#Life as a Vapor – Part 2

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

Word Count: 15.k...(oops)

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, comfort sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation if you squint, mentions of murder, nightmares, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, tw for panic attacks, rape flashbacks, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey,

AN: Hi everyone! This is also on A03! Please someone stop me, how the hell did I manage to squeeze in like 4k extra words than last time??? Anyways, enjoy the meal, I definitely have missed writing smut with yan!sylus and reader :3. Also a gentle reminder that reader has no specific skin tone! I just use images that I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you’d like ^^

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt. 5 Pt.7

The car roars down the empty road, its tires devouring the distance between freedom and your inevitable return to captivity. Luke sits at the wheel, his face completely hidden behind the bird shaped mask. You can’t see his eyes, can’t gauge anything from the way he’s holding himself—just the silent, unyielding presence of the man steering you back to your prison.

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

Kieran sits beside him, his mask just the same, his fingers tapping a light, almost carefree rhythm on the dashboard as he finishes humming a cheery tune. His face, too, is entirely concealed, leaving you with nothing to hold onto—no eyes to search for clues, no expressions to read.

In the rearview mirror, you sense Kieran shift his head to look at you but can't entirely tell, his hidden gaze offers you nothing. The silence stretches on, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady, deliberate breaths of Sylus against your neck, the heat of his body keeping you trapped in more ways than one.

Sylus holds you tight, as if the moment he loosens his grip, you’ll dissolve into the darkness beyond the windows. His large hands are splayed possessively across your thighs, pinning you in place on his lap. Each minute that ticks by in this confined space feels like a countdown to something you can’t define, but the feeling of impending dread settles deep in your bones.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts swirling in an endless, chaotic loop. The gunshot that ended Reese’s life thunders in your head, over and over, refusing to let you go. You can still see it so clearly—the way his body slumped to the floor, lifeless, his eyes wide with the shock of it all.

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

Yes, Reese was a monster. He’d kidnapped you, lied to you, dragged you into a nightmare you never deserved. But even now, that part of you—the part that still clung to honor, to a sense of right and wrong, the part of an honorable deep space hunter—hated what had happened. You hated yourself for it. He should have been locked away, brought to justice, not gunned down like that.

Your chest tightens. Why didn’t you stop it? You could have, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to let your anger take over, didn’t have to spit those words at him, didn't have to tell him to go to hell. If you hadn’t done that, Sylus wouldn’t have killed him right? The weight of it presses down on you, like you’re suffocating under the guilt.

You can feel it in your bones—the sharp sting of your failure, the way you let your emotions run wild. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be the reason a person died, no matter how twisted or evil they were. You were supposed to be better than that.

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

The guilt coils tighter around your chest. You can almost taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, a relentless reminder of how you failed. Maybe if you had just kept your mouth shut. Maybe if you had found some way, any way, to de-escalate the situation, he’d still be alive. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of his death.

But you didn’t. And now it’s too late.

This is your fault.

You feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly suck in a breath, forcing them back. You can’t let them fall—not here, not now. You can’t let Sylus see the storm raging inside you. If he sees you faltering, sees your weakness, he’ll think he’s won.

You sense his eyes on you, watching, studying, but thankfully, he says nothing. His grip around you tightens slightly, as if he’s aware of the cracks forming in your resolve, but for once, he stays silent, leaving you alone with the war you’re fighting within yourself.

Instead of crying, you shift, turning your head to focus on the window. The dark tint makes it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. You can just make out the blurred outlines of buildings as they whip past, vague shadows in the distance.

How much longer would this take? How far had you come?

You think back to the agonizing walk that had led you to the convenience store—the endless hours of trudging through unfamiliar streets, hoping for an escape. Time had lost all meaning then, just like it had now.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your body betraying you, your exhaustion creeping in. You start to drift off against your will, feeling the heaviness pulling at your eyelids as you sink further into Sylus’s lap. You fight it, not wanting to rest your head on his chest, fearing what you might wake up to. But it’s been days since you’ve had proper rest, and the pull of sleep is relentless.

Minutes stretch into eternity, and despite your best efforts, your body begins to give in. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when suddenly, Sylus’s gruff voice cuts through the silence, startling you awake.

“Luke, tell the chefs to have dinner ready in an hour. Kieran, cancel my meeting with the general.”

Luke and Kieran both nod silently, their masked faces giving nothing away, and just as you’re trying to make sense of the words, the car abruptly comes to a stop.

“Yes, boss!” the twins respond with a clipped tones, as if this exchange is routine.

Everything happens so quickly. The moment the car parks, Luke and Kieran scramble out of their seats with swift, practiced efficiency. The sound of the doors opening and shutting echoes in the quiet night. Sylus shifts beneath you, opening his door, and you awkwardly slide off his lap, trying to maintain some semblance of balance as he exits the vehicle. You watch through strained, weary eyes as he steps out, his figure towering over the open car door. Then, he stretches out his hand toward you.

You hesitate.

The gesture, though outwardly polite, is anything but friendly. It’s not an offer—it’s a command, an unspoken reminder of your captivity. The world seems to close in around you, the air growing thicker, and your heart begins to pound in your chest. Your mind races, but there’s nowhere to run.

“If you’re thinking about driving off,” Sylus says with a low chuckle, leaning down to peer into the car, “Luke’s already got the keys, kitten.”

You can’t help but shoot him a sharp glare. You’d thought about running, yes, but not now—not when escape was utterly impossible. The moment passes quickly, and you open your mouth, wanting to explain yourself, to insist you weren’t planning anything. But the words stick in your throat, useless.

Instead, you shut your mouth, swallowing your frustration, and glare at him in defiance. Wordlessly, you reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, as he helps you out of the car. Carefully, you step onto the ground, your heart still racing, knowing you’re walking back into your cage.

You glance around as Sylus pulls you forward, your hand still trapped in his. The sight of the mansion looms ahead, its grand, imposing silhouette becoming clearer with each step. Tall iron gates and bird statues loom in front of you, a place that might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the dread curling deep in your chest.

The mansion is more than just a building; it’s a cage, one that now feels even more suffocating as Sylus forces you to walk beside him, hand in hand like you’re something precious. But you know better. This is control, a quiet but undeniable display of power.

With each step toward the front door, the walls of the world seem to close in tighter, and your heart races faster. The echoes of your own footsteps blend with the eerie silence of the night, the only sound that reminds you how very trapped you are in this place—never truly alone, but never free either.

As you walk toward the towering front doors, your eyes drift upward, almost unconsciously, to Sylus. His appearance has always been striking—red eyes that seem to glow with a mix of malice and amusement, and white hair with subtle gray undertones, catching the faint light of the mansion. His angular features, so sharp and perfectly controlled, show signs of wear now. You can see the tension in his brow, the tiredness in the slight creases around his eyes—things you hadn’t noticed before. It makes you wonder how much stress your escape had caused him. How much had he sacrificed in the time you were gone? Had he been frantic, furious?

As if sensing your gaze, Sylus turns his head slightly, catching you in the act of studying him. A smirk plays across his lips, and his crimson eyes flicker with amusement. "What’s the matter? Falling in love?" His voice is a low drawl, teasing, but there’s something predatory in it—like he’s already enjoying this little game.

Heat rises to your face, a mixture of irritation and something else you refuse to name. You look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him. His taunts are the last thing you want to entertain, especially when your mind is still spinning with the weight of what lies ahead. Still, the words linger, taunting you as much as his smirk did.

Finally, the massive front doors loom before you, framed by the same wrought iron and heavy stone that always made the mansion feel more like a fortress. Sylus stops, standing tall beside you, his hand still gripping yours as if to remind you that escape, or even defiance, is out of the question.

He gestures toward a small panel embedded into the wall near the door. "Lean down," he orders, the edge of his voice soft yet commanding, "in front of the scanner."

Confused, you glance between him and the scanner, unsure of what he’s planning. You hesitate, but his unblinking red gaze locks onto you, expectant, leaving you little choice. Slowly, you lean forward, lowering yourself until your eyes are aligned with the scanner. A soft beep fills the air, followed by a click as the door unlocks.

You straighten, startled, staring at the door in disbelief. "Wait," you stammer, turning to Sylus. "Aren’t you trying to prevent me from escaping?"

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head, the white strands of his hair shifting slightly as he leans in closer, his red eyes flashing with amusement. "Your eyes," he says with a grin, "can only get you into this place." He leans in further, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not out."

His words settle heavily in your chest, and a knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Your eyes—the very thing that could open doors here—were also the key to locking you in. Any hope you might have had, any fleeting thought of escape, is crushed in that moment. The world seems to warp, the walls of the mansion now looming around you like a trap. A cage disguised as opulence.

Why had he even bothered with something like that? The thought gnaws at you as you stand at the threshold of the mansion. Did he seriously think you would ever want to come back inside? The idea seems absurd. You were his captive, forced into this nightmare. There was no version of this where you willingly returned.

But as you glance back at him, his smirk still lingering on his face, you wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. He’s a man who thrives on control, on bending people to his will, and the thought that he might relish the idea of making you come back to this place, on your own terms, sends a shiver down your spine. Would he leave you out there in that desolate city, waiting, desperate, only to watch you break down and crawl back inside? The idea feels like a twisted game only he could design—where escape was impossible not just because of physical barriers, but because he'd burrowed deep into your mind.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but the question lingers, settling like a weight in your chest. Did he think that, over time, you’d surrender? That this grand mansion, this cage, would eventually become a place you’d walk into willingly?

Sylus catches your hesitation, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Strange, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth and casual, as if he could read the questions racing through your mind. “A key that only lets you in. But maybe someday…you'll want to use it.”

His words hang in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken, anger mixing with the uncertainty swirling inside you. He can’t seriously believe that, can he? That one day you’d walk back into this place of your own accord?

The very thought of it makes your stomach turn. You can’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay away from here. Yet, there’s an unsettling confidence in the way he says it, a certainty that leaves you with more questions than answers.

“As if I would ever, prick,” you spat, your voice sharp and defiant.

Sylus laughs, his amusement rolling off him in deep waves, rich and unhurried. His red eyes gleam, locking onto yours with a look that holds something deeper than mere satisfaction. There’s affection there—twisted, yes, but genuine.

“Ah, there she is,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “I was starting to wonder if the N109 Zone had fully broken you.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firm and reassuring, as he leads you into the grand mansion. To him, this was always meant to be your home, even if you couldn't see it yet.

You grimace at his words, irritation bubbling up inside you, making your heart race. This was still a game to him—a challenge, but not one born of cruelty. No, he found your defiance amusing, like a kitten batting at the hand that feeds it. He loved it, even.

You silently curse him under your breath as he leads you deeper into the grand house, your feet moving mechanically while your mind fights to keep up. The familiar sights come back into view, flooding your senses like a slow wave of nausea. The glossy black tile beneath your feet, the dark, lavish décor that loomed from every corner—it was all the same, just as cold and suffocating as you remembered.

Your eyes flick to the kitchen entryway, a place that had once offered a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape. You remember fleeing into it, heart racing, desperate to get away from all of this, only to be dragged back into Sylus’s grip. The memory gnaws at you, bringing a fresh wave of bitterness.

It makes you sick.

Every inch of this place, every dark aesthetic, seemed designed to remind you of your captivity. This was a cage, no matter how opulent or luxurious it appeared on the surface. And the worst part was the weight of his hand around yours—the possessiveness of his grip, the unspoken reminder that escape, no matter how hard you tried, was out of reach right now.

Sylus gently guides you toward the stairs, his grip still firm, giving you no room to hesitate. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as your feet start moving up the dark, winding staircase. Every step feels heavier than the last, your pulse thrumming in your ears as memories flood back—memories of when you had fled, heart racing, legs burning, desperate to escape this place. You’d made it down these very stairs once before, only to have freedom ripped away from you.

Now, you were being forced back up, step by agonizing step, into the room you had fought so hard to leave behind.

With every step upward, your resolve starts to crumble. The closer you get to that door, the more you feel the weight of your captivity settling in again, suffocating you. The darkened hallways, the oppressive silence—it all presses down on you, reminding you that no matter how much you fight, this is where you’ll always end up. Trapped.

You hesitate when you finally reach the door to the bedroom. The sight of it makes your stomach twist, your feet glued to the floor as a wave of dread washes over you. Everything in your body screams not to go inside, not to let yourself be locked in that room again. To run, to fight.

But Sylus is right behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence, his breath warm and steady, almost unnervingly calm. His grip on your hand softens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin, as if to soothe your frayed nerves. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with that unsettling authority. “Go on, sweetie.”

The way he says it is almost tender, but it only deepens the knot of anxiety in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s real kindness or just another layer of control. That soft, coaxing tone… it unnerves you more than his laughter, more than his taunts.

Despite every fiber of your being wanting to resist, you find yourself moving, stepping forward under the weight of his quiet insistence. You cross the threshold into the room, your body betraying you even as your mind screams to stop. The door clicks shut behind you with an almost imperceptible finality, and just like that, the familiar four dark walls of your prison close in around you once more.

You fight back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes as you step further into the room. The familiar surroundings feel like a punch to the gut—the large, imposing bed where Sylus had forced himself on you many many times, leaving behind scars you hadn’t realized had cut so deep. The leather couch in the center of the room, cold and impersonal, where you’d sat, waiting for the next wave of control to sweep over your life.

It’s too much.

For a moment, your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the weight of it all pressing down with crushing force. The memories—dark, suffocating—swirl around you, making it hard to breathe. You almost crumble right there, unable to withstand the flood of emotions, of trauma that suddenly feels too close to the surface.

But before you can collapse, Sylus is there, his hand wrapping around your arm, guiding you away from the room and into the bathroom. His touch is firm but oddly gentle, a contrast that makes you even more uneasy. He’s pulling you toward the tiled space, and your mind races, trying to understand what’s happening as he begins to carefully, methodically, lift up your shirt to undress you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your body goes stiff, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding onto it could somehow protect you. “No,” you repeat, a little louder this time, your voice shaky and uneven. The tremors wrack your body, panic rising in your chest.

Sylus looks at you with something akin to worry, his touch slowing, but not stopping. He doesn’t force you, but his actions continue with a sense of inevitability, as though he believes this is just part of taking care of you, of ensuring you’re where you belong.

"I'm not going to do anything to you now, you just need a shower, sweetie."

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Flashes of memory assault you—dim lights, the scent of damp stone, and the overpowering fear of when you were in that basement. The man who had tried to force himself on you, who had pressed you against the bed with a hunger that still made your skin crawl. Your breath hitches as you remember his hands, his twisted smile. The terror, the helplessness—it's all too real, crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply the trauma had sunk into you. Not until this moment, with Sylus standing in front of you, touching your clothes, his touch too familiar, too close to the horror you’d endured. You had been holding your emotions back but you couldn't now.

You flinch, your body recoiling instinctively as the memories close in around you. Your voice cracks, barely holding back the sob building in your throat. “Please…don’t.”

Sylus’s hands pause, and for the first time that entire day, you see it,—hesitation flickering across his sharp features. His red eyes, usually so calculating and cold, soften just enough for you to notice. His grip loosens, his fingers no longer working to take off your clothes but instead resting lightly on your shoulders, as if afraid of causing more harm.

“Be still,” he says again, his voice quiet and strangely tender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But his words barely register. The panic has already set in, tightening around your chest like a vice. Your breathing grows shallow, quick—too quick. Your thoughts scatter, your heartbeat hammering so hard it feels like your ribcage might shatter under the pressure. The room spins around you, and suddenly you’re not here anymore. You’re back in the basement, cold stone beneath your feet, that man’s hands on your skin, forcing you against the wall. Forcing you on the bed.

You gasp for air, but each breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts. Your vision blurs, and your knees wobble beneath you. It’s happening all over again. The helplessness, the terror. It’s like your body has been pulled back into that moment, and no matter how much you try to claw your way out, you can’t.

Sylus moves swiftly, pulling you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong and grounding, his chest solid against your trembling form. “Breathe, sweetie” he whispers, his voice low, soothing, as if trying to coax you back from the edge of your panic. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, the gentle rhythm fighting against the chaos inside you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. The air won’t come. Your breaths are sharp and shallow, your body on the verge of shutting down as you feel the world slipping away. You struggle, pushing weakly at him, but his arms only tighten around you, holding you firmly in place, anchoring you.

“Shhh, shhh…” His voice drops even lower, soft and almost tender. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The warmth of his body presses against yours, his presence somehow steadying the storm inside you. You eventually cling to him, not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing that keeps you from spiraling into complete panic. His hand continues to stroke your back in slow, measured motions, and though your heart still pounds in your chest, his touch starts to break through the suffocating fog.

“I’ll turn around, okay?” he says gently, as if sensing the root of your fear. “You can undress yourself. I won’t watch.”

There’s something in his tone—something that feels honest, reassuring, like he’s not just saying the words to control you but because he wants you to feel safe. You weakly nod, barely, but he catches it. He loosens his grip and takes a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender, his red eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll give you some time. You don’t have to rush.”

With a careful turn, he faces away from you, his broad back filling the room but no longer imposing. His actions aren’t threatening; they’re deliberate, giving you the space he knows you need.

Your breathing slows and you blink back tears, but your body still trembles. You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes with a shaky hand, glancing around the bathroom as the panic begins to ebb. And then you notice it—something is different.

The bathtub is gone.

It had been there before, you remember. A large, ornate tub that had taken up the corner of the bathroom, a symbol of something luxurious in this prison of yours. But now, it’s nowhere to be seen. Your brows knit together in confusion as you stare at the empty space.

“Where’s the tub?” you ask, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sylus doesn’t turn around, but his response is quick and calm, as if he expected the question. “I had it removed,” he says softly, his voice strangely careful, almost cautious. “I didn’t want you to drown yourself again.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. He thought…no, he knew. He knew how deep the darkness inside you could go, how close you’d come to actually dying. He’d taken precautions—not just to keep you here, but to keep you alive.

You stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space where the bathtub used to be, and the reality sinks in—there’s truly no escape. Not from this place, not from Sylus, and not from the relentless grip of your own mind. He’s stripped you of every option, every avenue, until there’s nothing left but this.

Nothing left but him.

The exhaustion presses down on you, heavier than ever before. With slow, mechanical movements, you step into the shower, your limbs feeling distant, as if they don’t belong to you anymore. The warm water hits your skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in your chest. You close your eyes, hoping that the steady stream of water can drown out the chaos inside your head—the panic, the hopelessness, the memories.

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

Images flash behind your closed eyelids—memories of that basement, the cold stone walls pressing in, the terror that gripped you when the man came too close, his hands reaching, his breath sour. You press your hands against the tiled wall, your body shaking as you fight the memories back, but they keep coming, like waves crashing over you, dragging you under.

And then there’s Reese.

You can’t stop seeing it—the moment his body hit the floor, the sound of the fatal gunshot echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. His face, twisted in shock and pain. Your fault. The words circle in your mind like a dark mantra, mixing with the trauma of that basement. It’s all tangled together, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make it stop.

"Go to hell, Reese."

The water cascades down your back, but it doesn’t wash away the guilt. It doesn’t drown out the horror. The images of blood and brain matter sliding down concrete walls.

You press your forehead against the cold tile, letting the water soak through your hair as you fight the rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You want to believe that there’s a way out, some form of freedom—maybe not from this mansion, but at least from the grip of your own mind. But right now, standing under the relentless stream of water, you know that freedom is further away than ever.

No matter how much you fight it, you’re trapped. Inside this house. Inside yourself.

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

You feel the tears begin to well up, hot and uncontainable, spilling over before you even realize you’ve let them go. They mix with the water, disappearing beneath the steady stream of the shower, unseen, unclaimed by anyone but you. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is watching. Not even Sylus.

You let the sobs come quietly, your body trembling as the tears fall, merging with the warm cascade. It’s a strange relief, knowing that in this moment, he isn’t witnessing your breaking point. Sylus had made it clear—your pain, your misery, your tears, they all belonged to him.

But right now, this moment is yours.

As the tears fall silently, you press your forehead against the cool tile, letting yourself cry in a way you hadn’t allowed before. The sobs are shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water, but they are real, raw, and they are yours alone. The stream washes them away before they have the chance to leave a trace, like they never existed at all.

Even as your heart aches and the trauma still weighs you down, there’s a strange comfort in the tears that go unnoticed. For just these few minutes, you aren’t his broken thing to fix or keep. You’re just a person, trying to survive, trying to breathe.

And even though the water doesn’t drown out all the pain or the memories, it gives you enough space to let the emotions pour out—if only for a little while.

Xavier’s breath came in shallow bursts as he navigated the empty streets of Linkon City, the familiar hum of his hunter’s watch glowing faintly on his wrist. His blue eyes flicked between the road and the holographic screen hovering just above the watch face. The blue light illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp focus in his eyes. The signal from the phone booth was still there, blinking steadily. That was his main lead—the last place you’d been before everything went silent.

His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the call, every word etched into his memory. Kidnapped. You hadn’t said much, but the panic in your tone had been unmistakable. The moment the call cut, something in him snapped. There was no hesitation, no second thought—he had left almost immediately, speeding through the city, your trembling words echoing in his head.

"Yeah, his name is S—"

Your words echoed in Xavier's mind, over and over, like a haunting refrain. You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before the call had abruptly cut out, leaving him with nothing but that single, meaningless syllable. S. It replayed in his head as the car sped forward, finally breaking free from the limits of Linkon City and onto the dark, winding road that would lead him toward the N109 Zone.

He had tried to call back the second the line went dead, his hands trembling as he frantically redialed the number, but it was no use. The call wouldn’t connect. Maybe you had run out of money for the payphone. Maybe something far worse had happened.

The not knowing gnawed at him.

Who was S? The question had burned in his mind from the moment you said it. A name. It had to be a name. But just that one letter wasn’t enough to figure out who this person was, let alone why they had taken you. He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the dark road stretched out before him.

Whoever S was, they were dangerous enough to bring you to the N109 Zone. That part made his blood run cold. This place wasn’t just desolate—it was the kind of area that most people in the city pretended didn’t even exist. It was lawless, forgotten. A place where the desperate went to disappear, where the city’s darkness festered beneath the surface and on top of it, darkness everywhere you turn.

But why there? What did this S want with you? And why take you so far from the city?

He replayed the phone call in his mind again, your voice shaky but steady as you’d tried to tell him what had happened. The fear had been there, simmering just beneath your words, but you had clearly fought to stay calm.

Xavier’s heart pounded harder with every mile. There was something else that bothered him, something gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why had you been targeted? You were strong, capable—smart. One of the best deep space hunters around. You wouldn’t have let yourself be taken easily. That meant whoever S was, he’d planned this, thought it through, and knew how to get to you. That thought made Xavier’s stomach twist. This wasn’t random. It was calculated.

The car hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present, but his mind still raced. He needed to find you, needed to get to you before this S—whoever he was—did something unforgivable. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there, scared and alone, waiting for help that felt too far away.

He glanced at the holographic display on his hunter’s watch again, watching as the faint signal pulsed from the N109 Zone. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best lead he had. That phone booth, that single clue you’d left him before the call ended, was his only connection to you now.

Who are you, S? The question echoed in his mind as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car roaring down the empty highway.

He didn’t know what awaited him in the N109 Zone, but he knew one thing for sure: he was prepared to fight like hell for you.

After what felt like an eternity, buildings whipping past him, Xavier finally pulled up to the phone booth, his heart hammering in his chest. The headlights illuminated the cracked pavement and the battered glass of the booth, standing alone at the edge of the desolate lot like a ghost from another time. But of course, you weren’t there. The booth was empty. You were nowhere to be found.

Xavier’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he sat there for a moment, staring at the empty phone booth. His mind raced, thoughts tangled in frustration and fear. You had told him you would call back—you had said you were going to that strange man’s house, and then you’d come back to tell him what it looked like. But now, standing there in the middle of the N109 Zone, it felt like that plan had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face as he approached the booth. His eyes scanned the area, up and down, looking for any sign of you. But there was nothing. Just silence. The eerie kind that made his stomach twist with unease.

The booth was run-down, even worse up close. He stared at it, his thoughts flickering between panic and regret. Should he wait for you to come back, as you said you would? Or had something already gone terribly wrong? Every second that passed felt like a ticking clock, time slipping away, leaving him more uncertain than ever.

He leaned against the booth, raking a hand through his hair, trying to decide. You had been so determined—so sure you could handle this. You’d said you were going to check out this strange man’s house, get some rest, and then return. But the thought of you going there alone, to that man—whoever he was—made him sick.

I should’ve told you not to go with him.

The regret hit him hard, twisting deep in his chest. He should’ve been more forceful, should’ve stopped you. The second you’d mentioned this man, this stranger who had somehow convinced you to follow him, alarm bells had gone off in his head. He had sensed something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he told you to stay away? Why hadn’t he made sure you didn’t go?

But you were strong, capable—you had always been stubborn, determined to handle things on your own. And he had trusted you to do that. But now…now you were missing. And he was standing in an empty lot with no idea where you were or who had taken you.

Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the phone booth as if willing it to give him answers. The last place you had been. He thought about turning around, driving through the N109 Zone, checking every corner, every building. But the reality of how vast and dangerous this area was made him hesitate. He didn’t even know who to look for. S. The mysterious man whose name had been cut off by the phone’s disconnect. That wasn’t enough.

Xavier’s stomach growled, pulling him from the fog of his frantic thoughts. He hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him was finally wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, the pang of hunger a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d stopped moving. He didn’t want to waste time, but he knew he needed to eat, to think straight.

Reluctantly, he climbed back into the car and started driving, scanning the streets of the N109 Zone for anything that looked remotely functional. This part of the city was basically wasteland—most of the buildings were crumbling, their windows broken, and the streets were nearly empty. He almost decided to give up before spotting a flicker of neon in the distance.

It was a convenience store—small, dingy, and barely lit—but it was open. The cracked neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a dull glow over the entrance. It didn’t look promising, but it was all he had. He pulled up, the car’s tires crunching over the broken pavement as he parked.

Xavier stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he approached the entrance. The store looked as worn out as the rest of the area, its windows covered in grime and dust, but the lights inside told him it was still in business. He pushed the door open, the warmth of the store enveloping him.

The place reeked of stale air and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the narrow aisles, most of them half-stocked but there was variety. Xavier grabbed a few snacks—whatever looked edible—and made his way to the counter, where a grimy man with disheveled hair and yellowed teeth sat behind the register, staring at him with a disinterested scowl.

“Do you take gold?” Xavier asked, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for places outside Linkon City to not take gold, as a lot of places were still living in the past. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

The man behind the counter laughed, a rough, guttural sound that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Gold, huh? Figures. You Linkcunt folks just keep coming in here actin’ like it’s worth more than it is.” He leaned forward, eyeing Xavier with something between amusement and suspicion.

"No, we don't take it."

Xavier pocketed the small pouch, unsurprised by the man's harsh words, “You said Linkon folks? Who else from the city has been here?” His tone was casual, but his heart skipped a beat. Maybe someone else had seen you?

"Linkcunt," the man corrected with a sneer. The man’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly. “Why, you looking for someone?” He eyed Xavier and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on an edge of curiosity.

Xavier pressed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe. Just wondering who else might’ve been through here recently.”

The man scratched his stubbled chin, considering. “Well, there was this disheveled-looking girl who came through a little while ago. Had a lot of attitude, that one. Demanding help. Swiped some snacks and shit when I wasn’t looking. Took off before I could do anything about it.” He shrugged, clearly not too bothered by the theft. “But that’s basically all I know.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. A disheveled girl… Could it have been you?

His pulse quickened, the pieces clicking together. You must have come through here before disappearing. The man didn’t seem to know much more, but this was a sign. You had been close—you had been right here.

“What’d she look like?” Xavier asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The man waved a hand lazily. “Didn't look that closely to be honest. Bitch looked like hell, though. Clothes all messed up, like she’d been through something. But she was quick—didn’t stick around long enough for me to really notice much else. Don’t know where she went after that. Just up and vanished with my stock”

Xavier nodded, feeling a surge of both hope and frustration. You’d been here, that much was clear. But now you were gone again, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

"You really shouldn't talk about women like that".

He paid for the snacks with some dollar bills he kept in his car for out of city trips, and turned to leave, leaving the disgruntled cashier. His mind already racing to figure out where you could’ve gone from here.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back outside, the cold night air hitting him like a wall. You’d been here. Not long ago, from the sound of it. He could almost picture it—your disheveled form rushing through the aisles, grabbing whatever you could before vanishing into the shadows again. You were close, too close to give up now. But where had you gone?

He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty streets. There were too many directions, too many places you could have disappeared to. The N109 Zone was vast, a labyrinth of forgotten corners and abandoned buildings, and there was no telling where you might have run off to next.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the little he knew. You had come here to get food, maybe out of desperation—running on fear and adrenaline. And then, like the man said, you were gone. No tracks, no sign of where you’d been taken.

Xavier pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing over the faded image of a sleek pair of boots. It was the same pamphlet the shoe store clerk had given him earlier, and now, it seemed like his only other lead. A shoe store… It might seem like a stretch, but he had learned to follow even the smallest clues. If he couldn’t figure out where you had gone, maybe he could figure out more about the man who had taken you. And starting with something as small as his shoes might just be the break he needed.

He studied the pamphlet again, his eyes narrowing as he recalled his brief conversation with the clerk. The shoes had been expensive, high-end—definitely not something most people in the N109 Zone would be wearing.

But S wasn’t like most people, was he?

Xavier’s mind spun as he hurriedly typed the address from the pamphlet into his hunter’s watch, the holographic screen glowing softly as it processed the information. The watch pinged, highlighting the location of the store in the city. It wasn’t far, but it was a place he wouldn’t have expected someone from the N109 Zone to frequent.

If S was wearing those shoes, it meant he had money—or at least access to it. That was something Xavier could work with. People like that left trails, even in places where they thought they could stay hidden.

He started the car again, his pulse quickening as the watch projected the route onto the windshield. The shoe store was his next stop, and if he was lucky, he could get more information about who S really was. Maybe someone there had seen him, or better yet, could point him in the direction of where he lived or did business.

As the car sped toward the heart of the city, Xavier’s determination sharpened. He was getting closer to answers—closer to finding you. If he could learn more about this mysterious man, this “S,” then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out where you were being held.

As Xavier sped through the dark, crumbling streets of the N109 Zone, the world outside his car blurred into a mix of shadows and faint streetlights. His mind was focused on finding you, piecing together the next step in his search. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car lurching to a stop as his heart raced. The sound of the scream echoed through the desolate streets, raw and desperate. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the cry for help. Then he saw her—a woman stumbling into the dim light from a broken streetlamp, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain.

“Help! Please, help me!” she gasped, her voice cracking with panic as she looked directly at him, her body collapsing onto the cracked pavement.

Xavier’s hunter instincts kicked in immediately. He couldn’t just leave someone like that. He shoved the car door open and rushed toward her, his eyes darting around, looking for any potential danger. The streets of the N109 Zone were unpredictable, but he couldn't just ignore someone in need.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm as he knelt down beside her.

The woman’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and contorted with pain. She clutched her ribs, wincing with every breath. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was attacked. I need help… please…” Her eyes were wild with fear, darting between Xavier and the shadows beyond, as if expecting someone—or something—to come after her at any moment.

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind racing. “I’ll get you some help,” he assured her, reaching for his phone. But as he fumbled for it, he felt a shift—something wasn’t right.

The woman’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, her panic momentarily replaced by something colder, more calculating. Before he could react, a blur of movement rushed behind him.

A sharp clink. The keys.

Xavier’s blood ran cold as he spun around, just in time to see a man slip past him, keys glinting in his hand. The stranger, quick and agile, darted toward Xavier’s car, jumping into the driver’s seat. How did I not see this coming? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—this was a setup.

“Hey!” Xavier yelled, lunging forward, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was too late.

The woman, now standing tall with no trace of pain or injury, smirked at him, her expression smug and mocking. “Thanks for the ride, city boy,” she sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she ran toward the passenger side of the car. She moved easily now, as if the earlier fear and desperation had been nothing but an act. It had been.

Xavier’s mind raced as he sprinted toward the car, but the engine roared to life before he could even get close. The man in the driver’s seat gunned the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

His heart sank as he watched the taillights disappear into the darkness, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. His car. His keys. Everything—gone in an instant. And with it, any chance of quickly finding you.

He'd have to walk on foot.

The steam from the shower still clung to your skin as you stepped out, your mind swirling in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate. The hot water had done little to wash away the weight of everything pressing down on you—the memories, the fear—but it had, at least, cleaned the grime from your body. You were left feeling raw and exposed, unsure of what was coming next.

You opened the glass door of the shower and grabbed a towel laying on the counter, wrapping it around yourself quickly before exiting.

You saw Sylus had elected to lean against the doorframe when you stepped out, and he turned around to face you. His eyes, those sharp, red eyes, softened when they met yours. "The chef has prepared food for you," he said, his voice gentle. The tenderness in his tone felt unnerving, like everything else with him, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.

But before you could respond, he gestured to a set of neatly prepared shopping bags laid on his bed outside the bathroom. “I want you to open these first. Consider them gifts I had planned for you… before you ran off.” The edge in his words lingered, but his expression remained neutral. You vaguely remembered him clipping your nails while you were in the bathtub, a pile of shopping bags at his feet.

Ah, you had forgotten all about those. You wrapped the towel around yourself tighter, a knot of discomfort forming in your stomach.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you began to take out the "gifts". The first bag contained delicate pieces of underwear—soft, lace, and undeniably expensive. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease crawl up your spine.

“Gifts for me? Or for you to see on me?” you muttered, unable to hide the malice in your voice, the bitterness slipping out.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile, his red eyes flickering with that familiar, unsettling glint. "Why not both?," he replied softly, the weight of his gaze lingering on you as though he found your defiance amusing.

These weren’t just clothes; they were symbols of his control, of how he saw you. Like you were his little doll to dress up. Still, you nodded hesitantly, accepting the garments with quiet reluctance.

Beneath the underwear were more practical clothes—soft, comfortable tops, leggings, and dresses. Each piece was chosen carefully, and despite yourself, you appreciated the effort, if only because you were desperate for something to wear to avoid Sylus's lingering gaze on your damp body. You chose a simple, slightly loose white dress, letting it fall over your damp skin. Then slipped on one of the many underwear he had bought for you. Sylus watched you quietly, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to finish.

“You might've lost a few pounds from stress, once you start eating more, it’ll fit better,” he said casually, his tone matter-of-fact as though he hadn’t just casually referenced your weakened state. The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of how long you'll be trapped here. Then, with a surprising softness, he added, “You look beautiful nonetheless, honey.”

“Honey.” A new pet name.

Surprisingly, instead of making you grimace like his usual endearments, it sends an unwelcome heat crawling across your face. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to react, but the flush is unmistakable. Against your will, your gaze drops, and you look away from him, the sudden surge of embarrassment catching you off guard.

Sylus notices, of course. His smile deepens slightly, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes as if he can sense the effect his words have on you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you—steady, watchful—his presence filling the room in an unnerving way that makes it harder to breathe.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture oddly tender and yet impossible to trust. You hesitated, unsure if taking it would solidify his power over you further or if refusing would draw out something worse. But you take it, residing to the fact that you didn't have much choice.

He moved toward the door, your hand held in his grip. “Come,” he said. “The food is waiting.”

Your stomach growled again, and despite the tension between you and him, you found yourself trailing after him, your body driven by the gnawing hunger you couldn’t ignore. As you stepped into the dining hall, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food hit you like a wave.

The table was filled with an extravagant feast. Platters of roasted meats sat alongside bowls of vibrant vegetables, glistening under the kitchen lights. There were thick, tender cuts of lamb, still steaming from the oven, their edges crisp and golden. Roasted chicken, its skin perfectly browned and seasoned with herbs, sat atop a bed of caramelized onions and garlic. Beside them, a platter of seared duck breast, cooked to perfection, its fat rendered into a rich, savory glaze.

On another side of the table were bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery, their surface dusted with flecks of chives. A dish of roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and beets—was arranged in a beautiful display, their edges crisp and caramelized, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. There was a vibrant salad of mixed greens, tossed with fresh pomegranate seeds, crumbled goat cheese, and candied walnuts, the dressing a light, tangy vinaigrette that made your mouth water.

A basket of freshly baked bread sat in the center of the table, the rolls warm and soft, their golden crusts begging to be torn apart. Small bowls of whipped butter, infused with honey and herbs, accompanied them, the scent sweet and savory.

But it didn’t stop there. Desserts, too, were laid out, tempting you even further. A decadent chocolate tart with a glossy ganache topping, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries, sat next to a platter of delicate fruit tarts, their centers brimming with custard and topped with glistening berries. A tower of macarons in various pastel shades—lavender, pistachio, rose—completed the lavish display.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his smile widening as he watched your eyes dart from one dish to the next. "Well don't just stare, sit down".

The sight and smell overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you felt like a prisoner presented with a royal meal, knowing full well the chains still bound you. But hunger gnawed at your insides, and no matter how conflicted you were, your body screamed for sustenance as you sat.

"Eat," Sylus urged, taking a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting for your reaction.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a piece of bread, the warmth of it soothing in your palm. You tore it open, the soft dough yielding beneath your fingers, and dipped it into the whipped honey butter, taking a small bite. The flavors burst in your mouth, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

The food was perfect—too perfect. And as you took another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this all part of the game too? Or was it simply nourishment after the storm?

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you as you ate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, just watched you in that unsettling, familiar way—like he was always studying you, always thinking, always planning. His silence, for once, was almost a relief, allowing you to focus on the food and ignore his presence as much as possible.

You couldn’t help it. The hunger gnawed at you, and the feast before you was impossible to resist. The flavors were rich, the textures comforting, and before you realized it, you had cleared almost four plates. Each bite had momentarily dulled the chaos in your mind, letting you push aside the fear, the memories, and the discomfort that still lingered in your chest.

Sylus didn’t comment as you reached for more, nor did he interrupt. He seemed content to let you eat in peace, his eyes never leaving you but his lips remaining closed. It wasn’t until you finally pushed the last plate away, feeling the fullness settle in your stomach, that the silence between you felt heavier.

The weight of exhaustion began to settle over you. The warmth from the food and the sheer relief of being full left you feeling heavy, your eyelids growing heavier by the minute. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until that moment. Your body felt like it had finally reached its limit.

Sylus stood up, breaking the silence. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he pushed his chair back, his gaze never leaving you. “You must be tired,” he said softly, the same unnerving tenderness in his voice as before. “It’s time for bed.”

You tensed slightly at his words, but your body, worn down by hunger and stress, didn’t have the strength to protest. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what might come out if you did. There was no point in resisting, not tonight.

Sylus moved toward you, his hand extending again as if offering comfort. You hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, but you didn’t have the energy to reject him. You let him guide you, his touch gentle yet firm as he led you toward the bedroom you were dreading your return to.

You don’t remember when exactly you slipped into unconsciousness, but the world had faded into nothing after Sylus lifted you into the bed. His arms were unexpectedly gentle, cradling you with a kind of care that felt entirely out of place. You were vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in, but then everything went dark. The exhaustion you had been fighting all day finally consumed you, and you sank into the deepest sleep you’d felt in what seemed like forever.

There was comfort in the darkness, the kind of peace that only comes with complete surrender to sleep. No fear, no panic, just the void. You floated there, cradled in warmth. But soon, the darkness gave way to a dream, vivid and consuming.

Xavier appeared first, stepping out of the shadows of your mind. His familiar figure brought an immediate sense of relief. His ashy blonde hair fell into his face, and his striking blue eyes bore into you with the same warmth and intensity that always made your heart flutter. There he was, just as you remembered—strong, dependable, and safe. He reached out, his hand extending toward you, and without hesitation, you moved toward him.

The moment your hand met his, your heart melted, the overwhelming sense of security flooding through you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe. You felt home.

But something changed.

Xavier’s gaze, once filled with affection and care, shifted. His eyes darkened, turning cold, distant. The warmth you’d found in his presence quickly evaporated, replaced by something harsh and unfamiliar. His lips curled downward, a shadow crossing his face, and his grip on your hand tightened. The shift was sudden, the dream warping around you like a twisted reflection of reality.

"Why did you want him dead?" His voice cut through the dream, sharp and cold, the softness you’d expected from him nowhere to be found.

You blinked, confusion gripping you as his words sank in. “Huh?” Your face faltered, your heart pounding in your chest. His cold stare drilled into you, and you could feel something inside you cracking under its weight. What was happening?

"You're the reason Reese is dead," Xavier said, his words landing like a punch to the gut. His voice, usually so steady, so comforting, was now filled with anger, with accusation. His grip on your hand turned painful, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost crushing force.

“No...” Your voice wavered, barely able to push the word out as your mind reeled. “That wasn’t my fault, it was Sy—” You tried to explain, to say anything to stop the blame from settling on your shoulders. But the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t finish. You couldn’t get them out.

His face twisted, contorting with anger and something that looked like disappointment. His blue eyes, once a source of warmth, were now filled with icy judgment, the coldness sinking into your skin like knives. His grip tightened further, pain shooting through your hand, but no matter how hard you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

The dream around you blurred, the edges of reality warping and distorting. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, while Xavier's figure loomed larger, his presence suffocating. The weight of his blame pressed down on your chest like a stone, suffocating you, filling your lungs with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You tried to explain again, your voice strangled by the intensity of the moment, but Xavier wasn’t listening. His hand was like a vice, his fingers digging into your skin as his gaze pinned you in place. His words repeated in your mind, echoing louder and louder—“You're the reason he’s dead.”

Xavier's face began to twist, distorting into something grotesque, something no longer human. His once gentle features morphed and stretched unnaturally, his blue eyes darkening into hollow, accusing pits. His grip on your hand became unbearable, crushing the bones in your fingers as his form continued to change, shifting from the man you loved into a nightmare. The warmth that had briefly comforted you was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to pull away, but the force holding you was relentless. You stared in horror as Xavier’s form became unrecognizable, his skin taking on a gray, cracked texture, his mouth elongating into a grimace filled with sharp teeth. His eyes, now nothing more than deep, empty voids, bore into you with a hatred that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re a murderer,” the figure spat, its voice now a low, guttural growl that echoed in your ears, far louder than it should have been. “Murderer.” The word hit you like a physical blow, making your entire body tense as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you desperately tried to defend yourself. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—”

“You have blood on your hands!” the figure roared, its voice shaking the world around you. Xavier’s face continued to twist and contort, veins bulging from his neck, his body looming over you like a towering monster. “You told him to die!”

The words echoed again and again, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. The weight of guilt slammed into your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you as the grotesque version of Xavier leaned in closer. His voice became more vicious, more unforgiving. “You let him die, and now the blood is on your hands!”

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat. Blood. It was everywhere—on your hands, dripping from your fingers, pooling at your feet. Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you tried to wipe it away, but no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply, staining your skin, your clothes, everything around you.

“You’ll never wash it off!” the figure screamed, its voice shaking with rage. “Never!” It grabbed your shoulders, shaking you violently as it continued to scream. “You’re a murderer!

You struggled, trying to pull free, but the figure’s grip was unbreakable. The dream spiraled into chaos, the world around you collapsing into darkness as the screams filled the air, overwhelming your senses. The blood seemed to rise like a tide, crawling up your arms, soaking through your skin. You gasped for air, but it was suffocating, the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Murderer!” the figure roared again, louder this time, shaking you until your vision blurred. “Murderer! Murderer!"

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the accusations wouldn’t stop. The guilt, the blood, the rage—it was all around you, suffocating you, crushing you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the figure stopped. It stood over you, silent now, but its eyes—those hollow, accusing voids—were locked onto you. “You can never escape what you’ve done,” it whispered, the venom in its voice chilling you to the core.

You shot up in bed, heart hammering in your chest, a scream tearing through your throat before you even knew what was happening. The sheets clung to your sweat-soaked skin as you gasped for breath, the nightmare still gripping you in its suffocating hold. Your hands shook violently, fingers instinctively rubbing at your palms, expecting to see the blood, the thick, crimson stain that had haunted you moments before.

But there was no blood.

The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp settled on the nightstand. Sylus sat beside you, awake, casually reading a book. His red eyes glanced up from the pages, calm and steady, showing no sign of surprise at your sudden outburst.

“You’re okay,” Sylus said softly, his voice low but steady. He closed the book, setting it aside as he reached out, pulling you closer, into his arms with a gentle grip. The warmth of his body on yours was meant to be comforting, but the lingering terror from the dream made his touch feel heavier, suffocating.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of the nightmare still gripping you. The blood, the screams, the weight of guilt—it all felt so real, too real to shake off. Your hands trembled in your lap, still trying to rub away the invisible stain that wouldn’t leave.

“Shhh,” Sylus soothed, his voice soft as he stroked your back with deliberate calmness. “It was just a nightmare, kitten.”

But his words barely penetrated the thick fog of panic swirling in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of Xavier’s cold, accusing gaze still lingered in the corners of your thoughts, leaving an ache in your chest that refused to fade.

Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. He was patient, his grip around you getting stronger as you fought to regain control, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, though it was impossible to tell how much of it was real. He watched you wordlessly, waiting patiently for your breathing to slow as he rubbed your back in soothing motions.

And you did, eventually. Slowly, your heartbeat began to slow, the cold sweat drying on your skin as the nightmare finally started to loosen its grip. You were still shaken, but reality was settling back in.

Sylus smiled, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You feel better?"

"It's not my fault..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as tears began streaming down your face, hot and unstoppable. The weight of the nightmare still pressed against your chest, the guilt wrapping itself around your heart. "Reese... I told him to die, kinda. But you killed him!"

Your words trembled in the air, and for a moment, the room felt suffocatingly silent. Sylus’s arm stilled on your back, his red eyes watching you closely. His face remained calm, unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or even amusement. He began rubbing your back again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “I killed him because he took what was mine,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t pull the trigger, I did. Don’t fool yourself, sweetie.” His fingers gently wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks, lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary.

“His fate was sealed the moment he touched you. You’re not responsible for his death.”

Your heart ached, the confusion and guilt twisting inside you. The memory of Reese's lifeless body, the sound of the gunshot, played over and over in your mind. You knew that Sylus had been the one to end it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your words, your anger, had driven the final nail in the coffin.

"But I—" you started, your voice cracking, but Sylus shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t burden yourself,” he whispered, his voice soothing but firm. “Reese was a pest, and pests are dealt with. It wasn’t your fault. You said what you needed to say in the moment” His eyes softened, his gaze almost affectionate. “And now, you’re here—with me. Safe.”

"Am I?" you sobbed, the weight of your emotions crashing down on you all at once. The tears came faster, and with them, the memory of that night—the night Sylus had taken everything into his own hands, literally. The sharp pain, the feeling of your skin being sliced open as he calmly removed your birth control implant, resurfaced in vivid detail. The raw fear that had gripped you then returned now, surging like a wave you couldn't hold back.

"At least Reese never hurt me," you choked out between sobs, your voice trembling, barely holding together. "You, on the other hand..."

Your hand instinctively went to your arm, tracing the faint scar left behind from when Sylus had decided, without a second thought, that he would control every part of you—inside and out. The scar was still there, but it wasn’t just on your skin. The memory of that violation ran deeper than any wound that could heal.

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift at your words. His calm gaze remained fixed on you, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. His hand paused in its comforting motions, hovering just inches from you, as if calculating how to respond.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice calm, controlled, almost dismissive. "Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. Why are you crying over a man that handed you and countless others over for crack?"

The flood of emotions broke through all at once at his words.

"Because-because he wasn't supposed to die. Hunters aren't the reason people die, we save people...he could've went to jail he wasn't supposed to-"

You crumpled, sobs wracking your body as the weight of everything—of all you had endured—became too much to bear. Memories you had tried to suppress, to bury deep within you, rose to the surface like dark waves crashing against fragile walls.

The man from the basement. His hands grabbing you, the smell of his breath, the sheer terror that had paralyzed you as he tried to force himself on you. You had fought, screamed, but the memory was still there, etched into your mind like a brand that would never fade. The nightmare you had just woken from had only served to rip open the scars you had so desperately tried to heal.

Your words came out in broken fragments, incoherent between sobs. "That other man…he tried… I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop him…" Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you babbled through the memories, the trauma wrapping itself around you like a suffocating shroud. "He—he wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared…"

You weren’t even sure Sylus was listening. You couldn’t look at him. Everything blurred together, your mind overwhelmed by the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped again in that moment. You curled in on yourself, trembling as the sobs became uncontrollable, the terror of that night suffocating you all over again.

Then you felt it—Sylus’s hand, soft and deliberate, gently cradling your cheek. He leaned in, his voice softening into something almost unbearably tender, a tone you never thought he was capable of.

"Poor thing, you're such a mess," he murmured.

His eyes lingered on you with a mix of pity and affection, as though you were something fragile, something cherished. It was as if watching you unravel before him caused his heart to ache.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears with slow, careful strokes. “Let me take the pain away, kitten. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”

His words were soothing, like a lullaby coaxing you away from the edge of your breakdown. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his presence surrounding you like a cocoon, making it harder to pull yourself out of the depths of your despair. For a brief moment, the way he looked at you—like he truly cared—made you falter.

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

You hesitate at his words. The rational part of your mind urged you to turn away, not to respond. To pull yourself from his embrace and fight him. But the other part, muddled by trauma, drove you to stay. To seek comfort, any comfort, even in his arms.

From your captor of all people.

“Yes…” you whimpered, blinking away tears. You didn’t know why you answered that way—your mind screamed at you to stop—but you found yourself reaching out, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

His lips crashed against yours before you could even register what was happening, consuming you in a kiss so passionate it bordered on painful. All rational thought evaporated as his tongue plundered the recesses of your mouth, stroking along your palate and tangling with your own tongue in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

You were consumed, caught in the storm of his touch, unable to think beyond the overwhelming need to escape the agony of your memories—even if only for a moment.

Your hands flew to his face of their own accord, fingers threading through his hair as you clung to him like a drowning woman gasping for air. You kissed him back with a fervor born of desperation, pouring all your pent-up anguish and trauma into the hungry clash of lips and teeth. The two of you panted against each other, like animals ready to tear each other to shreds.

Some distant part of you screamed that this was mistake, that doing this with him willingly was certainly wrong. He had kidnapped you after all. Stolen you. But it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the ache of need pulsing between your thighs. His hands slid under your dress, calloused palms skimming over hypersensitive flesh, and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

"Sylus..." you whined, already feeling the desperate ache reach your core.

"I know, kitten. Patience, we just started" he said, amusement adorning his face.

His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, silencing any lingering protests. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and danger that left you craving more. His fingers find the hem of your underwear, wasting no time to remove the obstacle from your wet depths.

Your whole body trembled as Sylus's lips blazed a path down your body, trailing molten kisses along the column of your throat. Each brush of his mouth against your sensitive skin sent electricity singing through your veins, igniting another fiery ache between your thighs. When he nudged aside the fabric of your dress to nuzzle the slick flesh of your cunt, you let out a strangled moan, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The tip of his nose grazed your swollen bud, and your back arched off the bed, every nerve ending sparking with raw pleasure. "Nnnngh…" you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively toward his teasing touch.

Sylus's deep, resonant chuckle rumbled through you, vibrating against your core in a way that made your toes curl. "So responsive," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over your dripping folds. "Tell me, kitten-were you this wet for him? Did he make you shiver and moan like this when he touched you?"

He grips your thighs almost possessively, waiting for your answer.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, plunging you back into reality. Shame crashed over you in nauseating waves, your arousal doused by the realization of how easily Sylus manipulated your body. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, fists clenching in the bedding.

"No," you choked out, voice brittle. "Never. He never touched me like this…Sylus, please…" The plea was torn from your throat, part desperation, part disgust. You felt filthy, tainted by your own traitorous reactions to Sylus's sensual assault on your most intimate parts.

But despite the revulsion roiling in your gut, your body still yearned for more.

"Its hard to say no when you beg me like that," he said, seemingly satisfied with your answer, began trailing a hot, wet streak against your folds. A gasp punches through your throat, eyes fluttering as you try not to lose all control. The mere feeling of his tongue was sending your brain into frenzies. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to block the pain.

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

You grip the bedsheets even tighter when he tenderly cuts off your plea with a moan against your clit, his tongue beginning to spread the entrance of your lips apart feverishly. Your breathing gets rapid when you feel something hot breaking past the entrance, deeper and deeper into your walls. Sylus's tongue delved deeper, stroking along your inner walls with devastating skill.

"You don't have to hold the bedsheets." he says, withdrawing momentarily from your depths. He wordlessly guides your hands to the top of his head, and before you can say anything, he's back licking up and down your folds, eventually making his way back in completely. The immediate shockwaves of pleasure make you grip his hair basically against your will, and you tearfully hold his hair as you neared an orgasm.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo as Sylus's tongue relentlessly stroked your inner walls, each slick thrust driving you higher toward the brink of climax. Broken moans spilled from your lips, intermingling with his hungry growls of appreciation. Tears streamed down your face as your hips rocked shamelessly against his mouth, silently begging for the oblivion that hovered just out of reach.

Sylus's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted upon your aching cunt. He seemed enraptured, almost worshipful in his attentions, lavishing your most intimate places with devoted licks and sucks. He ate you out like a starved man. Like he craved you.

Like he missed you.

Occasionally his nose would rub against your clit again and again, a delicious friction that made you sob with the intensity of it all.

When his lips finally closed around your swollen clit and sucked hard, you nearly vaulted off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"Mhgn! Sylus! Please, I can't…it's too much!"

But he didn't let up, his talented tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. Your vision whited out as you finally reached heaven, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you thought you might drown in it. Your walls clamped down on his invading tongue, pulsing with the force of your release, unwittingly calling out Sylus's name as you did so.

Finally, blessedly, Sylus withdrew. You melted in the sheets, finally letting go of his hair, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath. Tears streaked your face, but for once, they weren't because Sylus had hurt you. He had done quite the opposite actually.

Taking in the sight of you sprawled before him, flushed and panting, your body trembling. With a wicked smirk, he trailed a hand along your trembling thigh, drawing a shuddering moan from your throat. Evidence of your orgasm coated his mouth, and you watch as he licks the remaining from his lips.

"Tired already?" he teased, quite enjoying the way your body tensed under his touch. "For a hunter I expected you to have more stamina."

The haze of post-orgasmic bliss dissipated as quickly as it had descended, harsh reality crashing back in with brutal clarity. Tears pricked your eyes as the weight of your shame threatened to crush you. You had begged him for it, eagerly spread your legs for your kidnapper as if y'all were lovers. What was wrong with you?

"I..." you trail off, vision blurring with tears once more. What were you going to say? What could you say?

Sylus trailed lazy kisses along your jaw, seeming to sense your internal turmoil within your head. His lips rubbed against your sensitive skin, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure skittering through your nerves.

"If you're still able to think," he murmured against your throat, "then I clearly haven't kept my promise of helping you forget." His nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle.

The leather strap slid free of the loops with a hiss, dropping forgotten to the floor. Soon after, you felt the straps of your dress slip past your shoulders, past your waist, and eventually off your body completely. Sylus's gaze raked over you, lovingly and hungry, devouring the flush on your skin, the swell of your heaving breasts. You felt bare under his scrutiny, stripped of all defenses.

"And here I thought I was doing such a good job of distracting you," he purred, palming himself through his jeans. The rigid line of his erection strained against the faded denim, an obscene bulge that made your mouth go dry. You watched as he began taking his shirt off from over his head, his chiseled stomach and chest coming into view.

"Please..." you whimpered, the word torn from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Your body trembled, caught between the whirlwind of conflicting emotions roiling within you. Revulsion. Lust. Desperation. Self-loathing. You don't even know what you're asking for.

Sylus's expression softened as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing away the moisture collecting on your lashes. It was uncharacteristic of you to beg for anything other than freedom. It was pulling at his heart and making him feel weak. "Shhh, it's alright sweetie," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm keeping my promise. Don't think, just focus on me."

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole your breath and shattered your reservations. His lips moved over yours with aching tenderness, sipping at your parted lips as if savoring the sweetest nectar. The press of his body against yours was solid, reassuring, anchoring you in the whirlwind of sensation.

His tongue slipped past your defenses to stroke the sensitive flesh within, each languid thrust a silent promise of the ecstasy to come. One large hand cradled your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other smoothed soothing circles on the small of your back.

When he pulls back, eyes staring down at you, it feels like he's staring into the depths of your soul. His eye begins to glow dangerously, and you begin to feel your mind start to spin and the room start to grow hazy. Voices begin pouring into your ears.

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

But just as quickly as they started, they stopped. You lay there shocked, unable to process what just happened.

"Your mind says a lot more than your mouth does, kitten" he chuckles, and you can only blink confusingly at him as he begins unzipping his pants. He stands up momentarily to remove his pants and you watch as his cock finally spring free. You feel a gush of arousal as you watch it throb, precum slightly leaking at the tip.

"W-what?" you ask, one half of your brain focusing on his raging erection and the other half wondering why the hell your mind felt like it was splitting in half just a second ago.

But you have no time to ponder such questions as Sylus begins to tower above you once more, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart. You squeal at the sudden touch and shiver when his tip rubs against the slit of your opening. His face is twisted with pleasure and his lips are parted, as if he's restraining every part of himself not to push everything into you at once.

"Slow...please" you beg, your hips involuntarily pushing down on the head of his tip when it greets your opening.

"You want me to go slow, yet your hips are lifting off the bed like you can't wait to have me buried inside you," Sylus teased, his voice a low, wicked murmur. He enjoys the way your face twists in annoyance.

 "So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

You words lodge into your throat as you feel the head of his tip pierce your hole. You gasped, back arching as you stretched impossibly around him. A painful stretch causes you to groan and try to pull away, but Sylus puts a hand on your stomach, holding you down and ceasing all resistance.

"Be still, hah, it wont hurt for long". Sylus lips are parted as he lets out his own breathless groan, his senses being overwhelmed with you as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sylus groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought for control. He eased forward slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting you adjust to his substantial size. Your velvety walls resisted initially, clamping down around him like a vice.

Sylus paused, buried to the hilt inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. "Breathe, kitten," he instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Try to relax okay?."

You tried to relax, to focus on the pleasant pressure building deep in your core instead of the dull ache in your stretched flesh. Gradually, you yielded, your muscles unclenching as Sylus began to move.

"Good girl," he managed through clenched teeth, withdrawing until just the tip remained before sliding back in with agonizing deliberateness. Over and over, he set a torturously slow rhythm, savoring every drag of your fluttering walls along his rigid cock.

 Soon, the sting gave way to blossoming pleasure, radiating outward from where you were joined. You found yourself meeting his measured thrusts, your hips rocking up to take him deeper, chasing that euphoric friction. Sylus's pace quickened marginally, his self-control fraying at the edges. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the room, a filthy symphony that drowned out your labored breaths and muffled whimpers.

Each deliberate thrust carried you further from the pit of anguish threatening to swallow you whole. The exquisite drag of Sylus's thick cock along your sensitive walls obliterated every coherent thought, leaving only the raw, visceral pleasure of the moment. Higher and higher you climbed, chasing the blissful oblivion he promised, until the first warnings of an impending climax rippled through your trembling form.

Sylus shifted his angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids as he grazed a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. A strangled moan tore from your throat, lost in the slick slide of bodies and the heady musk of arousal perfuming the air.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coo'd, his voice low and rough with lust. "Let go. Think about the one making you feel good right now. Think about me. Only me."

His words shivered through you, igniting something primal and needy. Your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your mind snapped and went blank. You were drowning in sensation, drowning in him, and you never wanted to surface. Never wanted to think about reality ever again.

"You're so cute like this," Sylus purred, punctuating each word with a savage grind of his pelvis against yours. "Brain empty and filled with too much cock to think. Should just keep you like this..."

His filthy praise melted your reservations, stoking the desperate frenzy consuming your body and mind. Nothing else mattered beyond the slick slide of flesh and the heady perfume of sex saturating the air. In this moment, Sylus owned you wholly, a willing slave to his lust. All you could do was surrender, drowning in the exquisite agony of your impending release.

The coil of tension in your core tightened with each passing second, your impending climax hovering just out of reach. Sylus sensed your mounting desperation, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

"You're so close," he growled, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own completion. "I can feel you tightening up, greedy little thing."

"Go ahead, cum. Let me hear your pretty sounds."

The lewd demand shattered your composure, catapulting you into heaven and you practically screamed his name. Pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, obliterating every coherent thought. All you knew was the pulsing ache in your core, the rhythmic throb of Sylus's cock buried deep, prolonging your climax until you couldn't take the sensations anymore and almost begged him to stop thrusting.

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

Your vision grew blurry as you teetered into overstimulation, your walls clamping down on Sylus's pistoning length like a vise. Thankfully, he was at his own end. You hear a guttural groan of your name in your ear, and then felt the hot splash of his seed painting your insides soon after. His thrusting completely stopped, and the both of you lay there, panting and unmoving.

It was only when you felt his warm seed spilling out onto the bed that you snapped back into reality.

"Did you-"

“Yes, I did it inside,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Where else would it go?”

Before you could even process his words and sit up, he was on you, pinning your arms down to the bed with a swift, ruthless precision, as if anticipating your next move. The weight of him was suffocating, leaving you no room to escape. Panic surged through you, your body instinctively twisting and writhing beneath him, but it was useless. You were trapped.

“After your little escape," he continued, voice laced with playful amusement, "I’ve realized I need to put in more effort. Taming you isn’t as easy as I thought...a baby should be a nice, heavy, leash for you"

“Sylus… please,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. Desperation claws at you as the gravity of his words sinks in. “We don’t need to do this. Not like this. Please, let’s solve this without a child?—I’ll do anything you want. I won’t try to run again, I swear.”

Tears blurred your vision as you begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. But Sylus just smiled, that soft, chilling smile that made your stomach drop. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand disappearing beneath the bed.

“I know you won’t be running away again. In fact…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, terror coiling tighter with every passing second. What was he doing? What was he reaching for? You searched your mind desperately, trying to think of anything, anything at all that might change his mind, but you knew better. Sylus was relentless. He hadn’t forgotten your attempts to resist, and now he was only more determined.

And then you felt it—the cold, unforgiving touch of metal snapping around your ankle.

Your eyes flew wide open, your pulse spiking as you looked down in horror. An ankle chain. You were shackled.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. "No...is this..?"

“Anything I want, you say?” Sylus's voice oozed with satisfaction, a smile creeping across his lips as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the cold metal now binding you in place.

“Then make us a baby, sweetie,” he purred, his fingers tracing lightly down your arm. “That’s what I want most right now.”

The weight of his words settled like ice in your chest. A shiver coursed through your body, your mind racing, searching for some way out, but the chain around your ankle clinked softly with every tiny movement, a reminder of how trapped you really were.

“It’s long enough to reach everything in here, including the toilet and shower,” Sylus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You shuddered beneath him, your tears finally spilling over as the full weight of your situation crashed down on you. “Is this… my punishment for running?” you whispered, your voice fragile and trembling, as if the question itself might break you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “No, it’s not a punishment,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “It’s a necessity, honey.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sealing your fate as surely as the chain around your ankle.

Tears broke free, pouring down your face in uncontrollable waves as the reality of it all crushed you. You sobbed openly, your body shaking under the weight of it, and yet there was nothing you could do. Sylus leaned down, his presence overwhelming, his hand softly brushing the side of your tear-streaked face. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he believed he was offering comfort instead of twisting the knife deeper.

“The faster you accept this,” he whispered, stroking your hair gently, “the easier it’ll be for you. Accept your place by my side and have my baby.”

"I'll take care of both of you, I promise."

His words only made the knot in your throat tighten further. You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being, but worst of all, you hated yourself. Hated the fact that you had once given yourself to him willingly, that you had let the devil himself have your body in a moment of weakness, as if you hadn’t known exactly what he was capable of.

The shame of it burned through you, deeper than any chain ever could. How had you fallen so far? How had you ever let him touch you, let him inside your body, your mind—your soul? The answer twisted cruelly in your gut.

But even despite all the burning hatred you had for him in this moment, another unknown feeling sprouted. One that ached and felt almost unbearable to think about. A longing. Festering within the walls of your strained heart and mind. You refused to acknowledge it though, choosing to drown in the sorrow of your new situation.

Sylus shifted beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if you were lovers instead of captor and captive. His warmth pressed against your skin, a twisted parody of intimacy, and you lay there, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. You felt his breathing slow beside you, felt his presence still as he settled in comfortably at your side. But you were miles away, staring into the abyss above, where there was no escape, no solace.

Only the cold, bitter truth. You had let the devil in, and now, there was no way out.

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

DP X DC AU Danny & The Little Dead Girl

(title pending lol, Danny and Curare adventures pt 2!) Pt 1 here My AU art

__________________________________________

Monday comes, as it is won't to do, and Danny has to go to school which means the baby halfa has to come to school too.

" ok, so, one rule for today, big rule, you gotta be quiet in class. Uh-"

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket as their bus hits a pot hole. Sitting right at the front means they catch the momentum first and he has to hold Curaré against his side lest she go flying into the aisle.

A couple voices grumble behind them at the jostling as Danny gets his text to speech open.

" Necessitas ser quieto en clase. ¿Entiendes?" The Google robot lady voice translates for him.

Curaré blinks at him from behind her little paper face mask and looks from the phone to him curiously.

This is the game they've been playing since last night, Danny says something in English robo lady repeats it in Spanish.

Danny doesn't know if Curaré understands how the phone speaks or even that it does but she's giving him her favorite little blank expression so he assumes she gets it. At least, she hasn't really disagreed or disobeyed anything he's asked of her yet so...not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth Danny boy!

..

School goes well, mostly.

They get through the metal detectors and bag checks at the front entrance just fine. The security guards barely glance at Curaré once they confirm she isn't hiding a Glock or something under her shirt. Which it's kinda sad to know gun control is a cross-dimensional American problem but it's on brand if nothing else Danny thinks.

They get to first period without stopping at Danny's locker and settle down in two desks by the back door. This is Danny's usual spot, well usual as of a month ago, it's mostly empty back here now but Danny used to have a seat partner.

(A seat partner who had a kind of shady tweaker vibe that Danny would have been worried about but that kid went home early one day and never came back so....it's Curaré's seat now.)

The little dead girl looks even littler sat in the desk-chair combo, she can barely see over the top. Danny stacks three dictionaries under her for a boost then he gets her set up with some pencils and paper and the single highlighter he found on the floor his first day here.

Curaré seems vaguely interested in his offerings ,after Danny shows her how to use them to mark the page, and starts creating cautious marks of her own.

She keeps glancing back up at Danny as if to confirm that this is still fine? And he nods his head every time trying to be encouraging as it becomes obvious that nobody taught this kid to write inside Fosters Home for Real life Assassins. Which Danny thinks is poor planning on there part because really? If your Assassin can't write how the fuck were they supposed to leave ominous threatening warnings? Or fake suicide notes? Or any number of written props to flesh out a cover story.

Whatever, obviously the assassins raising Curaré sucked ass all around so he can't say he's surprised but he is majorly disappointed.

As the bell rings for first period a whole slew of teens rush in ahead of the teacher Mr. Berk. Simple guy, grey beard, coke bottle glasses, smells like Vics vapor rub, the works.

He's like the most chilled out version of Mr. Lancer ever so he's alright in Danny's books. Plus he only has one "rule", as long as your butt is in your seat by the time he calls your name for attendance he won't mark you late. In Gotham, where everyone and their brother has enough late marks from shitty public transportion to get detention, it's a pretty sweet rule.

So Mr. Berk takes attendance like usual and only pauses on Danny and Curaré in the back for a brief moment.

Curaré stops drawing and stares down Mr. Berk like he's the T rex from Jurassic park. Frozen in place and without breaking eye contact. He stares back at her completely unphased.

" A small visitor then?" He says.

Danny nods. " My sister"

" Mhm" Mr. Berk says already moving on to the next student on his roster.

Danny breathes out huge sigh of relief, that was so much easier then he expected.

They more or less repeat this exchange the whole day. Mondays suck ass because it's one of the only days Danny actually has all 6 periods, but they make it through 1st, 2nd, and nutrition unscathed.

By lunch time Danny thinks they might actually be home free, if no one is gonna bring up the whole freaking child tagging along with him then he can probably just bring her with him everyday.

Maybe he can find her some work books and she can learn the alphabet? And addition? That's like on track for 4 year olds right? Danny can't remember being 4 but that feels right to him. He will educate the child in his care like the responsible almost adult he is. She will go to college!

At lunch Danny sits them at the back of the school right next to the teachers lounge because it's mostly deserted.

In Danny's exprience the best place to hide is in plain sight. He's been sitting here everyday since he enrolled himself and the teachers have never noticed him. Their way too busy trying to get any kind of break from teaching high schoolers to be concerned.Which Danny is greatful for because he has broken the rule about using his cell phone at lunch 50 times at this point.

Listen he has to do universe research when he has access to wifi! Which he only does at school. The administration should be glad he's using his lunch period to educate himself really.

So they eat by the lounge. Danny has Curaré face away from the door so she can take off her face mask and eat unencumbered.The cut on her face is still gnarly, it looks an almost enflamed purple as it tries it's best to heal.

Danny had given Curaré a little immuno-boost with his own ecto the night before to try to speed up her healing factor. But like any Halfa, basically just Danny's personal experience, you have to nourish the ghost half and the human half in equal parts to heal all the way.

It's not until home room, period 6/7, that the metaphorical straw breaks the metaphorical camels back. or the real straw to the metaphorical camel? Did camels even carry straw? where would it go? Between there humps? Not important Fenton!

Home room was a grade A disaster.

Mr. Perez, Danny's kind of ancient home room teacher, who was for almost all intents and purposes blind, had a freaking nose for trouble. It's like he could sniff out vapes and cell phones as soon as they hit the stale class air. Danny thought this would be the easiest class by far, Mr. Perez wouldn't even see Curaré let alone smell her.

And at first it seems like he doesnt, Mr. Perez takes attendance and skips right over Danny and Curaré with no fanfare.

Danny thinks that's the end of it and starts to breathe easy until 15 minutes before the final bell when Mr. Perez' TA asks him to step into the hallway with her for a second.

Danny generally liked Mr. Perez's TA, her name was Sabrina Kahn and she was the kind of girl Jazz would have hung out with.Straight laced, wore argyle cardigans, read books, the smart sort. She looked Jazz's age too, maybe 21ish and she always rolled her eyes when people gave dumb answers in class.

She looks a little embarrassed to be speaking to Danny which immediately sets him on edge.

" It's okay that you brought your little sister today but, I'm sorry, you won't be able to do that again. A bunch of your teachers made complaints with the front office and Mr. Perez got a call about it ..."

Sabrina had always been nice to him and now she was about to ruin his whole week.

" But Ms. Kahn-" Danny started.

She gave him a sympathetic look " Lemme guess, your parents can't take her to work so this was the next best option?"

Danny closed his mouth and nodded, that was actually a much better lie then he was gonna tell, thank you Ms. Kahn. ( But also Boooooo curse you Ms. Kahn!)

" Here, I know it can be hard to find childcare for metas, especially ones as ah-vibrant as your sister. My brother had the same trouble with my nephew."

Sabrina hands Danny a flyer, it's still warm from the printer, it looks like it's just a screenshot of an email.

"Thanks?"

The TA rolls her eyes, wow a lot like Jazz then.

" It's the address to that daycare and a referral. They only take kids by word of mouth, they're kind of... off the books. But their good people! I hope they can help you Danny."

The paper is on off yellow, as Ms.Kahn heads back into homeroom Danny feels all his hope go with her. Shit, what was he gonna do now? He looks through the little glass window in the door to the back where Curaré sits, she's already watching him. He tries to smile at her, be reassuring, he's not sure it works.

......

When the bell finally rings Danny picks Curaré up and puts her on his hip to avoid her being crushed by the rush of high schoolers who stampede out the door in front of them.

The flyer from Ms. Kahn feels like it's burning a hole through his pocket as they ride the bus towards the Narrows.

Danny cased the house from the flyer with maps street view as well as he could. It showed a skinny sublet house across from a small strip mall and laundrymat.

Inconspicuous sure, maybe even innocent looking but well...you could never tell in Gotham, all the buildings looked sort of evil by default. It was probably because of the gargoyles and the general low level stink fog that seemed to always be out.

The big city™ really made Danny miss the suburbs of Amity Park more then just the regular gut wrenching home sickness. Oh what'd he'd give to take a deep breath of air and not inhale the smell of piss when he walked down the street.

They get off the bus at the corner a block from the daycare.

Danny holds Curaré's hand which makes for slow going but seems like the right thing to do. She's never wandered off but Danny didn't want to give her the opportunity to either.

As he helped her climb the three short stairs up to the house Danny was suddenly hit with a wave of panic.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna take care of this freaking Halfa ghost baby for the next 18 years? Im not even an adult! I work weekends at BatBurger for minimum wage WTF?

Danny's hands began to sweat and his stomach cramped. Oh fuck, here was the existential crisis he'd been waiting for since he first decided to take Curaré from the leagues super secret baby basement.

Oh shit he couldn't breathe, what was he gonna do! OH fuck think!

What would jazz do? Call child services and offer psychological support. Not Uber helpful in this case Danny didn't know the first thing about psychology and Gotham CPS was actual prison.

What would Sam do? Assassin babies are hella counter culture but maybe find a cool rich eccentric family to adopt them? Nope, not gonna work Danny only knew one eccentric rich girl and she was a whole dimension away. FUCK THINK FENTON!

What would Tucker do? In this situation ask Google, homeschooling is big these days so maybe if you leave her in the apartment while your gone with an iPad-

" Hey you alright there dude, can I help you?"

Danny choked on the end of his anxiety panic badbadbad spiral and looked up.

The front door to the house was open and just inside the threshold stood a younger teen, maybe 16? With the kind of fade haircut Tucker always whined he couldn't pull off and a bright yellow hoodie.

Danny held his breathe for a moment making sure he felt it burn up his lungs and throat before letting out a big sigh.

" Yeah, yeah sorry kinda zoned out there I'm just uh kinda nervous I was told to come here for Daycare help for my little sister?"

Curaré looked at the stranger in the doorway with the same wide eyed blankness she stared at everything with. Funnily enough she was still holding Danny's hand, had held on through Danny's entire mental meltdown too despite the ecto sweat. Danny felt oddly touched by the gesture, even if it was more likely that the little girl wasn't bothered by his crisis then her being sympathetic.

The teen in the Yellow Hoodie raised an eyebrow at Danny as he fumbled the paper from Ms. Kahn out of his pocket to hand over.

Yellow Hoodie took it and looked between it, him, and Curaré.

" You're not a cop right? You have to tell us if you're a cop"

Danny made a face, " no, I'm not a cop! I would never be a cop, cops suck."

" Right." Yellow Hoodie said still suspicious " So you wouldn't mind if I called your referral up?"

" Be my guest dude."

The teen pulled out his phone and made sure to keep steady eye contact with Danny. Who could do nothing except not look away during this, the world's most impromptu staring contest, until Yellow Hoodie put his phone away.

" Just wanted to see if you were bluffing. Sabrina called earlier said she'd sent someone our way but you can never be too careful. Come on in. "

Danny felt the wind go out of his sails for the second time that day, what was with people and making him anticipate the worst.

.....

The inside of the house was old, homey, but old. It had very obviously been well lived in by a few generations of children, easy to see from the scuffed floors, chipped crown molding, and the sheer number of framed photos that hung on the walls.

There were signs of new life about too, some toys scattered on the floor, walls that were covered in butcher paper and crayon as high as little hands could reach, and oddly enough some scorch marks. Although, Danny's supposed that an unlicensed daycare for meta kids worth it's salt ought to have a least a few burn marks. For posterity if nothing else.

" I'm Duke, I volunteer here when I can but the place is run by the Mariscos, Mrs. Marisco specifically. She's been in the game for a long time" Duke nee yellow hoodie said as he stopped them in front of a closed door.

The hand made sign on the door said Office in nice scribbly lettering and it was hung on with a peg and twine. Real kitschy.

Danny could just make out the sounds of kids playing in another part of the house and was a little impressed that Duke had managed to keep Danny from seeing even one tiny tot during the impromptu house tour.

" I gotta go help Izzy with the kids, this is Mrs.Mariscos' office just knock before you go in, she might be on the phone."

Duke nodded to Danny, smiled down at Curaré and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving Danny and Curaré alone in front of a closed door once again.

Danny looked down at Curaré and she looked up at him, she was characteristically silent.

" This feels like a job interview, did you bring your resume? "

Curaré blinked.

" Yeah, me neither. But I think if we both give her puppy eyes maybe our combined under aged-ness will activate her maternal instincts and she'll be forced to accept us?"

The nerves were back, they had never really left but now they had settled like a rock at the pit of Danny's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on that office door just yet so he fussed over Curaré instead. Kneeling down he straightened the collar of Curaré's hooded jacket and moveed her little backpack strap back up her shoulder where it had slipped.

" We got this. It's you and me now remember, even if this blows and you have to come to school with me for the rest of year it's you and me." Danny rested his hands on little shoulders and hung his head. " Jeez, I sound like my mom"

"No need to be so nervous Mijo! My Chiqis never met a kid she could turn away."

Danny's neck had never snapped up so fast in his life.

Curaré hadn't been looking up at him at all. No, Curaré was staring up towards the elderly woman floating near the ceiling.

Which was not great, because Danny for all the time had spent in Gotham had never seen another ghost. Not a single one.

Which was unsettling on its own but not bad per se, he'd thought maybe this dimension was just different, not enough spectral energy to manifest a ghostly body.

But no, again nope, this was so much worse.

No ghosts was easy enough to reationalize but one ghost? One ghost meant there was enough spectral energy, one ghost meant something was really really wrong with Gotham.

Because if there was only one ghost in a crime ridden pissed off city like this where the shit were all the others?

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

Yo! Just wanted to say thank u for all the support on part 1, did not expect people to like or care about it lol. Anyway back on bullshit, I've had this written for a while but didn't have the insp to post it until now.

Might write more, might not, you get one bat cameo for reading this time ur welcome.

Forgot to add this to the first post, it's in the reblogs, but TLDR Curaré is an assassin from batman beyond.

Note: if you wanna see cool art for this AU check the Danny and the little dead girl tag on my blog!

[lackingspace]

Pernicious (Feyd-RauthaXReader)

Rated: M Word Count: 3.2K Summary: A summons from House Harkonnen is unlikely but never improbable.

Warnings: A lot of world-building and info dump like normal. Basically an OC, but reads like a xreader. Nothing until the Harkonnen show up, then bring on the violence.

Author Note: Hi, I've returned from the ether to drop this here. I watched Dune part II and they made Feyd a perfect little sociopath. Not my fault. ✧

AO3 link: Pernicious

Chapter 2: Admonish

The colds seeped in again.

The full body shiver emphasized that thought as the door slid fully open. The drop in temperature had slowly become noticeable as you walked closer to your lab. As you stood with the cold snaking through your dress all but sinking its fangs into your bones, there wasn't a question as to where it was coming from. 

Of course…of fucking course this happens today. This was just what you didn’t need. 

You had awoken in a foul mood. Cleo, your personal attendant, could attest to it by the scowl plastered to your lips and the curt responses you’d given. Breakfast had only made it worse. Your mother was a strain on your self-control normally, but today the addition of your aunt made the half hour you were stuck with them beyond grating. Their laughter and easy banter pulled giggles from the servants and mounting aggravation from you.

You’d decided during that unappetizing meal– staring at a serving of fruit and bread– that research was the best chance of a reset to your mood. To relax into your current fascination was the perfect escape. That had been the idea anyway. It seemed today was meant to be a trying one. A God somewhere must be laughing as they gazed down upon you.

Although you liked the lab colder than the rest of the compound, this was more than a downshift of a few degrees. Like stepping into an ice box the air was an assault on your senses. Warmth drained from your fingers before ice tried to claw its way up your arm and into your veins. Breathing turned into puffs of vaporous exhales as your lungs screamed in protest on your inhales. The type of cold that stung your eyes even without a breeze. Goosebumps made a home under the sleeves of your shawl.

Taking the first step inside had the lights flickering to life. Everything was the same as you'd left it. All equipment in its place, Petri dishes stacked neatly, specimen containers in the cryoseal locked tight, notes left open next to your microscope where your pen sat slightly askew. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself in hopes of conserving a little warmth, you gazed across the room. Nothing visibly screamed that someone had made a trespass into your sanctuary. Besides, there wasn't anyone with enough contempt to see your work ruined.

At least not anyone in current residence that you were aware of. Your family compound wasn't hosting any non-relatives and all other Ezharien knew not to come between you and your research. However, that observation was quickly followed by the thought, ‘Maybe it's stupidity instead of hate. There's certainly a few individuals capable of that.’

Jaw clenching as faces flashed behind your eyes. They'd essentially sign their death certificate if you found anyone had been messing about your lab. Not even cousin Josephine’s rank as Jarl's daughter would save her.

If it did come down to someone tampering with the room’s stabilizer, there was a specific nuisance that came to mind. 

Annoyance bubbled at the base of your skull as Yisella’s smiling face fluttered behind your eyes. Your mother's personal maid and your personal annoyance. Her lack of intelligence was only surmounted by her abundant compassion. 

She had the tendency to create problems for you where previously none existed– but you could concede her heart was always in the right place. 

The thought of her in your lab had an ache forming behind your eyes. Pinching the bridge of your nose to alleviate the building tension before it could evolve into a bigger problem as you thought of what kind of damage she’d do.

You could conceive a scenario where Yisella would leave a window open with the defense that you'd mentioned a cold lab has better working conditions. She would technically be right in that assumption. You did like a cold lab, better for specimen longevity, but this was a biting ache that dug too deep too quickly. It was detrimental to your own longevity. 

The other houses had a saying that ice was in Ezharien veins. But even we couldn't withstand the tundra forever. Not without proper equipment or protection. 

Yisella may not be a house member, but that wasn't any excuse. She was still Erifian. Not a tourist visiting the equatorial tropics. Every true-born Erifian knew that Erif IV’s tundra shouldn't be tested. 

It would always win.

That's why the first house rule was so simple. Secure the compound.

A window left open or a door unsecured could jeopardize the whole house's integrity. Yisella must have had that drilled into her. It was no secret that to serve a great house, at least the Ezhariens meant intense training. However, time and time again she'd proven that conventional wisdom escaped her.

A sweet idiot. With a sigh you dropped your hands to your side, but an idiot all the same. She's lucky mother is of the same ilk. 

Also lucky your lab didn’t have windows. 

Rubbing your hands up and down the cloth covering your arms for some sort of heat as you mused, ‘If the thermostabilizer isn't tampered with, then it's likely the geothermal compressor…again.’

Walking towards the far left wall where the stabilizer console hung. You half anticipated the readout would show a manual override of your set temperature. The digital console slowly blinked to life like it was made sluggish by the cold as well. After a moment the readout staring at you confirmed it wasn't Yisella who had tampered with your lab. 

The numbers were as you'd left it. Set to the standard temp, no overrides, only the ambient room temperature was concerning. Which meant that the compressor wasn't kicking on to compensate for the difference. It might not be Yisella's fault this time, but there was another imbecile to blame.

I told father the compressor should have been outright replaced, but did he listen? Another shiver racked your body as your brow pinched in annoyance. Your father's chiding refusal came back to you now. 

He'd been stern in his dismissal as he often tended to be with most things, “Daughter, cousin Hans is the technician, not you. If this were some medical issue I would defer to your opinion, but as it stands, yours holds no weight. If he's certain a replacement is wasted here– it is wasted.” 

Your eyes rolled at the memory, ‘Cousin would do well to watch his back from here on out.’ 

The longer you stayed in the room the deeper the icy tendrils sunk into you and the higher your contempt rose. 

It wouldn't do to sit here and freeze to death. You'd not give anyone the satisfaction of such an embarrassing death. In only a thin dress and shawl you'd need to remedy it with layers. Moving back towards the entrance there was a cubby that served as a storage area. 

You'd left thicker blankets, shawls, coats, and coverings for emergencies. Grabbing a thicker coat you slipped it on and eyed the few thermalheaters that typically saw no use. You couldn't remember if you'd ever used them in this room before.

Eyes narrowed as you grab one of the two small dusky orange orbs. Your fingers pressed against the tremellose casing as the hard inner machinery pressed back. It was gelid on your already frozen hand, but the thermal liquid still swirled beneath the surface.

Pursing your lips as you clicked the series of hidden buttons to turn the device on. A silent promise arose in the back of your mind as the orb began to glow. ‘If cousin is also wrong about these being enough to heat this space, the next time he's floundering at an inter-house banquet…’

You made a clicking noise with your tongue as the small device began to quickly heat in your palm before it lifted and slowly hovered around the room. Bending down to grip the second device and click it to life.

‘I'll let him choke.’

Straighten up, you watched the two orbs slowly dance around the space. The gentle pulses they radiated were divine but nowhere near a comfortable temperature. There wasn't much more to do than wait and hope. You couldn't call anyone for repairs at the moment and you didn't feel like heading back to your rooms.

Even if you’d wanted to place a repair request you couldn’t. Father was the only one with that power. Unless an emergency, which this situation didn’t qualify as, House Creed stated that repairs were something only the head of each family compound could request. 

Supposedly a way to avoid bogging down the system with unnecessary requests. So nothing could be done as father had joined the Jarl for a logistics meeting. Luckily it was only a day trip and he'd be back in time for the family meal. So you'd wait.

Walking towards the desk your notebook sat upon, you pulled out the stool before taking a seat. Thankfully it was covered in black cloth making the cold less biting than naked metal would have been. Pulling your coat tighter, you flipped through the pages before settling a few entries before your last.

It'd been only two days since you were here, but brushing up on your train of thought wouldn't hurt. As long as the room continued to heat it might even be pleasant.

It must have been half an hour or so before the room was up to a reasonable warmth. Comfortable enough that you deemed it safe to remove specimens from the cryoseal chamber and began your observation.

It wasn't much longer after you'd placed the first slide beneath the microscope that the door to the lab opened. Quickly following the sound of steps was the scent of pleniscenta. It assaulted your senses with its exotic floral fragrance. There was only one person in your compound who wore that.

Without pulling away from the scope you asked, “Yes, Desil?” 

The gasp he let out was likely less to do with your educated guess and more to do with the temperature of the room. “My lady, you'll catch your death sitting in this chill.” The temperature of the room indeed.

Adjusting the lens magnification while answering, “The thermalheaters are doing their job well enough. I'll be fine.” You could hear the frown in his response, “Your father is going to take issue with this.” You do love starting a conversation with a not-so-hidden scolding. 

Rolling your eyes was the safest response as they were hidden from view. You'd have snorted if it wouldn't be deemed unladylike and damnable by present company, “And how would he know? Oh, that's right. Nothing escapes your daily report.” Watching the cells squirm as they reacted to the substance you’d injected. A few began to shrivel and succumb to death, “Tell me, will it be before or after you counsel Father on the best method to reprimand my poor attitude?” 

A mix of a chortle and huff quickly followed your question. The sound full of his dismay and exasperation, “My lady, you well know that daily reports are expected in your father's absence.” A noncommittal hum left you, “And you do love not to disappoint him.”

If you'd bothered to look up, you'd have been graced with Desil pinching the bridge of his nose, “I take pride in looking out for the Ezharien name. That means detailing your stubbornness is well within my right.” You heard him step forward, deeper into the room, “As is checking whatever humor you find yourself in, lest it reflect poorly on your house.” 

He wasn't wrong either. As much as you'd like to argue Desil was a good aide. From the outside, he may appear to be just another servant, but his position gave him unique privileges. One of which is the ability to speak freely. 

If anyone asked your opinion on the matter, he took far too much pleasure in censuring you. But that could be your earlier irritation talking.

To be fair, if he'd cared to ask, you would admit your mood was soured which had your patience abnormally thin and tongue loosened. It was probably best to avoid whatever interaction was to take place if he didn’t want a verbal spar. 

If he wasn't family, you'd be more guarded, but he was family and you were annoyed.

His tongue clicked in a tutting rebuke, “I really must ask that you return to your rooms until repairs can be slated, or have you given so little thought to your health?” 

That kindled your earlier annoyance back to life full force. Sparking it as quickly as if he'd struck a match to paper. You would take his chiding on your attitude, your choice of words, or even your manner. You likely deserved it. But you wouldn't stand him questioning your judgment about this. He knew you well enough to know your triggers.

“Remind me,” Jaw clenching as you finally lifted your gaze from the magnified slide to catch the eyes of your father's personal aide. Tilting your head as you tried for calm, but the tone was too tight to be convincing, “Are you a Suk?” 

His dusky olive complexion paled at your question. Sharp green eyes widened as his thin mouth dropped open, “I-I…I only meant tha-'' cutting him off with a raised hand. Your lack of patience couldn't take a sputtering rant, gaze turning flatter, while uttering a sharp call of his name, “Desil.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times in quick succession. Worry hung heavy on his brow. Visibly swallowing before he quietly muttered, “No, my lady. A Suk, I am not.” 

Lowering your hand to the pen that sat on your notebook, “I thought not.” 

Willing yourself to relax was more difficult than necessary. Neither your clenched jaw nor the irrational anger wanted to release their grip. Having your medical opinion questioned was always a surefire way to get under your skin. He was very much aware of your pet peeves at this point.

Desil was detail-oriented, he was good at tactfully phrasing things, and he had a gift for negotiation. It's why your father favored him for the 30-odd years he'd been in the position. Longer than you'd been alive. At this point, he was more family than many of your blood cousins. 

Holding a breath before slowly releasing it was your attempt to save Desil from your bite. It was another moment before you pointedly said, “The thermalheaters will do fine for now.” 

The tentative acceptance looked more like defeat on his features. His own jaw clenched before he countered, “As you say…” the look on his face said he had more to add as he continued, “But Sir Malakar will be unhappy with this either way.” 

Eyes narrowing at his response, “Unhappy?” Annoyance coated your tone and a smile that was more of a snarl tugged at your lips. A barbed quip was on the tip of your tongue, a seething retort that was dying to let out your frustration, but Desil’s worried eyes gave you pause. 

Taking another deep breath willing yourself to remain civil– that Desil wasn't the source of your irritation and although he was being a nag, he didn't deserve the venom that wanted an easy victim.

There was another moment of silence before you wrangled your anger enough to reply. Snarl settling down into a strained smile with a clipped tone, “Kindly advise my father that the next time I say a compressor needs replacing, he take my advice instead of our spice-addled cousin.”

The sigh Desil released was more relief than anything. His shoulders dropped and the worry that'd pinched his brow lessened, “ I will remind him as you say. But please keep the remarks of your cousin's proclivities to a minimum. It's unbecoming.” 

Tilting your head and clicking your tongue at him before you answered, “Did you need something? Or was the chance to grate on my nerves your only reason to seek me out?” He shook his head, but the curled edges of his lips spoke of amusement.

You turned back to the table and picked up your discarded pen. Jotting down a few of your previous observations as you waited for a response. Desil was ruffling around his pockets before he began to walk closer, “you received a message-capsule.”

Your brow raised, but your gaze stayed locked on your notes as you continued to write, “What does it say?” His footsteps paused and your patience couldn't take another round of banter so you beat him to the chase. Eyes rolling as you spoke, “I know you read my messages and report to my father. Yes, yes, I'm sure it's something he requested, so just tell me what it says.”

The silence stretched before he answered in a quiet voice, “It's sealed. I thought it better you be the first to read it.” 

Your pen paused on the page. Now that was interesting. “Oh?” Sealed missives were generally only for official house communications. Only the head title bearer of each great house held a seal. For the Ezharien, that was your uncle, the Jarl. 

As far as you were aware there wasn't any scheduled event that you should be expecting an invitation to. If the message was addressed to you specifically that meant it wasn't a generalized request for assistance from Ezharien as a whole. This was likely personal, but if there was an occasion of special significance, generally an heir debutante, you might receive a personal invite. There were too many houses for you to remember who and when they were set to debut.

Desil's voice cut through your thoughts, “It bares the Harkonnen seal.”

Your pen pressed deeper into the page as your grip tightened, “Fuck.” 

It spoke volumes of Desil's own anxiety that he didn't chastise your language. If the Harkonnen were seeking you out in particular this was personal. And personal with the Harkonnen’s was…difficult at best.

Official Ezharien relations between houses typically remained neutral. Better for the tourist business that'd established Erif IVs economy. We didn’t enter dealings that could ostracize one house or another.

The Harkonnen tended to make things less neutral. 

The Baron had mastered staying within proper interhouse etiquette– barely. As an outside observer, it could even be considered impressive how he navigated the political sphere. Being put into his crosshair directly? It was an inconvenience at best and deadly at worst. If the missive wasn't some forgery, which there was little chance of to begin with, there was only one logical reason for it.

The small inked diamond on your forehead. 

The cylinder came into view as Desil placed it next to your frozen hand, “I feel it pertinent that you open it.” Your joints protested but finally unlocked as the momentary shock wore off. Grasping it with numb fingers you broke the ram-headed seal and your eyes swept over its sparse contents. 

“I have need of your skills. Come to Giedi Prime.” 

If the seal wasn't enough to convince you of the missive's authenticity, the signature of Vladimir Harkonnen was. No one impersonated the Baron. In their right mind or heavily spiced— if one wished to continue breathing, that was a forgery you declined. Besides, you weren't important enough for that kind of trouble. 

Desil stood watching you. Hands nervously wringing together, “Well?”

With a sigh you held out the cylinder to him, “It seems the Baron calls me to Giedi Prime.”

The Gods really were laughing.

[lightneverfades]

Frostiron AU (Loki: Season 2) | What if Loki time-slips to a point in time when Tony is still alive?

Part I / Part II / Part III

This is an AU where Loki and Tony were both in a relationship before the whole 2012 events of Avengers (which caused a major schism in their relationship). This Loki never had a chance to apologise before he is brought to the TVA, then told of Tony's inevitable fixed fate in Avengers: End Game.

Mini fic below!

BEFORE

"Tony Stark sacrificed his life--," Mobius spoke, and the bearded man continued to speak about Tony's achievements and inevitable fate, but all Loki could hear were the last words he had uttered to Tony out of pure spite on the open balcony of Stark Tower.

"I never loved you, Stark. You were merely a tool to help me ascend to my true throne!"

It was all a lie, and yet that had been the single most effective lie he had ever said to Stark. The look of anguish that had contorted Tony's features had already been hard to watch, but the overlap of pain that had later dimmed the usual glimmer in Tony's eyes had been what left Loki feeling utterly broken and guilty inside. And yet, in spite of all that agony, Loki had gone along with the Chitauri's plans, their influence on him too strong to resist as he destroyed everything in his path and hurt the one person he held dear.

Stark... Loki thought as he gazed at the TVA recording room wall with an overwhelming sense of numbness, the cold seeping through his blood and within his bones.

I never got a chance to say goodbye.

And he never would, because the TVA had stolen that chance from him.

NOW

Ripped, torn, shredded and rebuilt in a few seconds was not an ordinary sensation one felt in a lifetime, and having experienced this more than once, Loki had assumed he was going to travel back and forth from the past to the present within the boundaries of the TVA. He had braced himself for the next one when he felt a particularly large set of invisible claws suddenly pierce his back, ensnaring him once more within its clutches as his feet slipped, his back tugged so forcefully that his head also snapped back, his body being swung and then pulled like a ragdoll. A small cry barely left his lips before his body was pushed right back onto solid ground, his impeccable balance the only thing keeping him from toppling over outright.

Loki barely had a chance to look around his surroundings and get his bearings before he heard a voice.

"Loki?"

Tony's voice echoed, and Loki's whole body froze on the spot as the dizziness subsided somewhat.

Loki tried to speak, but he couldn't as he found himself staring at Tony, utter shock stealing any words or thoughts that Loki had. He was alive. Tony Stark... was alive!

And just as quickly as his body was recovering from the pull of the time slip, Loki felt the awful tug grabbing ahold of his neck, an invisible assailant unwilling to let him go. Panic raced through his blood as he realized he was being pulled back, and taken away again. But damn if he was going to leave without saying anything.

"Stark, I'm sorry for everythi-!"

That was all Loki could manage before his voice crackled away like a broken speaker, a single tear slipping and then vaporizing into the air as his physical atoms were ripped and pulled in all directions.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 48

The Eleventh Doctor and the Fifteenth Doctor once worked together in an attempt to free a woman named Nora Wicker from a time bubble, but before they could do so, Nora confided in the Eleventh and told him she wished to stay. (Audio: The World Tree)

The first alien planet Rose went to was Justice Alpha. Before that, she had only been to space stations and ships. (Novel: The Monsters Inside)

The Eleventh Doctor keeps the Second's recorder in his pocket sometimes. (Novel: Shroud of Sorrow)

Chad Boyle frequently tormented Ace as a child. At one point, he almost hit her with a brick, but he was stopped by an older version of Ace. If he had hit the younger Ace, he would have killed her. (Novel: Timewyrm: Revelation)

There are several academic cities on Gallifrey, including Prydos, Patrexi, and Arcalia. (Novel: The Garden of Evil)

The Oldharbour Clock is a really old clock near the Capitol on Gallifrey. It is intricately decorated with little figures that dance with every chime of the hour. These figures, however, gained sentience and are actually the most intelligent beings on the entire planet. (Novel: The Infinity Doctors)

Lake Abydos on Gallifrey is home to singing fish. Romana's family spent a lot of time here, and she used to swim in the water when she was young. (Audio: Neverland)

After being resurrected, the Celestial Intervention Agency allowed the Master to read up on the Doctor’s past, making him aware of what happened to Lucie, Tamsin, and Alex. (Audio: Masterplan) This also means the Master is probably aware of any major events in the Doctor’s life from before that time as well.

The Doctor once saved Peter Capaldi from a Mandrel and Peter Davison from a Krynoid. (Comic: The Girl Who Loved Doctor Who)

The Eleventh Doctor said that the TARDIS has a GPS with the voice of Davros. (Audio: Trouble in Paradise)

Leela had a sister named Ennia, who was killed by Horda at three years old before Leela was born. Their mother killed the Horda with a knife, the same one Leela carries. (Novel: Eye of Heaven)

Ophiuchus was a Time Lord healer who managed to overcome the regeneration cycle limit on thirteen incarnations. For this, the High Council declared him a renegade, claiming that he had to do things such as vivisection to extend the lives of Gallifreyan criminals. (Comic: Ophiuchus)

Some Time Tots keep rovies as pets. (Audio: No Place Like Home)

Susan was 97 when she applied to Coal Hill School. (Novel: The Time Lord Letters)

Jane Templeton was a trainee Time Lord attending the Academy. She got stranded in Ancient Egypt and lost her TARDIS, which had taken on the appearance of a shabti figure. By the time she found her TARDIS, she was in her thirteenth incarnation, and her TARDIS was so degraded that the Seventh Doctor said it should be euthanized, which would involve flying it into the heart of a star. Since she had impersonated the god Thoth, she was guilty of class 2 intervention, the punishment for which is vaporization. Instead of letting the Doctor save her, she slipped into her own TARDIS and died with it. (Audio: False Gods)

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[milesdickpic]

His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw X Reader

His Little Girl Master List (WIP) 🫶🏼

Ch. 1: Just the Beginning

Ch. 2: Little Leia

Ch. 3: Revenge of the Sixth

Ch. 4: The Real Reason I’m Here

Ch. 5: Austin ❤️

Ch. 6: The Best Day of Your Life

Ch. 7: The Beach Scene…

Ch. 8: Bradley…Bradshaw…

Ch. 9: A Date?

Ch. 10: Time to Let Go

Ch. 11: “Stay, Austin.”

Ch. 12: You Were Each Other’s First Everything

Ch. 13: His Little Girl 🥹🫶🏼

Ch. 14: Every Time I Close My Eyes

Ch. 15: Goodbye, Again…

Ch. 16: Bradley’s Wings

Ch. 17: Dagger 2, Up and Ready

Ch. 18: “MAAAAAAV!”

Ch. 19: They’re Mine

Ch. 20: Our Little ‘Bob’

Ch. 21: Papa Mav Duty

Ch. 22: Bradley Meets Billy

Ch. 23: The Banquet

Ch. 24: Leia’s Family 🥰

Ch. 25: Hangman’s Little Wing-Girl

Ch. 26: It’s Been a Week and a Half…

Ch. 27: Lieutenant Bradshaw

Ch. 28: Leia is a Kindergartner

Ch. 29: Daddy Rooster, Sir. 🫡

Ch. 30: Leia’s Callsign Party

Ch. 31: Name: Leia Rey, Her Callsign: …..?

Ch. 32: Fanboy the Tooth Fairy

Ch. 33: Dagger Squad vs. Vapor’s Homework

Ch. 34: Welcome Home, Baby

Ch. 35: Party the Night Away

Ch. 36: Rooster’s Cockpit (that’s still me… 🥺)

Ch. 37: Scarred for Life

Ch. 38: Paradise

Ch. 39: The Venue

Ch. 40: Last Day in Paradise

Ch. 41: Welcome Home Kisses

Ch. 42: Leia’s Puppy

Ch. 43: Best Man and Maid of Honor

Ch. 44: Bridesmaids and Groomsmen

Ch. 45: Will You Give Me Away?

Ch. 46: The Fitting

Ch. 47: The Final Venue

Ch. 48: Practice Dinner

Ch. 49: The Breakdown

Ch. 50: Bachelor vs. Bachelorette

Ch. 51: Wedding Planning

Bradshaw Wedding Invitations 🤵🏻‍♂️❤️👰🏻‍♀️

Ch. 52: Our Little Secret

Ch. 53: At Last, My Love

Ch. 54: Love Forever, Nick and Carole Bradshaw

Ch. 55: The Wedding Pt. 1 " 'Til Death Do Us Part' "

Ch. 56: The Wedding Pt. 2 "The VIPs"

Bradshaw Wedding Reception Playlist 🤵🏻‍♂️🔥👰🏻‍♀️🍾

Ch. 57: The Wedding Pt. 3 "Surprise, Baby"

Ch. 58: The Wedding Pt. 4 "Bound Forever"

Ch. 59: The Deployment

Ch. 60: Take Care of Momma For Me

Ch. 61: The Bradshaw Twins

Ch. 62: Phantom

Ch.63: "Mav, Tell Me the Truth"

Ch. 64: Little White Lie

Ch. 65: Package Received

Ch. 66: Austin the Caregiver

Ch. 67: Perfect Father? Perfect Husband?

Ch. 68: Reunited With the Love of Our Life

Ch. 69: Two Weeks with Nat and Jake

Ch. 70: Bye Bye Kindergarten 👩🏻‍🎓

Ch. 71: "This One's For You, Dad."

Ch. 72: My Heart Will Go On

Ch. 73: "I Can't Do This Without Him."

Ch. 74: "I'll Always Be In Your Heart."

Ch. 75: The Awakening

Ch. 76: Baby Steps

Ch. 77: The Long Road Home

Ch. 78: It's Not Your Time. Fight.

Ch. 79: Welcome to the World, Bradshaw Boys

Ch. 80: Leia and Luke Bradshaw

Ch. 81: Luke and Bradley Bradshaw

Ch. 82: First Night Madness

Ch. 83: The God Parents

Ch. 84: Dadley Dadshaw

Ch. 85: Leia's Luau

Ch. 86: Days in the Life of the Bradshaws

Ch. 87: A Bradshaw Christmas

Ch. 88: Sleeping in the New Year

Ch. 89:

Ch. 90:

Ch. 91:

Ch. 92:

Ch. 93:

Ch. 94:

Ch. 95:

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(previously in "Daniel versus messy dramatic vampires"... Rashid turned out to be Armand, Louis' dissociating and lying to himself, Lestat's dead, or not, who knows, Claudia's gone nuclear and everyone's insane. Onto season 2, welcome back to the trainwreck and the ramblings of a bookworm nerd. Spoilers for the whole show and the books.)

Season 2 episode 1 [What Can the Damned Really Say to the Damned] - part 1/4

- Before we even start the episode (oh boy this is going to get long), I have to share the passage from the book from which that quote comes because it's amazing:

"The Mediterranean was black, black off the coast of Italy, black off the coast of Greece, black always, black when in the small cold hours before dawn, as even Claudia slept, weary of her books and the meager fare that caution allowed her vampire hunger, I lowered a lantern down, down through the rising vapor until the fire blazed right over the lapping waters; and nothing came to light on that heaving surface but the light itself, the reflection of that beam traveling constant with me, a steady eye which seemed to fix on me from the depths and say, 'Louis, your quest is for darkness only. This sea is not your sea. The myths of men are not your myths. Men's treasures are not yours.'

But oh, how the quest for the Old World vampires filled me with bitterness in those moments, a bitterness I could all but taste, as if the very air had lost its freshness. For what secrets, what truths had those monstrous creatures of night to give us? What, of necessity, must be their terrible limits, if indeed we were to find them at all? What can the damned really say to the damned?"

- [Daniel] "Memory is a monster. We forget, it doesn't. "

We about to explore the concept even deeper...

- [Louis] "She writes it here, so, let's believe it."

[Daniel] "Let's."

Tells you everything already. Let's believe what we've been said, let's believe what's been written, let's not try to verify anything, let's not try to check our flawed memories against facts. And that'll be your undoing, Lou.

- Ayyy, the first "disregard"! Danny boy really does not want to hear from Armand at the beginning.

- Can I just say, maaaan, dirty grimy Louis looks absolutely beautiful, no, I will not take any criticism.

- [Louis] "Can you imagine, never dreaming? Would you look forward to sleep? Or would it terrify you when the day broke?"

[Armand] "Or is it the sleep of an infant? Tabula rasa?"

Makes me think of something my Doctor, Eleventh, said once:

"Clara sometimes asks me if I dream. 'Of course I dream', I tell her. 'Everybody dreams.' 'But what do you dream about?' she'll ask. 'The same thing everybody dreams about', I tell her. 'I dream about where I'm going.' She always laughs at that. 'But you're not going anywhere, you're just wandering around.' That's not true. Not anymore. I have a new destination. My journey is the same as yours, the same as anyone's. It's taken me so many years, so many lifetimes, but at last, I know where I'm going, where I've always been going: home, the long way 'round." (Eleventh Doctor at the end of The Day of The Doctor)

I think this quote can perfectly be applied to Louis. I mentioned in my rewatch of the very first episode that by accepting Lestat's offer, Louis loses access to an important part of his identity: his life amongst the Creole community of NOLA, with the church and the weddings, the dances and the games, the traditions and rites. And Louis says himself, what he wants is a family of his own, a home. Everything Louis ever wanted is to find the place and the people he belongs to, his home. It turned out not to be the NOLA of his youth, where he couldn't have a proud out gay man. Season 2 shows that it's not Paris of the after war either, nor is it with Armand; Paris is too isolated and too strict, and life with Armand, well, too dishonest and cold. Is it to be with Lestat? Could be. Or, like Louis says and shows in ep8, he's companion enough for himself and he'll paint his life with his own colors from now on.

- Abso-fucking-lutely adore the change in behaviour of Armand now that he's not playing Rashid. The white shirt casually open, the lounging, seductive pose, the langourous manner of talking... It's another mask, he's playing another role to push Daniel's buttons, but it's closer to how you'd imagine a 500-year-old vampire who looks as gorgeous as he does would act. And honestly Assad Zaman is gorgeous and talented and even if I'm not an Armand fan I am still mesmerised and nodding approvingly.

- Oh, hey, didn't notice the first time around, but the subtitles when Claudia talks German (or I think it's Ukrainian?) respect the little errors of syntax and tenses she makes. That makes my little multilingual heart very happy.

- [Louis] "This war. It's affecting the blood. Been drinking misery, hopelessness. It's in the blood, we're taking it in. Taking it on. I'm thinking it's why we can't get warm, warm up."

Yeah... *looks at 2024* I know what you mean.

Louis imitating Claudia and having a conversation all with himself is equal part funny and sad. They both need a hug. And a shower.

- [Louis] "The vampire hadn't been here for centuries. The few scraps of forensic proof we found made the case plain, but Claudia was unassailable. Like... like some deranged geologist waving a woolly mammoth tusk saying, 'Let's knock on the neighbor's door, there must be one inside.'"

Fascinated with the way Louis's been narrating this part of the European journey so far. There's life in his voice, rhythm, animation, in a way that was seldom there before. As if he's fondly remembering that part of his life, when it was just him and Claudia and no obligations, no responsibility, just the chaotic, bloody wilderness of WW2-torn Europe, and despite the grief, the loneliness, the cold, he's enjoying himself, because it's some sort of elipsis between the pain he left behind in NOLA and the pain he's about to encounter in Paris. As if those few years running around Europe in rags, hunting down phantoms, was much more peaceful and fulfilling than 30 years of (admittedly, partly) abusive marriage to Lestat, and definitely more than the Paris time or the after-Paris. And the way the light orchestral music hasn't stopped since the beginning of the episode highlights that feeling of fond remembrance. Yes, Claudia was angry and mostly silent, yes, he was grieving Lestat and hallucinating him all the time, yes, Europe was deep in WW2 and all the horrors that entails, and still, Louis is feeling more himself than he did in his own hometown with his suits and his respectability and his complicated family. Maybe Lestat was right after all, maybe Louis hid behind his masks for so long while all along his true nature was the wilderness hidden by the veneer of sociability, the way New Orleans's buildings barely veil the swamps... Or maybe I'm reading way too much into it all.

- [Louis] "I want to thank you... for the memories you helped restore the other night. I understand these diaries much better now."

Are you sure. Are you really sure of that, Louis. Though, it does give more weight to what I was saying just above. Louis feels like he's unlocked a part of himself he had lost or forgotten thanks to Daniel's unrelenting questions, and it makes him much more invested in his own narration and much more lenient towards Claudia's narration.

- [Daniel] "And tonight's two hours and counting on chasing old world vamps who never materialize. You ever read Moby Dick, Real Rashid?"

[Real Rashid] "I'm here to serve"

[Daniel] "Ah. Yeah, sure. I'm sorry, this is... this is so weird. Where did they send you when Shah Rukh Khan over here was playing you? Is there a panic room behind the Rembrandt?"

[Louis] "My love ran a theatre company for 150 years, Daniel."

[Daniel] "Your love was in a box pondering a premeditated neck wound, according to Claudia. She wrote it, let's choose to believe it."

[Armand] "Unworthy in San Francisco, Unworthy in Dubai. Disregard."

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA I AM DYING THIS EXCHANGE IS EVERYTHING

Haaa, let me catch my breath, I've been wheezing for the past 5 minutes relistening a couple of times to the whole thing to make sure I don't miss a part. Catty old bitching drama queens sniping at each other, this is the best. I want a poster with this entire conversation printed on a Rembrandt painting to put in my room.

The SRK mention, DYING!!

Real Rashid being all "begging you to please not involve me in whatever this is, I just want my paycheck".

Louis trying sooooo hard to sell his and Armand's relationship and Daniel immediately coming in with the steel chair and Claudia's diaries, and didn't I say "Let's believe it" would come back to bite him in the ass, I hadn't expected it so soon tho.

And then Armand being so vexed he lets loose his inner catty drama queen too, and yet I am sorry but have you seen how he looks at Daniel even when he's insulting him, Devil's Minion fans, how are we feeling, 'cause I'm having the time of my life.

And finally, to come back to that first line, Daniel alluding to Moby Dick as a parallel to Claudia's impossible hunt for the vamps... I love clever literary references.

Alright. I stopped laughing and I didn't wake up the house. Let's carry on. Dreamstat is about to make his first appearance...

season 1 masterpost

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

episode 2 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7 | episode 8

[fierymiasma]

⋭ Five Times.... ⋬ // Sebastian x f!MC (Part 4)

Summary: Garreth tries to take what's rightfully Sebastian's. \\ Five times Sebastian Sallow Was Jealous and One Time He Didn't Have to Be

|| Masterlist || AO3 || Upcoming ||

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Full Fic

4. Garreth Weasley

Sebastian was smart enough of a bloke to realize that he was acting like a complete asshole.  Interrupting her dates, obsessing over her about her love life, insulting her character….he hadn't mean do to any of it.  The hero of Hogwarts was his friend, she deserved better than this (better than anything Sebastian could offer, really).  But…any time an apology was on the tip of his tongue, something would happen that make him spit fire and venom. 

To Sebastian's dismay, his partner-in-crime did end up pushing back their nightly library misadventures in favor of Imelda's "so called date".  He had stayed up all night, pacing back and forth in the common room, waiting for Imelda to come back from ….Merlin he didn't even what to think what they could possibly be up to.

It was rather unfortunate for Sebastian that he got yet another sleepless night.  It was even more unfortunate that his crush was avoiding him.

They had Potions together.  The cold dungeons weren't the best place to get some alone time with a girl, but Sebastian was getting increasingly desperate.  He just needed one minute alone with her to apologize.  To get her to understand how he truly felt about her.

And maybe, if he could muster up the courage, finally confess his feelings.

"Be my partner."  Sebastian insisted, with his usual fake confidence and blasé attitude.  "…F-for potions class." He hastily corrected himself.  His cheeks flushed from his unintentional innuendo.

She turned away from him, methodically taking out the various tools she needed before class started.  “I'm sorry, Sebastian-"  (She didn't sound to sorry to Sebastian's ears.)  "-Garreth already asked me."

His teeth ground together in frustration.  His arms hung limply at his side.  Sebastian so badly wanted to hold her, to make her pay attention to him.  “Look, I….I need to talk to you after class.”

Her eyes avoided his.  “There’s nothing for us to talk about, Sebastian.”

In Sebastian's opinion, there was plenty of things to talk about.  She was clearly so cross with him.  He needed to apologize for being a complete bastard.  Sebastian needed for everything to be okay between the two of them.

"Please," his voice trembled slightly.  His fists clenched at his side.  "I need to talk to you…alone…after class."

She was finally bold enough to look up at Sebastian.  Her expression was tight, piercing eyes assessing him warily.  Sebastian waited for her response with baited breath.  Finally, after a long stretch of silence, her shoulders dropped.  She took in a cleansing breath.

"Okay, Sebastian…after class.  We'll talk."

★・・・・・・★

It was frustrating that Sebastian's potion station was completely on the other side of the dungeon.  Sebastian tried to assess her from across the room.  She looked exhausted, not that it made her any less beautiful.  His eyes narrowed trying to get a good look at her through the vapors emitting from the cauldrons.  Was she tired because she had to put up with Imelda all night, or was she tired because…Imelda kept her up all night?

"Sebastian, please, focus.  I will not stand for having to stay late cleaning all the cauldrons for Professor Sharp….again."  Ominis begged.

"Yeah, yeah, just a moment."  His eyes narrowed.  Was it his tired eyes or was Garreth a bit too close to her?

Sebastian had always liked Garreth.  There was something to be admired in someone who was willing to skirt around the rules to get what they wanted.  Sure the Gryffindor could be a bit air-headed at times, head in the clouds, but he had that thirst of knowledge that Sebastian could relate to.

Her hair was coming undone from her messy bun, threatening to spill out from their confines into the rich potion beneath them.  How he yearned to tuck her hair behind her ears, to kiss her jawline for good measure.  Sebastian could see her say something to Garreth from all the way across the Potions classroom.  Rolling up his sleeves, Garreeth preceded to clumsily tucking the falling strands of hair behind her ears back into her bun.  She smiled at the Gryffindor, thanking him before going back to her stirring.

Something nasty stirred in the pit of his stomach.  Actually, Sebastian had always hated Garreth.  He was a good for nothing prick who looked like he had a mandrake for a mother.  Dumber than a ballet class full of trolls, that one. 

"Did you see that?"  Sebastian hissed.  "He practically has his hands all over her!"

Ominis sighed.  One of these days, he was going to have to learn how to make an actual potion.  "No, Sebastian, I didn't see anything.  Now can we get back to our potion?"

Sebastian had abandoned all semblance of pretending to care about their assigned task.  He wasn't a good lip reader, especially through questionable vapors in a Potions classrooms.  "You have good ears, Ominis, what do you think they're saying?"

"I think…." A deep voice drawled from behind the two boys.  Sebastian jumped, nearing backstepping on Professor Sharp's foot.  "Your fellow classmates are brewing the assigned potion in which neither you nor Mr. Gaunt seem to be making any headway in, Mr. Sallow."

Sebastian nodded.  "Sorry sir, we'll get right on it."

Professor Sharp said nothing, gliding away from the two boys onto the next pair of unfortunate students.

Ominis frowned.  "Why is it, I get lumped in with your troubles?" 

"Garreth's got that conniving look on his face.  I bet he's about to ask her out.  Ominis, send one of your snakes to listen into their conversation." 

"That is not how Parselmouth works."  The poor boy sighed, speaking more into their cauldron, as it seemed like a better listener.  "Besides, I don't just carry snakes on me at all times."

Sebastian scowled.  It's like Ominis wasn't even trying to help him.  From across the room, he saw Garreth's head stooped low, his face inches away from hers. 

Whatever it was that moonmind was doing, Sebastian was going to put a stop to it.  Rolling up his sleeves, he smoothed over his stray hairs and checked his reflection in the cauldron.  Ready to enact his plan, he "clumsily" elbowed over their porcupine quills, scattering them everywhere on the dungeon floor. 

"Oops, clumsy me.  I'll get some more potion ingredients, Ominis.  I'll be right back." 

Ominis rolled his eyes. 

Gliding, very unsuspiciously across the room closer to Garreth's and his crush's station, he pretended to try to search for his ingredients.  Listening intently into the pair's conversation, Sebastian could feel his stomach give out. 

"What do you think: Three broomsticks, Saturday night?  Assuming you're not busy with your evil Slytherin friends, of course."  Garreth joked. 

"Garreth," she chided gently.  "They're my friends."

In Sebastian's opinion, she could be protesting a lot harder at Garreth's baseless accusations.  Give him a slap on the cheek for good measure too.  Maybe hex him into a bat.

That would show him to make moves on her.

"C'mon, you hang out with them too much anyway.  Merlin knows, Sebastian's practically hovering over you like a dementor.  Surely, you can take one afternoon off to get some butterbeer with me."

That prick!  That oily faced, ugly-mugged bastard!  Part of him wanted to rip the offending man to shreds.  The other part of him pitied him.  It was honestly laughable that Garreth would believe that in any universe she would say yes-

Her lips split into a wide smile.  "Sure!  Right after dinner, I'll meet you in the Courtyard?"  Her eyes narrowed.  "Now, hold on, you aren't trying to get me to steal anything for you from Honeydukes, are you?"  Her voice was teasing and light, as if she joked with Garreth often.

"Ha, no.  I'm not Sallow.  If I wanted something from you, I'd just ask outright.  Gryffindors don't manipulate their friends."

Sebastian nearly blacked out from fury.

★・・・・・・★

First Imelda and now Garreth?  This was far too much.  The second that Potions class ended, Sebastian confronted her, pulling her by the arm to a secluded corner of the dungeons. 

Her face was so open and innocent, almost as if she were completely unaware of the angst she was causing him.

"You wanted to speak with me, Sebastian?"  She looked breathless, soft lips parted in anticipation.

Right, he was supposed to be apologizing to her for his recent behavior. 

Instead, his voice was low and dangerous.  "Imelda Reyes I get," (He didn't.) "But Garreth?  Mr. Trolls for Brains?  Mr. I'm-too-stupid-to-know-the-difference-between-an-explosion-charm-and-potion.  That Garreth?"

She frowned, tugging her arm away from Sebastian's grasp.  His hands felt so empty.  "What on earth are you talking about, Sebastian?  Garreth's my friend!  And he happens to have the most brilliant potions ideas-"

Something inside of Sebastian roared in fury.  How dare she stick by Garreth's side but not his?  Was Sebastian not 'brilliant' enough for her?  "What does that fucking git have that I don't have?"  His voice was rising.  A crowd of students was gathering to watch the spectacle.

His tongue was running faster than his mind.  "What does Imelda have to offer for that matter?  Or Ben?  Or Natty?  What?  Ms. Savior of Hogwarts, is so easy that she'll go on a date with any wizard or witch who asks?  If Professor Sharp proposes to you, I suppose the wedding will be next week?"

He instantly regretted it the second the harsh words left his lips.  Her big wide eyes so usually full of love for Sebastian welded up with tears.  She sniffed as her face turned blotchy red.  Oh, Sebastian, you idiot.  You've gone and made her cry in front of the whole school.

"Sebastian Sallow, you…you…you fucking TWAT! Next time, you fancy a girl, why don't you pluck up the courage to ask her on a proper date instead of being a giant bully.  For your information, Garreth asked me to get Butterbeers as friends to pay me back for all of my help.  But you know what, Sallow?  Maybe, I will make it a date.  Maybe we'll find a hidden alleyway in Hogsmeade where I snog him wild.  Maybe, he'll be a boyfriend whose jealousy won't make him an utter prick!"

She turned her back to him, stifling the tears pouring down her face with the sleeves of robe.  She pushed her way through the crowd.  Sebastian was numb, helpless to do anything as Garreth, fucking, Weasley patted her on the back gently.  They turned around the corner, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the school.

Sebastian stood, frozen in place, unsure what to do.  The other surrounding students started moving, shuffling to their next class now that the spectacle was finished.  Sebastian heard a snort from his left.  Looking over, he saw an extremely unimpressed Professor Sharp leaning against the doorframe with an open flask in his hand.

"Mr. Sallow, a piece of advice: publicly humiliating a girl in front of the entire school is not the best way to win her over."

Sebastian scowled, muttering some very choice expletives.  Stomping away, he already decided to skip his next set of classes.

[haydenn]

Crowley had been dreaming of Aziraphale for 6,000 years. Ever since the first time he closed his eyes and succumbed to this human habit, Aziraphale had been in his dreams. At first he dreamed of the angel’s smile, of the way he’d fretted over giving away his flaming sword, and of the way he had looked at Crowley from under his wing, hair damp from the first rain and eyes shining with… not love, not yet, but certainly intrigue and interest.

Later dreams had been more wish fulfillment than echos of reality. After they had oysters in Rome, Crowley had dreamed of tasting the salt and brine again from his angel’s tongue. After the first time he’d taken Aziraphale to a Shakespeare play, Crowley had dreamed of whispering sweet nothings against his angel’s skin until Aziraphale gasped and sighed for his words as he’d done for the Bard’s. When they’d finished their crepes in Paris, Crowley had revisited the Bastille in his dreams and imagined an alternate version of events. One where Aziraphale had remained in his chains and Crowley pealed those pretty, ridiculous clothes off of him piece by piece until they were pressed against the wall, trembling and holding each other through the aftershocks. When he’d finally returned home after their candlelight dinner in 1941, he’d dreamed of telling Aziraphale all the feelings he’d held back for millennia, which he now suspected were reciprocated.

Of course, not all his dreams had been fantasies; there had been nightmares too. When they fought in 537 and 1862, those fights had haunted his dreams. He tried to rewrite them, to come up with cleverer arguments or more compelling reasons for Aziraphale to stay, but every time they had ended with Aziraphale storming off and leaving him alone exactly as he’d done in real life. His dreams had been plagued by the words “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” for a decade after Aziraphale said them in 1967. But the true nightmares had started when the world began to end. In the wake of delivering Adam to the nuns, Crowley had dreamed of every worst-case scenario, of Heaven winning, of Hell winning, of the whole universe being vaporized into nothingness. In every one of those nightmares, he and Aziraphale were irrevocably separated and the thought of losing him forever was enough to wake him.

After the bookshop fire, Crowley had dreamed of smoke and flames and a sense of loss so profound it was as if half his soul had been ripped from him. He dreamed of searching for ages and never finding what he was looking for, never truly knowing what he was looking for because he had forgotten the half of himself lost in the flames. Nothing could startle him awake from those dreams. He had to ride them out until he woke naturally, his nose full of phantom smoke and a gaping hole in his chest where Aziraphale used to be.

He thought the fire dreams were the worst of them. After all, what could be worse than dreaming of being trapped in a world with no Aziraphale, doomed to an eternity of futile searching for an angel he couldn’t remember, but knew he’d lost? But now, as his naked feet slapped against the cold floors of the shop, he knew those dreams had been nothing compared to the one he’d just had. After the fire dreams, he could at least wake up, drive to the bookshop, and reassure himself of Aziraphale’s continued existence. But now? Now he was sprinting through the dusty stacks of the shop, as he had done through the corridors of Hell in his mind, screaming for Aziraphale and coming up empty.

The shop was empty.

Aziraphale was gone.

———————————

May You Be Forgiven (pt 2) was updated…. 2 weeks ago. There won’t be an update today because my grades are due. But, if you haven’t seen the last chapter, here it is.

And here’s a link to part one if you’re brand new.

[mofffun]

New scenes in King-Ohger movie full cut

(lines by ear)

01:08 +line, Rita (to Gira): いつまで待たせる　始まるそう (How much longer are you gonna keep us waiting? It's about to start.)

01:34 shugoddom square establishing shots

04:19 extended orphange meal scene + lines. Gira brought out a pot and asked Debonica to help set the table. She refused and stole a piece of bread.

05:21 +line, Gira: 相変わらずうたうまい。([Debonica] is still good at singing like before.) Himeno walked closer and poked Gira vs. voiceover

09:39 (portal closed leaving Yanma and Rita stranded) +line, Yanma: 帰るだって　どこからだよ (Talk about leaving, how?)

10:29 Guided by a light beam from her tiara, Himeno crossed a long bridge on the sea

10:43 Kaguragi called for Racles. "Racles-dono, please answer if you're here!" A portal appeared and he crossed it to find himself in front of a burning Takitate Castle. Iroki's voice only "Long time no see, Kaguragi." "嫌なものを…" (~I don't like this.)

11:14 Underwater N'kosopa: longer establishing shot: top-down pan vs. forward dolly, + longer rita run

15:51 + Himeno exepctant reaction shot as she waited for her parents to materialize

17:05 Iroki: You dirty your hands for this throne. What did you get in return?

Kaguragi: People and country, and peace.

18:21 "These are all, Moffun." Close-up of Rita looking up vs. voiceover. Ghost swarm: +line "やっば無理だ!" (Nope, I can't take it [after all]!)

20:06 Yanma pulled on the spider thread until he reached a thick strand encasing a cable.

23:05 Ishabana and N'kosopa team shocked the retainers back to life

30:11 +line, Himeno: 醜い死に損ない (She called Rainoir an ugly thing who won't stay dead, while smiling)

30:24 Yanma: What ae you doing here?

Jeramie: 王を歓迎する場合に、狭間の王が仲間外れはいただけな (This is an occassion for kings, how could you exlude the king of the in-betweens?)

30:50 calibur roll call

34:00 Debonica's look at Gira. They got back climbing on Jeramie

Rainoir's last words:

だが　シュゴッドムの王は常に一人。ラクレスハスティーは生きでいる。勝負をつけたら、また来るがいい。その時、このチキューのすべてを話そう。

(However, there can only be one king of shugoddom. Racles Husty still lives. When a winner is decided, come see me again. Then, I will tell you everything about this Chikyuu.)

(note: the making uses 決着 (decision) instead of 勝負 (win/loss))

Gira smiled and walked away.

34:57 Coronation restart. Rita put down their sword at the altar, the kings reaction shots + Jeramie narrating.

35:32 Kings comments as Gira walked down the aisle

Yanma: よっ！元指名手配犯！(Yo! Former fugitive!)

Shiokara: Shhhh!!

Kaguragi: しかし 子とものお遊戯会見えんなくもう (However, he no longer looks like a child in dress-up.)

Hineno: 王冠　私がもらっちゃうかしら (Should I take the crown?)

Rita: 王位簒奪は重罪だ。奪うなら今こそ。(Usurping the throne is a serious crime. If you want it, do it now.)

37:21 Debonica cake scene moved to pre-credits

40:07 Post-credit scene #1

Rainoir: 死の国にまでもやってくるか (You found your way into the Land of Death?)

*transformed to block a beam attack, roll call speech*

今こそ、2000年前の仇怨(きゅうえん)を返す！ (2000 years... Now is the time for revenge!)

The beam vaporized him and camera cuts to Dugded crouching on a transparent disc hovering, "つまんね" (Boring.)

(note: the two characters are never in the same frame so i'm pretty convinced they are filmed separately. otherwise Rainoir's actor would've known about Dug/Ch2 in May. The post-credits scene are not specified as filmed during the original production so the suit part might be the advertised "newly-filmed scenes".)

41:13 Post-credit scene #2 (おまけ bonus scene)

The retainers' lies to shock them into the underworld:

Shiokara: 喧嘩最強 ヤンマくん! (Best at brawls is Yanma-kun!)

Sebastian: ヒメノ様はブズでございます (Himeno-sama is ugly.) *Thundercracker hesitates*

Morphonia: 働くて最… ([I love my] job..) (lightning before the sentence is finished)

Kuroda: 我こそはトウフの王… (I am Toufu's Lo[rd]..)

[gabessquishytum]

Had a funny idea that hit me while writing out my last warprize hob ask, of an incident when an envoy of foreign dignitaries arrive for a visit. 😁

The kingdom this envoy is from is very prudish, and vanilla. Clothes cover everything, any and all sex stays firmly behind closed doors, and there is very little information available about anything particularly kinky. The hedonism and practice of sex pets in Dream’s kingdom is incredibly shocking and vapor-inducing for these dignitaries, but Dream doesn’t really give enough of a fuck about them to change or hide any of it for them, so he and everyone else carry on like normal.

The dignitaries are all having quiet conniptions the whole time (though some of them are also having quiet sexual awakenings simultaneously), but none of them say anything on the grounds of 1) it would be incredibly undiplomatic and improper to speak out against the normal practices of another culture, and 2) Dream’s reputation as the Nightmare King is incredibly well-deserved, and it would be incredibly stupid to provoke him. So they all try to ignore all the sexual activities happening in front of them and power through, and try not swoon in shock about it.

There is one young and green member of the envoy who is rather taken with Hob at first sight, and is therefore utterly horrified on Hob’s behalf all the public humiliation and degradation he is clearly forced to go through. Not only is he made to service the king’s dreadful lust in front of all and sundry, but he is also locked with or stuffed full of toys (that to the dignitary’s untrained eye must be torture devices), touched and groped by any passing stranger (the horny part of his infatuation is guiltily very tempted to take advantage of the situation and also touch, but the romantic part nobly refuses to add to the poor man’s humiliation), and his exposed hole is spanked raw until he cries (through his rose-colored glasses he feels that Hob’s tears must be a direct appeal to him for help). Clearly he was meant to be Hob’s knight-in-shining armor, and he will whisk him away and they will live happily ever after (and make love behind the safety of closed and locked doors)!

So he somehow manages to arrange a moment alone with Hob, and dramatically declares his intent to rescue him from this life of depravity, only to be interrupted by Hob breaking character to glare at him and tell him to piss off. He’s got a good thing going here, his entire purpose here is to essentially have his every sexual need catered to, he is in fact utterly devoted to the king, and even if he wanted to leave it is incredibly presumptuous of him to think Hob would want to run off with some kid he doesn’t know instead.

Somehow Dream finds out about the conversation, either someone was eavesdropping and informed him or he happened to be looking for Hob and overheard himself. Normally he would be seeking revenge against the interloping upstart for the insult, or maybe use the incident to start a war if he was feeling particularly bloodthirsty, but he’s too distracted by the overwhelming need to fuck Hob hard against a wall or into a mattress with hearts in his eyes. He also makes sure to fuck Hob at least one other time in front of the dignitary, and both Dream and Hob look him in the eye as they do so, both with a smug look on their faces.

-🪽anon

Omg this is great. How fun to look at the whole situation from an outsider's perspective.

'Cause. All the sex pets at Dream’s court, they're all kind of acting? Obviously they're not pretending to get sexual satisfaction, that's all genuine. But they've got "roles" that they play, when they're on display and working. While they're relaxing, they might act totally different. For example, Hob tends to act a lot more helpless than he really is, because he likes to emphasise the power-play between Dream and himself. He's a totally different guy when he and Dream are just hanging out.

But the stranger from the foreign land doesn't know any of that! He's totally convinced by Hob’s acting, and thinks that he'd better hurry and rescue this poor man. Deep down he thinks that Hob is probably a chaste and shy person who has been terribly wronged by the king. He's sure that Hob will gratefully take the chance to escape and live a proper, moral life.

When he gets Hob alone, the stranger finds a very different person from the scared, weepy sex pet he's used to seeing. Hob laughs so much he nearly falls over. And then he pulls out a knife, seemingly from nowhere and he's like "Do not ruin this for me, I'm finally in a job I enjoy, I get the best food and the king likes me a lot. I will cut your balls off if you fuck my life up."

Dream also laughs a lot where he hears about this encounter, and of course it only makes him love Hob even more. He even invites Hob to share his private apartment on a permanent basis, not wanting him to be so far away. So really the foreign dignity kind of did Hob a favour? The poor kid is so humiliated and honestly a little bit heartbroken, but it's his own fault for trying to be a white knight!

Hob is more in love with his king than ever, and he's quite happy to prove it be bouncing on his cock in front of the assembled crowds. Afterwards he lies over Dream’s lap, having his over-sensitive dick and hole played with by both Dream and the other courtiers, and for the first time he just can't stop grinning. It's very gratifying to know that the king clearly loves him too.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Chapter 1 was Lena's Tale. Now we see how Lena is rescued and view Kara's Tale. I really wanted to dig deeply into Kara's trauma and grief for this chapter. Hopefully I showed that and her alien nature well. This was technically meant to be part of the first chapter, but that got too long, so I cut them into separate chapters. I decided to go ahead and post this instead of waiting too much longer. I'm eager to hear y'all's thoughts.

EXCERPT:

Kara Zor El sees Lex fall. Sees how he refuses to let her save him. How his hatred consumes all reason. She sees him collide with the ground. It breaks something in her. Her rule to never kill, and here she fails that one rule. His fall is due to her hand.

She thinks of Lena, who fought so hard to escape the Luthors. And yet it inevitably came to this final showdown, where Kara risks everything to stop Lex and protect Lena. The one person who doesn’t deserve this. She closes her eyes and whispers part of the Kryptonian prayer for the dead.

Lex isn’t Kryptonian, but she can amend it so it fits a more human background. It is something her and her parts devised after each death they fail to rescue.

It is inevitable, Red Daughter’s thoughts pierce her own. The newer part invokes a shiver of pain around Kara's mind at the intrusion. Alex does not stop.

It’s still not okay. How will Lena take it? Kara Zor El hates the thought of hurting her favorite person, especially like this.

Red Daughter has no words for that. During the fight with Lex, the Supergirl clone had merged with Kara, fracturing her carefully integrated mind yet again. But even absorbed as she was, Red Daughter does not hold the memories of Lena’s light in Kara’s life. Her only frame of reference is Lex’s words and the journal she stole from Kara Danvers. It'll mean another session with Brainy and J'onn, to help integrate Red Daughter into her system.

When she opens her eyes, the crater where Lex fell looks strange. Kara Zor El flies closer, and a dread eats through her. Odd scorch marks line its edges, but there is no sign of Lex’s suit. No crumpled metal, which if an object at high velocity impacted and exploded, there would be debris.

She lands baffled. “Alex,” she says as she taps her ear mic. “I think Lex escaped.”

“What? That’s impossible." Alex snaps, her stress masked by anger. Between the fight with Lex and the prior one where Red Daughter temporarily killed Kara — she still wonders at the use of sunlight to jump-start her heart. Alex said only that Lena made the device ages ago — both Alex and herself are exhausted. "He had no jets, no power left. There’s no way he’d survive that fall.”

Kara-Z takes a breath to steady her nerves. She will not let anger overtake her. It is not her at which Alex fumes but Lex. “That was my assessment, but there’s no sign of the debris. Unless he vaporized right when he hit the ground, he must have activated portal tech. We know prototypes of it were stolen during Mercy's attack on L-Corp. Do you think Lex miniaturized it?”

“Let me ask Brainy.”

Brainy clips into their channel. “Yes, I calculate a 99 percent chance he miniaturized it. I am doing a sweep of the area for the signals originating from the suit. It would still give off heat signatures due to the nature of your fight.”

It’s the best they can do. Kara-Z closes her eyes and focuses on her superhearing. She sorts through the overwhelming barrage of noise and zeros in on the heartbeats of her loved ones. That source of comfort keeps her mind still.

Alex and Brainy are safe at their meeting point. Dreamer and J’onn are rescuing the aliens at the power plant with Guardian and an DEO team. Kelly is at her apartment. Lena — where is Lena? She can’t hear her anywhere.

Fear clenches Kara-Z’s stomach. In the rush to stop Lex, Kara isn't entirely certain where Lena went. Her Danvers self had dealt with that conversation, and there hasn't been time to meditate and fuse each's memories into one timeline.

“I must check on Lena,” she tells Alex. Before her sister can protest, she blasts toward the upper layers of the atmosphere. There it is easier to hear far beyond her usual range. Ice forms on the suit and her hair. She stops and closes her eyes.

Still nothing. No, Lena cannot be dead. Kara’s heart constricts, and a rising panic grips her.

Think, Друг-Я, Red Daughter says, using the Russian for ‘friend-self.’ Does not lead hide signals?

Right. Lead definitely would. Hope blooms. She still has a chance to find Lena.

Meditation and mind curating were skills taught to her on Krypton, honed in the temples, utilized in the endless void of the Phantom Zone, and perfected under J’onn’s guiding hand. The safe space in her mind is a garden on Argo, full of her favorite plants and creatures. There her Danvers self rests, and only rouses when Kara-Z imagines herself gently touching her other self's shoulder.

Danvers, I need your knowledge. Where did Lena go?

Zor El? Kara-D’s thought is laced with uncertainty and worry. Sure, yeah, I'll share the memory, but you're not going to like it. I really did try to stop her.

[ofbluesandyellows]

Committed to the Cause - TASM! Peter Parker / Fem! Reader

Summary: Spider-Man gets injured in battle, he accidentally crashes into you and his hero complex comes into action. As he tries his best to redeem himself he can’t find a way out from the guilt and unbidden feelings.

Word count: 5,321

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, swear words, grief.

a/n: Hi! It’s me again, here I bring a story I started writing almost a year ago but i kind of forgot it existed until like four months ago. It’s a tasm! one, hope you like it! I divided it in 3 parts because it is a bit long so yeah, have fun :)

Part 1

Peter Parker sat down near Gwen Stacy’s grave, the sky was evenly gray and the cool air swirled around making the snowflakes dance away and float around. It’s been only a week since he came back to his universe. 

“I wonder how Peter 2 and Peter 1 are doing right now.” He whispered to Gwen, while his fingers brushed through the colorful daisies he bought for her. “I’m Peter 3 you know? I guess 3 is just the best number,” he shrugged remembering the chaos of that night around his brothers from another universe, literally. 

“Honestly Gwen, if you only could’ve seen them—see us. They were truly amazing, and the way we all connected and then we were shooting webs, the synchronicity that I experienced— I never had that. It was as if we could read each other’s minds and wow—it was fucking cool.“

Peter sighed, a hue of vapor escaped his lips. “I bet you saw it though, how I saved MJ? Peter 1’s girlfriend, I did what I couldn’t do for you Gwen. I’m sorry, I'll always be sorry for that.”

Adjusting his beanie tighter to his head when a sudden wave of wind made his skin form goosebumps. Deep in his heart he could feel that Gwen was actually listening to his banter, that this was her way of telling him that things were okay between the two. 

Peter went to see Gwen every week, she was the love of his life, he was certain of it. But the truth was that Peter had lost all hope on love after Gwen.

He’d be lying if he denied the fact that he had found himself thinking of what Peter 2 said to him; that things worked out fine eventually in the love department, it put the seed of curiosity in him, what if things actually changed for him, in his heart, and he could finally let Gwen rest. He was clinging to her memory like a life jacket, if he let go he would drown, he would lose himself to the darkness. 

His phone buzzed as a message showed him a text of the police department trying to contact Spider-Man. 

“Gotta go Gwen, I’ll see you next week. Love you so much.” He put a kiss on his palm to then let it linger on her tombstone. 

In a hidden part of an alley he put his mask on, he had to put his stuff between some garbage bags so people wouldn’t steal it, there wasn’t much to steal there, still he plastered it with web fluid, a force of habit. He swung between tall buildings and across streets, hearing sudden gasps and shouts announcing his presence in the city. It was funny how things had actually changed for him in the span of years; The Daily Bugle seemed to stop with the nasty propaganda; he was now on good terms with the police, he also had free health insurance thanks to the police department and he was doing well financially. Stark Industries was a place he never thought he would find a spot to fit in, to do the research he felt drawn to.

There were big threats still in New York but Peter didn’t feel that dread whenever he fought, the constant fear of losing someone he loved, those being the benefits of being alone, but how alone could you be to start missing the company of a partner after years of being lonesome?

Spider-Man quickly solved the robbery near the upper east side, it wasn’t a major thing, the thieves got webbed and delivered to the detectives, he got a bullet wound in his shoulder but nothing some tweezers, neosporin and a bandage couldn’t solve. Peter was even able to do so by himself now: the perks of being alone.

Peter had received several injuries and even more deeper wounds than the one he had on his shoulder but this one time as he shoot a strand of web coming from his right arm—the wounded one—his arm didn’t find it easy to carry his weight, and he was feeling somewhat dizzy, he thought it was the blood lose, because he hadn’t received a kick to the head nor anywhere his body could react the way it was doing now. He found himself screaming as he fell from a twenty four storage building. 

“Watch out! Spider down!” 

His instincts shouted at him to use his other web shooter, he did so, but Peter was being a little clumsy today. Slow motion turned on in his brain. The web-thread splashed on the building in front of him, but the height wasn’t enough to make him swing by without any implications. The chime of a bicycle bell was his only warning. After that he felt the clash of his body against something warm and then he rolled on the cold concrete. 

That was embarrassing. People screamed and sooner than what Spider-Man could recover, people were surrounding him to help him get up. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” He spoke under the mask, his shoulder throbbing with every move.

It took him a few seconds to register what just happened. He saw a mint green bike with a twisted handlebar, a bunch of flowers scattered and crushed on the ground and then panic started to bubble in his chest. A girl—a young woman was sitting on the wet asphalt, a few people were kneeling by her side as she held her arm against her chest.

Spider-Man ran to her side, pushing the pedestrians lightly. Squatting down, his eyes scanning her, a scrape on her cheek and forehead on the same side of what he guessed was an injured arm.

“I am so sorry, I swear this isn’t me, I mean it is me but I don’t know what happened I don’t— are you alright? Can I help you with anything?” 

The woman had pools of tears on the rim of her eyes, she was holding them in, because that was just humiliating, she was late for the delivery and now she had lost the bouquets and she didn’t dare to accuse The Spider-Man of her bad luck. The day was not a good one since the start. This was the ultimate confirmation.

“No, Spider-Man… sir, It’s not your fault, I just, I think I broke my arm.” She was barely able to pronounce the words, she was in terrible pain, how could she know?

“Oh, let me see.” Peter gulped under the mask, his stomach churning. He had broken the woman’s arm, this was bad. Taking her elbow she winced, tears finally slipped down her cheeks, shit. “Ms. I need to take you to the hospital.”

“No, no I have work, I can't go to the hospital now.” He saw the panic take over her features. 

“It’s the least I could do. I caused this, please let me do something.” 

Guilt was eating him alive, the more time he spent there with all the witnesses watching and telling her she should take Spider-Man’s word. 

She felt a little hazy on the head, like when you take a pill to not get dizzy on a long road trip, and everything starts to lose sense, sounds muffling. She shook her head trying to keep the masked hero away, she had to work, she needed to gather the flowers and—

“Ms.?” Spider-Man felt panic, a rush of blood like his spider senses were going off. 

Her eyes rolled backwards and she went limp on his arms. 

“No, no, no.” he mumbled, taking her in his arms he did what he could to swing through the city to reach the nearest hospital.

People, nurses, doctors, they all came to a halt when they saw Spider-Man arrive carrying a woman on his arms, this was quite the scene Peter could imagine but he was not able to think straight not when he had hurt someone—by mere accident that was true, yet the guilt was so heavy he felt like he could cry under the mask.

“I need help please!” He shouted and as if he had broken a curse, nurses and doctors moved again, some of them walking towards him.

“What happened?” a nurse asked as they started moving him to a nearby stretcher.

“uh, I… she had an accident on her bike and I think her arm is broken and she has a concussion or something I’m not sure.”

The nurse nodded as they put oxygen on the girl quickly moving her to the ER. Peter followed them until someone stopped him. “Sorry man, you can’t come in.”

“Oh, yeah ok. I’ll just wait.” 

“You need to get yourself fixed too.” The same nurse told him, pointing to his shoulder. “You’re ruining the floor.” 

Peter’s eyes looked down and there, from his shoulder all the way down to his finger tips a thread of blood was dripping down, leaving crimson drops on the floor.

“Sorry,” 

A minute later another nurse got to him and made him follow her into a room.

“We know you can’t reveal your identity and if people keep on seeing you out there they’re gonna start asking questions and it’s gonna be messy. So mister Spider-Man can you take off your suit? The mask can stay on, I need to clean that.”

Peter was a bit shocked still and maybe the blood loss was not helping so he nodded, his suit landed at his feet in a pool or red and blue, at least he was wearing a nice pair of boxers.

“I recommend you to come back later, you will only cause drama here, mister Spider-Man”

The nurse said and Peter just watched her work.

He was good as new in no time. His head felt light still but he managed to swing back to where he put his belongings in that alley. With the last bits of adrenalin still in him, he swung back to May’s, he sat on his old bed, suit on, mask off. The uneasiness he felt in his chest was suffocating. Why did he leave the hospital then? He couldn’t be at peace now. And why did he end up at May’s when he had his own apartment in Manhattan?

Maybe his injury affected his brain, his eyes checked his shoulder and the little wound was almost closed, thank goodness for fast healing but what about those who didn’t have that… What about the girl?

He wanted to make sure the girl he hurt was okay, it was an obvious statement. Yet he couldn’t go as Peter because he didn’t know anything about her and ugh, he grunted against his hands. Then he could go as Spider-Man. He knew the nurses would let him in if he asked kindly. However, he was scared of the reaction of the girl, what would she think of him of his idiocy. Spider-Man was not known for hurting pedestrians, he was supposed to save them not harm them.

His phone chimed from inside his backpack, Peter was on a streak of bad luck.

The news on his mistake quickly spread, he shook his head reading the article The Bugle had just released, how were they so fast? He wondered as his messages continued to pop up, Jonah Jameson wanted photos of Spider-Man, Peter’s former boss couldn’t let the other news sites win the exclusive so when it came to Spider-Man he still contacted Peter for exclusive photos, and Peter delivered, just because the news always made him look nice, but not this time.

Peter groaned even louder, this was not how he planned his day to go. Whenever he visited Gwen he usually had the best experiences afterwards, once he found a fifty dollar bill on the subway, just lying there on a seat, and then there was this other time where he got a free coffee because the owner proposed to her girlfriend and the drinks were free. 

But that luck seemed to be long gone. 

“Peter, are you in there?”

Peter’s heart jumped, he didn’t know May was home. “Yes it’s me, May!”

“Are you okay?"

“Um, yeah. I just got work to do and you know me… I’m complaining.”

“With the amount of hours you work I’d complain too. Are you heading out? I need you to bring me some bread and milk, are you staying the night, right?”

“Yeah, sure, May. Why not! Are you working today?” 

“Yes, but the car is at the mechanic,” Shit, Peter totally forgot about that, he made a mental note to give May some money to get that car fixed.

“At what time you’re off?” he asked, putting a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie on. “Do you want me to pick you up?” he said, opening the door.

May shook her head, a sweet smile on her face, “No, Peter. Jamie, my coworker is driving me back, you’re fine. Just don’t come back too late okay.”

Her hand caressed Peter’s cheek, making his anxious body feel slightly better. He gave her palm a light kiss and nodded. “Of course not May, when have I been late for our weekly dinners?” 

He let out a chuckle watching May drop her hand as she rolled her eyes, she shook her head and with a tired sigh she only added. “Don’t forget the bread and milk!”

“I won’t!” 

His smile dropped once he heard his phone buzz again. Plopping on the bed, with furrowed eyebrows, and a guilty mind, he took the decision he guessed was the most appropriate, maybe was a little over the top either way his hazy mind was calling the shots for the day. 

He found himself crawling up the walls of the hospital at night, after finding the girl’s room. Spider-Man found a way in, the windows were tiny but not too tiny to not let him sneak his body inside. Crazy, he knew, he had no other option.

Seemed like none of her family members got informed because no one was there making her company. Peter felt even worse. Gulping, he took a step closer to her bed, she was sleeping. It gave him enough time to assess the damages he caused. She had butterfly closures on her forehead, her lips were chapped and her arm was in a cast resting on her stomach. Her face was resting on the pillow in a weird angle almost over her left shoulder. 

The IV made a rhythmic noise with each drop, the monitors were checking her heart rate. Somehow seeing her like that made the guilt and worry grow, Peter wanted to fix this.

His eyes landed on a clipboard over a table at the feet of the bed. He grabbed it and checked every detail. Name y/n, heart skipped a beat, now her face had a name. You were a year younger than him, you had health insurance, well that was something good he could cross from the list of his doing wrongs.

No concussions, no internal bleeding, you had surgery on your broken arm, Peter winced, the radius broke in two and now you were half a robot with the pins and rods attaching your bone together. That definitely was not helping Peter feel better. 

“Shit,” he mumbled, placing the clipboard back down. His hands were up to his head. 

When his eyes found your face you were looking at him, with wide eyes and parted lips, Peter felt his soul leaving his body. 

“Jesus fuck!” He gasped a hand on his chest. “You scared me,”

“I—um sorry? I’m, what… how did you get in?”

His hands went to his hips and shrugged. “Through the bathroom window.”

“Why?” you tried to reincorporate on the bed but whined when you moved your arm, like you forgot you had it in a cast.

“Because there was no other way to get in,” 

“But there’s a door there,” you pointed with your head. “It’s easier,”

Peter furrowed, you were not able to see him. He sighed. “Yeah, I know that. But it’s the anonymity of the visit that I want to keep… anonymous.” 

What was he saying now!

He shook his head. “Um, how are you feeling?”

You scoffed, Peter deserved that disdain. “Like shit, well not as bad because I’m on medication but still not great with a useless arm.” 

The casted one got up as if to show him, he nodded. Taking a step closer, his hands grasped the plastic railing at the feet of the bed. 

“I can imagine— I owe you an apology, I wasn’t feeling too well and it wasn’t my intention to hurt you… or anyone. I don’t do that, you know? Goes against the hero thing.”

Your eyes were shining either for the low lights coming from outside or because you were on very strong medications, Peter couldn’t tell, what he saw was a little smile on your lips.

“I suppose it’s not on the hero policy… It's fine Spider-Man, sir.”

Peter chuckled. “Spider-Man it’s fine, I’m not as old as you may think I am.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you were like thirty five or something.” 

“Ouch, I… hmm no, no I—listen. I'm gonna tell you this because I think I owe you something so I’ll answer this one concern of yours, I'm around your age. So think twice before calling me old again, young lady.”

Now he saw a full smile blossom in your face, it made him feel better, a lightness finally reaching his sore shoulders.

“Um okay,” you laid deeper on your pillow, a smile still tugging at the corner of your lips.

Peter felt suddenly so overly conscious of his body and presence in front of you in a dark room, the darkness was helping but he felt your eyes on him as he paced around.

“Do you know how many days you are gonna be here?” he asked.

“I have no idea, I woke up surrounded by people, then I passed out when the nurse extended my arm and woke up like two hours ago to go pee and then fell asleep and then you were here.”

“That bad huh?” Peter crossed his arms as he leaned his back on the wall right in front of you.

“The pain was bad, but now it’s light. I do feel like I’m in a cloud when I don’t move.”

“That must be nice,” his back cracked unbidden.

“That, on the other hand, sounds bad… Are you better now? or why did you crash into me?” 

Peter blinked, scratched his forehead and watched you, you looked tiny and sleepy.

“I got a bullet wound right here,” he touched his clavicle. “Lost blood and that’s when I accidentally crashed into you I was feeling dizzy, but yes I am better now.”

“I see… well, at least you are not in risk of losing your job,”

Peter straightened, a knot in his throat. “You lost your job? because of me?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, making his agony longer.

“Not really, just my weekly payment. My dad’s the owner so he wouldn't fire me, but still he didn’t even come see me, so” you shrugged. “you’re all good Spider-Man.”

“Hmm for what it’s worth I am truly sorry and I want to make it up to you, so if you need anything, really I am here for you.” Peter walked to your side, his hand lingered over your shoulder, debating himself if the touch would be too much.

“I don’t think I need anything, but thank you.” you were blinking more often, heavier.

“Are you sure?” his hand dropped by his side, forming a fist. 

He wanted you to ask him a favor he wanted to feel useful, to prove to you he was good and not an asshole.

Your eyes grew big for a moment. “Wait, there is something… but I don’t think it’s safe,”

Peter clasped his hands together. “I’ll do it, what is it? I mean I’m Spider-Man, if something is not safe I am your guy, I do unsafe things for free all the time.”

“Hmm… right, okay yeah. I mean it’s not safe for me but why not, what else could happen to me, right?” 

You laughed, Peter grimaced, fair enough.

“My dog, I have a little dog and he hasn’t been fed since I left this morning so… I mean if you don’t have any crime to fight right now, would you feed him?” 

And his heart melted, maybe because you looked very worried and the way you were observing him made his chest flutter. 

“Yeah, of course. I love dogs, I can do that, easy peasy. You got it!” 

You grinned at him, teeth and sparkly eyes, Peter felt weird. 

He let you explain how much food he had to put on his plate, and to refill his water bowl as well, to not step on his little grass square where he peed and to leave the window just ajar for the air to circulate.

And at the end you gave him your address, hesitation still on your voice, but Peter promised you he was going in and out fast. 

“I’ll check on you later okay?” Spider-Man said, as he walked to the bathroom.

You nodded, giving him a lipped smile. “You can use the door,”

“Nah, not my style… see ya later y/n.” 

Peter struggled to get out, it wasn’t as easy as getting in. He considered using the door next time. 

Your apartment was small, not too small but it wasn’t big as in rich family kind of big. But it was small as in cozy. Your dog, Percy, was barking at him as he entered through your room’s window. It smelled like coconut, he sighed. 

When he opened the door to reveal the hall leading to the living room, Percy jumped at his legs, looking at him with curiosity, and the barking resumed. Peter started petting him on his tiny head and as soon as Peter reached his bag of food, Percy sat at his feet. 

“Oh good boy!” He scratched tiny Percy on the back of his ear.  “Okay, Percy, show me your bowl…”

It surprised Peter to see Percy run from the kitchen to the spot dedicated to the little Yorkiepoo, two bowls rested side by side on a corner as his bed was placed right beside the largest couch in the room. Toys were scattered around and Peter smiled.

“Okay so your kind owner said half a cup and two treats, right?” Percy tilted his head, Peter laughed. “You are too cute”

The bowls got filled with the respective things and as Percy ate throwing Spider-Man curious looks, Peter roamed around the room. His mask forgotten on the couch. You were messy but not too messy, your apartment was clean and you had flowers everywhere. A big vase of daisies in your bedroom. Another one with lavender carnations and purple monte casinos, it made your house smell fresh. He watched a photo of you with friends and he noticed how different you looked, dressed up in casual clothes, hair brushed and yes, without a cast on the arm. 

You were pretty, he noticed, how your hair fell over your shoulders and your eyes were big and sparkly. Maybe your eyes were always shining. 

A bark took him out of the trance, Percy was at his feet again looking up to him. Peter squatted down and patted the dog, until the latter laid on his back showing Peter his chubby belly.

“You want me to scratch your belly? Okay, but just once because I have to go, still need to go buy some stuff you know? I need to fight bad guys and do groceries, not like you!” he kept on scratching until Percy moved his back legs as if he wanted to scratch himself. “Look at you, living your best life.” 

With a sigh, Peter stood up. Ready to go back to his life, this has been a nice way to stop for a second but for him there were not many breaks. 

A flick of a wrist, the window slid open a little, he gathered his web with his hand so Percy wouldn’t eat it, put his mask on and jumped off the balcony window.

Spider-Man had a busy night, some guys robbed a few trucks with chemicals inside that ended with an explosion on a dock. He felt a bruise forming on his back and arms, but he managed to get out of there, leaving the robbers webbed onto a wall of a building, the police and the firemen arrived in time for him to take a minute to recover from the smoke and the harsh hits his body received. 

He filled in the police with the information and as the sun emerged, the warm sun beams calmed the pain and the coolness of his bones as he made his way back to the hospital.

Spider-Man was not in condition to sneak in through the smallest window in the room, so he entered through the emergency exit and took the elevator. People threw him furtive looks, a kid hugging his mom’s arm had his eyes glued to him, so he did what any other person would do, Peter waved at him and the kid beamed. With excuses and hand gestures Peter sighed, exiting the elevator, no nurses were around but once he entered your room, he got surprised by the one nurse who had received you a day before.

“Oh mister Spider-Man, good to see you.” She smiled at him and Peter saluted her as she made her way to the door. “She is ready to go,” she winked at him and Peter knitted his brows together.

His eyes landed on you, gathering your stuff in a tote bag as best as you could, your left arm was not as trained as the right, he noticed.

“Hey!” he said, waving at you.

You nodded. “Would you help me?” 

“Sure,” Peter opened the bag and you literally threw everything in.

“Thanks… how was your night?” you asked, dark circles around your eyes.

Peter shrugged, regretting it instantly as his muscles complained. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What about you?”

You sat down on the bed. “I feel weird, but okay I guess.”

“Are you walking home?” 

“Nope, got to go see how work is doing and then I’ll go home.”

Peter nodded, well… this must be it then. “Percy is a cute dog, very well behaved.”

It made you smile, hence Peter did so too. “He is… thank you by the way, for checking on him and for coming by too. You didn’t have to but you did anyway.”

Peter felt a flush and warmth coming for his cheeks. “Nah, it’s nothing. As I said I owed you so it was the least I could do, really. I’m glad you are okay, sorry for the arm though.”

Peter smiled even if you couldn’t see.

“Well, it was fun to see the famous Spider-Man up close. No offense but hope this is the last time,”

“Ouch, no, yeah I get it, hope that too. Don’t get in trouble, okay?”

“You got it spidey.” 

You looked at your feet and the whole mood in the room felt weird, so Peter knew this was his cue. 

“I’m gonna go now, need a bit of rest after a long night. See you… well… yeah whatever, bye y/n.”

He heard you chuckle, Peter shook his head feeling a bit dumb, closing the door at his back he made his way out the hospital. 

When he got back to May's, he came to the realization that he didn’t buy the bread nor the milk, May made sure to remind him.

“PETER!”

“I’m on it, May! Sorry!” 

•••

Peter was late for his date, his date with Gwen. He fell asleep on the subway and now he had to swing all the way back to get her weekly bouquet.

The place where he always bought flowers was closed, mumbling obscenities as he crossed the street. 

How funny was that only half a block down another flower shop was open.

He bought flowers only for Gwen and for May’s birthday, so he didn’t know much about them other than the classic red roses for his aunt and the colorful daisies for Gwen. His jaw almost hit the floor seeing the flowers on display, buckets of color and the smell so fresh and so sweet and so magical.

After a second of admiring the shop he went to the desk where a guy was wrapping pink roses for a woman. He gave him a lipped smile which Peter replied with a nod.

“How much for a small bouquet of daisies?” 

The guy waved to the woman and put all his attention on Peter. “What kind?” 

“Um.. normal? I don’t know.”

The guy looked at him funny. “We have pink daisies, african, chicory, fire wheel, gerberas, japanese…”

“Just the cheapest bouquet you can give me.” 

Peter was late and he was not in the mood to know the kinds of flowers. He also forgot his wallet and now he had like ten dollars to survive the day.

“Okay…” the guy shook his head. “Y/n,”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

Suddenly you appeared from a door he hadn't noticed until now, cast still on, but you looked healthier. 

“What?!” 

“Price for a bouquet of daisies…”

“What kind?” you sounded exasperated.

“Cheap,” the guy said in a tone that made Peter want to roll his eyes.

You squinted at the guy and Peter almost laughed. “Umm… eight dollars.” You finally looked at Peter.

Peter felt naked without the mask, and even if it was a crazy idea that he would deny later on the day, he, deep inside, was hoping you’d recognize him.

“Uh, um yeah that’s okay.” Peter spoke, a little choked.

“What colors do you want?” you asked him.

“All of them?”

It made you smile. “Nice.”

And you disappeared through the door, Peter let out the trapped air in his lungs.

The guy was just staring at him weirdly. “cash or card?”

“Cash,”

“Of course.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, offended. “Whatever man, I don’t want anything, thanks.”

Peter came out of the store mad, upset, shocked and disappointed. Crossing the street he tried to look for another flower shop. He didn't care he was late anymore, Gwen was a priority and he shouldn’t feel this shitty prior to his date.

“Hey, hey… dude..”

He heard and looked over his shoulder, you were running towards him, a bouquet in hand, cheeks red and no coat on. Were you crazy or what?

Peter stopped and waved his hands to stop you.

“You forgot your flowers!” you said, a hue of vapor came out of your lips.

“I didn't pay for them,”

“I know,” you looked embarrassed. “Sorry about Jerry, he's a little bitch, here take them! They’re on the house.”

Peter’s eyes went from your eyes to the happy perky daisies on your hand.

“I will follow you around until you take them.” You grinned. “Go on.”

Peter with a little smirk on her lips, sighed. “Just because you have no coat on and it’s freezing… Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, have a nice day.”

Your smile made him feel funny inside. “Yeah you too.”

Pivoting on your post you made your way back, Peter stood there perched, waiting for you to get inside the shop again, his cheeks went fully red when you looked back at him and smiled.

“No,” he simply said, shaking his head making his way to see Gwen.

Part 2 - Part 3

[bellrocoftheflames]

Can you tell me your headcannons to bellroc or Bellroc X Skrael?

I actually have a lot of headcanons for Bellroc!

1 - Bellroc used to have a majestic pair of wings, but they eventually got rid of them because "flying away from a fight" isn't something a warrior would do.

2 - They actually have all the fluids on their body to be pure lava or boiling fluids, nothing is actually approachable for mortals, they're a hazard to life.

3 - They actually enjoy music and dancing, but bellroc dances like it is some fight moves, like Capoeira.

4 - Bellroc doesn't like to answer complicated questions, and if people insist too much on making them think too hard, they could get really pissed off. It's not like they can't think, they just don't like to be tested.

5 - The reason for their teeth to be so dark is because they chew on their weapons, or even on nearby objects when they get angry. They also tried to fight with a sword on their mouth (like zoro) but got frustrated.

As for Bellroc x Skrael, their dynamic is the same as in the show, but privately bellroc likes skrael's cold hugs, causing their body to steam, and produce vapor. They like the smell that it produces, it's like fresh clouds but with a bit of a smoke scent.

Bellroc has no idea how to kiss, neither does skrael, so it rarely happens, they just hold hands and watch the size difference of every part of their beings.

[hcdragonwrites]

Barbed Words (@journey-to-the-au Fic) Part 2 Tea Trouble

So…. This has turned into …,,, three parts. Yes. Three. There’s a lot of dialogue and I… yeah. It’s a lot of different characters talking a bit. So … ENJOY- I’ll post the last part later today.

The day couldn’t have been more perfect on the mountain. The sun was shedding glorious warmth upon Willows back. She was dressed in her finest court attire to impress upon her sisters. Willow would have been in her more relaxed attire but today… was not the day to buck courtly garb in the sisters eyes. They would be dressed just as she, hair done in loops and paint pressed to lips, as the court dictated. Willow would not let her dress be the reason her sisters turned their nose up at her home.

She would impress those same sisters who came stepping off their celestial mounts with the grace of clouds. But It was like the mountain had heard Willows frantic beating heart and had bent to kiss her brow in comfort. The apple blossoms were in full bloom, the scent heady and sweet on the air. The grass was perfectly green and soft beneath the blanket she was settled on. The tree they were beneath was one strong Honeysuckle, it’s emerald leaves chattering in the breeze as if in welcome to the six sisters who walked forward. The morning dew had not burnt off yet which led to a coolness in the ground Willow could feel. Nature was in its best and most beautiful untamed self.

As her sisters steeds touched ground, a monkey named Ocean and his sister Spray stepped forward and collected the horses. The celestial beasts would be put to pasture to enjoy the days warmth and beauty. Which seemed just fine to the horses, as they swished cloud bobbed tails or snorted vapor into the warming air.

That spring air was fresh and the mountain felt it- the troop was out and about. Littles played and tussled between brambles and thickets. Mothers groomed and talked about their babes or gossiped about their mates in trees with low slung branches. Fathers were about, either tussling with others of the troop or collecting foods and polishing weapons. Unmated males, those who felt the spring air a bit too warmly, strutted and fastidiously groomed themselves. Then they would make their way to the bend in the river where the Water Curtain Caves spray coloured the air in a rainbow. Here the bachelorettes of the troop would be sunbathing. Here they would braid flowers and feathers into fur, and blush or chuckle at the sauntering show ponies who walked by to woo their besotted.

The laughter and the noise of the day was like music to Willow. Her Earthen family was about her, frolicking and living life. It set a small bit of her tension to ease.

Thank you Huaguoshan, Willow quietly said, wanting to kiss her mountain home. It had put on its best colors, it’s most beautiful and harmonious of welcomes. Wukong was dressed in battle regalia, soft leathers and polished armour that could set the suns rays to envy. He had dressed as king upon her request, kneeling beside her as the celestial sisters walked forward.

Summer Turning Flower was the forefront, dressed in greens and embroidered in a stitch of golden apples along the hem and wrists. Willow greeted Summer warmly with smile and a hug as her second sister knelt.

“Oh Willow its so GOOD to see you! A veritable beauty among the beasts.” Summer smiled to her.

Ah… was that intended ? Willow looked into her sisters eyes as they parted. She tried to figure out just what could have happened - or what that had been about. Was it an intentional saying ? Her sister had stepped back, casting her eyes downward.

“Hello Great Sage.” Summer bowed to Wukong, head low.

“Arise sister in law. You need not treat me with courtly courtesy. Wukong will do for my family.” Willows heart wanted to stretch in warmth at Wukongs kindness.

“Oh good.” Winter Frosted Grace sighed. She dropped onto the blanket with only the confidence that she could exude. Her ice blue robes crumpled beneath her as she sat, letting go of stately decorum for her posture. “I have had enough bowing to break a back for one day.”

“Was it a rough time in the palace then?” Willow asked.

“Oh sister dear,” Winter sighed, snapping a fan from a sleeve to wave at her face. “You have no idea. On this escapade I had three suitors try and prevent me from leaving. All of them beseeched me to reconsider for the ‘Grace of Heaven cannot loose another to the Savages’”

As Summer laughed Willow felt a bit of rage begin to build in her. A second slight. This time directly at myself. A small wave battered inside her, hitting against the sea wall she had erected all those years ago. Willow looked to Wukong. He seemed fine- his eyes not betraying the friendly warmth it still held.

“Of course I told the fat man to take his worries back to his mistress beneath the peach blossom trees.” Winter flapped a hand with the fan, as if blowing the man away. “I have no interest in any man so foolish as to think me to flights of fancy.”

At least it is only me they target so. She could handle that. Willow had dealt with plenty a honey coated barb from her sisters.

Another crash of that ocean inside her.

Autumn Leaves Falling, dressed in her habitual golden and browns, was stopped talking to Liu just several paces away. The Marshal had agreed so courteously to be the guard today, to play the role of protector. And though Wukong had tried to dissuade his dear friend, Liu had simply stared him down.

“It is to honor our Lady Willow. To make a show that Huaguoshan is well kept in both beauty and manners.” Liu had said. The Marshal would hear no more of it, his mind set.

The monkey greeted Willows laughing sister with kindness and such delicate court courtesy that Willow felt a wave of love swamp her little anger. Liu, of all the monkeys besides Wukong, knew how nervous Willow had grown. He was always carefully watching everyone and had seen how she had begun to pace It had been He who had first told Wukong of her exertions to the caves after bed to start gathering materials and go over supplies. That had been several months ago when the little bit of chill still hung in the air.

As Autumn came gayly up, she was surpassed by Wind Over Sea and Weaves The Clouds. They came in a whirlwind, laughing and tumbling over eachother. They fell head first into the blanket, grabbing and tugging at one another.

Wukongs quick thinking pulled the tea tray and treats up and away before the sisters could crash into the set and make a mess.

“You cheater!” Cloud accused.

“I didn’t cheat at anything!” Sea countered.

“You wagered and lost!”

“I didn’t wager a thing!”

Wukong set the tray aside with grace and pulled the sisters apart with ease as if her were picking two ladybirds up from a rose bush.

“What is this I hear of a wager ?” He asked.

“Sea made a bet that she has no intention of keeping!” Cloud accused, crossing her arms.

“You didn’t win though!” Sea began, voice rising.

Oh good Greif. Of her sisters, Cloud and Sea got into the most trouble together. It was almost as if they took after their namesakes- each feeding off the other and bringing a storm to blow into court. Cloud was game for any challenge, to prove herself in any contest placed before her. She would get along with Wukong, Willow had thought many a time.

Sea was sly and always seeking mischief. Being the second youngest sister meant she did not leave a lasting impression upon the court. She was too far down the birth order for some to set their sons or themselves to courting. Or she was too ambiguous in courtly power to try an ally with. So Sea had found another way to get attention: pranking.

It seemed like this spat was just the typical stirring of the pot Sea would create.

“I will have peace this day for my wife’s sake.” Wukong admonished them both. Sea at least had the propriety to send a sheepish glance her eldest Sisters way.

“As King of Huaguoshan I will hold court.” And Wukong set the two sisters down taking a very mocking and kingly air. Willow giggled and Autumn chortled while Winter looked on with a tired gaze.

“Oh a game!” Little Weaver Girl came bounding up, the last and youngest of the sisters. Willow saw the genuine smile on her baby sisters face as she settled on the edge of the blanket, her body wriggling in excitement. Little was the gem, the glowing jewel, of the court. She was beloved by all for she was the youngest, the most open, and the one to create the unrivaled robes of their Fathers attire.

“Honestly these two gamble over the stupidest bets.” Winter snorted. She grabbed a teacake, sniffing it before taking a bite.

“I think it’s adorable.” Autumn smiled. She looked back to Liu who stood at attention. “Especially as they play act at courtly politeness.”

Play act ? The water in Willow swirled again, sharks smelling rage. Liu was never Play acting. Of all the world, the Marshal could rival generals in Heaven with his respect and kindness. Willow had to bite her tongue, fingers curling into her sleeve.

“Speak first Sister Cloud.” Wukong intoned, taking to the game quickly and with joy. “What sort of wager did you get cheated out of?”

“We bet to see how many colours of Monkeys we would see!” Cloud glared at her sister who stuck a tongue out.

“A fine wager.” Wukong agreed, looking out over the monkeys who walked by. Willow ignored how her sister Summer curled away from the friendly faces of her earthly family. Or at least she tried to.

Sand Crane, a kind old monkey slowly approached the party. She was one of the older grannies, face worn and leathered by the sun and laughter lines. She walked up to Willow, her smile making her eyes crinkle at the corner.

“For you, Dear one.” And she unfurled her hand. On her palm were some of the ripest berries plucked from a raspberry patch that Willow had every seen. The little gems were large and swelled with tart juice.

“Thank you Sand Crane.” Willow bowed.

“I picked them myself this morning.” The great old monkeys silvered muzzle and hair flashed like moonbeams in the sun. “The east mountain gets a nice breeze this year from the sea. The berries should be sweet for you and your sisters.” Without a second glance, the old matriarch stepped to the side, slipping into a throng of old grannies who set to chatter. Willow held the berries like gold. The east side of the mountain was steeper, the ever present monsoon rains having carved the terrible rock into a steep and slippery trap.

Sand Crane had quietly given her a great gift and had reassured her in a simple gesture. We love you, We want the best for you. Willow felt a swell of love threaten spill from behind her eyes.

I cant cry. I will cry later. And I will find that old grandmother and give her a hug for her kind words.

Willow slipped a cool berry into her mouth. The juice burst on her tongue, made all the sweeter by the gesture. Summer was watching her with a befuddled expression.

“Here- I know how much you love Raspberries!” She held her hand out to her sister.

“You are going to eat that ?” Summer asked from behind a polite smile.

It hit Willow like a slap.

Willow pulled back politely, taking the berries in her hand and keeping the fingers uncurled. She would not. Could not. Make a scene. These had been loving picked and given to me. Sand Crane had thought of me and had gone out of her way to gather them…

The waves inside Willow were crashing.

“And what was your guess?” Wukongs voice had Willow come back from that crashing anger, from that perilous rising sea. She saw the Monkey King mediating between her two younger sisters who had significantly calmed down.

“Twenty five colours.” Cloud said with a sniff.

“Alright. And Sister Sea what wager did you set ?” Wukong asked.

Seas smile was sly, a fox curling its lips around a chickens throat. “I said as many as the rainbow.”

“Which is not FAIR!” Cloud accused, throwing one finger in Seas face. Autumn laughed at the antics. Little simply helped herself to another mooncake, used to her sisters competing.

“But there IS A RAINBOW.” Sea insisted.

“No there isn’t !” Cloud spat like a cat.

“THERE IS RIGHT THERE - AND THEIR ARE MONKEYS BENEATH IT!” Sea hissed back, pointing to the waterfall spray that threw a perpetual mist into the air.

“That’s not a Heaven made one so it does not count!” Cloud sniffed. “It’s not a proper rainbow.”

It may have been the past barbs from Winter and Summer, but this phrasing following so close to Summers rejection to Sand Cranes gift- it stung already sore places. Willow couldn’t hide the small falling of her smile.

“A trickster then is Sister Sea.” Wukong leaned into the two fighting groups, giving a wink to Sea who chuckled.

“Do not make wagers with tricksters dear sisters.” Wukong philosophized, placing his hands behind his back to take a bit of a haughty air. “Especially if they are tricksters you call sister.”

“Aren’t you a trickster ?” Summer asked pointedly, her eyes sliding to Willow. What is that look ment to communicate ? Was she implying that Wukong was not to be trusted? That she had somehow been hoodwinked to come here ?

“Why yes.” Her friend rolled the sharper comment off his shoulder, letting the barb fall harmlessly. Or not recognizing the pointed slight. “ I am the best and most well know of cunning minded and sharp witted tricksters in stories. There are lessons to be learned in many a thing I have done.”

“Could you tell us Wukong?” Little asked around a mouthful of coconut cakes.

“Of course.” He leaned over and grabbed a napkin to wipe Littles face clean. Summer shivered and Winter fanned herself, puffing about the stuffy air. Hold it together Willow. She felt the waves rising, the surf surging in her heart. Wukong was being so gentlemanly. He was poised and well mannered. He was taking care of Little like he would any of his troop. It touched Willow with love. It also made her want to actually freeze her sisters in ice. Or politely push them into a rice field. On accident.

Maybe a good dunking will make them come to their senses.

“Now did I tell you of the time I dressed as my brother Bahjies Ex Wife to trick him into divorce ?” Wukong implored and Cloud, Sea and Little all clambered forward.

Whatever slights these three had said were not meant. It obviously had tickled down from on high. Willow saw the elder of her sister in the corner of her eyes. As Wukong launched into his story of disguise and acting, Willow took to leaning back and gauging the elders of the group. Autumn seemed fine- more amused by the journey and curious. Malicious no. Or maybe ignorant in how malicious her comments come off.

“It’s so hot dear Willow.. why is the air so … pungent?” Winter snapped her fingers and Willow felt her body go ridged. “Where’s the servant with some cold water ? I’m dying in this heat…”

Another slam into the sea wall inside herself.

“I will get it for you dear sister.” Willow said, rising from her place and stepping to the path that would lead to Water Curtain Cave.

“No servants to fetch things?” Summer cast about her, taking in the multitude of simians frolicking and enjoying the air. “No help for a daughter of the Royal family?”

Another crash of that wave.

“I prefer to get things myself instead of relying on others. I wouldn’t want to atrophy with the lack of movement.” It was a very sharp and direct barb but Willow had to deliver the reprimand. Summer had a tendency in court to be sloth like, relying on others to fan her or asking to be carried by palanquin. The harsher and more viceroys women of the palace said it was because Summer wanted to remain diminutive of stature and demur of nature. “All the better to woo our men.” One women, had whispered loudly. Willow would usually not try and use the court gossip to make a point. However … her patience was skating thin. She heard more then saw the intake of air as she walked away.

She hoped that was the last of it.

Willow entered the cave beneath the waterfall feeling a rush of emotions. Today was supposed to be lovely. It was supposed to be like that day back when the sisters had first crept to the earthly river, when they had all been girls and had laughed at the pleasure of just being.

Winter was miserable and melting and growing more corse by the second. Autumn found amusements in Lius severity thinking it was a game when the Marshal meant every word.

If she knew the courtesies Liu had she would never look to another man of the Palace. He’s worth twelve of those vipers in manners and in genuine heart.

Then there was Summer. Her second sister. The one who had the most aversion. Who had turned her nose up at a polite gesture. Willow felt her blood boil.

Willow pressed her hand to the cold stone of the cave, trying to take some of the chill into her blood. She did not want to cause a scene. Even though her sisters were digging for it.

[silverpen-and-paper]

2, 13, 24, and 27 for the ask game! Sorry if you’ve already done these lol

ty for the ask!!

2. how did your interest in loki begin? (optional: how has it evolved over the years?)

link!

13. do you have any headcanons about asgard? (phsyics, culture, environment, history, etc?)

asgard’s water cycle goes like this: ocean water falls off the edge of the planet. it becomes vapor, the particles small enough that you can’t see them. one fraction of the vapor gathers beneath asgard and soaks back up to the topside through pathways in the rock and soil, surfacing as natural springs. the other fraction of the vapor curls back up against the atmosphere’s barrier and reforms as clouds over the topside. i’d assume this means all water on asgard (except maybe an isolated lake or two) is freshwater, but i’m not a meteorologist, so maybe not.

the shiny bright pillars on the underside of asgard are probably supposed to be ice? but i prefer to think that they’re some kind of otherworldly crystals that are magically making asgard’s gravity work the way it does. i could accept them being coated with ice, though.

idunn’s golden apples exist (we see some on banquet tables), but they don’t have the same effect as the myths. instead of being The Thing that asgardian longevity relies on, they’re just really, really healthy for you — maybe extending your life by 100 years or so if you eat them regularly enough. in my headcanon, that species of plant had already been growing on asgard for a while, but idunn figured out a way to revolutionize their benefits to the extent that asgardians refer to them as idunn’s apples. i think she runs an orchard of them.

asgard is transphobic, but not homophobic. i have a wip post where i explain this headcanon more but this is the gist of it.

there are asgardians living in the more mountainous parts of asgard, away from the main city where the palace is located. some in villages, some more isolated. this might be too obvious of a concept to count as a headcanon, but i’ve never seen anyone mention it before, so.

24. what song lyrics remind you of loki?

oh SO many but here are a few of my favorites

persephone by daisy the great:

the plight of the siren is that she’ll never sing without somebody claiming she’s starting a war and every word from her lips is a sign that she’s hungry for blood she’s a killer and moreso  the music is sweeter than honey, but honey oh, think what a monster she is at her core

my body is not mine by aurora:

but the light kicks in when i know it’s time i’ve built my walls so it’s safe to hide and the people i love i’ve left behind they see too much when they look in my eyes feel no pain and i never cry i bleed no blood, and i will never die my body’s not mine, body’s not mine body’s not mine, i need no body

rule #5 - james picard by fish in a birdcage:

i’m aware of the madness that has stained our air so i paint all the darkness  and the wounds that we must face ah (ah), ah (ah), ah fear has unleashed a storm through so much pain ah (ah), ah (ah), ah the fire spread throughout my bones and stayed

and here’s a few more songs on my loki playlist that i can’t not recommend: horror and the wild & farewell wanderlust by the amazing devil, nunemaker’s parable by everybody’s worried about owen, winter bird by aurora, regular people by moon walker

27. say you go back in time and get hired as the director of a mcu loki movie/series/episode that you dislike. assuming you’d already be changing the big stuff you criticize, what is the pettiest thing you’d change?

the tiny stack of papers in s1 ep1 of the series, the one that supposedly contains everything loki’s ever said. it’s a really odd and baffling move for a series that insists loki likes to talk a lot. and even if they didn’t insist that, like, loki’s about 1047 years old by that point! a single day’s worth of words for the average person would at least fill two or three pages, and loki’s lived — what — over 300,000 days? those papers should fill an archive. 

and there’s so much potential there too: if they wanted to go comedic (which they likely would), haha, look at all the pages loki has to read! if they wanted to go psychological horror, just imagine the dawning terror loki would feel as they realize that it’s all there. everything they ever remember saying, every hazy half-memory they nearly lost to time, sentences and conversations they don’t remember at all — it would be very tasty and effective horror if done right, i think. 

not to mention how long it would take for loki to read through them all. time doesn’t work the same way in the tva, but would they notice themself getting tired? hungry? thirsty? would they realize how long they’d been in there? would they even remember why they started in the first place? would loki be so entrenched in reading that after they finally finish, it feels like they’ve just lived their entire lifetime over again? would they snap and try to break out before then? if they did, what would be their breaking point?

plus, i doubt the tva would record other people’s halves of conversations. the tva would want to save paper and keep things simple, after all, so they’d just record loki’s dialogue. loki would read through thousands of moments where they know they must’ve been talking to their loved ones, but they would have to rely solely on memory and deduction to know what other party had said. all they would be able to see clearly is their own words echoed back to them. 

also, i refuse to accept that loki would sign something that easily without knowing what they were agreeing to or why.

full ask game: