#and i see soul master in my nightmares

[ghostbox-nostalgia]

Hollow knight beating my ass rn, I am NOT good at this game

Can't wait for silksong so I can be even more upset

[majorasnightmare]

from one mineru lover to another ... can i pleek hear the headcanons you have for her

KICKS DOWN DOOR

YES ABSOLUTELY

some loose context for the headcanons i have for her

the zonai hail from the silent realm and formed 3 major settlements originating from the decaying trial gates, one in the sky islands, one in faron, and one below in the depths (using the eldin gate that had since been buried under hyrules changing landscape). by the time of totks ancient era, the zonai had been slowly and steadily migrating back to the silent realm with mineru and rauru being the last to stay

hailing from the silent realm, the zonai culturally place a massive emphasis on self betterment through trials, self inflicted or otherwise, as a way of marking time through growth, in service to the goddesses

im using the oot elements, so the gerudo get spirit (which manifests as lightning) and mineru gets shadow, linking her to the sheikah and the technology theyll create

rauru and ganondorf are exes who had an EXTREMELY messy breakup before rauru founded hyrule

i can elaborate on that more (and will later) but for NOW

MINERU

so i headcanon mineru as this character thats deeply atheistic and autistic. which doesnt make a lick of sense until i explain it further lmao

mineru, to me, is this person thats deeply materialist, whereas her brother rauru is deeply idealist, and sonia is a staunch spiritualist (which is why her and rauru make such a good match for each other). minerus primary concern is The Real. the golden goddesses are Concretely Real but their influence is negligible. mineru grows up in a culture that dedicates themselves to spiritual self growth through trials of self betterment for, ostensibly, the sake of three goddesses no one will ever see or talk to or be touched by. they exist, surely, because the triforce exists, because their power exists, but mineru will never see them, hear them, talk to them, touch them, or see their hands mold reality. in every aspect she would care about, They Are Not Real. and so ascribing to a cultural norm of "betterment through trial" (needless struggle and self doubt) just. doesnt click for her. why chase spiritual enlightenment when theres shit to do RIGHT here?

shes this kind of gruff, non social person who nonetheless cares deeply and intensely but wants to dedicate her effort and energy to things she considers important. her brothers important. her work is important. vague divine approval? unimportant. shes more concerned with how things tick than the Grand Plan of it all.

a lot of this makes itself manifest in her role (in my headcanons and aus) as the sage of shadow, if you understand shadow as Unseen (Concealed) Truth. why do the islands float? how does zoanite work? what can we do with this energy? what can we make? how can we build on it? shadow magic, imo, requires a strong thread of creativity. its what makes OoTs shadow temple so brutal and the history behind it so heinous. but it isnt inherently bad. its creativity, imagination, the Unreal. its the drawing of a curtain and the throwing it aside. this underlying current, the need to understand How and Why, is what makes minerus cutscenes with this understanding so much more enjoyable to me.

mineru is this character defined by her inventions, whos headpiece mirrors the goggles purah and robbie wear, whos role as shadow, the creator the inventer the counterculture, will be revisited when the sheikah create technological wonders that will spread throughout hyrule. she makes a mech to house her soul to survive the thousands of years into the future. whereas other sages choose a successor, mineru says "youll see me there in the temple my damn self." because if you want something done right you do it yourself!

i headcanon mineru and rauru as hailing from the sky island zonai civilization, and theyre the last hyrule dwelling generation. she grew up watching these senseless tests of courage that just risked major injury for no good reason, and then her baby brother goes off to better himself because he wants to make a meaningful impact in the world, and it just cascades into a dominos of bad decisions. she doesnt put any stock into divine intervention because the only people who can save anything are us. i picture her being endlessly fascinated by her home and the constructs and that curiosity being the foundation for a lot of what she does from there on out. becoming a fantasy mechanic, an inventor, getting down into the nitty gritty of a machine and getting covered in grime and oil but not caring because theres a problem that needs fixing and she has a wrench. voraciously tearing into any book she can find, any historical record, being this treasure trove of information and trivia and history because she cant help but come back to those questions, how?, why?, again and again.

itd be easy to hear her described as anti social and gruff, and see her interpreted as a little standoffish and blunt, and end up viewing her as kind of an ass, and you wouldnt be wrong per se but its really just that mineru only really puts effort into a relationship she cares about, and she really REALLY pro cons that shit. her first and foremost concern is rauru, her little brother, and as the zonai migrate back to the silent realm, her last remaining family. when rauru descends to the surface in search of problems to fix and Be Of Help, mineru correctly assesses his budding relationship with the gerudo royal is one fated for disaster, because nothing good comes from entering a relationship just to "fix them" regardless of how well intentioned and kind hearted you may be. because of this she doesnt invest much into getting to know ganondorf as he interacts with her brother, because shes expecting it to blow up and doesnt want any of that blowback. nevertheless when that comes to a head in the WORST possible way (a situation in the au that results in the creation of the gibdo queen, the first blood moon, the deaths of several gerudo guards and the eventual deaths of koume and kotake, a situation that will then contribute to The TotK situation) mineru beats herself up every day for not being more involved. her brother is sweet, and truly believes in the ideals of the zonai he was raised with, that to struggle is to overcome trial and better ones self, and such an effort is a spiritual responsibility of those hailing from the silent realms, created by divine hands, because of the power theyre capable of wielding. she cant fault him for that, because rauru IS capable of great good and he WANTS to help people so bad, but as mineru surmised years earlier, when your inundated with this concept that You Have Power and your Obligated To Use It, you never stop to think that maybe you arent the best person to solve this issue. you cant use a wrench for a screwdrivers issue. and knowing that, knowing rauru is driven to help but too inexperienced to know what he CAN help with, mineru feels responsible for not stopping him from biting off more than he can chew. (rauru, on his end, solely blames himself)

so shes a bit More Present when he meets sonia and when his idealism leads him to found hyrule, she stays close, but she really can NOT be assed to be dragged into politics because jesus christ. no. but she continues to be like. Peak Older Sister. every time rauru has a problem, shes the one he turns to. every time rauru wants advise, he asks mineru. he loves her a lot and relies on her guidance because he considers her one of the smartest people he knows (she is, along with sonia) and even though most of the time its rauru once again trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, theyve basically been abandoned by the rest of their people (who have written hyrule off as this kind of Fun Ordeal but Not Worth It as they go on being fucking. philosopher kings in a realm of Eternal Silent Trial where you can freely perfect whatever magic bullshit you want without worry of a body count or, ya know, consequences because very little is physically tangible there). mineru isnt going to like. continue that trend, and just leave rauru to it. hes a grown adult for sure, but that just means its his responsibility to grow and change as a person, not that he cant ask for help. especially because she doesnt want him to handle everything alone

so shes hands off with the hyrule business, and plus sonias got a good head on her shoulders, shes a nice balance to raurus Impulsive Do Gooding and helps him move from individual action to Systemic Good (tho that in itself is another one of Raurus Bad Impulsive Ideas because founding a Divine Kingdom of Good is a fools errand). and for the most part mineru is fairly assured that it wont blow up too horribly (*loud incorrect buzzer*) but man. when they show up with zelda.

so raurus very much a "im divinely obligated to help people" and sonias v much a "fate ordained our meeting" type and mineru is very very much Not That. but zelda? zelda is so much closer in personality to mineru, so when rauru and sonia show up with this girl from the future that theyve basically adopted, minerus like "alright you are once again Back On Your Bullshit so im NOT getting Into It" AND YETTT. zelda ALSO cant stop asking how? and why? (because light and shadow are closer than most people think), and zeldas so invested in what makes this tech work, how it functions, what makes it go, and while rauru and sonia try to give zelda the best they can, zeldas also similarly thrilled to get her fancy white dress all gunked up with oil cuz theres a plug that needs reconnecting and mineru cant get her hand thru the gap. they get on like a house on fire and despite herself mineru loves zelda. absolutely adores her. which was NOT on todays to do list, for sure. and so despite herself mineru is now including zelda in her (very small) circle of family and similarly mineru is this gruff no nonsense figure zelda can earnestly talk to whos similarly concerned with the Real and the Practical and how it can be applied to solve our problems instead of omens chasing and prophecy fulfilling. which is why mineru goes out of her way to help zelda in a way she generally doesnt for sonia because well. zeldas basically her niece. and sonia can handle herself. and also zelda loves hearing about weird programming quirks in the constructs. so its really just kind of inevitable

but minerus pursuit of knowledge is why she knows about draconification (and rauru doesnt), and why rauru comes to her for help because thats kind of his habit. its a lot like asking big sis to beat bowser for you cuz you cant get it, and like she clowns on you for it but still takes the controller.

and when rauru and sonia are like "the ganondorf situation is Our Problem and we arent involving zelda" mineru is 100% behind that because uhh YEAH rauru it IS ur problem this is YOUR ex and your series of Questionable Decisions, but also why she throws herself into it because she does still carry that responsibility. she still feels that guilt for not protecting rauru from himself as his older sister, and that so many people suffered, and that now more people she cares about ARE suffering and WILL suffer. a feeling thats compounded by raurus sacrifice sealing ganondorf

understanding how the sky islands float was a childhood dream of minerus, to understand the hand of the divine and make it tangible and real, and while she achieves that, with the help of someone who really truly gets her and her work, the context surrounding it is so grief stricken and heart rending it thoroughly spoils the joy of scientific pursuit, which is probably why it isnt something mineru records in a lot of detail. in a lot of ways mineru loses all the people she considers family to that same Hand of Divinity, which imo makes mineru being atheist more richly thematic and adds to her character. its this combination of "am i being punished for my lack of faith?" alongside this determination to assert your individual power in SPITE of divine influence, taking herself to the present by her own craft and the sheer power of ingenuity and creativity and the aid of an equally learned peer. also her spirit bond is on the middle finger. i love that for her

this is long as fuck so im throwing bonus thoughts in the tags

[himasgod]

Hello! How are you doing? May I ask a reader who is Lilia's wife (and consequently the boys' mother), she has been missing for years, but here suddenly they see her alive and well. Lots of tears of joy, figuring out what happened and at the end she says something like, "well, let me make your favorite food for dinner, shall we?" Boys: *rejoicing that their stomachs will be okay from now on* Lilia: happy, trying to hold back tears. I also want to say that you write so "deliciously" about Diasomnia! Especially about Sebek, I saw that another anon asked something about him and I'm sure it will be interesting and fun to read too!

DIASOMNIA AND READER

Where you are Lilia's wife, missing for years, and you return home.

It began on an otherwise ordinary afternoon in Briar Valley.

Silver had just returned from a training session, his hair still damp from the light rain outside.

Sebek followed at his heel like always, lecturing him about staying alert despite the weather.

Malleus stood near the great hearth of the main hall, idly watching the flames dance.

And Lilia?

Lilia was cooking.

Unfortunately.

The boys had long resigned themselves to his “creations,” though they shared one common silent prayer whenever he stepped into the kitchen: please, Great Seven, don’t let this one kill us.

“I believe I nearly unlocked the secret to curry-flavored cheesecake this time!” Lilia announced emerging from the kitchen with a bioluminescent dish.

Silver’s soul left his body for a moment. “F-father, maybe we could try—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the gate.

Not the main entrance. No, this was the old garden gate—rusted from disuse, half swallowed by ivy.

The room grew still.

“…That gate hasn’t opened in years,” Malleus murmured.

“I didn’t sense anyone approach,” Lilia said, suddenly more serious.

He handed the cheesecake off to Sebek (who immediately looked like he was holding a bomb) and moved toward the hallway.

The knock came again.

Once.

Twice.

Slow. Almost hesitant.

Lilia opened the gate.

And time stopped.

There, standing in the haze of the twilight garden, was someone who had been gone from their lives so long that seeing her again didn’t seem possible.

“Lilia?” your voice was softer now, worn by time. A little hoarse. A little tired. But undeniably you.

His eyes widened.

“…Dear?”

You looked up at him. A little older. But still smiling.

The smile he used to dream about and wake up heartbroken to realize was gone.

“I’m home,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Lilia pulled you into his arms so tightly you could feel the shudder in his shoulders. The way his fingers clutched the back of your coat.

You felt his breath hitch against your neck.

“You idiot,�� he breathed. “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

The next moment, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.

“MASTER LILIA, WHO WAS AT THE—” Sebek’s voice rang out before he skidded to a stop, Silver nearly bumping into him from behind.

And then, silence.

Silver dropped his sword.

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

You looked at them with a trembling smile.

“My boys… You’ve grown so much.”

Silver’s eyes filled with tears . “M-mother…?”

The moment he said it, the dam broke.

He ran to you like a child again, throwing his arms around you and clinging tightly, nearly knocking you off balance.

You laughed, hugging him back, kissing the top of his head like you used to when he had nightmares.

Sebek, meanwhile, dropped to his knees.

“You… You were presumed… H-how can…?”

You knelt down to him and brushed his hair back, just like you had all those years ago when he scraped his knee climbing a tree. “I’m here now. I promise.”

He lunged forward and hugged you, sobbing uncontrollably.

And then Malleus.

Quiet Malleus.

“I had long accepted your loss. But even now… my heart dares not believe this miracle is real.”

You reached for his hand and placed it over your heart.

“It’s me, Malleus. It's me.”

A small laugh broke from him.

He drew you into a gentle embrace, forehead resting against the top of your head.

“Welcome home.”

For several minutes, you stayed like that. Surrounded by them.

The explanations came later, once everyone had calmed enough to speak without sobbing.

A magical accident—your disappearance had been the result of a sealed portal misfiring during a research expedition.

You were stranded in a temporal bubble, barely able to age, watching the years pass. It wasn’t until the rift finally weakened that you’d escaped, fighting your way home.

“I could hear your voices sometimes,” you admitted, sitting on the hearth now, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “In my dreams. I held onto them to stay sane.”

“And I stopped singing at night,” Lilia murmured, his voice breaking. “Because it hurt too much.”

You touched his cheek .

“Sing again. I’m home now.”

You stood up and stretched.

“Well…” you smiled at the boys, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “how about I make your favorite dinner tonight?”

Sebek actually yelped in joy.

“Master Lilia's wife cooking has returned. Salvation is upon us.”

Silver burst out laughing. “Father, please let her into the kitchen before you finish your cheesecake.”

“I will gladly yield the ladle- My culinary reign ends tonight.”

Malleus chuckled, a rare sound of true joy. “Then I shall summon the stars themselves to light your table.”

You cooked.

Lilia watched you with a soft smile, brushing away a tear every now and then when he thought you weren’t looking.

The boys sat at the table, basking in the comfort of a meal that tasted of home.

You were home.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick

Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.

Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:

Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.

And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.

Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.

Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”

Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.

There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.

~~~~~~

Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.

The local birds:

~~~~~~

Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.

Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.

~~~~~

Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.

Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.

Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?

Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.

~~~~~

Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.

Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.

Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.

Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.

Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.

Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.

~~~~~

Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.

~~~~~

Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.

Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream

~~~~~

Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.

[airosuiren]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡

𝔓𝔄ℜ𝔗 𝔒𝔑𝔈: Bat family x Neglected illegitimate reincarnated reader x Oc. {Royal historical au.}

A/N: EEEEEE I’ve been waiting to drop this!!! This is the origin story of [Y/N], Queen of Virelya (aka pre-Gotham), her rise, her fall, and her rebirth. You’ll meet her soul-bound companions, her past-life husband (hello, Evander Thorne 😍), and see how she goes from unloved Wayne kid to the returned monarch of a world long-forgotten. Buckle up. This one gets mythic. This is not the usual style cuz I'm experimenting to find MY style. lmk if you liked it

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

The world knew her first as a slave.

In the blood-soaked mines beneath the Hollow Mountains, [Y/N] had no name, no rights, and no future. But even in chains, she dreamed. She dreamed of a land where justice ruled, where no child slept in fear, where power served peace. And when the gods answered her dreams, they didn’t send salvation.

They sent companions.

Alarion Vael'Thyr was the first. A former prince turned exile, Alarion found [Y/N] when she escaped the mines and collapsed at the edge of a ruined forge. His hair glowed like firelight; his eyes held centuries of sorrow. He gave her warmth, food, and the strength to keep going. He taught her how to fight. And when her fury over injustice ignited, he taught her how to forge it into flame.

Next came Lysandra Solenhart, a noble-born oracle who had ripped out her own eyes to stop seeing the lies of kings. She had been wandering, blind and brilliant, until she heard [Y/N]'s voice in a vision. She found [Y/N] and Alarion on the edge of a battlefield, and said, simply, "You shine with the light of truth. I will follow it."

Kaelen Rhyzar joined them in the city of broken statues. A former paladin-turned-renegade, he had become a weapon without a master. When [Y/N] called out to the people during a rebellion, he watched her bleed for strangers and knew his new god had arrived. From that day, he swore himself to her cause.

With each companion came a gift.

Lysandra's Moonvein Sight allowed her to read shadow-script—the secrets etched in time, objects, and people.

Alarion's Heart of the Wyrmforge allowed him to forge weapons from pure emotion, flame and steel made one.

Kaelen's Living Armory let him summon divine weapons and battle auras from a celestial vault known only to him.

And then there was [Y/N].

When she saved a dying child in a storm, reality buckled. The world paused. She cried a single tear—the Tear of Elyndor, the divine essence of lost time and life. That tear resurrected the child and awakened her power. She could now bend time, shift fate, glimpse truths, and touch emotion like threads in a loom.

She did not want a throne. But people demanded one.

They called him the Winter Wolf.

Evander Thorne, warden of the north, warlord of the frozen wilds. He led armies through storms without saying a word. Men followed him blindly, out of fear or faith.

He met [Y/N] during a siege. Her army was losing, magic dwindling, hope flickering. And then the snow parted. He rode through the mist like a god of war, his blade slicing silence into the air.

She stood in the wreckage, bloodied and defiant. He dismounted without speaking.

"You're late," she said, panting, sword raised.

He didn’t answer. He only looked at her, eyes like ice, and knelt.

"My Fire," he murmured.

She blinked, startled. "You remember."

He took her hand and kissed it, reverent. "In every life. I would find you in every life."

She laughed through blood and tears. "I needed you."

"And now you have me," he said. "Forever."

Evander never left her side again. He stood behind her throne, silent and still. He held her when her nightmares returned. He whispered ancient poems in her ear when she couldn’t sleep.

In public, he was the sword of the queen. In private, he was hers entirely.

They trained together. They sparred until bruised and breathless. They argued in old tongues, kissed in empty war rooms, danced barefoot on frozen battlements.

"You trust too easily," he growled one night.

"And you not enough," she replied, tilting her head.

He pulled her into his chest. "I trust you. That is enough."

She laid her head against him. "Then build with me. A kingdom where no child fears."

He tightened his arms. "I would burn the world for it."

Virelya rose. A kingdom of magic, fire, frost, and dream. Her companions ruled distant realms, but returned often. Their children were legendary, half-divine.

[Y/N] and Evander ruled with fierce grace. They fought side by side. He watched her light grow brighter with every battle, every speech, every child she saved.

And she—she loved him not for his blade, but for the way he stayed. Always, he stayed.

They died as they lived—together. Peace achieved. Their work done. The world mourned.

Centuries passed.

[Y/N] awoke in Gotham.

No crown. No court. No Evander.

Only cold silence. And the bitter taste of being forgotten.

She was the twin who didn’t matter. But her magic whispered beneath her skin. Her past clawed at her in dreams.

Then came the child.

"Live as me," she said, and handed over a golden coin.

Everything returned.

[Y/N] fled Gotham and found war in the north.

She fought. Rose. Became myth again.

And then she saw him.

Evander.

Standing at the edge of the battlefield, cloak of wolf fur, sword already bloody.

He saw her and dropped to his knees. "My Fire."

She ran to him, armor clanging, tears spilling.

"You always find me."

"And I always will," he whispered.

He cupped her face, kissed her forehead. "No one will take you from me again."

"I won’t let them."

They stood like that, gods reborn.

Lysandra, Alarion, Kaelen returned.

The court rebuilt.

And [Y/N] sat the throne once more.

Evander stood beside her.

And the world would learn:

She had not been lost. She had only been waiting.

A/N: WHEW my soul is in this one. I wanted more Evander/[Y/N] moments and I hope you felt every stare, every touch, every whispered vow. Let me know if you want a bonus chapter with their private moments or flashbacks from their past life!! Long live the Queen 🖤👑

(Also lmk if you want suggestive chapter between [Y/N] and Evander 😉)

Taglist: @trashlanternfish360, @nixxiev, @eclipse-msoul, @plsfckmedxddy, @viilan, @kittzu, @bunniotomia, @bunniotomia, @rattyrattyratty, @texas-fox, @1abi, @niamcarlin,@tomoyaki, @silken-moons, @kittzu

[cryptfile]

᪇ꫭ dreamseeker, [ qimir x jedi!reader ]

summary — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

warnings — pure angst, violence, blood, mentions of injuries and tons of tension, sfw.

side notes — 4k+ // English's not my first language so please be kind! went slightly away with this one so would catalogue it as an alternative universe. Heard liking without reblogging makes you fall in an awful curse that breaks my heart in the process so let that sink in, anyway everything it's appreciated!,,, thought about making an +18 second part? dunno,,, thks also for the 110 followers! love you guys sooooo much *heart avalanche*

The air's hot in the room when you woke up.

The sweat made the sheets stick to you body as you got out of bed for the third time that week, a terrible headache forming as you leave the dormitories in the middle of the dark. Coruscant suddenly feels unbearable. You've slept almost nothing through the course of the week, so you surely are in a bad mood when the cold wind of the night makes you shiver at the sudden change of temperature.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

The words are repeating in the back of you head, scratching a part of your brain while you keep on trying to remember who's voice you're dreaming so much lately.

It's all connected somehow, always is. You've learned to trust the force a while ago, learned that destiny's intertwined with an energy field that holds the galaxy together the hard way, so you know, deep down, that you have to trust your guts in this one, something that you know it concerns you but can't quite understand what really is in the first place.

Dreams. Dreams are a cruel thing that you tend to forgot sometimes, the reflection of the mind and soul projected like a high-class transmission in your head. Dreams talk, and they make you think about things you've let in the past, things you've certainly need to come back at some point.

That's why you can't sleep later, cause you know it means something. You know that dreaming the very same dream every single night for the past week means something more than just mere imagination playing around, far from an innocent scenario.

The temple is silent at night even when the city outside seems to be so wake in contrast of the inside, most of the lights out as you crossed the empty hallway hoping to avoid anyone, cause you know they'll ask questions you don't have an answer for.

In all truth, you don't have a clue why are you up so late, why this deep voice kept you awake when you should be deep in your sleep, dreaming about something more than superstitions. You don't have an answer to any superior, don't seem to have an answer for yourself either.

The Jedi trials ended long ago, yet, you don't think of yourself as someone as successful as Yord Fandar, your talent being far from what it should be expected. You never complain about anything and never would, they were the only family you ever knew and you refuse to lose everything you've been working so hard for just for questioning your bare existence.

"Can't sleep?" The male voice makes you stiff almost immediately, checking your surroundings to notice Master Sol approaching you from the left. The Jedi Master catches you by surprise, your hands already on the lightsaber that is hanging on your waist before you notice you're safe, even when you don't want to talk. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

There are things that are worth hiding, but with Sol? Master Sol seems to see through it all, the worries and the dreams that you don't know if you should call nightmares, even when you try to lock them away for a minute. That's the main reason the man stares at you, cause you expel that smell of desperation, the tension in your muscles as you don't sleep in what seems are ages.

"What's troubling you?" He asks, your own eyes betraying you as they can't hold the weight of his gaze. "I know it's not my place to ask, but are you sleeping well lately?"

"Not really, but nothing to worry about" you say almost afraid that it's going to get you in trouble, the lack of sleep making you think the most stupid things as you stop in the middle of the hallway, making sure there's no one around more than Master Sol and yourself.

Not sleeping is a dangerous thing when reality tends to become a feverish version of itself.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

You're unsure of telling him what's really going on, unsure of trusting the people you've been close your whole life out of nowhere. A sudden sixth sense that commands you to keep the dreams to yourself, the sound of the male voice you've been listening like the most important secret you've ever hold account of.

It's almost embarrassing to admit you don't trust a Jedi above your rank, that your sixth sense all of sudden makes you keep the truth when it can be something important, when Master Sol has been like a friend to you after all those years of training.

Things have been weird since your Jedi Master was found recently murdered in Ueda, a heavy weight in your shoulders as it saddened you more than you even expected. Master Indara was like close family, and you find yourself missing her, mostly in moments like that when you wish you have someone to talk to

“I was going to the dormitories” Sol explains soon after, walking by your side. “I needed to ask you for a favor my dear friend, and I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you to heal.”

Heal. Are you ever allowed to heal? It’s been less than a couple of days since you found out about Indara, let alone the dreams that were tormenting you the rest of the week and suffer the loss, so it seems funny when Master Sol tells you he cannot wait much longer: No Jedi ever has time to heal.

“What can I do to help?”

It’s all it takes to leave Coruscant after, trapped in space in a small ship with not only Master Sol, but Yord and Sol’s younger padawan Jecki Lon, strange enough, also with Verosha Aniseya, a former Jedi you keep an eye on through time passed.

Suddenly you’re traveling through the galaxy and there’s no time for any more tears. Suddenly you need to toughen up and act like this Jedi Knight you’re supposed to be, even when you keep questioning yourself more than ever.

Maybe it’s because of Indara’s death. Her decease came so out of nowhere it shocked you to the very heart — It’s clear that you’re sensitive, dreaming stuff you’ve been getting tired of deciphering, pure nonsense, but then, the ship lands in Khofar and Sol it’s convincing you to stay inside even you’re perfectly capable of taking Verosha’s twin and his alleged master.

It’s your own mind that plays tricks on you, making you believe you’re not good enough to help. Truth is you felt your training as a padawan was not enough, you’re an easy target now that you’re hurt and it seems to make sense when all of sudden the group of Jedis leave you to fucking rot between white walls and buttons that sparkled.

It’s clear you’re affected. How can you not be affected by it? You’re overcome by sadness and anger both mixed together, and that feeling by itself is a dangerous one when in history, makes people question things too much to the point of no return.

So when you find yourself close to the light of the hologram that you turned on being so bored in the ship, your fingers dim between the white and blue rays as you wondered: Is it honorable to seek for revenge? Is it true to a Jedi to feel this gut-wrecking wrath?

You know the answer deep inside. You know it’s wrong, yet your feet think otherwise, cause when you leave the ship in the middle of the night you still debate yourself if you should disobey, if you should do what you want instead, walking through the woods like you know which way to go.

You never disobey any command, so it’s a new thing to openly doubt about the judgement of your superiors, to walk in an unknown planet despite the orders you were told. The path seems to light by itself as you can sense it in the air, the force conducting you in silence as you walked in a fast pace. You know deep down, know everything went wrong.

The blue light of your sable is enough to light the way, the humidity in the air makes you sweat as concentrated in the sounds of the nature, you run, run until your lungs are burning and your heartbeats are so fast you’re afraid the organ itself is going to jump out of your chest. You run even when the long leaves of the plants hit you in the face, when your legs are getting cramps and you can feel the lack of oxygen: The pain is not enough to stop you.

You can hear it from far away, the heat of the fight. The sounds of the physical effort, the buzzing of the lightsables against the silent night. Adrenaline creeps across your blood flow, and even when you can't breathe properly at all you run to the chaos, driven like a moth to the flame. You let the force conduct you as you close your eyes, jumping and elevating from the floor enough to hold the sable from over your head — You attack.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It’s coming again, the rough sound of your dreams when your blue sable hits the red out of nowhere, force colliding against each other as the impact is enough to send you directly to the floor. You know who the enemy is, the surprise in Jecki’s face and the disapproval moments after

The stranger is fast and he doesn’t hesitate when he strikes, it’s fast enough to hurt in a mortal way and you became aware of it when Jecki’s falling to the ground and the acid in your mouth is enough to make you look away — The anger comes moments after, the red stains blurring your vision as you let out a scream, gathering the force to dodge his deadly attack.

It’s for Indara, the young padawan, and the Jedi’s he just slayed like they were nothing: It stings in your soul yet you stop holding back, stop holding yourself to finally hit harder, to strike faster than he does, to hurt the stranger as much as he hurted you. And he responds, but not fast enough to beat you, cause you let the metallic back of your sable hit his head when he’s kneeled on the floor, and you smile to yourself cause you have no damn mercy when his helmet finally cracks and it’s enough to break apart revealing his face.

It’s all it takes then. All it takes to froze you in that very spot, holding the sable over your head, ready to end his life with no second thought.

You know that face. You know it when suddenly he’s smiling at you.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It makes sense soon after, lowering the sable to the floor without fully believing it, a ghost in front of you as you feel the air leaving your lungs. Drinking the sight of him like he’s not real, like it’s a sick joke your mind made to break you down, to make you weaker.

You’re pulled by a sudden force, by the force. However, falling to the floor hurts way less than seeing him again, the words stuck in your throat unable to speak. It’s imminent, it’s devastating when the pain catches you by surprise, your back aching against the rough surface.

He’s going to kill you, isn’t he?

It makes sense to die by his hand. The memories you two share, the intimacy that was taken away so sudden, it only makes sense to die by the one you loved before, even if it's a surprise you'll never recover from.

The heat of his red lightsaber against your neck is not enough to scare you, but enough to finally look at his face, to encounter his eyes and reveal the truth that was hidden all along between lies. You experience the intensity of his gaze, how it softens when realizing you're looking at him with that same look you have been doing it years ago.

"You're alive" it slips away from you before even noticing, the sound of your voice wrapping him in a haze he didn't expect at first, to be so devastated by you even after all the time resenting the Jedi's and everything they represented "Qimir you're alive..."

He knows you're shocked, the sound of your voice piercing in his ears as he threatened with the weapon against your neck, any sudden movement would slice you in the second — "Hello to you too."

He's real, when he speaks out loud you know he's real, he's standing in front you erasing all the theories you made about not sleeping enough now making you delusional, he's there, standing ready to kill and take what he wants to feel like he won.

It's a personal vendetta, you know it as you expect any answer, any word at all until Sol's screaming as he's taken away from you once again.

He's not a friend, he's not the Qimir you once knew, and he's not someone you can trust again as he was ready to kill. He's not was he used to be, and you can tell by the way he moves, the way he goes against Master Sol hoping to leave the Jedi in the floor, his anger when he refers to his acolyte as a traitor.

He's the one responsible for Indara's death indirectly. He's not a lover. He's not a friend.

You think he died years ago, never really understanding what really happened to the bright man you met in Coruscant, a secret no one dared to bring up. He has the same fucking smile you know too well, the one that make you crumble completely in the sight, and it sadden you, it saddens you he take that path when you seem to woke up from whatever has you nailed to the floor and finally run to help Sol.

You believe you're in the right side, you've been taught about the light and the dark, and you put your heart out filling your mouth saying how you're doing good, how you're making things right.

It's kill or get killed. It’s clear that Qimir does not seem to care about any connection you shared before, hurting you no longer means whatever it meant before, and as the sable burnt your tight, no one cares when you're fainting in the floor, abandoning the fight when it approaches his end.

Sol's mad, but it's not enough to make the master stop to check if you're alive. So many lives were lost in Khofar, and the fight was so demanding you're soon forgot in a planet when the sun is finally rising.

You know you've always been alone, know the last time you saw your family you were too young to even remember, so it's not a surprise when you're left behind. Jedi's come and go, that's why they keep training them generation after generation — It's expected to lose some percentage in missions.

What's not expected, it's when Qimir is close to your cold body later in the early morning. Still deep induced in the fever of pain when he's betrayed by his own heart, his old feelings resurfacing even when he made sure to bury them in a hole in the back of his head.

He's weak it seems. And he should be ashamed of himself when he's the one carrying you back to his ship when everyone has left you behind.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

Is that his voice? The rough sound that makes you wake up in a uncomfortable place with clothing you don't remember owning.

You're confused for a second before realizing you're in unknown place, a cold breeze shivering your skin: You're in someone's house, using someone's bed.

It's all it takes to make you stand up, leaving the warm sheets behind as your eyes scan the place looking for both a person or a way out. There's a saucepan in the fire cooking slowly, and a smell you can't describe at first.

You move carefully, theories in your mind about what happened that seemed so imposible. You're sure you're far from Coruscant where you should be, yet, you don't feel much danger when you discover you're left alone in what it seems to be a cave, one that lets a windy current enter through a slit between the rocks.

You're unsupervised: Does that mean you're not a prisoner?

You remember fainting in the cold surface of Khofar, the humidity in the air as the air leaves your lungs before entering a state of unconsciousness. You remember Qimir as a ghost in front of you, smiling like he's young again, trying to get to your room in the middle of the night as if it wasn't forbidden.

Was that your dream about? A warning about the stranger being alive?

You don't dare to drink the water, you don't dare to touch any belonging more than the necessary when inspecting. Its more of a hiding than a home itself, so it lacks of belongings as you can't find anything else more than your clothes, protecting yourself from the cold air.

You're not treated as a prisoner, yet you don't feel any safe at all due to the recent events that seemed to say otherwise. You cannot seem to find your sable, and the silence it's making you lose patience.

The cave is a mess soon after, you're searching for your most important weapon, so now the lack of it seems to make you nervous. You search until you're no longer alone, a new presence in the cave as you adopt a pose of defense.

"Where's my sable?" you ask to what it seems the air, acting all tough before noticing who's the person that dragged you to a different planet, the responsable of healing your wounds with a unexpected speed. You know who it is from before, the change in the cave when he's around even when you don't receive any answer back "I'm talking to you, Qimir."

He doesn't talk when he's tossing it over the things he brought from outside, the orange details in the heavy metal shining against the dim lights of the cave. He knows you are not leaving without it, that you're too attached to it for your bad luck.

"Where am I?" you ask soon enough. At this point you lack of patience out of all, you're tired and your body is sore, you're still dreaming that very same thing, and you're not resting enough to keep your mind sane, so it's not a surprise when you're demanding answers, after all, you wanted to know what happened back in Khofar.

It hits you how much you miss him now that he is in front of you in full silence, not in the middle of violence like before, how much you wanted to hug him until he no longer breathes and spat something stupid as a not-very-funny joke. You miss him after all those years of believing he's death, that he disappeared out of sudden without telling nobody, not even you.

The silence makes you mad, and the stranger knows it, sense it in the force when the anger hits you, filling the air of the cave that feels small even when the spaces are big enough. He lied. That's all you can think of, he lied and never bothered to tell you he's alive after suffering his departing so whole heartedly.

Nights without sleeping as you let the insomnia carry you to a state you can't leave, overflowed by feeling you've learnt to deal with in the pass of time. Time heals it all they say, but it just makes things more bearable, help you live with it.

But now. Now it was cruel, it's a wound that opened by itself with the things you saw, the person he was now, embracing his dark side like it was something worth celebrating.

"Talk to me," you say, and you don't know why you're the one asking for answers when you shouldn't. "This is not fucking fair."

Fair.

"Nothing's ever fair," he says, and the sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. Now that you're surrounded only by the crashing sound of the waves hitting the rocks outside, you can hear him without the buzz of the fight. "Your people know that very well. You make the rules after all. You decide what's fair in the galaxy."

It's a knife in your heart. You don't want him to affect you like he does, but it's impossible when it stings like a burnt from the sable, the weight of his words, the hatred on his tone when he spits the words like they're acid in his tongue.

"I've never made nothing" it's a declaration of self-hatred at it most, how you've not been capable of doing much even when you pride on being called a Jedi Knight. "You know that."

There's no response. You're used to follow orders, not question, trust you're working with the correct side, so his look is something new, something that leaves goosebumps on your skin.

"You're alive," you still don't believe it at first, now studying his factions like they were still craved in stone back on your head. "After all these years, you couldn't tell me you were alive?"

It's a bad joke, one that makes you laugh leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth — "You couldn't tell your best friend you were leaving? Nobody talked about you all of sudden, you became a dream. Almost making me sure you never existed at all."

"That's what they told you? That I leaved?" the way he's telling the information makes you furrow your brows in response, trying to make sense of what he was saying: Was he implying they lied to you?

"Please, explain me then" you're not in the mood of fighting, instead, you want information, crucial information to what you were choosing to be "Enlighten me. Tell me why you left me there without saying goodbye. Why it doesn't seem to affect you as much as it affected me."

The stranger has grown cold. He has now adapted beneath this rough amour that separated him from what he was before. So he doesn't give you any answers even when you question him, looking at you without saying a word.

You've changed too. You're not the little padawan that followed Indara around and look up at Torbin, you're not afraid of showing your force anymore, after all those years he has told you you're more than capable of defeating any enemy, you are starting to believe it more that ever. Even when he's not around to see that change happen in front of his eyes.

He's not going to answer, he's not talking nor giving you what you needed.

"Am I prisoner?" you ask again, another question added to the pile.

"Does it look like you're being held?" he asks back, squatting close to the stove in the fire to the stir his soup. "No. You're not my prisoner."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He always was a man full of pride, but now it seemed he thrive in it, in sharing his knowledge he was sure it was so powerful he needed to take a pupil, some kind of dark padawan he wanted to train.

"I don't know you anymore Qimir," you state out loud, hoping to talk to him as a long-time friend, as the person he was in love all those years but never acted on it too afraid of the rules at first. "I don't know who you've become, and i've been mourning you like it's only yesterday you vanished from my life, yet you've been alive, plotting against your family."

"Family?" he asks, hurted by the words you choose. "I've never had a family. You know that very well, it was always me against them, against anyone who questioned their power, their use and knowledge of the force."

"So is that how we are going to act now? Like pride is enough to make you leave and act like we were never a thing? That I wouldn’t die for you without even question?" you seem disappointed as you speak — “Why you didn’t kill me back there when you had the chance?”

He's taken back by your words, the sincerity as you admit what it seemed impossible to say back then. It’s known by him the feelings he had for you were enough to stop the whole galaxy, but he never had the courage to say something about it, to go against the rules and let alone admit to you anything at all.

So to know that you care for him, even when you talked about it like it was in the past, is enough to make him short-circuit, to make his face change in a new look.

“You already know why I didn’t kill you” he says it so casually while cooking, that even when you stand in the middle of the room trying to think about anything, anything more that him and his powerful gravity that made you spin around him, drawn by his pulling force — “Doesn’t matter who you stand with, i’d never do anything to you.”

You let that sink in. You let him say it cause maybe, deep down, it’s what you need. Your eyes are full of tears but you don’t want to let any single tear roll from your eyes the second you feel the sadness, you don’t want to show any weakness whatsoever, anything that will make you look less than what you really are.

“I could ask you the same” he says soon after, looking at you from over his shoulder in a low voice that sends shivers down your spine “Why did you let me live back there?”

It’s a bruise in your ego, to your sense of defense — Walls up, not letting any feeling show at all. His question is left out in the space as you look at him through narrowed eyes, reminding yourself he’s the enemy.

He cannot have the satisfaction. He’s the one behind Verosha’s twin sister after all, the one who send her to seek her own revenge. You know you should kill him with no second though, to cease with the leak, destroy the rebel cause that was so dark and powerful, so dangerous, but as before, you can’t hurt him by any chance, too attached to the enemy to even think about using the force against him.

Qimir. You don’t expect him to be alive, to be so angry at his lies. You don’t expect him to be the threat to peace and tranquility you’ve been so warned about.

Fuck that. You can’t deal with him again.

Maybe you are a coward after all, not worthy of being called a Jedi Knight. Always too unsure, questioning if you’re doing things the right way.

It’s not your fight. It’s not your place to be, you’re not his prisoner so you reach your lightsaber quick enough to leave his side, holding the weapon against your bare hands as you leave the cave, facing the daylight and the ocean in front of you.

You're not his prisoner, so you quickly leave as soon as you can leave, unable to hold his gaze anymore, to answer a question you shouldn't be asked. Even if it's cold outside, the sun still shines and you are sure you're going to find a ship that will take you out of there, as far as possible — Maybe, even leave him there.

But when you walk, you're followed close by in silence. Not a prisoner, but not free enough to leave free whiningly.

Even when you pace fasten enough to try to leave him behind, it seems like it's not a physical effort to follow you near by, to follow the same footsteps you give in order to look for a way to get out.

What's his plan anyway? Follow you forever? He's going to get tired soon enough, the problem is you don't have the patience enough to wait for it, you can't wait for Qimir to be enlightened by mercy, to be rational, to let you leave so you can be as far away from him as possible.

So at any sudden sound, you happen to snap, to turn on the sable in one swift movement, quick enough to pull it against his neck, almost touching his skin, the blue light reflecting in his pupils as he seemed pleased by your attention.

That's what he wants in the end. Even if it's anger, he wants to get any reaction out for him.

"Stop following me around" it's a knot on your throat, a sting in the heart as you threat him, the sound of your voice almost mixing with the loud crashing of the ocean. "You said yourself, i'm no prisoner."

He can sense your anger yet he's devastated by what you've become, devastated by finally being in front of you. Even when you're hesitating to spare his life once again, he's driven by the smell he was so caught on before, the memories you brought, attacked by the lonely life he was forced to live, the perks he enjoyed embracing his dark side.

It seems like forever, an eternity while the energy just flows, while the tension consume you both.

You're caught in a spiderweb you cannot get out, cause when he opens his mouth to speak again, you don't expect to make your world tremble that way.

"I was searching for you."

You know what's coming next, the sound of his voice like a recorder playing over and over in your head, the vibrations of his tone matching the ones you've been dreaming about lately.

"I was searching for you. Even in my dreams."

It's enough to make you lower your sable.

To make the stranger smile.

my masterlist

[florencemtrash]

Heads Will Roll | Azriel x Reader Oneshot

Warnings: Violence (aka Reader kills some fae and Rhysand and Azriel are 100% cool with it), fluff

One of Koschei's followers turns up to the Court of Nightmares prepared to make a bargain: your life in exchange for Ataraxia. But he'll soon learn that you are not to be underestimated, and you are always exactly where you want to be.

Azriel bristled from behind Feyre’s shoulder when the male winnowed into the Court of Nightmares in a dramatic display of power that had everyone beneath the dais falling back.

He was all sharp lines, emboldened by the pure black silhouette of his cape that flared out behind him, teasingly parting to reveal the bone white sword strapped to his right hip that seemed to whisper with horrible power. The only piece of him that didn’t look like it was cut from death and destruction were his bright blue eyes - startlingly innocent and all the more unnerving for it. He fit in well with the violence the Court of Nightmares naturally radiated. 

Rhysand’s eyebrow curled up in a look of carefully crafted boredom from atop his obsidian throne. The only one who looked more nonchalant than him was Feyre. She tilted her head up, staring down the slant of her nose to the unknown male as he extended his arms and bowed as prettily as a bird. 

“Greetings.” Even his voice was sharp and cutting. “To the Lord and Lady.” 

Cassian frowned from behind Rhysand’s back at the omission of their proper title. To the outside, Rhysand was anything if not bored. Inside, he was ready to blow the male to bits. He wore Koschei’s stamp on his forehead, red and dripping like a fresh wound.

Neither the High Lord nor the High Lady deigned to reply.

The male only smiled. All teeth. 

“I come to you on behalf of my master.” His smile grew. More teeth. “You may have heard his name.” 

“Koschei.” The name rolled off Feyre’s lips as easily as if she were ordering a meal - blasé and unimportant. But the name shifted the energy in the room, stirring up hornet's nests of gossip. Heads bowed towards one another like grass stalks in the wind, whispering.

Feyre tapped one finger on her forehead, “He has a fondness for marking his followers.”

“Like a collar on a dog.” Rhysand finished. He stroked the bond, grounded by the feeling of Feyre’s very soul on the other side. She had always been - and always would be - his calm.

“My name is Darwynn.” The male tipped his white head, “And I bring news from my master. News you may find worthy of your time.” 

Azriel’s heart picked up in his chest. 

He knew what was coming - the words that would soon slip out of Darwynn’s mouth. You’d been gone for over a week and he felt your absence from his side as intensely as if someone had ripped the wings from his back. Empty, cold, and unbalanced.

For the first three days he hadn’t worried, even as the bond lay dormant in his chest. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hunt after secrets, unraveling mysteries like threads in a coat or diving into the unknown with an insatiable appetite.

Three days were nothing. But nine days was getting to be concerning.

“Go on.” Feyre said with a wave of her hand, looking more interested in the glass of wine in her hand than anything else. 

Darwynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin string of silver stained with blood - a necklace crafted from unbreakable metal with a deep blue pendant swaying like a pendulum. It was a piece of one of Azriel’s siphons, imbued with a small measure of his power and given to you as a Solstice gift after you’d accepted the bond. In the twenty years you’d been together, you’d never once taken it off. It was unnatural to see it swinging in the cruel male's hands.

Cassian growled. Azriel’s jaw clenched, beautiful brows lifting only ever so slightly in surprise. It was the only expression the Shadowsinger had shown all night.

Rhysand mirrored his expression. “Ahhhh yes, my sister. How long has she been missing for now, Az?” Rhysand looked back at him, some unspoken agreement passing through that brief glance. If this male had truly captured you, he would not be leaving this room with his head still on his shoulders.

“Nine days.” The Shadowsinger said, his mouth twitching to the side in a cryptic mix of a smirk and a snarl.

“You have her.” Feyre said. It wasn’t a question.

Darwynn’s eyes lit up with glee and he nodded, clapping his hands together like a child opening birthday presents.

“And what do you want for her? That is why you are here, is it not?” Feyre said once his “applause” ended.

Darwynn shook his finger at her, “It is comforting to know that since Amarantha’s trials, you’ve learned to - how shall I say this? Read between the lines.” 

“Careful.” Rhysand said, a warning trapped within that honey-laced word. Feyre’s illiteracy was hardly a concern for anyone anymore - Rhysand had seen to that - but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a subject that smarted and burned when prodded. 

Feyre’s dark red lips only turned up in a small smirk. Her mate would not allow any harm to befall her - even insults from pathetic creatures such as Darwynn.

"But I digress." Darwynn said silkily, “You should know she is uninjured-” 

“Obviously,” Cassian huffed under his breath, stealing a glance at his brother beside him. Azriel was handling this surprisingly well. If it were Nesta who’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, Cassian would not be able to school his emotions so readily. 

“And my master would like to make a trade.”

“A trade?” Rhysand said, displaying more interest in the subject than ever before. This was an opportunity to play Koschei’s hand. To gain whatever knowledge they could from the slippery sorcerer who was gaining more momentum each passing day. Koschei was still confined to his lake on the continent, but that didn’t mean he was powerless. No, not at all. 

Darwynn pointed a knowing finger at Rhysand’s belt where Ataraxia rested as silent as the death that hung over a deep winter’s night. 

“I see.” Rhysand said. 

So that’s what he wants. Feyre spoke to him through the bond, Some trace of Nesta’s power.

Y/n was right. He wants to leave the lake.

And he needs whatever power Nesta took from the Cauldron to do it.

Rhys hummed in thought, one finger lazily tracing the edge of his drink. He knew his sister, knew the power that raced through her veins, and she was not one to be trifled with. But people loved to underestimate her - the poor second child too weak and damaged to fight after losing her wings to the old High Lord of Spring. The female who rested on her brother’s strength and crown like a sapling tied to a stake. She wielded those assumptions carefully. It was perhaps one of her greatest weapons. 

Nine days. She’d been gone for nine days. Nine days since he’d sent her on a mission to the continent to spy on Koschei’s followers. Six days since anyone had heard from her. Three days since her scheduled return. 

Azriel stiffened and blinked - a movement so subtle that only Rhys, Cass, and Feyre noticed. All at once the tension left Rhysand's shoulders. Such a reaction from Az could only mean one thing - you'd arrived.

Rhysand clicked his tongue disapprovingly, taking a deep draught of his wine and muttered, “She’s late.” 

“She likes to be thorough.” Azriel said with the smallest of smiles.

“Even so. I don’t like to be kept waiting. She could’ve been captured sooner. Escaped earlier. Given us notice that she was coming.” He shook his raven black hair.

Azriel smirked, feeling the strength of the bond in his chest. Never wavering, “Maybe she finally decided to adopt your flair for the dramatic.” His golden hazel eyes flickered upward for the briefest of moments and you flashed him a quick smile from where you hid in the mountain rock above.

You’d only just opened your side of the bond, love and reassurance rolling over him like a flood. You were safe. You were whole. And you had carried out your plan beautifully.

Sorry to keep you waiting, my love. I had business to attend to. You spoke to your mate and only him.

I'd wait forever for you. You know that.

He felt your laughter through the bond like the fresh rain.

Who would've guessed the Spymaster's such a romantic.

Only for you. Only for you.

Darwynn narrowed his eyes, lips flattening into a thin line as pale as the moon. Something had changed in the air and he couldn't put his finger on it. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. He knew the Inner Circle were practiced in hiding their emotions but this… they almost looked pleased. Cassian especially was grinning like a madman, suppressing his laughter as Rhysand sent his thoughts to his mind.

“My master keeps good on his promises. But until you give me the bade, I can’t promise you what pieces of your wife there will be left to bring back.” Darwynn snarled, even as that feeling of dread grew in his stomach. He’d walked in here so confident. He needed to regain that confidence. He relaxed his shoulders. Stood up taller.

A wet thud echoed throughout the hall. Someone screamed - a female with blue-gray skin reeled backward, one hand clamped over her mouth in horror as she tripped over her blood-splattered silks. 

A decapitated head - warm, oozing, and less than a day old - lolled on the floor. Its eyes were frozen in a look of surprised horror. 

Darwynn’s heart stuttered to a stop when he recognized the bloated and bruised face. The face of one of his strongest males, left behind on the continent to watch over Koschei’s prison. 

Rhysand smirked and raised his wine glass towards Darwynn. The High Lord’s power flooded out over the room, knitting together a powerful web of magic that made it impossible for anyone to winnow in or out. Except for you of course - his darling sister who never failed to find the weak points in his magic and slip through as slyly as a cat. 

“There’s something you should know about my dear sister.” Rhysand’s voice boomed over the near-silent room without even trying.

A second head dropped from the ceiling. Then a third. Then a fourth. Laid out in a neat little arc around Darwynn.

“She never gets caught. She is always precisely where she wants to be.” 

Azriel’s eyes were trained on the slate gray arches overheard where he could just barely make out your form as you winnowed around the room, hiding in the shadows and dropping your gruesome packages in a neat circle around Darwynn’s shaking form.

The male unsheathed his sword, spinning around madly and counting every thud until all twelve of your guards were accounted for. 

All dead. 

All of them.

He growled dangerously, eyes beginning to glow a brilliant, icy blue as he aimed his power at the dais, right towards Rhysand. Azriel smiled with cruel satisfaction when you slipped out from behind Darwynn’s silhouette, bloodied and menacing. The knife glinted in the faelight, catching the curve of your arm as you spun around and drove the weapon through Darwynn’s eye. The light wrapping around him fizzled out into anything.

The male rocked on his feet, arms going slack and dropping the sword with a clatter on the ground. His legs gave out soon after, his body crumpling in on itself as easily as paper. 

You calmly rolled down the sleeves of your blood-soaked shirt, flicking a piece of gore off your shoulder in a manner so similar to Rhysand that your brother couldn't help but chuckle. 

You flashed him a grin - a stroke of white brushed across a red splattered canvas. 

“Brother.” You said, tipping your chin up in a show of greeting. 

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think, sister?” Rhysand gestured out to the Court of Nightmares. You spared them a look. Everyone looked positively sinful in their scraps of silk and exposed skin, silent and trembling as their dinners burned their way up from their stomachs to their throats.

You shrugged and winked at Rhys, “I learned from the best.” 

“Go get cleaned up.” He said. It was a clear and direct command, but you didn’t miss the warmth and hint of pride in his voice.

“As my High Lord commands.” You said, bowing deeply. 

At home. Rhysand spoke in your mind as you straightened. Get some rest. You did well.

You sighed in relief, happy that you would be free from whatever Court of Nightmare business left to attend to.

Thank you.

There was a brief pause before Rhysand continued, But next time you plan to get kidnapped, let me know. I was actually starting to worry and I’m not sure my old heart can take it.

You snorted, I’ll keep your elderly constitution in mind next time.

You dipped your head once more before winnowing to the River House. The smell of home nearly knocked you off your feet.

There would be more time to joke around with your brother - more time to tell him everything you’d learned - but right now you were in desperate need of a bath.

______________

You sank into your third bath of the night, groaning in pleasure as the hot water rolled over your aching muscles. The first two baths had purely functioned to scrub off the dried blood from your hair and skin. The majority of it wasn’t yours. But this bath, with all the fragrant oils and scents, was for enjoyment and relaxation.

It was no easy business getting kidnapped, and no easy business escaping. But like every other mission, you’d made away like a bandit in the night, carrying with you priceless pieces of knowledge and enough secrets to demolish an entire court. 

Your eyes flickered open at the feeling of shadows lacing around your arms, soothing your skin with a cool touch that was no replacement for the hands that followed. 

Finally your mate had decided to join you.

You sighed in happiness as Azriel trailed his fingers up your arms, scarred hands landing at your neck and gently tilting your head back so he could plant a firm kiss on your lips.

The bond sang within your chest more joyfully than a songbird. You didn’t like silencing this connection, you didn’t like shutting Azriel out, but sometimes your work necessitated it. It was for your safety as much as his. But no one understood that more than the Spymaster of the Night Court.

“Hello, my love.” Azriel’s voice vibrated through the air, warming your chest and shaking your bones. 

“Hello, Azriel.” You murmured, soapy hands trailing through his raven black hair so that he was completely surrounded by your scent.

“Gods, I missed you.” He said. He knelt on the tiled floor behind you, wrapping his arms around your bare chest as he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. “I missed you so much." A kiss on your neck, "So, so much.”

“I missed you too.” You murmured, pulling him around to the side of the tub so that you could see him better. You traced the faint purple bruises beneath his eyes. Not an unfamiliar sight. Azriel had never been a restful sleeper, but since mating and marrying you, he’d been spoiled rotten and now could barely sleep a wink without you curled up in his arms. 

“Sorry I messed up your hair.” You apologized, twirling the now damp strands of his hair so they curled around your fingers. 

He smiled. It was a rare sight to anyone other than you, but seeing him happy never ceased to warm your bones.

“You did well, darling.” He said, smoothing back your hair before saying more seriously, “But next time could you tell me your plans before you shut me out?” 

You winced. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t time.”

“I figured as much.” Azriel said, kissing your cheeks to show that he wasn’t upset. You leaned into his touch as he traced your cheekbones with his thumbs. 

You were the most precious thing in the world to him. More precious than his wings. More precious than his freedom. More precious than the 500 hundred years it had taken him to finally realize what you were to him. The thought of losing you was more painful than a knife to the stomach.

“You can trust me.” You said, “I know how to handle myself.” 

Azriel chuckled and shook his head, “I am very well aware of both those things,” He tilted his head in thought, “And I’m fairly certain everyone else also knows now.” 

You blushed, “Maybe it was a bit much.” 

Azriel shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is one thing.”

“And what is this one thing?” You asked, leaning forward and capturing his lips in another kiss. He tasted like cedar and rain. He tasted like home.

“That you should never be afraid of showing your power. Never. No matter what happens. No matter what people say.” 

His hand that had been cradling the back of your neck moved down, tracing the scars on your shoulder blades where your wings had once been. You shivered under his touch, but didn’t recoil. He understood. He was perhaps the only person who understood what it meant to have such a physical piece of yourself taken away. 

You kissed his hands, taking care to feel every valley beneath your lips and worship them. They were a part of him now, tied to him as much as his shadows were, and so how could you not love them? How could you not love him? This male who was your equal in every way imaginable and who made you feel happier and safer than you ever thought possible. 

He helped you out of the bathtub, drying your skin and hair before carefully brushing through all the tangles and knots. 

“I should go report to Rhys.” You said with little determination as Azriel laid you out on the bed and then crawled under the covers beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both under the protective cover of his wings.

“Let it wait until tomorrow. Let me have you tonight.” 

You smiled, “I’ve only been gone nine days.” 

His hazel eyes melted into yours. “Nine days too long, Y/n.” 

You could never deny him anything when he looked at you like that, so full of feeling and a rawness too intense for words. And it wasn’t like you were dying to leave this bed and chase after your brother. Like Azriel had said - it could wait until tomorrow. So you melted into his arms and watched as Azriel slowly fell into a deep sleep for the first time in nine days.

______________

Author's note:

A woman covered in the blood of her enemies is *chef's kisses*

That's it. That's the note.

[somuchforahobby]

interrupted (pt. 4)

Summary: Obi-wan asks you out but it doesn’t go as planned

Tags: Childhood friends to lovers / they really are good friends / found family i guess ?

Warnings: its so fluffy im gonna dieeeee

Word count: 1.5 k

Read on AO3

Writer’s note: I am DERANGED by this. For reference this is what’s in my head when I write this story.

Master Windu had given you a task: to study the history of the jedi until you could recite it. And up until now, you had studied it until you’d gotten hungry, wanted to pee, remembered other pending work and fallen asleep, so that morning you decided to wrap it up. You grabbed a big mug of caf, tied your hair up and headed to the library in complete solitude. Maybe if you had no distractions you would be able to get through it.

You had gone through 3 books so far, and nearly all day, when someone sat opposite from you on the desk.

“Hello there”

Obi-wan greets you with a teasing smirk. His blue eyes embedded in yours.

“Hello.” You return your sight to the book, but if the smile that threads on your lips accuses you of anything, is that you will not be paying any attention to the words below. You still hope he doesn’t notice it.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to read”

“So I see” his fingers tap anxiously on the desk. “Want to refill that mug?”

Without raising your eyes, you give him your mug, “if you’d be so kind, thank you”

“I—I meant-“

“I know what you meant” your eyes still locked on the book, “but I am busy. Master Windu gave me an assignment.”

“You are not his padawan anymore”

That made you raise your sight, clearing your throat. “You would do the same if Qui-Gon asked you.”

With a grimace, he grabbed your mug and left to the caf station.

Minutes later he returned with your beverage prepared just how you drank it. He handed it to you, your fingers touched as you took it.

“Qui-Gon asked me something far more… absorbing”

“I know” You gave him an apologetic smile “how is he doing lately?” You closed the book in your hands, turning your attention to your friend.

“He worries me” Obi-wan leaned his chin on his palm, his elbow resting on the table. “He is too angry, too afraid. Almost every night he wakes up screaming and shaking from the nightmares that poison his mind.”

You extended one hand across the table, your palm up and fingers flexing in a quiet demand that was quickly complied.

Your fingers wrapped around his hand.

“I haven’t met a kinder soul than yours, Obi-wan. If there’s anyone who can heal your padawan’s tainted heart it is you. You know what it is like to have a…” you paused, looking for the right word, “rather absent master. I am certain you will do your best with Anakin.”

He guided your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “You trust me more than myself.”

“I’ve seen you grow into a powerful and wise jedi, much to my dismay.”

“Please elaborate” he teased.

You hid your grin turning back to your book. “Like I said, I am busy”

Your hand remained in his.

With his thumb, he drew figures on your skin until you felt his signature calm down.

“So I heard about this new place” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Obi-wan Kenobi” you interrupted him, lifting your gaze to him “are you going to ask me out?”

“so what if I was?”

You leaned closer, looking up to him, “It’s against your precious code”

His eyes drafted from your eyes to your lips, “so what if it was? If the order didn’t want it to happen then they shouldn’t have made us spend so much time together.” The warm breath of his words made you flush.

“Don’t give them any more ideas to push women out of here”

Your entire life had argued the lack of female jedis in the council and teaching, and instead of getting the regular eye-roll, in Obi-wan you always found a respectful ally.

A smile crossed his face, “I’d never”

“I know” your eyes fell to your jointed hands with a sweet smile on your lips. “So, this new place?”

His eyes glinted. “Let’s have dinner and I’ll take you to the stars after” he offered with a smirk that gave away what kind of stars he had in mind.

“Oh” you blushed, “like today?”

“Like right now”

“Uuhhh” you blushed, suddenly your heart was beating way too loud, “yeah, alright.”

You two are out in the hallway when you hear it.

“Master!” A child’s voice calls from behind your backs.

Your companion is already groaning and grimacing, but he turns towards the voice nonetheless. “Yes?”

You look over your shoulder and spot Anakin with a book in his hands.

“You said we’d continue with our lessons today” Anakin pouted.

“That I did, young padawan.” Obi-wan takes a step towards him. “But I’ve made plans with my friend, why don’t you rest today, eh?”

Anakin looks over at you, anger in his bright blue eyes as he walks closer to his master. “Everyone makes fun of me” the boy muttered.

Obi-wan bends to Anakin’s height, “who does? And why?”

“Because-“ the kid looks over at you and bites his tongue. “You know why” he says, shaking the book in his little hands.

Obi-wan returns to you with an apologetic smile, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

You crossed your arms on your chest, “you should not be helping with his homework, Kenobi” your tone is serious, solemn.

“I am n—“ with a hand on your bicep, he pushes you away from Anakin, then leans to your ear. “He is learning to read”

“WHAT?” You search for his eyes in shock. “He is ten years old”

“And he was also a slave. I don’t think his owner prioritized his education.” His voice sharp, protective.

Something within you broke as you looked at him and the child. You had been quick to judge them without knowing the full story. Your heart sank on your chest.

“Obi” the nickname dropped off your tongue as naturally as when you were children; all those times Obi-wan had cried with you for the lack of Qui-Gon’s interest, when he felt worthless or not enough.

“Don’t pity him” He ordered, “he hates that”

You looked back at the little kid behind you; his eyes glinted with curiosity, you could feel the Force beaming in him. A tender smile escaped your lips.

“I don’t, but I still wish he hadn’t.” You turned to the kid, then walked to him and leaned down to his height. “Would you like one more teacher?”

He did not answer. Instead, his eyes moved to Obi-wan’s searching for any sort of approval. Your attention stayed on the child until he nodded.

“Aright, I’ll take you to my favorite place to do homework.”

“Don’t guess” your finger is pointing to a word he is struggling to understand. “See letter by letter, what’s the first one?” You grab a fry from Obi-wan’s plate.

Anakin is sitting in front of you, his text book on the table surrounded by leftovers and milkshakes.

“K, A, S, H, Y” His brows furrow “why are there three y’s?”

“Das the way it was written” Obi-wan muttered next to you.

You turned to him with a disapproving look. “Terrible teacher. Maker.” With a sigh, you explained to Anakin, “Every Y stands for a different type of native and religious tree for the Planet’s inhabitants, the wookies. The Yaupon Holly, the Yew Pine and the Yulan.”

“How is it pronounced?”

“Kashi-yhk”

Anakin repeated the sound.

“Now read the whole sentence.”

His bright blue eyes returned to the reading.

Your hand extended to grab another fry but was quickly slapped. “Ouch”

“Don’t steal from the terrible teacher” Obi-wan feigned offence.

“Kashyyyk is a forest planet in the southwestern quadrant of the Republic.” Anakin read.

“Excellent, Ani!” You cheered with a smile. The child blushed as he continued his homework.

“This is not what I had in mind for tonight” Obi-wan whispered in your ear. His chin resting on your shoulder.

“Disappointed?” You turned to him.

“Not in the slightest. You’re good at this”

“Really makes ya wonder why you are the master, uh?” You teased.

“Any chance you want to be my associate?”

“Associate? You could use those big fat master checks to pay me for tutoring.”

He smirks, “or I could take you for a ride every once in a while”

“You must offer something I don’t already have”

“You don’t have a jedi master driving you around”

“I don’t need a master when I can get a bounty hunter”

You see his jaw tighten, “a bounty hunter? you deserve better”

“And what’s better?”

His eyes are on your lips and as he leans to kiss you, you grab your milkshake, taking a teasing sip.

He smirks and backs away.

“Oh, look at that”

You turn to find Anakin asleep on top of the book. His cheek plastered on his left hand, his right extended over the table with an abandoned fry on his fingers. You try not to laugh as you take your datapad out of your pocket and snap a picture.

“Time to go”

Obi-wan stands and takes Anakin in his arms, carrying him. You grab his book and head out together.

Before you reach the door Obi-wan calls your name. When you turned to him his lips were already on yours. It’s a soft, steady kiss.

“That’s better” He whispers against your lips. Part 5

[manikas-whims]

Dad Xavier with twins (boy and girl)

i know there's a general consensus in the fandom with the LIs all being girl dads but idk guys..For Xavier, sometimes i see him as a girl dad but other times, he seems more like a boy dad. Then i said fuck it! Xavier is now father to twins 😌 hope y'all like these HCs ♡

⭐ Dad Xavier who gets emotional and teary-eyed at the first sight of his twin babies because he always felt like a wandering soul with nothing to call his own. Yet now, he has you, and you've given him these adorable babies..all of whom he can call his family.

⭐ Dad Xavier who uses his light evol to create adorable characters when narrating a bedtime story to the twins.

⭐ Dad Xavier who tells scary stories when trying to get the kids to fall asleep at the proper time (like he did in that one Secret Times with MC 🤭)

⭐ Dad Xavier who often himself tends to fall asleep while trying to get the kids to sleep 😆

⭐ Dad Xavier who regularly takes the kids to the arcade and wins them all the plushies they ask for from the Claw Machine.

⭐ Dad Xavier who has managed to teach the kids the names of certain stars, constellations and planets as well as taught them random space facts.

⭐ Dad Xavier who is calm and collected in his tone but his blue eyes seem to glow when scolding the kids. Even you shiver at the intensity of his piercing gaze.

⭐ Dad Xavier who is a master at all the video games but loses on purpose to watch his kids giggle and jump in delight at beating their Daddy at the games.

⭐ Dad Xavier who is as fiercely protective of his babies as he is when it comes to you. Will fight the world for them and for you.

⭐ Dad Xavier who hugs the kids to sleep when they have a nightmare or just a bad day in general.

⭐ Dad Xavier who isn’t particularly fond of the kids going anywhere near weapons but knows that it's essential for his kids to have self-defense skills. And thus, when the kids are of appropriate age, you two together train the kids in proper combat and a weapon of choice (we've seen Xavier's excellent swordplay and with Mountain Journey, that he's also amazing with a gun)

⭐ Dad Xavier who joins the twins for a midnight snack and tries his best to defend them from your scolding.

⭐ Dad Xavier who watches the twins favourite movies with them late at nights during the weekends.

⭐ Dad Xavier who let's the kids mess around his piano, even teaches them a few easy tunes.

⭐ Dad Xavier who teaches the kids all sorts of ballroom dancing, from Foxtrot to the Waltz. These sessions often end with him asking your hand, and two of you ending up slow dancing at your home in the late hours of the night.

⭐ Dad Xavier whose kids accidentally come across Mommy's stash of Lumiere merch, and end up watching some old commercials and content with you two. The twins later on stare at Xavier with sparkly eyes full of admiration and ask if their Daddy is secretly a superhero 🥺 (that night Xavier almost burns your entire stash of Lumiere merch).

another post that's been collecting dust in my drafts for so damned long..i’ll probably share one for each LI at some point 🤞

» MASTERLIST «

[mrnnki]

Starscream-sympathetic fic recs

wanted to come up with a better title but unfortunately my brain is soup.

these are in the order I read/bookmarked them. Some stuff I have more memory of than others.

mostly hurt/comfort, angst, and heavy angst because my tastes skew dark. sticking to more canon-adjacent and plotty stuff for this one, but if anyone wants the rest of the stuff, I can make another list. I had 15 pages of Ao3 bookmarks to sort through. :P

Completed Fic

Ternion - continuity soup. Starscream leaves. Thundercracker and Skywarp eventually follow.

Healing touch - TFP. Seeker fanon lore. Knock Out realizes Starscream is touch-starved.

Not weak - G1. Sickfic. Starscream attempts (and fails) to hide that he's sick during a meeting.

Don't fix it - G1. Starscream, his trine, and his voice.

You remember her differently - IDW/G1/continuity soup. Warning: SA/sexual abuse. Starscream and Cryak focused. Really fucked up, painful, and well-written.

An exercise in self discipline - TFP. Warning: EDs/self-harm. Starscream attempts to punish himself after Optimus doesn't.

Bist du lebensmüde? - Armada. Warning: self-harm. Demolishor attempts to help Starscream.

Inspeak - TFP. Starscream has a nightmare. Optimus comforts him.

More worth saving - TFP. Starscream accidentally calls Optimus 'master.'

Skyborne memories - Earthspark. Starscream and Hashtag.

This ouroboros will not bite today - Earthspark. A rewrite of What Dwells Within.

The careful undressing of love - Cyberverse. Skystar. A badly injured Starscream is found by Skyfire.

Snared - IDW. Megatron visits, and though Starscream doesn't see him, he still reacts.

He scares me - TFP. Starscream flees the Nemesis with Orion Pax.

A calm rarely savored - continuity soup. Starop. Starscream is expected to interface with Optimus to plant a virus in him, but they both find that they experience attraction in nontraditional ways. Amazing ace rep. Has my soul.

Within the dragon's cage - TFP. Predaking doesn't kill Starscream.

Fire in the spark - TFP. Starscream faces Megatron after switching sides.

Prey turned precious - TFP. Predaking changes his mind about killing Starscream after he sees how tired the other mech is.

I wonder what lives inside you now - G1. Starbee. This fic will tear you apart.

Incomplete Fic

The good, the bad, the Starscream - TFP. Starscream redemption fic.

Too far - continuity soup, as far as I remember. Megatron, as the title says, goes too far and Starscream's trine interferes. Heavy whump.

I can't trust the fall - TFP. Starscream redemption fic.

Requiem for a seeker - Earthspark. This one is fucked up and creepy and captures helplessness so well. I love it.

Trust Me - Earthspark.

Another place, another prison - Earthspark. Starscream redemption.

Malicious compliance - G1. 5+1 fic focused on Starscream protecting his trine.

A silent scream - continuity soup. Starbee. Megatron takes away Starscream's voice--literally.

The little star - TFP. Starscream age-regresses. Words cannot express how much I love this fic.

Shine - TFP. Starscream is immortal, with Breakdown and Knock Out as witnesses.

The fallen angel - continuity soup. Starscream is cast out of the Decepticons and ends up with the Autobots.

Beyond our horizons - continuity soup (but mostly G1).

Oneshot Series

The 'Trine leader' series - continuity soup. Series is marked as incomplete. Fanon Seeker stuff (specifically fanon trine dynamics, which are the basis of the first oneshot). Thundercracker kills Megatron.

The 'the life of his that breaths' series - IDW. another one marked as incomplete that can be read in part or in whole.

The 'call an optimist' series - G1/continuity soup. Warning: Non-con. Starscream shows Skyfire what love means to him. It isn't right.

Chasing planes - TFP. Breakdown talks to Starscream after recalling that he was the only Decepticon who tried to save him.

[darth-jess]

Anidala rant

Alright I really don't understand people saying that Anakin didn't actually love Padmé, he was just obsessive and then used her as an excuse to get more power.

First off, love in general is just a tad bit obsessive okay? I'm a bit obsessed with my husband, I love him, he's amazing. You have to be a little obsessive to have the courage to bear your heart and soul to someone who you are absolutely NOT supposed to be with. Also, can we talk about the fact that after Padmé "rejected" him he totally backed down? I mean he still loved her, but he wasn't going to push it anymore until she admitted that she loved him too.

Also…ANAKIN LITERALLY SACRIFICES HIS SOUL because he can't bear the thought of living without her. If it isn't clear enough in the movies (it is crystal clear) then the Revenge of the Sith novelization makes it even more so. He is genuinely horrified when he discovers that his friend, the Chancellor has been a Sith Lord this whole time, and multiple times he wishes Obi-wan was there with him because Anakin is so confused and has no idea what to do. And the ONLY reason he goes back to "save" Palpatine is because he can't let Palpatine die without learning how to save Padmé.

EVEN WHEN MACE IS FIGHTING PALPATINE Anakin wants Palpatine to BE ARRESTED. The only time Anakin moves against Mace Windu is when Mace is about to kill Palpatine, who has convinced Anakin that he is the only one who has the knowledge to save Padmé.

His turning to the Dark Side has nothing to do with power, and solely to do with wanting to save his wife from certain death. Dude was literally about to leave the Jedi Order, and he honestly didn't care anymore about being granted the rank of Master. The only reason he NEEDED the rank so badly is because he wanted to look up stuff in the Jedi archives ways he could possibly save Padmé, but only Jedi Masters were able to access some of these files. Add in the fact that his nightmares had made it impossible for him to sleep for literal days (weeks?) before the battle in the Chancellor's office.

Even when he's choking her on Mustafar, it's not because he never loved her, it's because he is in so much pain. All he sees is that the woman he loves most in the world, the woman he has sacrificed everything for and destroyed his soul for, WANTS HIM DEAD. Which of course isn't true, but why else would she have brought Obi-wan with her? He chokes her because every one of her words is a dagger, he feels betrayed and he can't listen to it anymore or he'll shatter. –This is not an excuse for any kind of abuse, but you have to understand the emotional turmoil he is going through. This is also not an argument that what he did was RIGHT in any way after turning to the Dark Side, but you do have to see how his actions (to him, at least) make perfect sense and that NONE of his actions hint at the fact that he either didn't love her or stopped loving her. He loved her even as Vader, he loved her forever.

Anyway, sorry, I've been reading the ROTS novelization and I'm almost done with it and I'm sad and emotional.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

May I have this dance?

Sebastian Solace x Reader

"Surely, you must be joking."

"Quite the contrary."

He fiddled with the old gramophone, making a few final adjustments in order to get it to function properly once more. All the while he was casually holding his cigarette with his third hand, elegantly tapping the ash away when necessary.

Sebastian had amassed an impressive collection of vinyl records, arranging them according to his tastes. He had done so in a similar manner with his books and research files. You loved watching him sort out his inventory.

It was so unusually domestic, the mingling scents of coffee and cigarette smoke, the presence of warm blankets and pillows on the sofa he had hauled from an unspecified location in the vast facility. Undoubtedly from various loungers that the scientists would once find comfort in before the breach in security.

You cleared your throat, trying to get his attention once more.

"Seb, be realistic. We cannot dance together. I don't even know how to"

"I am certain the youth refers to this as a "skill issue" nowadays. Painter had discovered a whole thesaurus of modern slang, heaven help us all."

"I am not even going to comment this. My point still stands. Besides, you do not even have legs."

"What I do have is creative solutions to complex problems. We crush obstacles, do we not? Ah, there we go. Good as new."

He placed the needle on a record.

Music. Soft jazz, soothing yet playful, unpredictable in its rhythm, improvising, moving from whimsical and exciting tunes to the more melancholic melodies. In many ways, it conveyed Sebastian's own soul perfectly.

He offered his clawed hand, grinning and waiting for you to inevitably accept his offer. Reluctantly, you accepted.

His tail began to tap in a certain rhythm against the floor, as if setting the tempo you should follow along with the music. Confused, you saw his other two arms approach you, all three serving as if they were makeshift dance partners.

Before you knew it, he was making you move and sway as if you were a combination of a puppet on a string and a music box ballerina. He made you twirl, glide, turn, almost hypnotic.

At a certain point, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room was completely dark, save for the lone light of his esca.

"See? You do not need to know where to go or what to do, you are only to follow as I say. Trust me and you will never have to worry about anything ever again."

"Seb, I am tired."

"I am sure we can get a few more pirouettes out of you, pet."

"Well, at least I am getting free cardio training here."

You took deep breaths as your puppet master played with you, demanding yet gentle, firm yet rewarding you with tenderness when it was due. As you were about to collapse, he caught you, pulling you into his lap.

Soft kisses were placed on your head, cheeks and lips.

His body began to sway, akin to the ocean waves, his arms cradling you.

Sebastian was truly like the ocean itself, simultaneously a cooling haven that embraced you in your feverish nightmares and a cold unyielding tomb that one could not escape from. A devil is merely a fallen angel, after all.

You whispered, closing your eyes.

"What will become of us, Seb? We are playing in this illusion, knowing that all of this is ludicrous."

"We live on stolen time. Our old lives are forfeit and we can only move onward. We take, we scavenge, we defy probability itself."

"What are we to each other?"

He combed his fingers through your hair.

"Fleeting hope. The same type that a ghost feels in a house with new tenants, desperately wishing to be seen and heard once more. Even for a final time."

Hot tears ran down your cheeks.

"Hope is such a cruel thing, Seb."

He kissed each tear away, savouring your sorrow.

"We lie in the Abyss. This location defies physics itself, it rebels against every possible known law of water mechanics. So shall we. Doomed to fail, given to death, we shall rise once more, wearing the Reaper's cloak as our own."

[lovelyverosika]

I keep thinking about his angel eyes

Hazbin Hotel! Adam x Fem!reader

Part 3 —> Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: talk about self hate

A/N: Here is the part 3 everyone wished for. I decided to make a total of 4 parts, so you sadly still need to wait a bit for the end :,) Like always I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes.

Y/N POV:

I found myself in a room similar to a movie theater. I’m not able to move a single muscle in my body. Suddenly a movie started playing, memories of my life in heaven or more specially about Adam and me. I smiled and felt all warm and fuzzy inside as the memories of our growing relationship were displayed right in front of me.

The first time we met, how we fought at work, how we began to spend more time with each other, our first dates and how he took his mask down for the first time. This may sound exaggerated but that was the proof of how much he trusts me and oh lord was he gorgeous. His golden eyes had me captured the moment I looked into them…his beautiful angel eyes. Nothing was more beautiful than seeing his true emotions reflect in them. Everyone knew him as "The first man" or the self quoted "Dick master" but I know it better. Deep down he’s a insecure soul who’s desperate for admiration and affection, especially after loosing his two previous wives to the same man.

Of course he was a total asshole when I first met him but he changed for the better and that out of his own will, that is something not everyone is willing to do. In a flash of seconds more memories were shown: Our first kiss, anniversary and lastly our wedding. It was a very magnificent day, I never ever thought I will find a lover let alone get married to someone. Everything was just perfect until the court accident today.

Suddenly everything went black. I don’t know where I am or what to feel, this is stranger than any dream or nightmare I ever had. I slowly stood up as a sudden blow of cold air hit me. I wrap my arms around myself as I start walking around in this strange void. All I can hear is my own heartbeat,breathing and the sound of my heels clicking on the ground. After what felt like an eternity I found a single white door in the middle of this nowhere.

Not knowing what else I should do I open the door and enter another black space with a single mirror standing in the middle. This is all so strange and overwhelming I couldn’t prevent myself from tearing up..pathetic that’s what I am. I took a deep breath and walked towards the mirror. I looked like an absolute mess with my eyes puffy from all the crying.

Suddenly the reflection changed in how I used to look like back then in hell. "Helloooo, redeemed or not I’ll always be a part of you.”, my reflection said. I was completely stunned…how is that even possible? "Do you remember what you used to tell your friends back then in hell? You said and I quote: You don’t need to be perfect to be worthy of being loved or deserving a better life. Everyone deserves a second chance and that goes for you too." My old self gave me a big smile and I couldn’t help but smile too.

In a way she is right but accepting yourself is much harder than people say. It takes lots of time, patience and willingness. My reflection gave me a look full of pity before she started to speak. "You probably think he will leave you, hm? Of course that can be an option but would he really? It’s like Rosie said it’s difficult to admit things you’re not proud of but you’re still you. The fact you used to be a demon doesn’t change the person you really are, the person he grew to love and cherish. It seems like we’re running out of time..it was nice seeing the person I became. You’re much stronger than you think.", she chuckled and waved at me. "Farewell Y/N..it’s time to wake up now. Emily must be going insane from how much she worries about you."

My reflection disappeared and left me with a warm feeling inside my heart. With a smile on my face I walked through the mirror and woke up in a bed, which must belong to Emily. In less than a few seconds Emily wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. "You’re awake, I was so scared you wouldn’t wake up.", she said while sniffing onto my chest. I couldn’t help but smile, she’s such a sweetheart. "Shh, I’m here now.", I said while patting her back.

Part 4

[dedolubka]

A Song of the Woods and Winds

(Tamlin x OC)

Crazy, I haven't written this story since last october! That's an oversight. Firstly, it's now officially a fanfic, and it has a title. Secondly, thanks @praetorqueenreyna for correcting the errors in this text! ❤️

Warnings: Amarantha. Seriously, this woman is a warning in and of herself.

Enjoy the read!

<<<past | next>>>

The stone walls suffocated him. Despite the efforts of the persistent air spirit who claimed to be his personal servant, Tamlin never slept in his tidy chambers. He rarely slept at all. There weren't enough soldiers from his court to catch and destroy the Hybern soldiers who had banded together and plundered the borders, and he had to help. Tamlin would be lying if he said he did it without pleasure.

In rare moments of peace, he settled under a spreading willow tree in his sacred grove and  would fall into a brief slumber. It was here that his mother slept her eternal sleep. If Tamlin could find any emotion other than endless, dull weariness, he would be ashamed to come here, for it would hurt his mother to see her favourite son like this. 

But even in her comforting embrace he could find no peace.

Nightmares haunted him constantly. On good days they were blurry, painful images. On bad days he was visited by a woman with black eyes and a black soul.

Red braids, red lips and red nails. Red blood, everywhere, on the floor, on her hands and on his too. Tamlin couldn't even remember how many Spring Court fairies she'd killed for fun. He couldn't remember how many he'd bought the life of with his body. It was always not enough for her, she wanted his heart but couldn't have it - luckily she thought it was her own fault. A heart of stone is incapable of love and desire.

This didn't stop her from torturing him. This didn't stop her from laughing. This didn't stop her from keeping him on a short leash. 

This didn't stop her from making him torture his subjects. No wonder they believed Feyre's lies about him so easily - their screams were still ringing in his ears.

"Sir, please!”

"My lord, please don't!

"Spare me!”

"Master, please!”

"Master!”

"Master!"

The last voice was too vivid and real to be an inflamed memory Tamlin's eyes snapped open, clouded by sleep. There was darkness all around, and beyond the darkness a storm was raging.

“Master!” a frightened voice kept calling to him. The voice of his tenacious servant. "Master, wake up! You will destroy the grove!"

Tamlin's heart pounded in his throat. His magic was raging, out of control. He could feel it, but he couldn't see it - the roots of the willow under which he slept were woven tightly around his animal body, as if to cocoon him from the raging elements. He dug his claws into the ground, trying to calm himself, trying to control the magic.

"Master!"

Shut up, shut up... Tamlin growled, forcing the winds to subside. Slowly, as if reluctantly, the roots of the willow obeyed him, unravelling and releasing him, retreating back underground. The tree must not be harmed... Tamlin would not forgive himself if his intemperance caused his mother's resting place to become a ruin.

"Master!" The spirit's exclamation came from nearby. Tamlin reacted sharply, his targeted roar causing Ariel to recoil.

“Stay away!”

The spirit threw up its arms, and after a few heavy sighs, Tamlin recovered enough to lift the mist from his vision. Ariel's hands were torn - small wounds covered palms and wrists. It looked like the fool had tried to pull the roots apart with his bare hands…

Tamlin shook himself in an attempt to shake off the remnants of a sleepy nightmare along with the earth from his fur.

"Master…"

"What happened?" Tamlin interrupted abruptly, not wanting to listen to his pitiful wailing. Looking around, he saw a few trees that had been hobbled, but overall the damage to the sacred grove was not critical. Thank Goddess Mother, it passed....

"Well... you... I suppose you had a nightmare?" Ariel still held his hands up, as if to show he wasn't a threat. "When I flew in and tried to wake you, these roots hid you from me... it seems this tree was protecting you..."

Tamlin blinked. Protecting ? No, it... It was probably just his magic reacting to the destruction. It had happened before. The last time, during a nightmare like this, Tamlin had blown up the south wing of the mansion, but the air shield had protected him from damage himself. He looked again at Ariel's shredded hands, slowly healing.

“Why did you do that?”

Ariel immediately hid his hands behind his back.

"What was I supposed to do, just stand there and watch?" the spirit muttered. "I was scared, okay? You... I... I have bad associations with being trapped in a tree."

Tamlin remembered the gaunt pine that had long served as a prison. Does Ariel have nightmares too…?

"Master…"

"What?!" snarled Tamlin, not so much angry as tired. The rest had not brought him peace, but new destruction. And this spirit... Tamlin felt a pang of guilt, even though he had not asked the foolish servant for help!

Anyone else in Ariel's position would have been frightened by his growl. Or would have taken offence. Ariel just fluttered his eyelashes and said, "Why don't I guard you while you sleep?"

Tamlin twitched his tail in surprise.

"What?" he asked dully. 

"What? I'll wake you up if I have to!"

Tamlin stared at the spirit in silence for a few moments, not knowing how to respond to such insolence. This noisy, talkative bird wasn't going to leave him alone, was it?

"Get out of my sight," Tamlin finally muttered, the mark on his skin, hidden by his fur, stinging with heat. He turned heavily on his paws and padded off into the grove, leaving Ariel behind.

Or rather, he was trying to leave Ariel behind. After five minutes of walking and tense silence, Tamlin growled, "I told you to get out."

“Nope, you said you didn't want to see me,” said the spirit behind his back in a cheerful voice. “You can't see me! All is fair!”

Tamlin turned around in irritation, but only had time to notice the leaves being lifted from the ground by the wind.

“I'm in no mood to play your games!”

"These are not games, Master. I am concerned for your welfare." Ariel's voice sounded close to his ear, but when Tamlin turned his horned head, he saw no one.

"Enough! Show yourself, now!"

Ariel immediately complied, hovering in the air and slowly lowering himself to the ground.

"Master, you almost hurt yourself," his tone was uncharacteristically serious. "And almost hurt the grove. I can't leave you like this, it's dangerous."

"I don't need your help."

"Yes, you do!" Ariel put his hands on his hips. What a funny picture - a little spirit trying to look threatening. "Are you resting at all?"

"None of your business!"

"You're a stubborn fool, Master!" Ariel flapped his arms irritably like wings. Tamlin roared in response. 

"Insolent spirit, don't make me angry!"

"Or what!"

A sudden roar shook the sky. Tamlin's power rushed forward in a gust of wind. Ariel squealed and covered his face with his hands as the wind tore at his clothes and hair, nearly knocking him to the ground. Tamlin roared, his eyes glowing with a bright green light. The wind whipped around, causing the thin trees to bend and crack dangerously. It was dangerous, an outburst of anger and irritation could cost the grove dearly, but Tamlin couldn't bring himself to calm down before his lungs ran out of oxygen. When he fell silent, Ariel lowered palms carefully.

"Are you feeling better?"

Reluctantly, Tamlin replied, "Yes.”

"Wonderful!"

Mother Goddess have mercy, the mood of a stubborn servant seemed impossible to kill. Ariel fixed his windswept hair and waved towards the two leaning trees - if Tamlin remembered correctly, his grandmother's third cousins slept there.

"Then make yourself comfortable, Master."

Tamlin didn't really have much of a choice. He could continue to insist, giving Ariel orders to get out - but Ariel loved to find loopholes in his orders. Or he could have obeyed. Tamlin was tired, so tired that even his instincts screaming in warning and suspicion did not frighten him. No one could be trusted, but today he was willing to be a fatalist.

Giving up, Tamlin wandered off under the leafy cover of the trees. He stomped on the grass and leaves, twisting and turning to make himself more comfortable. It was worth giving Ariel credit - the spirit sat at a distance from him, his back to him. Maybe he didn't want to embarrass him... It helped anyway. Ariel had already seen too many of the High Lord's weaknesses.

Tamlin curled up in a ball of golden fur, his nose buried in his paws. His ears twitched sensitively as he heard the distant chirping of birds, life slowly returning to this garden. Ariel fidgeted in his seat, his restless hands finding blades of grass and flowers to weave into a wreath. He began to chirp under his breath, unable to remain silent for long. 

Contrary to expectations, it wasn't annoying.

Ariel had a pleasant voice, and the melody he was humming sounded suspiciously like a lullaby. Tamlin took a deep breath of the cool air of the grove. How silly... he wasn't a child. He doesn't need comforting. But still no irritation blossomed in his chest.

Tamlin closed eyes.

As is tradition, the musical accompaniment of the chapter ☆

[ckret2]

I love sparkly coin au, how would Mabel act differently after her memories as Bill return? Since she now has all her memories back? Would she gain back some or most of her old mannerisms as Bill? What else would change?

She actually wouldn't act much more Bill-ish than she already does.

Like there's two ways to look at a "Bill reincarnates as Mabel" AU:

Bill dies, and a totally new and different person is made from his soul; and then, thirteen years later, she starts reacquiring the memories of a different person that used to be made from her soul, and now that different person influences her mind.

And that's not the way I'm doing it.

The other way is:

Bill loses his memories and gets stuck in a new body, but he's still the same person he's always been, he just doesn't have specific memories. Over the course of thirteen years, he naturally learns and grows and changes as a person, as you would expect to happen over time; and then he gets his memories back.

Bill isn't a different separate person whose influence Mabel is only now being exposed to. She was Bill from the start. The point at which her mannerisms, behaviors, and actions were most Bill-ish was when she was a toddler; and all the ways she's different from him now isn't because she's missing 1,000,000,000,000 years of being Bill, but because she's gained 13 years of being Mabel.

We see, in the show, her learning to become less Bill-ish: to put her family's needs over her preoccupation of the week; to accept that things change and she shouldn't try to cope with it by retreating into a fantasy world over which she has full control; etc. That process has been going on since she was born.

So usually, getting her Bill memories back just lets her understand the mannerisms she already has. "So that's why I didn't even stop to think before dumping a whole packet of Smile Dip down my throat; I've been trying every new party drug that drops into the Nightmare Realm for forever and it's never caused me trouble before because I'm made out of energy, haha! ... Yikes." "Wait, so, I've been attracted to mysterious-y gory urbany-legend cryptidy things like Bloody Mary for like, a billion zillion years? ... Suddenly my thing for vampires makes a lot more sense." "Well, now I know why I avoid wearing shoes with laces as much as possible! Becaaause they're evil!"

(That's what most of the fun of this AU is for me: reframing Mabel traits as Bill-ish traits and reframing Bill traits as Mabel-ish traits. So it's not about GIVING Mabel Bill's traits; rather it's about saying Mabel ALREADY HAS Bill's traits and then trying to convince y'all that it makes perfect sense.)

Some superficial surface traits might drift toward being more Bill-ish; like, an increased appreciation for the color yellow. But most of the changes from her memories returning come from either, one, specifically the psychological effects that just knowing she's Bill Cipher would have (like, y'know, guilt over tormenting her grunkle and nearly murdering her brother); or two, things she's only capable of doing when she's got vast cosmic knowledge at her disposal.

For instance: she does arts & crafts, she's always loved arts & crafts. Sock puppets, macaroni art, crayon portraits, glue gun fashion, you name it, she's a master at it. But now she's remembered how to make one of her all time favorite crafts: bubbles of pure madness! This is gonna keep her occupied, like, all weekend.

[winchesterwild78]

Goodbye, My Love pt 2

Master List

Catch up on Part 1 here

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader (wife)

Warnings: Angst and heartbreak 

A/N: Oh this is a heart wrenching, soul crushing story. Sorry. I’ve been going through a lot lately and like they say, writers pull from their own lives. 

This story will be in 3 parts. I cried while writing this. If you don’t want to read something that may make you cry, please don’t.

This story follows Jensen and his reader wife as they struggle in their marriage.

Trigger Warning: Depression, dark thoughts (not suicidal, but wanting to disappear)

No disrespect to Jensen or his family, this is a work of fiction and in no way reflects real life. 

All work is my own don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

The ping of his phone cut through the sterile quiet of the Vancouver set. Jensen’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at the screen. Your name flashed across it, followed by the stark, chilling message. His blood ran cold.

"I'll always love you." The words echoed the depth of your connection, a bond he had foolishly allowed to fray.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't enough." This hit him like a physical blow, a gut-wrenching accusation that resonated with the guilt that had been gnawing at him. Had he truly made you feel inadequate? The thought was unbearable.

"Goodbye." That single word ripped through the carefully constructed walls he had built around his emotions. Goodbye wasn't a temporary farewell; it was final. It was the sound of a door slamming shut, a bridge collapsing.

A wave of panic washed over him, so intense it made him gasp for air. The weariness he had been carrying for months vanished, replaced by a frantic urgency. He suddenly saw the distance not as a necessary evil of his career, but as a gaping chasm he had allowed to form between them. Your quiet sadness during video calls, the forced smiles, the unspoken tension – it all clicked into place with terrifying clarity. He had been so consumed by his own internal struggles that he had failed to see the depth of your pain.

The image of your tear-streaked face from your last video call flashed in his mind, a haunting reminder of his neglect. The thought of you alone, feeling worthless, saying goodbye… it was a nightmare unfolding in real-time.

His heart hammered against his ribs. He tried to call, his fingers fumbling with his phone. It rang unanswered. He texted back, a frantic string of questions: "Where are you? What's going on? Please, Y/N, answer me!"

But the silence on the other end was deafening, mirroring the silence you had left behind in your home. He pictured the rings on the nightstand, a final, heartbreaking symbol of your shattered vows.

A cold dread gripped him. He knew you. He knew the depth of your love, and the depth of your pain. That goodbye wasn't a casual farewell; it was a desperate act.

He felt a surge of adrenaline, a primal need to reach you, to undo the damage he had so carelessly inflicted. The project, the career-defining role – it all suddenly seemed insignificant, meaningless in the face of the potential loss of you.

Without a second thought, he turned to the director, his voice urgent and strained. "I have to go. Something… something has happened." He didn't wait for a response, grabbing his keys and sprinting towards his trailer, the frantic beat of his own heart the only sound he could hear. Home. He had to get back home. Now.

The flight back home was a blur of frantic thoughts and a gnawing, icy fear. Every hour felt like an eternity, the picturesque landscape a cruel contrast to the turmoil churning within him. Arriving at the airport he climbed in his car, he sped, ignoring the speed limits, his mind racing with a desperate need to see you, to know you were safe.

He burst through the front door of your home, the silence hitting him like a physical blow. It was a different silence than when he had left – heavier, emptier, imbued with the undeniable evidence of your absence. The air felt stagnant, as if the very life had been sucked out of the house.

"Y/N?" His voice cracked as he called out, the sound swallowed by the oppressive quiet. He moved through the familiar rooms, each one echoing with memories of your presence. The kitchen, where you’d hummed while making coffee and danced while cooking. The living room, where you’d curled up by the fire with a book. The bedroom…

He stopped short in the doorway of your shared bedroom. The bed was neatly made, but his gaze was drawn to the nightstand. There, gleaming under the soft light of the bedside lamp, lay your rings. His breath hitched. The sight of them, so small and inert, carried a weight that crushed his chest. They were a tangible representation of your goodbye, a final severing of the bond they symbolized.

He picked them up, the cool metal heavy in his trembling hand. The diamond caught the light, a stark reminder of the brilliance of your love, a brilliance he had taken for granted. His mind flashed to the day he asked you to marry him, and the day you two got married. The promises, the love, the promise of a future. A wave of nausea washed over him, followed by a crushing wave of guilt. He had been so focused on his own perceived struggles that he hadn’t seen the depth of your despair, the quiet agony that had led you to this.

He looked around the empty room, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency. Your bags were gone from the closet. Your favorite sweater wasn't draped over the armchair. The silence screamed your absence, a void that echoed the emptiness he now felt within himself.

Where were you? Were you safe? The questions clawed at him, each one more terrifying than the last. He sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. He had been so wrong, so blind. He had almost lost you. And the terrifying reality was, he might have already.

His calls went straight to voicemail, each unanswered ring amplifying his rising panic. He left a message, his voice raw with a desperation he had never allowed you to hear. "Y/N, please, just pick up. Tell me where you are. I'm so sorry. I messed up. Please just let me know you're okay." His words tumbled out, a frantic plea for connection in the face of your devastating silence.

Then came the text, short and pleading: "Call me. Please." He stared at his phone, willing it to ring, every passing second an eternity. But the screen remained stubbornly blank, your name absent from the incoming call display.

You, meanwhile, were adrift in a sea of your own despair. His voicemail echoed in your mind, the sound of his voice, once a source of comfort, now a painful reminder of what you had lost. You saw the text pop up on your phone screen, a stark white message against the dark background, but it felt distant, unreal.

The pain was a physical weight, pressing down on you, stealing your breath. Your thoughts swirled in a vortex of sadness and self-recrimination. His words, even in their desperation, couldn't penetrate the fog of your despair. He had made his choice, hadn't he? The year-long project, the unspoken distance, the finality of his departure. It had all spoken volumes.

You couldn't bring yourself to respond. What was there to say? The words felt hollow, inadequate to express the depth of your anguish. You were lost in the labyrinth of your own mind, the darkness closing in, the silence of the road mirroring the silence within your soul.

Unbeknownst to you, as you drove aimlessly, the frantic energy that had propelled Jensen home had solidified into a resolute determination. Seeing your rings, hearing his own desperate voice on the unanswered voicemail, had stripped away the layers of doubt and confusion that had plagued him. In that moment, surrounded by the tangible evidence of your pain and absence, the fog had lifted. His choice was clear. It had always been you. The allure of the career, the distractions of Hollywood, paled in comparison to the thought of a life without you. He had been a fool, chasing a fleeting dream while jeopardizing the most real and precious thing he had ever known. Now, his only focus was finding you, holding you, and fighting with every fiber of his being to earn back the love he had so carelessly risked losing.

Panic clawed at Jensen's throat, a suffocating grip that tightened with each unanswered call. He scrolled through his contacts, his fingers trembling as he dialed family and mutual friends, his voice tight with forced calm as he asked if they had heard from you. Each negative response was a fresh wave of icy dread washing over him. Nobody had seen you. Nobody knew where you had gone.

Desperation mounting, he called Jared and then Clif, his voice cracking with worry as he explained the situation, the cryptic goodbye text, your disappearance. Both his friends were immediately concerned, their voices filled with a shared anxiety. They hadn't heard from you either, but promised to reach out to their own networks, their support a small lifeline in Jensen's growing fear.

The weight of your unspoken pain, the darkness he had sensed lurking beneath your brave facade, now loomed over him, amplified by the chilling finality of your text and your sudden absence. He knew your capacity for deep emotion, your sensitivity. The thought of you alone, lost in that darkness, terrified him. He couldn't shake the image of your tear-streaked face, the quiet despair in your eyes during those last strained calls.

He paced the length of the living room, a caged animal fueled by a desperate need to find you. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, the silence of the house a constant, agonizing reminder of your absence. He picked up his phone again, his hand shaking so badly he almost dropped it. He scrolled back to your number, his thumb hovering over the call button. He had to hear your voice. He had to know you were safe. He pressed call.

The phone rang, the sudden shrill sound cutting through the heavy fog of your thoughts like a sharp knife. You stared at the screen, Jensen’s name flashing, a stark reminder of the life you had just walked away from. A part of you, the ingrained habit of years, wanted to ignore it, to let it ring out into the silence. But another part, a tiny flicker of something you couldn't quite name, compelled you to answer.

With a shaky hand, you swiped to pick up. The silence on the other end felt thick with unspoken terror and relief.

“Y/N?” His voice was raw, strained, barely a whisper. The sheer desperation in it pierced through the numbness that had enveloped you.

You didn’t answer immediately. Your throat felt tight, your voice trapped somewhere deep inside. The sound of his voice, the familiar cadence, threatened to shatter the fragile wall you had built around your heart.

“Y/N, please,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Where are you? Are you okay?” The urgency in his tone was palpable, a stark contrast to the distant voice you had grown accustomed to.

Finally, you managed a small, broken sound, a mere breath of acknowledgement. “Jensen…” Your voice was hoarse, barely recognizable even to yourself.

The relief on his end was almost tangible, a wave of air rushing through the phone line. “Oh, God, Y/N. Thank God. Where are you? I’ve been… I’ve been so worried.” The tremor in his voice spoke volumes of the fear he had been experiencing.

You remained silent for a moment, the weight of your pain, your confusion, still a heavy burden. You had wanted to disappear, to escape the suffocating sadness. Now, hearing his frantic voice, a new wave of emotions washed over you – confusion, a flicker of hope, but mostly a profound weariness.

“I… I don’t know,” you finally whispered, the words barely audible. “I just… I had to leave. Give you what you wanted, a life free of me.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you managed, the words feeling hollow and unconvincing even to your own ears. “Just… I needed some space.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, a palpable tension. “Space? Y/N, I got your text. Your goodbye text. I came home. I’m here. You’re not here.” His voice was thick with emotion, a mixture of relief and disbelief.

The realization hit you like a physical blow. He had come home? You hadn't even considered that possibility, so consumed were you by your own pain. The weight of his gesture, the implication of what it meant, hung heavy in the air.

“Jensen… you came home?” you repeated, the surprise evident in your voice.

“Yes, Y/N, I came home,” he said, the urgency returning to his tone. “I read your text, and I… I couldn’t just stay there. Where are you? Please, just tell me where you are.”

The raw emotion in his voice, the fact that he had dropped everything and come back, started to chip away at the wall you had built around your heart. The image of him frantically searching the empty house, finding your rings, flashed in your mind.

“I… I don’t know where I am exactly,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I just… I drove. I just needed to get away.”

“Okay,” he said quickly, his voice softening slightly, laced with a fragile hope. “Okay. You’re okay. That’s… that’s the most important thing right now. Just… stay where you are. Tell me the general area. I’ll come to you.”

The thought of him coming to you, after everything, stirred something within you. A flicker of the love you thought had died, a tiny ember glowing in the darkness. But the pain was still so raw, the feeling of being “not enough” still a heavy weight on your soul.

“Jensen,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “just… just go back to set. It’s fine. I’m okay, I just couldn’t be there alone anymore. I’ll… I’ll come home tomorrow.” You clung to the idea of having more time, more space to process the whirlwind of emotions.

But his response was immediate and firm. “No, Y/N. No. I’m not going anywhere. Tell me where you are.” There was a new resolve in his voice, a determination that hadn't been there before. “I’m coming to you.”

Your gaze drifted to a road sign you had passed moments ago, the green lettering stark against the twilight sky. The name of the town, a place you had no particular connection to, registered in your mind.

“I… I’m,” you said quietly, the words barely audible. “At… at a Comfort Inn, just off the interstate, exit 235.”

A wave of relief washed over Jensen, so potent it almost buckled his knees. He knew where you were. It wasn't far.

“Okay,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Okay, exit 235, Comfort Inn. Stay there. Just… stay put. Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.” The urgency had returned, but it was now laced with a fierce protectiveness.

“Jensen…” you began, a mix of emotions swirling within you – confusion, a hesitant hope, and the lingering weight of your despair.

But he cut you off gently. “Just… just stay there, Y/N. Please. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He didn’t want to talk about it over the phone, not yet. He needed to see you, to hold you, to show you, not just tell you how desperately he wanted to fix things.

The line went silent for a moment, the only sound was your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, the fight draining out of you. The thought of him coming, of seeing him face-to-face, was both terrifying and a sliver of hope in the darkness. You gave him the room number, your voice barely above a murmur.

He didn’t say goodbye, just choked out, “I’m coming,” before the line went dead. You held the phone to your ear for a moment longer, the silence amplifying the chaotic storm of emotions within you. He was coming. After everything, he was actually coming. What that meant, you didn’t know. But for the first time since you had left, a tiny seed of possibility began to sprout in the barren landscape of your heart.

Part 3

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