#WHATEVER MAY AIL HIM………..

[alrunaaa]

IM LOOKING. IM LOOKING VERY CLOSELY

Caught him mid flu sneezing fit 👀

[isthe-protag-cluelesstho]

Okay, probably not a hot take, but imma scribble about it anyway,

I honestly think Cale Hetinuse/Kim Rok Soo has chronic pain/fatigue.

Like, everybody loves the whole coughing up blood/wet meow meow thing he's always doing, but personally? People who are that nonchalant about Shit Happening To Their Body, are typically people who are waaaaay too used to Fucked Up Shit Happening To Their Body,

It's just a head canon, but as someone who is chronically in pain, I absolutely do some of the stupid shit CH/KRS does, like carrying stuff I should NOT be carrying, or continuing to Do Things even when I should be sitting and resting. I also know several people who (like me) can be experiencing level 4-5 pain and not show a hint on their face/through their actions besides maaaaybe moving a bit slower/stretching more

And we know KRS has been on his own since he was itty bitty... And then he grew up in a world hell bent on killing everyone. I can't help but think that a tiny child with no one to help him with the general cuts/bruises/little hurts of childhood would 1) have zero frame of reference for what "okay" actually looks like 2) probably has never really received medical care beyond emergency assistance (which does jack for chronic conditions) and 3) has NEVER really had someone in his life long enough for them to catch his way of coping with pain (my very close friends can hear when I'm hurting/tired, everyone else only notices if I am visibly incapacitated)

So, Kim Rok Soo ends up in a world/body that "technically" hasn't experienced his life, HOWEVER fibromyalgia and PTSD are like goddamn pb&j. It's a condition that is deeply tied to a body's stress response. And what does Cale say once he has the Heart? "I feel BETTER"

And that just speaks to me of a person who is so used to pain, that it no longer really registers... I had daily headaches for 7 years, it wasn't until I moved and got a new primary that I found out that more than 4 headaches in a month was considered a concern... I got on some migraine meds and actually stopped having that daily headache, something id just accepted as "how my body works" gone,

I personally don't consider pain at a 1-2 as particularly bothersome, it's more like a general annoyance. Onces it's up to 6-7 it's hard for me to move, and yet I often will still do so, despite the pain. It's only at 9-10 so I stop moving entirely and focus on just weathering it. Usually when that happens, I sleep so much after as my body tries to recover.

And when I read Cale, so casually continuing forward, despite the work he takes on himself, after the constant planning and prepping and ass kicking, all I see is a person who has lived so long with his body's suffering that it's just background noise. Yeah, he coughed up some blood, but the pain is back to "normal" so how can he raise a fuss? He killed 3 monsters with a dislocated shoulder that one time, this? This is easy. And despite claiming his body is weak, he refuses to truly accept the help and rest he needs because (like I used to) Cale thinks "this is just how my body works"

Sometimes, I cannot remember how I lived prior to my pain. Sometimes, I cannot imagine a world where I do not spend half the night attempting to force my muscles to relax, so I can actually sleep. I cannot imagine a world where I am able to do everything I want in a day and not collapse at the end. And I see so much of myself in how Cale continues to move despite the weight of the ancient powers, the expectations of the gods and his own personal hopes. He seems like a character doomed to continue walking, his bones broken but refusing the care because whats the point if everything still hurts the same way in the end?

Anyway, Raon should invent a cure for chronic illness and force Cale into a year long sabbatical

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 6th

Day 6: A/B/O Heats or Ruts // Sadism-Masochism // Anonymous Sex

Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, heats, disguises, mentions of killing, mentions of sexual abuse, fear, mating needs, masturbation, begging, mentions of knotting, breeding, protective Pero

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You shiver, body starting to burn, although you are thankful for the stench of the sweat and mud. It masks the scent that would give you away. The days of not bathing and fighting without any chance to rest have concealed your nature, making it easier for you to ride with them until now. Now you will need to slip away. To disappear in the night or risk having to fight off the few true alphas that are in your group. 

There hadn’t been enough time for you to grow attached to them, you had only been traveling with the band of mercenaries for six weeks. You had assumed that your herbs were working, that you wouldn’t go into heat. You were wrong. 

It started with an ache in your belly. Gradually increasing in intensity until Rizzetti was asking you what your problem was. He didn’t actually care, but he was already planning on stripping your body if you were to die of whatever was ailing you. Making you snarl and glare at him until he finally left you alone. 

None of these men know you are a woman. Your dirty appearance and shapeless clothes concealed the truth and you had just told them that you had never been able to grow hair on your face. That had kept you safer than any guards, than hoping someone would protect you. You were exposed to the disgusting nature of most men when a woman is not present, but with your scent masked and your nature unknown, you had slept peacefully until the last few days. 

The fire crackles and burns, snoring from the lumps of blankets gives you some peace. Allowing you to move slowly, Shuffling up and creeping away from the light of the fire. Unaware that a lone set of eyes had been watching your every move. 

****

Whimpering, you know that you have to get to the cave that you had found earlier when you were hunting. It was close to the water and large enough to hide your horse in case any of the men came looking for you. Although you doubt they would. You had been careful to leave all the supplies beyond what you had brought with you. 

The slickness between your thighs is driving you crazy and the clothes are rubbing your skin raw. You need to strip down and try to assuage the burning need in your core by using your fingers. To try to fill the space where an alpha’s knot would be, satisfying you and filling your needy cunt. 

The horse is content with his feed bag and your bedroll spread out, your clothes seem to peel off easily, even though your fingers are shaking. Moaning softly as you feel the cool air of the cave on your skin and soothing the fire that is raging inside you. 

“So you are omega.” You shriek, jumping and spinning around to find Pero Tovar, the Spaniard, holding the reins of your horse and watching you with glittering dark eyes. “I thought I smelled it on you.” 

Your heart pounds, the dagger that had been strapped to your waist discarded on the cave floor, not close enough for you to grab if he decides to lunge at you. He watches you look at it and then back at him. 

“Do not test me.” He warns, nostrils flaring and his chest puffing under the armor he wears beneath the rough fabric of his poncho. Your body tenses, but you don’t move. 

He’s an alpha. You had been wary of the grumpy and often violent mercenary as you had ridden with the group. Unaware of his eyes watching you, but unsettled when he spoke to you, his questions more probing than anything. Now you realize that he had been figuring you out. 

“Please.” You swallow harshly, knowing that you are now at his mercy. Your fate is sealed. You will be dragged back to camp and used by all the alphas there. Abused and stripped of what little dignity you had before they decided what to do with you. 

He grunts, looking towards the cave entrance and then back at you. Obviously weighing his options before he speaks again. “Finish stripping.” He orders, making you choke when you hear the deeper tone of his alpha thread through his command. 

Your eyes close, tears sliding down your cheeks as you obey him. Unable to look as you know that he does the same, preparing to take you. The flick of his leather belt makes you whimper, aware of what unmated alphas do to an unprotected omega. Most do not survive. 

The brush of steel being pulled from a scabbard makes your eyes shoot open after your shirt comes off, finding Pero standing in front of you - still dressed, with his back turned towards you. 

“I-” Astonished, you gape at the broad back of the Spaniard, standing with his legs braced as if anticipating an attack and his sword in one hand, his dagger in the other. 

“Do what you need to care for yourself.” He growls, turning his head slightly but not looking at you. “The others will not touch you.” He turns back his eyes on the entrance of the cave. 

“You- I thought-” You stammer slightly, his own pheromones reaching your nose and making you whine quietly. You can smell his arousal, his own need building and pushing through the stench of sweat and dirt. Still intoxicating and calling to your omega. His looks are dark and foreboding, but his scent is spicy and sweet. Powerful and calming. 

“I have killed,” Pero acknowledges easily. “Robbed people, lied, but I have never taken an unwilling woman, omega or no.” He re-grips his sword in his hand, as if reassuring himself of its presence. “I will not start now, omega.” He promises. “Make your nest.” 

You’re safe. The heat that rushes through you is nearly overwhelming. He is not going to force you to take his cock, to knot you while you are vulnerable. It should be a relief, but it actually just makes you want him to take you. The care of his gesture appealing to your omega, the need to be protected and cared for. 

Now naked, you arrange your bedroll and the few blankets that you have as best you can before you lay down. Watching his back and noticing how stiff he is standing. Your hands running over your skin and a soft moan echoes around the cave. 

Pero shivers, not as immune to your sounds and smells as he would have you believe. His cock hard beneath his trousers, but he cannot abuse you like so many others would. Garin had mentioned your changing smell in passing, both of them the only ones that were aware that you were a woman disguised as a man. He had assumed you were a beta, but now? Now you are in danger from the group. 

Your smell is sweet, calling to him. His own need is building in his loins and he knows that if you stick around, you will throw the entire party into a rut. He will have to kill most of them, although that would not be much of a loss to him. William will not touch you, but he is only one that Pero could guarantee. 

Your moans start to get louder, making him tense and catch the growl in his throat. Wanting to turn around and join you. To replace your fingers with his own and absorb all your sounds for himself. To give you his cock, his knot, and soothe the ache in your womb. To ride you until you are exhausted and filled, heat gone and your body needing rest. He wants to strip down and join you in your nest, caressing and biting your skin, shushing your whimpers and making you cry out for him. 

“Pero.” His body jolts, immediately on fire when he hears the plea in your ears. It’s not the same appeal you had given him when you were afraid he would throw you to the wolves. This is yearning, your omega starting to beg for him. “Alpha, please.” 

Pero closes his eyes, inhaling roughly and his cock is throbbing and leaking into his breeches. Harder than the steel of his blade and his own belly starting to tug harshly with a pain that catches him off guard. 

“Omega.” He hisses, trying to control himself but he shifts slightly, telling himself that he is getting a better view from beyond the horse’s rump, moving a step back towards you. Still he does not turn. 

“I need more.” You pain, your voice straining as you work yourself towards another orgasm. He can hear the slick sounds of your fingers pumping into your cunt and he groans, gripping his weapons so he doesn’t reach for his cock. “I- I- I need you, alpha.” 

There is only so much a man can take, spinning around, Pero growls at the wanton sight in front of him. You are presenting yourself to him, tits arched up and legs spread wide, fingers working furiously between them. His mouth waters and his cock manages to stiffen even more when the full scent of your need hits him. “You don’t mean that.” He grunts, his eyes darker than the moonless night and fixed on your body. 

“I do.” You whimper, rolling your hips and whining when it’s not what you need. What you need is right in front of you. An alpha. Strong and capable of breaking you, but knowing that he would not. He’s already been presented with the opportunity and means to take you. However, he had offered you protection. He had offered you the safety of his sword while you were so vulnerable. Now you want his other sword. “Knot me.” 

Pero’s eyes close and his weapons slip from his hands. Giving in to the call of your scent. Letting it fill his senses and consume him. Fingers reach for the buckles and straps of his armor, needing to be as bare as you are. Wanting to be what you need right now. “Omega.” He murmurs, opening his eyes and they are glowing with command and desire, his alpha completely taking over. 

You bite your lip, realizing that he is asking your permission to join you in the little nest of blankets. Making your heart soar in gratitude that you have found an alpha that shows omegas respects that long been forgotten in this cruel world. Watching him strip off and reveal the lean strength of his body under the layers of clothes and leathers. “Come to me.” You beg, pulling your fingers out of your cunt and reaching for him. Your eyes fixed on his heavy, leaking cock and yearning to feel him locked inside you with his knot. Unafraid for the first time since your body’s needs started to take over and your heat started. Whatever else might happen, right now you have a good alpha to give you what you need. 

[moronkombat]

Can I request bi-han,tomas and kuai Liang with a pregnant s/o? PLEASEEE 🙏

yes yes yes yes YES YES YES YOU CAN I LOVE WRITING THIS STUFF YES YOU CAN ALWAYS REQUEST THIS

Kuai Liang:

He is so soft and gentle with you. While he has always been affectionate he is more forward with it

This often looks like him embracing you in a manner that seems just so delicate and careful. Normally when he wraps his arms around you it is with strength and conviction but this time it much more gentle

When you are ailing, he stays right by your side. His duties as head of the Shirai Ryu go second. He has Tomas take charge then while he dedicates his time to you

Often times, Kuai Liang wishes to lay in bed with you, his head near the life that grows within you and then he sings and hums soft lullabies

When his partner begins to show, his hands are constantly laid atop your abdomen. The first kick he feels has his eyes welling with tears and he thanks you. For what you aren't exactly sure but you're not about to ask him when there is such a look of tranquility about him

Overall he is calm and very collected throughout it all. Your emotions rule you while his are there to help you. He loves you and he loves your baby. It's almost as if he's waited his entire life to have a moment like this

If you baby is a boy, he names the child after his father. You do not protest this as you know how important that is for him

Tomas:

Tomas is excited, over the moon with joy and elation. He picks up you, twirls you around. He's wanted this for so long. A family, his family, he's going to have a family

He is very catering to your needs and will do whatever he cans to help his partner through his experience.

He still very aware of his duties to the Shirai Ryu and takes them very seriously but there's this understanding between him and Kuai Liang so his responsibilities conveniently seem to lessen when his partner is pregnant

Tomas' favorite thing to do is lay his head so very gently against your stomach and just close his eyes and imagine the future of his little family

When he sleeps next to you, his hand is always draped across your abdomen, never once does it waver

Before the two of you fall asleep, he talks to you about all he wants to do with you and the baby once they are born. He's so starry eyed about it and he talks about it until he ends up falling asleep

He would name the baby after his either his sister, mother or father

Bi-Han

Nervous. Scared, shaken and petrified. He has not the first idea of what it means to be a father. His own relationship with his father was so strained, will it be that way for him to?

He doesn't want it to be but his thoughts are consumed with all the what ifs even when your baby is not yet born

Not only is he nervous of becoming a father, he is nervous that something may happen to you. What if something goes wrong? what if you get sick?

Bi-Han is very firm with having you stay well rested and practically not lifting a finger during your pregnancy

Even when stepping up and down the stairs, he needs someone walking with you. What if you trip?

He is involved as much as he can be but Bi-Han does not pull himself away from his duties of being the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. If you are pregnant after the split between him and his brothers, he has even less time with you

You keep him up to date with everything though and he appreciates it. He wants to know how all the doctor appointments went and is often seeking second opinions just to ensure you are truly healthy and that your baby is too

During those moments when you and him have that time together, he is usually quiet and reserved. He prefers to sit next to you and hear your voice while he occasionally touches your growing stomach. He thinks then what it would be like to hold your baby. How small would they be? Would they cry? Would they smile? He doesn't know but he wants to

He would name the baby something proud and regal. A strong sounding name that carries weight and merit

[stanathanxoox]

Our Babies

“Our babies would be so cute.”

“Oh, yeah?” - Ominis Gaunt x MC

You had just escaped from the hospital wing, your boyfriend helping to escort you there when you had began to feel incredibly nauseous and dizzy during potions class with Professor Sharp. Matron Blainely had insisted that you spent the rest of the day in the hospital wing until whatever ails you passed, having sent Ominis back to class straight after he was sure you were settled. Matron Blainely had run some tests throughout the afternoon and come to only one conclusion, one that you should’ve probably suspected given your most recent turn in your relationship with your boyfriend. You made your way through the door into the room of requirement, having sent Ominis an owl when you were being released from the hospital wing for him to meet you there. You settled on the couch having noticed that he hadn’t arrived yet. Deek appeared a couple minutes later and bowed in front of you saying

“I have a plate full of plain crackers and some soup at Matron Blainely’s request for you Miss Y/N, she said that given your certain situation at the moment you may not feel like eating what is being served for dinner in the Great hall”. You take it gratefully, and chew slowly on the crackers

“Thank you Deek, I appreciate it greatly. Do you mind giving me and Ominis some space while I tell him?” you ask and Deek nods, taking your hand in his small one before he says

“Mr Gaunt has been worried sick about you all day Miss Y/N, kept on calling me to see if I knew any more about your condition. I’m sure he will be positively thrilled to hear your news”. And with that theres a poof and Deek is gone.

You don’t have time to even think or dwell on what Deek had just said to you because the door cracks open and you hear the worried voice of your boyfriend call out

“Y/N? Are you in here? I got your owl and came as quickly as I could” he says as he rushes into the room. You stand and make your way over to him, suddenly very nervous about the whole situation. You had known right from the beginning of your friendship with Ominis that he didn’t care much for his family or for what they had done and how much he wanted to escape. How much after this last year of school he wanted to leave and never return to his families home ever again. You hadn’t really talked about children apart from that if you had them they weren’t to be anything like his family. But you couldn’t help but worry what would happen given that you were both unmarried and - you couldn’t think of that. Your hands are ringing together, a sign of how anxious and nervous you are, something that even though Ominis can’t see he can still pick up

“My sweet Y/N, what is wrong?” he asks, placing his hands gently on your arms to reassure you

“Our babies would be so cute” you say, blurting the first thing that comes to your mind, another anxious trait you had. He raises an eyebrow even more confused as he asks

“Oh yeah?” and you nod your head before gently taking his hands and placing them on the slight bump that is your growing baby. You watch the different expressions flicker across his face, from shock, astonishment and wonder, to happiness and excitement

“Are you serious right now?” he asks, his voice a whisper and you nod leaning in and whispering

“Yes Ominis, we’re having a baby, Blainely thinks I’m about 12 and a half weeks pregnant” 

“We’re having a baby” he whispers before pressing a kiss to your lips and you smile

“Ominis, what does this mean for us and the baby?” you ask and he places a kiss to your forehead

“We have two months left till graduation my sweet girl, and then we can marry and raise this baby  together” he declares as if it was the surest thing in the whole world.

“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods

“Of course I’m sure my sweet girl, a life without you in it just doesn’t seem worth living and now that I know we’re having our own precious little one well that’s even more reason for us to be together don’t you think sweet girl?” he asks and you nod, as tears slip down your face

“I love you Ominis” you whisper and he beams. 

Tag List: @tiva-jenry-caskett-rizzles-densi​, @jimmybpride​, @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​, @nikkiwierden​, @samchelforever007​, @kirkspockbones​, @xoncisxncislaxncisnolaox​, @lasalle-pride-sebastian-love​, @haliannej​, @brooklyn-99-amyxjake​​, @mizzezm​, @genius2050​, @twilight-twihard​, @cullencoven2019​, @wxlfgirlx​, @luciferxchloeislove​, @drethanramsey-ismybabe​, @sawyer-oakley-is-mighty-fine​, @loverofoneshots​, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen​​

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Singing Princess

My take on a fairy tale of type 306: The twelve dancing princesses / The shoes that were danced to pieces (but what if there was only one of them, and what if she was queer). [Also on AO3.]

Once upon a time there was a king who had only one daughter and a plumper, pleasanter, prettier maiden had never been seen wearing a crown. She was the apple of her father’s eye and so anxious he was for her health and well-being that her bed was hung with curtains of the thickest velvet and that every night after she had gone to bed, the doors and windows to her room were all locked and barred. All so that she may sleep soundly and undisturbed.

Of all the princess’s many talents, her beautiful singing delighted the court most of all. No one knew of a sweeter voice than that of their princess when she let her voice ring out merrily in the great hall. So it was a great sadness indeed when it came to pass that one day, after the princess had finally got out of bed to a very late breakfast, it was discovered that she could not sing a single note. Indeed she was so hoarse and tired that she could barely speak, and when she did speak she was yawning all the while, as if she had not slept a wink.

In time, with lazing about in the garden and resting in the parlour she was no longer so sleepy, but her poor voice did not recover until it was time to retire to bed. And the next morning it was the same thing all over again!

So it went for weeks and weeks. The princess never sang anymore, though she smiled often enough. And while she went early to bed and was late to rise, she was forever trying to hide her yawns behind her fan.

The king was worried sick and the whole court lamented, for no one could understand what strange kind of illness had come over their princess.

At last the king could take it no longer and he proclaimed to all the kingdom that whoever could find out how to cure his daughter would be given their weight in gold and then some. Many came, many boasted, many sat at the princess’s bedroom door and tried to find out what ailed her. But none of them could stay awake to watch her. Whatever remedy they suggested, it was all for naught, and the king had them sent away in disgrace.

Now it happened that not very far from the castle lived a young couple with two small children and one more on the way, who often saw the king and the princess ride by in their carriage. And they said to one another that while the princess did not look at all sickly, it was a bad thing to have such a mystery hanging about her. And besides, they would very much like to receive such a kingly sum of gold.

So the following day the young father kissed his wife and children and went to the castle to tell the king that he would like to try his luck at finding out what afflicted the princess. The king agreed and after the princess had withdrawn for the night, the young father was brought to a small antechamber to the princess’s bedroom, after which all the doors and windows were locked. Only the door between the antechamber and the bedroom was left open, so that he might watch over the princess during the night.

The princess very politely wished him goodnight from behind the heavy velvet curtains round her bed. But a few moments later she began a lilting lullaby, as if to sing herself to sleep. The young father lay listening and he did not wonder at everyone who came before him not being able to stay awake. He almost fell asleep himself, but with every lilting trill of her voice he started awake again and looked around wildly for his children, as if he had heard the very beginning of a baby’s cry. He kept quiet though and did not stir, and after a long while the chamber grew silent. After a longer while still, he heard a rustling of bedding in the princess’s bedroom, and when he slyly opened one eye to see what he should see, the princess was quietly getting out of her bed.

She tiptoed across the floor and quietly took out her loveliest clothes and finest jewels and prettiest ornaments and primped and preened until she was a vision of beauty. Then she took hold of the heavy bed curtains, drew them shut, then drew them back once more, and as she pulled them aside there was a stairwell leading down where a moment before her bed had been. With one last glance over her shoulder she gaily lifted up her skirts and ran down the steps into the dark.

The young father was so surprised she had gotten quite a head start on him before he was able to follow her and he did not dare to hurry, for fear of making any noise. So he followed the princess at a distance, climbing all the way down until the stone steps became hard earth and lights began to shimmer in the distance.

The princess hurried on and the young father followed, until they came to a winding path that led into a beautiful grove. All the trees were tall and slender and every single one of them had leaves of shining silver. The princess did not look left or right, but the young father reached out and plucked a silver leaf from one of the trees so that he might be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

The path went on and as they went, the trees around them grew larger and older and all their leaves were glimmering gold. And further still the trees were so many it was no longer possible to stray from the path, and all their leaves were of dazzling diamond. The young father plucked a golden and a diamond leaf too and hid them in his pocket.

At the very heart of that strange forest, old, deep-rooted trees twisted all about, bowing low and spreading their branches to form a shady bower. In its entrance stood a lady of unearthly beauty, proud and tall, with a smile that was as eager as it was sharp and eyes that were as endless as they were wild. She held out her arms, laughing like the wind does, and the princess ran to her.

The lady caught her up in her arms and whisked her off her feet. She carried her into the bower, as the branches closed rustling around them, to a bed spread with shimmering silk. And there the princess sang like a bird, all night long.

Just before dawning, the princess emerged from her hiding place and hurried back along the forest path. She was not so fast as she had been before and often the young father had to halt his step for fear of catching up with her. But at last they were climbing the stone steps back into the royal palace and the princess was so worn out and sleepy that she did not notice him slipping out behind her.

She drew the curtains and threw them back again, restoring her bed to its rightful place. Then she took off all her finery, hid everything neatly away, and collapsed into bed to sleep like a rose.

Now the astonished young father did not sleep a wink. For a while he thought he had dreamed the whole thing, but there in his pocket were the three shimmering leaves, as real as the nose on his face. So he lay there in silence, frowning like anything, wondering what to do. Imagine what might happen if the princess did not make it home before dawn one night? They could not loose their only princess to the fairies, that would never do. But what should be done about it?

So he lay thinking, as long as the princess lay sleeping. And when she finally rose, near the end of the morning, she was just as drowsy and heavy-eyed, exactly as hoarse and voiceless as she had been the day before. The courtiers lamented, but the young father had risen with a smile and immediately asked to speak to the king in private, to discuss what ailed his daughter.

“Your Majesty,” he said solemnly, “your noble daughter is lonesome. She weeps in her sleep and this wears out her sweet voice so by night that she cannot sing by day. If you will take my advice, my liege, you must call to your castle every young woman who is of age and unmarried and willing to leave home, and let your daughter pick from among them whomever she likes best to be her companions and confidantes. Do this and all will be well, I am sure.”

It was done exactly as the young father recommended and to the entire court’s joy and astonishment, it went precisely as he had predicted. From then on the princess appeared at breakfast bright and early, almost every morning, surrounded by her new companions and in high enough spirits to sing all day long.

The king did not know how to praise the young father highly enough. He gave him trice his weight in gold and then some extra because his daughter begged him to, and the young father returned home to his wife and children with as much fanfare as any knight of noble blood.

His wife kissed him and his children hugged him and they were merry all day long. And when the children had been put to bed and his wife had put her feet up, he told her all about what had happened at the palace. Then they both laughed and blushed and laughed again until they were quite out of breath. The three peculiar leaves they hid away for another day, for you never knew. And from that day on they lived comfortably and happily and drank to the health of their princess at every breakfast.

[nakedisko]

Today's yap: Commedia dell'arte & Gay subtext; Why is Közi dressed as the Pierrot in Verte Aile?

I've talked about this on Twitter a few months ago but since it is now banned to me i'll post my thoughts here as well. Hear me out.

First of all, let's just summarize the plot: Gackt and Judith are a happy couple who live with the nobleman Kami, Judith's brother Yu~ki and Mana, a maid/prostitute. Everything was fine until Gackt dreamed that a misfortune would befall them. Worried, he and Judith go to visit a fortune teller who, after a blood pact, warns them that they are cursed and Judith will die. Gackt gets depressed and spends his days at the bar lamenting the inevitable. When Judith finally dies, Gackt is left with the regret of not having enjoyed the time he still had with her.

There is also a subplot involving the hooded man and the book that leads to Gekka no Yasoukyoku PV, but that's not the focus right now.

You see, the Pierrot is originally a Commedia dell'arte character. It was an improvised form of theater, the shows took place on improvised stages and carts, the actors using whatever they could find around. The plot of the plays usually revolved around stories of lovers who could not stay together or master-servant relationships. the actors wore masks to play their characters, which were usually the same regardless of the story. Here are the three most relevant ones: Arlecchino, Colombina and Pierrot.

The most popular script involving them is simple: Pierrot is in love with Colombina and writes letters to her in secret, as he doesn't have the courage to confess his feelings. Then he gets his heart broken when Colombina gets with Allerchinno, who is more charismatic and flirtatious. Basically a love triangle.

Now, what does this have to do with Verte Aile?The thing is that there is also a love triangle, although more subtle. Gackt, Judith and Kami, I wouldn't say Kami is in love with Judith though, but with Gackt.

Notice that while Kami's character is in the spotlight, he's always looking at the couple, especially at Gackt. His expression is not one of joy though, he looks upset. And just like Pierrot, he does nothing but watch.

back to Közi, in his pantomime play is interesting to note how the soundtrack gives us clues about the characters' feelings. The scene begins with Közi performing a cheerful song, we have a close-up on each of the characters watching the performance and then... when the camera stops on Kami, he is gazing at Gackt and the music becomes melancholic.

Közi then simulates crying in his performance and cut his wrist, which Kami also did soon after that.

Also, Közi was wearing a mask that he took off just before he cut himself. Kami is the only character to appear wearing masks after this (Bel Air PV.) The mask may symbolize the feelings he was hiding the whole time.

I believe Közi's Pierrot symbolizes Kami's feelings for Gackt. seems very plausible to me, since it's not the first time Malice Mizer includes queer elements and Gackt participated in the script writing. If you know him you know he includes BL in his works quite often.

If you don't like this theory, you can also just say that Kami was in love with Judith. But I honestly don't see him paying any special attention to her during the movie. So it's up to you! Maybe I'll write more another day. ^3^

[thegoldencontracts]

Kiss-Kiss K.O.~!

Summary: Your boyfriend keeps telling you he'll faint if you keep being so affectionate with him. Little do you know, he's right.

Pairing: Azul/Reader

Notes: Reader is completely gender neutral. Hehehe Azul bbg I would treat you so right just sign this marriage contract teehee-

A normal day at the lounge. You, In the VIP room, sitting next to Azul while you both did work together. Things were peaceful, and Azul was there, which made everything better.

While you worked, your attention drifted to Azul. You wanted him to talk to you. Or kiss you. Or maybe you wanted to kiss him. Something like that.

"Hey, Azul!" You said.

"Yes?" He said, a smug grin on his face. "Would you like something? Perhaps you're lonely? If so, I'd be more than happy to shower you with my affections as you please. You need only ask."

That wasn't even what you wanted to do, but now you were flustered, damnit! Damn your boyfriend and his silver tongue! And damn you for liking this so much!

"Really, now," he said, holding your hand up in a may that did more damage to your heart than any of those triple-deep-fried foods they sold at state fairs. "You look positively adorable like this! How could I possibly resist?"

"I- uh, just-" he snickered as you gave up, and you realized you were pouting. Damnit.

You weren't sure what exactly he couldn't resist until he kissed your hand. Your face was burning. This shouldn't've been such a big deal. It was fine. You were fine.

You were not fine. You glared at Azul. He did this to you . This was his fault. He shouldn't have been so insanely charming. Why was he so hot?

"My, my," he said. "It seems as if you're having trouble concentrating. Is something ailing you?"

Yep, something was ailing you. And you knew the cure.

You leaned in real to press a quick kiss to his mole. Kissing Azul made everything better.

"This was about you, you know," he said. "I think I ought to be the one kissing you, rather than the other way around."

He seemed perfectly smug while he talked, and someone might think he didn't like being kissed. But the red on his cheeks said otherwise.

"No, No," you said. "Let's keep going."

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, grinning at the shudder he couldn't keep in. And then you pressed another, slightly lower than the first. And another. And another, until-

"Y-You!" Azul screeched, face bright red. "This is highly unprofessional!"

Good thing you didn't have a profession, then. That meant you'd get to do this more.

"And?" You said, pressing another kiss, this time to his nose, laughing as he failed around in his chair. "I like doing this. You look adorable when you get all flustered."

He'd said that last sentence to you so many times before. It felt so good throwing it back at him.

"I am not adorable." He said. "I am a businessman, I am intimidating, not-"

You cut him off by kissing him right next to the lips. He looked away from you, scowling.

"What happened to that grin when you were kissing me a few minutes ago?" You asked. "Is it that you can't take what you dish out?"

Although you didn't think it was possible, his face somehow got redder. He looked away, too embarrassed to meet your eyes. He looked so pretty when he was flustered. Actually, he was pretty in general.

Really, you were lucky to have him. He was so pretty, so perfect.

"T-That isn't true in the slightest," Azul mumbled.

Oops. Did you just say that out loud? Whatever. Azul deserved to hear nice things about himself anyway.

But he was denying it. That wouldn't do at all.

Without warning, you kissed him, this time, trailing down his face with more kisses until he finally pushed you away with a yelp.

"Stop," he pleaded, though something told you he didn't want you to stop.

"Do you really want me to stop?" You asked, grinning as he shook his head. "That's what I thought."

"Seven, if you tease me any more, I'll faint," Azul groaned, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Right," you said, leaning in to kiss him again.

And then he fainted.

He just fainted. Because you kissed him too much. Were you going to laugh, or panic because the twins might get here and grill you on what happened any moment?

The door slamming open answered that question for you.

In walked Jade, polite face turning into one that screamed murder as he looked at Azul's limp body.

"My, my," he said, "care to explain what happened here?"

You got where he was coming from. Azul, who'd been fine that morning, fainting out of nowhere? And you were the only person in the room with him? You would blame you too if you were him.

Right after him, walked Floyd, who gave you an annoyed look after seeing Azul's body.

"Hey, Grouper Fish," Floyd changed your old nickname to that ever since you'd started dating Azul. Something, something, symbiotic relationship, you vaguely recalled Jade explaining. "What happened here?"

"Well-" you realized how dumb your explanation sounded. There was no way the twins would believe it. "I, uh, can't say."

Jade raised an eyebrow.

"You are aware that your words give me reason to believe Azul s current state is your doing, no?"

"Yeah," you said, gulping.

"Can I squeeze Grouper Fish now, Jade?" Floyd said.

"Not yet," Jade said before gesturing to the security camera. "It would be best to review the security camera footage before jumping to conclusions."

He turned to you.

"Meanwhile," he said, "Would you mind bringing Azul to his room?"

You nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. The twins would realize what actually happened. You were safe.

A bit of struggling later, you managed to get Azul to his room. Now, all you had to do, was wait.

A while later, Azul woke up.

"What- happened?" He groaned, before flushing red as the memories came back to him. "Ah."

"Sorry, Azul," you said. "I probably should've toned it down a little."

"No, no," he said. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm simply- not used to such gestures of affection."

"I think that's a bit of an understatement," you said. "Anyways, Jade and Floyd came and saw you fainted. I was scared, dude. Thought they were gonna turn me into fish food."

"I apologize for that," he said. "Please accept a free meal at the lounge ad compensation."

You nodded in acceptance, though you were probably going to try and pay for it on secret anyways.

"Wait." Azul said, eyes wide.

"Yeah?"

"The twins have access to the security camera footage. They likely saw everything that happened."

"And?" You asked, before it hit you. "Oh. Sorry."

"Ugh," he groaned. "I'm never going to hear the end of this!"

[tokiwarcube]

Hugging Dethklok is...

Just some little headcanons on what it would be like to hug the boys (+Charles) when you're having a rough time.

Hugging Charles is…

Warm. There’s a lot of things in this world Charles can fix… and many that he can’t, loathe as he is to admit it. It’s what he does, after all. He makes things right. So when the world is crashing down upon you, it pains him beyond belief to know that he can’t just fix what ails you. But little does he know, he still lightens the burden just by being him. You’d think him stiff and unsure, but after so long of knowing you, the comfort seems to come easier. He’s good at giving advice when needed, but it’s nothing compared to the way he holds you — firm yet soothing as he runs his hand comfortingly along your upper arm, before kneading tender circles into your shoulder. Stable. Steady. Even when things look bleak, he exudes such a warm, patient presence that, even if only for the moment, makes things more bearable.

Hugging Nathan is…

Safe. He doesn’t give hugs often, but when he does, he does a good job at making you feel protected. From the world. From yourself. From all the suffocating black clouds of fear and anxiety that threaten to choke you, and leave you dead where you stand. He doesn’t really know how to talk you through whatever it is that you’re struggling with, but that’s okay — sometimes the silence is better, anyways. Strong arms wrapped around your form like a shield against that all that plagues you, steady heartbeat beneath your head narrowing your thoughts onto that singular sound… He wishes he could make things better for you with a wave of his hand, but not all problems are so easy. Until then, this is enough.

Hugging Pickles is…

Familiar. You’ve spent so many days and nights in each others’ embrace that when things get rough, you hardly even have to ask. There’s an odd thing that comes with grief — the constant well-wishes and special treatment, which appreciated in some respects, sometimes just makes things feel… worse. Alienating. A perpetual reminder that things aren’t what they should be, right now. But Pickles is different. You can talk about it if you want to, sure, but if you don’t? He can just hold you for now — content to simply be with you, unwavering in his place in your life. The familiarity of it helps detract a bit from the aching reminder of the unfamilar. If you want him to hold you tighter, or talk, or shut up… just say the word. He’s there for you.

Hugging Skwisgaar is…

Feeling seen. Skwisgaar struggles with a lot of things in this realm — giving affection, receiving affection, talking about fears and pain and sadness… so frankly, he doesn’t. Not unless it’s you — by you, for you. He’s all gangly limbs and simmering insecurity, but for you, he tries. So when he pulls you to his chest, long arms curled around your middle as he rubs tender circles against your skin, you know he’s truly, truly there for you. Not out of obligation, or as a half-assed attempt at placating you — He would never push himself so far out of his comfort zone if he didn’t truly want to help lighten your burden. When he hums little affirmations, you know he’s actually listening: He may not know exactly what to say, but he makes you feel heard. Seen. He may not have all of the solutions to what you’re going through, but the simple fact that he’s here, unwavering in his love even when he doesn’t know just how to express it, is enough.

Hugging Toki is…

Secure. Toki is no stranger to affection, but when you really need it, he pours every ounce of love he can into the gesture. Sometimes you forget how strong he is — in every sense of the word, really — until you’re pressed against him like his. Hugging Toki has always made you feel safe, but in times like this, he makes you feel secure, too. Secure in the way of knowing that the horrors of the world aren’t going to keep you down forever. Secure in the way of knowing that you’re not going to go through this alone. Do you want to talk about it? He’ll listen to every word you have to say, chiming in when he can, and placing little kisses to your temple when he can’t. His mustache presses against your skin so familiarly when he does, and it’s then that you know that you won’t have to go through this alone.

Hugging William is…

A promise. There’s a lot of things William missed out on in life — chiefly that of comfort. So in some respects, you’d think he’d be unsure of how to give it — and perhaps that isn’t entirely inaccurate. But he dreamt often of such gestures, a sort of guilty pleasure if you will… so while he might not be certain of the perfect way to help, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he pours every ounce of love that he can into the gesture when you need it the most. And oh, does it ever show — he drops his voice into a half-whisper as he whispers little affirmations, of how it’ll be okay, how you’re going to get through this, how you’re not alone. And anyone could say these things, sure, but from him? They sound like they really could be true — not generic nothings, but actual promises. And with how close he holds you, how warmly he speaks, how much physical warmth he seems to exude… you start to believe him.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have theory why Vil is feeling sick is because he is in a overblot boy's dream. If you think of the rest before Vil, none of them have a problem yet Vil has the shortest yet is feeling sick. This might be because he is an overblot boy in another overblot's dream. Idia didn't have a problem because he is not directly in a overblot dream which is why he is like that. Although there is a chance that Vil is still sick from his overblot dream but Idia doesn't have much of a problem.

If this is the case, Jamil and the rest of overblot boys will feel the same. Like for example, Jamil in Azul's dream and he is sick already. Azul in Leona's dream and he is sick. And Leona in Riddle's dream and he is sick.

This makes me worried on where the final battle be once they gather everyone and if it is in Malleus's dream, then the overblot boys might end up sick.

[Referencing the book 7 part 9 update!]

Hmmm 🤔 I thought it was just because Vil was panicked from falling at the start of the update and hadn’t fully recovered from the motion sickness. Then again, I’ll admit I was not paying a lot of attention to him, nor dis we check in with him enough to really get a sense for how his condition was progressing.

Something else I thought of was maybe he’s worn out from that segment every OB boy gets where they fight against their inner darkness?? Idia wouldn’t be as effected due to a combination of his curse burning up blot when he uses magic as well as not being physically present with the gang (he’s there via his tablet). Meanwhile Vil, Jamil, etc. would be more tiresome after those battles.

That aside, I don’t think it’s a case of the OB boy getting sick because of being in another OB boy’s dream. Ortho runs a scan on Vil and Kalim around the tail end of the part 9 update and concludes that they their conditions are similar, so… whatever is ailing Vil is also ailing Kalim. (I imagine they’d have to find similar excuses for the other boys that will join us to stay behind + rest in order to keep the number of students that dream hop low.) Since Kalim took a beating from Jamil in earlier, I’m wagering it may just be general tiredness associated with that? But then that doesn’t make sense because why wouldn’t Silver and Sebek also be tired?? They’ve literally been trudging through a war ravaged land for like half of book 7 😭 I don’t know, it’s weird. Maybe they’ll elaborate in a future update, but until further notice I’ll chalk it up to motion sickness.

Ultimately what I think this will amount to is maybe everyone will be so exhausted by the time the students are rallied. No one can fight in top condition so it forces them into a situation where they have to rely on their classmates to cover for them. Teamwork makes the dream work and all that. Alternatively, the onset of tiredness might just be a contrived convenience they wrote in to prevent the travel group from getting increasingly bloated and fighting for lines every update 💀 And honestly, it’s probably the latter because now book 7 is built on a lot of conveniences.

[sol-kha-ne-lubri-if]

Sol-kha-ne-Lubri

Rational is to Irrational as Irrational is to Rational. Then again, in this land, Rational is to Rational as Irrational is to Irrational, and Positives are to Negative as Negative is to Compromise; This ways are that ways, one ways are other ways. This way, that, here, over there, which way is true and what way leads fair?

Your home land is odd– a rarity, that much is a given, but even in a land of all that is odd and irregular, that doesn’t stop unhidden exclusivity in the form of a certain acceptance letter for which you had been ridden.

Welcome to Sol Kha-ne Lubris, even the richest royal families couldn’t pay their way into these academy walls.

There are two sides to every coin, parallel lines that are never meant to meet. But since when have the dreamscapes every been one to abide by those rules?

You play as... You, or-- well, more accurately, you play as the ever-fantastic you, a regular in a realm of oddity and circumstance, a wonderful, enigmatic you who has just been offered acceptance into the most prestigious magical academy in the dreamscape.

And as you... You guide yourself, both physically and mentally, though the halls of this new school, making allies and (possibly) starring in a very casual(?) school romance with the next generation’s elite.

۞ Play as a being of your choice, whether male, female, neither and all, no one would dare step on your shoes without being respectful of how you are called.

۞ Have your ancestry come from a land of riches, or a land of the cymbal waeves? the Victorian ages or the age of industrialism? Whether you live in a forest, a mountain, the skies or the oceans, the academy’s exclusivity is not limited to where your birth is.

۞ Care you for dolls? For stars? For royal romances? a group of 6 students are susceptible no matter how you play your advances. 

۞ Do you excel in history and language, or the art of alchemy, or physical prowess. The academy accommodates all sorts of knowledge, so no need to fret. Should you excel in none of them, then how strange that your acceptance had been granted without need for background process… 

۞ Dreamers are those who walk through your lands and think of it all as fantastical. However, one familiar dreamer in particular seems quite lost. Do you truly care for them as an equal despite your otherworldly hailing, or will you show that keeping them alive comes at a hefty cost?

ღ Dottie Hendrix, The Almighty: Entitled, egotistical, and ethereal, Dottie is the top dog at this school with the intelligence to back it up. For your sake, you best hope she finds you fun to keep her company. 

ღ Ambrose Hendrix, The Lapdog: Loyal to one and only one. He isn’t afraid to use whatever means possible to ensure the safety of his allegiance, even if it means using his siblings and cousins.

ღ Loriette Kei, The Cheshire Cat: A mercenary in their own right, they work from the shadows that share the same color as their primary source power, eyes always watching, smile never waning.

ღ Lorelei Kei, The Plague Doctor: Keeping her eyes downcast but ears sharp and senses keen, they seem to have the answer for any ail that may befall you, but do you dare keep your eyes open during her procedure?

ღ Nadia, Half a whole kingdom: Birds of a feather flock together, one half of a whole. The supposed “naughty” to the “nice”, be as kind to him as you want, she has their own standards on who keeps her graces.

ღ Noré, Half a whole government: Birds of a feather flock together, one half of a whole. The supposed “nice” to the “naughty”, but is he good enough to keep in your circle of trustees?

⚜⚜ ☾ ⚜⚜ ☾ ⚜⚜ ♔ ⚜⚜ ☽ ⚜⚜ ☽ ⚜⚜

DEMO https://dashingdon.com/go/13924

[watatsumiis]

Reader With Anxiety (Part 1)

Reader is having anxiety. Characters comfort them in various in-character ways.

CW for general talk of anxiety and some of its symptoms. This is based on personal experience and can differ for others. Different techniques work for different people. This is a comfort fic, not an informational piece. A few mentions of certain characters having struggles of their own with anxiety.

Gender neutral reader, platonic relationships/fluff. 

Characters: Al Haitham, Ayato, Childe, Diluc, Itto, Zhongli

Al Haitham’s approach borders on clinical. Though he’s experienced anxiety in the past (both his own and his roommate’s), he struggles to empathise with your struggles and doesn’t really know how to approach you. He takes a little while to pick up on your tenseness, then even longer to act on it - he may come off as brash or dismissive at first when you try to explain what’s ailing you, but in reality he’s working through it in his brain, approaching it from every possible angle as he works to try and solve the intricate equation in the most efficient way. He tends to quash down his own worries instead of facing them, but he doesn’t want that for you - he also figures that pulling all-nighters and drinking wine like his roommate might not be very healthy, either, so he does his own research and pulls up a list of grounding techniques for you to try, and will calmly walk you through each one and take careful note of which ones make the most significant differences for you. He’s very calm and level headed throughout the whole ordeal, even if you are not, so his unshakeable attitude can do wonders to help soothe you as well. Once all is said and done, he may (almost meekly) approach you and ask how he did, how he can do better in future, what worked and what didn’t. It’s almost like he’s collecting results from an experiment. 

Ayato will basically try to find and eliminate whatever he thinks is the source of your worry. He’s a very straightforward man in that respect - he sees a problem, that problem requires a solution. Half of his job is making solutions, he figures it’s not exactly hard. He always thought he was quite good at talking Ayaka down when she was younger and fretted even more than she does now. So, in some cases, you may find that certain problems of yours seem to just… quietly fade into the background. Mora woes? He’ll just throw piles of money at the issue until it’s gone. You hate your job? Huh, it seems that one of your superiors has been fired and you’re first in line for a promotion. Funny, that. If, for whatever reasons, that doesn’t (or can’t) work, he’ll sit you down and try to talk you through it. He encourages you to talk about your anxieties, what you think is causing them, what has helped in the past, all those sorts of things. He turns almost uncharacteristically quiet and genuine during these conversations, sitting across from you and listening carefully as you talk. He still tries to do things to fix these problems unless you directly ask him not to though.

Childe gets ‘zoomies’ when he’s anxious, he gets jittery and jumpy and all over the place, so he expects you to be the exact same. He may take some time, but eventually he will notice that you’re acting fidgety or quiet, and his solution is to pretty much pull you into a large, open area and walk you through various fighting techniques or exercises. It can be really overwhelming, and he will back off if it seems like you aren’t coping with it, but sometimes working out that anxious energy is the perfect way to help. He acts so bright and cheery that it helps distract you. Sometimes, if he’s feeling particularly soft, he might allow you to get a few extra hits in or even knock him over just to see the way you brighten up and begin to regain your confidence. Failing that, he’ll cook you a really nice hearty meal and tell you about how his mother taught him that it’s “basically impossible to be anxious while eating.”

Diluc will essentially evacuate you from the situation - his decorum goes out the window when he notices you’re acting distressed. The way he sweeps you out of the room as he drapes his heavy jacket over your shoulders is almost like he’s shielding you from attackers. He’s had his fair share of anxiety attacks in the past and just does for you what he wishes someone would’ve done for him in his adolescence. He’ll find somewhere quiet for you to sit, make you a warm drink and stay nearby as you cool off. He won’t address it directly or ask you any questions, which can be a blessing or a curse depending on your preferences, but he’s still open to talking about it if it seems like that’s what you need. If you’re up for it, he may also assign you some meaningless busywork around the winery, something to keep your hands and mind busy so you don’t have time to dwell on whatever it is that’s ailing you. It’s always something extremely low pressure, such as watering houseplants or sorting papers. 

Itto is as lighthearted about this as he is with many things. It takes him quite a long time to notice that you’re feeling off - it’s not that he ignores the people around him, sometimes he’s just a bit of an airhead who struggles to perceive anything out of the scope of his own boisterous, joyous aura. Even once he’s noticed and started to address it, you suspect that it may have been Shinobu’s prompting that caused him to finally pick up on it. He acts sort of clumsy around you at first, uncharacteristically worried that you might be upset at him for whatever reason, or that he’s just making things worse, but that clears up pretty quickly as he convinces himself that you absolutely need him to swoop in and save you as soon as possible. He won’t directly confront you, but instead he turns the silly metre up to full blast, pulling all the goofs and gaffs that he knows have cheered you up in the past. He’s acting like a complete and utter fool, just in an attempt to try and distract you from whatever thoughts have you all wrapped up inside your own head. 

Zhongli realises practically the same moment you start acting off. He can be block-headed sometimes, but distress is something he’s taught himself to notice over the years. He’ll calmly pull you aside, being careful not to raise any suspicion or draw any attention, and will take both your shaking hands in his to steady them and ask you what’s wrong, what he can do to help. If you’re not sure, he’ll run you through various grounding techniques. His favourites are getting you to describe various things around you, or passing you some kind of trinket to look over to distract you while he tells you about it (oftentimes it's a piece of his jewellery or an interesting rock). Another one is that he gets you to talk about five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can touch/feel, two things you can smell and one thing you can taste. He’s got a whole arsenal of soothing techniques up his sleeve and is great at keeping track of which ones work best for you. Sometimes, just hearing his calm, deep voice droning on about whatever subject he feels like sharing is more than enough to help distract and calm you down. 

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or used to teach bots!

[maharlika]

blossom

for the prompt "halstarion hanahaki AU" for @cielsosinfel

--

Astarion had left the druid as a last resort, but by the third night that he’d thrown up blood-stained flowers, he decided that this was likely far beyond any normal sickness. 

Halsin hummed under his breath as he examined what Astarion had brought him: bright yellow petals from tulips, daffodils, and carnations, all dripping with whatever blood Astarion had fed on prior. 

“Any other symptoms?” Halsin asked, in that deep, rumbling voice of his.

Astarion automatically felt his face turn hot, a strange experience that only occurred when he was full. He was not quite used to it.

“I feel a bit warm,” Astarion said.

“May I feel your forehead?” Halsin asked. Astarion nodded soundlessly, and flushed even hotter when Halsin placed a large hand on his skin.

“Do you feel feverish?” Halsin asked.

Astarion shrugged. His stomach swooped as Halsin removed his hand, concern quite evident on his face. 

“My stomach feels strange,” Astarion said. “Could it be the fever?”

“Hm,” Halsin said, tilting his head thoughtfully. The gesture made his hair fall over his face, and Astarion’s mouth went dry. His head spun. 

This was why he hadn’t wanted to go to Halsin for medical advice. The man made him feel so strange. Almost ill. 

“I think I understand what ails you,” Halsin said, in a voice far graver than Astarion had expected.

“Is it that bad?” Astarion said, attempting levity. 

“It is fatal if untreated,” Halsin said. His gaze was scrutinizing, intense. Hot. 

Astarion swallowed. 

“And what is the treatment?” Astarion asked.

“May I touch you?”

“Yes,” Astarion said, biting back the please that followed right on its heels.

Halsin placed a gentle hand on his cheek, the whole of his palm cradling Astarion’s jaw.

“May I kiss you, Astarion?” Halsin said, and Astarion nodded soundlessly.

Their lips met, and Astarion inhaled deeply, smelling mint and thyme and good, fresh earth. Something in his chest unfurled, and when they parted, Astarion felt a single pristine rosebud blossom on his tongue. He plucked it, and handed it to Halsin.

“Ah,” Astarion said. “Was that the cure, then?”

“Nothing to it,” Halsin said, smiling.

“We should try again,” Astarion said. “Just to be sure.”

“Far be it from me to deny my patient his medication,” Halsin said, and leaned in to kiss him, again and again and again.

[outlandish-dreamer]

A Weapon? A Monster? A Child.

Regressor! Alastor and CG! Rosie <3 Word count: 2193

He could hear them. Their mocking, jeering voices at his new found problem. The great, terrifying Alastor a puppet to something else, how little in control he was of anything. He couldn’t shake them out of his head. Every second filled with their reverberating laughs and yet, Alastor could do nothing but endure. 

He winced as he tried to stand, hands shaking and bones weary. Oh how cowardly he must’ve looked, barely able to stand on his two feet, hiding behind his shadow as he retreats to the one place he found solace. His radio tower. 

And not even that eased his ever growing fear. Whatever was left of it stood before him, a grim sight that made his already unwell state much, much worse. It served as another reminder of his failure. To see the very thing that kept him sane all these years defiled in such a manner. He truly had no idea how to react. Part of him wanted to go stark raving mad, and the other….

He slowly, unsteadily made his way through the wreckage that lay in front of it, his body ringing with each sting that came. It also didn’t help that he was regretfully known as something he hated to his core. He was a little. Such a pathetic aspect that he, much to his gratitude, managed to keep hidden from everyone else. Oftentimes even himself until it caught up to him once in a blue moon. No one knew and no one would know if he could keep it up the way he had the past few decades. However, that seemed much more unlikely given his current situation. The attack was so easily avoidable and yet, he still got hurt. He could’ve been killed and how he so narrowly avoided Adam’s final blow was beyond him. Now, he would’ve actually preferred it because then he wouldn’t have to face the aftermath that he knew was yet to come. 

It terrified him. To know of how much weakness he was showing. He could only hope, no, beg that no one saw and once he made his way inside, he exhaled in relief. He was alone. A disgrace, but alone nonetheless. Despite his rather embarrassing secret, he willed himself not to let it affect him. Not the fact that a huge chunk of his prized room was missing altogether, let alone the mess that was the inside of it. Reaching his table, the pain stumped him once again, making him fall to his knees. His smile wavered and he bared his teeth as he found himself underneath it. Sighing strained in relief, the safety of the confined space only worsened his struggle between headspaces. 

On one hand he just wouldn’t allow himself to, and on the other, he had no control over it. His body ached inside and out, his heart panged heavily on the fact that he was losing it, and underneath all of it, he felt so…scared. He was a fawn caught in a wolf’s den. A little boy hiding from the bastard he shared a bloodline with, hoping to God he wouldn’t find him. A cornered animal and with that, it was all too much. 

He couldn’t handle it anymore. 

He slipped. 

********

The fight may have been over, but that didn’t stop Rosie from feeling, at the very least, a little concerned. It wasn’t just the fear of losing everything she’d known that ailed her. It was losing the people she cared about. Really, the one person she cared about the most. And since it was finished, she hadn’t seen him at all, not even once and it was starting to worry her. 

Alastor was Rosie’s best friend, and she just couldn’t bear to lose him. Not like that. 

Looking over at the celebration behind her, she smiled fondly. She couldn’t be more happy for the unlikely group of residents, despite hardly knowing most of them. Charlie was such a darling, how could she not? Even as they stood under a building in desperate need of fixing, she still looked so happy. So proud. It was…admirable, to say the least. To watch her and her friends be so passionate about their achievements warmed her heart. 

Still though, as she turned her head in thought, something was…off. She could sense it even if she wasn’t sure what exactly “it” was. 

Speaking of which, there was one thing missing from such a display of victor, or rather, one person. Someone who would be even more supportive than she was. Where was Alastor? 

The rest seemed to pick up on that and Charlie asked the same thing as well. The rest kind of shrugged with mutterings of “I’m not sure” or “Last I saw was during the fight, so it beats me.” That didn’t help much in easing her anxieties. As they began looking, some albeit more willingly than the rest, she sighed. Her eyebrow raised, she took off to look for the demon. After all, she of all people ought to know where he was. 

She walked up to the one place she figured he might be. Everywhere else came out to be unsuccessful, so there was really one place left. Holding the hem of her skirt as she climbed up the stairs, Rosie walked curiously to the radio tower. Nothing out of the ordinary there, disregarding the very obvious debris. She couldn’t see anything, but if her nose and ears served her right, something was very, very wrong. The scent of blood seeped from beyond the door making her feel oddly nauseous for once, her stomach churning at what could be waiting for her. Thinking better of it, she steeled herself and went inside. 

The blood trailed over to his desk at a concerning amount. Stepping over the rubble, her gut wrenching at the sight of something he cared so much about ruined without a second thought, she called out gently. 

“Alastor? Sweetie, you in here?” She craned her neck, unable to see anything. “Everyone’s been looking for you.” She stepped carefully, avoiding the coat rack that now lay on the floor just waiting to trip some unsuspecting person. Suddenly, a low sound of strained breathing rumbled from his form, an ear perking up at hearing her come in. That gave it away to Rosie as she approached the desk even closer, her feet just inches away from his crumpled body. 

And that’s when he found him.

Crouching down, she saw a not quite unfamiliar sight. The all powerful Radio Demon’s smile gone, eyes squeezed shut as he lay curled into himself. Rosie knew what this was, she’d seen it before, but definitely not to this extent. Her head cocked to the side, she whispered. 

“Alastor..?”

Eyes nervously squeezed open, big, wide, doe eyes pouring into her as they tried to hide his fear to no avail. Glassy from tears hiding behind him that threatened to pour at any moment. Rosie’s heart squeezed in a way it very rarely did. Not unfamiliar to her, but the circumstances she found him certainly were. At the sight of her, the little shuddered, a pleading look on his face. 

“Oh..” Rosie gasped, crawling to his side and reaching out her hand, holding the side of his head. “You poor dear, is this where you’ve been all this time?” 

He didn’t have the words to respond, flinching slightly at her touch. Strained, he nodded his head slowly, uncurling himself slightly at her asking to see what happened. God, it hurt so much. He just wanted his mama, even though he knew she wouldn’t come. He sniffled, choking back a sob that escaped his throat. 

Rosie clicked her tongue and moved closer to pull him into her arms. Seeing him like this threatened to make her cry as well, wishing so desperately she would've come sooner. How long had he been like this? So scared and in pain. Part of her wanted to shake her head at his stubbornness, but she knew it wasn’t the time. The fawn just about broke as he pressed his head into her chest, giving in to the pain that rang throughout his body. His broken cries barely muffled by his best friend’s vise-like hold. 

“Oh my sweet thing, it’s alright.” She whispered, moving instinctively to brush the hair out of his face and pulling a handkerchief from her skirt. “I got you. Why don’t we get you out of here, hmm?” She tilted her head down at him, feeling him nod against her chest. “Now just hold still for a moment. It’s gonna hurt a little, but it’ll be quick, okay? Take a deep breath.” She inhaled deeply, crawling out from under the table and moving to pick him up. 

Alastor groaned at the motion, wincing as Rosie avoided his injuries and lifted him into her arms like a bride. Normally he would’ve laughed at such a feat of strength, the thought distracting him from the sharp jolt in his wounds. “There we go, you did a swell job baby! Such a brave boy.” Rosie walked out of the room, making a mental note to clean up his blood from the floor later and thought about where to go from here. She certainly didn’t want to leave him here, nor draw any attention from the others. There was always her emporium, even if it was a bit away. Yeah, that was a good idea. He’d be less...manic later on without anyone else knowing. And she was more certain he’d be safe there. That was all that mattered. 

*******

The baby sat on the toilet, curiously watching as Rosie rolled up her sleeves and went to work taking off his jacket. It was clear that Alastor needed stitches at the very least, if not something more later on. He didn’t seem to have any more serious injuries underneath, but it still didn’t look good. The other threaded the needle after cleaning him up the best she could and knelt down in front of him.

“Okay kiddo, now you’re not gonna like this, but I gotta do it. So take a big breath for me and we’ll get this over with, sound good?” Rosie admitted sympathetically. Piecing the skin together, she went to work suturing him up. Funnily enough, she’d done this plenty of times before, so really, it went by much quicker than she anticipated. 

“And...done! Look at you, being such a strong boy. That’s my Alastor alright! Isn’t it?” She cooed, laughing when he bleated happily in response. It wasn’t a common noise, however, it was one characteristic of his deerish nature he didn’t seem to despise. It was…well it was pretty damn cute. To the both of them and especially Rosie. 

Once again she picked him up and carried him into the room. Judging by his increasingly longer yawns, she knew he had to be exhausted. The day didn’t even feel like just a day and for Alastor it must’ve felt like a week at the very least. Discarding his tattered suit, she looked through her chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of fuzzy pajamas. Rosie pulled them over his worn-out, shockingly lanky frame; he looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She’d have to do something about that later, she thought. Ruffling the top of his head, she watched as the little one rubbed tiredly at his ever-so drooping eyes and walked across the room to turn out the light. And following that, she turned on the phonograph to its lowest volume. A familiar lullaby flooding the air. He whined slightly at her walking away, earning him a little tease from the other. “Hey now, I’m gonna be right back. I’m not going anywhere.” She sat next to him on the bed and put an arm around his shoulders. “See?”

The fawn turned to look at the woman and blinked slowly. Not quite registering her reappearance until he felt her hand. Alastor huffed, tiredness clouding his mind and tucked his head into her shoulder. Rosie moved to pull the covers down and laid him down underneath them. Dried tear tracks stained his cheeks and right as he was about to fall asleep he turned his head up at her. The same pleading gaze as before, asking her not to leave him. Her hand to her chest, she drew in a breath. 

“Of course my little fawn, I’ll stay. Is that what you’re asking?” Alastor cooed, the smaller holding out his hand. Rosie smiled and took his hand in hers, running her thumb across the top of his fingers. She hummed alongside the phonograph and watched as he drifted off to sleep, breathing lightly as if the day had never even happened. Rosie kissed the top of his forehead, lingering for a minute more before whispering. 

“Sweet dreams darling, I’ll be here when you wake up. Nothing can hurt you now, I promise.” 

Having it all over with, Rosie was happy. It may take time for it all to heal, but at least in the moment, her friend, her little fawn was okay and for her, that was enough.

[maimingaffairs]

hi hi hi i would like to request fluff for thee one and only Aleksander where reader gets really sick maybe a very high fever and maybe he panicked and called heartrenders and healers because he thought she might die and it ends all fluffy and soft Aleksander 😶‍🌫️

soft Aleksander yes pls <3 I love.

warnings: none, mostly angst and some fluff

word count: 2.3k

Just a Cough

(aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

-

It all started with a cough. A silly little harmless cough, of which you assured Aleksander after a few days of the persistent cough that there was nothing to worry about. Being sick was just a part of life for you, but apparently according to your loving husband, it wasn’t for him. In fact, upon asking him, the stoic faced general had stated that he’d never been sick in his entire life, and come to think of it, in your four year long marriage, you hadn’t seen him sick even once. He promptly thereafter reminded you that Grisha do not get sick as you did and you accepted this answer.

It was just a cough.

That’s what you kept insisting, even after it had been weeks. Though he’d never been sick, Aleksander was no stranger to illness, and stopped believing that it was only a cough. Just like clockwork, the second he began to suspect it was a bit more serious than you’d been insisting, you got worse.

Soon you were hardly able to keep food down, dizzy when you stood, the cough had gotten worse, and every night you’d run fevers. He brought you medicines given to him by the Royal Family, had doctors see you, and nothing was working. 

He hardly left your side, and when he did, someone was always there to keep an eye on you, and though you swore it wasn't necessary, his response was always the same:

“You are only mortal, my love. I will not take risks.”

So here you lay, on your marvelous four-poster bed while a young Grisha healer sat at your bedside, flipping idly through a book, glancing up at you every so often to make sure you were okay before she’d go back to her reading. A tap on the door pulled you out of your sick haze and your eyes fell upon Genya as she walked into the room.

“You may leave. I can keep watch on The General’s wife.” she spoke to the girl next to your bedside, and the girl wasted no time in getting up and scurrying out. 

You let out a miserable sigh and placed your hand over your eyes to shield the light, much preferring the company of your husband, “Oh, my. Is he almost done with whatever he’s doing? I need him to block the light.” you rasped and Genya only laughed and stood in the doorway.

“He cannot be too much longer, y/n.” she replied and you groaned.

“What did the Heartrender say?” you asked and opened your eyes to look up at Genya hopefully.

The red haired girl wandered over to your side and checked your temperature with the back of her hand, letting out a sigh of displeasure, “Well, she couldn’t deduce much except for that your heart is healthy, which is good. Your husband has ordered for one of our best healers to be removed from the frontlines and brought here to help. You're getting hotter, by the way.” she said with a frown.

“Genya, the last three healers haven’t made any progress.” you stated fearfully and she responded to you with nothing but silence and she grabbed the cool, damp cloth off of your nightstand that had been left there by the girl previous. She laid the cloth on your forehead and finally gave a sigh.

“We have very limited knowledge on what is ailing you. If a doctor couldn’t find a conclusion then it is very hard for us to know what to heal.” she explained in a gentle tone, “have you had any water today? Aleksander won’t be pleased if you haven’t.” she said quietly and you simply pulled the covers over your head and let out a terrible, wheezing cough.

Tears fearfully made their way into your eyes and you shook your head, though the Tailor could not see you, “I just want Aleksander.” you whimpered through a wheeze, your throat burning terribly with every word. You hadn’t even known Genya had left until you lifted the blanket and poked your head out to see why it had fallen so silent and you looked around the empty room and let out a painful sob.

You buried your face in your frail hands and let out hoarse cries until you felt the bed dip next to you, prompting you to wipe your eyes with the heels of your hands and you lifted your head to see your husband sitting at your side, his face completely colorless as he looked over you. You weakly sat up and pushed yourself into his lap with whatever strength you could muster, which must not have been much because you found yourself being easily lifted by Aleksander and pulled into his lap. You laid your head on his collarbone and you let out a shaky breath and you weakly grabbed onto the lapels of his kefta.

“Am I going to die?” you asked suddenly, the question that had been plaguing your mind for weeks now, the question that you were too afraid to speak out loud. The question both of you were asking silently. The question that made Aleksander kiss you on the forehead every time he left the room, that made him hold you a little bit tighter every chance he got, that had him terrified for perhaps only the second time in his life. The question that made him fear leaving your side, afraid to return to a lifeless form in his bed.

He didn’t answer right away, but the stiffness in his voice gave away everything he must have been thinking, “You are mortal.” was all he said before he tightened his arms around you, being careful not to hurt you in your fragile state.

His reply only caused you to cry again, and this time you could feel him crying with you. You didn’t see his face nor did you hear him; you didn’t have to. His shaking shoulders told you enough. He brought his cold hand up to your forehead and he held it there, occasionally swiping his thumb across one of your temples. To even meet the possibility of your death this soon was frightening and angering to Aleksander, and it had been the cause of several outbursts of anger in nights past in rooms far from your shared bedroom, to ears far from yours. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that was scared here, he was supposed to be the strong one that had the solutions. The answers. His highest obligation to you was to protect you at all times, defend you, his mortal, very breakable, wife. But there was no enemy to fight, no weapon to use to defend you. There was just you. Poor, sick, miserable little you, and this killed him. He lost sleep to this, he lost his appetite to this, and he was certain that if he was to lose you to this, he’d lose his mind, too.

“Aleksander, everything hurts.” you whispered, your voice hardly going higher than that. He grit his teeth angrily and simply pulled you closer, shushing you. He wasn’t good with comforting. His words weren’t often gentle unless directed at you, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. Words were completely lost on him as he sat in paralyzing fear that he could very well lose you to illness. 

He finally found the voice he’d been chasing around his throat and he reached up to soothingly pet your hair, “Oh, my darling, you must get some sleep. You aren’t going to die,” he promised, though he was beginning to fear he could not see to that promise being kept, “We have a healer coming for you, my little angel. I’d never let you succumb to whatever this illness may be.” he said hollowly, almost wincing when the little voice in his head told him not to make promises he couldn’t keep. Losing you meant losing a vital piece of himself.

“It’s punishment, Aleksander. There is nothing you can do.”  his mother had drawled when he had come to her practically on his knees, begging for a way to save his wife.

“Do you really think the fates would allow you to be happy after all you have done? You should have left her alone, now she is paying for your sins as well, there’s no one to blame except for you.” she had said coldly, leaving Aleksander with a guilt that had taken him days to even partially recover from. He’d deny it to the haggard old woman’s face but deep down he agreed. 

Lost in thought, he barely noticed that the stroking of your hair had lulled you into sleep, and your sudden stillness caused him to panic as he quickly laid his hand over your chest, only to feel relief wash upon him like a million crashing waves when he felt the shallow rise and fall of your chest. He finally willed himself to gaze down upon your sunken face and he traced his fingertips over your now very prominent cheekbones and jawline, and his lips turned downwards. You, his wife, the only light in his shadowy life, lay so lifelessly on his lap. He couldn’t help but think of the sick irony of it all, how he’d considered you his light when he himself could only summon the dark. The irony wasn’t lost on him at all there, bitterly so. A small tap on the doorframe made him slowly tear his eyes away from you and he raised one eyebrow at David who stood there awkwardly.

“I hope you have a very groundbreaking reason to be here interrupting the time I am spending with my wife.” Aleksander said in a clipped tone and David simply nodded once.

“The healer has arrived. He’d like to see her.” he answered, causing Aleksander to sigh once.

“David, three Healers and every Heartrender under my roof couldn’t even cure her. We need to start focusing on alternative methods to keep her alive. By any means possible.” he said lowly and the man at the door only nodded again, “but please,” Aleksander added, “bring the healer to me. Let us see what he can do for my y/n.” he conceded.

David motioned to someone who must have been just past the doorframe down the hall and a tall man walked into the room and looked down at the vulnerable, sickly form of The General’s wife laying in her husband’s lap, “Sir, this is the most experienced and talented healer we could find, he has the most experience in-”

“Can you help her?” Aleksander snapped, cutting David off. 

The healer didn’t answer but rather walked towards the two of them on the bed and he placed his hands on either side of your head, and the new contact had your eyes snapping open instantly with panic. Your husband gently tightened his grip around you and informed you softly that it was only a healer, and you relaxed a bit and closed your eyes again, a ragged breath being drawn from your lips. 

In reality the healer only had his hands upon your head for five minutes, but it felt like hours to your fear-stricken husband who watched the display before him desperately. Finally, the healer took his hands off of you and he reached up to feel your forehead before he looked up at your husband and nodded, “The fever has broken. Give her two or three days to fully recover, but she will not grow any sicker, and she certainly will not perish.”

Aleksander looked down at you with wide eyes and then back at the healer, “Why won’t she open her eyes?” he asked worriedly, his eyes threatening to water.

The healer chuckled and stood up straight, “She’s exhausted, General Kirigan. I put her to sleep. But make no mistake- she is healed.”

Aleksander’s lips moved but no sounds came out, so he settled for a stunned nod, and the healer gave him a slight smile before he headed out of the bedroom, followed by David. Your husband reached up promptly to feel your head, the past five minutes seeming entirely too good to be real, and he expected to feel your feverish skin. Instead, he was met with the completely normal temperature of your skin as you slept against him. He sucked in a shaky breath and leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your now cooled forehead and he stayed with you like that for a long time before he lifted his head. He swaddled your small form in a blanket and he sat with you just like that in his lap for hours, and he’d stay there for as long as he needed to.

When you finally woke some hours later, the first thing you noticed was that there was no searing pain behind your eyes any longer, and you looked up to see the face of your husband staring back down at you, his eyes misty and full of feelings you were sure he likely didn't have the words for.

"You look like hell." you commented with a short laugh and Aleksander rolled his eyes and pulled you up against his chest tightly, and you laid your ear over his heart, listening to it beat steadily.

"I was certain I was going to lose you." he said finally, his voice full of what you recognised to be pain.

"But you didn't."

"But I could have." he countered and buried his face in your hair, "And what then? What would I have done then?" he asked demandingly and you frowned, his disdain making your heart ache.

"Well, then I suppose you're just going to have to find a way to make sure that we never have to fear that again, won't you?" you asked, and he thought about it for a moment before he shrugged and tucked your head underneath his bearded chin.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I will."

And in the silence of your shared bedroom he swore that no matter the cost, he’d find a cure for your mortality, a way to keep you alive for just as long as he.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

So...hi

I may have decided on a whim to continue Your Scars Are Mine for no reason.

No reason at all. Nope not me.

Why's he gotta be so pretty how dare he

No need to read the previous fic, this one is still a oneshot.

Anyway here it is.

Ten Years

Hurt/Comfort and Smut

NSFW

Trigger Warnings: Trauma, Mentions of Self Harm, Depression

OPLA!Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

♫♬ Medusa in Chains — The Fratellis ♬♫

Before this whole thing began I had some sense of pride

Just one more night with your lips, your company is hard to eclipse

Four days.

Nearly four damned days had passed since you had last ate. Last bathed. Last done so much as dragged yourself out of bed to do more than half-stumble to the bathroom, and Mihawk was growing as impatient as he was concerned. It had been a few weeks since he had brought you to Kuraigana Island, and you had spent a fair amount of time flitting around the castle learning its halls and corridors front to back, dusting corners that even he had forgotten existed.

Then, a few mornings ago, you had simply refused to get out of bed.

Refused to speak as to why.

The warlord had told himself it was fine. That it wasn't as if he wasn't accustomed to having the sprawling stone castle to himself, that he could let whatever was ailing you play out, give you your space to work through it on your own.

But it was clearly doing no good, not to him or you. He had already grown too accustomed to your presence there, and seeing you in your present state was driving him completely mad.

He lingered in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed and leaning his shoulder into the doorframe, his eyes scanning slowly over you as you lay there with the sheets pulled up to the nape of your neck and your back to him. He had known you for nearly five months, had deemed to call you his lover for two of them. You did have a tendency toward the silent treatment when you argued, as much as that drove him mad, but this was different. This hadn't come on the crest of any argument, and it clearly ran far deeper than that.

You weren't doing this to get under his skin. That was clear to see, and Mihawk was at a complete loss on how to approach it.

He gave a small growl of annoyance at the sound of his transponder going off in his pocket, digging the thing out and shoving it into his ear as he turned the corner into the hallway outside the bedroom you had all but made your tomb.

"Little busy," he said impatiently. "Make it quick."

The last thing he wanted to deal with now was the goddamned government.

"Oof. That bad, huh?" Mihawk's eyes darted toward the transponder, the pad of his index finger pressed against it to hold it in place as Vice Admiral Garp's gruff brogue went on in his ear. "I figured. How's the kid holding up?"

Mihawk furrowed his eyebrows, and then lifted one if them as he glanced back toward the doorway of the bedroom.

"What are you talking about?" he said slowly. Garp knew something, and the old Marine had an irritating tendency to withhold information.

"Sounds like ya know damn well what I'm talking about, Hawk-Eyes." His jaw set at a rigid angle, gritting his teeth, Mihawk considered for perhaps the thousandth time just pulling the transponder from his ear and tossing it out a window. "Your associate. I'd be willing to bet your old bounty that she's not doing the best right now."

"Is this a business call or are you truly this insistent on wasting my time?"

Mihawk cringed at the sound of Garp's laughter in his ear.

"Little of both," he said, amused. "Word came down to me that my grandson may have formed an alliance with Fire Fist Ace in Arabasta a couple days ago. Around...the thirteenth, I believe. Something I asked you to keep an ear out for personally. And it's not really like you to not know what's going on around the Grand Line."

"As I said, I'm busy," he said through his teeth. Mihawk had no intention of standing around being insulted—particularly not with you in your current state. "My apologies if I haven't been babysitting your grandson closely enough for your liking."

"I can handle my own family affairs," said Garp. The amusement dropped from his tone as he went on. "This is more of a personal call. Your associate. I'm checking in. I imagine this hasn't been a good week for the girl." Mihawk remained silent, his eyes shifting to the open bedroom doorway once again, waiting for Garp to continue. He had no intention of letting on to anyone in a place of authority just how much he had come to care for you—not when they could very easily use it against him, threaten you to gain further control over him. "The sixteenth will mark ten years since the day she witnessed her home destroyed."

And today was the fifteenth.

That put quite a few things into perspective.

Mihawk leaned back against the wall behind him, pinching at the bridge of his nose as a slow sigh left his lungs.

"She's barely moved in three days," he said finally, quietly to ensure his voice didn'treach your ears—if you were even capable of listening right now. "Or spoken."

"Aye, I figured." Garp let out a heavy sigh himself. "I don't like to admit the failures of Marines any more than any other of my comrades, but...what Admiral Vesper did ten years ago was an insult to what we're supposed to stand for. I'd have seen the man executed a thousand times over for it if I could have. It was a goddamned massacre. All but, anyway, since he left her alive. I can't imagine how the poor girl even sleeps at night, honestly."

You didn't sleep well. Mihawk had noticed that from the start. Your hours of unconsciousness were frequently plagued with nightmares that you claimed not to remember, but he was sure you had to remember some of them. He was sure of it from the distance that lingered in your eyes some mornings as you sipped a cup of coffee or tea, from the way you spaced out and barely heard a word anyone spoke to you.

"I would like the coordinates of the island," Mihawk said after several long seconds, still rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"There's nothing there. Her village was destroyed. It's just a rock in the water at this point."

"I don't care."

He rolled his eyes when Garp gave a snort of laughter—but the man did at least rattle off the coordinates without any hesitation, as if there were a map sitting right in front of him.

"N 22°6'5.3535" by W 159°33'55.7474". I'll give you a minute if you need to write it down."

Mihawk definitely hadn't expected the vice admiral to have the coordinates all but memorized. He sighed, ducking around the corner into the bedroom where you still lay motionless several feet away. He crossed to the desk, and leaned over it, lifting a pen and pressing it to a pad of paper.

"Again," he said shortly, and he quickly noted down the letters and numbers as Garp repeated them. And he added, just as shortly as he set the pen down, "Thank you."

Garp gave a short laugh. "White roses and blue orchids." Mihawk's brow furrowed as he crossed the room, glancing at you before slipping out the door again, ascertaining that you still hadn't moved an inch. "Those were her favorites."

"Sounds as if you were fairly familiar with this pirate."

"Oh, quite a few men were. She wasn't called The Siren for no reason." He sighed, and chuckled a little. "But yeah. I guess I was more familiar with Helena than most."

Mihawk barely had a moment to wrap his head around the connotations of that claim before Garp spoke up again.

"If you're at Kuraigana and you take that eyesore you call a boat, you'll have about a twelve hour trip due East," he went on. "Probably best get going if you plan to make it there tomorrow."

And with that and nothing else, the call ended.

Mihawk pulled the transponder from his ear, staring at it for a moment in mild alarm, before pocketing it again, glancing toward the bedroom door to his right.

Garp was familiar with your grandmother. He couldn't help but wonder whether you were aware of that.

Now wasn't precisely the best time to ask, however. He had to find some way to coax you out of bed, to get you dressed and—

And you had, at some point, rolled onto your other side, so when he entered the room again you were facing him. Your eyes locked onto his as you lay there on the four poster bed with your hand tucked between your cheek and a pillow, and Mihawk stopped abruptly in the doorway.

"We have a job, I take it?"

For a moment, Mihawk remained silent, standing at the threshhold and simply staring at you. This was the first you had spoken in days with the sole exception of the occasional single-word reply. His eyes passed quickly over you—and then he gave a brief nod.

"Yes," he said, crossing the room to the wardrobe at your side of the bed.

He wasn't sure how you would react to the truth of the matter, but he had a sneaking suspicion that you would resist, and he preferred not to even erect that bridge, much less cross it. Ten years had passed and you had gotten absolutely no closure—however much it would hurt, you needed this.

"You'll need to bathe and dress," he said, pulling clothes out for you and setting them across the foot of the bed. "We'll leave within the hour."

You nodded, your eyes shifting away from his as you sat up, letting the covers fall away from you and standing. You were wearing one of his shirts, unbuttoned with nothing but a pair of black panties underneath, and had it not been for your despondent state at the present he wouldn't have been able to resist tearing them off of you and pushing you right back into bed.

Instead, he watched you pick up the clothes he had set out, head into the adjoining bathroom, and close the door quietly behind you.

This wasn't like you. None of it was. Your proneness to dry remarks and comebacks, your snide little smirks that infuriated and enticed him in equal measure—there had been absolutely none of it for days now, and it was getting under his skin like nothing else had in years. He took a seat on the bed, kicking off his boots in mild frustration and reclining back against the headboard, staring at the closed door you had just disappeared through.

Folding his hands over his stomach and listening to the sound of running water at the other side.

Waiting.

Thinking.

It would be both unfair and unsafe, he decided as you emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, not to give you some hint, some clue of his intentions. You were already dressed—at least half dressed, your shirt hanging open over a lacy black bra, a towel hanging around your shoulders to catch the water still beading in your damp hair. You paused in buttoning your shorts, meeting his eyes as he pointed at the edge of the bed next to him.

"Sit," he said, his tone light but commanding—halfway for the sake of observing your reaction.

You would often snap that you weren't a dog, roll your eyes at him, intentionally try to aggitate him; but now you simply sighed a little and did as you were told, taking a seat at the edge of the mattress, your hands resting at either side and your head declined to stare down at your knees.

"Here."

You glanced at him briefly when he held out a hand, and you placed yours in it after a moment. He tugged you down to him, across his chest, curling his other hand in your hair, searching your eyes and your face for anything.

And finding nothing. Not sadness, not anger, just a blank numbness that gave the impression you weren't even there. Despite the weight of your body, despite your forehead resting lightly against his, you were as good as a ghost.

He moved a hand to your waist, and your breath hitched in alarm when he flipped you onto your back, moving both of his hands to yours at either side of your head, entwining his fingers with yours to keep you there—to keep you from bolting, as you were so prone to doing when anything about your past came up.

"Were you planning on telling me what's going on, little one..." said Mihawk, lowering himself to his elbows, his forehead to yours, giving you nowhere to look but his eyes. He moved one hand over, brushing a thumb lightly across your bottom lip, "or do you prefer me hearing it from our Marine friend?"

Your eyes widened just a little at that—and your breath hitched again when he moved his thumb to your cheek and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss. It had been days since he had gotten a single taste of you, and your lips were much too tempting to resist.

He felt your grip briefly tighten on his hand before pulling away, close enough that he felt the warmth of your slow, trembling sigh brush across his own lips. "Ten years tomorrow, isn’t it?" he asked quietly.

Your gaze shifted away in an instant, your eyes slipping shut. "It's my problem," you said quietly. "Not yours."

"You wasting away in bed for three days straight makes it very much my problem." You bit your lip for a moment. Swallowed. "We've had this discussion before. And not very long ago." A small shudder crept through you when he released your hand, trailing his fingertips down the length of your left arm, where your white sleeve hid the marks you had put there over the years yourself, marks of defeat. The freshest wound there still had yet to heal fully, and he could feel the bandages wrapped around your arm just above your elbow through the thin material of your shirt. "Hiding things does neither of us any good."

You gave a short nod, your eyes remaining shut, your breathing the slightest bit uneven as his fingertips brushed across your cheek and returned to your hand, slipping between your fingers. "S...sorry," you forced out in a whisper. "It's just...not really..."

"Don't apologize." You opened your eyes at this, meeting his gaze. "But next time something of this magnitude comes up..." A slow sigh left your lips as his brushed at the edge of your jaw, near your ear. "You'll tell me."

You gave another small nod.

"Good girl."

His eyes drifted down your body, your smaller form pinned beneath his, his fingers drifting across the bare strip of skin between the folds of your unbuttoned shirt, brushing over the soft lace at the center of your bra, barely grazing the edge of your breast. In any other circumstance he wouldn't have hesitated for a moment to tear it away from you right that second—but now wasn't the time. As much as he detested not being in control, that had to be on your terms for now.

So he left you with one last slow, deep kiss, his hand moving to wrap around your waist under your shirt and pull you against him for a moment, for as long as he could stand to, before parting from you and standing from the bed.

"Finish getting yourself ready," he said, pulling his own half-buttoned shirt over his head and off and laying it at the edge ofnthe bed. "We'll be traveling for a little over twelve hours, with one stop on the way. The sooner we leave, the better."

You didn't say a word as he crossed the room, dropping the shirt into a hamper by the wardrobe, but he heard you shift on the bed behind him. Heard the matress creek as you rose and crossed the room slowly, your bare feet a whisper against the cold stone floor, stopping just behind him.

He paused in taking down his long overcoat as your arms wrapped around him, your cheek pressed against the back of his shoulder.

"I am sorry," you repeated quietly. "I...I didn't know it would be this..." Your breath shook a little as you took a step closer, as he looked over his shoulder and saw only the crown of your hair from the way your head was turned. "It's been almost ten years, I shouldn't be...."

Mihawk sighed, letting go of his coat as he felt you trembling against him. This was still something he was entirely unaccustomed to—he had seen you in this vulnerable a state only once before, only a few short weeks ago, when he had caught you pulling the blade of one of your daggers across your arm. When you admitted you had been doing so for the better part of ten years—a tally mark, a physical reminder for every mistake you made.

After a moment, he took your wrists in his hand, pulling your arms away.

He turned to face you, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, resting a hand near the crown of your hair to cradle your head against his shoulder, leaning back against the wardrobe.

"Have you considered that that's what happens when you spend a decade blaming yourself for something that was beyond your control?" he said lightly.

Your breath hitched and stuttered, your shoulders shaking as you struggled against the torrent of emotion you had been fighting off for more than three days. Fighting within your own head, leaving you so exhausted that you could do little more than lay in bed and stare at the wall.

"I—if I had stayed hidden like she told me to, she—she'd have—"

"No." It was a hard truth, but it was one you needed to hear. "In all likelihood, you both would have been killed amid the destruction." A small whimper escaped you as he moved his hand down, cupping your jaw lightly to lift your head. Your eyes snapped shut immediately. "Don't do that," he sighed, shaking his head. He lowered his own, resting his forehead against yours. "Look at me."

You clearly hesitated, swallowing, before allowing your eyes to slowly open, meeting his. He brushed his thumb lightly across your cheek, his eyes shifting for a moment to your lips as they trembled a little.

"I can replace most of the things I have in my possession." His sharp yellow eyes moved back up to meet your gaze, keeping his voice quiet, as gentle as the caress of his thumb across your skin. "You, my little bird, are not one of them." Mihawk moved his other hand to your shoulder, slowly pulling your shirt down to expose your left arm, his fingers grazing over the bandage wrapped around your delicate skin, across the scars. "I won't stand to watch you hurt yourself, be it with your blades or by any other means."

He saw as well as heard your breath hitch in your chest, your brows furrowing as your gaze softened.

And then your hands slipped from his shoulders, meeting at the nape of his neck as you tilted your head up to press your lips firmly to his.

You were impossible to resist, your breath shaking amid the fierce kiss. He pulled his arm tighter around you, tugging your shirt down your other shoulder, tossing it away onto the floor. His hands wrapped around your arms as he pushed you back toward the bed, pressed you back into the mattress as he bent over you.

His lips drifted away from yours, curling his fingers in your hair and tugging at the roots to turn your head and give him better access to your soft skin.

"I thought—" You gasped, arching your back as he pushed his hand up your waist, under the soft fabric of your bra. "You said—we need to leave soon—"

"It can wait," he growed into the crook of your neck. The soft moan that left your lips as his thumb brushed across your nipple was like music to his ears. "You've made me wait nearly four days." Perhaps it wasn't fair to phrase it in such a way—but it was the truth of the matter. He turned your head, his eyes burning into yours as he murmured against your lips. "Do you have any idea how much I've craved you?"

It seemed with that you had no further protest, no further questions—you simply gripped a handful of hair at the nape of his neck and crushed your lips to his, arching your back and moaning breathily into the passionate kiss.

He curled his arm under your back, deftly unhooking your bra, and had it ripped away from your body in seconds, shifting you further back onto the bed and trailing his lips down the column of your throat. He had no intention of punishing you, of making you wait—not this time. No, his only focus now was purely your pleasure; making you forget, if only for a brief spell, everything that had been tormenting you.

He lifted you off of the bed to pull one of your nipples into his mouth, his eyes shifted up to watch your head fall back against the comforter, your soft moans filling the sprawling bedchamber as his tongue swirled around the sensitive protrusion. Shifting to your other, a slow sigh leaving him as you arched your hips to grind against his knee between your thighs.

If you wanted more, then, oh, you were going to get it.

He trailed his fingertips down your stomach, quickly unfastened the buttons at the high waist of your shorts, and pushed his hand into them, under the elastic waist of your panties, spreading apart your folds.

Once more he pressed his lips into the crook of your neck, then again just below your ear.

"Yes," Mihawk breathed against your delicate skin as a soft cry left your lips, reveling at the shiver that crept through you, the way your clit twitched and throbbed under his touch. "Break for me, my darling."

You turned your head and pressed your lips to his, drawing in a sharp breath as your hips rolled slowly under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your breath left you in a soft whimper as your tongues swirled together between your lips amid the deep kiss, his dragging across the roof of your mouth before drawing back, your eyes glazed over in lust as your gazes met.

"More." Your soft, breathless whisper against his lips was almost enough to drive him into a frenzy—your fingertips trailing down the hard lines of his abdominal muscles, stopping at the buckle of his belt. "Please."

And that was enough.

He hated losing control, but goddammit, you made it utterly impossible for him to retain it.

In an instant he slipped his belt loose, shoving his pants down his hips as you kicked your shorts away. His gaze drifted down your body slowly for a moment, admiring every inch of you as if you were the finest work of art lying beneath him, just waiting to be vandalized and ruined.

He shifted you a bit further back on the bed, grasping one of your thighs and pressing it down against your chest.

The way you arched your hips when he thrust into you—the way your eyes rolled back and a quivering moan passed through your lips as the warmth of your tight, slick channel wrapped around him—the way you clung to his neck as he thrust intonyou again and again, your eyes glued to his and your nails digging into bis skin—to say he had been craving this, craving *you* would have been a grievous understatement. It was more than that now, an intrinsic *need* that he couldn't shake, one that he had felt so deeply with no one but you. Without even being consciously aware you had become an addiction—your body, your touch, your moans and whimpers and sighs and gasps, you.

You were wound so tightly from the brief teasing that barely a minute passed before your hips arched high against his, a deep, breathy moan leaving your lips as your thighs clenched around his hips and shook, as your walls clenched tight around his cock. He pulled himself up onto his knees, pulling you up with him, holding you against his chest as he pressed a hard kiss to your lips, groaning quietly into your mouth.

One of his hands found your hip, grasping your soft flesh hard enough to bruise as he tore his mouth from yours, eyes brimming with lust as he growled one quiet word against your lips.

"Again." He pressed his lips to yours again briefly, gripping the nape of your neck. Pressed his lips to your neck, your chest, lowering his hand to push one of your breasts up, kneading at the soft flesh as he guided your hips to roll onto him again and again, before you had even recovered from your intense orgasm. "I."

And again and again, almost as if you were made for the sole purpose of coming undone under his touch. Every one of your wordless moans and breathless whimpers fueled him, drove him wild, his lips trailing across every inch of your skin he could reach—across your chest, the soft swell of your breasts, down your smooth neck and across your shoulders.

Until he couldn't the any more, until the tension building in the pit if his stomach was too much to bear—until he gripped a fistful of your hair and pulled you down hard by your hips, crushed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss and thrust into you hard, shoving you down onto your back and pinning your hands over your head as he completely lost himself within you, his breath shuddering into a low groan that was drowned out by your breathless moans.

Your hips rolled together slowly on the crest of your shared euphoria, your breath leaving you in soft whimpers as his grip on your hands loosened, allowing you to lower one to brush your fingers back through his dark hair. A deep sigh heaved from his chest as his lips parted from yours, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him to lay across his chest.

His fingers combed down through your hair as you lay your forehead in the crook of his neck, both of your catching your breath. Mihawk lowered his head enough to brush his lips to your temple, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. "You're going to be the death of me, little one."

You swallowed, laying your cheek against his shoulder, your eyes closed as your soft fingertips caressed the back of his neck, the light touch sending a slight shiver down his spine—as did your breathless, whispered reply.

"I love you."

It wasn't something either if you said often. It had remained more or less of an unspoken understanding between the two of you since he first said it himself a few weeks earlier—and maybe that was why it seemed to have so much of an impact when the words were spoken aloud.

He turned his head and brushed his lips to yours, pulling his thumb across your temple to brush your hair behind your ear.

"I...love you."

The words still felt strange rolling off his tongue—strange, unfamiliar, but not wrong by any means. He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours, closing his eyes. It was the truth, a truth that was difficult to admit after years of solitude, but one that couldn't be left unspoken.

If Mihawk was to expect truth from you, he couldn't withhold it himself.

For sometime he just held you there against him, his arm curled around your back, his thumb brushing slow circles against your waist...and then he spoke.

"We're not going on an assignment." Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his in question. "Twelve hours east of here," he said quietly, slowly, "is the island where you grew up—no," he interjected, when your eyes widened and you began to pull away. He pulled his arm tighter around your back, his other hand at the nape of your neck, curling in your hair to keep you from pulling away. "We're going. You need to." The pain that dawned in your eyes was almost enough to make him relent—but he wouldn't. He couldn't. He shook his head. "You know you need to."

You swallowed, your gaze falling away from his. "I...I don't know if I can..."

"You can." He brushed his lips against yours, fingers combing through your hair, and you lifted your gaze back to his. "You..." He brushed his thumb across your cheek, his eyes boring into yours, "...are the strongest woman I have ever met—don't do that," he added in a lightly chiding tone when you rolled your eyes. He curled his hand around your chin. "You'd have to be strong to have such a chokehold on me, little one."

You rolled your eyes back over to his at that...and you gave a small, quiet chuckle, nuzzling your cheek against hid shoulder. "Touché." Your eyes flickered away for a moment, but returned to his quickly. "I just..." You swallowed, and shook your head. "There's nothing there. Just...a rock in the water."

Your claim echoed Garp's eerily—but the claim echoed just as empty as his had. The mere thought of that rock made your eyes fill with emotion, made your voice break. That rock was the final resting place of one of the most infamous pirates that had ever sailed the Grand Line—the woman that had raised you. Your trainer, your caregiver, your role model.

Your grandmother, the Siren.

"There's a lot more there than just a rock. I think we both know that." You swallowed again...and, after several long seconds, you nodded. Your eyes slipped shut and your breath hitched, and he combed bis fingers slowly through your hair. "We'll rest for a bit, and then we'll leave."

"Y...yes." You gave a short nod, and a slow sigh, your eyes opening to meet his again, full of renewed resolve. "Okay."

His thumb brushed across your cheek, his eyes glued to yours. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but pain was often a necessary catalyst in healing. He sighed slowly, his forehead touching yours.

"I love you."

Your eyes glued to his, you echoed his murmured words without a second thought.

"I love you."