#ONLY FOR HIM TO HELP HER GET A REMEDY AND ESCAPE AND GET HER BACK!!

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Mr. Mayor

✰ frank castle x fem!reader, matt murdock x fem!reader (platonic)

✰ summary: it always comes back to frank.

✰ warnings: language, violence, mentions of blood, dirty cops, wilson fisk (yuck), reader gets a bit sassy bc she's fed up, angst X 100.

✰ word count: 1.9k

✰ this is a two part series!! read the first part below!

part one

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

not my gif, credit to the owner!

A tense silence suffocated the two the moment you slammed through the door. Frank kicking a chair made Matt flinch. “Why did you bring her here?” Frank’s voice was dangerously low. His hands were on his desk, and his head hung low. “You thought she would be all smiles the moment she saw me?” He huffed a fake laugh and looked over at Matt. “You must be dumber than I thought.” 

Matt’s hands are on his hips as his mind recalls how broken your voice sounded. He’s not really listening to Frank, he never does, but especially now. He’s one more word away from crumbling, “I don’t know.” He was guilty. Matt knew that bringing you straight to the man who abandoned you wasn’t a great idea, yet he did it anyway. 

“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than ‘I don’t know,’ Red,” Frank’s voice booms. 

Matt’s head turned rapidly, his eyebrows scrunching in concentration. “Pretending not to hear me ain't gonna help you now–,” Matt shushes him.

Since the first day you and Matt met, his senses were always dialed onto you. He knew when you were about to enter the building to his apartment, five floors down. You two liked to joke that his senses were obsessed with you. The more time he spent with you, the more your ‘joke’ became real. 

Your rapid heartbeat has been drumming in Matt’s ear until it wasn’t. Your heartbeat slowed significantly and also hushed. “You think I’m an idiot? That’s fine, but we need to find (Y/N) now,” Matt is antsy; he’s ready to leave. Though the man in front of him was hesitant. “If you stay here, you’re abandoning her again. And a part of me knows that is the last thing you want to do,” he says sternly.

Pushing Matt out of the way, he heads for the door. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You knew your friendship with Matt came with obstacles. Long nights at the office and coffee runs were a given, but waking up in the backseat of a car was not on that list. The first thing you notice is that your hands and legs were tied, the rope began to dig into your skin, the friction making you wince. Whoever was in the front seat didn’t bother to cover your mouth with anything, making you sigh.

Your breath caught the attention of the man sitting in the passenger’s seat. His glance at your frame sparked a brief laugh, “She’s awake.” 

“Let him know we’ll be there in fifteen,” the other man driving responds. 

You can’t help but study the men in front of you, Matt unintentionally taught you this. They both sat straight, but the weight of the day was evident in their posture. Their hair was similar, and they dressed in casual clothing. Something caught your eye, something that made you shudder. The driver had a tattoo on his wrist, Frank’s symbol. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. 

They’ve taken your phone. So now there was nothing you could do but wait. The scariest part of it all was that you had no idea where you were. It could’ve been a few hours since you saw Frank and Matt, or it could’ve been a few days. 

It was dark out, the streetlights offering you the only light until you were blinded by a room of bright overhead lights. The ceilings were high in the building, the walls a pristine white. After parking, the two men pull you out of the car. They drag you to a table with two chairs, one on each side. The table was the last thing you noticed due to a private jet parked a few feet away from you. 

“If you think you’re gonna be able to escape, you’re fuckin’ stupid,” one of the men whispers in your ear as he begins to place you in the chair, cutting away your binds. Yanking your face away from his, you rub your wrists, trying to remedy the sting. 

It was only a few minutes before you saw who was supposed to be sitting across from you. “Mayor Fisk,” you announce, “I should be surprised, but in all honesty, I’m not.” You’ve never been more annoyed in your life. You’ve had enough of Fisk these past few years, and seeing him now was the cherry on top. If you weren’t upset already, you are now. 

“Miss (Y/L/N), I’m glad to see you’ve made it safe,” Fisk responds. He knew you didn’t have a choice. He knew exactly how to get on your nerves, and you hated him for it. 

A sarcastic huff of a laugh leaves your lips, “Oh, you mean those dirty cops you hired to snatch me off the street? Yeah, real safe.” 

Your mention of the cops made the air tense. Especially from the two who drove you here. “You’ve always had a good eye,” Fisk speaks just as his meal is put in front of him, “it makes me wonder why you haven’t joined Matt Murdock’s team. You seem like a good fit.” 

He picks up his fork and knife, waiting for you to respond. “It always comes back to Matt, especially with you,” you say, sitting back. You wanted to make him uncomfortable, he doesn’t deserve anything more. 

“Would you rather talk about Frank Castle then?” 

You’d rather die than show that Wilson Fisk had any sort of power over you, “Be my guest, Mr. Mayor.” 

“He left about a year ago,” he starts strong, but quickly corrects himself, “I’m sorry. He left you a year ago.” A short pause before he speaks again, “I’m not complaining, he was a liability with no way to wrangle him. He was a nuisance. But I know he was more than that for you.”

You cross your arms, “You’ve been keeping tabs on me? I’m flattered.” 

Fisk slams his fists on the table, causing the items on it to jump. You smirk, this is exactly what you were looking for. He stands up, pushing his chair behind him in the process before taking a breath, “We will speak again soon, Miss. (Y/L/N).” 

“God forbid you let Hector Ayala live, right?” you start, causing him to stop in his tracks. His fists squeeze together as he turns to look at you, “You and all these dirty fucking cops think you can just kill anyone who doesn’t bend the knee, and Hector Ayala was able to come out of his trial alive. Just to be shot point blank by someone who worships the nuisance you despise.”

Wilson Fisk’s stride catches up to you, grabbing you by the neck before muttering, “New York is my city, and I will do anything to protect it.” 

Your hands fly to his wrists, trying to catch a breath. “Your version of protecting a city that doesn’t even want you is pathetic,” you’re able to squeeze out before a few gunshots snap Fisk out of his violent trance. 

He drops you to the floor, leaving you to cough and gasp for air. You weren’t even given a chance to catch your breath before the two men from before dragged you back into the car. Even without talking, you could feel your throat becoming rough, it’s almost like you could feel the pressure still on your throat. 

The drive back was silent. This was the first moment of quiet that you had to think about the last few hours. You wish you could’ve just stayed home tonight. The car pulls up to a red light, the color flooding the entire cabin. “Gotta be at the station early tomorrow–,” the driver’s voice was cut off by the sound of glass breaking. 

Your eyes went wide at the sight of Frank pulling the man out of the car through the window. You knew that this was your opportunity to leave. Manually unlocking the door, you shove the car door open. It wasn’t long before you heard a voice calling out for you, footsteps following yours. 

You were never a good fighter; your words were often strong enough, so you ran. You ran until it took you to an alley, one similar to the one you were dragged into. The buildings alongside it made the walkway dark, too dark to see Matt in front of you. Two hands were placed on your shoulders, moving you behind him before he came face to face with the reason behind your panic. 

“Officer Powell,” he says, “good to see you again.”

“Murdock, get out of my way,” Powell pants. 

Matt folds his cane, putting it in his breast pocket, “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He springs into action. You haven’t seen Matt do any of this in a long time, but seeing him now, it was almost like he never gave it up. 

With one last punch, Matt knocks the cop unconscious. He’s panting when he turns back to you, readjusting his glasses. You can’t help but hug him when there’s a beat of silence, his arms wrapping around you. It’s going to be hard to build trust between the two of you again, but you needed a friend, and Matt was always going to be there. 

Pulling away, his fingers touch your neck, causing you to flinch. “I–I’m alright,” a broken string of words escapes out of your throat, your voice cracked and rough. “Where’s Frank?”

The two of you walk out of the dark alley to see Frank standing over your other abductor. You quickly run to Frank’s side only to see the mess he’s made. His fist is bloody, shaking due to the trauma. In his other hand, he carries a small pocket knife, blood painting the silver. 

The cop on the floor had his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, a certain tattoo carved off his skin. “Oh my god,” you whisper, your hand coming up to your mouth. You look back at Frank, his eyes blown wide. Even though a year has passed, you still know Frank’s mannerisms as if he never left. 

You approach him softly, “Frank?” 

You can see the moment he snaps out of it, his shoulders relax when he turns to you. “Sweetheart,” he cries, wrapping his arms around you. His hug catches you by surprise, your entire body is overwhelmed. Tears fall down your cheeks before you even realize it, just before you crumble. 

You sob in his arms, the different color street lights illuminating the scene in front of you. Exhaustion coursed through your veins as you slowly fell to your knees, Frank catching you before you hit the floor. 

Quiet voices passed between you before you felt a hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting squeeze. You fell unconscious as Frank carried you back to his place. Only waking up when you felt him place you in his bed, “Lie with me, please.” 

He cradles your face, taking in the sight of you after so long. Taking off his shoes, he places himself next to you, “Rest, baby.”

You closed your eyes and had a dreamless sleep, only hoping that Frank next to  you wasn’t a sick joke your mind was playing on you, 

✰ author's note: HOOOO SHEEIT!! wrote this at work and i was so locked in LOL. this shit is angsty as ferk. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog!! ily!

[sakurocha]

sam x maid!reader !

in which sam discovers a welcome surprise on his doorstep: you, his new, cute maid!~ read pt. 2 here!

today was your first day serving as a maid for jodi, your sweet neighbor!

you softly knocked on the front door of her house, smoothing out the skirt of your uniform, when it suddenly swung open

a tall, blonde-haired boy who looked nothing like your client stood in the doorway, his jaw plummeting to the floor

until the door suddenly slammed back in your face, leaving you stunned and wondering if you came to the wrong house

but shortly after, the door opened once again, a familiar face welcoming you

“hi sweetheart, sorry about my son here,” jodi said, ushering you in. “sam, please apologize.”

he stammered an apology, glancing down at your outfit with a rosy tint across his cheeks before dashing into his room

he definitely thought you were some sort of escort, sent as a cruel joke by his friends

and he was definitely flustered by the thought, especially with the hardening length in his pants :(

he has to… take care of himself in the safety of his bedroom hehe~

you arrived to clean the house every monday after that

which was inconveniently the exact day and time that sam had his shifts over at joja mart

he couldn't get through his shifts fast enough, the monotony of sweeping allowing his mind to drift to naughty daydreams of what he would do to you if he caught you in an uncompromising position while you were in the midst of cleaning...

and his dreams nearly come true when he returns from work one evening, only to find you bent over his bed, reaching over to smooth out the sheets

his eyes were glued to the way the skimpy skirt of your uniform rode up your legs, nearly revealing what he had fantasized about...

although he rarely made his bed, now he swore to never, if the display in front of him was how it would be remedied

"oh! samson, welcome home!" you'd say while hastily straightening up, much to sam's dismay, dragging him back to reality by the ankles. "i hope i'm not intruding at all, i just needed to finish up your room..."

after several weeks of your presence in his home, he's managed to feel more comfortable talking to you

he reassures you that it's alright, sneaking glances of you hard at work while he pretends to fiddle with his guitar

he realizes he needs to change out the strings, so he makes his way over to his shelf

only to find you on your tippy-toes, stretching to dust a particularly high shelf, bracing yourself with one arm as you reach upwards

"do you... need help with that, miss?" he asked quietly

he couldn't help it, you seemed like you were struggling with how high up the shelf was! :(

startled by his voice, you backed up into sam's body, your ass accidentally brushing right against his dick

and god, he fought hard to suppress a moan from escaping his lips at that slight contact

because even though it was just a teensy little tap, it felt good

and he had been dreaming for ages about what your plush body would feel like pressed up against his

but the flustered yet blissful gleam in your eyes as you looked back at him over your shoulder let him know that you were just as willing to indulge in something so naughty as he was!~

thank you so much for reading! requests are always open~

[roronoacherries]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 | roronoa zoro

788 words

content: comfort, fem. reader, sfw, established relationship, reader is sick and zoro is the sweetest boyfriend.

you tried to stay still, tried to be as quiet as possible, but you couldn’t stop turning in bed. and then the tears came. all you wanted to do was rest, but your body was refusing to allow you to.

that was when zoro woke, and you cried a little more because you hadn’t meant to wake him so early too. he’d been on night watch, and was surely as tired as you.

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” zoro pulled you closer to him, hearing your sniffles.

“feel like shit.” you cried. you were shivering and sweating at the same time, your head was killing you, your throat felt sore, your nose was runny, and you couldn’t stop crying. and on top of it all you had to be up soon.

“you’re burning up,” zoro whispered, holding a hand to your cheek. “i’ll go get chopper.”

“don’t leave.”

“i’ll be quick.”

he pressed a kiss to your temple before leaving to find the doctor. you weren't sure how long he'd been gone and though you knew it couldn't have been long, it felt like an eternity to you. all you wanted to do was sleep. to rest and escape the pain you felt throughout your body. 

instead, all you do was cry and turn and turn and turn in bed. when chopper came in to check on you, you could hardly focus on the words he spoke… but zoro — he clung to each syllable. 

“a tea could help you sleep better. i’ll bring you down a remedy as soon as i can.”

“i’ll bring it,” zoro interrupted. “and i’ll ask sanji to make you a tea, too.” 

his hand rested briefly on your forehead, gently brushing your hair to the side. “i’ll be right back.” 

you muttered a faint, i love you and the swordsman returned the sentiment with a kiss to your temple before stepping out behind chopper. you hated the thought of chopper and sanji being disturbed at this hour for your sake. all because you’d gotten sick and couldn’t sleep. pathetic. 

a fucking pirate and you still couldn’t take care of yourself. the sensible part of you could tell you that you were being ridiculous, that it was alright to depend on others sometimes, but it was hard to ignore the overwhelming voice in your head that was telling you you were being a burden, that chopper and sanji and zoro were losing sleep over you — and god, zoro deserved better. 

he deserved a girlfriend who wasn’t so weak, one who wouldn’t cry from a little fever. he deserved someone who wasn’t going to spiral at 4am because he was sweet enough to bring her tea and medicine and take care of her. 

“aight, sanji sent camel-somethin’ tea and a bowl of almonds and fruit, said it’d help you sleep better… and chopper told me to make sure ya take two spoons of this stuff,” zoro held up a bottle, his arms full as he pushed open the door. “how ya doin?” 

“i love you and i don’t deserve you,” you whined. 

“sanji said the same thing,” zoro said, ignoring your pout and setting everything down on the nightstand before helping you sit up. he pulled up a chair beside you for himself. “he went on about poor y/n and she deserves better than a big oaf taking care of her. he offered to come spoonfeed ya, actually, i could go get ‘im.” 

“no, i think i’m all better now actually…” you smiled, not needing a mirror to know you looked like shit. “but if the big oaf feels like spoonfeeding me, i wouldn’t mind it.”

your boyfriend only rolled his eyes, reaching for the spoon and chopper’s bottle. “two spoons is all you’re getting. open wide, babe.” 

you didn’t know if it was chopper’s medicine, sanji’s tea, or zoro’s hands rubbing circles into your skin, but it didn’t take long before you started to feel better and you were struggling to keep your eyes open. “baby, i think i can sleep okay now…” 

zoro took the tea cup from your hands. “want me to sleep next to you?” he hummed, knowing there was something you were leaving unspoken. 

“you’ll get sick.” you whispered. 

“that’s not an answer.” 

“please,” you smiled weakly, wanting nothing more than to rest your head against zoro’s chest and feel the weight of his arms around you. 

you could feel the rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of his body against yours. 

“it doesn’t matter if i get sick,” zoro said, his eyes closed and his fingers brushing through your hair. “i’ve got a beautiful, sweet girl to take care of me.

i don’t deserve her.” 

─────────────────────────────

something about zoro putting aside his pride to wake sanji and ask him to make you tea. something about zoro knowing exactly what you need without you saying it. knowing how to comfort you without being too obvious about it. him taking care of you because he knows you’re more than he deserves (and he knows that you don’t think you’re enough) and because you take care of him the same way everyday. something about zoro.

─────────────────────────────

taglist: @zorobraun @maaarshieee @lyriczhou @tinkywinky27 @dimimyth @gaby-chwan @tk6uro @zoros-4th-sword @idiotlittleme

masterlist | taglist

[wheneclipsefalls]

Good Afternoon!

Love your Little Gift series! If I may ask, sorry to bother, I know Neteyam is very protective towards reader, so how would he react with reader becoming very ill?

He’s giving her medicine and herbs, but they’re not working or having an effect towards her sickness? How would he handle it?

Thank you and have a great day!

It is actually insane that you've asked this because a few months ago I wrote a few pages for Little Gift with this exact scenario. I never ended up turning it into a full chapter because it didn't have enough meat but I can tell you what I was originally thinking.

Neteyam would be incredibly protective over reader and distressed at finding her sick. It is his responsibility to look after his little gift but it can be frustrating at times how fragile and generally inept she is in the forests of Pandora. It seems he is constantly saving her from injury or working to fight off sicknesses that her tawtute body is so vulnerable to.

Eventually reader does become sick and no matter what natural remedies or advice his implements from his grandmother, it refuses to go away. It is only after enduring constant nagging from reader and Lo'ak consistently advicing him to seek other help does Neteyam finally relent and take reader to outpost to get treated.

Neteyam is not a huge fan of Sky Demon remidies and the thousands of chemicals they carry but it seems your stubborn little body will only react to such treatments. It takes a while for you to fight it off and the tawtute at the labs suggest giving reader a break from the breathing serum, so reader ends up staying at the outpost for about a week. It is a week of torture in Neteyam's eyes. Although, he does everything within his power-including threatening Norm within an inch of his life- to make sure reader receives the utmost care possible, nothing can ease that ache of not looking after his pet himself.

With his Olo'eyktan duties he can not afford to stay in the outpost himself and be so far away from the action. Instead, reader is put in a room with Spider along with plenty of blankets and trinkets from Neteyam's own kelku to make reader feel at ease.

Meanwhile, reader has never been so grateful to catch a bug. Staying in the outpost is practically a vacation when it means taking naps all day without a giant blue body smothering her to death and getting to wear real clothes while watching movie reruns on a tablet. All of it is worth the pounding in her head and rushing fever.

To her dismay, Neteyam visits every day and fusses over his little gift until she is bitting back scowls that only make him coo at her. There may be no escaping the Olo'eyktan but it's a relief to know that there are afforded breaks when put in the proper circumstances.

Although, his absense does have her missing that little vibrator in her drawer she once had.

[thestarfishface]

Hello my friends I have been tired and stressed bc of work and moving and my computer exploding, and therefore have not drawn for funsies in a few weeks. I am attempting to remedy this. Behold: Thursday game doodles.

Context:

Pic 1: Parallels between Verity's old and current party, now that the squad is all together! Mira and Barbfin, Ani and Darius, Veil and Willow, and then Verity and Rodin being Awkward off to the side

Pic 2: Soooooo Verity and Rodin had a bit of a fight in the most recent session, that may or may not have ended with Verity literally destroying his paladin's oath with a hammer.

He's been a vengeance paladin since she died, and swore to kill the BBEG (who was responsible for her death and fucked over the old party and did a bunch of other Bad Shit), and in a recent session lured him (and his entire army) out so he could, and I quote, "Hit him in the face with a hammer".

Verity was v frustrated by this, saying it was reckless and stupid to put his life (and everyone else's) in danger by trying to lure him out with no kind of escape plan or backup (R: "I have my own armies and diplomatic connections and my entire spy network!" V: "Cool, WHERE WERE THEY TODAY???"), and he said he's been following the plan he "carved into stone" 150 years ago when he first took his vengeance oath. Conveniently, said stone was hanging on the wall of the room they were arguing in.

Verity says that plans can change, stone can be broken, and that just bc something is "carved into stone" doesn't mean it has to be permanent- especially since they have the entire old party back now and they have more hope now than they ever did. However, Rodin is stubborn that he's not going to change his entire game plan just bc there's slightly more hope than there was a few months ago- we found out during the same session he's only got a few months left to live, and if he's going to die he's going to take out the BBEG and fulfill his revenge as his final act.

Verity, though, is adamant that, with the combined help of both the old party and her new friends, they can make him young again and get a "second chance" at the adventures they wanted as kids- and grabs one of his blacksmithing hammers. She threatens to break the oath stone, but is hesitant at first bc it's obviously important to him. And then he says:

"Go on, break it then. Or admit that I'm right."

So she uses the hammer and divine smite on the giant slab of granite, carved with both his vengeance paladin oath and his plan to take out the BBEG, shatters it, and says he needs to "write his love on his heart and let THAT be the thing that drives him forward, not some stupid stone".

So Verity is now an oathbreaker but not in the way you'd expect lol.

Expect more doodles on this topic bc it was ONE HELL OF A SCENE and I am very sad we don't stream our Thursday game bc I would commit so many crimes to have a recording of it ;-;

Bonus:

[hedwig221b]

The the wig that it Hed, can I get some fic recs where Stiles 'dies', not like for real but I read one you recommended, 'Betrayal' by littleredridinghunter where the pack thinks he died but they later find him in a fighting ring. Any chance you know of others like this? Where everyone thinks he's dead but he reappears as a bamf?

You quite literally don't have to go far, Littleredridinghunter has similar fics. Just a few for example (but def check out their profile):

The Ultimate Sacrifice by Littleredridinghunter

The Darach has a plan. One that may cost one pack member their life. When the worst happens can the pack move on? Can Derek? Four years later with Fae murdering in Beacon Hills, a powerful mage may be their only hope. Only it might not be the hope they are expecting.

Set your wolves on me by Littleredridinghunter

Kate set the Hale house on fire, killing most of the pack, their emissary Claudia Stilinski and her child, Stiles. Thirteen years later and Kate is back in town, planning something that Derek is sure will end in disaster for them. Good job he decides to kidnap the gorgeous teenager who smells like her and beat some information out of him. Probably not the smartest move Derek's ever had!

Remedy For Memory by aerowyn

Derek knows he should accept that Stiles is gone; everyone else has and is grieving. But he just can’t escape all the memories of Stiles that follow him wherever he goes. He even dreams in memories these days. He keeps thinking about all the things that might have been, all the missed opportunities that he let pass by because he was waiting for the right moment to finally give in to his feelings for Stiles. And now that Stiles is gone, there isn’t any time left. When Derek starts dreaming about an abandoned warehouse, he thinks he’s going crazy at first. But then he starts to notice that things in his dreams aren’t exactly like he remembered. And he doesn’t know why, maybe he’s delusional, but he just can’t shake the feeling that Stiles really isn’t dead.

this one with Derek presumed dead

The Decay of a Cosmos by Dexterous_Sinistrous

The memory of Derek confessing to him in the quiet of their shared resignation sparked from her words–“A child is leverage to my mother.” Derek knew what Talia wanted. And he refused to give it to her. Stiles’ hands tightened into fists. This was a gift, but not one Derek had given him willingly. He would live with that knowledge each time he held their son close. ~*~ A tale as old as arranged marriage, with a space opera twist.

Ten Years Hiatus (in our love story) by bistiles (alis)

Derek was many things, most of them not at all flattering, but the one thing Derek never considered himself was insane. Stiles though. Stiles was the very reason why Derek was, right in that moment, questioning his sanity. Because after ten long, painful years, he could smell Stiles outside his apartment and that was driving Derek right into the madness alley.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Please forgive yourself. For what? For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out. Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

Bad Blood by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles Stilinski was taken from Beacon Hills when he was ten years old. Now, six years later, he’s a trained hunter, and he’s back to help the Argents finish the job they started.

Going, Going, Gone by paradis

The Sheriff comes up to him after the services. "I don't believe he's dead," he tells Derek.

Pregnancy or Cheating, Easily Confused (hint; it's pregnancy) by Obsessedwithfanfiction

Stiles finally confessed his feelings to Derek, and after a passionate night Derek leaves for the Alpha convention, eager to see his Mate as soon as he gets back. When Derek gets home however, Stiles doesn't smell... Right, and Derek comes to the only logical conclusion. Unfortunately, as Derek should have realised by now, Beacon Hills is never logical, and the wedge he's driven between himself and Stiles might be unforgiveable...

and, of course, linking the fic anon mentioned:

Betrayal by Littleredridinghunter

Gerard does something despicable and the pack are left shattered after Stiles is killed…. or is he?? Set at the end of season 2 because honestly I have a fascination with that episode! Canon compliant up until then but then everything goes a little crazy! Do not read if you don't like Hurt or kidnapped Stiles because there is a lot of it….

[masterlist link]

[daistea]

I love ur mithrun stuff sm can I request him and his s/o celebrating their 100th anniversary 😭 (for some reason I really like that scenario with long living/immortal characters)

Ya!!

gn reader

words: 1,296

╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲

876,581 hours, 16 minutes, 48 seconds. More or less.

“You don’t have to do the math,” Mithrun spoke into your hair. His voice wasn’t soft, it was rarely soft, but it was quiet enough to only reach your ears. His arms snaked around your waist and his fingers tangled together in front of you. Without a second thought of what others might think, you rested your hands on top of his.

You didn’t have to do the math, he was right. But you’d heard that number somewhere. Something about 100 years averaging around 800,000 plus hours. That was a lot of hours. A lot of minutes. So many seconds, countless.

And Mithrun had decided to spend them all with you. As comfortable as you were with each other, that fact still made your heart pleasantly clench.

“I know,” you murmured. He only pressed his nose deeper into your hair, acknowledging your response.

Nearby, your friends and family were getting loud. Their voices carried through the building and mingled with the crowd. Fleki was trying to convince Pattadol to smoke something with her. Pattadol was lecturing Fleki in return. New friends that you’d met through the years laughed and chatted, but you and Mithrun stayed in your corner. Odd, because it was your party.

“Let’s go,” he said under his breath. His arms tightened around you.

You couldn’t help but make a face, “We’ve only been here fifteen minutes. It’s our party, we can’t just leave.”

You felt Mithrun’s chest rise and fall against your back as he sighed. “I told Pattadol we didn’t want this. It’s really not our usual way of celebrating.”

True enough. Your anniversaries were usually laid-back affairs, but Pattadol’s excuse for throwing a party was that this year was specific. It was special. One hundred.

Mithrun rested his chin on your shoulder. You didn’t need to look at him to know what face he was making. Your husband wasn’t one for parties, and you both had attempted to plead your cases against the celebration. Yet, one hundred years of marriage proved that Pattadol was right. It was special.

But nearby, Otta was shamelessly flirting with a half-foot girl she’d brought as her plus one. Lycion and Fleki were telling bad jokes and laughing too loud. Cithis had made a tall-man get on his hands and knees and be her footstool. Pattadol was on the brink of a panic attack as she tried to contain the crowd and throw the perfect occasion.

“You’re right,” you said, “let’s get out of here.”

Mithrun dipped his head toward your neck and pressed his lips against your skin. Your breath caught in your throat and, without another thought, you tilted your head to give him better access. He always liked it when you offered yourself, bared it all to him like land for claiming.

“Get a room!” Flamela yelled from where she sat at a nearby table. (Why had she been invited anyway?)

“If you insist,” Mithrun responded loud enough for her to hear. His tone wasn’t particularly excited, but his lips betrayed him. He pressed his mouth to your neck one last time, a final act of defiance against Flamela’s disgust.

“Come on,” you huffed as you pulled yourself from his grip. His brow furrowed ever so slightly at the new distance between your bodies, but you remedied his displeasure by taking his hand and leading him toward the exit. A quick glance at Pattadol confirmed that she was far too busy trying to wrench whatever Fleki was smoking out of her hands to notice.

Sweet escape. The moment you and your husband stepped outside, the cool night air of Melini greeted you. Mithrun exhaled and closed his good eye as if reveling in the sudden quiet.

“Our spot?” You asked.

He nodded.

A hundred years of marriage meant many things. It meant comfort, a home in each other, a connection that couldn’t be severed. It also meant that you and Mithrun often nearly read each other’s minds. He noted the looks on your face and knew precisely what they meant. Words sometimes failed but actions succeeded.

With no further discussion upon the matter, you and Mithrun walked hand in hand to your spot.

It was a grassy hill that overlooked Melini, and it was a bit of a hike. Both of you were still relatively young for elves, but over time you’d noticed a lack of willingness in your knees and back. Trudging up the hill had become more of a pain, but the view and privacy was worth it.

As you started, Mithrun turned himself to face you. He wrapped an arm around your waist— two thoughts entered your mind: he was either going to kiss you, or teleport you.

The rush of magic in your veins told you that it was the latter. The experience of being teleported had gotten more bearable through the years, only lasting half a second and not giving you nausea anymore, but the principle of the matter remained.

Yet, the view of Melini distracted you. The prickle of magic dissipated, and Mithrun kept his arm around your waist. His other hand brushed through your hair, tucking the strands behind your ear. You scanned the growing blanket of the city beneath you. Melini was all golden lamp light and old fashioned architecture. Every time you saw it from that angle, you couldn’t help but think of your short-lived friends who’d created your home.

“Usually I would snap at you for doing that,” you began to say, but the moment you looked at Mithrun, you found his gaze already glued to you. He didn’t care about the Melini landscape. How could he look at anything but you?

“You would,” he agreed, “but you’re not.”

Your heart skipped. “I’m in a good mood.”

“Why is that?” Mithrun’s long, cold fingers gently pulled out of your hair and found their home on your jawline, tracing lines across your skin, to your chin, down the delicate bones of your neck. He looked at you with calm appreciation, like a jeweler would admire and inspect a diamond. He drank in the sight of your face as if he wouldn’t see it again.

Those subtle, lingering gazes always made your heart flip. Somehow, you’d gotten through a hundred years of them without going into cardiac arrest.

“I don’t know,” you answered lightly, “I guess I just like you.”

“I would hope so.”

“Do you like me?”

“I married you, didn’t I?” His lips flickered up into a barely-there smile. “Do you recall when we first got married, and you kept asking me ‘are you sure you love me?’ as if I hadn’t just made the decision to exponentially improve my life.”

You recalled. Half of the time, you were only joking, because Mithrun made it clear, often, that he’d never been more sure about anything.

“I’ve improved your life, huh?” You asked, “Like a nice kitchen utensil or a good broom?”

Mithrun lifted your chin, “Not just a good broom. The best broom known to man.”

“Despite your words, you still manage to charm me. I wonder why that is.”

His fingers were still under your chin, but he began to lean in. You met him halfway, and your lips pressed together. You and Mithrun had rough kisses, with tongue and teeth and grit. You had soft kisses. Lazy kisses. Casual kisses.

This particular kiss felt like it held more, like Mithrun was trying to tell you something. It was heavy with unspoken emotion. His other hand left your waist and went to your cheek, and he held your face, cradling you, as if you were the most important person in the world.

And to Mithrun, that was exactly who you were.

╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲

[muiitoloko]

If your requests are still open, could you please write an imagine in which reader comes home from the hairdresser all frustrated and in tears because he didn’t do what she asked and Alan Rickman tries to cheer her up and keeps giving her compliments

(I am sobbing because I wanted a bob and my hairdresser wouldn’t cut it the length I wanted and ends up making me feel bad for criticizing his work. I am not a very confrontational person)

Title: The Haircut Catastrophe: A Husband's Remedy

Summary: After an unintentional haircut disaster, you seek comfort in Alan’s humor and warmth. His witty charm helps you embrace the new look, turning heartbreak into laughter.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: Of course, I'd be happy to write this for you! I'm so sorry your experience at the hairdresser made you feel this way—it’s incredibly frustrating when you don’t get what you asked for, especially when it’s something as personal as your hair. But I promise, Alan Rickman (in the imagine) will make you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, no matter what.

Also read on Ao3

Alan looked up as you entered, the loud slam of the door a clear announcement of your mood. He put his script aside, his gaze instantly softening as you appeared in the doorway with a new haircut, one you'd been excited about all week. He smiled warmly, attempting to play the part of the doting husband, "Well, look at you, darling," he said in that familiar baritone, his words gentle but laced with the charming humor only he could pull off. "You look absolutely radiant. What did they call that one? ‘The Stunning Goddess’?”

At his compliment, your expression crumpled. A small, miserable sob escaped you, and you looked away, fighting back tears. "It’s awful,” you cried, your voice thick with frustration. “I asked them to cut it just a little, Alan—a little—and now it’s so short, it’s horrible. I look like...like…someone trying too hard to be sophisticated and failing miserably.”

Alan's face softened further, though his eyebrows raised just a tad. "Come now, love," he murmured, standing and crossing the room to wrap you in a hug, his arms warm and steady around you as you buried your face against his chest. "It’s hardly a disaster. If I had a pound for every bad haircut I've had—well, I'd have at least six pounds by now."

You let out a teary chuckle despite yourself, feeling the first hint of a smile tug at your lips as he continued. “And frankly, I think you look stunning. More stunning than I could’ve imagined. In fact, I might have to start keeping an eye on you when we’re out, what with all those admiring looks you’ll be getting.”

"But look at it!” you wailed, pulling back to gesture wildly at your hair. “It’s so much shorter! I look like…like a disheveled librarian who lost her way in a windstorm.”

Alan tilted his head, eyeing your hair as if studying a particularly intricate painting. "Darling, disheveled librarian is in right now, didn’t you know? I’m starting to think you’re secretly on the cutting edge of fashion."

You sniffed, half-laughing, half-crying. "Oh, sure, Alan. Go ahead and make jokes. I’m a walking disaster.”

He chuckled, gently wiping a stray tear from your cheek. "Alright, if you insist on seeing yourself as a disaster, then let me say this: I have a bit of a soft spot for you as a ‘walking disaster.’ It’s endearing, truly.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “And just think, if they hadn’t cut it so short, we’d have been deprived of this moment where I get to be your dashing, charming, long-suffering husband. My chance to shine, really.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes but feeling your spirits lift a little as you looked up at him. “Only you could turn my tragic hair into an opportunity for your own theatrics.”

"Precisely,” he smirked, one brow quirked in that playful way that made your heart flutter, "and just think how much money we’re saving on shampoo now. Plus, with this new look, you’ll hardly recognize yourself in the mirror, and that’s rather exciting, isn’t it? A fresh start each day.”

You shook your head, feeling laughter bubble up despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous, Alan.”

"And you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice suddenly more serious, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “New haircut, old haircut, wild haircut—makes no difference to me.” He leaned down to brush a soft kiss against your forehead. “You’re my stunning goddess, through and through.”

You sighed, finally letting yourself relax in his arms, the frustration melting away under his warmth and humor. “Alright, Mr. Rickman,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest, “you win. I suppose I’ll survive this haircut after all.”

"Of course you will," he replied smoothly, his voice rumbling with amusement. "And in the meantime, I’ll be here to remind you just how unfairly enchanting you are—disheveled or otherwise.”

You sighed, resting your head against Alan's chest, letting the last traces of frustration ebb away in the warmth of his embrace. But as you relaxed, another thought weighed on your mind, stirring up a different kind of guilt.

“Alan,” you began, voice muffled against his shirt, “I…I have to confess something. I think I may have been a little too harsh on the hairdresser.”

He tilted his head down, his eyes softening as he studied your face. “Oh? What did you say, darling?”

You let out a groan, squeezing your eyes shut as you remembered. “I…well, it wasn’t exactly polite. I told her—very bluntly, might I add—that her own haircut looked like a ‘lopsided bird’s nest.’”

Alan’s lips twitched as he stifled a laugh, a mischievous glint sparking in his hazel eyes. “A ‘lopsided bird’s nest’? My, my, that’s quite the scathing critique. You’re becoming rather bold, aren’t you?”

You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head. “It was awful of me. I’ve never been a confrontational person, you know that. But I was so upset, so frustrated by the cut…I just snapped.”

Alan gently pulled your hands away, a sympathetic smile softening his face. “You’re human, love. It’s perfectly natural to feel upset, especially when something doesn’t turn out as you hoped. And besides, perhaps that hairdresser’s ‘lopsided bird’s nest’ look was her attempt at edgy avant-garde. You might have inadvertently provided her with some much-needed feedback.”

You laughed despite yourself, nudging him lightly. “Don’t encourage me, Alan. I feel terrible. I just… I’m not used to being rude. I try so hard to be kind, but this time—”

He shook his head, cutting you off with a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Darling, we all have moments. Even I have, on occasion, let my frustrations get the better of me.” He gave a theatrical sigh, his tone exaggerated. “I once told a fellow actor that his delivery was ‘a bit like a dying goose’… Needless to say, that didn’t go over well.”

You gasped, eyes widening as you laughed. “Alan! You didn’t!”

“Oh, but I did,” he admitted, with a look of mock horror, “and I still wince whenever I recall it. But I like to think it was a humbling moment, for both of us. Besides, if you can’t occasionally tell a hairdresser her hairstyle resembles a bird’s nest, what’s the point of being married to an actor who excels at saying utterly terrible things in the most charming way?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Only you could make my rudeness sound like an art form.”

“Exactly,” he replied, his tone sincere as he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. “And remember, no one’s perfect. A moment of frustration doesn’t make you any less kind. But if you’re truly feeling guilty, I could always accompany you back to the salon. We could tell her that the ‘lopsided bird’s nest’ look has really grown on us.”

“Oh, please, Alan,” you laughed, shaking your head. “That poor woman would never recover.”

He shrugged, his lips curving into that playful smirk you loved so much. “Then perhaps we’ll simply enjoy your new look in peace and let bygones be bygones. After all, it’s hardly every day I get to comfort my lovely wife as she mourns the tragic loss of a few inches of hair.”

You sighed, finally smiling without reservation as you looked up at him, the last of your guilt fading away. “Thank you, Alan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Fortunately, you’ll never have to find out. And in the meantime, I’ll be here to remind you that, whether you have long hair, short hair, or no hair at all, you’ll always be my stunning goddess.”

[viridwns]

What do you think Yandere Vincent Phantomhive would do if his s/o escapes him?

Anything.

Vincent will not find her by running into her, he will find her by making her give up.

Darling will realize it is not a coincidence that no ships are heading out, every stranger looks at her with a furrowed brow, news papers seem to be falling out the sky with her face on it and scotland yard being around every corner she takes.

Vincent is a composed man, and he will keep up that facade even after realizing his darling is gone. No one will see the cracks in his mask, not even his own two sons'.

He will get the queen involved. She loves Vincent's mousey wife, of course she will help find the poor darling.

If he didn't have Sebastian summoned already, he sure has now.

This man is breaking down beneath the surface. He needs his wife like oxygen. That's not even the worst part for Vincent. Even if he will never admit it, this whole or deal is hurting him. Vincent isn't stupid, and he knows what he's doing, what he did to her. But knowing his wife hates him so much she ran away? That makes his small heart still and pain set in.

So that's why he doesn't want to find her, she needs to come back to him. Vincent wants her to realize that he is what's best for her, that he is good and sweet and nice and that he is the only one in the whole wide world able to protect her.

If that means sending a few tugs out to rough her up, then so be it. She brought it onto herself.

Vincent knows this process can take weeks, if not months. After all, he had to pick out a woman with a little spunk who's is not going to give in that easily.

But at the end of this cat and mouse game. Vincent will find darling in the gazebo. She sits with her back towards him. Her hair loose and flowing with the breeze. She has her eyes closed, enjoying the last few minutes of freedom.

Vincent will walk to her, sit next to her, not saying a word, not making a sound. He just basks in the sight of her, taking her in. It has been a long time and he could see it on her face. Still, she was the same woman he fell in love with all those years ago.

Even now, after all that hard work, darling knows sitting here in his gazebo was all according to his plan. Even out there, he controlled her life.

Everything was going as he wanted things to go, except for one thing. Vincent underestimated how weak darling makes him, and instead of her reaching out to search the comfort of his touch first. He caves and caresses her face. He needed to know if she was really there, by his side again. She will keep her eyes closed.

Vincent will take her hand to lead her back inside. Darling will try to be strong, she asks for five more minutes, five more minutes of freedom. Vincent will not listen at first, but when he hears her voice break as she asks him please. He'll sit there with her for five more minutes.

Darling will be considered mental by everyone by the time she gets back. Vincent keeps her inside their room, not even letting his sons' see her.

She will end up in Vincent's arms again. He will break down, tell her what she did to him and how painful it all was. His mask will fall, only darling will see him in such a desperate state. Clinging to her like a life line. It's only a matter of seconds before he composes himself. And that's when she knows that the only escape for her is dying, but even for that, Vincent has a remedy.

[r3medialch8os]

so since u guys liked that i did this with remedial chaos theory i will now also be doing this for epidemiology.

the most incredible thing about this episode is that it is in fact Not merely an homage like most concept episodes are; it actually happens. a zombie epidemic For Real takes place at greendale. it's not a gimmick or a game or a way to frame the plot. the actual conflict is derived from the fact that people are zombies and the study group need to outrun them/turn them back. how often can you say that a sitcom incorporates a storyline like this and sincerely pulls it off? never.

the emotional tension in this episode is framed around troy/abed/jeff and the dichotomy of being a nerd vs. being cool, which respectively get attributed the qualities of caring about the people around you who have turned into zombies or wanting to run and escape from the zombies without trying to help. abed and jeff's costumes are both pointed out in the beginning receiving clear denotations of 'lame' and 'too cool to care' and therefore their positions in the conflict are cemented. the episode has a push-pull with troy being the moving factor, having to decide what he thinks is most important. he gets swayed in the beginning by two girls rejecting him over his costume and jeff mentioning how expensive his suit is. he changes from his ripley costume into a 'sexy dracula'. abed spends the whole episode trying to get troy back to his side, even saying "what defines a nerd? committing to an awesome halloween costume with your best friend?" troy is eventually 'turned back' into his nerdy self (perhaps a zombie metaphor itself, keeping in tone with the theme of the episode) because jeff cares more about his suit getting dirty than surviving the herd of zombies.

a crucial part of the episode is that it is soundtracked by abba music playing from the dean's playlist. now, who would i be if i didn't investigate significant music choices connected to scenes? first up and probably the most important one: s.o.s. is used in the background of a scene where abed confronts troy about changing costumes. troy insults him and walks away. the lyrics are: 'you seemed so far away, though you were standing near. you made me feel alive, but something died, i fear. i really tried to make it up, i wish I understood. what happened to our love? it used to be so good.' next; gimme gimme gimme plays right before the scene where chang and shirley hook up. another insane choice is at the end when troy is fighting the zombies. the whole sequence has mamma mia playing in the background Faintly. then when troy eventually gets to abed and has to fight him, the music comes in much louder with the lyrics: 'here i go again, my, my, how can i resist you?', which i think fits perfectly. the ending song fernando has the lyrics 'there was something in the air that night', both referencing the thermostat changing the zombies back and the fact that it was just an incredibly weird fucking night.

troy is dressed as ellen ripley and also kind of acts as the ripley of this episode. his journey in this as being the sole survivor and the one to eventually save greendale adheres to a common science fiction model where a life-threatening force is faced against the protagonists and they fall off in degrees, resulting in one person being left to mend everything. here specifically, it seems to mirror ripley's journey in alien (1979) as it starts with a crew that eventually gets cut down leaving only her. i thought that was really cool.

more alien tidbits, but the jumping cat scene is also inspired by it. jones the cat is an imporant figure in the first alien movie. in various scenes, members of the crew will go looking for him, then get ambushed by the titular alien and subsequently killed. it is a minor homage to the movie through yet another subtle reference. the bit is also parodying jumpscares in horror movies in general, and how they are used to cheaply amplify the tension. anyways, it's quite the multilayered joke because it also really works out of context as a bizarre comedic moment.

troy and abed's scene in the basement pays homage to princess leia and han solo's scene in the empire strikes back. the conversation in the film takes place just before han is frozen alive in carbonite by darth vader. not knowing if he’ll survive, he kisses leia, only to be torn away from her by stormtroopers. she says 'i love you,' and as he descends into chamber, han replies, 'i know.' an undeniably romantic moment, maybe one of the most memorable ones ever, is applied to troy and abed who have held reign over the emotional core of the plot for the entire episode. it's pretty special that such an iconic moment is given to them, i feel like the creators of the show wouldn't just do this sparingly. it also perfectly resolves their conflict as troy makes such a vulnerable statement and abed assuring him that he already knew, validating their bond once again.

more on troy and abed, it is pretty amazing realizing the emotional implications tied to how dire the situation was. everyone in this episode was under the direct threat of Not Surviving, and still abed sacrificed himself for troy. he knew this was for real. he couldn't be sure if they were going to make it. but i think he had enough faith in troy to aid in his escape. it's very touching. further, it's incredible that troy is willing to fight all the zombies (all his friends) but when it comes time to punch abed, he refuses to do it. he's struck by the force of their friendship, mumbling 'we're friends' defeated before eventually succumbing to his bite.

troy saving the school by controlling the temperature; nicely setting up his further plot with the ac repair school.

him being the one to escape and abed saying 'be the first black man to make it to the end' subverts the common horror trope of 'black dude dies first'. a playful way of keeping up with the horror movie theme of the episode.

also ironically this episode, which features the song mamma mia by abba, sets up a plotline in season two about shirley not knowing who the father of her new baby is, which is functionally the plot of the movie mamma mia!, a musical based on abba's music. probably a coincidence but a pretty funny one.

at the end when the army arrives, they ask the dean about witnesses. when he says he is the only witness, one of the guards reaches into his jacket, suggesting that he's pulling a gun intended to kill the dean and get rid of the witness. when they notice everyone in the school is still alive, they abandon this plan and go for 'scenario b'. kind of dark but i laugh every time that scene happens.

anyways that's all i could pull from my brain crevices for now. this episode is a genuine masterpiece, it will never ever get old and will remain to be one of the most unique sitcom episodes ever created.

[serbarris]

The Art of Scraping Through

Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Some spoilers for plot, and Emmrich's romance  Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: E, this chapter has violence, hurt and no comfort, and character injury Chapter 16 of At Best You Find a Little Remedy Summary: Calliope, Manfred and Emmrich deal with the aftermath of fighting the broodmother in Lavendel. Words: ~2400 read the chapter on ao3

The deep amber of the sun warmed Calliope’s skin. She was on an unfamiliar balcony, looking out over Nevarra City and the Minanter, glowing golden in the sunset. Dressed in a satin nightdress that barely skimmed over the tops of her thighs. It was lilac, Emmrich’s favourite colour, and of a fine quality.

A familiar arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Emmrich’s bare skin warmed her back. A delicate touch ghosted across her neck before he buried his face into her neck, sucking and nipping at the tender skin.

“Emmrich,” she gasped. Her skin felt like every nerve was being set alight.

“My darling, we should really get dressed, or we’ll be late,” he drawled, punctuating his words by capturing her earlobe between his teeth and tugging. The pain was sharp but distant, as if it didn’t belong to her.

His fingers dug into her soft belly, holding her tighter. Something felt wrong. Emmrich had never been this intense. “Or not arrive at all.” His teeth bit into her neck. It felt hard enough to break skin. “I’m sure the Senior Watchers won’t mind.” He was harsh, moved too quickly, and was uncaring for Calliope’s pleasure. Even his voice was severe and bitter. She felt helpless, like an observer in what was happening.

He spun her around, his fingers bruising as they sank into her skin. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. See his expression. She could deny it was her Emmrich. The one with eyes so full of awe, with his gentle touch and soothing voice.

He grabbed her jaw, skeletal fingers squeezing her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

She saw red.

Blood dripped from a gaping head wound. His left eye was full of it, his sclera completely obscured. His right eye was sunken; any fat and muscle atrophied, leaving a green glowing socket. His torso was black and purple and covered in weeping lacerations, half skeletal, with dried skin and black blood hanging from his bones. What skin was left was raw and angry, filled with debris.

She couldn’t stop the scream from leaving her. A scream wouldn’t help her escape, only action, but what could she do?

“You did this.”

Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut

Calliope awoke, heart pounding, breath quick. Despite being barely cognisant of her surroundings, an insurmountable feeling of wrongness ran through her veins.

She must have passed out. It was just a nightmare.

Her eyes were swollen and tender. Her back and shoulders were stiff. Shit. The stitches tugged at the skin on her right arm as she stretched. Her limbs pressed against the confines of Emmrich’s armchair. She bit back a hiss.

Emmrich was in front of her, lying still in bed. He was pale, covered in bandages. Dried blood caked his hair and face. The nightmare version of him flashed before her eyes. It was just that, a nightmare, her brain exacerbating how injured he was, taunting her, his skeletal form taunting what she would do to save him.

She should do something useful. Keep herself busy. Emmrich was stable. His chest softly rose and fell. She would leave his notes; they weren’t needed, not yet. Confronting his possible future lichdom could wait; she didn't want to face it yet, not after her nightmare.

What would Emmrich want?

He’d want to be clean. Not covered in blood and dirt, especially so while he was in bed.

She readied a wooden basin with hot water, unceremoniously pushing it to Emmrich’s bedside with her feet, just to avoid Neve having to re-stitch her arm. She didn’t want to see anyone else right now. A bit of breathing room, time to cycle through her thoughts before confronting what had happened with the others. Checking in with Manfred could wait a while longer; Assan was surely keeping him company. The soap she chose was scented with lavender and honey. It was her favourite of Emmrich's, and Calliope often used it herself when she bathed in Emmrich’s room. Lavender and honey are good for healing wounds and help stave off putrefaction she thought, revisiting her training. She lathered a soft washcloth and ran it over Emmrich’s face, wiping away the blood and grime that had set onto his skin. I did this. She scrubbed gently at his hair. Blood clung to the silver and stained it a foul pink. It matched her hair, though hers was stained from Darkspawn gore, not her own blood.

She lifted the sheets. I did this. Meticulously making her way down Emmrich’s body, washing away the debris. She attempted some healing as she went, summoning only a small trickle of magic forth, treating his smaller injuries. Bellara would handle the more severe wounds better. She couldn’t afford to tempt fate any longer when it came to her magic.

His hands were last. His rings and bangles were coated in a thick crust of blood. I did this. She gently pried off his jewellery, placing it to the side. She’d take her time cleaning it later, alongside her own blood-crusted gold. I did this.

~

Manfred pointed his bony finger at the fifteen-year-old book and hissed.

Calliope was reading one of Emmrich’s works to Manfred. Her copy of The Obverse of Reality: Studies of the Fade in the Waking World was battered and well-thumbed, having undergone many minor fixes over the years to keep the bindings together. It was familiar to Manfred; the shapes of the words on the cover matched the ones on Emmrich’s shelf back at the Necropolis. Although his were in better condition.

Emmrich had been in bed for one day. Manfred checked on him dutifully every hour, making pot after pot of tea so a warm brew awaited him when he woke. Calliope had turned to her comfort read, filled with her annotations and doodles from when she sat in Emmrich’s class all those years ago.

Manfred couldn’t help but be drawn in by the familiar-ish book she was reading, so he sat close to Calliope, pointing out words he could read as she read aloud and explained some of the concepts. It had become a familiar sight in the Lighthouse, Calliope reading to Manfred, though they were usually tales of dashing knights and overthrowing the Orlesians, not Fade studies. Manfred pointed at her annotations, urging her to explain them, or rushed off to grab spare paper and create a copy of her doodle. The floor was soon littered with drawings of her poorly rendered flowers, skulls, and wisps.

She completely forgot about the loosely correct anatomical heart with ‘Calliope Volkarin’ written inside.

Manfred hissed, Emmrich! By now, Manfred’s hisses were getting easier to decipher, and people’s names were easiest to ascribe meaning to, even sleep-deprived as she was.

“Yes, that’s Emmrich’s surname.” Manfred had come on leaps and bounds with his reading since Calliope began reading to him, and his name recognition was exceedingly good. “Do you know who this name belongs to?” She asked, pointing to the ‘Calliope’ written above.

Manfred instantly pointed to her and hissed, ‘Rook!’. Her lessons were now biting her in the arse. Hopefully, Manfred wouldn’t make the tenuous connection between the two names in the heart.

“Do you think we can keep this a secret from Emmrich?”

~

Calliope was bored. Well, ‘bored’ didn’t account for the ache in her chest or the silence in Emmrich’s quarters. She missed his quiet humming, the scratch of his quill on paper, and the scrape of his chair on the flagstone as he collected a reference book. He was the missing piece to her and Manfred. Even when Emmrich was out helping Neve or talking with Taash, they both knew he would walk through the door any second, begin an experiment, or rush to a bookshelf to help others.

Calliope wasn’t ready when they faced the broodmother, but she would make sure Manfred was ready to face Hezenkoss. Manfred was already excellent at holding a tray. He was not so excellent at navigating obstacles while carrying a laden tray, especially when there would possibly be ball gowns to contend with.

And so, Calliope was dressed in her most billowing skirt, layered on top of other skirts to act as additional makeshift petticoats, and carefully rotated around the obstacle course she had set up to test Manfred while he carried cups of water.

“Manfred, you did it!”

A hiss reverberated through Manfred’s mandible and vertebrae as he looked around, noticing he was at the end of the small course with a full tray with no water spilt. “I don’t think Blackthorn Manor will know what hit it when you arrive. You’ll outshine all the other undead servers.” Which, of course, caused him to raise his tray excitedly and cause water to slosh over the top of the cups.

“Rook…” Bellara began, her head poked out from behind Emmrich’s bookshelf door, “He’s awake.” Manfred repeated his celebration, though less water fell onto the tray.

Calliope felt like she could finally breathe. “I… Manfred should see him first.” She said, beckoning Manfred through the door before running up the winding staircase to Emmrich’s second level, her voluminous skirt brushing the bannisters. Tears welled in her eyes.

What would Emmrich say to her? When he was finally able to confront that she was the one who had injured him. Even if by chance it wasn’t her, it was her mission. Her decision to be so reckless and use an unpracticed incantation that took all of her focus to cast.

She just needed a moment to herself. To breathe without feeling the crushing weight of her error on her chest.

He’s alive, and seemingly well enough, from the excited hissing and hoarse chuckle she could hear escape the bedroom balcony below. Would he be so keen to see her?

The shuffle of Manfred’s boots and an impatient hiss shook her from her thoughts.

It was time to wipe away the tears and face the man she loved, who surely hated her.

~

“And where’s Rook?” Emmrich asked, his voice hoarse, parched from his time unconscious.

Bellara had explained a little of what happened, what Davrin had said to everyone. Injured fighting the broodmother—he remembered this. The grotesque creature was hard to forget. He had run towards Calliope—she was close to fainting—and then, after a flash of green, all he saw was darkness. Apparently, Calliope had barely left his chambers the entire time he had been unconscious. After the ordeal, she had to be dragged from his side so Neve could suture her lacerations, and she attempted to refuse any healing so it would be used on him. Then Bellara had left abruptly after announcing to Calliope and Manfred that he was awake.

Manfred hissed and pointed up to the ceiling. “Can you fetch her?” Of course, he was delighted to see Manfred, even if he hadn’t quite grasped the concept of ‘injured’ and had been quite keen on hugging Emmrich, his bones digging into his tender wounds. He heard Manfred’s impatient hiss outside his bedroom, calling up to Calliope. Spirits, there must be a reason she hadn’t come in sooner, but what? His armchair had been relocated to his bedside, the blanket he kept on his settee for Calliope draped over its back. Bellara had avoided responding to his questions about Calliope’s welfare, instead listing his injuries, along with the tonics and salves they had used, and giving instructions for reapplication.

She was injured.

Not to the extent he was, but his bruises were yellowing, cuts sealed shut, sped up by Neve and Bellara. Calliope’s bruises were still a deep purple. He couldn’t not notice it as she walked in—dragged in—hand in hand with Manfred. The bruise on her calf was barely visible under her skirts, though it surely trailed further up her leg. Her right arm was still bandaged, and the thickness was noticeable under her mauve shirt. Her hair had been stained by blood, turning her honey locks a macabre rose gold.

Her pale eyes were red and filled with tears.

Manfred rushed them to his side, placing her hand in Emmrich’s before clapping. Her smile was tight and forced as she asked Manfred for some privacy, her hand gently slipping from his with every beat of his heart. His fingers chased hers, holding her tight. He didn't notice he had no jewellery on. It was becoming more familiar to feel Calliope without the accessories than with.

“Do you hate me?” The words were so quiet he almost missed them. Whatever could have happened to make her think he could ever hate her?

“No! Dearest, why would you think so?”

“I caused this; you’re injured because of me. You could have died, Emmrich.”

“No more than on any other adventure. It was my fault for not paying attention. I ran towards you when I knew I shouldn't have.” Calliope collapsed into the armchair. Her hand slipped from his, her knees seemingly giving way. “I thought I killed you.” He was reckless and should have trusted Calliope and Davrin. They had trained hard at their manoeuvre and had signals and plans. When he watched Calliope, saw the tension in her muscles, and saw her knees buckling beneath her and the swarm of pale green expanding larger than she had ever achieved, he thought he knew better.

“I love you.”

He was pulled from his thoughts. He must have misheard. She repeated the three words over and over. Every iteration more ragged and strained than the last, dampened by the tears that ran down her cheeks. Their relationship now felt real. Not an indulgence to escape their dangerous reality. Not an ephemeral dip into the forbidden. It made his heart pound, too quickly for a man his age, and his mouth felt even drier. I love you too. The words refused to leave him. No matter how much he wanted to say it, an invisible blockade stopped him. He had said those words so easily in the past. Why couldn’t he say them now when he truly meant them?

[secret-smut-sideblog]

You Know Me Too Well

Gortash x F! Dark Urge

18+ masochism, power play, oral (f!), impact play, sub/dom, p-in-v, knife play, blood play, gortash being a freak (and a bottom), aftercare, some tenderness, porn w/o plot

After the coronation, she can't get the familiarity he showed her out of her mind. She needs answers, and the Archduke is more than happy to indulge her...

-

"Well, this is unexpected." He crooned, turning to lean against his desk.

She lowered herself down from the windowsill, shooting him a sharp look.

"Don't read too much into this, Enver." She hissed his name, only eliciting a wider smile from him.

As if she hadn't scaled a castle wall to crawl into his chambers. She closed her eyes in frustration. What was she doing?

"In that case, what do I owe this late night visit from my favorite assassin?"

Why was she here?

Answers. Yes, answers.

"You seem to know me. Too well, if I'm picking up the correct undercurrents."

She circled around him, noticed that he seemed to perk up at her predatory movements. Turning to look at her with more lidded eyes.

"I do know you."

"Were we together?" Her hand danced over her dagger hilt, something she found herself doing often.

His eyes flicked down to that movement. Back up to her eyes, stepping closer.

"Yes."

Something burned in her pelvis.

This close she realized how tall he was, staring down at her. Yet, she felt entirely like the one in control. There was a stirring in the back of her memory.

"I get glimpses sometimes. Your face is in many of them." She looked down now, closing her eyes.

"I have taken all of his gifts, but I don't want to be a pawn to my father. I dont want to be controlled by anyone, god or man."

Looked back up at him.

"You never tried to control me, did you?"

His eyes softened, reaching out and cupping her cheek. The bite of metal and warm calloused fingers.

"Never."

She stepped closer. Could hear his heart thumping, felt a dagger drive but pushed it down.

"I need you to help me remember who I am. Who I was."

He smiled, then leaned his head back and chuckled reverently. "What weren't you? Brilliant, bloodthirsty, beautiful. Gods, you were everything. All my scheming and bad nature paled in comparison."

His eyes meeting hers again. "We were equals, you and I. But I was wrapped around your finger, if I was being honest."

He stepped even closer, their bodies nearly flush. "You liked me under your boot."

She shivered at that. Feeling it to be true.

"And did you like being there?" Her voice husky, wetness pooling between her legs.

"Oh, very much." He purred, leaning down.

Their lips were hovered across from one another. So very nearly touching. His pupils blown wide with lust.

"Show me." She whispered. "Show me how much you missed me."

He remedied the short distance between them, enveloping her in a hungry kiss.

She pushed back into him with the same force, pulling on his collar.

Yes, she remembered this. He tasted familiar, smelled familiar. Gunpowder, musk, heat.

He lifted under her thighs and pushed her onto his desk, slotting between her legs. Pulling his finely embellished shirt off with haste, throwing it down.

She leaned up, all instict, and bit down on his neck. Her sharp teeth breaking skin.

He shivered, eyes rolling back. A low whimper escaping his throat.

She growled, feeling that deep heat rising up in her. Something that she had feared when touching others. But not here.

She lapped at the blood that flowed out for her. The iron taste mingling with his sweat. Copper and salt.

"You like when I hurt you, don't you?" She hushed, moving up to his ear. Nipping at it.

He nodded, gripping at her hips. His erection straining hard against his trousers.

"Speak, Gortash."

"Yes."

"Good boy." She licked the edge of his ear. Smiling at the way his breath caught.

She raked her sharp nails down his back with a deep satisfaction. Sighing in pleasure.

"I'm going to leave you marked. Bloody and battered." She promised, smiling.

"Gods, yes," He groaned, dropping to his knees.

She leaned back, legs still open on the desk. "You were like this often, weren't you?" Removed her blouse with an easy pull.

"You liked me here." He panted, watching her movements with ravenous eyes.

"That does seem like me." She laughed, removing her leathers, now naked on his desk.

His hips rocked subtly, drinking her in.

"What would we do next?" She teased, leaning forward and cupping his chin. Pulling her hair free from its pins with her other hand. Falling free and bouncing down to her waist.

He moaned, leaning forward and catching her mouth in a greedy kiss.

Without prompting he clasped his hands behind his back.

"I see," She smiled, pulling away. A string of saliva connecting them.

She leaned back on the desk, spreading her legs.

"Eat."

He dove forward and lapped at her cunt. Crushing his tongue into her with vulgar need.

Her head fell back, a shudder ripping up her spine. Oh, she had trained him well.

"Fuck," She hissed, looking down at his dark hair between her legs.

He moaned in pleasure, looking up at her with glazed eyes.

"Slower," She moaned, hips fucking his mouth.

He nodded, tongue moving into languid devotional stripes. Coming up to suckle down on her clit then circling back down to push inside her.

She moaned, a high call. Head falling back again. Gripping his hair in her fist. Ribcage rising against the cold mahogany.

She was degrading herself to be here, a tyrant between her legs. She was far too good for him, and that made her need it even more.

She pulled on his hair, directing his eyes to hers.

"Take your cock out."

Saw his eyes lid, shoulder moving, following her command.

"Touch yourself, slowly."

She couldn't see his hand working but felt his whimper into her cunt.

That sent her reeling, her orgasm on its precipice.

He pulled back briefly to get a breath and she saw how his maw was coated in her arousal, dripping down his jaw before he leaned back in with greater fervor.

That did it, her eyes retreating to the back of her skull.

Her legs clamped down around his head, hands bracing her at her side. Moaning out in choppy cries, a great wave of agonizing pleasure ripping through her.

He continued, fucking her through it. Unrelenting.

She clenched down in pulses and he groaned, licking up her come in greedy tonguefuls.

Grabbing his hair she forced him back, panting.

"Very good." She purred, "You make a good fucktoy."

His eyes glazed over again at that. Hands returning behind his back. Cock red and weeping.

"I think I'll take you now." She lowered down off of the desk, pushing his chest.

He fell onto his back with a smile, eyes lidded and dark.

"Make it hurt." He panted.

She straddled over him, leaning down, her arms rested on his chest. Her ass high up in the air.

She opened her mouth as if about to say something, instead snapping her hand hard across his face.

He groaned, hips hitching up.

"You like that? How embarrassing for a lord." Striking him again harder, his eyes closing, groaning again.

"What if I told all of those nobles that their archduke liked getting his pretty face hit?" She hissed in his ear. Hips lowering down to grind teasingly against his length.

"That he liked being choked." Her hand coming down around his throat.

"That he liked being put in his place, hmm?"

"Please," He moaned, looking into her eyes. "Please hurt me more."

"Good boy, I like when you beg." She sat back on him. Trapping his cock flat under her, grinding down viciously.

He moaned, head turning to the side.

She drug her sharp nails hard down his chest, little pinpricks of blood bubbling to the surface along her trail.

His hands clawed at the wood floor, back arching.

"How bad do you want to be inside me?" She smiled as he panted.

"Please, I need it. I need you to ruin me." He urged, eyes wide and pleading.

She reached for her dagger, brandishing it with a satisfied sigh.

She smiled, rising up and aligning him at her entrance. "You'll bleed for me."

She slammed her hips down, sheathing herself to the hilt.

He cursed, head thrown back. Hands gripping her hips but not directing them. Holding on for dear life.

She struck against his sternum with the pommel of her blade, hard enough to bruise. Hips rising and falling in a vicious rhythm.

The wind knocked out of him, his cock twitching hard inside her.

"What a pretty bruise you'll give me." She smiled at the skin already blotching.

"More," He groaned. Hips coming up to meet her.

She held her knife against his throat, leaning forward.

His eyes widened, pupils so blown they were just black saucers.

"Open your mouth."

He did, panting hotly.

She spat between his lips.

He moaned loudly, eyes closing. Hips moving in fervor.

"You're going to come with my knife inside you."

Beyond words, he could only nod desperately.

She leaned back and started carving slow lines into his chest. Bouncing hard on his cock. Nearing her own end again.

He nearly screamed, hands gripping with bruising strength on her hips.

The blood pooling on his chest ignited the spark again, her orgasm ripping through her like an impaling spear. She shrieked, her cunt clenching down in tremendous pulses, wrenching him.

He whimpered loudly and gripped at her knife hand, holding her by the wrist. Directing it over his heart. Pushing down until the skin broke.

He shattered under her then, beating his fist down into the floor. Screaming out her name and all the curses he knew. Back arching high as he spilled into her in sloppy desperate thrusts. His spend filling her to the brim, an obscene amount already leaking out. His eyes rolling like marbles in his head.

Finally, he collapsed into the floor. Chest heaving, face red and blotchy.

She stared down at her work, the tapestry of cuts and bruises adorning him from neck to belly.

She pulled off of him, and he reached for her as she retreated. "I'll be back." She smiled, finding a wash basin in the corner of the room.

She brought the bowl and a few fresh wash cloths over, kneeling over him.

Gently beginning to wipe him he stared at her, bewildered.

"You are different." He marveled.

"Do you want me to stop?" She asked, pausing.

"No, this is nice." He sat up slightly, still not at full strength.

She wiped away the blood, discarding the cloths as they got soiled. The basin dark red by the time she was finished.

"Thank you, for loving me before." She hushed, putting a cool palm on the angry skin. "I don't think I'm the same person you knew, but I can still feel it."

"I think you're still you, just a little softer." He mused. "Afterall, you still want to shed blood."

She sighed in admittance. "It's a burden. The power is incredible, it feels right. But I don't know if it's worth being subservient to my father."

She shook her head, playing with his fingers absent-mindedly. "I want to be free. I need to be my own master."

"If anyone can defy a god, it's you." He encouraged, sitting up and taking her face in his hand again.

"I have the utmost confidence in you. Do what you need."

She held his hand to her cheek, closing her eyes. "Thank you."

He planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"My assassin, my muse. No matter your nature, you will always be a part of me. Thank you for coming back to me."

~

[enthrallinglyeden]

TIMING: current LOCATION: a coffee shop PARTIES: Jenny @whimmortal and Eden @enthrallinglyeden SUMMARY: Jenny is looking to make a new friend, much to Eden's dismay. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Eden liked being alone, or at least, he’d grown comfortable with being alone over the years. He once lived a life that was defined by who he surrounded himself with. Leave the party with Meng Jia on your arm. Smile when you’re at the gym with Li Xikan. Making him hang out with other hot celebrities was his mother’s way of networking, and making sure he was seen with them was her way of feeding the press. He was rarely ever real friends with these people, their relationships limited to basic small talk. Thus was the life of a celebrity who was always supposed to be ‘on’. Maybe that was why he enjoyed the quiet North American life so much more. 

Of course, being alone meant silence, and the silence of his own home was suffocating sometimes. Now that he had a little too much time on his own, it was hard to stop his thoughts from eating him alive. That’s why he liked the atmosphere of a coffee shop — bustling with just enough chatter that he could tune out like white noise as he went about his business. Today, he had snagged the perfect little table by the window. It was just sunny enough that his skin felt warm, but too much that he was blinded by the light. Eden adjusted a bit in his chair, trying to get comfortable with his book when someone suddenly slipped into the seat across from him. Scanning her face quickly, he was sure he had no clue who this person was. “Can…I help you?” He said, only capable of staring blankly back at her. 

—

Some people were alone but not lonely, but that wasn’t how it was for Jenny. She was lonely and also alone. The first was hard to remedy, as this was an age-old feeling that had rooted itself in her system, but the second could be solved through assertiveness. This wasn’t always easy, but there were plenty of times where she mustered the energy and courage to put herself out there, which was very much needed when you were a newcomer to a small town. It wasn’t like she was in college any more, where there was a place and time for making friends, and because of her technically unemployed status she also failed to make colleague-friends. Using Bumble friend mode sometimes worked, but even so … sometimes she just had to go and be spontaneous.

So after she’d gotten her order from the coffee bar (an iced oat latte with vanilla), she’d scanned the coffee shop for a table she could spontaneously sit at. People did this all the time before smartphones, right? Just going up to people and talking. Really connecting. Jenny spotted a perfect seat by the window and sauntered over, placing herself across a guy who’d brought a book and seemed to actually be reading it. She loved that. So many people seemed to just take out their book in places like this and scroll on their phone. Even she, who devoured books upon books, was guilty of this. She let her ice clink merrily in her plastic cup, offering a smile at the stranger. “Hi,” she said in response to his question. “Oh, I just thought … you know, the seat wasn’t taken! What are you reading?”

—

Torn between utter annoyance at this unprompted interaction and respect for the confidence that this young woman seemed to have, Eden bit back the unwelcoming remark that threatened to escape. “Yes…this seat is not taken,” he stated matter-of-factly. There are also other seats at empty tables that are not taken, he thought, but perhaps this young lady really wanted a window seat. “I assume you would like…to sit?” He regretted the words as soon as he heard them, realizing they sounded more like an offer than an observation. 

As expected, she sat, and Eden could really only have himself to blame. When did he get soft? He should’ve just told her to leave him alone. Then again, the last thing he needed was for this woman to think he was being rude and spread it around town. His once clean, inconspicuous reputation in Wicked’s Rest would be no more, and th—

He was overthinking, as he usually did. Eden cleared his throat and took a sip of his iced coffee, trying his best to get his thoughts back on track. Turning his attention to the woman now in the chair across from him, he lifted his book up to flash the cover in her direction. “Dracula. Have you, um, read it?” He asked her, trying his best to start a conversation that he really didn’t want to. 

—

He seemed a little confused by her spontaneity. Jenny could understand that. Sometimes when strangers were nice or forward, it also confused her — she had grown used to an individualistic society herself. Wicked’s Rest didn’t seem to operate like that, though, and it was hard for her to try and get the small-town vibes without feeling a little oppressive. Still, she was not going to move from this seat! It was a public place. 

“I do like to sit, yes. Right now, but also in general.” She took a long sip from her drink, enjoying the small-town vibe that came with this non-chain coffee shop. It was nice, the way there wasn’t a Starbucks on every corner. “Thanks, anyway. I like to sit at the window. And figured…” She didn’t finish the sentence, not wanting to accuse the other of looking lonely or admitting that she was. Better to leave some things unsaid.

When he revealed the cover of the book, she left very little unsaid. Jenny’s face grew bright and excited. “Have I? Absolutely. Have you ever done a read where you read every bit on the corresponding day? Really dig that.” Dracula was one of the pillars of vampire media, and though it wasn’t her absolute favorite, she had read and studied it numerous times. “Your first time?”

—

For a moment, Eden wondered if the woman wanted something else from him. Why else would she join him if not to ask for something? At least, that was how his old circles operated. Arriving uninvited at someone’s table at the charity galas was a call to network, and chatting someone up at the fancy restaurants was a photo op in the making. But as he observed the other woman’s nonchalance, he figured maybe she really did just want the window seat. 

“Yes, it is my first time,” Eden said as he let his shoulders relax a bit, though still keeping his guard up. “I’m actually only a few pages in as I…” Was going to start reading it today, right now actually, he wanted to say, yet he forced himself to stop mid-sentence. He had just made nice with the stranger, or at least, he had just accepted her presence at the table. There was no need to throw that progress out the window by inferring how unwanted she was. 

“Ahem, I was saying, I’ve only started it today as it was just returned to the library this morning and it caught my eye.” That was better. Taking in the other’s sudden shift in energy, he figured that this book would be a welcome topic for now, and Eden mentally thanked his past self for bringing this book in the first place. Who knew what personal information he would’ve had to delve into otherwise, or worse, miscellaneous small talk. “No, but that does seem like an interesting way to read it. I’m assuming you have? And I’m assuming you…enjoyed this book?”

—

She busied herself with directing her straw to her mouth without poking her cheek in the process, taking a long and hefty sip from her drink as the other tried to string a sentence together. It could be hard, when caught off guard. Jenny was self aware enough (which wasn’t a lot) to know she had done as much to the other, what with her spontaneous attempt at whimsy.

“The first time is always the best. Sometimes I think the second time is, as you pick up on little hints and details and threads of foreshadowing, but nothing is as good as being faced with a story the first time,” she said sagely. She took the reading of books very seriously after all, especially when it was a book like Dracula. It had inspired stories for eons to come, as well as a sparkling amount of movies. (Not literally — the sparkling had been in Twilight.)

She put back down her cup, the ice clinking on impact. Jenny nodded. “I have, yes. Read it that way — there’s a group of people that does it online every year, actually.” It was one of the many things she liked about the internet. “And totally enjoyed it. I mean, it’s a classic — it did not originate the genre of vampire literature as many claim, but it certainly gave it a level of popularity that would elevate it. Do you read a lot of books like that? Classic … or supernatural?”

—

Though Eden had picked out this book with zero expectations, the other woman seemed relatively passionate about it which got his hopes up, nodding thoughtfully as he actually absorbed what she was saying. He always liked when other people were passionate about things, maybe because he himself had only made time for passions recently. 

“Like a little book club? That sounds nice.” He had always been intrigued by the concept of a book club, and maybe it would do him some good to have discussions like that. However, after seeing some of the fights that broke out among the patrons of the library’s, maybe such an opinionated environment wouldn’t be best for him. “I imagine too that a book this well-known has amassed a sizable fanbase. Though I am curious as to what is the originator of the vampire genre if not this?”

Taking a sip from his drink, Eden wiped the condensation on his fingers on a napkin. “I regrettably didn’t have much time for reading growing up, so I’m trying to catch up now. Figured the classics would be a good place to start, though I do struggle with some of the more traditional English sometimes.” He was pretty confident in his spoken English save for the slight accent that popped up with certain words, but reading some of the older books in the library still proved somewhat of a challenge. 

“As for the supernatural books, I didn’t realize how popular that genre was until moving here. But I guess that’s this town’s whole thing, right?” He said as he glanced at his table partner. He had realized pretty quickly that someone’s stance on the supernatural was a pretty good tell here in Wicked’s Rest. 

—

“Yes, I guess! You could look it up, I think they're running it now. The book starts in May, right?” She should know this by heart, but her memory was fragmented in some places. All in all, not remembering in what month a piece of fiction started was not the worst thing she'd forgotten, but it did feel like a slight personal failure. She was sure the other would hardly think much of it, and found comfort in that thought. 

At the next question she sat a little more upright. “I mean, vampires existed before the literature.” She frowned, quickly adding: “The folklore, of course.” It was fair to assume that the other didn't know about vampires being real, and if she'd learned anything from her consumption of vampire media (and she'd learned a lot), it was that secrecy was important. “Those spurred plenty of poems. Goethe and Byron are some notable names, and then the Germans went off and made plenty of vampiric stories for the stage. The first vampire novel, in my opinion? Carmilla.” She grimaced. “Written by a woman. So, duh, of course Stoker gets credited. Byron is the daddy of vampire media, I like to say, but Sheridan? She was the mother. Capital M.” 

She took a long breath in, hoping that wasn't too much information to drop on a stranger. All in all, Jenny was glad she got to wield her knowledge for a moment. “Ah, sad. Childhood is a great time for reading, though children's books can still be great in our big, relatively old age. The classics are good, but sometimes the language is... convoluted, I get it. Plenty of modern literature is just as worth your while, if not more!” 

Jenny let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, this town is like the Transylvania of North America.” She almost called it the Mystic Falls or Sunnydale of America, but going with the Eastern European area seemed more fitting considering the book the other was reading. “I like it. How long ago did you move here? I'm pretty new in town myself.” 

—

“May. You’re right,” Eden said, impressed with the other’s memory. Not that he was too shabby either from the years of acting, but his memorization skills always felt like a result of a survival instinct. It was bad enough being a nepo baby in the industry, the least he could do was be a damn good actor to make up for it. “I’ll look into it though, thank you.” That was usually what he said when he wasn’t going to look into something, but maybe he would surprise himself and try something new. After all, he was already surprising himself with how well he was tolerating this stranger’s company. 

Maybe it was the confident enthusiasm that the woman exuded that intrigued him enough to keep the conversation going. Even with all of the supernatural topics he had learned about in the past few months, he had yet to meet someone seemingly so passionate about their niche like this individual was. Well, maybe except for the woman who tried to start the monster erotica book club at the library.

“Ah yes, the folklore.” He had yet to see proof that vampires existed, but a part of him didn’t need it either. He was a fucking siren for crying out loud — if others like him existed, then vampires most definitely existed somewhere. “Interesting,” Eden nodded, listening to her explanation intently. “That’s good to know. In that case, I will have to make sure that we have Carmilla stocked at the library.” Or maybe they already had it and it was one of the books that allegedly disappeared over the years. He could never tell with that place. 

Feeling oddly validated from the woman’s words about the challenges of literature, Eden allowed himself to offer her a small smile. “I’ve been here…a little over half a year at this point?” He could barely believe it even as he said it out loud. “How about yourself, Miss…?”

—

“No worries,” she said, mostly just happy that the other was picking up what she was picking down. Jenny wasn’t always used to people listening when she started talking about vampire literature — not in this town, not in college and especially not with her family. Sometimes that confirmed her fears about her interests being silly and nonsensical, but then there were bright moments like these. Moments where spontaneity paid off, she could feel smart and she got someone even thanking her!

“You’d better! Any library worth their salt has Carmilla.” Her mind traveled shortly to the book she’d stolen from there. The book that seemed to have some level of intelligence. From a room that had trapped her and Cairn. Jenny was quick to decide against bringing it up, but would investigate a little further: “Do you work there?”

So he’d been here longer than her, but not by a long stretch. That was nice — another thing that they could have in common aside from having read at least part of Dracula. “Oh, that’s nice. Settled in a little yet by now or still … shocked by this town sometimes?” She gave what she hoped was a knowing smile. “I’ve been here since February. So still fresh and hot from the press! Really liking it so far — I was in New York before, so quite the change. It’s definitely growing on me, though, especially with the weather clearing a little.”

—

Even though he was trying to keep a low profile in town, Eden didn’t mind people knowing where he worked in the grand scheme of things. He usually stuck out to the library’s patrons regardless, many of them giving him questionable looks as if asking why he’d choose to work there. Being recognized as ‘that guy from the library’ was far from the worst thing he’d ever been recognized for throughout his life. 

“Yes, I do. The public one, that is,” Eden said, the ice clinking in his glass as he stirred his straw around. “An occasionally spooky place — perhaps you would enjoy reading your vampire literature in there. Almost sets the scene.” Barb would kill him if she heard him advertising the library as anything but warm and welcoming, but she wasn’t in the social media trenches like he was. Some people liked the library for how unsettling it felt. Maybe this woman would be one of them considering her reading preferences. 

His brain automatically screamed that ‘the town shocks me everyday, I really wish it wouldn’t,’ but he knew that was a slight exaggeration. “It’s a nice place. Very cozy. Surprises, sure, but I come from a big city so it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said instead, perking up at the mention of another metropolis. “Ah, New York. I haven’t been there for several years but I do love that place. The art scene there is excellent.” Eden tried to calm his growing curiosity, though he couldn’t help but wonder why another city dweller would choose to live in such a small town. “Did your work bring you here? Or were you just looking for a change?” Or are you running from something like me?

—

Working in a library always seemed like something out of a quirky, 00s romcom to Jenny. Something that was very fun in a fictionalized world, but in real life was probably deliriously boring. Especially considering how poorly people handled borrowed books — she had gone there out of necessity, not because she'd wanted to borrow a Jojo Moyes book with tear and food stains on it. And what an adventure it had been. 

It was easy to omit the fact that she had stolen a magical book from the place. She wasn't a good liar (not that it tended to stop her from lying), but she was a brilliant omitter of the truth. Jenny was not going to admit to theft. “I've been, once. It's a cute place, but the ...” She grimaced. “Children? Hm, nope.Too distracting. But I might give it a shot, even if just to make sure you have Carmilla.” She would have to return. Maybe there were more magical books. Maybe even more traps and secrets. 

She grinned in recognition. “Look at us, big city girls moving to a small coastal town. Really hallmark movie of us.” She nodded, “Yeah, the scene here is surprisingly adequate. I'd expected more crafty artwork, but there's some real nice stuff. Where do you dwell from then?” The question on why she was here was not such a heavy one in Jenny's case. She was hardly aware of how this town appealed to those who were running from something, and though she could technically be categorized as such, she didn't. “Work, yes! I'm hoping to get inspired for my own artistic project. And the change too was good, I suppose … you know how it is at our age. Quarter life crisis. You?” 

—

“Oh, luckily the children aren’t there everyday. I would not work somewhere where children were present daily,” Eden said with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “Not that I have anything against them, but like you said, distracting. And messy.” It was mostly fine when they came on their own, but he usually hid out in the archive room when a school group passed by. God forbid he would be asked to run a storytime session again.

He was vaguely aware of these ‘Hallmark movies’ that the woman referenced. They were for actors past their prime who still wanted to soak in that last bit of the spotlight. Perhaps the perfect place for a nepo baby like him who had fallen off the face of the Earth, if he did ever become so dissatisfied with his life that returning to acting for fame and validation was the only option. Eden let out a quiet huff of a laugh, amused at the woman’s wording. “‘Surprisingly adequate’ is definitely one way to put it. I moved here from China, so it is very different. Shanghai, to be exact,” And he didn’t mind being exact in a moment like this. There was being private, and then there was being paranoid (and he was already plenty paranoid, too much for his own good).

Eden couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at the mention of an ‘artistic project’. He wasn’t surprised considering how passionate she’d been about literature, and other people’s creative endeavors always intrigued him. “What kind of project, if you don’t mind my asking? I’m an…artist too,” he clarified with hesitation. It wasn’t like he was lying. “Change too. Much-needed. Quarter life crisis and all that.” Though he wasn’t quite sure that losing his mind at the sight of a corpse at his feet counted as part of that.

—

“You and me both, you and me both,” she said, putting extra emphasis on that last both. It was always good to find common ground with strangers, as it gave plenty of room to expand the conversation on. Jenny had found a few things in common with the other so far that she might use to further her connection. Making friends was not all too dissimilar from networking in the art scene. “Children are fine in small doses, though not in groups and certainly not when they are throwing tantrums.”

She failed to hide the change in her expression as the other revealed he’d moved from Shanghai, China to bumfuck nowhere Maine. Swapping one large city for a small town was one thing, but crossing an ocean for it? That was commitment. To what, Jenny didn’t know, but it showed off an extreme amount of something. “Wow,” she said, adding onto her surprise. “So … quite the move, right? I mean, no judgment, but dang, why Wicked’s Rest of all places?” 

Another piece of common ground: they both were having a quarter life crisis. Most people their age were, but that didn’t much matter. “Oh, a play! I dabble in some other written art too, but that’s the main one. What’s your preferred area of artistry?” She chuckled. “Guess we’re crisising together, at least.” She held out her hand, “I’m Jenny, by the way. It’s nice meeting you …?” 

—

Eden was glad to hear that she understood his sentiment. Even with all of the speculation about what lurked in the library, children somehow managed to remain one of the biggest threats to the books. What he was slightly less glad to hear was the inevitable ‘why’ question. He couldn’t really be surprised, though he still mentally cursed the consequences of opening up. 

“Well granted, I didn’t move here directly,” he said, pausing to take the last sip from his almost-empty glass. “I was moving around a few big cities first. Then I caught wind of this place and it seemed…charming.” That certainly was a reason why he moved here, though not the reason. Eden figured his new companion didn’t need to know the exact details, opting instead to reiterate the buzz word that his realtor kept mentioning when he first arrived in town. 

He couldn’t help but perk up at the mention of a play. “Oh? The stage interests me greatly. What a coincidence. And to think you’re from New York too. The home of brilliant theatre.” With how much his career had weighed on him, Eden was still trying to work through separating his passion for art from the industry. A play had always seemed like something relatively tame if he wanted to try acting again, and the fact that the universe sat him with an aspiring playwright today seemed like a sign. (Well, more like the universe forcibly plopped an aspiring playwright right across from him.)

“I actually used to act here and there in some local projects.” Technically not a lie, just an omission of context. “Say…I assume you’re still working on the details, but I’d be interested in reading whatever you have when it’s ready.” Eden didn’t really know where the bold proposition came from. Perhaps it was the sudden excitement that coursed through him at the thought of collaborating creatively again, or maybe he was still riding the high of not absolutely loathing an unprovoked interaction with a stranger. Whichever it was, he would be a fool not to take the opportunity to network. Maybe this was going to be his Hallmark era. 

“Eden,” he said as he shook her hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Jenny. You know, I had no intention of enjoying your presence when you first sat down, but your company was quite pleasant.”

—

For a town this small and on the edge of the country, it did attract a lot of new people. Jenny was one of them, attracted by the strange rumors, the filming locations and the cryptids, so she wondered if that was what had drawn Eden to it. Or, with how many supernatural things seemed to hide here, was he more like those side characters that came to towns like Mystic Falls and Sunnydale? She wasn't sure, but wasn't going to pry. (She did have to keep the option open that he was a vampire, even though it was light out.)

“Charming,” she repeated, “I get that. There's really something about this place.” It was nice to meet other people like her, who had swapped large cities for a place like this. Mysterious or mundane reasons aside, it made her feel a little less like a sore thumb sticking out.

As Eden spoke about his experience with acting and his interest in her play, her face grew bright. It was always good to meet people who were interested in the industry, even if Eden had only acted in some amateur projects. In those places you sometimes found the best talent, after all! She thought of Baz and how they were quite the hidden gem in this corner of town, and wondered if Eden could be another. Jenny liked surrounding herself with talented people, as it made her feel better about herself. Networking was half the work.

“What a coincidence indeed! I must have gotten good vibes from you,” she said, “My parents work in the industry, so that's how I got my interest in it all.” She wondered if the other would jump to the nepo baby conclusion immediately, but Jenny wasn't too worried if that was his opinion. If he were to think of her as a failed one, however... that would be more grating. She nodded, “Definitely still working out the details.” There was no need to say more on that topic, as she wasn't keen on talking about how bad her writer's block was. “I'll let you know once it's at that stage, though.” It was an empty commitment, one she could easily turn on. But networking really was half the work, and answering interest like this was always good.

“It's been nice to meet you too! I'm glad I got to surprise you,” she said, feeling like she'd scored a win. She'd met someone who acted, who read interesting books and who had liked her presence. She was about to think of a new conversation topic when her phone buzzed. Ash was calling, “Sorry, I have to take this — I'll find you online!” She picked up her coffee and answered her phone, greeting her sister with her usual sweet pitch, leaving Eden at his table. Whether she'd return or not, was in the air. Regardless, she did intend to reach out to the other in a few days, just to keep the connection alive.

[firerose18991]

Prince! Itadori x Black femReader prt 2

Info: fluff, adventure, multi part fic

Written with black curvy/chubby readers in mind but all are welcome

Wrd cnt: 1.69k

Prt 1

As you and Yuji contemplated your impending fates a commotion was building outside the tent.

“FIRE!” A booming voice whipped through the camp.

You jumped up from the stool you sat on, the smoke was already starting to fill the air in the tent.

“Grab your shirt.” You called to him, and pulled him out by his wrist.

When you reached the outside of the white tent, now sullied from the ashen air beginning to coat all of the camp, you saw the chaos. You spotted the head nurse directing a trailer from the camp on the barren hill down into the lush forest beneath.

“Nurse! What's happening?” You ran up, Yuji in tow.

“The Barbarians! They're storming the camp!”. She ran up to take Yuji's other hand. “You need to flee and meet with your army. We can't protect you here.”

“But the camp is neutral, are they killing their own people?” Yuji resisted the nurses' pulls towards the escape route, though it mostly looked like her tugging a brick wall.

“If they have a target like you they would've lost those men anyway. Most of them are the ones you injured in your battle.” Yuji was taken aback.

Since he'd been injured only sparse battles have occurred which only lasted a few hours at most. He was the target of the Barbarians all along. With the line of succession open his territory would be vulnerable. Nevertheless he wasn't going to hide like a coward among the sick and injured. He finally had the time to put his shirt back on. It hung loosely around his muscular frame.

“Do you know where my sword and steed are being held?” He turned to you.

His kind amber eyes still held their warmth but focused on you to give an answer urgently.

“You can't possibly-” the head nurse started.

“The stables are by the edge of camp, close to the lake.” You pointed the way and he bolted off.

“(Y/N)!” the Nurse yelled at you as he ran off. “He’s in no condition-”

“If anyone is going to keep the encampment safe it will be him. Let’s focus on setting up a place for triage further in the forest. After all this everyone will need it.”

You helped usher the remaining patients down the slippery hills of the forest to a natural basin near another river outlet closer to Yuji’s kingdom. The screams of those fighting over the ashes of the old campsite echoed to where you had found yourselves. Your heart ached thinking of Yuji fighting, maybe being heavily outnumbered and you wondered if you’d done the right thing by sending him off.

You busied yourself by the end of the first day purifying drinking water and gathering ingredients for healing potions. Some of the patients had sustained burns and you had to quickly find natural remedies in a forest you had barely gotten to know. Others worked on using their magic to create temporary rock and mud huts for patients. When you’d found just about all you could make sense of in the forest’s herbs you headed back and sat on the river bank. The fight raged on even into the night. That gave you some hope the Yuji was still out there fighting. Enough to get you through the next day.

In the morning you were the first up. Catching fish in the river and pounding wild nuts and berries into edible porridge. You’d made a large fire to cook and were careful to cast a smoke concealment spell. The head nurse woke up to you using a giant stick to stir the massive amount of porridge and fish roasting on the sides. You looked like you’d thoroughly lost your mind.

But the smell drew everyone from their huts and away from their miserable night rest. Once everyone had eaten their fill patient daily care was still at the forefront. You directed your fellow nurses to plants with antiseptic properties whose leaves could be used as bandages for the time being and crafted potions with yesterday’s work. And in the night you repeated the same as the morning. You’d brought all the nurses up to speed and everyone fell into their roles once again. The battle could still be heard. When particularly devastating attacks occurred you’d see mass flocks of birds scattering overhead to escape the atrocities. But as long as it continued your people would remain.

The third day was uneventful and fatiguing for all at the camp. In their down time a lot of the nurses watched you pace back and forth working like someone had lit you on fire. The head nurse had to pry you off a tree you’d attempted to climb to get more leaves. But in your sleep deprived state you missed a foothold and fell down. She coaxed you into a mud hut to get some rest which is where you stayed even through dinner. At some point you’d managed to fall asleep and woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of crickets and fire crackling. For a moment you allowed yourself to take in the natural ambiance before you shot up from the ground. The fighting had ended.

“Oh gods.” you whispered to yourself as you clumsily pushed your fatigued body off the ground and out of the hut.

You stumbled out to the haunting forest. The battle was done but you couldn't be sure who won. Part of you nearly began to mourn Yuji until you were startled from your thoughts by the sound of sloshing mud and leaves drawing closer from the forest. You clasped your hand to your face and hid around the corner of the hut, if need be you would wake the others and try quietly to get away.

As the heavy steps grew closer you began to make out the figure of a lone man. The moonlight only illuminated him in slivers at a time. Once it brushed upon his bloodied face and you saw the pink hair peakout through dried blood you stepped out from your hiding spot.

“Yuji” you gasped, stepping toward the bush he was slowly making his way over. His head was bowed from exhaustion. It was a miracle he made it to your camp with his injuries. You caught him just as he tripped out into the basin front. A small part of you wanted to be mad at him for taking on such a foolhardy battle, the other was mad at yourself for letting him. But that was all overshadowed by the immense joy you felt from him having returned in one piece.

You looked up as you heard more zombie-like steps creeping through the forest towards you. You hugged Yuji's now sleeping form against yourself, not sure of what you could do. Soon soldiers wearing the crest of the Itadori kingdom began emerging from the forest. Each as bloodied and bruised as their prince. You finally placed yuji down gently when you saw commander Nobara stumble through with the last set of soldiers. You caught her as well and placed her down gently before going to get the other healers of your clan.

Everyone worked through the night to pull the soldiers through. With healers stretched thin the head nurse walked over to you wordlessly and handed you a wand. Something only the most recognized and talented of your clan get the honor of wielding. You quietly rejoiced as you walked over to the remaining horde of soldiers that needed attending to.

When dawn broke the streaks of blood from soldiers marching to their last salvation were illuminated. The camp was lively with those who’d only endured extreme exhaustion and doctors rushing to care for those in more critical cases. Once you took care of your most critical patients you whisked through the camp looking for Yuji, the head nurse had decided to take him under her care as he wasn’t at 100% to begin with. As you approached her tent you heard hushed voices.

“Excuse me.” You spoke softly before entering the tent. You looked around to see Yuji sitting in bed, some dried blood still stained his skin. And the head nurse brewing a pain reliever. “Sorry I just came to see how he was doing.” You were hoarse from exhaustion.

“Glad I'm not the only one who looks like hell.” He smiled, thoroughly wrapped in plant fiber bandages and propped on pillows.

“The leader of your enemy has been defeated, but some of his men still remain at this camp. It is not our place to get involved in these matters.” The head nurse spoke to both of you.

“I completely understand, I would never ask your people to compromise their values for my sake. I believe a short prison sentence after they've healed will be enough to satisfy me.” He really sounded like he'd been on the throne his whole life.

“Yes well that may take a while”

“After dealing with my own injuries I've learned to be patient.” Yuji's grin turned into a wince.

The head nurse shooed his hand that instinctively went to his injury and used her wand to lessen the pain.

“(Y/N) the medicine.” She nodded to you.

You made your way over to her work station and waved the supplementary wand that still hadn't been taken away over the pot to complete the medicine. It glowed like gold in the dingy wooden pot. You brought it over to where Yuji was fighting a coughing fit, for fear of displacing his ribs. Once he got some of the medicine down he wearily settled back into the pillows.

“Hopefully this time I leave him in your care he'll make a full recovery.” She winked and left the tent to the two of you.

<<<prev

[townsenddecades]

1338 – Day 2 – Glennborough

In Glennborough, the quarter begins deceptively peaceful, with the Townsend’s horse, Ulla, finally reaching maturity. She has become quite tall since she first came to them, and now towers over the younger children – which doesn’t daunt them in the slightest. They have known her for long enough to be aware that her temper, while not especially docile, is by no means violent.

No one is trying to ride her, for the moment, but they start getting her used to a bridle and saddle to prepare her for that next step. Working with the horse is a good way to distract themselves from the cold and from the worrying food situation, even if it wasn’t something that they will profit from later.

Reports continue to be worrisome, just like Nicolas predicted. He still regularly travels to the harbour to listen to the latest news from abroad, with not many of them being good. Tales from the traders that come to town over the inland routes are no different.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Filimor, Mariora’s only child with Lord Goth, falls ill as the quarter progresses. Gravely ill.

Mariora starts worrying immediately when she notices Filimor grow feverish and fussy. She is always attentive towards him, mostly because he is her youngest child, but partly because of the loss of his sister Ellenor. She tries to treat his fever with natural remedies, only to watch it climb further and further. He can’t eat much, and when he does, he seems to draw no strength from it, if he keeps it down at all.

He is calmer when she holds him, so she does that a lot, much as it hurts her to see him in so much pain. Especially when he starts becoming noticeably lighter in her arms. This can’t be happening. It can’t is a frequent thought of hers in those days.

Lord Goth keeps away at her behest. He knows that their son is sick, and sends her his personal physician, who treats the boy, but she isn’t blind, even in her worry. She can tell when the man starts to lose hope. It is just about the same time she gets seriously concerned.

“Keep him comfortable”, the man says once, and she silently adds the “He should die in peace.”

“You don’t think he’ll make it, do you?”, she asks far more calmly than she expected. She feels strangely numb, when she thinks she should be wild with panic.

“I will do whatever I can to help him”, the physician replies. But he doesn’t meet her eyes as he says it.

She is in quiet despair for the rest of that day. When Filimor finally sleeps and under Eibhlín’s watchful eye, she wanders outside in a daze, saying something about needing fresh air but comprehending none of it. She drifts across the yard, through the gate and past the pond, until she finds herself standing before the headstones that mark Ellenor’s grave and her memorial for Simon, even if his body rests back in England.

It is seeing those headstones that finally breaks through the cold that has cocooned her. After losing her first son, and her first daughter, and Simon, and her home, and Ellenor, she thought she had suffered enough. And now this? Now her youngest son is going to die, just like that, of a stupid, random stomach ailment?

A howl of rage and pain escapes her, followed by a flood of utterly useless tears and wrecking sobs that seem bent on breaking her body in two. She dimly knows that it is the days of strain and helplessness that have her act so, but she hopes to the Watcher that none of her children can hear her.

Her torrents of tears wash away some of the panic that is now choking her, leaving a strange sense of not peace, but clarity. She feels weak when she finally drops to her knees before the stones, but her head isn’t filled with fog anymore. And she knows with absolute certainty that she can’t lose Filimor. Mostly because she can’t take another loss, yes, partly because she wants to spare Lord Goth the heartbreak of losing another child, yes, but also, and she feels almost ashamed to admit this, because he is her security. If he dies, it could imperil the rest of her children. Even if she is confident that Lord Goth will continue to support her, he isn’t immortal, and his son may not be so kind upon his death.

It is mercenary, but she consoles herself by thinking that she isn’t worried just about herself, but for her children. Living this lifestyle, having those connections, can open doors to them. She can’t lose that.

So she won’t.

Even if she has to use unhallow means to ensure that.

Mariora never possessed the gift of magic, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t sense it, or doesn’t know of possibilities to channel it. She just doesn’t, usually. At first, she simply didn’t want to because of her difficult relationship to her mother, and since Simon’s death, it has just been too dangerous. He wouldn’t have been murdered if it wasn’t for his magic.

But now, she has no choice. Not if she wants to save her son. She silently and quickly sets about preparing what she needs, the first of which is a big crystal she borrows from Lord Goth. It is pure luck that he has it in the first place; apparently, his family has a long history of collection occult paraphernalia. He asks questions, but she tells him that she wants to study it to distract herself.

Once she has it, she sets to work. She chooses the stables for the ritual, because she knows that her children won’t come there once they’re out with the horse. There isn’t not much to it – some drawn circles and runes, but mostly it’s a thing of will, of feeling the spirits in the Beyond. A full-fledged witch would be able to draw upon her own powers to make this easier, but all she has is her determination.

“Please”, she says loudly, as she feels something drawing near. “I wish to make a trade. I will do and give whatever is necessary, if you will only save my son.”

She feels it when something is taking interest. Wind rushes past her and the crystal begins to hover, glowing from within. Without quite knowing what she is doing, she puts out her arm, and the thing reacts to it. Her movements are not her own, something seems to seize her, and then –

A presence.

She doesn’t have time to react before a harsh voice, a familiar voice, booms through the dimly-lit stable.

“Mariora, are you insane?”

“Simon!”

“If you have gone insane, I asked!”, he shouts back at her, face twisted in fury. She takes a step back until her heel hits the sharp edge of the stone. She didn’t expect to see her husband, and she especially didn’t expect him to be this furious. She has never been afraid of Simon, dead or alive, but his anger seems to give his ghostly aura a force that makes it hard to breathe. “Please tell me that you’re not actually trying to make a deal with the Beyond.”

“I have to.” She straightens herself. “My…my son, he will die if I don’t.”

“Meddling in matters of life and death is never a good idea, Ora.” His tone softens, but he looks just as disapproving as before. “You don’t know what powers you are toying with here. It’s not worth it.”

“I know about the cost.” She takes another tentative step forward, begging him with her eyes and her voice to believe her. “My mother has taken great pains to impress it upon me. It could cost me…youth, or money, or a blood sacrifice, or even…even my life. But I’m willing to pay that. If only my son lives.”

“It won’t necessarily be your youth, or your life, Mariora.”

The words feel like a slap across the face, although she knows perfectly well that her husband would never raise a hand to her. His disappointment is still evident, even in this glowing, wavering form that makes it hard to read his features.

She takes a deep breath. “But you’re here. You can help me.”

“I am helping you. By telling you that what you’re trying to do is a reckless, dangerous idea that you should drop while you still can.”

“I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t. There is too much at stake.”

He stares at her, meeting her gaze. In this moment, he feels more like the husband she has lost than during his previous visitations. Maybe her summoning, even if she didn’t mean for it to be him, has pulled him more strongly into this world than before. After a moment, he sighs deeply.

“If I don’t help you, you will try to find something else that will, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And the fact that either one of our children, their children, or the son you are trying to save could be the ones to pay the price won’t stop you?”

Her mouth is dry, but she shakes her head resolutely. “No.”

He sighs again, even deeper this time. “Then I seem to have no choice but to help you, if only to make sure that that cost is deferred for as long as possible. But I hope to the Watcher that you know what you are doing, Mariora.”

She hopes so too, but she is too relieved that he’ll help her to threaten that by giving her own doubts a voice. She doesn’t like taking this risk. Thinking about Siobhán or her older boys paying the price for her decisions, for their brother’s recovery, makes her sick to her stomach. But she can’t lose him. She can’t.

Simon stares at her for a moment longer, before finally raising his hands. Their soft glow becomes more brilliant. “I can transfer the power to heal him to you, to strengthen his connection to life. And there won’t be an immediate cost. But it will come, Mariora, in five years or in ten or in twenty, make no mistake about that.”

She nods, closing her eyes, and feels the power surge through her a moment later, humming faintly under her skin. It is for the best. She has to believe it is for the best. And she knows, as clearly as she knows her own name, that right now, she holds the power to cure her son with naught but a touch.

When she opens her eyes again, Simon’s glowing form has dimmed, as if some of his light has passed into her. She has the sickening feeling that it has. When he speaks to her, his voice is faint. “Well, wife, I wish you the best of luck. Truly.”

“I will see you again, won’t I?”, she asks, suddenly deeply afraid.

“Not for a while, maybe. As I said, toying with life and death has its price.” He floats over to her, and she feels herself being tugged in his arms, ethereal and strangely solid at the same time. She wraps her arms around where she knows his body should be and buries her face against his shoulder. “But I will watch over you and the children.”

And then he vanishes, leaving her standing alone in the stable.

Whatever Simon has done, it works. Mariora swiftly returns to Filimor’s side soon after her husband has vanished, steeling herself against what she will see. Her precious boy is more dead than alive now. She takes him into her arms, willing the vibrating life she feels under her skin to seep into him instead.

She feels it when the power leaves her body, leaving her strangely cold, but not much worse for wear. There is no immediate change in Filimor. That comes gradually, within the rest of the day and the one after that. The physician can’t explain it to himself, but he too is too relieved that Lord Goth’s spare heir is on the mend to question it too much. He talks about how the latest remedy he tried must have had a delayed effect.

Mariora lets him believe that. She wouldn’t dream of disclosing to anyone that it was her that brought this miraculous recovery about. All that matters to her is that her son is healing and that the rest of her family is safe. And it there is to be a cost later, it will have been more than worth it.

Previous: 1338, Day 2, Part 3/4 <--> Next: 1338, Day 3, Part 1/4

WATCHER’S COMMENTARY:

What has happened mechanically is that Mariora has done a witchy trade, just not with a witch, but with some kind of other otherworldly force. In Plumbobs and the Past’s rules, you spin a wheel /roll for what the consequences for that will be. One of those options is ‘No cost for now’, which means that you have to roll a d20 to determine the number of years that will pass until the cost is due. When that time comes, you roll again to see what the price will be, which can range from a sim’s life or youth to a sim’s money, hope or beauty.

I have already rolled for the number of years until the cost will be due, but because that won’t be until after the plague, I won’t worry too much about it now. Who knows how many of Mariora’s descendants will even be alive at that point. I also haven’t rolled for the price itself yet.

Another meta thing: when Mariora summoned Simon’s ghost, he started yelling at her for cheating on him (because she now has a romantic interest with Gunther Goth). That didn’t fit how he has viewed their relationship so far, but it fit perfectly for a “What the hell are you doing?!” moment.

[daddycassie]

Volunteering for Lucy Gray Baird

note: trying the scenarios format because I’m obsessed with this woman and I used to write this way and did way better, so let me know what you like better!

🎶🕊️~ Lucy Gray wasn’t shocked when her name was called. Disturbed? Yes. But not shocked.

~ She’d been making her way to the front when she heard a familiar voice coupled with unfamiliar words. “I volunteer!”

~ You had to say it a few times to be heard on the stage, but Lucy Gray heard you loud and clear.

~The look she gave you, you’d have thought you rigged the reaping yourself.

~ Her eyes welled up as you approached the stage. She’d grab your arm, squeezing your sleeve with shaky fingers.

~ “Don’t do this.” Lucy Gray began, but you tugged away from her and walked away. You couldn’t look at your friend’s face when she cried. You were afraid Lucy Gray would convince you not to go anywhere, to let her go instead.

~You refused to look at her the whole time Jessup was reaped to go alongside you, but you could hear Lucy Gray crying.

~When you were escorted out you spared her a final look, you did love her after all.

~Lucy Gray was looking right back, you should’ve expected as much. Her brown eyes were fiery with emotion, you thought maybe she was angry.

~It didn’t take long for you to get the message. Survive this you damn fool. You could hear her saying it and that’s what you told yourself the whole train ride.

~When you got there you were greeted by a blonde boy who offered you a white rose. You narrow your eyes at it. “Let me guess, that’s for Jessup?”

~He didn’t have a good sense of humor to say the least, but he was determined, jumping into cage after cage after you and visiting you.

~You found his name to be Coriolanus Snow, but never referred to him as such, “snowflake” or “baby girl” seemed more fitting somehow. (Coryo did not agree)

~Didn’t take long for the games to begin, Lucy Gray didn’t have the heart to train with any weapon, but you sure did.

~Getting your hands on a sword was easy aside from Reaper throwing himself at you.

~You felt bad when Jessup was lost to the bloodbath, but that was remedied enough when you killed the boy who did it.

~There was one person you became allies with, little Wovey. You thought Lucy Gray would like her.

~You didn’t talk to her much, mostly dragged her along with you. Not that she needed any convincing.

~She was a great climber though! She could easily climb up into the stands, while you needed her help.

~When the snakes came, you and Wovey happened to have come down to take part in the fighting that was happening.

~She was gone so fast you had no time to mourn her, only running. Run. Run. Run.

~Reaper made no move to escape, but you heard Mizzen die rather loudly. Coral ran behind you as you scaled debris, remembering as many of Wovey’s tactics as possible.

~Coral calling for help was all you could hear, but, well… if you pushed her off then the games would end before the snakes ever reached you, right?

~It did not.

~You lay completely still, not even making an attempt to breathe as they slithered over you. You wondered if Lucy Gray was watching. If you were the only person left, why weren’t you being let out?

~It took a while, but your winning was announced.

~Everything else was a blur as you were delivered back home.

~Lucy Gray had waited for you at the train station for hours, without even knowing if the winner was you.

~She saw you first, and tackled you to the ground in a hug.

~Lucy Gray would cry a lot. “I thought I’d never see you again.” “Don’t ever do that again.” “I love you so much.”

~Your brain lagged over her words before you understood and clutched her desperately to your chest. “I love you too, so much.”

~She thought you deserved to be slapped, but instead she kissed you. Lucy Gray’s lips are dry, but warm. She’d probably forgotten to take a drink once in a while.

~The peacekeepers kicked you out of the train station, but that was fine, you two preferred to celebrate somewhere more private anyway.

~You lay next to Lucy Gray in her bed while she admired every detail of your face, her fingers trailing over your skin lovingly.

~She’d sing to you, hold you, kiss you, tell you how much she loved you.

~Lucy Gray falls asleep first anyway, and you hold her till you fall asleep too.

~It’s the hardest you’ve ever slept in your whole life.

Authors note: I debated between Y/n just dying or actually living but decided I needed to write more. If anyone wants a bad ending let me know. 👹

Also, I’m now taking requests for Lucy Gray because she’s the loml and I need more ideas for scenarios.