#and not only that but before meeting the other survivors she was his only light in this fucked up bullshit and she probably knew that

[arolesbianism]

Let it not be forgotten how much I love Abby. She is the character of all time. 2 me. It's me and my needlessly in depth Abby hcs against the world

[meadowfics]

blood on your hands

kang dae ho x f!reader

in which you commit an act so unforgivable, yet reasonable

warnings: murder, death, nsfw!! 18+, minors please dni. smut with plot. oral (dh receiving). switch!daeho. switch!reader. praise. no PinV. VERY long chapter. dark chapter. original plot changes. y/n is used. reader is player 099. reader is the murderer. established relationship with dae-ho before the games. this takes place after the mingle games. the original character in this fic is player 123. I am not responsible for the content you choose to read after you hit, "keep reading"

4.6k words

the bathroom is a mess of bodies and tension.

the air thick with sweat, fear, disgusting body waste, and the sharp buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights. the guards stand at the entrance, their rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders, barely paying attention. 

they know no one is dumb enough to try anything here, not after the mingle game.

a game in which you barely survived too.  

anyways, you should be focusing on keeping jun-hee safe, making sure she gets in and out of here without trouble, but your mind keeps circling back to dae-ho.

your man. 

the love of your life. 

the marine’s voice is still fresh in your ears.  

"stay safe, no heroics."

all of the women were assigned to all go to the bathroom before lights out. you had smiled at him, something small, something just for him. 

"i’ll be okay," 

you had promised, squeezing his hand. 

"i'll stay with jun-hee the whole time."

he hadn't liked it. you could tell by the way his jaw clenched, by the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he wanted to argue but knew it would only make things harder. he is super protective about you, even before the games back at home.

in the end, he let you go, but not before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering like he was trying to memorize you.  

"come back to me." 

you had nodded. you always would.  

the two of you had been together for years. your relationship wasn’t new, wasn’t fragile. it was something built, something strong, something that had withstood everything life had thrown at you before the games.  

this?  

this was different.  

this was a nightmare neither of you had ever prepared for.  

when you first locked eyes after red light, green light, it felt like the world had cracked open. neither of you had known the other would be here. 

neither of you had imagined, in your worst nightmares, that this was how you’d meet again after not seeing each other for days.  

after meeting the salesman, the both of you had a plan to pay off each other's debts. unaware that the other had the same exact plan too.

the first game, dae-ho had stormed across the bloodstained ground, past the trembling bodies of the survivors, past the bodies that would never move again, and grabbed you like you were slipping through his fingers.  

“why are you here?" 

his voice had been raw, panicked. 

"how…why…"  

"why are you here?" 

you had shot back, just as desperate, just as lost.  

you both had kept your struggles quieter than you should have, thinking you could handle them alone. thinking you didn’t have to drag each other down.  

it didn’t matter now.  

now, all that mattered was surviving. together.  

which was what led you here…standing in a sea of exhausted, wary women, pushing into the bathroom with jun-hee behind you and hyun-ju in front, keeping them close, like a shield.  

you aren’t the only one on edge. hyun-ju’s beautiful eyes are scanning, assessing. she turns around and catches the way your fingers twitch at your sides, the way your shoulders stay stiff.  

"you okay?" her voice is low, careful.  

you force a small nod. 

"just need to pee badly."  

it’s a lie.  

hyun-ju knows. she reads people too well…probably from whatever special forces training she’s had. 

she doesn’t press, just gives you a look before shifting her attention elsewhere.  

it’s not the bathroom that has you tense.  

it’s her.

player 123. 

she’s already ahead, pushing through the group like she owns the place along with her goon’s, loud and grating. she hasn’t stopped talking since mingle. hasn’t stopped running her mouth.  

"you see that one triangle guard earlier?" 

she crows to no one in particular, shoving her elbow into the woman next to her. 

"dude was practically asleep. i bet i could’ve grabbed his gun…boom, game over."  

the woman beside her gives a nervous laugh, stepping away. no one outside of her dickriding goons wants to be near her…she’s too reckless, too unpredictable.  

your fingers curl into a fist at your side.  

you don’t trust her. not after what happened in the six-legged penalathon.  

you and player 123 had almost killed each other. 

it had been an accident, but that didn’t matter. the two of you had made a mistake, a single misstep, a moment of hesitation that had nearly sent both of you crashing to your deaths. and she blamed you.

the audacity. 

when jun-hee came to your group, asking to join. you gave up your spot for the woman. dae-ho protested, but you told him that the pregnant woman needs to live, so being with men will help her. 

dae-ho intensely watched you as you approached 123 and her group of 4. player 123 said you could join, since she needed another woman who looked, “as fit as you.” 

however, that was a mistake.. since you both nearly tripped when you were running to the finish line.

since then, she hated you..

you weren’t exactly fond of her either.  

you keep jun-hee behind you as the crowd shifts into the cramped bathroom. it’s a tight space, bodies pressing in on all sides. no privacy, no safety.  

you aren’t the only one feeling it…jun-hee shifts uncomfortably, pressing a protective hand over her stomach. you glance at her, lowering your voice. 

"we’ll be quick. i won’t let anything happen."  

she nods, trusting.  

too trusting.  

you can feel player 123's presence, her laughter cutting through the thick air like a blade. she’s talking again, louder now, complaining about everything.

"this is ridiculous," she groans, kicking the bottom of a stall. 

"they’re treating us like animals. like we’re not even people."  

you bite back the urge to snap.  

because that’s the thing...she’s not wrong. 

that doesn’t make you hate her any less.  

hyun-ju watches you carefully from the side, tracking the way your body tenses, the way your fingers tap against your leg like you’re holding yourself back from something.  

"she’s not worth it," hyun-ju mutters under her breath.  

you exhale sharply, steadying yourself. 

"i know."  

that doesn’t stop you from keeping an eye on player 123. doesn’t stop the weight of her presence from pressing into you. 

because in a place like this, grudges can get you killed.

the guards stand lazily outside of the entrance, their rifles hanging at their sides, not paying attention. 

they don’t care about the many players inside one hot room. 

but you do.  

you keep jun-hee close, guiding her toward the stalls. she looks miserable, her hand resting over the curve of her belly, shoulders tight with exhaustion.  

"y/n, i just need to sit for a second."  

jun-hee pulls you towards the first stall.

she goes into one of the stalls, locking it behind her, and you let out a slow breath. your heart is still racing. not because of the guards, not because of the way the other women keep their eyes peeled for weakness…but because of player 123.

you hear her voice somewhere off to the side, barking out a laugh, too loud, too confident.  

"these stalls are disgusting, i swear to god. like what do they want us to do? piss outside?" 

she’s talking to no one in particular, but the woman next to her lets out a forced chuckle, clearly too nervous to ignore her.

“she is so fucking annoying!”  

you think.

your jaw clenches, fingers twitching at your side.  

you don’t trust her. you never have.  

so when jun-hee comes out of her stall, you decide to go in after her. not because you need to pee, but because you don’t want to have to go later, when things could be worse.  

“i’ll be quick," you murmur, passing by hyun-ju, who is by the sinks, watching everything like a hawk.  

"stay alert," she tells you.  

you nod, stepping inside the stall, locking it behind you.  

you sit, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in the horrors of the game.  

everything blurs together…the blood, the screams, the crack of bones snapping under pressure. you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your palms into your thighs, trying to push the thoughts away, trying to remind yourself that you're still here. still breathing. still alive. 

BANG. 

your entire body jolts at the sudden impact against the stall door.  

"can you hurry the fuck up?"  

that voice. 

your blood runs cold.  

player 123.  

you don’t say anything, don’t react, hoping she’ll just move on, but then

she crawls under the stall.  

your breath catches in your throat, horror spiking through your veins as her hands and knees scrape against the filthy tile, her face appearing under the gap before she pulls herself inside, into your space.

"are you fucking stupid?" 

you snap, scrambling to pull your joggers up as you stagger to your feet.  

she just laughs.

loud, grating, obnoxious.  

"oh? oh, look at that." she grins, rocking back on her heels. 

"it’s the stupid bitch who almost got us killed!"  

your fists clench.  

"get the fuck out," 

you hiss, pushing past her to unlock the door.  

she follows you.  

you storm toward the sinks, your entire body thrumming with rage. she’s right on your heels, her voice sharp and mocking as she keeps egging you on.  

"what’s wrong, 099? mad i called you out? mad that you’re such a weak bitch who made it this far? "  

you ignore her, stepping toward the sinks where hyun-ju and jun-hee are.  

she doesn’t stop.  

"you think you’re some big hero? sticking with your little group like you’re different from the rest of us? newsflash, sweetheart…nobody here is safe."  

your hands shake. you grip the edge of the sink, trying to steady yourself.  

then she says it.  

"you know... i started to notice how close you and player 388 are. are you guys together?" 

123’s tone shifts, turning cruel, taunting. 

you stare at her through the mirror, hoping she shuts the fuck up.��

"wait, awee you guys are together! you know.. he’s such a charm. i cannot wait to steal him when you die during the next game!"  

that’s it.  

before you can even think, your body moves on its own.  

you turn, your fist flying through the air, and the impact is satisfying to your mind and knuckles. 

CRACK.

your knuckles collide with her face, sending her stumbling backward, her body hitting the ground with a hard thud.  

someone gasps. 

her goons rush forward, helping her up.  

hyun-ju steps toward you, eyes sharp, but before she can say anything—  

all hell breaks loose.

somewhere in the room, another fight erupts.

two randome women claw at each other, snarling like wild animals, hair being pulled, screams echoing off the tile.  

and then, like a chain reaction, everyone starts fighting.  

jun-hee stumbles back against the wall, hiding, pressing her hands over her stomach, panic flashing across her face. she knows she doesn’t stand a chance in this chaos.  

hyun-ju moves quickly, diving into the mess, trying to break up fights before they get worse.  

you…you don’t get the chance.  

because player 123 tackles you. 

you slam into the sink counter, pain exploding through your ribs.  

"you wanna fucking hit me, huh?" 

she seethes, grabbing onto your shirt. 

"you bitch! you think you’re tough?"  

you fight back, gripping her by the shoulders, trying to throw her off. but she’s strong, fueled by anger, by adrenaline.  

you both go crashing to the ground. 

she’s on top of you, fists flying.  

one punch.  

two.  

three.  

your face is bruised, bloodied.

your vision goes blurry, the taste of iron thick in your mouth as blood pools around your molar teeth.  

you gasp, hands scrambling for anything. 

you grip 123’s neck, trying to choke her, trying to stop her punches, but she just snarls, yanking at your hair, slamming your head back against the tile.  

someone—se-mi—tries to pull her off.  

but it’s not working.  

you’re losing. 

then  

something presses against your thigh.

your metal fork.

the one from earlier’s meal. the one you saved, just in case something like this happened  

your fingers close around it inside of your pocket.  

without thinking..without hesitating.. 

you move your right hand quickly and plunge it into her neck.  

she freezes.  

123’s brown eyes go wide.  

her hands, her fists, stop.

she limps, her body crumbling.  

however, that was not enough. 

something inside you snaps.  

you stab.

again.  

again.

again.

again.  

again.  

over and over and over until.. 

"STOP!"  

arms pull you back… hyun-ju.

your breath is ragged, your chest heaving.  

player 123 is dead. 

her body is still. 

her blood is everywhere. 

you don’t realize what you’ve done…not really…until hyun-ju drags you into the hallway, pushing you against the wall beside a guard.  

you’re hyperventilating. those pink lungs of yours cannot seem to catch a breath.

hyun-ju doesn’t yell at you. doesn’t scold you for murder since that would be hypocritical of her. she just takes the bloody fork from your hands, wipes at the blood on your face…though your 099 shirt is already soaked in red. 

"breathe," she orders.  

you can’t.  

"what did i do?"  

jun-hee stands nearby, eyes wide, face pale.  

she looks at you, then at the bodies inside.  

"nothing. since nothing will be mentioned to the others," 

she says quietly.  

you nod.  

silent. 

back to the dorms.. you can barely walk.  

your legs feel like they don’t belong to you, and the weight of what you just did claws at your chest, sinking deep into your ribs, making it hard to breathe.  

hyun-ju keeps her arm wrapped tightly around you, holding you up, making sure you don’t collapse under your own exhaustion. your shirt is soaked in blood..

some yours, most of it hers. 

player 123 is dead. 

you did that.  

you killed her.  

yet, in this moment, all you can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other as you and the remaining women shuffle back into the dorms.  

the second the doors open, the tension inside the dorm shifts.  

the men had heard everything.  

the screams.  

the fighting.  

the pounding of bodies slamming against the walls, the stalls, the sinks.  

the killings.  

it was a nightmare. 

and dae-ho almost ran after you.

he had almost lost his mind when the first screams from multiple women echoed through the halls, his entire body lurching forward, ready to run, to fight, to protect you, before jung bae grabbed him.  

"don’t." jung bae had hissed, forcing him to stay put. 

"we don’t know what’s happening yet."  

"it’s a fucking massacre, that’s what," young-il had muttered under his breath, his face pale as they all listened.  

dae-ho couldn’t stay calm.  

he was barely breathing, his hands clenching and unclenching, his mind running a thousand miles a minute.  

you had told him you’d be okay.  

you had promised.  

but then why did the screaming keep going?  

why did it sound like hell itself had broken loose in there?

at one point, it sounded like you were screaming.

it was, it was when you were repeatedly stabbing 123 over and over again.  

back in the dorms, dae-ho kept trying to reason with himself.  

you don’t start fights.  

you aren’t reckless.  

then he remembered the way you and 123 had argued after your group barely survived the six-legged penalathon…by four fucking seconds.  

he remembered 123 cursing you out, yelling about how you should’ve died instead of her almost falling.  

he remembered the way you just flicked her off, walking away.  

she was a loose cannon.

123 was like thanos and namgyu smashed into one woman.  

what if—  

the doors open.  

the women return.

and it’s worse than he imagined. 

the ones who come back look horrible. 

some are bloody. some have fresh bruises. some have torn shirts, missing shoes, swollen faces.

but not as many women return as there were when they left.  

dae-ho’s stomach drops.

he scans the group frantically. 

the marine’s heart hammers.  

his eyes land on hyun-ju and jun-hee first…both fine, exhausted but fine. 

then he sees you and his blood runs cold.  

his baby. his love.  

you look destroyed. your face is bloodied. your right eye is swollen.  there’s a deep cut above your eyebrow, blood trailing down your cheek, dripping onto your already soaked shirt.  

your lips are busted.  

your knuckles are bruised and your hands are shaking. 

"what the fuck happened?"  

dae-ho’s voice is sharp, broken.

hyun-ju doesn’t answer right away.  

instead, she tightens her grip on you, like she’s trying to shield you from his panic.

it’s too late.

he pushes forward, prying you out of hyun-ju’s arms, cradling you in his own. 

his hands hover over your face, your wounds, your bruises, like he doesn’t know where to touch, where to fix, where to start.  

"baby, oh my god, what did they do to you?" his voice breaks. 

he lifts you into his arms, carrying you straight to his bed, settling you down gently, as if you might shatter if he moves too fast.  

you don’t say anything.  

you can’t.  

because if you open your mouth, if you speak,you might just say what you did. 

so instead, you stare at the ceiling, your breath shallow, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.  

hyun-ju and jun-hee exchange a look.  

they don’t tell him.  

they don’t say what really happened. 

that is your place, not theirs. 

they don’t tell him that you killed player 123 in a fit of survival and rage, stabbing her over and over again until her body was lifeless.

instead, hyun-ju lies. 

"a fight broke out. everyone was attacking each other."  

dae-ho’s jaw tightens, his eyes flicking over every bruise, every wound, every drop of blood. 

"and she was attacked?"  

jun-hee nods.  

"we barely made it out."  

dae-ho exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he tears a piece of his 388 shirt, dipping it into some cup of water (belonging to gi-hun) before gently pressing it against your wounds.  

"fuck, i should’ve been there," he mutters. 

"i should’ve protected you."  

you swallow.

dae-ho’s words make your chest ache in a way you can’t explain.  

he doesn’t know.

he doesn’t know what you did. 

he doesn’t know that you aren’t just hurt.  

you are a killer now. 

across the room, young-il/001/the frontman undercover watches you carefully as he sits beside a worried gi-hun and jung-bae. 

his eyes linger. 

he knows. 

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a scene, but you catch the way he scans the room, the way he takes note of who came back..and who didn’t. 

123 isn’t here

he knows.  

you don’t look at dae-ho. 

you can’t  

because then you’d have to acknowledge it. and right now, you just want to pretend. 

pretend you didn’t just take a life.  

pretend you’re still you.  

the speaker comes on and the room freezes as everyone listens. suddenly, the names of the eliminated players in the women’s bathroom echo through the dorms.  

"player 037. eliminated."

"player 272. eliminated."  

"player 081. eliminated."  

"player 410. eliminated." 

"player 008. eliminated."  

"player 072. eliminated." 

and then..  

"player 123. eliminated." 

the second her number is called, the room shifts in your perspective. 

your stomach twists.

dae-ho’s eyes snap to you.  

then to hyun-ju.  

hyun-ju turns away.  

you tense.  

but he doesn’t know. 

not yet.  not yet.  

because lights out is coming.

during lights out, you wake up to dae-ho who is looking up at the ceiling. the ceiling where the gold pig sits with all of the money. the money from the dead players. 

“baby, is everything alright?” 

you ask lightly, putting your hand on his upper thigh as he looks over at you. 

the man smiles lightly, brushing a piece of hair off of your forehead as you close your eyes.. taking in his touch. 

“i should be asking you that.” 

dae-ho responds. 

of course you are still thinking about the murder you committed. however, you know that there will not be any legal consequences. the guards and this whole game is illegal itself!

however, you wonder how dae-ho will look at you. 

he used to talk to you about a murder that he committed while he was in the marines. the one thing that started his PTSD while serving. however, he was forced to do that.

you were not forced. 

well, that is debatable. 

since you were acting in self-defense. 

you brought your sore lips over dae-ho’s and started kissing him soflty, moving his hands to your ass while you sat your clothed core on top of his bulge. 

“y/n.” 

he groans through your lips. 

“hm.” 

you smirk. 

“is this alright? i don’t want you to feel uncom–” 

“we need a distraction, dae-ho.” 

two minutes later, your lips around around his fat tip. the marine’s head laid back against the hard wall, his pants pulled down to his ankles as you took his whole length inside of your throat. 

you were distracting yourself. your focus is fully on your lover’s scent, his big dick in your throat, your hands massaging his balls, and the way your lashes batted up at his eyes while you sucked his dick. 

this is the only way you can distract yourself from earlier. the murder. the murder you commited.

dae-ho wrapped your hair in a ponytail with his hands while you continued to do your work. you concentrated your tongue on a particular vein on his shaft while arching your back in the process. 

"fuck, you're sucking me off so perfectly."

your boyfriend of five years reaches over to massage your clothed ass, groaning softly as you deepthroated his cock. 

obviously, sucking his cock during lights out, where a player can easily see you, was not ideal for most people. however, you refused to pull dae-ho into a bathroom and do it. not where you killed 123. 

dae-ho’s cock twitched inside of your throat and you hummed, feeling his white load spill inside of your mouth and throat. 

the man puts a pillow over his head, so the pillow can block out his loud pornographic moan he spoke out. 

you were always so good at sucking his dick, oh how much he missed it while the games were happening. 

you helped your boyfriend pull his boxers and pants back on. the man flipped you over and kissed all over your neck, but you cringed. 

not because of dae-ho, not at all. you were so desperate for his tongue on your clit but somehow.. you started smelling the metallic blood from earlier. 

123’s blood. 

tears fill your eyes almost immediately.

when dae-ho realized that you were crying out of fear instead of pleasure, he stopped instantly. he pulled you into his arms as you stained his shirt with your tears. 

you started to hyperventilate again. 

dae-ho keeps you in his arms, but pulls your head off of his chest in order to help yourself breathe.

“baby, please breathe.” 

dae-ho panics, nearly having tears in his eyes too. 

“dae-ho, i-i-ca-can’t. i’m ah-a monster.” 

you coughed out. 

dae-ho frowns. 

“no you’re not!” 

he mumbles confidently, truthfully. 

“you’re my angel.” 

you cry more, shaking your head with a frown. 

“angels don't kill people, dae-ho.” 

you sob, wiping your nose with your blood stained jacket. 

“what?” 

dae-ho’s eyes widened. 

“sh-sh-she was so close to killing me i-in there!”

you start shaking, dae-ho holds your hands as you try to recall the memory. 

your lips turn pale. dae-ho holds the back of your head with his large hands as more tears fall down your face. 

“dae-ho, i killed 123!!! the fork i-i ha-had when we ate the bibimbap to-together! she almost beat me to death so i stabbed her.” 

your hands started shaking to the point where dae-ho had to hold them. 

not only was the memory so traumatic, but you were started to think that dae-ho would leave you. 

scared that he would not want someone who is a murderer.

dae-ho’s eyes are widened, he cannot say anything. 

“puh-pl-please say something! i swear it was in self-defense!! she did this to me-” 

you pointed at the bruises and cuts on your face.

“i-i couldn’t breathe before i felt the fork in my pocket. i had to, i am so sorry! please forgive me for being a monster!” 

you forced your hands out of dae-ho’s and covered your face, ashamed of yourself. 

dae-ho is everything good in this world. even here, in this twisted, merciless game, he treats you like you’re made of glass…like you’re still the same person he fell in love with before all of this. 

you’re scared.. now you believe that he knows that the girl he’s holding, the girl he’s protecting so fiercely, is not the girl he fell in love with. 

you’re a monster. a murderer. 

the blood on your hands isn’t just yours…it’s 123s.

dae-ho holds you again.. and doesn’t let go of you. not even for a second.  

the marine’s arms stay firmly around you, grounding you as your entire body shakes, as your chest heaves, struggling to pull in air. your lungs burn, your throat closes, and your vision blurs with the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing down on you all at once. 

you can’t stop crying.  

you can’t stop the guilt, the fear, the shame from clawing at your insides, making you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside out.  

"i'm a monster," 

you choke out between uneven breaths. 

"i don’t deserve you, dae-ho. i don’t.."  

"stop."  

dae-ho’s voice is gentle, but firm. the man’s hands cup your face, thumbs wiping away the hot tears streaming down your cheeks, even though they just keep coming.  

"baby, listen to me. i understand." 

dae-ho’s voice is steady, warm, full of something so deep and unwavering.. it only makes you cry harder.

"i know. it was self-defense."  

you shake your head, gripping onto his wrists like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely in this hellhole.

"but i still did it," you whisper, voice breaking. 

"i still killed her."  

dae-ho doesn’t flinch.  

his grip doesn’t loosen.  

his expression doesn’t change.  

"and it would have been you killed if you hadn’t."  

his words hit hard, slicing through the noise in your head.  

you inhale sharply, shuddering. 

"this game… it’s bringing out the worst in all of us." his voice softens, his forehead pressing against yours.

"this isn’t your fault, baby. you were protecting yourself."  

you sob, shaking your head violently.

"no–"  

"yes." he pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, his dark eyes full of nothing but love.

"you’re not a monster. you’re still my girl… my angel."  

dae-ho’svoice breaks on those last words, but he keeps going.  

he wants to cry with you.

"when we get out of here, i’ll get us help." he promises.

 "therapy, whatever you need, i’ll be right there with you. we’ll get through this. together."  

your face crumples, your hands tightening in the fabric of his 388 shirt. 

"how can you still love me after this?"  

dae-ho lets out a soft, shaky breath, like he can’t believe you’d even ask that.  

"how can i not? you’re the love of my life. bad or good."  

your chest shakes as another sob wracks through you, but this time, it’s different.

it’s not just grief, it’s relief.  

because he’s not leaving. 

he’s not disgusted.  

he’s not giving up on you. 

"i’m not mad, baby. i’m not mad at you." his lips press against your temple, lingering. 

"and we’re okay. i’m still with you. i’m still going to protect you."  

"we’re okay?" you whisper, almost afraid to believe it.  

he nods, pulling you closer, holding you like he never wants to let go.  

"we’re okay."

masterlist

[beckyninja]

Dark Intentions

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Violence against those who do and don't deserve it

Description: Dark plots are uncovered in the aftermath of the Guilliman's fiancée's "death".

Did any of you really think I'd end Guilliman and the Reader's story like that?

This is the latest in my GuillimanxFemReader series. Check out the previous fics (and others) on my Masterlist.

She is gone.

Sirens blared. Voices shouted. 

She is gone.

“Their ships have disappeared from all scanners!” “Picking up a warp signature… they’re fleeing!” “Wait…missile launches!”

Gone.

“Report on missile trajectory!” “They’re not aimed at us, Lord.”

Gone.

“Holy Terra!”

New explosions lit the void as missiles riddled Captain Takahashi’s ship. The sleek, tapered vessel writhed as if in agony for a few moments before its spine shattered. Charred debris spun in all directions, bouncing off the Macragge’s Honor’s void shields.

Gone.

In the time between heartbeats. Between breaths. One moment warm and full of life. The next….

“My Lord Primarch!”

Guilliman looked upon the scowling visage of Cato Sicarius, only to see his expression morph into something else. Something pale and wide-eyed. The Captain of the Victrix Guard took a step back.

“Prepare to enter the Warp.”

His words? Yes, he felt his lips move, the vibration of his vocal chords.

“We pursue.”

Why could he not recognize his own voice?

“My Lord,” Cato struggled to maintain eye contact, “without a set destination-”

“More contacts, my lords!” The serf at the communications cogitator shouted. “I am picking up numerous small vessels. Life pods from the destroyed cruiser.”

Guilliman turned away. Back toward the void. He heard himself speak once more.

“Send transports to retrieve the survivors. One of them will show us the final approach to… her… home world. We will chase those who did this back to their very gates.”

Something flickered within the hollowed out shell of his soul. It grew into a howling conflagration, yet his voice remained colder than a Fenrisian winter.

“And they will know pain.”

***

Battle Brother Julian Tarchus fought to awaken. He felt as though he was drowning in the ocean he’d swam in as a boy, clawing toward the surface with all his might. Fragmented images raced through his mind.

Bent nearly double in the passenger compartment of the foreign transport… you seated next to him… your sympathetic smile….

A sudden thrum… another, identical ship appearing out of nowhere next to them… an impact…an explosion…curling himself around you….

The bitter taste of chemicals as gas filled the compartment.

“...metabolizing the sedative. Faster than anything I’ve ever seen!”

“Increase the dosage again.”

He forced his eyes open.

Bright, white lights nearly blinded him. He lay in what he could only describe as an Apothecarion of some kind. Screens flashed data. Unfamiliar medical equipment loomed above him. No candles. No holy shrines. 

Not an Imperial ship.

He tried to rise from his prone position, only to meet resistance.

“Doctor! He’s waking up!”

Tarchus turned his head to see a male baseline in a flimsy looking uniform of some kind, white as everything else seemed to be in this damned chamber. A cloth mask covered his lower face. Fear flickered in his wide eyes.

“I said increase the dosage, damn you!”

Turning his head the other way brought another male baseline into view. Slightly different uniform. Same mask.

He glared at the first male. “Useless! I’ll do it myself!”

He reached for a bag of clear liquid hanging to one side, syringe in hand.

Tarchus reacted first. He tore through whatever bound his wrists with contemptuous ease and lurched upward. The world spun. He felt his body breaking down whatever poisons they’d injected into him, but his reaction time still seemed pathetically slow.

The first baseline screamed and fled, dodging the Ultramarine’s grasp by millimeters as he scrambled through a door on the opposite side of the chamber.

“Warp…damn it….” Tarchus rasped through a bone-dry throat.

“We have an emergency!” The Ultramarine turned to see the second baseline babbling into some kind of vox-caster set into the white wall. “Subject has awakened and appears hostile! Send armed aid to Surgical Room-” His voice turned to a gurgle as Tarchus’s fingers wrapped around his throat. 

The warrior lifted the writhing baseline off his feet, watching the man’s face begin to purple. Only then did he realize they’d stripped him of his armor and body suit.

He stood in the white room in nothing but his loincloth.

Rage tightened his grip on the struggling chirurgeon, for so the baseline must be.

“Where…is…the…Lady?”

Lord Guilliman had given him a sacred task: protect his betrothed at all costs. It was a task Tarchus had volunteered for, even against the disapproval of Captain Sicarius. Their Genefather saw value in you. 

You who looked at him with neither fear nor slavish subservience.

You who went out of your way to converse with him.

You who he found himself liking.

You belonged to the Chapter now. He would not fail you.

The baseline’s eyes rolled back in his sockets. Tarchus huffed and dropped him to the tiled floor. The man gasped. The Ultramarine smelled the sour stench of fresh urine.

“I…will not…ask again.”

“Sh-sh-she is-”

The door burst open. Tarchus grunted as what felt like a half dozen projectiles slammed into his back. He spun towards the intruders.

Theoretical: Charge is missing. Probability suggests you remain somewhere in this locale. Crew has proven hostile. Armor and weapons unavailable.

Practical: Attain armor and weapons. Search locale. Permanently remove obstructions. Not necessarily in that order.

He charged the armed baselines in the doorway. 

More projectiles peppered his  upper chest. To their credit, the soldiers in strange, carapace-like armor held their ground… for the first few seconds. 

He crushed a helmeted head in one fist. With the other hand he backhanded a soldier, sending him flying into the wall. A kick dispatched another with a wet crunch. Blood spattered. The thrill of battle lit within his veins.

Then the enemy broke and ran.

Tarchus found himself in a broad corridor of shining metal. When he straightened, the top of his head brushed the grated ceiling. Alarms blared and red lights flashed.

Well, it is not as if I was trying for stealth.

A grim humor twisted his lips as he strode forward. He considered going back to question the chirurgeon again, then decided against it. If these humans held you captive, he could not afford to waste a second.

Signs dotted the doors and walls he passed. He scowled, wishing he’d thought to learn to read your language as well as speak it. Nothing to do but press forward. Glancing through the few open doors revealed more medical equipment and tables. 

Still in whatever passes for the Apothecarion, then.

The sheer amount of artificial illumination disoriented him. He found himself longing for the dim corridors and flickering candlelight of an Imperial warship.

Am I even on a voidship? How long was I unconscious?

He pushed such questions from his mind.

Shouts and the pounding of boots on metal sounded ahead. He frowned. The projectile weapons the first soldiers had used did little against his toughened skin. But his enemies knew that now, and doubtless would utilize more destructive arms.

Without his armor he remained at a disadvantage.

I should proceed with caution.

A sharp cry from around the approaching corner electrified every nerve in his body. He knew that voice.

Caution be damned!

He bellowed and charged. “For the Emperor!” 

The pair of soldiers setting up what looked to be a heavy lasgun had no time to even cry out before he was upon them. Wiping blood and brain matter from his eyes, he lifted the weapon. Not a lazgun, but he could see no projectiles either.

No matter. As long as it deals death and ruin.

Just ahead, more soldiers crouched behind a makeshift barricade of crates and tables. One hefted a long tube to his shoulder and pointed it in his direction. Tarchus pulled his weapon’s trigger and the white beam it produced reduced the soldier to a charred husk.

The Ultramarine grinned.

“Tarchus!”

He shifted his attention to a knot of figures further behind the barricade. There was a short struggle, and a disheveled female pushed forward.

You.

“Praise the Emperor.” He rasped, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders.

His relief turned to white hot rage as another figure stretched out a hand and caught you by your hair. The tall baseline male yanked you back against him, pressing a pistol to your throat.

Tarchus growled.

“Drop the cannon, brute. Or watch me paint the walls with her blood.”

For an instant, the Ultramarine hesitated. A mistake that cost him dearly.

Weight like a Land Raider dropped upon his shoulders. It drove him to his knees, the breath forced from all three lungs. He heard you scream and fought to rise...

…to no avail. 

Whatever trap they’d laid held him pinned to the floor like an insect beneath a boot. He squeezed the weapon’s trigger once more, bisecting the first two soldiers who dared approach, before feeling it yanked from his weakening grasp.

He tried to curse his enemy, to make any noise at all, only to find he lacked the breath to do so. Craning his neck, his eyes met your horrified gaze.

Forgive me.

A half hysterical laugh. “Well, well, dear cousin! It seems the famed Space Marines aren’t so invincible after all! Kill him.”

The approach of boots. A cold muzzle against his temple.

Not like this. Emperor, not like this!

“Wait!” You screamed.

Your captor’s voice sank into a vicious hiss. “Are you fond of your betrothed’s attack dog, my dear? Would you have him live?”

Tarchus thrashed with all that remained of his fading strength. “No…,my Lady, do not….”

Your next words drowned him in shame. “Don’t kill him, Victor. I’ll do whatever you want. But please don’t kill him!”

No.

“It’s a deal then.” Victor’s triumphant laugh rang throughout the corridor. “As long as you cooperate, the beast lives. Sergeant? If you would?”

The muzzle lifted from his temple. Tarchus heard the crackle of electricity. Then white hot pain lanced through his skull, driving him back down into darkness.

It paled in comparison to the agony of failure.

***

Victor’s fingers dug into your arm as he dragged you through the bowels of his ship. You felt his nails break skin, adding to the innumerable cuts and bruises covering your body. You ached.

Part of you still prayed this was all a nightmare. That you’d awaken in your bed aboard The Macragge’s Honor, soon to bask in the warmth of blue eyes again.

Oh Light! Roboute! 

He thought you dead. You knew it with absolute certainty. Tears filled your eyes as you imagined his anguish.

“Crying again?” Your cousin snorted. “How very unattractive.”

In an instant, your grief turned to fury. “You bastard!”

He laughed. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you!”

The mercenaries escorting the two of you snickered. Your face burned.

“I hate you.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Careful now. You know what happens if you try me.”

Tarchus….

He’d fought so hard to save you. How your heart had leapt when he’d come charging around that corner, bellowing his battle cry! How it had bled when he lay helpless under tons of scrap metal.

The look in his eyes when you surrendered your dignity to save him.

Even if he survives, he’ll never forgive me.

“Where did your animals take him?”

The mercenaries stopped snickering and glared. You lifted your chin and glared straight back.

Victor didn’t spare you a glance. “The Predator’s brig is extensive, cousin. I had it expanded just recently.” He giggled. “And he won’t be lonely.”

“What have you done?”

“In a moment, fair cousin.” He jerked to a halt, pushing you roughly against a wall. “Ah! Here we are!”

A few punches of a key code and a door slid open. You were dragged into a room that could have belonged to your family’s most luxurious manor house. Plush carpets covered the floor, except for the gilded tiles beneath a bubbling fountain. Heavy, cushioned furniture of rare wood furnished the chamber: chairs, a table laden with flowers and delicacies, and a massive, four-poster bed.

“Impressive, no? I had it designed as an exact copy of my bedchamber in the Palace.” He shoved you toward a chair. “Sit. Relax.”

You gazed up at him.

“Speechless?” He grinned, the scar on his cheek gleaming scarlet, and turned to his guards. “Out.”

The older of the two hesitated. “Any orders for the Captain, my Prince?”

Victor sighed. “The same as they were the last time he asked. Make straight for TerraNova with all speed.”

“And…if we’re followed?”

“By who? The Barbarian King thinks she’s dead.” He jerked a thumb in your direction. “Investment gone. He’ll cut his losses and move on. And even if he does try to follow,” Victor grinned, “without the good Captain to guide him through the Wards, he could spend centuries wandering the void and never find our system.”

You leapt to your feet. “What have you done to Captain Takahashi?”

“Oh, I sent a dozen or so nukes into her cruiser as we entered the Warp. Had to make sure, you know.”

Horror. Fury. You threw yourself at him with a scream.

He caught your flailing hands and laughed. “Temper, temper, cousin. That little outburst will cost your beast an eye.”

You froze. “No, Victor-”

“See to it, Sergeant.”

“Wait, wait! I’m sorry!”

He only laughed again, catching you against his chest as the mercenaries left the room. You sagged against him.

Tarchus, forgive me.

Helplessness. You remembered this feeling. You swore you’d never feel it again. What a fool you’d been.

Victor’s hands ran up and down your back. “There we go. Isn’t it easier when you stop fighting?”

He pushed, and you collapsed back into the chair, staring at nothing. Numb.

Your cousin crouched before you. “And here I was worried you’d grown a spine. Happy to see I was wrong.” He grasped your chin, tilting it back and forth. “Pretty enough. Though I still can’t see why a so-called demi-god would want you.”

Roboute.

He’d had such faith in you. Your eyes focused once more.

“I’ll ask again, Victor. What are you doing?”

He stood and sauntered over to the table, poking amongst the fruits and sweets. “I was supposed to make sure you were dead. That’s what Granny Dearest ordered. You dead, me the Heir, and she the ultimate power.”

“What about the coup?”

“Oh, it’s going wonderfully! Grandmother’s forces have trapped the Grand Council on the Eastern Continent. She’s been stocking the military with her supporters for decades now, you see. And those who wouldn’t fall in line?” He shoved a chocolate into his mouth. “Well, the asteroid mining camps always need more free labor.”

Decades. They’d been planning this for decades.

You took a deep, shuddering breath. “And Conrad?”

“Disappeared. But who cares about him, anyway? Pitiful little intellectual.” He spat the word.

“Did my message even make it through?”

Victor shrugged. “And if it did? Who would react? The Council is fighting for their lives. The Military is ours.”

“The people-”

“Are a rabble of cowards, so used to being under Granny’s boot they couldn’t rise up even if they wanted to.”

You gritted your teeth. “The Church, then.”

Your cousin’s grin sent chills down your spine. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Grandmother began a purge of the Abbeys and Monasteries shortly after you left. Hotbeds of rebellion, those places.”

You felt as though he’d punched you in the stomach. 

The Abbey. The Holy Sisters. My home.

Rage boiled within you again, but this time, you held it back.

“Why do this, Victor? Grandmother is already Matriarch. What more could she want?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” He slouched against the table. “Ever since she usurped the Patriarch, our much revered Grandfather, Granny’s craved power like a twitcher craves stims. The Council, the Articles of Government, all these things stood in her way.”

You thought of the years you’d spent locked within the Palace. Alone. Isolated. While schemes were being hatched all around you.

If I’d been braver, stronger, could I have prevented this? How many lie dead because I was too stupid to-

No. You could not let regret paralyze you. Not now.

Your hand sought the ring Roboute had given you. Perhaps touching it would bring you some much needed strength.

By the Light! The ring!

You stared down at your bare hand.

“Looking for this?” Victor tossed something that glittered gold and blue up and down in his hand. “Pretty bauble. Did he give it to you?”

You clenched your hands into fists.

The beacon. How could I have forgotten?!

Victor’s hand closed around it. “I think I’ll hang onto it. Wouldn’t be right for my consort to wear jewelry gifted to her by another man.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Your consort.”

He stalked toward you. “I saved you, you know. Grandmother wanted you dead, but I defied her.” 

You pushed yourself back into the chair as he knelt before you, idly slipping Roboute’s ring into his uniform jacket. “When she defeats the Council’s forces, she’ll be weakened, cousin. Vulnerable. And then you and I and my fleet will swoop in and vanquish the tyrannical hag.”

His hands landed on your knees and slowly slid upward.

It took everything in you not to cringe. “And…we’ll rule together?”

“Of course.” His eyes burned. “The people already love you, their Princess in the Tower. They sing songs about you in the taverns. And I’m the War Hero who fought off a Tyranid invasion!” His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs. “Who would stand against us?”

No one. Until it was too late.

Fighting back waves of revulsion, you leaned forward and ran your hands up his chest. How frail it felt compared to your betrothed’s! You watched your cousin’s face twist with lust.

Forgive me, Roboute.

You kissed Victor.

He snarled into your mouth, his teeth catching your lips and drawing blood. His hands dug into your hair. You felt yourself slammed backward, your head knocking against the chair’s hard frame. 

Your cousin took no care with your body. He pawed and tore, aggravating your bruises and cuts, without a thought for your pleasure. Nausea threatened to overwhelm you. You heard the fabric of your bodice rip.

“What the Void is this?!”

All of a sudden you were dragged from the chair and thrown to the floor. Victor stood above you, mad rage in his eyes. He jabbed a finger toward your shoulder.

The shoulder Roboute had sunk his teeth into on your last night together.

“You whore! You damned slut!” Victor’s boot met your ribs with a crack.

You folded in on yourself, arms wrapping about your head.

“You spread your legs for that… freak?!” Your cousin straddled you, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking your head back. “You think I’d let you rule beside me? A stupid little scrap of used flesh like you?”

He pressed his mouth close to your ear. “I don’t need a consort. I just need a working womb. Remember that, bitch.”

With a final curse, he slammed your head against the carpeted floor and stalked out of the room. You heard the door lock behind him.

For a long while you lay there, letting the pain ricochet around your body before finally fading into a dull throb. You knew how to take a beating. Light knew, you’d taken more than your fair share.

Your split lips stretched in a smile as you gazed down at the gold and sapphire ring in the palm of your hand.

Pray the Light has mercy on your soul, Victor. For he will not.

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[dixons-sunshine]

you most definitely can decline if you have too much on your plate/you don’t want to, but could i request platonic dad!daryl and daughter!reader? where they get separated when the prison falls (reader was on her own and then met with the group at terminus). After the events at Terminus they finally get a chance to hug and spend time together and reader is crying and ranting about how she was so scared and she wishes she could be strong like Daryl, and Daryl lets her in on his own worries and comforts her? i was thinking reader is like early teens (14-15)

again feel free to decline if you want! 🧡

His Little Girl—Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: After Terminus, you finally reunited with your father. While he was busy bandaging your arm after an injury you sustained, you let all your emotions out. Daryl, in a rare moment, shared his own feelings with you.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Post Terminus.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of near death experiences.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/n: Had to throw in a little bit of overprotective Dad!Daryl at the end. I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

You winced in pain when your father poured alcohol over your open wound. Your hand instinctively jerked back, the long gash on your arm burning with the fire of a thousand suns. You scrunched your face in pain, closing your eyes against the pain.

“M'sorry, Bean,” Daryl apologized, pulling the bottle away and placing it on the ground. He reached into his bag and grabbed a bandage he had managed to find in some abandoned house, and he started wrapping it around the gnarly wound. “Jus' try and hold still, alrigh'? This'll be over sooner if ya do.”

“Okay,” you whispered, opening your eyes and looking at your father's face. His face betrayed no emotions; he simply focused on bandaging your arm, his usual stoic expression on his face. He showed no ounce of fear, nothing to show that he thought he was going to die. That made you kind of envious. “How do you do it?”

Daryl halted his movements with the bandage, his blue eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. “M'guessin' yer not talkin' 'bout bandagin' someone's arm, are ya?”

You shook your head. “No, I'm not,” you replied in a broken whisper.

“Talk to me, Bean,” Daryl urged you, slowly resuming with the task of bandaging your arm. “Wha's on yer mind?”

You stayed silent for a moment, your eyes straying to the rest of the group. The only thing you could see in the dark was the light that the campfire emitted. The group was seated around the fire, a couple of them laying down to catch some sleep while a couple of others stayed up, mindlessly staring into the fire while others were keeping a cautious eyes on the tree line, trying to see if walkers or the survivors of Terminus were going to attack.

Shifting your attention back to your father, you swallowed deeply, trying to will the lump in your throat to go away. “How are you so brave?”

Daryl frowned in confusion. “Wha'?”

“How are you so brave?” you repeated, diverting your eyes to the ground. “You're not afraid of anything. You weren't scared when the camp at the quarry got overrun. You weren't scared at the CDC. When the farm fell, and then the prison, Terminus... You weren't scared at all. I was. I still am. When the prison fell, I escaped with someone, but he didn't make it long. The walkers got to him. Then I was alone, and I was so scared. I thought I was gonna die out there, alone, without knowing whether or not everyone was alive or not. Then I saw the Terminus maps, and I managed to find my way there, but everything quickly went to crap. I got thrown into that train cart, and I thought I was gonna be killed, but there you were. You were alive and you all had a plan to get out. It was a close call, and I almost got killed, but we got out. Through all of that, you weren't scared. You're so brave, and I'm not. I'm not.”

Daryl tightened the bandage around your arm before he withdrew his hands. He stayed silent for a few moments before he sighed, shaking his head.

“Ya ain't got no idea how wrong ya are,” he started, chuckling slightly at the way you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion—a trait you had inherited from him. “Bean, I was real fuckin' scared. All those times ya mentioned, I was terrified. I jus' put on a brave face fer ya 'cause I know ya needed me to be. When I saw the walkers back at the quarry camp, and I couldn't find ya immediately, I thought the walkers got ya. At the CDC, when tha' asshole wouldn't unlock the door, I thought we were gon' get blown up. I thought tha' my twelve year old lil' girl was gon' die, and there wasn't anythin' I could do to stop it. With the farm and now the prison, I thought ya didn't make it out. I spent the whole time wonderin' if ya were alive. I thought—I thought tha' ya were dead. I was so scared, Bean. I ain't ever been as scared like I was when the prison fell. I felt broken, empty. And then I found ya, but those psychopaths almost killed ya in front of me. I jus'... I can't lose ya. Yer my baby girl, even if yer already fourteen years old. I'd rather die than lose ya again.”

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, sniffling as Daryl wrapped his arms around you tightly. He pressed a kiss to your temple and slightly rocked you from side to side, just like he used to do when you were younger and had just woken up from a nightmare. Being in your father's embrace made you feel safe, like nothing could ever hurt you again. You wished you could always feel that way.

“I love you, Dad,” you whispered softly.

“Love ya too, Bean. More than ya know.” Daryl soon pulled back from the hug and gave you a small smile, and nudged his head in the direction of the campfire. “C'mon, let's head back. Ya need somethin' to eat.”

You nodded and got up, following behind your father as you walked back to the rest of the group. You settled down beside Carl while Daryl sat down next to Rick.

Carl sent you a small smile, nervously fiddling with his hands. “Hey, Y/n. How's your arm?”

You smiled at him and shrugged. “I'll live. I've had worse.”

“Yeah, and yet you're still alive,” Carl replied, still nervously fidgeting with his hands. “You're a badass.”

“Thanks, Carl,” you thanked him. Noticing his fidgeting, but mistaking his nerves for coldness, you grabbed one of his hands and held it in your own. “Here, let me warm your hands for you. My hands are like a furnace.”

You missed the way Carl ducked his head, a blush spreading across his face but he smiled in silent glee. “Yeah, okay.”

As you and Carl silently conversed to yourselves, with Carl staring at you in awe, Daryl watched the two of you closely. His glare rested on his best friend's son and the way he held your hand, and Daryl couldn't help the surge of overprotectiveness that flooded his body. He visibly stiffened, catching Rick's attention.

Rick followed his line of sight and chuckled at what he saw. “Look at that. Young love, huh?”

Daryl glared at Rick. “Yer son better keep his hands off'a her. They're too young to be thinkin'a tha'.”

“Do what you want, Daryl, but if they wanna be together, they're gonna find a way, despite your rules.”

Well, Daryl thought, then he'd just have to bestow the fear of god into the young boy, and make sure that if he ever hurt you, his little girl, walkers would be the least of his problems.

[devoted-horror]

Haiiiii :3 this might be a little silly and your free to ignore it but can I request any slasher or dbd killer of your choice with an S/O (gender-neutral) who likes giving handmade gifts? But if you can include Julie from Legion then I'll love you forever 🙏🙏🙏🙏

a/n: hi sorry this took so long nd that it's so short </3 i'm trying to get back into writing and am using this as a way to do that so!!

includes: the legion (julie), the trickster, baby firefly, and brahms heelshire.

warnings: typical slashers and dbd warnings, mentions of murder, technically captivity in brahms' part if u think too hard on it, jiwoon's kinda mean but i mean. he's jiwoon. idk it's pretty light tbh.

THE LEGION (JULIE)

And people (Joey, mostly) say romance is dead!

If this is before the fog, then she 100% keeps any gifts you give her on her dresser in her bedroom. She'll admire every intricate little detail, knowing you put a lot of effort into making something that suits her style.

If this is after the fog, it really depends on whether you're a killer or survivor. If you're a killer, Julie will probably be a little surprised the first time you give her a gift, mostly because she doesn't interact much with the other killers like the other members of Legion.

She'll be flattered, of course, but she could also suspect you of having ulterior motives of some kind.

But if you're a survivor, she'll be really shocked the first time you give her a gift, and maybe even the next few times afterwards. Why would you, a survivor, even consider making her, a killer, gifts?

She's murdered so many people, probably murdered you, too many times to keep count, so when you snuck up on her during a trial to give her a gift, it left her feeling... conflicted.

When she returns from the trial, the other members of Legion question her on the little bunny figure you had gifted her, made of scrap presumably from other trials.

Susie thought it was cute, and maybe she's a little jealous but she'd probably ask Julie to get you to make her one too the next time you're in a trial with her. Frank is equally as jealous, if not a little more, and he'd probably say the gift was dumb but that's a lie. Joey doesn't care at all, honestly. It's not his business.

She keeps any gift you give her, and if the entity allows it, she may even hang them as little charms on her hooks.

THE TRICKSTER

This guy is used to getting gifts, he almost expects it.

As an idol, it was only natural for his fans to give him gifts, be it during little meet and greets or by other... intruding means that leads to them being featured on his next release.

So when you first start giving him gifts, he might not even react much. The most he'll give is a small 'how nice' that was ingrained into him by his manager.

And if you're a survivor, he might even go as far as to mock you for giving him a gift when his only real interest is hearing you scream. Bastard is mean as hell we should stone him.

I can't say he'd keep your gifts. Unless he's by some chance formed a bond with you, chances are he will throw anything you give him away. The attention is nice, but... he doesn't care.

And if he does form a bond with you, then he will most likely demand you make him things, if we're being honest. Like I said, the attention is nice, and he thrives off it. You giving him gifts just solidifies in his mind that you like him.

He's mostly fond of things that can be worn as jewelry, especially earrings. He'll mix and match the earrings, and he might even go as far as to show the little gifts off to other killers and survivors. He annoys both sides equally doing this.

But his favorite gift by far is the little charm you made to hang from the handle of his bat. It's like a declaration of love to him. You, accepting every little part of him.

So yeah. Give him everything you have. He wants it all.

BABY FIREFLY

She absolutely adores any gift you give her, but it's tenfold when you make it yourself.

The Firefly family is filled with some of the most creative people she knows, so she always enjoys seeing people just... create.

Maybe you're part of the family, or maybe you're some person she met at a club when she and Otis went out searching for their next playthings.

Either way, you have her attention, baby.

She'll wear anything you make her, if it's designed that way. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings... if she can wear it, then trust me. She'll rock it.

Baby will reciprocate any gifts you give her, so it's like a never-ending contest of who can give the other the most gifts.

She'll even go as far as to pester Otis into helping her out with some of the more elaborate gifts she makes you.

It's all sweet and cute and it makes Otis wanna gouge his eyes out every time he has to witness you two give each other gifts.

But yeah! All of your gifts are kept in her room. Any jewelry you make is kept at her wardrobe, and the little trinkets and drawings are displayed for her to admire whenever she wants.

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE

Brahms knew you were the one for him the moment you started making little accessories for the doll.

He liked the fact that you were so creative, that you somehow managed to make gifts for the doll while still sticking to the schedule.

Before you know about him, he'll sneak out while you're sleeping to steal any gifts you made for the doll. It's not technically stealing if you made them for him, so he doesn't see the problem.

Besides, he found your frown cute when you realized the stuff you had made disappeared.

He's basically made a little shrine in his room in the wall just filled with all the stuff you've made.

But at some point, he started getting a little... jealous of the doll. He wanted you to make gifts for him. He wants you to smile at him as you hand him a little trinket or a bracelet you made.

And when he finally reveals himself to you, he expects you to do exactly that. Even if you're scared, he doesn't care.

He'll go as far as to throw a tantrum if you don't, so you really don't have any choice but to continue making gifts for him.

He's sure you'll get used to him being around, and soon enough your smiles won't be so forced anymore when you give him things. You have no other choice.

[gs29]

Behind the Mask: A Family's Promise

Behind the Mask: A Family's Promise Master list

Squid Game Master list

Chap 1 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Chapter Two: Introductions in the Shadows

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as the guards gathered in the break room—a rare moment of stillness in a place built on chaos. The room smelled of cheap instant coffee and exhaustion, but tonight, there was something different in the air. A quiet anticipation.

“She’s really coming?” one of the guards asked, adjusting his mask despite the fact that none of them needed to wear it in this room.

The others murmured in agreement, shifting in their seats. It wasn’t every day that something pure entered their lives.

The door creaked open, and all eyes turned toward it. You stepped in first, wrapped in a warm coat, cradling the small bundle in your arms. Your husband followed closely behind, his usual tense posture softened as he glanced down at his daughter.

Silence settled over the room, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable—just unfamiliar. The men, who had spent years watching death, now found themselves staring at new life.

“Well?” your husband said, his voice laced with something between pride and nervousness. “Are you just going to stare, or are you going to say hi?”

One of the guards, an older man who rarely spoke, stood first. He removed his mask, revealing a face weathered by time and experience. He stepped closer, peering down at the baby with hesitant curiosity. “She’s… tiny,” he muttered, as if speaking too loudly might disturb her.

You smiled. “She’s only a few weeks old.”

Another guard leaned forward, his usually gruff voice uncharacteristically soft. “What’s her name?”

Your husband glanced at you before answering. “Ji-ah.”

The name lingered in the air, foreign yet beautiful in the bleakness of their world.

“She’s got your nose,” one of them teased, nudging your husband.

“She better not,” he shot back, but there was no real bite in his words—only warmth.

One of the younger guards, practically a kid himself, reached out a hesitant finger. “Can I…?”

You nodded, shifting slightly so he could gently touch Ji-ah’s tiny hand. Her fingers instinctively curled around his, and the room collectively held its breath.

“She trusts you,” you murmured, watching as even the toughest among them softened.

For a brief moment, there was no blood, no orders, no masked hierarchy. Just a group of weary souls gathered around something innocent, something that reminded them there was still good in the world.

One of the men cleared his throat. “You know she can’t stay here long. It’s not safe.”

Your husband tensed but nodded. “I know. I just… I wanted you all to meet her. To know that there’s something worth fighting for.”

A heavy silence followed, but no one disagreed. They all understood too well.

“Ji-ah,” the older guard repeated, as if memorizing the name. “She’s going to be strong.”

Your husband glanced down at his daughter, his grip tightening around you. “She already is.”

And in that small, stolen moment, the guards—killers, enforcers, survivors—allowed themselves to hope.

[la-petite-lapin]

Killer Queen | Part Two

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 2.0k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), split POV in this one, referenced past trauma, graphic injury detail/description, mentions of gore, death, capture, and torture, swearing, this series will be significantly darker than my other works

In the immediate aftermath of the meeting, the base was a frenzy. An entire wing of the barracks was sectioned off within the space of an hour - designated solely to the newly reformed Taskforce 141.

You'd stormed off as soon as you were dismissed, retreating to the private sanctuary that was your car. You'd all received the same parting orders; all been told to go home, pack up what you needed, and return to base.

It didn't take long for you to get your affairs in order. Half an hour to sort out the meagre belongings in your rental unit, boxing up what you wanted to take with you, and setting the others aside to drop at a charity shop on the way. Not that you had much to begin with; your lifestyle was nomadic - had been since you retired. Before that, even.

You dropped your keys off with your landlord on the way back to the car, notifying them of your immediate departure. The old lady was understanding - kind, even - having already gathered the vague sense that you were military and just passing through.

Driving back through the English countryside, you kept your prized possession in the cup holder in the centre console. It was only little; a small, gold St Christopher pendant about the size of a penny on a long, thin chain. Back in simpler times, you used to wear it, the engraved disc laying over your heart. Back when you could bear the feeling of a chain around your neck. Back in the days before "Tiger" was your sole name.

God, you hated that name, though it was preferable.

It had been years since someone called you by your actual, birth name. Letting someone know that meant letting them in, and that was something that you refused to do.

Never again.

Soap and Gaz were the first two to make it back to the base. Together, they claimed the battered old leather sectional in the rec room attached to their barracks, drinking cups of tea and nattering like two old ladies in a retirement home.

"So, what do you think the odds are that she's 'the Tiger', as you put it," Gaz asks, leaning back. Despite the roguish smile on his face, the rigid set of his jaw gives away his concern.

Like Soap - hell, like most British soldiers - he's heard the stories.

Stories about men being killed in their beds in the dead of night, militias toppled within a matter of days, and enemy soldiers going missing from their posts only to be found days later in the middle of nowhere. And that's just the light-hearted stuff. That woman's ledger is soaked in red - probably rivalled only by Ghost, which is a troubling thought to say the least.

The worst story Gaz could recall was one he'd been told years ago, back when he'd enlisted. Allegedly, it detailed the incident in which Tiger had earned her nickname. It was probably an exaggeration in parts - he kept telling himself as much, trying to settle his unease at the idea of being stuck in a confined space with her for the foreseeable future.

As legend goes, her and her team were sent out on an infiltration mission, and she returned a month later as the sole survivor. For three weeks after their capture, her teammates were tortured, beaten, starved - herself included - until, one by one, they were executed. But, before they could get to her, she slipped free from her restraints and disappeared into the enemy base. For days, the militia searched for her as she bided her time, stealing food and weapons as she essentially lived within their walls. And then, when she was finally ready, she unleashed herself upon them.

Forty-three men and women died that day.

Some - the ones to whom she'd bestowed some degree of mercy - had had their throats slit; their heads caved in; their necks broken. But the others...

A small minority had done something to incur her wrath. Instead of blades, she'd taken to them with her own sharpened nails. In some instances, her teeth.

She'd butchered them like a wild animal.

Gaz had taken some time to read the report after he'd been promoted to sergeant, although most of it was redacted and required a much higher level of clearance than his own to access. The basics he'd gleaned along with a handful of photos from the militia base had told him enough: the stories were true, and Tiger was someone to be feared to the highest degree.

And - somehow - she and Ghost seemed to know one another. Well enough to have an opinion, at that.

Soap makes a noise, something between a wince and a huff, pulling him back to the rec room. Back to beige, plasterboard untouched by blood and gore. "'ah don't know, Gaz. But, based on form, ah'd say yes."

Gaz grimaces.

"An' if they've had to call her 'ere, ah'd say we're all fucked."

Ain't that the truth.

"Think she's as bad as they say?" he asks, voice giving an involuntary shudder that he hopes Soap won't catch. Last thing he wants is to look scared, especially with her lurking the halls.

Instead of answering the question, Soap shrugs and offers, "Perhaps we should ask Lt? He seems to know 'er."

Gaz nods non-committally. That'll be a fun conversation.

And then a familiar gravel-laden voice rings out across the room, sudden and harsh like a crack of thunder. "Ask me what?"

Both men twist around so fast that Gaz is surprised they don't end up with whiplash. Ghost is standing in the doorway, balaclava and hard-shell mask on, dressed in all black with a duffel slung over one shoulder. Even after years of working together, he's still a spooky bastard - creeping around soundlessly despite his sheer size.

"Tiger," Soap says in that fearless way of his, blue eyes unhindered by any trace of doubt. It's something that Gaz has always admired and been amazed by; the bold, unabashed bravery with which the Scotsman handles their Lt, refusing to coddle or humour him like other soldiers do.

The light in Ghost's already-dim eyes gutters. "What about her?"

His growl sets Gaz on edge. Makes him wonder if it's not too late to back-track on their line of questioning. If it might be safer to wait for the morning and ask Price or Kate instead.

Regardless, Soap ploughs on. "How d'ya know 'er? Seemed like a pretty explosive reunion back there."

Ghost takes a few more steps into the room, slinging the bulky duffel onto a vacant armchair. He folds his brawny arms across his broad chest, puffing it up. "There's nothing to know. I knew her once and now I don't. That's all there is to it."

Soap guffaws, folding his own arms with a grin. "'ah, come on, Lt. Tha's just begging for questions to be asked."

"All I'm going to say is that you need to watch her. I don't trust her; don't let your guard drop around her; don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you know her. Treat her like you would a hostile. That way, we might just all come out of this on the other side."

And - with that - Ghost stalks back to the doorway, grabbing his duffel on the way. His stark warning hangs in the air long after he's gone.

Both of the men listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps as he pads down the linoleum-tiled hallway, no doubt claiming a room as his own to brood in until Price arrives.

"Note to self," Gaz says aloud after a few minutes of silence have dragged by, "never bring up Tiger around the Lt."

You sit at your desk, listening to the sounds of the taskforce's laughter just doors away. They'd ordered pizza to the barracks tonight, and you'd stayed in your room to prove a point - away from Ghost's hollow, accusing eyes.

It's been a week since you relocated, and Kate has yet to provide any actionable information on Makarov and the plot to stop him. Meaning it's been a week of isolation, eating and training in solitude, avoiding the men at all costs. You'd caught the whispered conversations and furtive glances when they thought you weren't looking - exactly the sort of thing you'd hoped to avoid - and it made you hate Ghost all the more.

From day one, he'd done nothing but poison them against you.

Your eyes slip to the black plush box at the side of your laptop; the St Christopher pendant nestled within its protective lining.

More than anything, you wish you could travel back in time to last week and not pick up Kate's call. That way, you'd still be in your rental unit, curled up in front of the TV or jogging around the neighbourhood. You'd still be alone, but at least you wouldn't be judged like this.

It was a little known fact that your reputation was what had pushed you to retire.

Surprising, you knew, but that's just how it was at the time. It wasn't the trauma of the 'incident' but the aftermath of your return that made you consider an exit from the army. How people who had once considered you a friend looked at you with nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes, like they could still see the blood staining your fingertips and dripping from your maw. Like you were a rabid dog in need of putting down.

You'd still stayed for a couple of years before you put in your papers, aided by Laswell, who advocated from an early retirement instead of a discharge. By then, you were sick of being shunted from base to base, pushed between assignments as an increasingly shrinking number of captains agreed to work with you.

To some, you were an asset; to others, a liability; to most, an unknown.

But, it was towards the start of it that you met Ghost. In fact, it was only something like three months after the incident, fresh from therapy and evals that you first crossed paths.

You exhale a long, shaky breath, freeing yourself from the tangled web that those memories weave within your mind. It's always risky to look back on that time - too clouded with emotion and fear for you to view objectively. It's safer to ignore it.

You lose track of how much time passes before there's a knock at the door of your suite, faint and hesitant.

It's purposeful, the exaggerated amount of time you take to open it. Giving whoever was sent to poke the beast ample time to escape before the door opens.

To your surprise, it's MacTavish - the cheerful, blue-eyed Scotsman from the meeting - standing in the hallway with a wide, encouraging grin. Wasting no time, he dives straight in with, "Coming out any time soon, lassie? We were starting to think ye'd starved to death in there." He nods to the room behind you, the only sources of light being the hallway and the small lamp on your otherwise barren nightstand. "Want to join us for a bit?"

The invitation lingers in the air between you. It takes another moment for it to register in your brain as a genuine offer. One of kindness, not malice.

It puzzles you.

"Why?" The simple question leaves your lips as a snarl; half-feral and significantly more impolite than initially intended. "Why do you want me there?"

Something glimmers in MacTavish's eyes. For a second, you think it might be pity, and it heats a fire in the pit of your stomach. "Because 'ah know the Lt does'nae seem to like ye, and I think ye could use some friends around 'ere."

There's a beat of silence. Then another. By the third, MacTavish is shifting his weight between his feet, that handsome grin faltering just slightly.

"Listen," you say primly, taking a step out into the hall. He retreats the same distance, eyes focused on your face as you smile coldly. "I want to be on my own. I like it that way. Beats people gossiping about me; telling all sorts of stories about my past. About how I earned my callsign." The colour drains from his face. "So, no - I don't want friends. Not here; not anywhere. I do, however, want to be left alone. I want my wishes to be respected; my personal space too. Got it?"

Balking, MacTavish nods.

You ease back into your room as he starts to walk away, heading back up the hallway towards the rec room, where the laughter seems to have dissipated. But, just before he slips back inside through the ajar door, he twists back to face you, offering a kind, "We'll be in here until late if ye change yer mind."

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you retreat back into your suite, closing the door with a firm shove. You lean against the thick wooden slab, exhaling a trapped breath from your tight chest.

Back sliding down until you meet the floor, you can't help but regret agreeing to come here. It's all starting to feel like such a huge, massive mistake.

a/n: happy new year folks! - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist: @420-hun @honestlymassivetrash

[literallyjustforlurking]

War changes kids

I've only seen this fic concept once and it was lifechanging and I need to see it again.

The idea that CHB wasn't perfect before the war, the the survivors put a rose-colored tint over their memories of pre-war CHB and all the people who died before/during the Titan war, the idea that going through war changed all of these demigods.

In the fic they use time travel, which is a vastly under-used trope, and Percy and a few other campers travel back in time to their younger bodies to a few days before Percy arrived at camp.

Now that's cool and all but I think it would be really interesting just to see these demigods talk to their younger couterparts, and their past siblings and see just how their world view has changed.

Clarrisse for example she tells her cabin she fought in a war but didn't want to and they're all aghast, they've all dreamed of leading wars, how could she not want to? And Clarrisse being forced to realise the way these kids view the world with honor and glory through combat? Clarrisse looking at her brothers and sisters who died to war who are ecstatic at the idea of one? Clarrisse realizing this used to be her. The tired vertran watching the children who the war hasn't taken the light from.

Will meeting with his brothers and sisters from the past, fully prepared to talk about how the prep the infirarmy for the upcoming war, because having to choose who gets the ambrosia rations is a terrifying expierence he wouldn't wish on anyone. But none of them ask about the infirmary prep. Because they don't do infirarmy prep. They ask about his shooting, and his music and if his healing magic has gotten better. Will keeps bringing up how they need to start teaching first-aid courses to all cabins not just cabin 7. Will's talking to a bunch of kids who've only ever heard the songs of war through the side of the soldier. A grizzeled battlefield medic looking at a bunch of med-students who have never had to debate who they can afford to have die because they don't have engough medics for all the patients.

Malcolm bringing Nico to meet with his cabin mates to talk about how to make funeral shrouds but none of them want to talk about that, they want the glories to weave into their tapestries to impresse their mother. Malcolm explains the importance of starting the shroud when the demigod leaves for a quest and not when they fail to return. He wants to punch someone when he hears that maybe failures don't deserve shrouds. He says that then half of his siblings don't deserve the shrouds he made them. He wants to cry when they agree. Malcolm's talking to a bunch of children who've never gotten blood on a shroud because they've made so many in the past few days that the thread cut open their fingers. A tired brother looking at a fresh batch of soldiers who don't know the hatred that comes with having to dig a mass grave for your siblings because the energy needed to bury them are being used to keep someone else alive.

Annabeth meets with the other half of her cabin. She's nervous after hearing about how it went with the others. Thankfully they all want to talk about battle straegy. Annabeth brings up a hundred different failsafes you need to make in plans to keep people alive, she talks about back up plans and how to plan for a triage center and how to plan for the injured and how to make a plan to find the dead bodies and how too make a plan to organize rations and. They all stop up with the questions of who messed up. They sit around and pick apart stragies and make fun of screws ups of dead people, the same way you would nitpick stratagies of generals long dead. The same way she used to. She storms out as they debate the failures of her dead friends and family. Annabeth is sournded by people who have never had a plan that cost someone's life and don't understand the desperation that comes with it. A veteran listens to new recruits talk about how they would have done so much better, knowing that by the time any of them reach the rank where they would be the ones making the choices most of them would be dead.

I'm sure they're a lot more I could do but it is 11 o'clock at night and I am tired, I will probably add to this later but who knows.

If anyone has anything more to add please tag me or message me or both I would love to hear someone else's thoughts.

(Ps. If anyone has the name/link of the fic pls tell me I wanna credit the author and re-read it)

[shadow-fell]

On Moonrise Towers, the Thorm Family, and the Shadow Curse

Once another compilation so that I don't need to go constantly digging for things. A general timeline of events:

Reithwin town founded by the Thorm family

Moonrise Towers constructed

Melodia Thorm dies

Isobel Thorm dies

Ketheric turns to Shar

Gauntlet of Shar constructed/rebuilt; Reithwin turns to Sharran worship

Nightsong is captured by Ketheric and Balthazar

Flaming Fist sends Art Cullagh to investigate Ketheric

Harpers, Druids, and Flaming Fist team up to fight Ketheric

Mason who built Moonrise Towers + the Gauntlet of Shar makes a deal with Raphael; Yurgir kills all the Sharrans in the Gauntlet/Grymforge save one

Ketheric is killed, Shadow Curse released

Survivors of the battle flee

Ketheric resurrects, turns to Myrkul

Gortash and the Dark Urge bring Ketheric in on the Absolute plan

Ketheric resurrects Isobel (maybe before ^ but probably after)

Isobel flees to the Last Light Inn

Now, expanding on the details, sources, and adding some firmer dates? that's all going below the cut.

Construction of Moonrise Towers

The first, and as far as I know only reference to Moonrise Towers outside of BG3 is in the Code of the Harpers, where it is described as the base of the Crescent Coat, officer of the High Heralds (a group spinning out of the Harpers, referenced by Halsin in game), in 1368.

So, we know when it must be established by - but how much earlier can we go? Pretty far given that the Thorms are elven/half-elven.

Our best boundary is that we know Balduran visited Moonrise Towers before becoming an Illithid. His initial departure from Baldur's Gate and shipwreck happened around 1050 DR, at 300 years before BG1/2, so he has to come to Moonrise Towers sometime after that. FR Wiki states this is ~1150 or later, but I don't know where they're getting that from? I think that's a reasonable timeframe, though.

We know the same architect built Moonrise as the Gauntlet of Shar (from talking to him in the House of Hope), but there's no record of what race he was (only meeting him as a skeleton), and if an elf could easily still be working a few centuries after the construction.

Ketheric is a half-elf for sure, though, but he is an old one. How old exactly is hard to say. 3rd edition gave "old" at 93, with a maximum age of 130-190, while 5e just says "often exceeding 180 years". If we take that he looks the way he did in ~1370 as his death, that places his birth at a minimum of ~1170, but probably later, and the construction of Moonrise Towers ~1200 at the earliest, which is maybe a bit long for Balduran but not unreasonably so.

The other thing of note is that Moonrise Towers has a 'sister' in the Sunrise Spire, a Lathanderian Monastery destroyed in 1177 during a territorial war. Combined with the (undated) fall of Rosymorn Monastery, there is perhaps something interesting about the regional shift from Lathander to Selune, and the construction happening after the destruction further supports a date around ~1200.

Personally, I'd want to push things earlier rather than later - it wouldn't be difficult to say that Ketheric is more elven than human, pushing his age a bit further out, so somewhere between 1180-1200 fits the sweet spot. But really, all we have for sure is "before 1368"

Melodia and the Thorm Family

Melodia Thorm is a human worshipper of Selune, who married Ketheric Thorm and converted him to her worship. They had a daughter, Isobel, who was young when Melodia died (or, at least, Melodia still called her their little girl).

Ketheric is a half-elf; every other member of the Thorm family is an elf - Malus, Gerringothe, and Thisobald all have the longer ears (although the hood makes this less clear on Thisobald).

Malus refers to (presumably) Ketheric as his nephew, making him the only certain branch of the family tree. Gerringothe, we have no idea where she fits in, although as a full elf, we can assume no one is Ketheric's siblings, only parents/aunts/uncles/cousins/more distant relatives.

Thisobald...is complicated. He calls Ketheric father, however, the phrasing is ambiguous (capitalized in a religious sense) in addition to the lack of reference to him in accounts of Melodia/Isobel, and the fact he appears to be fully elven. The two possibilities is that Thisobald and Isobel are half-siblings, with Thisobald's other parent being a full elf, and this being the source of disconnect between him and Ketheric, or that Father is not literal and he is related to Ketheric another way.

We know that Malus Thorm was alive in 986, where he recorded battle casualties from a Dark Justiciar/Selunite/Druid conflict. Given that only the Dark Justiciars are named, it seems likely he was a Sharran at that time. If we take the date as legitimate and not referring to the 1370s conflict, then at least Malus worshipped Shar before Reithwin turned to Selunite worship.

Gauntlet of Shar

Around 800 years before Ketheric Thorm's turn, Grymforge was a city of Shar worshippers. He attempted to revitalize it - creating or rebuilding the Gauntlet of Shar in the process.

And, yes, these two are connected - you can see the entrance to the Gauntlet from one of the points in the lava and through the hall where Nere is trapped. There is a further section not accessible seen from where the Mimic fight is, mainly what appear to be another set of docks.

While we're told the Mason constructed the Gauntlet, given that Shadowheart has heard legends of it, the more likely option seems to be it was rebuilt, since it's quite a large place to construct in only a handful of years. Especially if Malus was a Sharran in 986, it would explain the presence of Shar worshippers before Ketheric's turn.

So, we have the initial Dark Justiciar trials around 600 DR, followed by a decline (with the Gauntlet perhaps lasting past the fall of the city, hidden under Reithwin) enough to establish a myth that can then be built on in the 1370s.

Death of Isobel

How Isobel died is an unresolved plot point, revolving around cut content, so it's hard to call anything "canonical" but the two potential paths are as follows:

In the earliest version, she was killed by Halsin, during a meeting between her (and other Reithwin locals) and the druids, before Shar's influence (and the song of the Nightsong, potentially) drove them mad, and Halsin stabbed Isobel with Sorrow, leaving it cursed). This sparked the conflict between Ketheric and the Druid-Harper alliance.

In a later version, Balthazar killed her, framing Aylin for the deed, which led to Ketheric capturing her and trapping her in the Gauntlet of Shar. Isobel was tethered to Ketheric, and needed to be separated before he was killed

Either way, Isobel has no memory of her death upon being resurrected a century later. It happened probably ~1370, triggering the conflict. While it may have happened earlier (with Ketheric keeping his Shar worship hidden) probably not earlier than 1368.

Conflict with the Harpers

Alright, so this is where we get back into figuring out hard dates. Generally, this happened a century ago - so ~1392, but any time something is that round I always assume it's off.

Again, we know things are business as usual around 1368 because of the Heralds; this means that while Ketheric may have turned to Shar, it wasn't public. However, we do have some dates related to the conflict.

The Harpers try and fail to surrender in a letter by Khelben Arunsun - he's expelled from the Harpers in 1371, founding a splinter group, and dies in 1374. That makes 1369-1370 the most likely timing.

However, the records from Moonhaven and from the Emerald Grove push it to being a later date. Uktar 1371 is the date that the Apothecary and Apprentice arrive from Thay, the start of the Apprentice's journal, which ends with the Dark Justiciars killing him. Toth's logbook is the Apothecary's account, and has a raid in late Uktar and in Nightal; this may be the same year, but more likely later. We know there was at least one failed raid on Moonhaven before it fell completely.

Uktar 1371 we also get the Logbook from the Emerald Grove - they're dealing with far more minor problems and presumably aren't yet at war with the Dark Justiciars, which further supports the idea that the raids on Moonhaven happen in 1372 or 1373.

To account for Khelben's presence, we could assume the failed surrender is from an initial conflict in 1369-1370, that ended with the Harpers retreating, but more likely, the threat Ketheric Thorm posed was enough that the Harpers and Moonstars (Khelben's splinter group) were in alliance - after all, it wasn't a clean split and there was still a great deal of overlap, and he's still the Blackstaff.

The details of the conflict are largely uncertain. We know the Dark Justiciars destroyed Moonhaven, and presumably some other villages, and that the shadow curse claimed the region around Moonrise Towers and Reithwin.

However, we do know how it ended. The Mason made a deal with Raphael to destroy the Dark Justiciar army, which brought Yurgir to the Gauntlet, where he killed all but one (hiding as a swarm of rats). While we only see Yurgir's impact in Grymforge and the Gauntlet, presumably Raphael helped with defeating the entire army.

How Ketheric died and came to be buried in the mausoleum is unclear, but in the final moments of the battle, he cursed the lands around Moonrise Towers with the Shadow Curse, killing many of the Harpers and Druid, and lasting for well over a century, until he came to be resurrected in the name of Myrkul.

My Proposed Timeline

You've read the evidence above. This is therefore a mix of canon, reasonably makes sense in canon, and completely made up headcanon

1492 - Balthazar resurrects Isobel; she flees to the Last Light Inn

???? - Balthazar resurrects Ketheric, he becomes Myrkul's chosen

1373 - Yurgir kills Dark Justiciar Army; Ketheric dies and the Shadow Curse falls

1372 - Dark Justiciars spread out and attack local villages, destroying Moonhaven. The Emerald Grove, Harpers, Moonstars, and Flaming Fist ally together

1370 - The Nightsong is captured, used as the final test for the new Dark Justiciar army Ketheric builds

1369 - Isobel killed by [Halsin/Balthazar/???]. Ketheric completes turn to Shar, forces Reithwin to convert, has the mason begin reconstructing Grymforge

1350 - Melodia dies. Ketheric's faith begins to waver.

1340 - Isobel born

1325 - Melodia and Ketheric marry

1300 - Melodia born.

1200s - Moonrise Towers constructed; Reithwin slowly builds up prominence as a trade stop amon

1170s - Ketheric Thorm born.

1150s-1250s - young Halsin grows up in the lands around Reithwin, where he befriends Thaniel.

980s - Dark Justiciar/Druid/Harper conflict, Malus Thorm attending. Sharrans in the region go further into hiding; Reithwin is known as a Selunite enclave.

600s - Grymforge is a thriving Sharran city. Dark Justiciar trials are held within the Gauntlet of Shar.

[moonlit-rose-garden]

Moving on

Nick Valentine x reader

Word count: 1,655

This takes place about 2 years after the events of Fallout 4 and 1 year after finishing Nick's Eddie Winter quest line. The sole survivor (you) have been living predominantly in Diamond City, helping Nick with his cases.

It was raining outside. Almost no one was in the streets of the Great Green Jewel due to it. A off day, you could say. Most people were able to stay home and relax.

Days like this made (Y-n) almost forget that just outside the walls was a wasteland full of creatures itching to kill.

(Y-n) sat at an old metal desk with her head in her arms, listening to the radio playing. Nick walked in from outside, water dripping off the brim of his hat. He quickly shed his wet coat and hat and then began to make his way to his desk.

Stopping at the desk where (Y-n) sat, Nick revealed a bowl he brought in with him. “You've been working too hard. You need to eat.“ He said as he set the bowl in front of her and took a seat in the chair facing the front of the desk.

(Y-n) slowly raised her head to look at Nick, some of her hair falling in front of her face. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach over and tuck her hair behind her ear. He opted for smoking instead. (Y-n) watched as he tried lighting a cigarette a few times before succeeding. He sat back in the chair with his sleeves rolled up, relaxed for once.

“I think this is the most relaxed I've ever seen you, Nick.“ (Y-n) smiled as she grabbed the bowl of noodles and began to eat. “Thanks.“ Nick waved her off. “It's no problem.“ (Y-n) chuckles to herself. “This reminds me of late nights at the law office I used to work at. Someone would bring takeout, and we'd all sit and work. Or we'd just talk.“

Nick was quiet for a moment. “We used to do the same at the police department when we worked late.“ “Too bad we never got to meet back then. We'd have been great friends, I think.“ They both laughed lightly.

“Look at the two of us. Still stuck in a world long gone.“ Nick chuckled. (Y-n) thought about it for a moment. She pushed the noodles aside and propped her head up with her hand. “Honestly... I think I've moved on.. I mean, it still hurts to think about, and I will always miss Nate. But, I think it's getting better.“

Nick stared at her, his yellow eyes fixated on her face. “I never thought I'd say this. But me too. For so long, I held on to the feelings of a life I never physically lived. After everything with Eddie and a year to think about it...“ He leaned forward on the desk.“well I guess I should thank you.“ He finished. (Y-n) smiled warmly at Nick. “I'm glad we found each other. I couldn't have done any of this without you.“ She reached out over the desk, taking his free hand. “Thank you for taking care of me, Nick. You're a good man”

Nick stared at his hand in hers. It made him comfortable and warm. A feeling he hadn't felt for a long time. He glanced away and laughed. “Well that's what I'm here for. Detective Nick Valentine at your service.“ (Y-n) took her hand way. Immediately missing the feeling of his. She gazed at her hand.

It made her feel a bit guilty. Sure, it had been around 80 years since Nate passed, only 2 to her, but she still loved him. She'd always love him, but he's gone. She can't hold onto a ghost forever.. (Y-n) looked up and caught Nick staring at her with an unreadable expression. He quickly looks away quickly, pretending to read a file sitting on the desk.

(Y-n) looked way. She had a good guess why he was staring. They were both adults. She wasn't going to pretend that she didn't notice the things he did for her and how often he'd watch her. She was sure he had noticed how she smiled at him and how her hand would linger on his arm longer than it had to.

“Nick, do you still think of her?“ (Y-n) asked softly. Nick paused for a moment. “I do. But it's like you and Nate. She's long gone. Besides, she was never mine to begin with.“ He looks at (Y-n) with a small smile. “You helped me move on. Move on from that old life and start living my own." (Y-n) smiled. “I'm glad.“

The room was silent for a long while, and only the sound of the rain and the radio could be heard. Occasionally, the sound of papers shuffling would interrupt the comfortable silence.

“Oh, I should get back before it's too late. I still need to feed Dogmeat!“ (Y-n) said as she stood. Nick followed and put his coat and hat on. Then handed (Y-n) her coat and hat. “Thanks. Are you coming with?“ He nodded. “Yeah, I'll walk you home. “

The air outside was cold, and the rain came down in a drizzle. Nick, seeing (Y-n) shake in the cold, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Though he didn't add any warmth, the gesture made a blush creep up (Y-n) neck.

Slowly, she snaked an arm around his waist. (Y-n) looked at Nick in her peripheral vision. This talk helped her come to a decision about something she had been agonizing over for the past year. She loved Nick, and she was sure that, to some extent, he cared for her, too. But in what way? Looking forward again, (Y-n) tried to fight the anxious feeling bubbling up and the blush that came with it.

Nick felt conflicted. He liked the way she held onto him. He liked her company, he liked her. Nick knew he loved (Y-n). His mind felt scrambled and loud despite the quiet environment. The only sound was the rain and their shoes landing in puddles. He looked down, focused on the ground before them as they walked.

“Well, this is me...“ (Y-n) said as she let go of Nick and slid out of his hold. She pressed her lips in a line and awkwardly searched her pockets for her key. Nick watched her with a small smile. She was always so beautiful to him. But he never even dared entertaining the thought of romance. Not with how he looked, with what he was.

(Y-n) unlocked the door and pushed it open. “I'll see you tomorrow, Nick. Get some-” Before she could finish her sentence, a crack of thunder sounded with lighting not too far behind, and the rain started pouring. Taking one look at the sky and rain (Y-n) ushered Nick into her home. She slammed the door and locked it, letting out a sigh.

They both took off their wet coats and hats, hanging them on the coat hanger near the door. “Come on in! Just leave your shoes at the door.“ (Y-n) said, walking further into the house. Nick took a moment to look around. He realised the last time he'd been here was when (Y-n) first bought it. Almost a year ago. “I like what you've done with the place. Cozy. Tell me, how is it you're only now inviting me over?“ He said as he followed her into a little living room area.

“Well, I guess I never thought about it. I feel like I spend more time at the detective agency than in any of my homes.“ (Y-n) smiled and took a seat on a couch. She gestured for Nick to do the same, which he did.

A moment of silence passed between them. A false silence. Their heads both buzzing and loud. Nick thought he was fine working with her and admiring from a far, but now sitting with (Y-n) after coming getting off work... It almost felt like they were a couple. He hated himself for feeling this way. For how flustered he was.

Nick looked over at (Y-n). Her hands were clenched together in her lap, and she had this strange look on her face. “Hey, you alright?“ She glanced at him with an uneasy smile “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just got something on my mind.“ Nick turned to face her fully. “What's troubling you? Maybe I can help.“

(Y-n) was silent for a short moment. “You're good to me, Nick. Thank you.“ Nick watched her intently. She looked at him in his glowing eyes. Maybe the storm happened for a reason. It gave her a chance to come clean and tell him how she really feels. “I care about you. A lot.“ (Y-n) looked away. “Sorry if this is weird. I just feel like I've got to say something.“

Putting a hand on her back, Nick inched closer to her. “It's alright. Just. Just tell me what it is.“ Nick had a feeling where it was going but pushed it away. He felt foolish for even entertaining the idea. (Y-n) took a deep breath and looked at Nick again, slightly leaning towards him.

“Do you care about me? The way I care about you?“ Nick was speechless. He just stared at her with a blank face. “I love you, Nick. And I have for a while..“ (Y-n) gazed at him with hopeful, loving eyes. Slowly, he raised a hand to her cheek and caressed her face. (Y-n) leaned into his gentle touch.

“This all feels like a dream...“ Nick whispered. He leaned forward and captured (Y-n) into a hug. “I do... I love you, too..“

They pulled apart, and (Y-n) held Nick's face gently. She inched closer before closing the gap between them, her warm lips meeting his cool ones.

(Y-n) quickly pulled away “I-I I'm sorry! I-I should have asked!“ Nick just grabbed her face, pulling her back towards him and kissing her, a bit harder this time. (Y-n) smiled into the kiss and threw her arms around his neck.

She knew that, finally, happy days were just around the corner.

I'm sorry if he's super out of character! It's been so incredibly long since I played this game! I hope it was still a good read. I do feel like the ending is missing something, though.

[starrydixon]

Faint

*Requested from this ask :)*

Era: Farm  Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: None-Specified Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: mild language, brief descriptions of fainting and dehydration, fluff!!

Summary: After pushing yourself a little too hard in the hot Georgia sun, you find yourself losing consciousness. Luckily, Daryl’s right there to help you out. 

It was hot—probably one of the hottest days since the apocalypse started. The blaring sun was not holding back, as there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to block the assaulting rays from your skin for even a few seconds. The Georgia humidity also wasn’t helping; it made the air you breathed feel denser and like there wasn’t much oxygen to inhale. Sweat collected across your hairline, around your neck, and dripped down your spine. The clothes you were wearing stuck to your body like another layer of skin, and you were sure there were patches of sweat staining your shirt. Before the outbreak happened, you would have been embarrassed by it, but there were more important things to be worried about nowadays instead of people seeing you sweat.

With most of the group out of commission or being assigned to do something else, it was only you and Daryl looking for Sophia today. Daryl was heading towards the creek, seeing what he could find at the only landmark the little girl had to go by, while you searched in the opposite direction; just in case she had wandered out further than anticipated.

The water in your canteen had run out hours ago. You knew you should have gone back to the farm to refill from one of the wells, but finding Sophia was more important than relieving your dry throat. You hadn’t realized just how draining the sun was on your body until you noticed that your once stealthy footsteps had turned heavy and noisy. That should have been your other sign to go back to the farm, but you still pushed on. When your vision began to go out of focus not even twenty minutes later, you knew you were treading dangerously on succumbing to heat stroke. As much as you wanted to keep looking for Sophia, up until the hot sun began to set over the horizon, you knew you wouldn’t be very useful if you were delirious and or unconscious. 

As the blue sky began to tint with light shades of oranges and pinks, Daryl had assumed you had already made it back to the farm when he reentered the property. The hunter was perceptive; keeping to himself most days and observing the people around him. He instantly felt the lack of your presence around camp when he returned from his search. Maybe it was because you were the only person within the small group of survivors that he was immediately drawn to when he and his brother first showed up to the camp at the Quarry. You had always been genuinely nice to him, and didn’t treat him like the outsider he felt and knew that he was. So your absence was significant to him.

With Sophia still missing, and presumably lost in the vast forest that surrounded the immediate area, Daryl couldn’t help but fear that you were now lost too. Of course he hoped you were only taking so long to return because you had found Sophia, or at least found a warm trail of her, but his anxiety was getting the best of him. He couldn’t take that chance; having another person lost on his account. The archer didn’t hesitate to go back out there, find your tracks, and make sure that you were okay. 

Just as he was beginning to cross the field of overgrown grass and weeds, Daryl was met with the welcomed sight of you emerging from the tree line of the woods. He didn’t know if he was projecting his fears with Sophia on you, or if it was something else, but he was relieved to see you back in one piece with his own eyes. Daryl hadn’t broken stride, planning to meet you halfway and converse about any evidence you may have found during your search. The closer he got, the clearer your weary body language and sweat sheened face became. 

“Y/N?” Daryl called out to you, cupping a hand next to his mouth in an attempt to magnify the sound of his voice. When the only response he got from you was witnessing your body drop to the ground, his once relaxed strides quickly turned into a full on run.

Internal alarms that Daryl didn’t know he possessed began to go off, causing his heart to race and his breathing to become labored. Daryl kept calling out to you as he made his way over to you, hoping that your face would miraculously pop up from the overgrown foliage and reassure him that you were fine and had just tripped over an upturned pile of dirt. When that didn’t happen, curse words rooted from fear flew out his mouth. 

Daryl had no idea what to do when he finally reached you. Kneeling down beside you, his hands hovered around the frame of your face and sides of your head. He was worried that his touch, no matter how gentle he tried to be, would somehow hurt you. .

“Hey-hey.” The archer’s voice was soft, but still held that distinctive gravely undertone as he watched your facial expressions begin to stir. Daryl’s breath quickened and his ears had a deafening ring in them due to the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The second you opened your eyes, just a crack, you instantly squeezed them shut again. A distressed groan sounded from under your breath as the near blinding brightness and nauseating dizziness stung your sensitive eyes. If it weren’t for Daryl’s voice sounding so close, yet so distant, you probably would have panicked at how disoriented you felt.

“Easy now…” Daryl trailed off cautiously as you began to sit up. His hands hovered around your frame, spotting you in case you fell down again.

“Don’t…don’t take me to Hershel.” You informed the archer as you blinked your vision back into focus. Your muscles still felt heavy and weak, and you were sure you’d fall over again soon as it was becoming difficult to keep yourself upright. 

“Just—help me to some shade.”

Daryl was hesitant about following your wishes, as he thought you should be seen by someone who had a medical background. You noticed his hesitation, and shot him a heated warning look with whatever energy you had left to spare. With a shake of his head and a light scoff escaping past his lips, Daryl helped you to your feet and led you over to the closest tree; which was one of the many peach trees residing around the Greene’s farm. 

“Water…please.” Your voice was breathy and weak as you slumped back against the sturdy tree trunk. If your body wasn’t so exerted of energy, you would have found the rigged wood that dug into your back uncomfortable.

“Right—water.” Daryl patted his body, searching for the canteen he often carried on his person. When one of his hands bumped into the container, the archer clumsily removed the strap from off his shoulder and practically shoved the canteen in your face due to his hasted mindset. 

A thank you barely made it out of your mouth before you eagerly drank the refreshing water. You knew you would need more than a half-full canteen worth of water to hydrate your body again, but just the mere feel of the cool liquid filing your dry mouth and going down your scratchy throat was replenishing enough. 

“You seem awfully calm for someone who just passed out.” The archer’s distinctive southern drawl seemed even more prominent when he spoke. Carefully, Daryl sat down beside you under the tree that was providing your hot skin with cooling shade. 

For a moment, you could only shrug your shoulders dismissively in response as you let your head fall back against the tree trunk. The golden hue of the sunset caused the overgrown grassland in front of you to seem like it was glowing. It was a peaceful view, and you couldn’t help but allow its peace to calm you for a few moments. 

“If I wasn’t aware of why I fainted, I definitely wouldn’t be this level-headed.” Your voice was slow, but composed and lucid. It made Daryl’s looming anxiety settle and his protective guard to slightly drop. “I ran out of water hours ago…I just wanted to keep looking for Sophia.”

For a fleeting second, Daryl felt a surge of warmth spread over the expanse of his chest. You didn’t have to explain yourself further; he understood where you were coming from completely and was perplexedly endeared that you were just as committed to finding Sophia as he was. Carefully, Daryl glanced over at you, and felt an electric shock shoot up his spine when he saw your tired eyes and half smile aimed at him. The brightness radiating off of your face practically blinded him, and he had to avert his gaze so he wouldn’t risk having you see the dust of pink he was sure was beginning to cover his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, Daryl only hummed vaguely in response before standing up and brush his hands over his pants to remove some of the dirt that stuck to the worn denim. Squinting through the setting sunlight, the archer took a few steps back and examined the peaches that hung from the branches. Since the peaches hung a few feet too high for Daryl to reach, he knew he'd have to poke the branch until the stem of the fruit broke free from the branch.

“I’d watch your head if I were you.” Daryl warned while raising his crossbow and nudging the branch. 

Placing both arms over your head, you subconsciously winced as you anticipated the feeling of raining fruit falling on you at any moment. The last thing you needed was a head injury on top of your mild heat stroke. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” You expressed endearingly as a weak smile uplifted the corners of your mouth. The archer just shrugged indifferently.

“Ya gotta eat somethin’... these things got lots of vitamins and minerals or whatever and that’ll help ya feel better.” Daryl explained while gesturing to the few peaches that were now cradled in his arms. 

As Daryl kneeled down beside you again and offered you the ripest peach in the bunch, he felt his heart skip a beat when his gaze caught your genuine smile. After making sure to thank the archer once again, you quickly brushed your fingers against the peach to remove any lingering dirt and bit into the sweet and juicy fruit. A comfortable silence fell over you and Daryl as you both enjoyed the delectable snack.

Daryl wasn’t the type of person who normally pried into other people’s business. His rule of thumb was that if something wanted to be said or talked about, it would be eventually at the person's own discretion. This time, however, your health was more important than his comfortability and he was curious as to why you didn’t want to be checked on and cared for with medicine. 

“Is there uh—a reason why ya don wanna see Hershel? He could help ya feel better faster.” Daryl threw the near bare peach pit a few feet in front of him, and watched the pit become hidden within the overgrown foliage of the farmland. 

“Oh…I just don’t want to be more of a burden, you know?”

You too had finished your peach, and threw the pit in the same direction Daryl had. Your’s didn’t land as far as Daryl’s did, and you were going to blame your dehydrated body for your lack of strength instead of your lack of muscles. Wiping your hands of the sticky peach juice on your jeans, you brought the canteen to your lips and drank the remaining liquid. Although your eyes remained on the field in front of you, you could see Daryl’s attention turn to you from the corner of your eye, and feel his curious gaze flit over the side of your face. 

“Should take the medical care while we still got it.” Daryl reasserted while resting his arm on top of his bent knee. 

“I want us all to stay here longer…and if asking for help diminishes that chance, then I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Daryl couldn’t help but admire your selflessness. He wasn’t sure how many other people in the broken group of survivors would also make that kind of stance. To visually show that he was done pushing his own concern onto you, the archer raised his hands in faux surrender. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the small glimpse of charisma from the usually guarded man. 

After a few beats of silence had passed, you found yourself chuckling quietly again and rubbing a distressed hand over your face. “Maybe eating those peaches without asking already ruined our chance.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Daryl compromised with a suggestively raised eyebrow. You couldn’t help but belly laugh with as much strength you could muster while lightly nudging the archer’s arm with your elbow. Daryl couldn’t help but find your laugh contagious and quietly chuckle along.

“Can I get ya some more water?” Daryl asked once the laughter had settled between you two. With his hand, he motioned towards the empty canteen sitting in between your legs. 

“That would be great, actually. Thanks.” 

“Might be more comfortable restin’ in your tent, too.” Daryl suggested lightly as he stood up from the ground. In an attempt to seem less pestering, he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“Probably…but I think if I even try to stand up right now, I’d go cross eyed and pass out again.” Despite how serious you were, there was a teasing lilt in your voice to delude the concern. 

Your lightheartedness didn’t seem to have any affect on Daryl, as he stared down at you with a wary look in his eyes. “Right…” Daryl’s drawl was heavy when he spoke, and he shifted uneasily on his feet as those panic-induced alarms began to go off again. 

“I’m fine, seriously. I just need to drink a shit ton of water...and maybe eat another peach” You reassured him encouragingly while handing the canteen to Daryl. The archer just hummed, unconvinced, and snatched the container from you. 

“Don’t pass out while I’m gone…I’ll be pissed if ya do.” Daryl warned while pointing an accusing finger at you. 

“Aren’t you always?” One of your eyebrows rose in speculation as a sly smile formed on your lips. 

Daryl scoffed and took a few steps away from you. He could feel heat begin to flush the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he blurted out his rather flirtatious thoughts without thinking. 

“Nah—not around you…you’re just different I guess.”

Instead of the blaring sun and borderline heatstroke heating up your face, it was Daryl’s alluring comment. All you could do was shake your head dismissively and try (but fail miserably) to conceal the flustered smile that contorted the shape of your lips. A lopsided smile formed on Daryl’s lips as he slowly retreated from you; all the while rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. 

As you watched Daryl jog across the field to the nearest watering well, a wave of invigorating energy coursed through you. You thought only shade and replenishing water could cure your drained and dehydrated body, but it turns out a rugged archer whose strong facade was slowly crumbling to reveal the man he truly was, was just as healing.

-

-

A/N: I just started my twd rewatch, and just had to write something with early season Daryl! Also, I’m so sorry this is out a little later than anticipated! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I hope you all enjoyed reading! <3

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

do you ever think about what it was like for the Green Lantern Corps during Emerald Twilight? I try not to do it too much because when I do I wanna punch holes in the wall and cry

Hal fights at least eight of his fellow Green Lanterns on his way to Oa. Some of them, like Boodikka and Kreon, he'd personally recruited to the Corps. All of them, he strips of their rings and leave them floating in the void. Geoff Johns might've brought them back as the Lost Lanterns, but before that retcon, there was no way for them to have survived.

How many other Green Lanterns died like that when Parallax destroyed the Central Battery? Their rings suddenly shutting off with no explanation, cutting off their life support and leaving them to choke in the cold vacuum of space. Some, I imagine, were on their way to fight Hal, and they die wondering if they could have stopped this if they'd just been faster, stronger, better...

Others however, had no clue of what was happening on Oa. Adara, a former Green Lantern that Kyle meets on his first venture into space, says as much. Her ring died while she was fighting Corellian privateers, and she only survived because her enemies wanted to capture her.

Green Lantern (1990) Issue #56

Dozens, perhaps even hundreds of her fellow GLs aren't as fortunate. Their final thoughts are of bewilderment and pain and terror. But perhaps the ones who died early are the lucky ones.

Adara is tortured by the privateers before she's able to escape. Later on, Kyle encounters Fatality, the last survivor of Xanshi. Her ship is filled with trophies of the former Green Lanterns she'd hunted and killed.

The Green Lanterns had many enemies as a result of both their successes and failures. The fall of the Corps would have been a golden opportunity to exact revenge on its now-powerless members. And they likely wouldn't have had much trouble finding them.

Old habits die hard. Green Lanterns are heroes after all, with or without their abilities. The Oath is not just a passphrase to charge their rings, it is the promise that they keep with every breath. They would have continued to help others and protect the innocent because that's what they do. But without their power, without the protection of their Corps, one by one the former lights of the universe are snuffed out.

And of those who remain, at least a few are forced to sacrifice the principles they had once sworn by, just to survive in a universe that is now hostile to them. Fear and desperation drive even the best of the universe's heroes to allow evil to escape their sight, and for at least one, the shame is too much to bear.

Adara seduced Kyle and stole his ring while he slept, trying to reclaim the life that had been taken from her. Neither knew then that this last ring was keyed to his DNA and would never have worked for her. For all Adara knew, the ring rejected her because she'd broken her oath, and this is the final straw that breaks her. She rejects Kyle's offer to start a new life and instead turns herself into yet another casualty of the Emerald Twilight

In the end, it is impossible to name all of the Green Lanterns who fell with their Corps, whether it was in the initial slaughter or in the dark years after. It is easier to count the survivors, the lucky few like Salakk or Rot Lop Fan who lived to see their Corps reborn and helped rebuild it.

[kybercrystals94]

Barrier

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 6 - Prompt: Not Realizing They're Injured / "It's not my blood."

Rated: T | Words: 729

CW: Blood (in case the prompt didn't give it away)...nothing too graphic, but just wanted to mention it!

Hunter is thrown when another explosion detonates, hitting a wall with enough force it drives the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping through his respirator. Debris clatters like hail against his plastoid armor. He isn’t surprised everything hurts, head ringing from the impact, but he pushes himself up even before the reverberation of the blast settles, the ground trembling under his boots as he stumbles forward to the first citizen he sees. 

The woman is leaning forward, gripping her ankle with both hands, voice sobbing in a language Hunter doesn’t understand. He kneels down in front of her. “We’ll get you out of here,” he tells her. 

The woman’s wild eyed gaze traverses Hunter’s dirty armor, and she shakes her head, continuing to speak frantically in her native tongue. He doesn’t have time for arguing, the transport will be back soon for survivors, and she is only one of many. He scoops her up in his arms in a bridal cary, careful to avoid jostling her injured ankle. She pushes against his breastplate, continuing to speak the same words over and over again. 

“I don’t understand,” Hunter tells her. His head is still ringing, dull pounding pain throbbing throughout his skull. Distantly, he wonders if he has a concussion. 

The woman points to her own abdomen, and Hunter looks down. Blood blooms across her torn blouse. How did he not see that before? He nods at her, trying to communicate that he understands that she is injured. The rendezvous isn’t far, and Hunter moves as fast as he dares. Tech is there, tending the wounded as they arrive. He will know what to do. 

Tech meets him when he arrives. “What are her injuries?” he asks, motioning for Hunter to lay the woman down by a tree where several other civilians are already situated. 

“Abdomen wound, seems like it’s bleeding heavily,” Hunter tells him. “But she was holding her ankle when I found her. I don’t think she can walk on her own.” 

Tech nods, already reaching for a fresh roll of gauze from his med pack. 

Hunter draws back from the woman, moving to stand again when she catches his arm in both hands. She speaks frantically, this time looking at Tech. 

Tech looks at Hunter, his eyes wide behind his goggles. 

“What is she saying?” Hunter asks.

“She says that it isn’t her blood,” Tech says, tone too even to be truly calm. “It is yours.” 

“I’m not…” Hunter begins, but Tech points to Hunter’s own midsection. Hunter looks down and sees it. Shrapnel, dark and ominous, protrudes from his armor. He didn’t even notice, felt nothing but the pain in his head, the ache in his muscles. But now, his skin feels like fire and the warmth of blood pooling under his armor, soaking into his blacks. His head goes light, vision spotting with dark splotches under his visor. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his vision, but when he opens them again, he is on the Marauder, the sound of Wrecker snoring in the bunk above him, the dim lighting of night cycle glowing around him. 

“Thanks for your help with the evacuation,” Crosshair says from the crash sheet, “Couldn’t have done it without you. Oh, wait, we did.” 

“Please don’t antagonize the wounded,” Tech chides, and he appears in Hunter’s eyeline, hovering over him. “How do you feel?” 

Hunter groans. “Not great.” 

“To be expected,” Tech agrees. “Alami said that she tried to warn you before you picked her up.” 

“A language barrier is no excuse,” Crosshair admonishes. 

“It is actually a quite reasonable excuse,” Tech tells him guilelessly. A pause. “You were being sardonic.”  

Crosshair chuckles. 

Hunter suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He knows it will only aggravate his lingering headache. 

“The mission was a success?” he asks.

Tech hums, checking the bandages wrapped around Hunter’s midsection. “Of course it was. It turned out Alami is the village’s doctor. She was able to take over my duties, and I was able to assist with yours. If you had to rescue one last individual before becoming incapacitated, you chose the right one.” 

Hunter sighs, exhaustion tugging at his consciousness enticingly. He wants to ask more, to hear everything that happened…but he knows his brothers will tell him everything he wants to know when he wakes again. 

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[honeycombclaire]

You know what I need? I need the Marvel time-travel trope, but everyone goes back to the 40s.

(I say everyone, I mean the Avengers pre-Infinity War.)

Because everyone says Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are men out of time (and they’re not technically wrong). But I want to see the Avengers (sans Steve and Bucky) getting sent back in time by some wizard or a freak Asgardian lightning storm or something, and poof, they’re back in the 40s, right smack in the middle of the war.

I want the Avengers to witness what life was like during the war, hiding in bomb shelters and seeing the after effects of the world crawling out of the Great Depression and hurtling into the second World War in twenty years.

Life when Steve really was the weirdest thing science ever created. When he was desperately needed and internationally adored. Because all of the Avengers have PTSD, but Steve and Bucky went through World War II and got spit back out into the 20th and 21st centuries, and that’s a whole different category of PTSD and trauma.

I want the Avengers to actually meet the survivors of Azzano, when Steve marched into the massive Nazi base and saved hundreds of soldiers, part because he could and part because he was desperate to save his best friend, and didn’t think twice about it.

I want the Avengers to see Steve and Bucky thrive. I want them to witness Steve and Bucky with the Howling Commandos. Steve’s first team. I want them to see how Steve and Bucky lived, what life was like, because it was drastically different than the modern world.

I want the Avengers to witness firsthand life on a military base. I want Tony to have to look his father in the eye and pretend he doesn’t know who he is, but get to see all the good his father did because all he remembers is his father being an asshole. How much Steve really did care about Howard (and that Bucky did, too, because Howard made weapons to keep Steve safe).

I want Natasha to see that just because she’s an assassin doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, because there were hundreds of military assassins and spies during the war that did bad things to get information.

I want them to hear about the Tesseract and learn that sometimes Steve’s intelligence should be taken seriously, because he has experience and knowledge that none of the other Avengers will ever have. (“You should have left it in the water.” “This is the guy my dad never shut up about?”)

I want them to see how much Steve loved Peggy, how she and Bucky were the only ones who saw him for who he really was, and realize how awful it must have been for him to come back and work for the organization she created after his death and have to live without her.

I want them to hide and watch as Past Steve screams as Past Bucky falls from the train. I want them to see Past Steve realize he can’t get drunk, and the only way he can cope is to kill the Red Skull and end HYDRA. To avenge his friend. I want them to realize that not only did Past Steve crash the plane for nothing, but that Steve knows, has to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

I want them to listen with Peggy as Past Steve realizes he’s going to have to crash the plane. I want them to hear the slight tremble in Past Steve’s voice as he talks about dancing with Peggy, believing he’ll never get the chance, and that he’s going to die alone in the freezing cold ocean. I want them to not get the change to promise him that he’ll survive. I want them to hear the sudden static that cuts off Past Steve’s voice, and the heavy silence that comes after it.

I want them to see the world mourn for Captain America, who died just months before the war ended.

And then I want them to come back to the 21st century and see. I want them to see the way Steve’s eyes linger on pictures of Peggy and Howard, see the rows of records from the 30s and 40s in a whole new light, see rows of 30s-style clothes in his closet that he hardly ever wears because a lot of people will make jabs about it, see the way he always keeps Bucky in his sight, hugs him just a little bit tighter than he hugs everyone else.

I want them to see the bags under his and Bucky’s eyes when they have nightmares. I want Sam to quietly show them Steve’s list, and see that every line on every page is filled because he missed so much. I want them to find two more little books filled up just as much. I want them to realize how lost Steve still is despite how much he’s adapted.

I want them to see the subtle military training still ingrained in Steve’s bones, because any and every war was horrible, but World War II was something else entirely, and so was desperation that existed within the soldiers and the people. I want them to see Steve’s recklessness of jumping out of planes without a parachute, the way his eyes always scan the area when he enters a room, watching ever little detail and listening for any sound that might indicate danger. How he is always, always, on alert, even when he seems relaxed.

I want them to understand why Steve was so against the Sokovia Accords. It wasn’t because he wanted the power to do what he thought was best; it was because he was afraid of the consequences of having too many restrictions. Because even with international laws and the damn Geneva Convention, the Nazis still destroyed half the world, and decades later Nazi HYDRA was still carrying out their mission that Steve sacrificed his life for. Steve was a human experiment. The Serum was a biochemical weapon. The military broke the rules to protect the greater good, and Steve knew that. The war would have gone very differently without him.

Whether he was right or wrong about the Accords, after what Steve experienced, I want the Avengers finally understand where he was coming from. Why he was so afraid of strict regulations.

I want Tony to finally fully understand the significance of Steve giving up his shield in Siberia.

Why he was so determined to protect Bucky from the world. Not just because he was his best friend, or because it was the right thing to do. But also because Bucky was the only thing Steve physically had left of his life before the crash, save for his dog tags, and he was scared of what that would mean if Steve lost him.

Steve Rogers has so much trauma that Marvel completely ignored. They focused on Tony’s and Bucky’s and Natasha’s trauma; and that’s great, that’s important; but so much of Steve’s moral character doesn’t get explained because it gets glossed over with the excuse that he’s “Mr Good and Righteous.” And that’s true, but that’s just scratching the surface.

He’s Mr. Good and Righteous for a reason, and it doesn’t get talked about enough.

[6feathered6siren6]

Finding home in a lost world

Author's note: This is finally done! I love/hate it, but it's done. I don't want to gatekeep it after pushing through it. So enjoy found family. Everything might be ooc. This is also not proof read.

Trigger warnings

Zombies/undead

Killing

Ooc?

--

Fuck the undead. 

Zombies have been walking for months now. Maybe a year? You remember the people around you scream as they run from the monsters. Biting people that were near them, infecting them as well. You were lucky somehow, not getting bitten nor seeing anyone for a long, long time. 

You had a backpack of supplies and a bat with nails in it. The bat came from a late survivor. He had his head bashed in by some blunt object, after wishing his journey to the otherside was peaceful, you took the bat. But back to the sweltering heat from the sun above, you felt sick. But you can't stop, you need to keep walking. The monsters are still walking around, no matter how many times you bashed their head in. 

Looking up again, you saw a town up ahead. It’s been a couple nights since you left the last one. Running towards it, you immediately can smell the rot from it. But, there still could be someone there. Some other survivors since this whole… wasteland fuckery. 

Looking into buildings and stores, no one was there. Grabbing what you need, then finding shelter for the day. Staying hydrated and away from the blistering heat. 

Being alone was… painful for you. You saw some people you grouped up with before bite and turned into a zombie or randomly getting killed. You were sick of the silence. You wanted someone to chat to. To listen to. It’s just quiet and the groans of the dead. 

What felt like your soul jumping, you heard a shotgun being fired, someone was near. Picking up your bottle, your bat, and your bag, you rush to the sound. Staying in the shadows, you saw a female. Hair well kept, blonde with light pink tips, light blue eyes, and the way she stands, you could tell she was a professional at killing the undead. Her gun was pointed down after she killed the last undead before her. 

Another alive being. Before even moving, a yell reaches before both of your ears, her turning her head and waving. She was in a group. Better than what you have. Taking a breath, you were about to take a step forward and a hand reached your shoulder. You were slammed against the wall of the alley. The man who is currently pinning you to the wall was a tall, red wine colored hair male. His near black eyes stared daggers at you as he held his crowbar near your head. A subtle threat. 

“Fucking stalking, thought only the dead does that now.” His raspy voice was quiet, not to warn, what you assume, his group that you were nearby. Your bat was still in your hand, so any movement, you might be able to escape. But you stayed quiet, what could you say after meeting people again since… months? Time was getting hard to tell and hazy. “So wanna explain the fuck you doing here?”

Biting your bottom lip before you spoke, “Looking for survivors and supplies.” 

“Supplies? Then what's in your bag? Hoarding all the good stuff?” He said, using his crowbar to point at your fallen bag.

You looked at it, survival or release from this wasteland. Survival. “Water, medicine, and food.”

“The basics, huh?” Pointing the crowbar back at your throat. “Tell me stalker, what are you planning?” He doesn’t trust you, but if you can, you do want to join their group. Having a group is mostly better than being alone. 

“Nothing. Why would I-” You were interrupted with the crowbar touching your neck, choose your words wisely. “Again, nothing, I was hoping to join, more the merrier in this undead wasteland.”

He just stared at you for a moment. “And if you try anything, you’ll be thrown into a pit of these fuckers, got it?” 

You nod. 

“Great.” He took his crowbar away from your throat and started walking towards the group. He started yelling towards them, “Found a survivor!” 

Now or never.

–

It’s been a month-ish, you got some that welcomed you then the others that don’t. But… you’ll take it. The group entails a few interesting people though. 

Maria, or as she prefers to be called, Angel, is a sweetheart that brings you into conversations and tries to get your opinion on matters. You found out she used to be a model before all this madness. She keeps her rifle near her, ready to attack. But she often gives you supplies when you do need them. 

V, the tall and brooding male, was a bit cold to you at first, but he warmed up when you contributed. Seeing that you weren’t going to use them, he often walked beside you. When it’s day time, he would be a bit further away from the group.

Misaki has been keeping everyone’s spirits high, joking and their excited energy has even spread to you. Either using a crossbow or a rifle to use against zombies. But you learned that they were visiting everyone when the virus dropped, leaving them stranded here. Unable to go back home.

Lastly, Ronin, he was an ass, he played mind games, but the playing field was even. Any zombie that walks too close turns into a rotten splash zone, making a mess out of it. There were way too many times you had rotten blood on you, all he would do is laugh while not caring too much about his own. When it’s time to rest, you do learn bits and pieces about him. 

Upon the journey, you asked Angel, “So, why are we grabbing all these supplies, there is more than enough rations for us.”

“Oh, no one told you? We have more people. They’re holding the base down, making sure it’s safe.” Angel held her rifle at the ready, she was holding a light load, you were holding a heavier load as Misaki also holded a heavier load. V was holding his own and Ronin’s bag as Ronin wanted to bash zombie’s heads in(And just put it on him with no notice.). 

“More?” She nods, as Misaki chimes in. 

“Oh, yeah! We got Luca and Feli! We finally got them to fly to this country before this zombie wasteland. And we got to see Vince and Ai Hua in person! It was fun.” They paused for a moment, making what it seems was for dramatics. “Until it wasn’t. We did a lot of things before the virus.” 

“Surprisingly, we did. Though some were… distasteful.” He glanced at Ronin. 

“What? Didn’t like my gift. I thought we were friends, V.” He said as he leaned on to V, his grin looked devilish and smug. 

Angel sighed, “It’s small but it’s a place we can call ‘home’. Especially with all this…” A groan interrupted her, the undead man was dragging his right foot as he limped forward to Angel. She cocked her gun, pointed it on the poor body, then shot it with no hesitation. Then turn to you, like she wasn’t just interrupted. Finishing her sentence, “Era.”

Ronin whistled as he got off of V, like he was proud of the shot she took. Before starting to annoy V again, he seems to like annoying him, just to see the male's reaction.

You look back at Angel, unbothered by the kill. “So you all just stick together?” 

“Yup, since before day 1.” Misaki turned around, putting one finger up and winking. 

“But we have someone new joining us!” Angel smiled at you, making you feel the ends of your mouth lift, making you smile. 

–

It was getting closer to night, so finding someplace to use for shelter was a good option, everyone was tired from the journey and V said it would take another day to get there. Finding an apartment complex, getting up and resting. Opening a door to find it just dusty, no blood nor any destruction, like it was lost in time. 

Ronin sat onto the couch, Angel did as well. Misaki was looking around while V was in the kitchen, looking for any more supplies he could take. 

You sat at the kitchen island, seeing Ronin and Angel had gone into conversation, and you didn’t want to interrupt. V placed a few cans onto the counter, catching your attention. 

“Will it be alright if you take these into your bag?” He said. You nod your head, and he nods in thanks. “You have my gratitude. Now, if I can, mind if I ask you a question?” 

“Yeah, sure.” You grabbed your bag to put the few cans in. 

“Where did you come from? The zombie outbreak was, what I believe, a few months. And we haven’t found many survivors as time goes by.” He leaned on the adjacent counter, his arms were crossed. 

“Everywhere? I guess? I just keep walking. Haven’t really stopped.” You said, “Met a few other survivors but… they are long gone.” 

“Dead?” He raised his eyebrow.

You thought for a moment, “Most of them, yeah.” 

“Most of them?”

“I joined a group before this, but they only saw me as bait, and I didn’t like that. So I left.” 

“Well, fortunately, we don’t really do that, unless Ronin decided to be himself.” He got off the counter and patted your head as he walked by. “Now, go rest. I’ll get Misaki to wake you up when it’s your turn.” 

–

Your sleep was interrupted by someone shaking you, it was Misaki. They seemed too energetic to go to sleep anytime soon. Sitting up and grabbing your bat, Misaki sat next to you, just ready to ramble about something. 

And that they did, Masaki made keeping watch entertaining, talking about the crafts they made before, even mentioning to make you something when they get back to base. Keeping the air comfortable, and calm. 

Before you know it, they become quiet. 

Placing your hand on her shoulder, “Misaki?”

Slightly jolting, they looked at you, their eyes full of worry. “Do you… do you think that this zombie virus reached other countries? Like.. Japan?” 

Staring at them, before sighing, “I actually never thought of it. Maybe? No one knows how this started, nor have we communicated with any other country, but if we are being hopeful… I hope it hasn’t.” 

With their gaze on you, their frown turns into a small, soft smile, “I hope so too.” 

“Now to our conversation, worms are definitely gay.” You felt that smile hurt your cheeks.

–

Angel, Misaki, and V were behind, wanting to grab a few more things before going back. So it was you and Ronin walking around, both holding your weapons at the ready. A few distant groans but not too much to really be nervous about. 

His smirk was loud on his face as he gazed around. He was clearly wanting something to jump out. Something to attack. You were just making sure he somehow doesn’t kill himself. Bringing your bat along, prepared to swing. 

“So, Ronin,” You spoke up after an hour of following him. “What made you join this group? I know you met them before the virus, but it seems like everyone is…” You drift your words, not knowing what to say.

“Different?” He looked back a bit before facing you, now walking backwards. “If I told you, you wouldn’t like us. The gruesome stories that drive each of us.” 

You seemed confused for a moment, “And that would be?” 

He stopped walking, putting his crowbar to your throat. You almost walked into it, “Come on, I know you get this. It doesn’t take two brain cells. Everyone doesn’t flinch by blood or gore. No hesitation.”

You felt more confusion, what does he mean? “What?” 

“Come on, Darlin’. Those weapons that we hold,” He inched the crowbar closer to your throat. “Are well used.”  

Suddenly, it clicked. The unbothered reactions, you still have a tough time killing, but it could have been a you thing. But, thinking back, the other survivors had a struggle killing zombies. “You were killers before this.”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! You get a cookie. Now, do you hate us? Fearing the famous Devil’s butcher, The Heartbreak Angel, or the others?” His grin was sadistic. 

But you stared, thinking about it. Maybe this virus has infected you in a different way. “No. I… don’t think so…” 

“You don’t think so?” He lowered his crowbar, you can tell he was caught off.

“You… don’t think so? Tell me.”

“Why should I fear you? Or anyone in this group? I haven’t even thought of hurting anyone in it nor think anyone in this group would kill me.” 

He looks at you with a deadpan look before sighing, “I don’t know if you are a dumbass or not.” He turned around and started walking away, making you chase after him. 

“A dumbass?” You raised your eyebrow when you caught up with him. 

“Fuck yeah, pushing off that we’re killers, and still follow, takes some kind of person. Are you one of those dumbasses that send love letters to prisoners? Such a rebel.”

“What? No?” You shook your head, “Gross.” 

“Then what?” You could see his smile, as he slightly turned his head to look at you. 

“You actually treat me one in a team instead of a tool.” You look away from him to see what's in front of you.  “Better than any team I joined, and they haven’t killed anyone alive.” 

You could hear his slight hum as he took in that information. “Well, guess that's what we all have in common, we got fucked by somebody.”

–

As the sun was setting you could see a metal wall in the distance, Misaki jumped in joy and started running towards it. “We’re back!”

Angel started running towards it with her, calling their name, while you, Ronin, and V kept the same pace. You could see the wall door’s open to see an older lady with a young male, his smile reaching to his ears. His wave was huge, using his whole arm while, around the same age, a lady near him offered a wave for the returners. This was their base, a place that welcomed you. 

And soon you lost track of time, you got a small doll that looks like you that hangs around your bat, a new one as well, with shiny nails on it. The doll was made by Misaki while the bat was courtesy from Ronin. V tends to patrol with you, talking about the books that both of you read or even recommending you some if they are there at the base. Angel tends to make sure everyone is well rested and taking breaks, which Ronin tends to tease her. 

Vince and Ai hua were always together, see one, you’ll see the other nearby. And honestly seeing them together was a couple goals, something you wish to strive for. Even their kids were here, hidden from the decaying world outside of the walls. 

Luca and Feli were always a joy to talk to. You did learn Luca was kinda banned from leaving the walls with how many times zombies have come to attack him or accidently almost getting bitten. Feli always pats him on the shoulder for trying. The newly-couple was fun to learn about, and what they did before the zombies. 

Looking into the new sunset, it feels like a new beginning. The wind brushed through your hair as you sat on the wall. Might be messed up, or weird, but somehow it… kinda feels like home. Something you need. 

---

Author's note: I won't explain the worms being gay. You can look up that gay fact. Anyway, I hated finishing this, it's done, now I am going to write my oc x Ronin(might post it, dunno yet.)

[sunflowers-son]

Enot.. 5/9

Survivor/Saint

Before we start the lore dump.. this is size accurate. You could compare this drawing of enot with anyone I’ve drawn so far and it’s accurate(for the most part, I’ve not been very effective at portraying size in these things..). I made him tiny, because I hate him.

Enot is a freak of nature, he is one in a long line of horrific slugcats that can only have one kid in their whole lifespan. The more food pips he fills, the longer his tail gets, effectively making him a thresher shark(I.e. whipping things with his tail to stun them). Because he’s so small, he’s very light(if he hasn’t eaten lol)! But, he’s also like a poison dart frog(hence the wretched colors), if he doesn’t die in one hit than he can kind of murder anything as long as he’s in their mouth.

Nowadays, enot is desperately trying to get laid(no success). He sometimes dresses up as different things to try and impress other creatures, specifically to get a partner. This has only worked in the case of a yeek, which was mostly impressed by his tails size and not his personality.

Speaking of personality, this is THE most hateae person you could have the displeasure of meeting. If you’re acquaintances, he talks about how he doesn’t have a partner and how you’d make a good one. If in the rare chance you actually get to know this guy, he complains to you about being single. He also talks about food a lot..

Misc

A) I hate this guy

B) he’s actually pretty insecure

C) his yeek wife was with him for one day, after they slept enot got muchies and proceeded to kill all of his wife’s colony members. He offered her some, but she was in shock, she left him soon after