um…Since I’m going to be around Roger, I thought it’d be good to gain some knowledge.

William: Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Roger?

Kate: I can’t.

William: Why?

I want to make him happy with my growth

I want to beat him

It’s a secret surprise +4 +4

Kate: I want to keep it a secret and surprise Roger later.

William: So it’s a special surprise.

William chuckled when he heard about my plan.

William: In that case, I’ll show you the way. Of course, I’ll keep it a secret from Roger.

--

—That night, Roger and I were summoned to Victor’s office at the palace.

Victor: Her Majesty has entrusted Roger and his exclusive Fairytale Keeper with a mission.

(Our next mission…)

Since Roger started teaching me a lot of things, I’ve felt myself grow every day.

Realizing that it was time to put my abilities to the test, I straightened up.

Victor: There's a village out in the countryside. It may be small, but it’s a special place where the people live by their own rules.

Roger: Hmm, is that what they call village customs? What’s wrong with it?

Victor: The other day, skeletons were found in the mountain by the village. There were a lot of them.

I came to the realization that the previous mission to infiltrate the “death party” was a lot simpler than the usual missions.

I quietly swallowed down the fear rising from my chest and mentally organized the mission.

Kate: But burials are normal in this country, and if it’s the village’s custom, then— 

Victor: I had thought so too. So I did some research. Police sent to investigate the village never returned.

(Even the police…that can only mean something’s happened in the village)

Victor: And I found something else. There is a village chief who they call the spirit god. Supposedly this man can ward off illness.

(Spirit god…? The heck…)

Roger and Kate: That’s really suspicious!

Grimacing, we both said it at the same time.

Roger: I see. If illnesses are involved, then I’m the right guy. It’s possible this man’s a new Cursed One…

Kate: New Cursed One?

Roger: It’s nothing.

(What are you talking about?)

While I tilted my head in confusion, Roger spoke enthusiastically.

Roger: Alright. Kate and I will go undercover at the village. And we’ll expose the evil spread in the sandbox. Right, Kate?

(This time I’ll help out with the mission and not be a burden as Fairytale Keeper!)

Kate: Right, leave it to us.

Victor: Thank you. Liam, with his power to disappear, will sneak into the village first and gather intelligence. Once you’re in the village, make contact with him without getting noticed.

Victor turned toward us— 

Victor: Roger, Kate. Don’t get hurt. Now, let’s pledge allegiance to evil.

He sent us off with a few words that were very “Crown-like”.

-

*Idiom meaning those that stand out are forced to conform

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 11

A/N: I'm back! Maybe. But I wrote this and I really love it, so I hope you will too. Here's another chapter of our lovely Dovey and Jumbee. We pick up with Gladys in the hospital and Dove sitting on a big secret. Enjoy!

Need to catch up? Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, but also pregnancy, morning sickness, illness and death

Word count: ~2.6k

"It'll be okay, Jumbee. Whatever happens, I'm here. It'll be okay."

But she's not sure she believes it either.

******

Elvis sends Dove to Memphis immediately to be with his mama and promises to follow her as soon as he can. In an unfortunate twist of events, her morning sickness begins on the train to Memphis and she's ill the whole time. When she finally arrives and Vernon picks her up at the train station, she's pale and weak and sweaty. He does his best not to notice as he drives her to the hospital to see Gladys. She manages to compose herself enough to make it into her room, but the second Vernon leaves the two women alone, she rushes to the bathroom and vomits.

“You sick, baby?” Gladys calls from her bed. Even ill, she's caring for everyone around her.

“It's nothing catching, Mama. I promise.” She comes out of the bathroom and sits down, pulling a mint from her purse. Gladys looks her up and down and suppresses a smile.

“How far along are you?” Dove’s eyes flick up to meet the older woman’s quickly and she shakes her head.

“I-I-I-no-I’m just… food poisoning…”

“Right. And I've got allergies.” Gladys purses her lips and gives Dove the look.

“Almost 12 weeks.”

“Does Elvis know?” Dove shakes her head and tries not to cry.

“He said he didn't want this yet.”

“Oh, baby, c’mere.” Gladys pats the bed next to her and Dove perches on it gently, letting her take her hand. “He will be happy as a clam. Once he gets over his initial shock, that is.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Gladys pats her hand softly and then grins broadly. “I'm gonna have a grandbaby!”

Dove laughs. The older woman’s joy is contagious.

“Yes ma'am, I suppose you are.” The two women spend the next half hour or so discussing plans for a nursery, baby names, and the merits of breastfeeding. When Vernon returns, Gladys puts her finger to her lips and Dove smiles, enjoying their secret.

******

Elvis arrives a couple of days later and immediately meets his family at the hospital. He spends the next day and a half by his mother’s side. That night, she encourages him to take Dove out and then sleep at Graceland. She's hoping that the next time she sees him, he'll know about the baby and they can share in the joy together. But there's something else, too. Something dark and looming and she doesn't want him there for it, just in case.

Everything about the night feels off, though. For some reason, Dove never seems to find the right moment to tell him. She's filled with a kind of nervous energy that doesn't fade no matter what she does. Elvis tries to settle her, completely unaware of anything at all. He kisses her neck gently and tries to slide his hand up under her skirt, but she pulls away.

“Not tonight.”

“Aw Dovey, why not?” He looks at her with his blue eyes pleading.

“It just doesn't feel right. I can't say why.” She sighs, flustered by what she's feeling and he caresses her cheek gently.

“Whatever it is baby, it's okay. I'm here. Let's just get in bed and I'll hold you. Okay?” She nods and they both put on pajamas to settle into the bed. Dove is filled with thoughts about the future and she has a hard time relaxing. Something is wrong, but she can't figure out what it is. Praying it's not the baby, she tries to go to sleep. Elvis is wrapped around her, breathing quietly in her ear and she focuses on matching her inhales and exhales to his. Before too long, she drifts off too.

They're not asleep for very long before the phone rings. Elvis groggily curses and drags himself out of bed, ready to berate whoever is on the line. Dove rolls over and closes her eyes, but she freezes when she hears him.

“Oh God, no.” His knees hit the floor and the phone receiver hangs by the cord as he immediately weeps. Dove is out of bed in a second, pulling Elvis to her chest with one hand and picking up the phone with the other.

“Hello?” She hears someone crying on the other end and her stomach churns.

“Dove?”

“Yeah, Vernon, it's me.” Her blood runs cold when he sobs again.

“She's gone.” That's all he can choke out, but it's all he needs to say for Dove to understand that Gladys is dead. Elvis wails even louder, hearing it again and Dove hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye.

“Oh, Jumbee…”

“I should've been there! I'll never forgive myself for leaving.” He soaks her chest with tears and cries uncontrollably like a child. Dove’s body is wracked with sobs as well, but she tries to focus on Elvis's grief.

“No, Jumbee, there was no way of knowing this would happen.”

“Why did she tell us to leave?! Oh God!” As Elvis clings to her, weeping, she starts to wonder how he will react when he finds out the baby is the reason she wanted them to have a night alone. All of a sudden, she's crying for two reasons as she holds the shaking frame of her shattered husband.

This becomes a familiar position in the days that follow. He spends most of his time crying, either next to Gladys’s casket or, after the service, in Dove’s arms. She does everything she can to be what he needs, but what he needs is his mother and she can't be that.

Elvis is broken and Dove is broken watching him. Her helplessness overwhelms her and she hangs on by a thread. The thread is Elvis's need for someone to stay strong. The only thing that carries her through is the knowledge that he needs her.

People try various things to cheer him up, but Dove doesn't. She simply is for him: a safe place for him to fall apart as often as he needs. And he does, frequently. It takes every ounce of her strength to keep herself together for him.

In what feels to Dove like not nearly enough time, Elvis is called to go back to Fort Hood. She follows him to the house in Killeen, but nothing feels the same without Mama. Somehow, her morning sickness subsides as quickly as it came on and she's fine, albeit a little more tired than usual. She mopes around the house when Elvis is gone, carrying his pain deep in her chest.

And then one particularly bad night, the night before he's set to take the train north to sail to Germany, Elvis is wrapped around Dove crying as she strokes his hair.

“I jus’ don't see the point without Mama. I don't wanna be here no more. It hurts too bad.” Elvis groans into her chest. Dove tries to hide the sob that comes out of her, but she can't. The thought of being without him is too much. And the baby in her belly has her on the edge of a total and complete breakdown. He sits up when he realizes she's damn-near hysterical. “Dovey…”

“No. Ignore me. I'm sorry.” She tries to contain her sobs, but it's like the past few weeks are all hitting her at once and everything she's suppressed is pouring out of her like a broken tap.

“Dove. I'm not going to ignore you. Talk to me.” He reaches up to stroke her cheek from his place between her legs on the bed. If he was paying any attention, he would notice the changes in her body from this position, but Dove is thankful that he hasn't.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry.” He sits up and pulls her into his lap and takes her face in both hands.

“Eleanor Morningstar Presley. I'm your husband. Tell me what's going on.” She looks into his eyes and it comes tumbling out of her before she can stop it.

“I'm pregnant.” He blinks a few times and she wants to scream and die and throw up all at once. “I'm s-”

“Don't you dare apologize. Dovey, how long have you known?” He tries to do the math back to the last time they had sex.

“Since July. I'm about 17 weeks.” His eyes widen in shock.

“Seventeen weeks?!” She nods slowly, bracing herself for some kind of negative response from him.

“I know, I'm s-”

“This is amazing.” She freezes with her mouth hanging open.

“A-amazing?” She looks at him as a smile, the first smile she's seen from him in weeks, crawls across his face.

“Yes. Amazing. Dovey, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Well, I was going to and then… Mama…” He darkens a bit.

“Did she know?” Dove nods.

“Yes. She did. That's why she sent us home that night, so I could tell you.” Understanding washes over him.

“Why didn't you?”

“I don't know. It just didn't feel right. I couldn't, knowing she was sick. Are you mad?”

“No. I'm glad she knew.”

“Oh yeah. We talked about all kinds of things, the nursery, names-”

“Names? Dovey…?” He looks at her with his eyes wide and pleading.

“Yeah, Jumbee?”

“Can we name her after Mama?” Elvis whispers. Dove sniffles as the tears fill her eyes.

“Her?” She looks at him lovingly. He nods vehemently.

“She's a girl. I can feel it.” She watches as he lifts her shirt to reveal her small baby bump. “God, how did I not notice?”

“You've been a little… distracted. It's okay.”

“No. You're my wife. This is our family. Mama would want me focused on this.” He puts his hand on her belly gently. “Our baby is in there.”

Dove giggles despite herself.

“Yeah, she is.” He leans forward and kisses her stomach gently and then whispers against her skin.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a reason to go on. I wouldn't be me without you. And now we have this to look forward to. Mama would be so mad if she thought I wanted to leave you both for her.” Dove breathes a deep sigh, releasing all of the stress and grief she's been holding on to.

“I love you, Jumbee.” He smiles up at her and kisses her belly again.

“I love you too, my Dovey.”

“We'll get through this.”

“Yeah, we will. All three of us.” He rubs his hand over the baby and nuzzles into her neck. “I'm so glad I married you.”

“Me too, Jumbee. Me too.”

******

The next morning, Elvis and Dove wake up early and lay in bed together dreading the time that they'll have to get up for him to leave for Germany. She's nestled into his side like she always is and he has his arms wrapped around her with his lips on her forehead.

“You'll be over there with me in less than two weeks. We've been apart before. We'll be fine.” Elvis sounds like he's reassuring himself more than her as he mumbles against her skin. Dove looks up at him and nods and he leans down to press his lips to each of her cheeks and then her lips. He pulls back a bit, blue eyes sparkling with affection and something else. She knows that look and it surprises her to see it, but she's not going to argue as he leans forward again, this time hungrily capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It doesn't take long for the kiss to move into more, their tongues dancing wildly as hands slide over skin and up under pajamas.

He rolls over on top of her, sensually pressing his hips into hers as he drops a trail of kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She moans softly as he quickly unbuttons her shirt, but as soon as his hand touches her belly, he stops suddenly.

“Can I- can we- is it gonna hurt the baby?” He asks breathlessly. Dove giggles and kisses him gently.

“It won't hurt her. She's safe.” He nods and looks down at her tiny bump between them.

“That's good because I'm not sure I could stop now even if I wanted to.” He dives back into kissing her deeply, rolling his hips against her and letting his hard cock press into her center. “I need ya, baby. It's been too damn long.”

Dove whimpers as he finishes undressing her and strips off his own pajamas. He lays on his side and pulls her in close to him, throwing her leg over his hip. She sighs as he runs his fingertips over her body, stopping to squeeze her breast and her ass. He teases her entrance with the tip of his dick, slipping it around in her arousal.

“So good and wet for me, baby. You want this cock?” He murmurs against her lips. Dove whimpers and nods.

“God, yes. I need it.”

She moans loudly as he slowly starts to push into her, inch by tantalizing inch, his hand on her hip to steady her.

“Fuck, baby, you're so tight. I love this little pussy.” He groans as he bottoms out, his dick fully buried inside her. Dove’s eyes cross with the sensation of being filled as he slides out and rolls his hips forward to meet hers again.

“It's so good, Jumbee.” He kisses her softly as he picks up a steady rhythm of fucking into her slow and gentle. Maybe it's the pregnancy, or the fact that it's been so long, but when Elvis slips his hand in between them to rub circles on her clit, Dove cums almost immediately, moaning and grasping at his shoulders as her orgasm screams through her veins, lighting her on fire from the inside out.

The feeling of her pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock is almost too much for Elvis to take. He grunts and buries his face in her neck as his hips snap against her over and over again.

“Gonna… oh god, fuck!” He groans into her hair as his hips stutter against hers and he cums deep inside her. His body relaxes and he whispers. “I missed you.”

He lifts his head up and looks into her eyes, cupping her cheek with his hand. She smiles softly and kisses the end of his nose.

“I missed you too.”

******

At the train station, Dove stands on the platform watching as Elvis waves to fans. The Colonel has demanded that she stay back and let him be Elvis Presley. He even has his hand on her arm to keep her next to him. Neither she nor Elvis told him about the baby.

Just before the doors close, Dove yanks her arm away and takes off for the train. When he notices, Elvis's smile switches from the one he gives for pictures into his natural smile and he leans down, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her into a deep kiss. The cameras go wild, but they don't care.

The Colonel curses and Vernon just shakes his head laughing.

“Colonel, you lost. Elvis and Dove are gonna be Elvis and Dove. You might as well embrace it. He'll get rid of you long before he gets rid of her.”

The Colonel shoves his cigar in his mouth and turns around, huffing. He's beaten and he knows it.

As the train pulls away, Elvis is left with the image of Dove on the platform. He watches as she gasps and grabs her stomach, laughing with delight. That's the first time she's felt the baby move. She's lit up with joy and Elvis can't help but smile widely, knowing he'll never forget this picture of her with her eyes bright and her dark hair blowing in the wind. Dove looks down at her baby bump and runs her hand over it.

“Steady, little girl. We'll see daddy soon enough.”

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[peachesofteal]

Pls I am but humble mouse wishing for some more crumbs of darling dealing with her pregnancy alone after her breakup. What would the boys’ reaction be if they saw darling out with the infant 🐁

I live for angst and all the AUs other anons are giving are just *chefs kiss*

You are a humble mouse who I adore 🩵 I am writing a full drabbles/fics/whatever we call them, I don’t know, for the ultimate angst prompt and will be posting some of them this week via asks but here are some thoughts:

18+ Mature themes

Definitely sells the flat. Does it right away. Probably doesn’t even wait a week or two, the memories are too sharp. Too poignant, and poisoned. You get a great price for it, and then move across town.

Everything becomes a challenge. Some of your meds are off the table because of the pregnancy, so that in itself creates other problems. Getting out of bed is hard. Caring about eating well is hard. You go to work and go home. You haven’t put your sneakers on in weeks, you don’t spend time in the sun. You cry over everything. Hormones!

Considers abortion and adoption. Disregards both, but doesn’t know why. You can’t explain it, but even after everything… you want this child.

Never reaches out to the guys. Fuck them. They left you.

Spends many nights crying over the guys though. Many, many nights.

After a few months you try to take walks in the park. If not for yourself, then for the baby. You try to breathe the fresh air and feel the sun on your face… but seeing families together makes you feel stressed. It makes you feel inadequate. It makes you worried, that you won’t be good enough, to take care of a baby and yourself, all alone. It makes you feel scared.

You have a complete breakdown trying to put the nursery together. You can’t really figure out the instructions and the crib box was so heavy to lug inside, you’re exhausted before you even start. Eventually, you give up and fall into bed, and cry. You feel alone, and inept… and you can’t stop wishing for the guys. You want them here… even though they tore your heart out. And that makes you feel weak, and pathetic.

Panic attack on the train one day. You swear you can hear them in your ear, helping you breathe, trying to calm you. It feels so real… and not at all that you slide down onto the floor once you get home, and cry.

Your doctor is concerned about your weight. She’s concerned about everything, to be fair, and constantly tries to figure out if you have any support anywhere, at all.

[fearwasalwaysanoption]

Mouthwashing Fix-it

supplement to these posts

very long explanation under cut (content warning: mentions of surgical procedures, stillbirth, and suicide attempts)

Curly- Skin grafts, rehab, right eye removed due to extensive damage. Has to take immunosuppressants for the rest of his life so his body doesn't reject the massive amounts of synthetic tissue. Eyelids were restored but have to be manually opened and closed, uses eye lubricant drops for any additional dryness.

Took the brunt of the blame for the crash, now a permanent stain on his reputation. The publicity of the incident died down in less than a week, but still makes it hard to find work (especially with his disabilities). Massive survivor's guilt and internalized ableism. Now that he can do most things himself, he hates asking for help. He doesn't want to seem weak, he wants to seem in control.

Hops around from job-to-job, typically in a management position but leaves once it becomes too familiar.

Anya- Treated with acetylcysteine, but liver damage was too extensive and had to be replaced robotically with a synthetic one. Embryo died in utero from paracemetol poisoning and was removed. Also has to take immunosuppressants so her body does not reject the new liver.

Somehow acquired a job at a clinic despite not at all having the credentials and is dreading the day they figure that out. In the meantime living paycheck-to-paycheck and swimming in debt.

Went through one painful and traumatic suicide attempt and would not want to take the chances of having to go through that again. Still incredibly anxious and not in a good place but clings to that hope she can get herself out of this rut. One of the only things keeping her going is the knowledge that she is helping people and in some little way making life better.

Daisuke- Skin grafts and extensive biodegradable stitching, especially in his face. Minimal reconstructive surgery to fix his nasal passage. Right eye is completely opaque from traumatic injury.

Not as joyful as he used to be, a lot more dark humoured but retains his optimism. Cautious, has matured quite a bit and is just trying to live his life. The collective trauma from the Tulpar makes it hard to connect with his peers and he only really wants to hang out with his former crew. Trying to make a name for himself and do something with his life, co-founded his and Swansea's independent mechanic business.

Does more manual labour on the side to help keep the business running.

Jimmy- Bullet and bone fragments removed, entered zygomatic bone barely avoiding the eye and exiting through the left mandible. Damaged tissue and teeth removed, in a coma for several months with reconstructive internal surgery to his skull.

Charged with attempted murder, reckless endangerment, and sexual assault. However the court deemed him unable to stand trial and committed him to a psychiatric institution for high risk individuals. Has been sent to solitary more times than he can count or cares to and is on suicide watch.

He's forced to take antipsychotics and has no control over anything in his life besides doing what he is told so he can get the hell out of this place. In the meantime he can reevaluate and be alone with his thoughts (a punishment i would not bestow upon my worst enemy).

Curly and Daisuke visit him sometimes because they still genuinely care about him and want him to get better. But their visits get less and less frequent every time. When they finally stop coming... who will he have left to blame for his circumstances?

Swansea- Bullets and fragments removed, right eye was too badly damaged to save and was removed. Clavicle plating applied to help solidify the shattered bone.

Similar case to Daisuke. Owns the independent mechanic business as well as doing random jobs to get more money. Family life is in pieces and is on the brink of a divorce with his wife but too drunk to really care. Preoccupies himself with work and alcohol to forget his miserable situation and money troubles. The only thing keeping him from drinking himself to death lying in a gutter is that he'd leave such a burden on Daisuke that the kid does not need any more of.