#and of course wretched and vile beings that hurt to look on

[snorpyz]

Day one.

Ivlis & god!Reader, requested!! Part 2 (iykyk). Angsty, general woe. To my biggest fan!! <33 More to come?

Ivlis had not spoken a word since you'd both traversed through the portal. You surmised there could be multiple reasons why, with one common denominator.

Fear. This could be a dream of his. You could grow tired of him, and throw him back into that wretched place. You could be just as bad as anyone who's ever shown him any sort of interest. Hell, you could even eat him- as far as he's concerned.

All of those, reasonable.

So you try not to feel anything but indifference at the way he immediately shoots himself into a corner, cowering against the wall. You're sure it flickered across your face for a moment, concern. You quickly school any expressions and slowly move your hands up in a placating gesture. "I have no intentions with you." You start, knowing that he probably wouldn't believe you anyway.

"I'm sure you know who I am." Alright, perhaps saying this wasn't the best method of soothing any worry. Recognizing this causes you to furrow your brow, and you notice him flinch just from that action. Why would you, of all gods, help out someone like him? In his eyes, the only sentiment you'd held for other beings was indifference. You feeling anything warmer than that was impossible. Rather, becoming colder and crueler was more likely a possibility.

You mourned the position he was in. Of course, he'd feel that way. You try not to focus on your gnawing conscience, screaming of your inability to think properly today, and instead erase any physical semblance of emotion from your body. You need to appear as impartial as ever for him to feel even the slightest bit of comfort. You're sure he's gone through enough big changes today, he's visibly stressed to all hell.

Instead, "Look around you. You're in my domain. Impartial territory, where no one but me has any power. Do you recall my courts?" He does cast a glance around. You'd teleported the both of you to one of your viewing rooms. It's wide windows taking up an entire side of the room. You had many of these in your home, often choosing to gaze upon your world for hours at a time.

You cherished your belongings. Especially one you'd crafted by hand, so your domain was kept under tender care. A world where all your denizens could bring themselves before your courts, and ask for anything they'd wished. If sensible, you'd grant any number of their wishes.

This was, of course, a reason for shock amongst the other gods. Other higher beings would snarl at the idea of bending to the wills of those lesser than them. You'd like to laugh in their faces, and question the length of their power if simply granting wishes warranted them to be weaker. But even so, you'd have to put up an air of cold indifference to ensure no one tested you.

That couldn't entirely eradicate any whispers of how your world worked, no. Especially from those with tainted and vile lips, such as Satanick. So you're sure that Ivlis knew. At the flicker of recognition that crossed his eyes, your theory was confirmed. His stiffened figure relaxed slightly, and he seemed to lean almost imperceptibly against the wall.

That progress, as miniscule as it was, felt like a triumph. Feeling lighter, you turned your back. A pause, to test how volatile he was. He could try and lunge for you, sure, or demonstrate his intelligence in not attacking a god. Either way, it's not as if you'd get hurt. Irritated, sure, but his case of violence was understandable.

He didn't go for it. You allowed yourself a hidden smile before continuing your way to a side room, a small kitchen area with snacks and drinks. You get started on some tea, thinking he could do with something relaxing. Halfway through, you stop and question if he'd even take it.

He might think it's laced with something, or you're out to poison him. You grimace, frowning down at the boiling water before shaking your head. You'll bring a second cup, and pour out of the same pot. Perhaps that'll be enough to ail any worries he has.

Grabbing everything you think you'd need, you take a moment to collect yourself. This is the decision you've made, and you'll have to endure whatever consequence comes of it. None of the other beings would dare trespass in your territory, not for the moment. When Satanick comes to them bawling about his latest toy being taken, due to your behavior for the last millennia, they'll doubt that you're the real perpetrator.

Stepping back into the room, you notice he's still in the same spot as before. You don't bother with bringing any attention to it, and instead step over to a table. Placing everything down, you walk over to the other side and pull out a chair. You give him a glance, waiting until he meets your eyes to move on. Then, you go back over to your side and take a seat.

You pour yourself some tea, leaning back and taking a sip. It's only when you're on your third cup that Ivlis takes a step towards his designated seat. You don't pay him any mind, keeping your eyes on the table. It's over a span of 30 minutes that he makes his way over, his steps starting out incredibly light, then ending up firm and purposely loud. As if he's gaining the confidence to ask with his actions, if he's really allowed to sit before you.

You couldn't imagine a being so prideful and scathing to stoop as low as to ask things with his body language. But here he was. And here you were, feeling pity for every action he takes. Vile, you remind yourself. He was once vile.

You grit your teeth, lost in your own thoughts as the drag of a chair pulls you back to attention. You still don't look up, giving him the choice to sit or make himself absent. No pressure, you repeat in your mind. No pressure, you try and scream with your body language.

He finally sits down.

You slowly, quietly, reach out and pour him a cup. You set it beside the pot, giving him the option to take it. He does. Small victories. He seems to stare at it for a few minutes, contemplating whatever is going around in that head of his. Five, ten, twenty minutes. The almost imperceptible sound of a sip. You allowed yourself a gaze upward.

Okay, woah, his eyes are almost slitted. An incredibly intense stare, seeming to reach into the depths of your soul. You don't speak, don't challenge his gaze with your own. Don't pay any mind to how his widened eyes reminded you of prey, fearfully studying a predator. Waiting for them to strike.

'Were you ever familiar with softness?' You wanted to ask. 'Were you ever comforted, as innocent as a child? What did you have? What did you lack? All of it, what led to this. What was it? How did it feel?' Never would you question it out loud, never would you pay him that pitying, comforting gaze. You try to ignore the soft coo of the word, 'Hopefully.'

You haven't had sensible thoughts lately, nonetheless actions. Hadn't you already done all that you said you wouldn't do?

Divinity was about contradictions, apparently.

Rip the bandaid off. Go on, do it. You sigh inaudibly, pushing air through your nose. You notice he stirs at this, undoubtedly watching your every move. You tilt your gaze up, giving him as much honesty as you could muster.

"You won't be able to go back." Unsurprisingly, he only stares numbly. No argument, no 'I'd never want to go back anyway,' no 'You can't tell me what to do.' Even though you'd expected no struggle, for that to have been beat out of him ages ago, it still makes you grit your teeth.

You continue, the silence filling the air festering like an open wound. "You'll have freedom here, the option to do whatever you'd like within reason." A tiny downward twitch of his brows, likely wanting clarification. "You may not hurt yourself, or any denizens of my world. Intruders? Sure. But none of mine."

You didn't bother to keep a civil tone when saying this, being aware of his past actions. He needed to understand that you'd have no leniency with any cruelty that possibly remains within his being. He doesn't nod, doesn't respond, but you know he has processed every bit of what you've said. Overthought it, rolled it around his brain a billion times- searching for any hidden meaning, any subtle suggestion that you wanted to hurt him.

You let him mull it over. His eyes are so empty, you can particularly see the thoughts ping around in them. The glazed over defeated look brought painful thoughts to the forefront of your head, and you had to will yourself to keep eye contact. You'd thought the idea of freedom might have brought some light to his eyes, but you guessed he didn't trust it.

Maybe with time he would. (Are you really putting more time towards this? You're a fucking idiot.)

"Until you have recovered from your injuries, and are fit to be on your own again, I'd like you to stay under my protection. My home will house you, but my people will not tend to you. I'll oversee your wellbeing, make your meals, and doctor you." You couldn't risk him lashing out at one of your people. Think of it as a punishment. You'd look after him dutifully, at the sacrifice of your own time and wellbeing. Suits you right, for becoming so stupid.

He doesn't resist. When has he been allowed to in the last few eras? The idea is probably foreign to him. You feel bile tickle the back of your throat. When did you get so weak? What about him makes you cave?

You nod at him. (At yourself). You don't move your gaze from him, but let it stray to his hair (matted and unkempt). Never lower, never at his body. You're sure he'd flee. The idea of him doing so, from you, makes you cold. What would be the point, anyway? To look at the bruises engraved in his flesh? To see the length of abuse he has endured? Everyone knows. Everyone has seen.

Why did nobody do anything? (Why didn't you do anything till now?) It swims in your head. It swims.

"I'll keep you safe." It's whispered, like a secret. Just between the two of you. A shared guilt.

I'll help you, but the second you do something to earn another stain against your soul, I'll put you down. For my sake. You can't say it, but you're sure he understands. This is selfish, all of it. You'll help him to feel better about yourself. To absolve you. Nothing else, nothing more. You can't look him in the eyes anymore.

You reach over and pour him a cup, before standing. He jerks back, wide eyes fixated. Always on you. Never looking away. Does he never consider that there could be a second person, lurking behind? You bite your tongue.

You collect everything, intending on taking it all back to the sideroom. Ten steps, and you notice you're being shadowed. You don't stop, don't falter, just keep making your way forward. He follows you, albeit at a distance.

When you get there, you notice he stops at the doorway, as if asking for permission to enter. Pausing at the sink, you turn to him and nod before placing the dishes down. He doesn't make a move. Maybe he doesn't trust anything but verbal affirmation? "You're allowed to follow me, unless stated otherwise."

Never one to answer you, he takes a tentative step inside. "I'll lead you to your room." He perks up a little at this. Did he not think he'd have his own place to stay? He quickly stiffens once more. Maybe he thinks it'll end up being a dungeon? You huff.

Taking a step to the opposite side of the room, you wave for him to follow. You're in one of the wings that'll likely come to his frequent use during his stay. The kitchenette and viewing room becoming commonplace to him. You'll be sure to keep him to familiar rooms at first, that way it'll bring him more comfort.

But first? He needs to tend to those wounds and rest. You'll make him some soup while he busies himself with that. You'd offer to heal him, but you're sure any hands coming too close to his body would lead to panic. Understandable.

The few hallways it takes to find his designated room feel like eternity, the silence extending till your arrival. You open the door, and step inside first. You're sure he'd appreciate not having anyone come up behind him.

It's a lavish room, built for a god like yourself. (Maybe too good for him). A perfect place to recover in. It's light, not filled with any dreary colors. Nothing like what you're sure he resided in before. You wait till he steps in, and expect him to look around the room.

Nope.

He refuses to look away from you.

That's alright, you're sure he'll have plenty of time to look around once you leave him alone. You meet his eyes, and take a moment to chant a protection spell. One you're sure he'll recognize. 'May no harm come to anyone within this room'. A little bit of a double edged sword for the both of you, neither will be able to attack the other. However, it also ensures you'll both be safe from harm.

You'll be sure to secretly enchant the outside with a spell that only allows the two of you within this room, in case anyone decides to intrude.

Once that's over with, you slowly make your way towards the bathroom. Opening it up, you flick the light on, letting him view the inside. Letting him view you. You kneel down, and riffle through the lower cabinet. At finding what you're looking for, you make your way over to the bed, setting it down. You then step away, and usher towards it.

"Medical kit. It has vials of components you can use to mix any potions you'd need to revitalize yourself. As well as sterilization, and wrapping material." There'd be no need in telling him to use it wisely. Another thought dances across those eyes of his, it might be more suspicion. However, you don't bother with it.

You begin to make your way out the door, to seek some food for the two of you. Soup, likely. It'll be easier for him to consume.

The sideroom is as you've left it, and you begin to prepare a simple meal: just some chicken soup. You allow yourself a dry chuckle at the thought of him getting any sort of nostalgia from this. As if anyone who's ever looked after him, cared for him enough to prepare him a meal. Without stipulations. If you keep grinding your teeth, they'll be turned into dust.

It takes about 15 minutes for everything to be done, and you're sure by now he'd have wrapped himself tight. In bandages, maybe not in the comforter. After he's eaten, and you've left for a good amount of time, maybe he'll seek some sort of rest.

With a sigh, you get to delivering him his meal. You knock before entering, and once you're at least sure he's heard, you slowly crack open the door. You decide to verbally announce your entrance, too. "I'm coming in!"

The door opens to reveal him standing, not too far from the bed, as if he'd just been sitting. A shame. You nod to him, and at a slow pace make your way to the bedside table. He doesn't move an inch. You place the bowl and silverware down, before backing up a sizable distance. "Chicken soup."

You're sure he could identify it by scent, but it never hurts to clarify. You still have your own meal in another hand, and you decide to sit down in the middle of the floor. You'll eat in front of him, just as you did with the tea. (Why do you care so much about his comfort?) It doesn't take you long to finish your half. You even tilted the bowl down into your mouth, making sure all the broth didn't go to waste.

You dabble your mouth with a napkin, and consider simply teleporting all the dishes to the kitchen. It'd be easy, with just a flick of your finger. But then, maybe he'd think it was all an illusion. Something conjured, something dispelled. There's no telling how paranoid he'd be. You try not to grumble as you sit up and gather everything. You'd at least wait till you're out of sight before using your powers for laziness.

You take a few steps before pausing, "I'm going to head to bed. You can summon me by ringing this." You manifest a bell, linking its matter to your own. If rung, it'd feel like a pinch. You'd notice immediately.

You set it down by the door, sure he'd move it to where he pleased. He'll be fine, you say to yourself. No jumping out of the window, no seeking to..... Dispatch himself. Nothing. He'll be back where you left him, rested and bandaged. Somehow this mattered to you.

"Goodnight." You're not sure if he heard, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You close the door behind you, and get to work enchanting it. Once that's over with, you teleport yourself directly into your bed.

You drag your palms down your face, a groan surfacing. You're an idiot. You're such a fucking idiot. Whatever. You turn over, feeling your pillow tickle the side of your face. Whatever. It's too late to change anything.

This is it. It's your fault, now.

Day one with Ivlis wasn't too bad, huh? At least he didn't try to kill you. As if he could.

You're so fucked.

At request, I have returned to it! I'll probably make a part 3, I'm sort of invested in my own storyline of taking someone you detest under your care out of moral pain and suffering. Ivlis.... I see u, Ivlis..... He's so pitiful and sad. I hope u enjoyed!!! <3 let me know what u think.. I wanted to do a day one scenario- consequences of ur actions before. It went better than it could have!

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Never Afraid Again

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 798 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: heavy mention of SA, hurt/comfort, Astarion being a sweetie, def not trauma dumping

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At first, Astarion just thought you were amazing with boundaries. Every time he tried to entice you into his bedroll you politely declined. Astarion felt frustrated initially but when he truly felt feelings towards you, he seemed to mind less and less. But now, as time went on, he grew…. Antsy. You had never touched him outside of hugging him when he confessed or innocent touches like holding hands, soft pecks here and there. He wracked his brain but couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t touch him intimately. Astarions thoughts were interrupted when you walked into his tent giving him a small smile.

“Everything ok?” You asked, looking at Astarions scrunched up face.

“Darling… can I… do you…” he trailed off, laughing breathily. What he wanted to ask sounded ridiculous. 

You grew slightly worried, moving to sit with him, you tentatively took his hands. You traced over them, drawing invisible patterns into them. “What is it? You can tell me anything.” You encouraged him. 

“Do you… find me… attractive? Physically, I mean…” Astarion grumbled out. 

You laughed, cheeks flushing a bit before you realized he was being dead serious. “What? Darling, you are the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.” You said, tucking white curls behind his ears. 

Astarion’s lips twitched up momentarily, “Then… how come you never touch me? You always seem so… distant when it comes to touch. And of course I’d never want to force you… I’m just curious I guess?”

You nodded, understanding none of this was coming from a place of malice, just curiosity. Truth be told, you knew this conversation was going to be had at some point. You retracted your hands, taking a few deep breaths before speaking. Your hands picked at each other, trying to calm your erratic heart. Astarion had never seen you like this, you had been together for a year and he had never questioned this matter, and now, he is unsure if he should have brought it up at all. 

“A few months before we met… I was at The Blushing Mermaid with a few friends, we were celebrating ones new apprenticeship. Something was wrong with my drink so I went to the alley for some fresh air… I didn’t… I didn’t see them, I didn’t know anyone followed me…” your voice hitched, you cleared your throat before continuing. “They… took liberties… they forced me… I didn’t want to… Lucretious found me, she kept me safe in the circus until, well, until the nautiloid.” You quickly wiped the tear away that spilled unceremoniously. You couldn’t look Astarion in the eyes, you didn’t want to see the pity or disgust or anything. 

Astarion’s mind was brewing with violent fantasies of what he could do to your attacker. Everything made sense now. Why you jumped whenever he walked up behind you, why you were so on edge in Baldur’s Gate, why you never sought out intimate touch. 

“Darling,” he spoke, in hopes of getting your eyes to meet his. You cautiously flicked your eyes to his, only for a moment. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. It was a vile, wretched thing that never should have happened and I’m… I’m so sorry it did my love.” He spoke softly, slowly opening his hand to you, giving you the choice to take it or reject it. You took his hand and pulled yourself into him for a hug. He shifted you so you sat in his lap, your head in the crook of his neck. You let it out, all of it. You wept for what felt like ages. Your hands fisted Astarions shirt tightly, tears fell onto the fabric. Astarion held you tightly, kissing your head and whispering affirmations to you. 

When your breathing mellowed out and your sobs turned into random mewls, only then did Astarion pull away to look at you. “You never have to be afraid like that again… I’ll always be here for you, with you…” he delicately kissed your cheek, “We never have to do anything you don’t want to do.” 

For the first time since you walked into the tent that night, you smiled at him. It was a small smile but a smile no less. “I want to… do things with you… it’ll just take time. When it happened, I felt like somebody ripped all my skin off. It takes time to grow back. But when I am ready… I want to do those things with you.” Astarion smiled back at you. His eyes had never been so soft and round. He truly loved you, and whatever you needed he would be there for you. 

You tentatively took his face in your hands, kissing him softly. He held your wrists, kissing them both when you two separated. “Love you.” You said, blushing. 

“Love you most.” He said back as you snuggled yourself into him.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello everyone! A bit of a heavier piece but it felt good to write. If you or someone you know has been SA'd and would like help please reach out to +1 202-501-4444 this is a world wide SA crisis line operating 24/7. You aren't alone in this. In writing news - I'm going to post another fic or two today. As always - thank you for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. Ilysm, talk soon xoxoxoxo

[barbwillbrb]

Snippet Sunday!

Thank yee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! I finally got snippets to share for once thanks to the monstrosity of an RP @faerunsbest and I got going on.

I wanna show various aspects of Mortimer's persona, so here are five snippets showing different sides of him.

Combat Mortimer:

It was too strange, too surreal; faint memories flickered past his troubled mind, the ghost of his past life haunting him. Walking in his childhood footsteps, Mortimer worked his way through the house that was his personal hell, finding his way to the uppermost floors. His senses on high alert, he reached out with his magic, searching for any signs of life, but ultimately seeking one soul in particular– sure enough, Mortimer could feel him, a dark, angry force above him, in the office. Some things never change. 

While most of his father’s forces seemed to convene on the bottom-most levels– the man always, always hated being interrupted during his work, a lesson Mortimer learned all too well as a child, earning the scar on his wrist– a few lingered upstairs, holding fast to their positions as carnage echoed up the stairwells. The distraction proved fruitful; they never heard Mortimer approach, nor had the time to react when the wizard flooded their lungs, water blooming in their chests– the guards dropped dead, drowning where they stood, liquid tinged with red dribbling from their lips.

Hysterical/Sad Mort:

It wasn’t like Mortimer didn’t try, wasn’t like he didn’t want to– the gods themselves knew how much he wanted the man back. 

Fear, however, was an insidious, ugly thing– especially fear wrought from deep-routed traumas and broken memories. 

Mortimer knew damned well it wasn’t Sybyll that hurt him– not really, no. Sybyll wasn’t to blame for any of this. Unfortunately, the harm that befell Mortimer unlocked parts of his mind he kept buried for his own survival: all the very worst moments of his wretched life– the darkest, most vile recollections from his time with the cult, his time imprisoned. He couldn’t sleep without being taken to a dark, awful, choking pit. Nightmares weren’t nightmares when you knew them to be true, their marks buried deep in your skin. 

On the nights he could sleep, he woke in a cold, panicked sweat; Mortimer had taken to relying on potions to maintain any sort of rest. 

Mortimer didn’t just lose Sybyll; he was losing his damned mind, his peace, his sense of self.

More Sad Mort because making him miserable is fun, and he had to break in order to get better. Also, he swears!

It seemed fate would not bring Mortimer a moment’s peace, regardless of his misery. A knock came from the door, followed by Lennox’s voice; of course the wizard forgot something. Mortimer was half tempted to dismiss the werewolf’s concerns, simply wave away the questions or just refuse to open the door… if he didn’t know for a fact that Lennox would simply break it down to figure out what was wrong.

Besides, Mortimer didn’t want him to think something was wrong with the chair, not after everything Lennox had done for him. Gods– all this work to fix himself, and Mortimer was still a mess. Broken… incomplete. Without Sybyll, that’s exactly what he felt like, a puzzle without all the pieces. 

And Mortimer lost him. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Mortimer swore under his breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, his hands balled into fists in his frustration. He did his best to dry his face, pinching at his cheeks, and looked over the mess that was his desk. Hurriedly, he stowed the bottle and glass away, shutting the cupboard drawer. If he delayed any longer, Lennox would surely knock the door off its hinges. “Coming, coming,” he muttered, hating how hoarse his voice sounded; he should have brought water with him. Then again, his plan was to get shitfaced and forget about everything, wasn’t it? Thank Lathander that he only had the one so far. 

Mortimer being a disastrous romantic

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say– quite the opposite; the words came quite freely in regards to his feelings. The difficulty was trying to narrow down the torrent of emotions he felt for Sybyll into something that didn’t come off as the barely coherent, lovestruck ramblings of a madman– or led to him practically begging forgiveness for his stupidity. Although, if Mortimer was honest with himself, the shortest note he scribbled was probably the most accurate: “I am sorry, I am a fucking idiot, and I love you. Please tell me it’s not too late?”

A groan left him and he threw his head in his hands. At least Pinky was not trying to kill the goldish, or Mortimer very well might have lost his mind. Nothing was coming out right. Mortimer looked at the drawer of unsent letters, all pulled from his heart. Each one was a silly mess of fluff, pining, begging– unedited and raw. Why didn’t he send them before? Pride? Worry that it would be too much?

Each letter was nothing but honest. Mortimer needed to be honest– and damn-it-all, he didn’t give a shit anymore about his pride. 

Sybyll thought he was alone. Mortimer was determined to prove he never left his heart. 

He gathered all the letters and placed them in a box, surprised at the weight– he might as well have written a novel– tying it closed with red thread. Whatever Mortimer wanted to say, he would say it in the moment, and if Sybyll needed proof about his feelings– well, here it was, wrapped in a bow.

... aaaaaaand spicy time Mortimer

The vampire yanked his robe's collar free, fangs dragging lightly along his throat; Mortimer hissed in delight, feeling his lover trace an intoxicating path against his skin. The wizard wanted to be patient, to take this slow– but when Sybyll lay back, erection firm against his stomach, looking up at Mortimer with a pleading pout on his pretty red lips– he couldn’t hold back. “By Gods, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much– and I’ll fucking prove it,” Mortimer growled, removing his fingers, snapping into life a mage hand that quickly took on a more appropriate form. 

Working quick but gentle, Mortimer wrapped an arm around the smaller man, flipping their positions in an instant so Sybyll straddled his lap. His hands went to the man's waist, holding him in place as the ghostly cock slid between Mortimer’s legs, beneath his lover’s waiting entrance. Eyes dark with barely contained lust, he pulled the ribbon free from Sybyll’s neck with his teeth, kissing his way up to the vampire's jaw, then lips. Mortimer guided Sybyll down onto the cock, gripping his hips tight. “I’ve longed to do this for months,” he murmured, beginning to move Sybyll, his hold firm.

No pressure tag time: @lemonsrosesandlavender @faerunsbest @kimberbohwrites @commander-krios @savriea

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 58

Cw: mentions of murder of children, regular murder, mentions of sexual assault

Gif by @boutellas

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @stargaryenx

By the time Arryk Cargyll had stumbled into the Princess’ chambers, he was half dead, when Ser Erryk used the last of his strength to finish the job, Rhaena had already killed him.

Despite the strict training Daemon had given her, Rhaena had never killed someone.

“It’s over, sweet girl, he can’t hurt you.” The Rogue Prince held her as a father should. “You will be safe in the Vale, with all of Jeyne Arryn’s knights there to protect you.”

Even evil can love their child, Aemma supposed.

Rhaena was silk hiding steel, deadly and sharp.

Arryk had thought the girls easy prey.

“Gods forgive me.” The knight had said over and over again until he fell to his knees with Rhaena’s dagger in his neck.

“He was here to kill your daughter, an heir for an heir.” Daemon speaks, not to them, but her mother who has left her rooms in a fright.

She had run here, weeping and fearing the worst.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked as she moved Gerardys aside and checked Aemma for even the slightest of injuries.

“No, Rhaena killed him before he could carry out his mission.” Daemon answered for her to her annoyance. She’s never liked him, now Aemma is sure she hates him.

Hates how casual he is about violence, how he prances around here as if he had not ordered the death of a little boy and the rape of his sister while their mother, brother and grandmother watched helplessly.

Hates the glaring similarities between him and Aemond.

“I am fine, mama, we are fine. Thank gods, Rhaena had her knife on her.” Aemma said and tried not to look as terrified as she was.

Ser Erryk was not.

His wounds too severe to treat and every scream threatened to be his last.

Gerardys has said he will confer with the Sea Snake’s Maester and see to the best course of action regarding the knight, but they all know he means, whether the knight will choose to die painlessly or die in agony.

“I will have the princess be attended by midwives at all times, your grace, I would not be surprised if the little prince were to decide to make an appearance before the week is over.” The maester finished his report to the Lord Hand, his wife and her mother.

“I do not understand, why would they do such a vile thing?” the queen asked and only Aemma seems brave enough to tell her.

“Because Daemon ordered two men to kill Jaehaerys in revenge for Luke’s murder. Aegon wanted revenge.”

Rhaenyra had assumed it was just some bullshit he had made up in his drunken stupor. He was prone to speaking nonsense when drunk.

He had killed Rhea, spoken in his cups about how he took a rock and bust her head open with it.

But then Rhaenys told her Laenor, her last true friend, had been killed by his orders.

He killed their nephew, a boy of four.

Jaehaerys had been murdered after his twin was raped while their mother, baby brother and grandmother were forced to watch and choose who was to die.

She feels wretched.

The man she loves has never stopped being the monster she and her father refused to see.

“I avenged our son; I promised you his death would not go unpunished.” He defends himself and she pulled away from his touch in terror.

“He was a little boy; sweet Helaena has never done anything to deserve that! Wasn’t it enough that my brother rapes her each night that you had to make her watch as they raped her baby girl?” the queen berates her husband who lacks the compassion to care for anyone who isn’t in his immediate circle.

“It was out of my control, I only asked for the head of one of the princes. Blood and Cheese claimed they couldn’t get close to Aemond because your daughter let him back into her bed and Aegon was too heavily guarded.”

Aemma was not received warmly into his heart.

Aemma had correctly guessed that the man killed that night had not been Laenor, Aemma had seen it before Corlys tortured Laenor’s murderer for the truth.

Rhaenyra had been like that once, too smart for her own good and never taken seriously by her father and his council.

Cursed to love a man bathed in the blood of the innocent. It was the curse of dragon women, to love a man to the point of madness.

“Do you think me a fool, husband?” the queen asked her consort. “You did not want justice for my son, you wanted to hurt them where it hurts the most.”

“And so what if I did? It was only supposed to be the death of either boy, Blood and Cheese did as they were told.” He defended his actions, his violence and cruelty. “Everything else was just an unfortunate accident.”

Daemon spoke as if this had been as trivial and commonplace as if one of the children had accidentally lost a milk tooth playing in the gardens.

“Leave.” She cannot kill him, cannot punish him because she knew who he was before she agreed to marry him mere weeks after Laenor’s death.

“I did this for you and your ingrate daughter, you cannot dismiss me as if I were some servant, Rhaenyra!” he was taken aback by her single demand.

“I know.” The queen admits. “But as your wife, I only ask that you give me time to reconcile myself with that.”

“You!”

Helaena snarled and pointed a shaking finger at them.

She was not supposed to come, Helaena was too fragile to attend or so everyone had said.

But she comes anyways, wearing black for mourning, black for defiance.

“It is because of you that my baby boy is dead! You killed us all!” the Queen screams at her mother and grandfather.

They say she is mad, and maybe she was, but she has never felt more herself until now.

No more being a good girl for mother, no more being the passive puppet she and grandfather wanted her to be.

It ends now.

Everything she has done out of duty has been for naught, everything she was forced to sacrifice on the altar of their ambition screams at her from where her baby lies under a dark green shroud.

“Daemon killed your son, my love.” Her mother tries to coax her into being her little lamb again.

But no more.

The queen has gone mad, they whisper about her in pity.

“He too will pay, but they will make you pay too. Did you think the gods won’t punish House Hightower for the sins you and the Lord Hand committed?”

She needs to leave, to take her daughter and remaining son and hack away at the roots until she and her children are far far away from them all.

Yes, they will fly away and never look back.

But for that to happen, King’s Landing must fall.

[cuntycassandra]

Discussing Omega’s childhood on Kamino

Maybe I’m one of the only people curious about this as we’re all very hung up on Crosshair right now (understandable, I want our king back too), but I would really like a conversation between Omega and preferably Hunter, but anybody works fine, to delve into what her life was truly like on Kamino. How she was treated, raised, reprimanded, and how this all reflects on her relationship with the bad batch, and specifically in moments where their actions have fatherly intent behind them.

So, here’s what we know so far:

She was essentially raised by Nala Se.

She’s a first gen/holds unmodified Jango Fett DNA. Whether she was created at the same time as Boba, we don’t know, although it is unlikely.

Due to the fact she was unaltered, she must’ve been raised from infancy on Kamino.

She wasn’t allowed her own bedroom, so I speculate she either slept in the medical wing or had some sort of shared quarters with Nala Se.

She was frequently tested and experimented on, quite often against her will.

She was perceived to be property and nothing more than an evaluative source to help further Kaminoan research by everybody excluding Nala Se (potentially)

Her title role was a ‘medical assistant’.

She didn’t have a very warm relationship with the other clones, as we’ve seen they labelled her a “lab scrapper”.

She made friends with the existing medical staff, who were all droids.

And that is essentially it. Of course, we can make speculations, (a few of mine are: she must’ve been tormented by the other cadets for not being like them, she knew 99 and he kept her company whenever Nala Se left her alone, and that although she was educated accordingly for her medical training and basic education, she was very sheltered from things without ‘purpose’ to her life (as we all know, the Kaminoans don’t do anything without purpose) but we don’t actually know anything else about her time on Kamino!

First of all I really want to know WHY she was created. Taking into account she isn’t the same age as Boba (it’s very much suggested she isn’t, I mean she acts, looks, sounds and is treated significantly younger than Boba ever was), and Jango also didn’t request two unaltered clones, she must’ve been created a few years after Boba. Therefore, was Jango aware of her existence? And if he was, did he want her? Again, if so, what did Boba think of her? (We don’t actually see Omega’s reaction to being told she’s different, so although she might not have known of their exact relations to her, it’s very likely she could’ve potentially met Jango and Boba at some point.) So many questionsssss.

Moving on, I’d love to know more about her relationship with Nala Se. We’ve seen that the doctor has a soft spot for Omega, most definitely because she raised and grew to love her instead of deeming her a piece of property (not excusing Nala Se’s vile actions with the other clones, she can still rot, Omega has better parental figures now.), but was it always like that? Did she neglect smaller Omega for being just another clone? Before ‘Mega could show personality and differentiate herself, did Se still view her as nothing more then a test subject? How did that affect her relationship with Omega as a young child.

Speaking of which, what was Omega then like as a smaller child (hard to believe, she’s still so smol lmao), but I’m talking toddler age here. She is basically a regular person, going through regular human changes due to the fact she isn’t altered, which means she would’ve had all of those wretched toddler phases that parents dread. We can most likely assess that she was playful and curious, she still is now, bless her, but how was it received? Smaller children don’t have the complexity to understand the level of technicality that the Kaminoans work at, she wouldn’t have understood the necessity of sitting still and behaving, would she have been severely reprimanded? Was Nala Se nice to her about it? How was she raised to interpret mannerisms of other people in regards to this?

Furthermore, I want to know what tests they were performing on her too. She’s clearly important due to her first hand DNA, but before that was an asset, before the Kaminoans needed that, what were they doing to her? Why were they testing on her? How much pain was she in? Did she receive any comfort afterwards or was she expected to dry her eyes and get on with it? (I’m speculating it was the latter.) I need to know what they were doing and why. What was the purpose!

Her entire previous life is a huge mystery to us and I want to know more! And I hope I’m not the only one!

Just looking at her precious little face hurts because we know she didn’t receive the ideal childhood, if anything it was borderline abusive (I mean, not just testing on her, but the mind games the Kaminoans played with this poor kid, the fact she was well aware she was just an asset to their research and yet she constantly received mixed messages. It’s no wonder she idolised the bad batch so much; they seemed to be the only people who hadn’t either treated her like garbage at some point up until then, or died. Honestly despite the few slip ups, props to them for actually taking her in and being decent towards her.

I mean, this isn’t the purpose of this post, but just look at the comparisons.

She finally receives her own bedroom.

Said bedroom isn’t even a proper room, but they made do with what they could. She even acknowledges this and she still absolutely loves it. It’s decked out just for her with fairy lights, blankets and toys.

As said, she actually owns toys now, we don’t know if she ever did on Kamino, but I’m speculating it was most likely very few if any at all.

She has her own weaponry and equipment, she’s actually being assisted to defend herself and her squad, she’s gaining knowledge the Kaminoans wouldn’t have ever dreamed of giving her.

As we’ve seen with the amount of times she runs to Hunter for protection, she trusts them immensely. They’re doing everything right to gain her apprehensive trust so quickly.

And of course it isn’t just with Hunter (I’m a stan so pardon my consistency with bringing him up) but she’s the same with the entire batch, even Cross to a very mild extent! She trusts Wrecker with her life, she forgave him so easily after the Bracca incident because she knows the difference between someone purposefully trying to hurt her and them having no control over their actions.

We see she’s been patient with Echo and Tech, she loves to listen to them, she’s picked up on Tech’s dialect (as seen in episode seven) and she trusts him to help her whenever necessary, she has such a touching bond with Echo too, their little interactions melt my heart.

I could rant for hours about her bond with Hunter, so maybe that should be it’s own post at some point, but honestly just how she always seeks him out specifically for comfort, protection and reassurance. It’s so beautiful.

The way she’s addressed Crosshair over their few co-existent moments too. She’s tried to reassure him it isn’t his fault, because she knows it isn’t, she trusts him because she has no reason not too, everything he’s done and said to her hasn’t been within his control.

These are all severely different reactions to how she responds to both the Kaminoans on planet, whenever they’re mentioned, and from what we know in regards to how they treated her.

I’m repeating myself from a previous post here but honestly petition to give Megs all the hugs in the universe. She deserves ‘em. 💛

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (explicit)

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment/beheading, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: i told y'all there's more <3 the special character treat is for @sarge-barnes-sir mwah!

this is queued shdhhsh gonna fix the links in the mornin��

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS ABOVE, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THIS VERSION, GO AND CHECK OUT THE NON-EXPLICIT VERSION.

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

So you stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walks into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Starting with his left shoulder, you jab the knife between the bone and the soft flesh of his armpit, bringing the blade downwards. The sickening smell of blood swirled along with the image of muscle and fat being sliced made you gag.

Does the brain know that it’s seeing something it shouldn’t?

A rational part of you wanted to look away but the time is ticking, it’ll be much harder once rigor mortis sets in an hour.

You swing the knife down, cracking the bone once, and then again, and again, and again until the shoulder bone splinters and dislocates itself from the rest of Bucky’s torso. You had to switch knives and blades and a fucking bone saw to get through the rest of his limbs, leaving only his chest, head, and stomach untouched. After taping up and packing the arms and the legs, you work on putting the rest of Bucky into a nondescript suitcase.

The only problem being his head getting into the way of things.

Wanting to preserve even a shred of his dignity, you left his face untouched. Well, save from the crack in his skull.

You begrudgingly take a hefty chef’s knife and start cutting through the jugular vein, only stopping when the blade hits the spinal cord by his nape. The serrated blade of the bone saw sits on your blood-soaked gloves, scrape-scrape-scraping until it snaps into two.

The human head weighs around 10 pounds, kinda like a bowling ball.

An opaque black garbage bag containing Bucky’s head looks nothing suspicious as you put it inside a backpack—into a firepit you go.

His limbs—arms and legs alike—are going deep into the ocean, forgotten and to be used as fish food.

The limbless torso will be finding its home in a deep hole in the middle of a densely wooded area, far from the city.

But you’re not quite sure what to do with the mason jar of teeth though; the clinking noises of it remind you of the seashells you used to collect when you were a kid. Maybe you’ll stash it away with the torso.

Placing the bags into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale.

The drive to and from the places was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and went straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

[galaxythreads]

Should I continue fic???

I wrote up these five pages to a possible Porcelain/Append merge (kinda) and was wondering if anyone would be interested/read it if I continued on with it?

What do I mean by merge? I mean, it would be like a re-written version of Append with Hela’s background in Porcelain put in, and the entire story overall would be much darker. Just. To clarify that. XD

*Also note of warning, all my italics were removed, and I am too exhausted to and put them back in. Just...imagine it. 

Five Pages: 

“No!” The sound is a hoarse screech, tearing itself out of her throat and refusing to be ignored. 

Hela scrambles to get her feet beneath herself, dragging her heels into the snow, leaving a long blood trail smeared in the white, crystalized snow behind her. It’s not enough. He’s taking her. She’s not going to be able to stop him. 

Oh, Allfathers. 

A desperate, panicked sob begins to build in her chest, applying pressure until it feels like her ribs will burst from the effort of keeping it contained. She can’t breathe. Every inhale draws the sharp, painful air of Jotunheim into her lungs, searing them as it settles into her chest. It’s so cold that it feels like her tongue is beginning to go stiff in her mouth. 

She struggles in the grasp, trying to get some sort of leverage so she can fight her way out of the grip and draw a weapon, but there’s nothing she can do. With her hair wrapped firmly in the fist as well as her arm, her neck is pinned into place and leaves little room to wiggle. 

Desperate, she scrambles to find some sort of way to deal with the situation. She stops trying to claw off the fingers with her left hand and starts to flex out her fingers, feeling the familiar discomforting wedge as the dwarf metal implants in her arms start to form the weapon. She’s not entirely sure what she’s planning, anything sharp and easily maneuverable, but it doesn’t matter as Odin releases her abruptly, shoving her into the hard snow. 

Hela smacks against it, feeling the sensation rattle up her face, but no pain. Never any pain. She hasn’t been worthy of it since early adolescence. 

“By the gods, you insufferable child!” Odin exclaims, turning around to face her. His expression is twisted into familiar incense. Well, what’s left of it. Hela’s eyes snap up toward the unfamiliar sight of hasty field bandages wrapped around Odin’s head, covering his left eye. There’s still blood on his face from where it smeared down his cheek after the attack. 

It looks painful. 

Good. 

“How can you be so ungrateful?” Odin demands harshly. He takes a step toward her, and Hela feels herself draw back from him, fresh tears spilling down her face to trace down to her chin. Her eyes itch from how much she’s been crying, and she hates herself for showing this frailty in front of him. There are no weaknesses in front of Odin Allfather. 

Hela sits up slowly, her dark hair falling over her shoulders to spill across her chest. There’s wet blood on her fingers from the earlier battle, and it leaves ugly, morbid stains on the white snow. Something’s wrong with her arm, she notes distantly, it’s barely supporting her weight. She must have broken something. 

 She swallows thickly, wishing her voice didn’t sound so clogged. “What do I have to be grateful for?”

Odin snarls. “I saved you.”

“Saved me?” She hasn’t found much reason to laugh since Asgard invaded Jotunheim, but this--this arouses something. Not happiness, but a bitter sort of disbelief. Anger, perhaps. 

Hela laughs sharply until he strikes her. It doesn’t hurt, it never does, but a harsh feeling of shame washes over her. Her head turns with the force of the blow, and she looks toward the snow, hiding behind a curtain of long hair. She tastes blood in her mouth and feels absently for the cut on her tongue with her teeth. 

“You insolent wretch. I could have damned you by leaving you.” Odin hisses, and he waits for a second, as if expectant. He’s waiting, Hela realizes, for her to come to her senses and thank him. He hasn’t changed since she saw him last. Not in the slightest. 

She isn’t surprised by this, though she thinks she should be. 

“I would rather that you did,” Hela murmurs, and then looks up toward her father between her hair. He stands over her, imposing as always, tressed up in armor that adds to bulk she knows he doesn’t have. He looks every inch a king at this moment. A powerful enemy. Her enemy. 

She deserted. She committed treason. He has every reason to execute her at this point. She’d deserve it. She’s deserved nothing less since she was a child. 

Odin’s nostrils flare and he reaches out, grabbing her arm again despite Hela’s desperate scramble to back away. His fingers are iron against her clothing, a noose to choke her with. He hauls her to her feet, yanking her forward. In the far distance, Hela can see the remains of where she knows Asgard’s camp was set up. It’s gone now, which is to be expected, the war is over. 

Jotunheim lost. 

Asgard won. And now she’s being returned home. She’s saved. 

Norns. 

Hela starts to fight him again. “I won’t go with you,” she protests, “I’d rather be damned.” 

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Odin says heatedly, and the words hurt somewhere deep and quiet inside of her. “But your death would serve me nothing.”

Ah. So that’s what this is. Of course. It’s not fatherly concern, or even a base parental instinct suddenly aroused to save her from a beheading. She has not served all her use to him yet, so he will keep her. Because she’s a tool. A weapon. She’s so far from a living creature it’s a wonder that she breathes at all now. 

Maybe that’s what he’ll take next. 

Oh, Norns, Hela curses wildly. She can’t go back. She can’t. She can’t. She won’t survive that. Her struggles begin to grow more frantic, and Odin doesn’t let her go, because she’s not allowed anything. Not what she wants. The decade she spent as a war captive was a reperivie that’s over. He’s taking her back, and the sedirmasters will have more to do, and he’ll have more for her to kill, more for her to turn into, and--

Of course. Why is she protesting this? She’s a weapon. She’s his weapon. 

Weapons have no regrets. No remorse. No emotions. No desires, or wants, or needs. 

Norns. 

Hela’s stomach twists, and she staggers to her knees and vomits. It’s bloody and thin, but her tongue feels swollen and her neck feels tight. Her free hand’s fingers scramble to dig into her ribs, as if they can simply remove the vile substance by clawing it out of her chest. 

I can’t do this again. 

The thought is a distinct contrast of sudden, deep despair to her previous frantic scrambles. Her fight has lost, because there is no escape. Norns. She closes her eyes tightly, squishing tears out onto her face in the process, and breathes out sharply. 

Odin’s fingers tighten on her arm, she’s sure, to the point of bruising. It might have been more effective at intimidation if she felt it. As it is, the pressure becomes almost unbearable, and she bites on her tongue sharply. 

“How weak you have become,” Odin says. His voice is toneless. But the disappointment is obvious. 

And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She knows that she has changed. But it does matter. A part of her, she thinks, will always belong to her father. If not in body, then in mind. She wants this. His approval. She craves it. 

She slaughtered cities for it. 

“Go to helheim.” She whispers, trying to be snide, but bordering on desperate. 

Look at you, a voice purrs in the back of her mind, dark and laughing, the goddess of death, weeping at her father’s feet, trying to be intimidating. You have become a weak creature, haven't you? 

Odin sneers at her statement, but draws her back to her feet with force. Hela steps over the bloody bile, and the two of them carry forward. She seems to have vomited out her fight, because, though she stumbles on uneven footing, she doesn’t fight her father. There’s nothing she can do. If she ran from here, where would she go?

She doesn’t know if Laufey is dead, but she saw the corpse of his wife. 

They draw closer to the Asgardian camp, and every footfall sends a rattle of dread up her stomach. She’s still crying, and feels like a child for it. She hasn’t cried this much since she was a child, and even then, very little. Her father never believed in tears. 

“What will you do with me?” Hela whispers. She should fight, but she’s not even sure she could support her own weight without her father forcing her to move forward. “Public execution?”

“No.” Odin says derisively, as if this should have been rather obvious. 

“Then what?” 

“What do you think?” Odin snaps, “Your place is beside me. You are my executioner.” 

But not, Hela notes with a familiar ache, your daughter. He calls her his child when it suits him, but it’s a formality. They both know what she is to him. Their relationship has never been one of warmth. If they’ve ever had a relationship to begin with. 

“You will return to Asgard with me, and resume your duties. I will see to it that your recent...actions do not become public knowledge.” Odin says without looking at her. “That is what will happen to you. I do not intend to kill you, daughter.” 

Hela smiles at that, knowing otherwise. Not physically, no. Perhaps not. 

But he’s killed her so many times already. 

Her smile drops. 

Oh, gods. 

This can’t be happening again. She thought she was out. Laufey promised that it was over. Norns, he was helping her. He cared. She thinks he cared. But no one she knows has ever cared for her. Maybe it, like it has been with everyone else, has been some sort of facade to beat her into submission. 

It felt real.

It wasn’t.

It felt safe.

It wasn’t.

Hela sees the blood smears across the snow, the hard ice bearing the scars of war beneath thick sheets. The camp is empty, the tents set and the fires put out. The only remains that Asgard was ever here in the first place is the blood and the miscellaneous scattered around. It’s the first time she’s seen it, and she would have spit on it if she had the strength. 

Hela ducks her head, breathing in the familiar frigid air. It feels sharp against her throat and lungs, but she would breathe it in forever if it meant she could stay here. Asgard has nothing for her but pain. But maybe Jotunheim had nothing for her, either. She doesn’t know. She can’t keep the lies straight in her head anymore. 

Odin comes to a sudden stop, and Hela nearly stumbles over herself. The scorch of burned snow leaves a wet trail of slippery ice, but it takes her less than a second to recognize the markings. The Bifrost. It’s here. Again. This is really happening. Hela closes her eyes and feels fresh tears warm her cheeks. 

I’d rather die than go back, she thinks again. 

Odin turns his head up toward the sky, and Hela feels her gut tightening in apprehension. If her father notices, he doesn’t care. But he’s never cared about her before, he wouldn’t start now. “Heimdall--open the Bifrost!”

[cardsthings]

The Kidnapping of Goro Akechi

The courtyard was bathed in a bright orange glow, so much so that the flicker of candlelight drowned out the stars. Goro stared up at the blank sky. In just under an hour, guests would start to arrive. He grimaced at the thought. A full night of mingling with nobles he didn't even know or care enough to recognize. It was a joke. The entire masquerade was nothing but an excuse for disgusting people to indulge in vices without causing a scandal.

"Is something the matter my Lord?" Goro turned to the masked woman in front of him. One of the many servants at the palace who was being forced to attend to the wretched event. He felt sorry for her, no doubt she would have a far worse night than he ever could. Dealing with entitled drunks who thought, no, knew they could get away with whatever they wanted... He suppressed the urge to tell her to run far away. No doubt, it would have ended poorly for both of them. "You seem... distracted."

"Oh no," He carefully smiled. There was no point in letting some random servant know his true thoughts. At best, having someone to listen would be a mild comfort, at worst, word might get back to his father. If he ever got the idea that Goro was ungrateful in any way, well, he didn't want to think about the consequences. "It's just a shame that you can't see the stars tonight."

The woman nodded with a clearly fake smile. Before she could continue the conversation with some meaningless platitudes, the sound of broken glass and his father's angry shouts drew her attention. She left in a hurry to placate the raging king. Goro turned to look, Shido's cheeks were flushed, whether with anger or alcohol he couldn't tell. At least four people were attending to him, trying to prevent an even larger outburst.

Goro quickly turned away when Shido set his eyes on him. He didn't need that sort of attention right now. He just needed to keep his head down and wait for the horrid night to be over.

*****

The hours passed by painfully slow. Even with the minor indulgence of wine, Goro's barely buzzed state hardly soothed how horrendously boring everything was. Maybe if he could let himself go safely... but as it was, every fake smile he had to give to some masked idiot just made him feel like he was dying inside a little more. At least the effect that the flowing booze had on others worked to his favor. The drunk crowd was more interested in gossiping among themselves and harassing the staff who hadn't yet managed to slip away instead of trying to get on the good side of the crowned prince.

Goro spent some of his down time scanning the crowd. He noticed Okumura however, his young daughter was conspicuously absent. Likely because even someone like him knew not to bring her to these sorts of events. Especially not when Goro had heard rumors of her engagement. Although, the other subject of said rumors was right at Okumura's side. Honestly, Goro pitied Haru despite having met her once. From what he could tell, she wasn't yet like the vile nobility that plagued the land. Of course, yet was the key term. No one decent ever rose to power.

As Goro continued to search through the crowd from afar, he caught sight of Shido. His father was predictably drunk. It's not like these parties served much other purpose than to allow him indulge in every vice he could think of under the cover of "high class mingling". When Shido suddenly turned to face him, Goro turned away, hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. It was unlikely he'd be punished for something so simple but still... When his father was drunk he could be particularly petty and unpredictable.

He sighed and gave up on looking at the crowd. Most of them were complete strangers to him anyways. Instead, he entertained himself with thoughts of Shido's downfall. The idea of slitting his father's throat and stealing his crown and throne while he looked on, choking on his own-

"Hellooo~" Goro took a deep breath. The person behind him absolutely reeked with alcohol. It was clear they'd been drinking all night. He pretended not to hear them, hoping that they would go away on their own. "Hey, hey!" The drunk grabbed his shoulder. If they stained the white shirt he was wearing with their filthy hands, he'd be pissed.

Goro turned around with a polite smile as he shrugged off their hand. "Good evening sir." He used a more pleasant voice to address them. What a night it would be if some random drunk ran off to his father to tattle that his son hadn't been the perfect little prince he was always supposed to be.

"You're a cutieee~" Goro tried his best not to glare at the man. He simply gave a polite chuckle.

"I think you're drunk sir." The man grabbed Goro's wrist as he tried to disengage. "Maybe you should have some water and sit down."

"Aww, that's no fun! Come on, why don't we go somewhere..." He leaned in. Goro wrinkled his nose as the smell of alcohol became even worse. "A little more private."

Goro leaned back. Did this man not know who he was? He certainly didn't know who the man was. "As... lovely as that sounds... I'll have to decline. Now, please let go before I-"

"Come oooon!" The man attempted to yank Goro forward but he resisted. Suddenly, the man's expression darkened beneath his mask. "What?! You think you're too good for me or something!"

Goro tried to push the man off him but his grip on his wrist tightened until it was painful. "I'd rather not cause a scene-"

The man yanked Goro in close again, this time succeeding. "Then fucking-"

"Excuse me." Goro craned his neck to see over the drunk man. A handsome young man stood behind him with a confident smirk. "I think you're bothering him."

The drunk whipped his head to see the newcomer, letting go of Goro's wrist as he did. Goro immediately put some distance between himself and the man. "Who the hell're you!?" Goro had similar thoughts. He didn't quite recognize him but he still seemed somehow familiar. Maybe it was the alcohol or the dimming lights that were causing such an effect.

The young man tilted his head with an amused expression. "I'm just a concerned bystander." He looked past the drunk directly at Goro. His eyes widened slightly beneath his black and white mask. "And I'd appreciate it if you left my friend alone."

"Go fuck yourself!" The drunk attempted a sloppy punch but it was easily dodged. The young man used the drunk's momentum against him to knock him to the ground. As the drunk struggled to get back up, the young man walked past him. He stopped in front of Goro and smiled.

"Are you okay?" The young man offered him a gloved hand for a handshake.

"I'm fine. And I had the situation under control." Goro turned away. "You have no idea what trouble you could have just caused for me."

"I'm sorry," Somehow Goro didn't think he was being genuine. "Let me make it up to you."

Goro turned to him with an unimpressed look. "How exactly?" He crossed his arms.

"I dunno, I guess you'll just have to find out." Ren reached out his hand again, a mischievous smirk crossed his face. "I'm Ren by the way, and you are..?"

Ren. Goro looked him over. The bright red gloves served as a pop of color in his otherwise black outfit. It seemed almost more suited to sneaking than to partying... Maybe it was the miniscule amount of alcohol or maybe it was genuine curiosity (Goro wanted to blame the alcohol), but he was tempted. It was something that would let him not focus on the horrendous party going on around them.

"...I'm Goro." He kept his expression even. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ren."

Ren smirked and gave a dramatic bow. "I wasn't aware I was mingling with the prince himself."

Goro huffed and turned away. A strange feeling made itself known in his chest. He really didn't know? Had he really helped without thinking that it could have gotten him a favor from the prince? Or was it that he was lying and simply waiting for an opportunity to use the whole event against him? "There's no need to make such a big deal out of it..."

"Of course not." Goro's eyes flicked back to Ren when he began to speak again. "Why don't we get out of here?"

"I can't exactly leave right now, if my father saw me..." What conclusions would he draw? Ren was about his age and he was undeniably handsome...

Ren smirked. "Not even for a second?" Goro looked him over once again. He looked harmless but looks could be deceiving. What did he want? What was his motive here? "I'm sure I could find a way to sneak you out if you really wanted me too, come on, I'm trying to make things up to you."

Goro sighed. "I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt..." It was probably a stupid idea but he was curious. There was something strange about Ren and he wanted to know more.

Ren grabbed Goro by the hand. He quickly looked around the courtyard before he pulled Goro in a darker area. He kept Goro closer to the wall, using himself as cover to compensate for Goro's bright white outfit. It didn't take long for Ren to find a door that Goro hadn't even seen in the dimmed lights. He pulled it open and quickly entered right after Goro. After that, they made their way through the halls and out to the front of the palace.

Once outside, Goro took a deep breath of fresh air. He felt a smile creep onto his face as a nice breeze blew through the air. He took a moment to look up at the stars. The lights from the palace behind them still dimmed them but now they were at least visible.

"Much better." Goro turned to Ren. His mask was off and away. In the dim light of the moon, Goro suddenly realized why he had seemed so familiar. Before he could call for help or say anything, he felt a sudden horrible pain explode on the side of his head. He fell to the ground as black spots filled his vision. Vaguely, he could make out Ren walking towards him. Someone else grabbed him while Ren approached.

"Sorry your highness..." Were the last words Goro heard before the world drifted into darkness.

*****

A light breeze blew Goro's hair into his face. The smell of the sea surrounded him. In the distance, he could hear a few assorted voices. As he opened his eyes, he could see a blur of brown beneath his feet. His arms hurt but when he tried to move them into a more comfortable position, he met painful resistance from what must have been a rope around his wrists. His head was absolutely pounding.

"-ink he's awake." Goro looked up. A blurry figure stood above him, their bright yellow hair stood out. Slowly, they came into focus. A large grin was plastered on his face.

"Where-" Goro's question was cut off by a sudden sharp pain in his head. He winced as a shadow blocked out the sun. The sun... how long had he been out?

"Good morning, your highness." Goro's eyes shot up to the source of the familiar voice. Ren stood there with an annoyingly smug smirk. Immediately, Goro tried to lunge at Ren. He would have wrung his neck if he wasn't stopped by the stupid rope. "Nice to see you're doing well."

"Let me go you piece of shit!" He struggled against his restraints to little success. Either he was too weak, the rope was tied very well, or both.

Ren simply laughed at him. "I wasn't expecting the prince to be so vulgar." He leaned down so that he was eye level with Goro. "I think it suits you."

"Fuck off." Goro glared at him, if looks could kill he'd be dead a hundred times over. "Whatever the hell you think you're going to get from me-"

"Don't worry, I don't want anything from you." Ren smiled. "You should actually be back home pretty quick. We already sent word to the king that we have you, as soon as he pays the ransom, you'll be returned completely unharmed."

"You already attacked me last night."

"Mostly unharmed." Ren amended. "But don't worry, nobody wants to hurt you... again. As long as you don't try anything, you'll be fine." He flashed a smile and gave the same bow he had the night before. "You have my word, your highness."

Goro's eyes were drawn to the dagger that poked out slightly from Ren's belt. He struggled against his restraints one more time but found his hands thoroughly stuck in place. He sighed and hung his head in defeat.

"Glad you understand." Akira turned around and addressed his crew. Goro kept his eyes trained to the ground but strained his ears to hear what they were saying. Unfortunately, the sounds of the ocean drowned out their already quiet conversation. It was fine. Everything was fine. Goro could be patient. He could learn what he needed to know. It wouldn't be long before he escaped.

Crossposted on AO3, https://archiveofourown.org/works/32254492

[angelqueen04]

Hamliza Month, Day 26

@megpeggs @historysalt

Farm Offend Summary: Eliza and Liza have a talk after a difficult visitor. Note: A good deal of this is inspired by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie’s version of events in their novel, My Dear Hamilton. I added some of my own thoughts and twists to it, but their version lays at its heart. All credit to them.

Eliza stood at the parlor window, her back straight as a board, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. This set of windows had a good view of the road leading away from the Grange, which provided her with an excellent view of the comings and goings of travelers as they sped by, on their way to Albany or New York, depending on their direction. The view it gave her at this particular moment was even more agreeable, however, as it allowed her to watch the gig[1] carrying James Monroe drive away from the house.

Good riddance, she thought with a measure of grim satisfaction. The Virginian had come here hoping that time had softened her, had made her amenable to accepting some well-turned little speech that he’d obviously planned out in his mind beforehand.[2] Well, he’d now learned otherwise.

“Mama?”

Eliza slowly turned from the window. Standing just inside the parlor door was her dear Liza, with good Mr. Holly and Eliza’s fifteen-year-old nephew, Alexander Malcolm. All three were staring at her, their eyes wide and full of shock, which was more than enough to tell her that they had all heard most, if not all, of her interview with the former President.

Eliza met their gazes head on, refusing to be cowed or chagrined by her behavior. Her words and actions toward Mr. Monroe might not have been within the bounds of societal convention – all right, they most certainly weren’t – but they were only the minimum of what he deserved from her. “Yes, dearest?” she asked her daughter.

Liza didn’t say anything else, clearly startled by her mother’s nonchalant attitude. Mr. Holly also seemed to have been astonished into silence. Young Alexander, however, managed to find his tongue.

“My goodness, Aunt!” he exclaimed, shocked enthusiasm filling his voice, “I did not expect to see or hear anything like this when I came to visit! You dressing down a former President of the United States like he was an errant schoolboy!” He glanced at his cousin and asked, “Does this sort of thing happen often, Cousin Liza? Perhaps I should come ‘round more often!”

Eliza saw her daughter and son-in-law exchange a meaningful look and, for a moment, a wave of sadness splashed over her. She had once had someone to exchange such glances with, but not for a long, long time now. She shook her head and held her chin high. Now was not the time for grief.

Off the look from his wife, Mr. Holly dropped a hand on young Alexander’s shoulder and said, “Come, cousin, let me show you the new fishing rods I purchased. I think you’ll enjoy them.” Without waiting for a response, he guided the boy out of the parlor and out the front door, leaving Eliza alone with her daughter.

Eliza turned from Liza’s gaze, intending to settle herself in a chair near the fireplace. Spring had come, but it was still quite chilly, and a fire was still necessary to keep the house warm. With a sigh, she sank into the seat, and waited for Liza to speak. Her daughter was by nature outspoken, a trait she came by honestly. How could she not be, with two such parents? Liza would have her say, no matter what.

She did not speak immediately, however. Instead, Liza crossed the room and took a seat in the other chair just across from the one Eliza had seated herself in. That chair had been Alexander’s once, Eliza thought wistfully. They’d sometimes sit together here in the parlor, late into the evening after the children had gone to bed, and just enjoy the silence and warmth of one another’s company.

She and Alexander had hoped to have many years to do such things, but that wretch, Burr, had had other plans. And so Eliza, more often than not, was left to sit by the fire in the Grange alone. Only rarely did any of her family or other visitors dare to sit in that chair.

“Was that wise, Mama?” Liza asked her, her tone soft. Her dark eyes, mirrors to Eliza’s own, were steady and thoughtful. “Mr. Monroe might no longer be President, but he likely still has influence. Given the positions some of your sons hold, surely it was ill-advised to offend him like that?”

A snort escaped Eliza before she could stop it. “He’ll do nothing to your brothers, you may rest easy on that score,” Eliza told her. “These Virginians pride themselves on their honor, and your brothers have nothing to do with why that man came here today. And besides,” she added in a colder tone, “he offended me first. Perhaps it is childish, but there it is.”

Liza stared at her. “He came here seeking a rapprochement with you, Mama. Is that so very bad?”

Eliza could feel the fire, the rage, rising in her, but she kept it contained. Liza did not deserve her fury. She shook her head. “He could claim he sought peace all he wanted, but what he really wanted was forgiveness. He wanted me to forgive him for making a mockery of my private pain, for humiliating me before all the world in his efforts to wage war on your father.”

Liza blinked, and confusion was soon writ all over her expression. Eliza sighed. “I suppose I never did tell you everything,” she admitted. Only once had she ever spoken to her daughter of that cursed pamphlet and of Alexander’s infidelity. It had not been a conversation that Eliza had relished, and so had kept it short and to the point. She suspected that her sons had likely told their sister more, but she did not know for certain. Even if they did, they did not know all of it.

“When government officials came to investigate your father for improper speculation, your father revealed the truth of the matter to them – that he was paying off the husband of his mistress.” Liza winced at the harsh phrasing, but didn’t interrupt. Eliza, long used to the tale, kept speaking without pause. “He exhorted them to keep quiet about this, as his private failings had no bearing on his public integrity. To this, they agreed, for they all knew that there was no improper conduct in the course of your father’s duties as President Washington’s Treasury Secretary.” That there was more than enough to say about his improper conduct as a private man went unsaid. “Your father also entrusted the proof of all of this to them, but he requested copies.”

Liza shook her head, a pained expression on her face. “Mama, what does this have to do with President Monroe?”

Eliza gave her a chiding look for her impatience. “Everything, dear. Mr. Monroe was the leader of that little delegation of investigators. It was to him that your father gave the papers – Maria Reynolds’ letters, James Reynolds’ blackmail, the record of the payments, all of it. When your father requested copies, he assumed that Mr. Monroe would make the copies himself, in keeping with his promise to keep the knowledge of it as contained as possible.” She could not help the sneer crossing her face. “But Mr. Monroe decided that this was not worth a hand cramp, and so entrusted the task to a clerk within the House of Representatives. Mr. Monroe later claimed that this clerk made copies for himself as well.” She shook her head. “In any case, Mr. Monroe decided that he would ‘entrust’ the papers to a ‘trusted friend in Virginia’, who would theoretically keep them under lock and key, particularly when Mr. Monroe was out of the country.”

Her daughter was not a fool. She stiffened, catching on very quickly. “President Jefferson.”

Eliza nodded, her fingers gripping the armrest in a vicelike grip. “’Tis like trusting a fox to behave himself in a henhouse. Later, when it proved most advantageous to them, the papers were given to a vile newspaperman, who did not hesitate to print them and use them against your father. Of course, the focus of that odious man’s accusations was, again, in leveling the charge of speculation. Your father’s response was to call upon the three men who had cleared him of that charge, asking them to reiterate that they had been satisfied in their investigation. Two of them agreed without hesitation, but the third…” she trailed off. The memory still hurt, even now.

“Mr. Monroe would not,” Liza finished for her, her voice soft.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eliza confirmed, the bitterness settling in the back of her throat like bile, burning. “He declared that him getting involved would only cause more chaos than there already was.” She sniffed. “He was already involved, as he was the one who handed the papers off to the very man who saw to their release into the public consciousness. But the fact that he himself had not done so was enough for Mr. Monroe to split hairs and to claim and declare that he was not in any way responsible, and that your father should just leave it be.” Of course, Alexander could not leave anything be. That was not his way. He had to meet every accusation, every attack, head on.

“So Papa wrote that pamphlet.”

“Yes.” One terrible word, one terrible truth. “James Monroe knew your father very well, despite them being political opponents. He knew Alexander would react to preserve his political reputation, for the sake of the country’s existence. If the public believed that the founder of the country’s credit, its wealth and prestige, was corrupt, it would shake apart for good. He knew Alexander would fall on his sword, would admit his private sins for the sake of the public’s greater good – and that’s exactly what he and his friends wanted. Alexander Hamilton would preserve the nation from the crisis they had invoked, but at the cost of all his credibility. He would cease to be a threat to their ambitions.” And that was what had happened. Alexander’s reputation suffered for his confessions, and only once after that did he wield any real semblance of power – when he stood at the head of the army he had begun to build, and that had been ripped away when Mr. Adams made peace with France and declared that the United States needed no army. The fool.

“But in getting what he wanted, Mr. Monroe had sullied his honor,” Eliza continued resentfully. “He knew it. I knew it. And Virginians are very prickly about their honor. He had sworn to not reveal those documents to anyone, which Alexander asked him to do for my sake and that of our family. But he broke that promise, and opened the door for his own allies to attack me, someone he considered an innocent party.” Some of those infernal newspaper headlines still stung.

“That is what he wanted, Liza,” she said. “James Monroe wanted me to clear the mud off his honor. His health is in serious decline. His wife has passed, and he’s not long in following her, I think. He wants to die with his conscience clear, and that I will not give him. I will not forgive the man. Not because he humiliated me, mind you. But because he and his friends, most specifically that reptile now mouldering in his grave at Monticello, set out to destroy your father, a man they viewed as unworthy of anything he touched because he was not like them, not born here, not born to inherit some Godforsaken speck of land. Your father earned all he gained, and that they could not abide.”

Liza leaned back in the chair. “And I thought all men were created equal here,” she murmured.

Eliza snorted again. She seemed to be doing that quite often these days. Her mother would be appalled. “Oh no,” she said, “They talk prettily, but in the minds of many people, there is still a hierarchy, where people ought to ‘know their place.’” She paused, her eyes turning from Eliza to the fire. She stared into the flames, could feel its heat seeping under her dress to her feet. “Your papa was a good man, if a very flawed one. He believed in the promise that this country holds, and in those very words that Mr. Jefferson put to paper. Whatever his shortcomings, of which he would have been the first to admit that he had many, he did not deserve the slander they threw upon him.” She looked up again. “So no, I will most emphatically not pat James Monroe on the head and tell him all is well and forgiven. Not when he showed himself as having no remorse for his actions.

“Perhaps that makes me self-righteous,” Eliza admitted. “Perhaps the good Lord will frown upon my unkindness. But I am no saint, no angel. There are limits to what I can give, my dear, and we just found what those limits are. Justice shall be done to the memory of my dear Hamilton, and that justice will not come in coddling the men who sought to erase every trace of him.”[3]

Liza nodded, and they both fell into silence. They sat together for some time, until Mr. Holly and young Alexander finally returned.

[starshiningsirius]

Hello if your still taking request this one is for Yandere Malleus a senerio where His S/o has a secret crush on him,she is trying her best to do everything to make Mal happy, even going as far as to confess her love but a certain someone keeps getting in the way aka {Sebek} trying his best to keep her away how well Mal Mal reaction when he finds out about this...

Whatever I write for myself is probably gonna be in lucile font title wise but anywho somebody actually took the time to read my bio, like seriously? I never thought I had the motivation to write for Malleus since they're so many good ones. I could never reach up to that greatness, but hopefully I did good for my first requests and of course I'll answer both of them for my dear requester, thank you!

Overbearing (Yandere Malleus x reader)

Y/n couldn't be more disappointed.

"As if the great Malleus Draconia would ever fall for a human!" He laughed and mocked.

It caused so much sadness to course through her heart. All because of Sebek Zigvolt. Well not entirely he was just being truthful, he had stopped her on many occasions, but this one was the worse. For example one time she'd gotten Malleus's favorite ice cream for them to share but it didn't work out as Sebek had stopped her in her tracks and 'checked it for poison' found out there wasn't any then left without an apology claiming it was his duty. On those days she'd skip out on their usual walk under the stars. Sure they weren't dating but that isn't to say it didn't hurt any less to be shut down. It was probably a good thing she didn't go too, better to be shut down by someone else than the person themselves. That'd be several times worse.

It certainly didn't go unnoticed by the fae's eyes when his beloved never came out for their usual night walk after waiting for the longest time once again.

This had become a pattern and it was one Malleus couldn't ignore peacefully. While others avoided him she was the only one who talked to him normally. She wasn't scared of him and over time he came to adore her and her innocence. He was starting to question if she resented him. It just didn't make any sense why she'd avoid him.

More and more he fell for her with every conversation they had together and the same could be said for her as well. He had heard some of the words she murmured and a phrase in particular caught his interest.

"Sebek was right, he won't ever have time for a pathetic human."

Doubt indefinitely planted itself inside her head, and yet she believed every word Sebek said insteading of pursuing who she admired. Gaining the courage to actually attempt to confess to him took awhile and was all for naught in the end. Reality had to settle in her head unfortunately for both her and him.

Malleus took a a second to understand the situation in full with just those simple words a clear picture had been painted.

He had used magic to transport himself to the Diasomnia in that moment after he heard those words. He was livid to say the least as he ventured toward his knight's room. He had confirmed with his own ears that his darling actually loved him. Why else would Sebek intrude like that? He would make sure he brought his point across to him with as much pain to come as he did his dear lover.

He knocked on his door a bit too harsh it left a slight dint in the wooden door, but it's not like that mattered in the present moment. Soon enough the door opened to reveal an agitated Sebek as it was late at night, only to change his expression as soon as he saw his master.

"Malleus sama! To what do I owe the pleasure of being in your presence this late?"

"Tell me Sebek, have you had any interactions with that female magicless human?" His question was plain and simple.

"As of late yes! That wretched human kept trying to get closer to you! Offerings of ice cream and today she asked me to show her where you'd be to offer a confession! As if you'd be interested in some lowly human, right, Malleus sama? So I told her so before she could peruse you any further!"

Malleus clenched his fists, angered by the words that had come from his mouth. He had the idea that his darling little human did love him based off the state she was in, but this was beyond what he expected. And all of those attempts to display her affection to him were blocked by the oblivious knight before him. That's probably why she stopped appearing on certain days and came up with excuses to why she wasn't there. To say he was angry was an understatement, he truly did love her to the point of having looked forward to just hearing her speak was always pleasant on his ears, and her very presence alone was a blessing in disguise for him.

He thought for a moment deciding on the appropriate punishment for such a vile crime of keeping his darling away from him. That's when his next words hit home.

"Sebek. What you did earlier today was unacceptable! You've disparaged my name, and no longer shall you have my trust. You aren't my knight anymore a mistake such as this has to have a dire enough consequence."

His words struck a cord within the knight as it replayed in his mind for a moment. This had to be some of dream right? There's no way Malleus had just gotten rid of him right? Sadly the truth sunk in quickly and Malleus had left Sebek who was in tears, just as his darling was as well. His whole meaning to live was just obliterated by his master of all people.

He didn't feel an ounce of sympathy towards Sebek, he should have learned his place beneath him. Prying into his own affairs of love was far too annoying and ignorant of him. He left him there to wallow and weep in sorrow as he had other plans seeing as what just occurred opened his eyes to the danger his darling, Y/n was exposed to.

He had teleported back to Ramshackle dorm just as stealthily right inside his darling's room to see her still in tears. The green sparkles of mana indicated his precense to her alone and gained her attention toward him.

"M -Malleus," She had tears running down her cheeks and her eyes he could get lost in were puffy and red.

He went over to her and placed a finger on her lips, a small smirk on the fae's lips. This state she was in was all for him to see. All because of her affection being denied by someone else and not the person of whom she loved. He chuckled to himself.

"My dear you should have came to me, I would have put all your doubts in that head of yours to rest. No need to shed anymore tears, I've come to tell you your feelings are mutual." He said wiping the tear stains off her cheeks.

"Wha -what? Really?!" Her reaction was plain adorable to him and to ease her doubt he crashed their lips against one another.

As oblivious as she was during that moment Malleus had conjured his staff from his pen and grabbed the tip of her finger ever so gently and pricked it on the spindle's needle. Immediately she fell unconscious just as the princess in the tale of the witch of thorns had done. He had caught her, not wanting her beauty to be tarnished anymore than it had been already. He smiled happily at the sight before him.

With all that has occurred he felt as though he could have thanked Sebek for the trouble considering he would have never known his darling's feelings if not for his actions. But at the same time so many excursions that could have been as well as a heartfelt confession that he could have heard from his love herself was of course denied to him. It made him angry but of course it's in the past with his darling in his arms it didn't matter very much now. He gazed down at her beauty smiling to himself contently while stroking her hair.

"Don't worry my dear, no one will ever hurt you again. Not even my overbearing knights."

Masterlist

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | v

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

words: 5.2k

“father,

he smelled like

blood,

wrath,

and battlefield

father,

he could rival

the sun

by how bright he burns

but

sunlight is poison

in his veins

sunlight is death in

his eyes

every crevice

every corner

was made to be feared.

then he smiled,

oh, father, he smiled

and whispered

“i am scared of myself, too.”

and that’s when i realized

monsters are lonely too.”

— bane of the devil // v

The blood from your body cascaded down the tiled floors to the shower drain as you harshly rubbed your skin. You did not want to cry. But as you recalled the encounter with the unknown vampire, you could not help but sob in the bathroom.

Dread fired up in your chest. You were so close to being bitten. So close. And even the comfort of Jaehyun’s rescue could not rub off the fear. More so, it had only amplified your agitation. You closed your eyes, skin wrinkling like folded papers by how tight you had shut them close. Tears once again fell down your cheeks, the warmness of it contrasting the cold waters you splashed on your face from the faucet.

Your mind drew the vision of Jaehyun holding the vampire’s heart with his bare hand. A sudden jolt sent your stomach recoiling, causing you to drop on your knees and hurl all your guts out in the toilet bowl. You regurgitated for minutes, saliva tasting like vomit after you were finished. With your knees slightly shaking, you stood up and rinsed your mouth over and over again.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. As expected, the reflection pitifully stared at you; eyes red rimmed, lips blanched, hair as messy as a bird’s nest with little amounts of blood on your neck. The echo of image triggered the fear, and before you knew it, you were crying again.

With shaky breaths, you sauntered up to the shower and discarded all your bloody clothes on the floor. You have no idea about what to do and what you need. A cold shower to wake you up, or a hot one to erase all the trace of vampire blood on your skin? You started to soap your body, the blood coating the white color of it red. With little sobs and hiccups, you tried to lather your hair with shampoo, the smell barely reaching your nostrils.

You only know one thing, you only feel one thing; fear. And the world feels like a blur. You never want to feel this fear again.

Yes, you have no idea how your parents spent their last minutes together. Did they cry? Did they beg? But one thing is for sure, no matter how terrifying vampires could be, no matter how much fear they could inflict to a human being, you will vow not to crumble like this— ever again.

Was this real? Was everything real? It feels like a nightmare. The one where you could truly feel every single thing; fear, paranoia, thrill.

Madame Juana’s voice rang in your mind. All her proposals, all her plans; they appeared to make sense right now.

Despite that, could you truly kill? You stared down at your hands. How could these parts of your body, so delicate looking, could hurt someone? But Jaehyun had done it himself. He pulled out the vampire’s heart with his bare hands only. However, you are not like him. You are a mortal. You are like Lucas.

And by that, you could not be a vampire. But you could be a vampire hunter.

You roughly wiped your tears and breathed deeply. You let the thoughts fade in your mind, until all was blank and you could think clearly again. That’s it. There is no more thinking about it, there is no more succumbing to fear. Tomorrow, you would exactly be how you wanted yourself to be the first time you saw your parents’ dead bodies; fearless.

—

Jaehyun zipped his pants closed, forcing his mind to wander off at some place except here. Except here in Alena’s bed, with her body sprawled naked in her red mattress.

“Leaving so soon?” she purred, crawling like a cat towards Jaehyun.

It had always made him uncomfortable; the naked body of Alena. She was too white, there was not a trace of veins in her body. She almost appeared like a blank white paper, without anything written on it. But unlike all vampires in the world, her skin does not feel chalky. Jaehyun supposed it’s because of his blood running in her system.

Her arms found their way around Jaehyun’s torso, her soft breasts pressing in on his back as she tightened her hold. “Let’s do it again,” she whispered in his ear.

Months ago, Jaehyun would have been salivating like a mad dog by that statement only. He would have been jumping on her bed, discarding all his clothes, to have sex with her over and over again. But times are different. He wasn’t that lucid and naïve vampire any more.

Jaehyun stood up, not caring whether Alena would fall from the bed. “I’m going,” was his impassive words.

“My love, please?” Alena pleaded.

A sudden thought came crashing back in his mind. Lucas’ words. She’s the most powerful vampire right now. Why would you do that? He said. But why is the most powerful vampire in this town begging for Jaehyun’s manhood like it is her lifeline? Why is she sprawled naked on her own bed, touching herself while pleading for Jaehyun to stay?

Sensual moans echoed from Alena’s mouth as she inserted her middle finger in her womanhood. Jaehyun stared at her, dead-panned. Then he walked, propped his knee on the bed, and leaned closer to Alena’s frame. When he was finally looking down straight at her eyes, she sucked her middle finger, tasting herself.

“Fuck yourself,” Jaehyun spat as if she wasn’t already doing that. But he wanted her to feel that he was— not even the slightest bit— interested in all her plays anymore.

In the blink of an eye, Alena was behind Jaehyun. When he turned around to face her, her fist had already collided against Jaehyun’s jaw.

“You were nothing, Jaehyun. I’ve created you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jaehyun recollected himself from the blow, standing on his feet as proudly as he could muster. “Who gives a fuck, really? You are just a psychopathic bitch—” Then another blow. This time, she hit his stomach. Jaehyun doubled over and crashed against Alena’s vanity.

She sauntered up to him, all naked, and crouched in front of Jaehyun.

“What were you before? A piece-of-shit of a man, who makes a living by riding a motorbike. You are pathetic, Jaehyun. Utterly, hopelessly, pathetic.” Then she spat vampire venom on his face. “Your mother did not even weep when you died.” She almost sing-songed the sentence, tasting every drip of poison laced with it. Jaehyun tried to stand up, but Alena stood up first, pressing her soles against Jaehyun’s cheek. He felt as if his skull would burst open by how much force Alena had drawn out.

“Oh, what about your father? Who had literally thrown a party when he found out that his bastard died in an accident!” Alena laughed so joyously.

Jaehyun gritted his teeth, his anger would burn down this mansion. It would. But the consumption of his blood by Alena had rendered him weak. This is all happening because he foolishly let Alena consume his blood again.

“I am all that you have, Jaehyun.” She pressed her soles further down Jaehyun’s cheek, his head burrowing on her lush carpet.

Baby steps. He heard your voice.

“No.” Jaehyun had bitten his tongue as he tried to let the word fly from his mouth. It was hard to speak in his situation, but he did anyway.

“No?!” Alena snarled before withdrawing her soles from Jaehyun’s face and grabbing his back collar. “No?!” she screamed at his face again. Then she slackened her hold and started to caress Jaehyun’s cheeks. “My love, I am all that you have, right? You are all that I have, too. Remember our promise? My love!” Then she kissed Jaehyun. His mouth didn’t move, but the woman continued her penetration. She grabbed Jaehyun’s hands and used it to grope her own breasts. “Touch me, my love. Fuck me. I am yours.”

Her eyes are frantic as she led Jaehyun’s hands towards her womanhood. “Please!” Her pupils are dilating, fangs elongating.

“No,” Jaehyun uttered.

Alena’s face dropped instantly. Her eyes clear, mouth in a thin line before speaking again. “Get out of my mansion.”

Jaehyun, for the longest time in his life, felt relieved and ready to dash away from the wretched place Alena called home.

“Do whatever you like, Jaehyun. Mingle with all the girls in the world. But you know, we both know, it’s you and me even if the world crumbles to dust.”

Jaehyun did not answer. But he knows, in the deepest parts of his rotten soul, he’s doing everything he could to change that.

Your mother did not even weep when you died. A poisonous smile had spread on his lips as he remembered. Of course, everything Alena had spat out on his face was true. Who would have cried for Jaehyun? He was nothing. A bastard of a business-man. A son of a prostitute. No, he had never insulted his mother’s work. It was her life, it was her body. She could do anything with it. But what Jaehyun looked down at was her ability to love. She’d provided him a roof, food, a chance to study— but all of it was responsibility. It was not out of love.

Jaehyun remembered the times when she would literally sell her own son to her friends for money. Luckily, Jaehyun was old enough to understand everything. So he ran away from home, from everything related to her parents. And started out his own wicked life of chasing death.

His father? Oh, his father was a son-of-a-bitch. There’s no explanation for that character. Jaehyun believes his father’s soul is more vile than that of his. But who could really tell, right?

Jaehyun could sprint away from this mansion as far as he could. But he preferred to walk out of the vicinity. Inside the many rooms of this mansion, there lays his own bedroom, and Alena’s torture room. For him.

He could still feel everything as if it was yesterday. Vampires could not feel pain. Shoot them and they would feel the bullet penetrating their flesh, but the searing pain it brings would feel nothing against their power and immortality. However, Alena had her own ways to hurt Jaehyun. The memories were foggy, but he could make out two clear tube inserted on both his wrists. His blood flowing into a large bucket, with Alena grabbing a glass full of his blood, drinking it like it was the finest of wines.

After those agonizing moments of Alena squeezing him out of blood, he would sleep. For hours. Days. Only waking up to please Alena again. And then the same thing would happen. It went in circles. At first, Jaehyun welcomed it with open arms. In Alena’s embrace, he felt like a king. Sex with her made him feel powerful.

Or so he thought.

As time goes by, with the same scenario happening again and again, Jaehyun felt like a toy. He felt weak. He wanted more. He wanted to be the king. A real one. But that won’t happen if Alena’s alive and using him like a favorite doll.

All the wretchedness he had gone through Alena’s hands were nightmares that visits him whenever he closed his eyes. Then he does not want to be king anymore.

He only wanted to be free.

Alena did not allow that to happen. It was ignominious. But Jaehyun could still remember the way he begged for Alena not to cage him.

She kept him in a dungeon, refusing to give him blood. Jaehyun had reached the point where he had experienced the ‘bleeds’. An incident where a vampire bleeds from his ears and nose by blood abstinence.

After that, Jaehyun did everything to please Alena. He did not dare escape again. But he made himself powerful. He struggled to be strong. Strong enough for Alena to want him like her life depended on his blood. He’s strived and achieved his goal. Now, he was free.

Alena could not kill him— could not harm him. Jaehyun’s blood was powerful in its own eccentricities. He did not know what is it, he could not understand it himself. But ever since he became a vampire, he never felt more human. Vinegar, garlic, rosaries, prayers, silvers— they could not affect him at all. Sunlight could singed him, but not scorch him to death, just enough to enfeeble him. But he remains vulnerable to fire, a stake at the heart, decapitation, or to sangue debolezza which translates to ‘blood weakness’. It is a rare type of vampire disease with an unknown origin, but it is still a way to kill vampires nonetheless.

And consuming Jaehyun’s blood gives Alena the same power. She won’t dispose someone as precious as him. It won’t kill her if she ever did, but Alena has been a woman born with an intense penchant for power. Jaehyun provides her that ascendancy.

Jaehyun only needs to stay alive until someone, until you, kills Alena. With the thought of your fierceness and determination of finding the vampire who killed your parents, Jaehyun took a lingering glance at the moon, before sprinting towards home and towards you.

—

“Hey, Johnny.”

You sat on the bed, phone pressed against your ear. You heard the rummaging of Johnny’s things before he answered.

“Hi, Y/N!” He greeted.

The optimism in his voice made you uncertain for a moment. You have decided to tell— lie— to Johnny about your plans regarding Madame Juana’s offers. This is what you have been waiting for all your life. A chance to know what truly happened to your parents and avenge their deaths. Johnny need not bother himself about it. You do not have to tell him. To keep him safe. To keep him sane. He would never believe you, anyways.

After minutes of being unforthcoming, you finally told him about your plan.

“Is it really needed? Like… would you really fail if you don’t join that trip?”

You sighed, trying to muster indifference. “Yes, Johnny. You know how it’s done. I don’t even know why it’s a three-month long trip! Gosh!” Just right after the words slid out of your mouth, you bit your lower lip as hard as you can. They were right when they said lies slides easily and more smoothly than truths.

“Three-month trip?! Is that really necessary?”

You heard the apprehension coating Johnny’s question. This won’t be easy for him. Not when he took the mother and father figure ever since your parents had died. But you also know that he would let you go at the end of the discussion. You just need to convince him that you will be fine.

“According to my prof, yes.” You cleared your throat, preparing yourself to tell yet another lie. “Oh, and I’ve already asked Haechan’s mom to sign my parent’s consent.”

Johnny sighed from the other line, “Alright, then. I still don’t understand why it’s a three-month long trip, but keep me updated, m’kay? I want to know everything. The hotel, the details—”

“Copy that, John. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay…” Johnny wavered, “Do you need any money?”

A certain sadness enveloped you. You are absolutely aware of your tightness when it comes to financial matters, and you won’t squeeze Johnny’s pockets for this ‘trip’. You would have to rely on your and your parents’ fund for assistance.

“No, John. I’m okay. Just… keep the money for yourself.” You tried to sound positive as possible. “When are you coming back, though?”

“I still don’t know. And I won’t tell you the dates. It’s a surprise!”

You laughed. A big part of you has been missing your big brother’s goofy side. It’s been months since you last saw him. “Just keep safe, Johnny. That is all I want.”

“You too, little sis. Take care of yourself.”

For hours, you’ve talked. The fear that has been nagging on you seemed to vanish as Johnny threw banters from the other line. You miss having him around. You miss the normalcy of life before seeing a bloodied Jaehyun in your doorstep.

Johnny had bid you good night, reminding you to take care and inform him about the details of your educational trip.

Three months is a long time. Your professors, for sure, won’t give you that much of a consideration even if you make an excuse letter. Nevertheless, there was no harm in trying. So you sat on your bed, your laptop’s screen blinding you.

“Ma’am and Sir…”

You started to type in your excuse letter, squinting your eyes as you skimmed the words for any loopholes and grammatical errors. You’ve decided to tell your professors the same thing you told Johnny. A trip. Family trip. Reunion. Or… maybe you could just tell them that you are currently arranging your documents that you would need to migrate to a different country. Migrating is a hectic process, it’s more believable than a reunion. No family would reunite for three months.

As the printer did its job, you waited with a sweaty forehead. Am I really doing this? You bit your lip as you stared at the letter. This is insane. But life requires a little bit of insanity. After folding the letter inside an envelope, you decided to call your friends. Another lie for another person.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mark asked as you told him about the three-month trip that you’d also used as an excuse to obtain Johnny’s approval. Of course, you didn’t tell him about the real reasons. But Mark is a kind and respectful man, he won’t barge in your business especially when you make it clear that you won’t entertain questions.

“It’s not. I just really need to unwind. You know. Find myself.” You forced a chuckle. Losing yourself would have been the better description for your trip. But, of course, you didn’t tell Mark about that.

“I think that’s… cool. Three months is a long time, and I’m gonna miss you. But, you should go for it. I do hope you find whatever you’re looking for in your trip, Y/N.”

“Mark, you’re the sweetest.”

Of course, after talking to the kindest person you’ve ever met, you need to talk to the brat-est person God allowed you to meet in your lifetime— Haechan.

“I don’t believe this is a trip to unwind,” he said. And you could literally see his dead-panned expression from the other line. “Tell me, you’re running away with that Jaehyun guy.”

“Haechan! You’re ridiculous!” You hissed, but forcing yourself not to laugh nonetheless. “I’m serious, though. It really is a trip to unwind and find myself.” No, it’s not.

“Whatever you say. Just… take care, you bimbo.”

“Do not call me bimbo!”

“Bimbo!” he shouted. You winced and pulled the phone away. Too late for that. Then his tone changed to that of a serious one. “Call me, call us, whenever you need someone to talk to. Take care. And please! Return! I know Jaehyun’s— oh wait— who would take care of Jaehyun, then?”

Haechan’s question caught you off guard. No, no, no. Think, Y/N. Think. Sweats literally formed in your forehead as you think about whatever reason to tell Haechan.

“He’s… well… his relatives had known about his current situation. And they… they called me! Told me they’d pick up Jaehyun, then they did! It’s heart-wrenching to see them reunite after all these years.” You fake a sob.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’m glad he’s found a family that would take care of him.”

“Yeah…” you played with your pillow. Not being able to see two of your most precious friends sent a sudden jolt of sadness to wash through you. Haechan, Mark, and Johnny are your tether to the real life. Turning your back against them means completely enveloping the mysteries laid for you by a witch, a vampire hunter, and a vampire.

“Y/N, I’m gonna miss you,” Haechan declared.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” You nodded and wiped the sides of your eyes. Then Haechan dropped the phone call after saying good bye.

You stood up, the full moon hanging and glaring at you from the heavens. So beautiful. So captivating. Yet so portentous. You pursed your lips and shook your head before departing your room to the kitchen.

The cold water jug bit on your palms. It’s one a.m. and Jaehyun was still nowhere to be found. Where has he gone to? Yet you aren’t sure if you are ready to see his face after all that has happened.

You checked your social medias and scrolled down your feed. To be a reminder that you are still you. Normal. Somehow. When a loud bang of the door startled you from your seat. Before you could stand up, Jaehyun’s frame greeted you in the kitchen.

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. He wasn’t looking bedraggled. He looked alive, and well. Despite the blood that still adorns his skin and clothes.

“We need to go.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Pack your things and let’s go to Juana.” He started to pace, hands on his waists.

“I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

He drew in a halt and stared at you, “None of your business.”

You raised a brow. “Well? After you left me in the middle of the street, bloody and sca—” You shut your mouth close. No, you won’t admit that you were scared. Jaehyun raised his own brow, waiting for your next words. “Bloody and alone— I, at least, have the rights to know where were you.” Then you straightened your back and pretended to tower him.

“Trust me, you won’t like the answer.”

“Am I in danger?” You fisted your palms and waited for his answer. Jaehyun, for a second, didn’t know what to say. It was clear by the way he opened and closed his mouth.

“No. It’s me. He was coming for me.”

“Why?”

Jaehyun sighed deeply. “No more questions, Y/N. Let’s just go!” He hissed.

No more questions? How could he? As far as you could remember, he was the one who practically told Madame Juana to give you enough time to decide. And now he’s here, all jumpy, asking you to pack your things, giving you no chance to ask why.

“You will explain to me everything once I’ve finished packing.” You clenched your jaw, pointing your forefinger at his face. Jaehyun attempted to speak, but you have already made your way to your own room.

Two luggages were what you pulled from your bedroom to the living room. It contains your clothes and necessities. Jaehyun was sitting, freshly bathed, on the sofa. He eyes your luggages and then you.

“Seriously? That many?” He quipped.

You frowned and stared at your luggages. “Do you have the slightest idea how many womanly necessities I have to bring?”

“No, I don’t.” He shrugged.

You ignored his scrutinizing. He is a man, a vampire one at that. He won’t ever understand how it is to be a woman. “Then stop your scrutiny and focused on your— wait a minute. Why haven’t you packed your things yet?” You raised a brow while locking your luggages. After that, you roamed your eyes inside the house and sauntered up to the windows to check the locks.

“I don’t have any clothes other than what you’ve bought for me.”

Oh, yes. Jaehyun is a homeless guy without any relatives. The sudden thought made you inquisitive. Where is his parents? Are they still alive? But you shook your head, erasing your questions.

“Well, that’s a problem.” As you finished checking the locks of every possible way for a robber to enter your house, you have finally focused on Jaehyun.

He leaned on the sofa, eyeing you. “I don’t think so. Remember our deal?”

“Oh, please! You didn’t even want to join us—”

“But I did. I would.”

You bit your lips, calculating the cost if you ever decide to buy Jaehyun his own necessities. It would surely take up a big chunk off your money.

“We won’t be able to eat at the villa if I dare buy you everything you need.”

“That’s your problem, not mine. I don’t eat, Y/N.” He had the audacity to roll his eyes at you then.

Right. Vampires do not eat.

You straightened your back and leaned on the window frame, ignoring Jaehyun’s snarky comments. “Where have you been, Jaehyun?” Then you crossed your arms to tell him you would not back down unless he tells you what really happened.

“Alena,” he replied incisively.

You gulped. You weren’t expecting that name to roll off his mouth. “That’s unexpected.” Trying to sound as apathetic as possible, you focused your attention in checking the locks again. “I thought you’d burn the—” You took a deep breath, “— the vampire’s body.”

“I dumped him exactly where he came from.”

Your brows knotted instantly, reckoning his words. “Are you saying Alena sent him? For you?” This time, you had stopped pretending to check the window locks, and faced Jaehyun with inquisitiveness etched on your face.

“Partially. He sent him for me… and for you.”

You sat down yourself to the nearest sofa and tried to recollect your thoughts. Why would she do that? “For me? I don’t understand.”

“She knows I’m living here, Y/N. And she’s not happy about it.” Jaehyun pursed his lips. You were absolutely certain that he was hiding something from you.

“Oh, heavens. I— I don’t know what to say… I… Jaehyun, she’s your fiancée, right? Perhaps she got it all wrong. We’re not doing something disgraceful!” You waved your hands to the air to shake off your trepidation. Well, that’s not exactly true. On his first night in your house, he’d already kissed you.

The look Jaehyun gave you told you he was thinking about the kiss too. But he shrugged and brushed it off. “Yeah, we’re not doing something.”

“I think you should explain it to her…?”

Jaehyun snorted, “Y/N, didn’t you hear me earlier? I’m trying to severe our betrothal. I don’t give two fucks about what she thinks.”

“And why is that?”

He went silent for a moment, his eyes clear. As if remembering some horrible scene in his mind. “Do you really think I’d tell you everything? C’mon. We’re on our what? One-half step of being friends.”

“I just want to understand why would she send a vampire to harm us. Especially, me.” You pointed at yourself. “Well… perhaps she’s known about our plan.” Heavens. The thought was too terrifying for you to bear.

“No. She didn’t tell me anything about that.” Jaehyun stood up then, “So we better get moving before she sends her vampires again to kill us. Earlier was already a warning.”

When you attempted to speak, Jaehyun raised a finger to stop you. “Please, baby. No more questions.”

So you shut your mouth with a hope that you could do the same with your thudding heart.

On the way to Madame Juana’s mansion, you have separated the money for Jaehyun’s needs. In the end, you have decided to buy him his necessities. You supposed it won’t be that costly, considering his nature. Clothes are all he needs.

“You’ve decided the right thing, Y/N.”

Even in the stark of dawn, Madame Juana was ready to accept you in her home. She looked immaculate as always, her silk robes hugging her frame as she greeted you.

“I… hope so.” You smiled at her, heart beating loudly for what lays behind all your decisions. Jaehyun remained leaning on one of the pillar inside Madame Juana’s hall, observing you and the witch.

“To be honest, some part of me didn’t expect to see you at all. That’s why I’m so glad to see you, darling.” She caressed your cheek like how mothers do to their children. You fought the urge to lean on her hand, suddenly remembering your mother with a twinge of pain in your chest.

“Well, this is my only chance to know who killed my parents. I couldn’t simply let this slip.”

Jaehyun had convinced you not to tell Madame Juana about your encounter with the vampire earlier. He nagged and reminded you to be more careful especially to friendly faces. And now that you are walking through a path cloaked with darkness. Those were his exact words. You would’ve laughed by the way he delivered it, but he was so serious that you resulted in gulping down your chuckles instead.

Madame smiled. In that moment, you wanted to ask her if she could enchant Hubert already. It’s not like you would run away from her and bail on your deal. But an uncertainty made its way on you. You still have no idea about her true nature; her patience and her attitude. It would be careless to ask such favors. Especially to a witch.

“Excellent, darling.” Then she pulled her hand away, “I’ll get ready. Mr. Jones will—”

“I… still wanna talk to you about some things.” You took a quick glance at Jaehyun, who raised his brow at you, “Privately.” Then he frowned and walked away, fishing something in his pockets. You could only pray that he won’t pry with his sharp hearing.

“Go on, Y/N. What is it?”

You hesitated for a moment, before sighing deeply and focusing your eyes at Madame’s own. “Can you… I mean, I want to block Jaehyun from reading my mind.”

Madame’s brow shot up to her forehead, the side of her mouth twitching upwards. “Interesting favor, darling. But understandable. I know how insufferable it is for someone to infiltrate your mind without permission.” She held the sides of your forehead with both her hands, “This might hurt a little. Like a migraine.”

You shut your eyes closed and readied yourself for the pain. Enchantments rolled off her tongue. It sounded like Latin mixed with a language you haven’t heard before. A grumble of pain echoed from you as you felt the ache of the magic. It was exactly like what she told you; a migraine, but a sharp one.

“Done,” Madame stated.

You felt the absence of her fingers, resulting on you clutching a handful of your hair to prevent the pulsating pain. As you grip your hair with your hand, you lifted the other one to tell Madame that you still have one remaining thing to say.

“One more thing, Madame.”

“Now, now. What is it, darling? Are you going to ask me to block your heart from falling in love with the vampire?”

At her bold statement, your eyes widened, heart somersaulting inside your chest. “No!” You shouted, voice bouncing off the walls of her mansion.

A low chuckle resonated from the Madame’s throat. “Don’t be so upset and defensive, little dove. It’s written all over you—”

It’s dangerous to cut off a witch’s sentence, but you could not bear to hear the end of her statement. “I actually wanted to tell you that I want to become a vampire hunter.”

Madame’s grinning face changed to that of a surprised one. But she quickly regained herself, her grin spreading wider than the last time. “Then I guess my villa isn’t the right place for you. But the Academy.”

previous | next

[akimmito]

Heroes are made by the path they choose

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Master List

Chapter 13

Being married to Lila Rossi, now Agreste, for six years has been... an experience. The woman goes through life following her own path and coaxing people left and right, while he cannot say or do anything without the sole control over his mother's life being lost. Why would a man like Gabriel Agreste who claims to love his wife so much do such a vile thing? The worst thing is that he managed to sustain him legally and catch him with the last woman in the world he would have thought of marrying.

He must remain married to Lila as long as his mother remains in a coma or the hospital will be forced to kill her. Adrien has no other words for what would happen if he divorces her, but it's so sad to be married to a woman he doesn't love and he's the only one who must fulfill the damn contract, because if they discover an infidelity is the same as divorcing.

His mother deserved more, if she had followed that childhood love instead of his father, she woulded be happy...

Chloe and Marinette have been looking for ways to free him from torture, even Felix decided to help in order to free him from his sad fate. At least, it stopped being Chat Noir or that could have played against him, with how easy Lila manipulates people. He get migraines just from imagining making a mistake.

"Adrien, I'm going out to eat with Alya." Lila appears in his field of vision in her usual expensive way, always looking like he's attending a fashion event (which means expense and that translates directly to him working as a slave in different contracts. She makes her money, sure, but her expenses exceed those gains.) She barely looks at him as she checks her phone, probably talking to Alya or one of her lovers, not that he really cares.

"Sure, say hi on my behalf." She turns to leave, but Adrien stops her. "Remember that today we will have dinner with Michel Laforet for next month's charity event. "

"I wouldn't forget it."

They say goodbye barely looking at each other. Adrien is busy reviewing the job proposals, Marinette sent him a couple of locations to investigate a few weeks ago, due to a group of drug traffickers who settled in Paris and need to know their links, he of course must follow their leads and possible connections to find a way to disrupt it. He's now free to continue his work, especially since the MT is busy dealing with Akuma.

He was very surprised when he saw his first Akuma in seven years, he is also quite fearful of what this new villain intends. The way he has attacked, his champions are very different and, consistent with his cousin, he seems to be trying to measure the heroes. For that reason, he approves of Marinette's approach of keeping Luka in a safe place so that no one notices the use of the second chance, that way the villain will never know if his plans could have been altered in any way.

Wait this time it doesn't last for several years.

Now if he could understand why they want him to model in a banana suit for a soup ad, maybe he could consider it.

-----

The Anibiotic: How are bananas and soup related?

Wild goat: If it's another one of your jokes, I swear by Satan that I'll burn your house down

Silent Hill: I approve the plan

Plasticine: Your jokes are really bad, bro

Dragon Tamer: I think this is a serious question

The Antibiotic: It's a modeling proposal

Needle: They offer you the weirdest roles

Plasticine: Like the sardines!

Three balls: that was good

Not in hell: Maybe it's a way to get attention by putting two discordant elements together

Not in hell: You guys are that strange

Almost pretty: Pleasant

Wild goat: We are great, you know, there is no other creation as stylish as us

Not in hell: I would keep my comments, but I completely disagree

Dragon Tamer: If you start a discussion about this, I'm going to ban you from the chat

Wild goat: Tyranny! I will arm a revolution

Plasticine: Maybe it's banana soup. You don't understand art!

Three balls: Neither do you

Perfect Crime: You’re a disappointment

------

John Constantine was not planning to spend his morning avoiding being stabbed by a ten-year-old boy, nor avoiding being eaten by two German shepherds. But there he's, avoiding the edge of a Swiss knife as he tries to shake off two huge dogs without hurting them, because he's sure the boy's murderous intentions would triple if he hears a single screech from one of his pets.

He may not have met Damian in person, but he know enough about him from the chats and from what Marinette shared with him.

"Look, kid, stop, okay? Damn, I haven't drink enough for this... "

"Why?"

"I don't read minds, kido, you'll have to explain yourself." Damian frowns and presses the knife against the blonde's neck, if it wasn't for the dogs he couldn't have him subdued. The Kwami hesitate about what to do, they are talking... only in a very violent way.

"Why are you do with my mother?"

"Did they give you the talk yet? Because it would be very uncomfortable for you to receive it from me. ”John looks at the boy, who doesn't flinch at anything and seems ready to stab him. It would be better to collaborate, he doesn't want to harm the child, he can only imagine the adorable woman's anger if her son is hurt in some interaction between them. "Sure... Sexual attraction, simple like that. I don't pretend to be your father or to be a stable romantic couple, she deserves something much better than me. I'm just content to enjoy our time together, happy?

"Don't you want to be my father?"

"No, I'm the worst candidate for that position. What made you think that, kid? "Now it's his turn to frown. Much love can be had (he will not deny it), but both are aware that they would be the ruin of the other, he doesn't want to condemn her to a life as dark as his and expose her to all the demons that follow him, she truly deserves something better than misery fllow him.

He also knows that, despite all his complaints, Plagg has told him that he's its true owner and that his soul is balanced with that of Marinette, that's why they gravitate around each other and could trust as if they were born together. That doesn't mean they are romantically good to each other. Sexually? Magical, but the romance in their lives has been tragic and putting that together, well, it could be a problem for everyone.

"You've been with her for four years."

"We are mainly friends, confidants. Do we have sex? Yes, do we want to get married and have more children? No... We would just be miserable. Those stories that soulmates are happy together? Son, these are lies, romantic shit from movies and junk books.

Damian recoils, shocked by the information, all of it. Her mother had hinted at a casual relationship, but the look in her eyes told him otherwise. Soulmates? That doesn't exist, but the Kwami didn't exist for him either until his mother introduced them to him. Wretched? He need to analyze what he have learned.

"Why do you say that?"

"Experience, son. Do you want to sit down or go for a walk? The second seems to excite your friends more."

Damian snaps his fingers and the hounds stand beside him, freeing Constantine. Her kind gaze is very dark, long-suffering and ironic.

Just when he's about to answer, the alarm on his phone goes off and he knows what it means.

Akuma attack.

"Go away, I won't say anything."

Damian nods and Kaalki opens the portal, just look at the man's tired posture for a moment before breaking through the portal back to the MT. Agatha and Edgar just behind, have a job to do.

-------

Chloe B. @BourgeoisQueen

What a wonderful day for an Akuma attack. Somebody take the stick out of the villain's ass because the beast is horrible, nor Hawkmoth dared so much

Dick Grayson @TheFlyingGrayson

WHAT HAPPENS WITH PARIS? IS IT A VIOLET DOLPHIN WITH BAT WINGS?

The Last Hours @Toogoodtodie

@TheFlyingGrayson Paris would appreciate if you blocked any information on the city from external sources in the country, if you do not know how, you can contact the @MaxKan_Tech offices to receive information

Dick Grayson @TheFlyingGrayson

@Toogoodtodie ok?

Max K. @MaxKan_Tech

@TheFlyingGrayson @Toogoodtodie Subtle, Anthony. Please, Mr. Grayson, contact my office and we'll make your stay in Paris much more pleasant. You can also contact the prosecution to find out the legal procedures for staying in Paris and the security regarding the Akuma

Marc @MarcAC_twt

Does our villain use drugs?

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

[skylxft]

Dear. «SessKik fic»

Lord Sesshoumaru, the Great Demon Lord of the Western Lands, was not the anxious sort. Never once had he ever doubted himself or his capabilities to defeat an opponent—or so he has said—and he had been adamant that it was unlikely to change any time soon. Not even Naraku himself—the vile insect that he had been—had ever sparked anything but disgust and annoyance. Practically everyone was beneath him in terms of skill and nobility; a lion did not concern itself with the opinion of sheep, after all.

‘Stubborn and proud as the day we met,’ Kikyo would joke, a hint of a smile on her lips. He was inclined to agree with his beloved.

‘Anxiety’ was simply not a term in his vocabulary, and it was going to stay that way. No, absolutely nothing could ever change such a thing.

Or so he had thought.

It had first started as a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it had been shortly after discovering his mate was with child. Although it was there, lurking just beneath the surface, Sesshoumaru could easily squash the sensation and put his focus elsewhere. He was much too busy with other things. Time and focus was not something he was willing to give to such a wretched feeling.

No, there was only time for the important things.

Like when Rin would come visit to spend time with them, happily flitting up and about while chatting about all the new things she was experiencing in the village. Kikyo would often offer advice to the young girl, and other times, she would offer stories of her own past experiences. The two would spend hours talking and playing while Sesshoumaru would watch them, happy to observe them and occasionally taking part in the activities whenever Rin would ask. There were even times where Kohaku would tag along with Rin, filling the compound with even more energy and warmth.

No, Sesshoumaru was much too busy with his home, with his family. There was certainly no time to focus on such useless feelings.

But then he began to get restless and clingy...

Kikyo had noticed it first. He was touching her more often; holding her hand, kissing her, hugging her, and even touching the growing swell of her stomach. If there was an opportunity to touch her when they were together—be it in a platonic or a sensual way—he would do so. It shocked not only Inuyasha and Kagome (the few times that they came to visit), but Rin as well when they saw the new behavior. While it wasn’t a secret that the two of them were affectionate with each other, neither Kikyo nor Sesshoumaru had ever been so public about it. No, that was typically reserved for just moments between them, where they could focus on nothing but each other.

Out of all things, however, his most favorite seemed to be playing with her hair before they slept. If she let him, Sesshoumaru would spend the entire time while they were in bed just running his clawed hands through the dark strands. Touching her had always been soothing to him, but something about touching her hair just felt so intimate and hushed away the strange feeling lingering under his skin. It made him forget. And although Kikyo never seemed to say anything about it, she would always nestle herself closer to him until there was no space between them and then drift off to sleep.

Nothing else mattered, and the world was at peace.

And he was fine. Just fine. So long as she was there, he was fine.

Eventually, as his mate’s belly grew and the feeling began to deepen, the act of playing with her hair became a common occurrence just as the other acts of touching had. It was as if he needed to do so to keep himself grounded when the feeling was beginning to get too much, and Kikyo knew this.

Kikyo always knew.

‘Will you brush my hair?’ she would ask seemingly out of nowhere, always gently touching him and offering her lovely smile all while chasing away the sinking feeling. The demon lord would always comply, taking painstaking time to brush through all the inky tresses as gently as possible. She would always rest against him afterwards, both of their hands on her belly—soft and warm and lovely—and they would spend countless minutes just like that, cooing and humming whenever either would feel their child’s kicks.

It was only today—a particularly bad day if he was honest—that Sesshoumaru could no longer ignore the feeling.

Now, Sesshoumaru had always been quite territorial when it came to Kikyo—and no, it most certainly wasn’t because of what his mate and his half-brother once had, absolutely not—but he had never hovered over her before. Logically, he knew that his mate was more than capable of taking care of herself; she proved it on more than one occasion against countless demons. Even so, it was almost like all his nerves were on edge, and he was ready to attack anything that came remotely close to her.

That included his little brother and his brother’s mate.

Inuyasha and Kagome had come to visit them, both because they were excited that the time for the birth was fast approaching and also to discuss the process for that time. And it had all been fine—lovely even—until Inuyasha looked at Kikyo in a peculiar way that didn’t sit well with the demon lord. So one moment, the women were talking in the gardens about how Kagome was going to help during the process to ensure the safety of both mother and child, the very next had Sesshoumaru holding his sword against Inuyasha’s throat and baring his teeth at him. This, of course, resulted in a commotion that had both women effectively pulling the two brothers away from each other. On the heels of that, Kagome dragged Inuyasha out, leaving behind the two mates at a standstill.

Silence filled the space between them, but Sesshoumaru could feel his heart beating in his ears. She wasn’t even looking at him, and yet he stood frozen in place. Even if he tried to reach out to her, she was too far out of reach.

One beat, two beat, three beat. Four.

Then...

“Why did you do that?” Her words sunk deep into him, the cool softness of her voice almost brash against his ears. “They were only here to help me prepare for the child. Our child.”

It hurt enough to know that she was greatly upset with him, but the hurt was twofold the moment she turned around, a subtle frown on her face and her eyes guarded.

She was waiting for an answer.

And Sesshoumaru, the Great Demon Lord that he was, had never felt so small before another.

Restlessness poured into him, his skin suddenly too tight. The feeling in the pit of his stomach gnawed its way through his entire being right then and there, mercilessly wrapping around his heart.

“A lapse in judgement.”

He knew it wasn’t the answer Kikyo was looking for, but he found it hard to speak past the lump that was growing in his throat, hard to think rationally at all. His eyes were even beginning to lose focus from how overwhelming the feeling was beginning to grow. She seemed to have noticed this, her upset giving way to worry. Just knowing that he was causing her to worry made him feel worse.

It was like he couldn’t breathe, as if he was going to die right in that instant.

He wanted to run.

“Sesshoumaru, I’m right here. I’m with you.” The careful gentleness in Kikyo’s voice reminded him of how she would speak to a frightened child, of how she would speak to Rin or Kohaku when they would wake crying from a nightmare: soothing and assuring. Although he could hear her words, his sight was failing him and everything within him was still screaming to escape. The demon in him began clawing its way out of him, desperate to get away from this moment, from this feeling.

He could not be this weak.

Sesshoumaru was not sure when he had crumbled into himself on the floor or when his mate had gotten so close to him, but he could feel the warmth of her aura around him. It ebbed and flowed in gentle waves, pressing against him and embracing him. The tenseness in his body began lessening as he accepted it. And part of him relished at how comforting and familiar it was to him now, how it soothed him as much as touching her usually did and how he could feel how deeply her love ran. 

But the other part...

The other part was ashamed that his mate had to see him like this, broken like a frightened child that was overwhelmed by the world. His pride as a demon lord could not—absolutely would not—tolerate such weakness in him. Weakness could get them killed. Not to mention the shame that such a thing would bring. And shame was not something he was accustomed to either. But she knew that.

She always knew.

“Whatever you need, I am here. Focus on me, focus on what I do.”

The demon lord tensed for a moment, trying to prepare himself for what would happen next. His panic-filled mind was prepared for the absolute worst, but then she touched him. Her fingers were grazing against his cheek marks, sweet and coaxing like her honeyed-tone voice. The tenderness of her actions and the realness of her touch pierced through the panic, reaching down deep and comforting him and soothing little by little. The rushing of his own heart in his ears waned, letting him focus on other things again. She was resting her forehead against his, her inky hair a shield against the rest of the world around them. He could smell her scent again, her scent of bellflowers and rain. And if he narrowed in on it, he could smell their child’s scent on her too.

Their child. His child.

‘Mine.’

“Listen to my heartbeat, and breathe with me.”

Breathing in time with Kikyo took an absurd amount of effort in this moment, but Sesshoumaru pushed past all the other things that were still coursing through his mind and body. His golden eyes were open and focusing on her, taking in every detail that he could. Her heartbeat, strong and steady, was like music to his ears. Her breaths were hushed, heavy and filled with unspoken words.

As if she was breathing new life into him, settling the storm that had raged within him just seconds before. Like molten gold filling in the cracks of a broken cup.

It was then that he realized just how much he depended on her, how much he needed her in his life. He would never be able to go back to how he was. No, he didn’t want to go back to a life without her.

And perhaps that was what had scared him most.

“Kikyo…”

At the sound of her name, she pulled back and looked at him right in the eye, careful and loving, and it left the demon lord warm. It was his turn to touch her now, taking the time to caress her face and admire the smile that tugged at her lips. She had never been more beautiful than she was in that moment.

He loved her. He loved her so, so much.

They didn’t speak for a long while, staying in each other’s embrace until the feeling in him finally dissipated into nothing. But even so, the two shared a silent conversation between gentle touches and honest looks. He was fearful of losing her and she was just as afraid of losing him. And they were both fearful of losing their family.

But they were okay. She was okay, and he was okay. And they were happy. 

And that was more than enough. Their family would always be more than enough.

[vajranam]

The Great Ape

The Great Ape - Teaching from a past life account of Buddha Shakyamuni:

Good people are pained not so much by their own afflictions as by the harm done to those who injure them. Thus has it been heard:

The Bodhisattva was once an ape of great size in a beautiful land by the side of the Himalayas. Even in that state he was intensely aware of what is right. Compassion was his second nature. It was a land where the demigods sported. Its ground was tinted with the charming hues of variouse ores. Its dense and rich foliage seemed to enfold it in a dark silken mantle. Its slopes and valleys were adorned with shapes and colors so picturesque that they seemed almost contrived. There were numerous waterfalls and deep caverns through which mountain streams gushed. An enchanting breeze rustled though trees laden with all kinds of flowers and fruits. The great ape lived in those woods like a hermit, subsisting only on wild leaves and fruits and showing compassion to all the creatures who crossed his path.

One day a man came into that land searching for a cow which had gone astray. He had wandered all over, lost his way and no longer knew where he was. Exhausted by hunger, fatigue and heat, his mind aflame with the fire of melancholy; he sat down under a tree as if weighed down by his distress. There he saw some red brown tinduki fruit which had ripened and dropped to the ground. Such was the man’s hunger that he found the fruit most tasteful and looked around to see where it came from. He then beheld a tinduki tree growing on the slope of a waterfall, the tips of its branches bent low with the ripe red-brown fruit. Wishing to get them, he climbed up the slope and on to the tree to the very end of a fruiting branch which hung over the cascading water. But it was too thin and his weight was more than it could bear. With a sudden sound it broke and fell as if cut down with an axe.

The man fell with the branch into the cavernous pit of the waterfall. It was like a well enclosed by walls of rock. Piles of leaves and deep water ensured that he broke no bones but when he surfaced and looked around, he could see no way of getting out. ‘I can do nothing,’ he said to himself, ‘and soon I will die.’ Despairing for his life his face wet with tears, he then began to lament, his heart distraught and distressed. ‘I have fallen into an inaccessible place in this desolate forest.’ He wept. ‘Who except death will ever find me here? I am trapped like a beast in a pit. Who will pull me out? There are no friends or kinsmen here, only mosquitoes to dink my blood. This hole is pitch dark. It is like a moonless night here. For me, alas, it blots out the world with its gardens and forests, its arbours and streams and its star-spangled sky.’

The man passed some days in that pit, lamenting and subsisting on water and fruit which had fallen with him. One day the great ape came there. He had been wandering about in search in food and the upper branch of the tinduki tree had seemed to beckon him as they swayed in the breeze. He climbed up the tree and looking down the waterfall beheld the woebegone man below, his eyes sunken and face gaunt with hunger, his body pale and emaciated. The great ape was moved to pity at the man’s miserable condition. Abandoning his own search for food, he looked intensely at the man and addressed him: ‘You are under a precipice which a man cannot reach easily,’ he said. ‘Tell me clearly who you are and how did you get to be here.’

The man looker plaintively at the great ape. ‘I am a human sir,’ he said with folded hands. ‘I got lost while roaming in the forest and was seeking fruit from the tree when I met with this accident. It is a great calamity for I have no friends or kindred here. You must protect me. O chief of apes.’ These words filled the great being with a deep compassion. ‘Do not worry,’ he said, ‘that you are in a pit, weak and without your kind. Whatever is their duty, I will do it. Have no fear.’ Having reassured the man and given him some tinduki and other fruit, the ape then went aside and practiced the rescue with a rock of a man’s weight. Satisfying himself that he was strong enough to bring the man out of the waterfall, he then decended into it and again spoke to him kindly. ‘Come, climb on my back.’ he said , ‘and hold fast onto it while I take you out and also fulfill the purpose of my own body. For the only purpose of this worthless frame, as good people know, is that men of intelligence should use it for helping others.’

‘Very well,’ said the man and with a respectful bow got on the apes back. Though the weight was great yet with a supreme effort the ape brought the man out. Overjoyed at having done so, he was exhausted. Walking slowly to a rock dark as a raincloud, he lay down upon it to rest. The ape was pure-hearted by nature and did not suspect any danger from the man. ‘I am extremely tired,’ he told him trustingly, ‘and I want to sleep for a while. But this forest is easily accessible and exposed to predatory beasts. One of them could suddenly kill me while I am tired and asleep and also harm itself. You must therefore keep watch sir, and guard me as well as yourself.’

The man promised to do so. ‘Sleep as long as you like sir,’ he said ‘and wake up refreshed. I am here to keep guard.’ But when the ape had fallen asleep, the man began to entertain wicked thoughts. ‘My body is worn out,’ he said to himself. ‘How will it even survive, much less find nourishment here? It needs great effort to find roots and wild fruit can be had only by chance. I have become very weak. How will I be able to get through this impassable forest? Perhaps the flesh of this ape will suffice for that purpose. Even though he has helped me, he is a permissible prey by his nature. That indeed is the righteous course in a time of distress and therefore I must feed on him. But I can kill him only when he is trustfully and comfortably asleep. In open combat he could defeat even a lion. So there is no time to lose.’

The man’s mind was overcome with greed. His sense of gratitude and awareness of what is right were destroyed. His feelings of pity and kindliness disappeared. Even though he had become weak the desire to do the vile deed was strong. He picked up a large stone and hurled it at the great ape’s head. But weakness had made him unsteady on his feet. Intended to put the ape to sleep forever, the misdirected stone did not strike him with its full force but merely bruised his head with the edge before falling to the ground with a crash like thunder. Injured by the blow, the ape jumped up in haste. ‘Who hit me?’ he cried, and saw none other but the man, now looking shamefaced. Pale with confusion, dismayed and distraught, his throat dry with fear and his body covered with perspiration, he was unable even to look up.

‘This is his doing,’ the great ape concluded. Unmindful of the pain of his own injury, he then felt a great pity for the person who had committed a terrible deed regardless of what was good for him. He was not angry or agitated but his eyes filled with tears as he grieved for that man. ‘My friend, you are a man,’ he said, ‘and yet you did such a deed! How could you think of it and how could you carry it out? You should rather have bravely stopped any enemy out to hurt me!’ ‘I felt proud at having performed a difficult deed.’ the ape continued. ‘But you have made my pride disappear by doing something even more difficult. You were rescued, as it were, from the other world, from the very mouth of death. Yet, coming out of one abyss, you have fallen into another.’

‘You have cast yourself into a calamity and me into the fire of grief,’ he added. ‘You have spoilt your reputation and gone against the love of virtue. You have destroyed trustworthiness and made yourself an object of reproach. What did you hope to gain by acting in this manner? I am the occasion for your negative deed,’ he added further. ‘Yet I am unable to cleanse it. This pains me even more than the injury I suffered. Now follow me so that I may take you out of this fearful forest and set you on the road to some village. But since you cannot be trusted anymore, stay by my side and within my sight, lest someone make my labor fruitless by hurting you if you wander alone in the forest, worn out and ignorant of the way.’

Thus did the great being grieve for the man as he brought him to an inhabited area and set him on the road. ‘Here ends the forest my friend,’ he said. ‘You are now in settled country. Go safely, putting the fear of wilderness behind you. And try to avoid evil actions for they will yield a painful harvest.’ After instructing him kindly as he would a disciple, the great ape then returned to the forest. As for the man, even as he burned with remorse for the negative deed he had committed, he was soon struck by the dreadful disease of leprosy. His appearance was transformed. Ulcers drenched his body with their discharge and pervade it with the foulest smells. So hideous and twisted did he become that wherever he went, the people could not believe that he was human. His voice too had changed and become a whine. People thought him evil personified and drive him away with harsh words of abuse and stones and sticks.

Once a king out on a hunt saw him wandering in the forest like a ghost. His dirty clothes were in tatters – even his genitals were not fully covered. Seeing him in that wretched condition, the king was curious as well as afraid. ‘Your body is disfigured by leprosy,’ he said. ‘You are covered with ulcers, pale, emaciated and miserable. Your hair is full of dust. Are you a ghost or a ghoul, a witch or a devil? Or are you afflicted with some other ailment?’

‘I am human, great king,’ the man replied sadly with a bow. ‘I am not a spirit,’ and when asked how he came to be in that condition, he recounted his misdeed to the king. ‘This is only the blossom of my treachery to a friend,’ he said, ‘the fruit is bound to be even more painful. I am a living example of what happens to those who behave like enemies towards their friends, their minds sullied with greed and other vices. From this it can be inferred what will happen to them in the next world. But one who loves his friends and earns their trust and help, gains courtesy, glory and joy. Enemies cannot harm him and he finally goes to heaven. These are the consequences of good or bad conduct towards friends. O king, knowing them, one should follow the path shown by the virtuous. That is the way to happiness.’

Thus it is that good people are pained by the harm done to the wellbeing of those who injure them. This should be recounted during discussions on faithfulness to friends and on the consequences of evil deeds.

~Jatakamala Sutra (Translated by A.N.D. HAKSAR, 2003)

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 8 - The Musketeers

Day 8: Abandoned Fandom/setting: The Musketeers (BBC) - AU S3 where Aramis stayed with the others - war era Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

"Your friends have abandoned you to us, Frenchman. Comprende?"

He hears the voice, head lolling vaguely in its direction. Eyelids flutter open against the haze of whatever they've been dosing him with. Everything hurts. They haven't hurt him too badly, at least not that he can tell. Nothing worse than an acceptable level of getting a little roughed up by guards with too much time and not enough oversight. But he's been sitting or laying on this cold stone floor for- actually, he doesn't know how long it's been. How can he mark the passing of time in a windowless cell when he's spending half of his time drugged?

"No, they haven't," he slurs out loud in French. At least one or two of the Spaniards know the language; they're the ones who've been asking him questions.

A face swims into focus, offering a smile that's meant to be rendered as sympathetic but more resembles scorn. Someone grabs his hair and wrenches his head back and he can't help but hiss in discomfort and surprise. His reflexes are dulled by drugs and hunger.

"We hadn't intended on keeping you," the soldier speaking to him says, also in French but with a foreign accent. "The price for your freedom isn't much. Anything that might be helpful. How many battalions are held in reserve? Which direction will reinforcements be coming from? Who's in charge of the sabotage to our supply chain?"

His mouth clamps shut. He doesn't have much information anyway; he's not the captain. The soldiers who've interrogated him seem to know he has friends more important than himself, though, convinced that he has details to share.

The Spaniard tsks and shakes his head with artificial pity. "As you like. But I can't receive authorization to release you without something to show for it." And then he nods to whoever is gripping him.

Knowing what's coming, he thrashes, but he's manacled and fettered and drugged and he can't evade the hand that shoves a rag over his face. There's no fighting it, though he tries—of course he does.

It doesn't matter. Everything goes black.

.o.O.o.

"Why are you protecting them? Your friends left you to die."

The voice is back. It's grating. It's cold. Not as cold as the cell he's in, and he shivers uncontrollably, knees drawn up to his chest.

"They'll find me."

The Spaniard's face is full of that artificial pity again. "They aren't even looking."

He doesn't answer; his stomach growls. He can't remember if they've fed him today, isn't sure when yesterday ended and today began. He doesn't know how many todays there have been since he was taken.

The soldier in charge of his interrogation hears the sound and tuts. Waves a hand to someone in the doorway. Magnanimously hands over a crust of moldy bread.

He wants to decline but he's starving and growing weaker by the day. In his mind, he hears Porthos reminding him there's no chance of escape if he can't even move, has to keep his strength up and be prepared at his first opportunity. He grabs the bread before the Spaniard can change his mind. It's vile, almost a taunt more than a kindness, but he eats it anyway.

"Now, be reasonable," the soldier says, spreading his hands. "Surely that's worth something. A morsel for a morsel. How many musketeers remained in Paris to guard the king?"

He doesn't answer, just barely refrains from licking the crumbs off his fingertips—he's not that desperate. Not yet. He will be soon.

The Spaniard sighs. "Why carry on this way? It's been three weeks. You were never supposed to be here so long. We can't afford to keep feeding you so often. Give me something I can turn over to my capitan so he'll order your release."

...Three weeks? He turns his head in a refusal to respond, but also to hide the sudden pain. How could it have been so long... he has no way of knowing the passing of time, but it can't have been that long, surely? At the same time, it feels like it's been even longer.

"They won't leave me here," he whispers to the cold, dripping walls, the stench of sweat and waste, the rats in the corner with glowing eyes.

His captor sighs, gestures.

The cursed rag descends over his mouth and nose yet again to flood his mind with the pungent fumes.

Darkness grows darker, and hope begins to fade.

.o.O.o.

"I'm done playing games." The Spaniard is in a foul temper today, accompanied by several other guards.

He knows that's not good. He wants to climb to his feet, to have some chance of defending himself, but he can't even sit up by now, lying half dead on the freezing floor with chattering teeth and growling belly. If the sweat dripping down his face is any indication, fever has started to set in.

There's questions, but he only half hears them. Questions about troop movements and supply chains and other things he isn't privy to just by virtue of being in Athos's inner circle. Even if he had the answers, he wouldn't give them up. Perhaps they thought keeping him mostly drugged for all this time would weaken his mind and they're probably right, but not so weak that he would ever betray his brothers and his country.

Perhaps they've decided if the cold and the hunger and the drugs won't do the trick, their fists and their boots will. The blows descend and everything hurts even worse, until merciful blackness descends once more.

.o.O.o.

"You're a strong one, I'll give you that. But surely you must be hungry by now?"

Hungry? No, he was hungry before. Now he's starving, ravenous, half-mad with the emptiness in his belly. He thinks he might even sell his soul for another moldy crust of bread, but of course he wouldn't really. Not his soul. Aramis wouldn't approve. Can't disappoint Aramis.

"They aren't coming for you," he's told again and again. He wants to keep doubting but it's getting harder.

How long has it been? Weeks? Months? He's lost count of how many times he's been drugged into blackness. For all he knows, it's been years. Everything's foggy. Everything hurts. And now he barely feels the cold. It's been so long, why haven't they come for him yet?

...Are they coming at all?

"We'll let you go," he's promised. "But first some information. Then we'll release you."

But he stays silent, until his captor loses patience, lashes out, grips his jaw.

"You weren't even supposed to be here this long," he's told again. "You were only taken as a means to bargain. An exchange. But when we sent word of your capture, and our hopes of a trade..." The Spaniard grins, cruel and cold. "They declined."

He feels like this is some kind of trap, deep down, but he's weak and sick and oh God he's so hungry, and he finally despairs. Maybe they had no choice. Maybe the Spaniards wanted to trade him for someone worth far more than he is. Maybe Athos was ordered to decline. Maybe they abandoned him.

"Understand," his captor says, "that this underground prison is your life now. You will die here, today or years from now, forgotten and abandoned. Or... deny the so-called friends who left you to your fate, and help Spain end this bloody war. It's been two months, Frenchman. If they wanted you back, they would have come for you by now."

They haven't even brought out that vile rag and the awful drugs, but already his mind is starting to slip away without it. Abandoned...

A door thuds open so hard it cracks like a whip, like thunder, like his heart, but he barely hears it. Cheek resting on a cold, damp floor, he closes his eyes against the shouting and the steel. In the distance, everything soon goes quiet and then he's being lifted, sitting against something strong.

"D'Artagnan! Come on, pup, open yer eyes..."

"He's burning with fever," another voice growls, a cold hand pressed to his forehead. "Porthos, the chains."

Metal clinks, his wrists feel lighter. He's pulled up the rest of the way from the freezing stone, held tightly against something solid and comforting. Porthos, his mind supplies. His eyes blink and flutter, seeing a worried face gazing back at him. Aramis.

"Th'y said y' left me," he manages to say. "Be'n two months..."

"You've been missing for two weeks," Aramis corrects. "Athos has been out of his mind. There was no word... we thought you'd been killed."

Porthos was cursing. "Talk later, escape now."

He tries to move his feet, but two months or two weeks, he only remembers a few sorry excuses for food and he collapses instead, right into Porthos's waiting arms. His Gascon stubbornness urges him to walk out of there on his own power, but everything's fading again and he can't protest as his brother carries him out of that wretched cell.

"You're safe now," Aramis offers from somewhere directly at his side. A hand squeezes his. "You're safe, d'Artagnan."

He's slipping from consciousness, but he's safe. D'Artagnan thinks his lips are pulling into an exhausted smile.

"Y' came to fin' me..."

The supporting arms squeeze tighter.

"Aways, pup. Always."