#and that him being emotional over her is him nearly acting as a vessel for zack... who's within him somehow....

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Offerings

a/n I would say don’t ask cause my brain works on its own accord. Thanks to @twilighttowayvision for listening to me yap and making me write this. 🤍✨🫧🤝🏻🙂‍↕️

summary: this is loosely based on worship. Our oc is a back vocalist for ST and her and the boys aren’t afraid to get handsy on stage. The problem however is that she catches an eye of another band. So when Noah from bad omen wants her to be the guest act in one of his shows emotions run high. Jealousy bubbles. Pretty white jaws get bloody.

warning: sexual tension, sexual behavior implications, brat goodness.

Sleep token boys x reader

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The pre-show prep had been slow today. Mostly because you had enough time to get most of the stuff up and running in the couple of days that you’ve spent here. Meaning that there had been no running around, no packed sound checking, and no feeling of needing to be at four places at one time. So you had made yourself comfortable on one of the backstage sofas. Scrolling through different group chats you had going on with the whole sleep token crew. 

That’s when you came across the endless links Espera had sent you. “Tell me that you’ve seen this,"  the message read, followed by heaps of emoji that made no sense. You frowned slightly, clicking on the first link. And it’s not what you expected. A moment of confusion turned into shock before a grin spread onto your face. You quickly sat up, pressing on another link. A video after video played on and on until you were biting your lip.

“What are you smiling at?”, the sound of a iii’s voice nearly made you drop your phone.“Nothing,"  you answered a tad bit too enthusiastically, instantly making your bandmate narrow his eyes at you. “Yeah, right. You look like a Christmas tree,"  iv he huffed, pulling a towel from over his head as he dried his curls. You could lie. You couldn’t if you were being realistic. Their bullshit radar was too good for that. A half-truth might do the trick. Might… “Girls sent over this video,"  you shrugged, glancing back at your phone and trying really hard not to let your cheeks flame. 

“Oh, no… another thirst trap of us,"  ii grinned as he too stepped into the room, reaching for the beverage fridge. “You don’t need to drool over us via screen, baby girl," iii he cackled, wiggling his eyebrows. Striking one pose after another. He flexed his muscles as if he was indeed attending a competition of sorts. You couldn’t help but cackle at him.

“Got the real deal in blood and flesh right in front of you, darling," iv plopped down on the sofa, next to you, leaning in suggestively. You pushed back at his chest. “Not self-obsessed one bit," he simply shrugged, that shit-eating grin shining bright. “Give me that."  You didn’t even notice ii coming to your other side before your phone was in his hands, fingers flying over the numbers on your lock screen. “Hey, no."  You moved to stand up, but iv wrapped his arms around your middle, bringing you back down. This time onto his lap. Arms snacking over your middle. “You all suck,"  you growled, knowing full well that they were going to be met with.

“Yeah, if I could, I would steal the Siren," the voice on the screen filled the room and you don’t have to know it all to notice the way the three of them instantly looked at one another. Piecing together everything that had been happening. “Have you seen her? Her vocals would fit into most of our songs."  A light groan left IV's lips as Noah’s voice continued to bleed into the background. iii’s arms were crossed over his chest. There was no gleam of amusement in his eyes. It’s ii who seemed delighted with this. But not in a you-go-girl kind of way. Oh no, he knew what shitstorm this was going to cause. And to help with your matters, Vessel and Esperas casually stroll backstage as well. 

“We’re working on getting her on our side; I’d die a happy man if she brought her worshiping to our stage."  That was enough to make Vess halt. “What the fuck was that?”, he huffed, walking towards ii, glancing at the phone in his hands. “Bullshit, that’s what that was," iii said, shaking his head, leaning back against the wall in frustration. "Oh, come on,"  the girls laughed in unison, “a boy has a crush." Your eyes grew big as you shook your head with a hiss, “Girls.”

“Has a crush, my ass!", iv practically growled, hands tightening on your thighs, but you were quick to peel his hands off you. “Now who’s being hypocritical?" You stood up, narrowing your eyes at him. He was annoying when he wanted to be. You knew that first hand “What is that supposed to mean?” Iv is quick to jump up too. You knew he was harmless, but his quick movement still made you step back slightly. “You go off to play with Oli, and no one says a peep about it,"  you wheezed through gritted teeth. “That is different," ii cut in, and you couldn’t help but gape at him. Of course, his shit-stirring ass would side with them. “Last time I checked, he can also grab iv dick, no NDA about that?"  you said, crossing your arms over your chest. Just made the mistake of glancing at iv, who was practically red with anger now, “You fucking...", but he didn’t get to finish the sentence before iii draped an arm around his shoulder, turning him around. “Cool off,"�� he muttered, tapping a hand on iv’s chest. 

“Breather. Outside. Now”, Vessel pointed towards the door. And as much as you hated the pre-concert arguments, you didn’t want to drop this now. “Bark while you’re at it,"  you raised both middle fingers at iv, but the sight was short-lived as Vess stepped in front of you, gripping your jaw and pulling your face to meet his. "Y/n,"  it was barely a whisper, but the tone shift said it all. “We’ll talk about this after."  You want to fight back, but instead, you just nodded. Pushing past him to go get ready. Simply out of spite moving to quickly typed out a message to Bad Omen’s Instagram account. The likelihood of them seeing it, however, was low. Right…?

The concert ended up being only mid. The tension that usually had everyone grinding against one another. Pushing the possible limits had turned into a cold war. In moments like this, iv pride was bigger than him. You knew he wouldn’t blow off before the show started, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise that he pretty much avoided you like the plague. Leaving you at the mercy of iii and Vessel for the most part. So it was Vess who had you press against his chest until the black paint was smudging all over your back. Hand on your throat as he sang the lyrics of the songs straight into your bloodstream. Even the kiss that iii leaned in for felt off, so you didn’t push him. Didn’t push any of them. Not when your attempts of luring them out of their pissy mood was cut with a cold shoulder. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t frustrated about it. 

"Here," warmth spreads through your body as a familiar scent filled your senses. You welcomed it on most days, but today it only made your frown deepen. So with a shrug of the hand, you pushed the leather jacket off. “Don’t be a brat; you’ll catch a cold," iii grunted, forcefully wrapping you up in iv’s jacket. 

“Who knew you would be the one mending the bridges", you hissed out, taking another drag from your cigarette. iii tapped at his lips, and you quickly held the same cigarette out for him, letting him take a couple of drags in. “He’s pissed because he cares," iii said after blowing out the smoke. “We both know that he’s fiercely protective over people he lets in close." And you knew that. Knew that from all the tines his steal mask would slip. And you would be left with nothing but a needy man. One that’s constantly leaning into you or falling asleep on your shoulder. “You remember him after people started talking shit about Vess dancing”, iii pointed out, “He yapped about it for the rest of the night. I throw punches, iv talks, that’s his weapon”.

“You are all acting as if I’m about to sell my body on the highway," you huffed, shaking your head in frustration. “We found you first," iii nearly sang, snatching the cigarette from between your fingers. “Oh Jesus, it’s that fucking male ego,"  you growled, wrapping the iv’s jacket tighter around your body. iii extended one of his arms out. You didn’t need to be told twice, as you buried your face in his chest. “You are a whole package,"  he muttered under his breath, pressing his lips to the top of his head. “We don’t want you jumping ships." You pulled back slightly. “I’m not leaving you; it’s one concert from what I understood,"  you whispered, knowing full well that if they said no, you wouldn’t go. After all, they were your people. And the last thing you wanted was for them to feel as if you were replacing them in some way. “One too many, baby,"  he let out a sigh, “One too fucking many”, killing the cigarette with his foot before pulling you back into the warmth of the back room. 

The topic of those videos was dropped without bringing it up ever again. They don’t bring it up, so you did just the same. Until one night, your phone pings, and you couldn’t help the grin that spreads over your face. “Tell me that I can see your cute face tonight”, it read. Making you fall back onto your bed, as you silently screamed into your screen. You keep it to yourself this time. The least ears heard about the less hearts would break, but even as you were getting ready to leave, you knew that there was no way you could leave the apartment you all rented out without the boys noticing you walking down the stairs, and from the sound coming from lower floor, they were in the living room. In conclusion right by the staircase. But what was bitting another bullet after all?

"Okay, style icon," iii whistled as the sound of your heels made them all turn your way. You shot him a smile, “You like?" Twistling,  you gave them all a look at your head-to-toe black outfit, only a baby pink mini dress bringing contrast to the whole outfit. “Are you sure you girls don’t want us tagging along?”, Vessel asked, tilting his beer bottle your way. And here you were. Screwed all over. You had forgotten about girls going out tonight. Well, you were going out with them until you got that message, and then your brain blanked. “She’s not going with the girls," iv muttered, his jaw clenched as his eyes looked you up and down. Not the gentle kind of look. Oh, no. He was eating you with his gaze. Burning through your skin. Seeing into part of you, you didn’t want him to. Sending a shiver down your spine. “IV is right, I’m not."  You held your head up; you owned them nothing. Well, not fully true, but still. You were your own person. “Tell me that it’s not what I think it is," ii chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Wipe that grin off your face," you grunted.

Silence fell over the room. ii kept his eyes on you challenging you to break first. But when you didn’t back away he leaned forward. Both inked palms firmly placed on the table. “Careful, or you’ll be whipping something else off your face and legs,"  he said, leaning forward. His blunt answer and forwardness took you off-hand because to get through the impenetrable wall of calmness that ii had built was impossible. It had been impossible. “Not yours to paint tonight,"  you shot them a smile, reaching for the bottle iii was holding before downing the last remaining liquid. “But I’ll send Noah your hellos,"  you smiled at them right as the sound of a car signaling outside of the window echoed, “Don’t wait up, boys." You waved them off over your shoulder. Feeling your heart hammer against your ribcage. The dizziness clouding your eyes. But you couldn’t turn back now. You couldn’t go there now when you knew they were boiling. This was good. This would give them time. Right…?

[shidouryusm]

𓆩♡𓆪✿༝༚༝༚ -> You're so cool. It makes me hate you so much

Kuroo x reader (gn)

word count- 2.5k words (excuse me wtaf?!)

content: hinted rivals to lovers, mutual pining, lots of bickering between reader and kuroo, mention of cunt (not in smut way).

A.n -> once again this is my worded desire of having a rivals to lover trope in my life. Also it's my first time attempting so let me know how it is. not proofread bruh it's almost 2:30am here.

The night arrives with all its glory of darkness. People marching out in costumes – fake  crimson blood dripping off the sides of their lips while face smothered in white paint, or dark cloaks shrouded their body while a skull mask decorated their face.

Loud music blares into life through the screen of your phone as you watch a small snippet of a party that was getting wilder and wilder via your bestfriend/roomate’s instagram story. She just took a swig of her drink and you were concerned how is she going to hold herself up.

Hollers of enjoyment and rhythmless singing along to songs were mixed with the deafening bass of music.  Everyone was out and about…everyone except you. 

Well, with a stuck up snob as a professor who assigned a report immediately the morning after and with final exams edging near, you had no option but be the bummer and cancel on all invites, leaving your costume hanging sadly on your closet and get down with laptops and notes. 

Frustrations bubbles inside you and FOMO nearly kills your motivation to even study. You put aside your phone, not indulging in moping over other people’s stories anymore. A sigh leaves your lips as you continue finishing the report you wished you didn’t procrastinate. 

Your mind still ponders over the party that you could have went to.

“well at the end, the little A’s splayed all over the grade sheet would be worth all of it.”

You attempt to console yourself. You shall compensate by scoring the top on the finals and rub it on the face of a certain ravenette. Smiling devilishly at the thought.

You hate to admit but a majority part of you keens to perform the best in this elective course that has remotely no relation with your major is to beat that one particular student in your class.

Kuroo Tetsuro. 

The overachieving dumbass nearly topping every exam that he takes. Waltz around the campus with a smirk that urges all the nerves in your body to break through and act on their accord to strangulate him. It’s been only the second time that you matched a course with him but no one in university was more competent than him when it came to pop a vessel in your forehead. 

You don’t even recall how the dynamic between you two ended up like the way it is but you would rather throw yourself from a cliff, down into a lake of acid before thinking about being civil, let alone be friends with him. 

Maybe you are exaggerating, you consciously think, before the memory of him completely destroying your arguments in a debate just a few days back resurfaced in your brain. 

The smug smirk and quirked eyebrows that he flashed your way after the professor referred his points as “seemingly unbeatable” and “you could learn a thing or two from him!!” made your insides fill with bitter grudge against him once again.

But are you the one always getting the short end of the stick? Absolutely not. You are positive that your feelings are reciprocated by him whenever you raise your hands to critic his works. The narrowed hazel eyes and scorned face mirrors all your emotions whenever you bite back his words with equal wit and banter, effectively shutting him up. And that fills you with brimming satisfaction. 

However, amidst this back and forth competition of getting the better grade and constantly critiquing each other, your eyes don’t miss out the way he looks. The unmissed tension that lies between the space whenever you both get in close proximity always leaves you a little breathless, like you’re holding your breath whenever he’s this close. The way his lips looks so glossy whenever your eyes land on them. Your mind subconsciously wondering how they might ta-

Tsk

You snap the book shut and click your tongue in annoyance. Why are you even thinking about him? Pretending that your brain did not just conjure the thought seconds ago, you open your book and return back on doing your work, your mind occupied with newfound competitiveness against him. 

--

The clock hit 10 pm when you rose from the chair, your back stiffened from being in this position, like any wrong movement could crack it. You decide on a quick shower to relieve yourself from the piling stress and stiffness. 

Just as you were finishing up with your skincare, humming while a towel robe drapes your body and hair saturated with water, a series of doorbell broke through your comfortable bubble. Constantly pressing the button like some stubborn kid wanting a trick or treat. 

“If you keep on ringing like that, you best believe I'm tricking your whole lifetime” you mutter as you hurriedly prod towards the door. Opening it with a bit more force, you are met with your stumbling roommate, head hung low and the smell alcohol reek off her. Her feet barely doing any work to balance her and no sooner than that, she topples over, wrapping herself around you.

“Yui?! Oh my goodness. YUI! Are you okay?” you barely register the second person accompanying her as you try to retrieve your passed out bestfriend.

“I don’t think she’s gonna wake up anytime soon”, the deep voice rang through your ears. Your brain processing it two times to reconfirm you actually heard that before your eyes finally landed on the second company. 

His hair was spiked up as usual in his bed hair. Eyes the same batch of hazel and honey. A white dress shirt adorned his upper half, sleeves rolled till the forearms and finally your eyes zooms on his nearly cat-like face. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” your tone carrying equal measures of accusation and surprise. He scoffingly laughs, “well I certainly did not drop by for a chat and some tea time with you. If you haven’t really noticed, your bestfriend is shitfaced to the point of no return. So me, being the gentleman I am, dropped her off.”, you roll your eyes till it reaches your forehead, a snide chuckle escaping your mouth.

“Humour me. You and gentleman don’t exactly fit in one sentence.” you taunt, drawing a sigh out of him. 

“Just like you and compassion, kindness, gratitude, appreciation do not?” he sneers. Before you can retort, you feel Yui’s weight slip off of you and you hastily try to balance her before she falls face down.

But an unconscious person carries weights like a sack of boulders, making it difficult for you to handle. You look over Yui’s shoulder to see Kuroo still standing, a look of pure amusement plastered on his face as he enjoyed the mess in front of him.

“Mind helping?” you bite back at him, barely able to hold the now tumbling Yui. Kuroo swiftly steps in, draping one of Yui’s hand over his neck and balancing her. 

“There’s a nice word called “please”, but of course you wouldn’t know.” you hear him mutter breathily. 

“People lend a hand voluntarily without asking in such situations but ofcourse, kuroo the entitled tetsuro needs a laminated invite card” you dryly say, watching his eyes narrow and mock hurt creeping up on his face. 

“For someone looking pretty as you, you surely got a foul mouth” kuroo hums and you act like your heart didn’t do an unsolicited somersault at that, you clear your throat, muttering a low "anyways" and focus on guiding your bestfriend from the threshold of the door to her bedroom. 

Grin crawls on kuroo’s face knowing he did hit it where it was supposed to be. 

Once settled into the bedroom, you carefully take off her shoes, and remove little of the makeup that she got smeared all over. Her hair was matted with tangles and a little remnant of her puke dried on the side of her lips, that you quickly wipe with a wet towel. 

“What made you all drunk like you lost your lover, Yui?” you wonder out loud. Yui was in no condition to answer so the only response you received from her were snores.

Kuroo chuckles behind you, the sounds of his laughter making you turn. He was leaning against the study table. His stance radiating confidence and ease even in the silent room.

“Haven’t you got a party to attend?” you ask him. He clicks his tongue, “nah not feeling it anymore. I already got out of there with your piece of a work best friend so don’t really see a point going back.”

“Did she talk your ear off with her breakup lore?” you genuinely laugh. The sound of it reaching Kuroo’s ear, further travelling down to his heart, tugging at a string. 

“I wouldn’t say she was a sad drunk, she was hollering, singing tunelessly throughout the car, surely embarrassed the shit out of me”

“Well, if there’s anything that is left of you to get embarrassed, that is. Pretty sure she cockblocked you rightly” you say slyly.

“Says you. Weren’t you destroyed in pieces in that debate? Should have learned a thing or two from me” kuroo snorts out his sardonic laughter as he parrots your professor’s words back at you. Purposely riling you up. 

You step in closer, jabbing your pointer at his chest, “listen you. You made points stupid enough to leave anyone clueless right at that time” you hiss. Stupid counter-attack but he really grinds your gear with comments like that. 

“Points stupid enough to be “unbeatable”. Let’s accept it, sweetheart, I was better. Wouldn't kill you to do this” he grabs your pointer finger, bringing it close to his lips. For a sec, you think he's gonna kiss but he soon lets it go.

Acting like a million thoughts didn't run through your head, you quip against him.

“Uh huh? who’s leading the assignments and questionnaires then?” you proudly retort to which Kuroo shakes his head. His face inches closer, closer till remnants of his cologne hits your nose. 

“Is this why you stayed at home? Busy being a nerd? Didn't digest your defeat well?” you can feel the jeering lilt in his voice, and closely enough you could even see little evil horns sprouting at the top of his head. 

“looking for me in the crowd? Also being ahead in your work doesn’t count as being nerdy. It’s productive. I’m pretty sure I’m way ahead of you while you slack away in parties” 

“Oh yeah? What if I was?” Kuroo steps towards you, scooting a bit to the right. Now towering over your figure. You unknowingly took a step back and press against the edge of the table. You could make out how sculpted his body was underneath the white shirt, illuminated with the golden light radiating from the study table. His hands reach against your sides, knuckles brushing against the towel robe. You momentarily forget you were in nothing but a robe like that and soon heat creeps up over your cheeks and neck. He dips down till he’s face level and now you could make out the pools of honey that his eyes possess. The shirt was unbuttoned till the first two buttons and that exposed a healthy part of his collarbones and the expanse of his neck. The space between you thick with the tension and shared breath and your eyes once again land on his lips, to which you lick your own. 

Kuroo cages you between him, the scent of your shampoo now directly reaching his nose. It’s so significantly you that he audibly inhales, the sweet fragnance of creamy vanilla and coconut engulfing his senses. 

" you were what?" you glare.

"What if I was looking for you in the crowd? Had a few things to say anyways" his stare was intense, voice holding a little rasp and breathlessness that skipped a few of your breaths as well.

Kuroo wouldn't lie, he actually felt grateful for the drunken Yui back there for landing him into this situation.

The moment you had opened the door and he discovered you like that, he was itching to be closer to you. His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of your towel as he grips the table on either sides of you. His eyes landing on the way you lick your lips and he tries his best to not get ahead and close the gap between them. His mouth curves into a smirk at your faltered expression, drinking in the way you look so cute. 

How can a girl with whom he engages in a tooth and nail fight when it comes to academics can invade his thoughts like that? Randomly popping in his thoughts throughout the day and making his insides feel giddy. The front he has to put up to prevent his real emotions reaching his face makes him feel like a teenager with a stupid crush. So he acts his usual self, suppressing all the little hints of affections and thoughts he harbours for you.

But to his relief, he is sure that he is not the only one who feels the exact same way. Annoyance, competition mixed with the little hint of affection. Constantly wanting to push each other to perfection and having thoughts that blends perfectly with one another. Without the constant bickers, you both would be a team that is formidable. 

You don’t know how much time has passed while you are still like this. Your hands rest against the table right beside his and you look at him. Not wanting to break the little staring competition god knows who started. Kuroo reaches over your ear, his breath tickles you slightly as he whispers your name. Your heart thrums like it is daring to leap out. His voice holding a musky timbre and the way it sounded like dulcet almost made you forget all the times he made you want to strangle him. 

“Tetsuro…” you reply with a breathy air, not daring to break the silence that has befallen. The light snores were drifting away into the background and the only place mattered to you was this little section where you and kuroo were attached. 

“Tetsuro huh? Not sure I’d ever let you call me kuroo again, darling” his lips curve into a smile and you shamelessly ogle them. Apart from the times he manages to be the menace, he really is handsome. it is not your first time registering it but the way you are looking at him like it’s the first time is really debatable. 

“I’ll call you an insufferable cunt instead” 

“Ouch that hurts” he grumbles, still unmoving. His left hand slide over the table and it’s almost encircling you. His face scoots closer to you as if a millimeters distance will close the synapse between you. He reaches over your ear once again, finding amusement in the way it causes you to shiver ever so slightly. “You have to know this, Y/n.” kuroo huskily says. 

Anticipation bubbles inside you, as you itch to know what he’s gonna say next. 

“It’s just…I…” you wait with patience, intrigue written all over your face.

“I…already submitted up the report that you slacked on and had to finish it, leaving out on all the fun.” he brings out a file that you had freshly printed out before shower, “impressive work, darling. But as always there are some mistakes you ought to fix” 

“KUROO TETSURO GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE” you bombard him with a series of slaps across his chest while he half-heartedly dodges them, his unfiltered hyena laughter ricocheting off the room. Yui groans in the background to which you both pause before you silently launch your onslaught of attacks.

In a series of punches and slaps, you drag him towards the exit door when he grabs your hand, stopping you. Tugging your closer, this time his hands wrap against your back and once again he crouches down, whispering against your ear, an act that you discover freezes you against him.

Unfortunately enough for you, he seems to realise that too. 

“You should let Yui get shitfaced like this often so that I get the lucky opportunity to see you in a towel robe more. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” His fingertips traces your jawline before his hands reach down your head and give a gentle pat.

uhh..what.

The tapping of foot indicates he has left, his presence still enveloping you, along with the hint of his cologne wafting through the living room. You contemplate on calling in sick tomorrow.

Damn you, Yui.

I'm not sure how to feel about this. may not be my absolute favourite but this is very self indlugent (not surprising). This is very rushed and it's me writing about kuroo after such a long time so lmk how I did!!

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

tagging: @tetzoro , @kuroosexuall , @itadorey (cos I saw u not being able to see the posts on dash :(( ), @sookisaurus @quirrrky @sir-kuroo (I looked at the tags and went :0 I deadass thought I had tagged you, my most longest kuroo lover moot in this app how could I not include you im so sorry boo)

[floopers]

Act of Mercy

Series: Octopath Traveler II Pairing: Throné/Castti (ship tagged but not the focus tho) Word count: 3722 Rating: T Summary: Another visit to a lost town.

[AO3]

spoilers for end of the game + throne and castti's stories, along with a certain sidequest, just wanted to write a little more about it

"And back you go."

The old man watches them where he stands at the gondola. There's nothing in his eyes that show any hint of emotion, not even suspicion or curiosity. He speaks his words as plain statements, not expecting anything else in return.

It seems funny then that the gardener as he stands next to him, nearly a spitting image of him, is gaping at him in surprise. He's done that since they've first saw him, and also the entire ride there as well. He opens and closes his mouth several times but can't seem to find any words to say. "But you look... you look like..." he trails off, unable to figure out his thoughts. The gondola man doesn't even blink, merely looks at him as if he's just another visitor.

"Let's just go into town first," Throné says to Castti, already heading off. Castti doesn't follow her right away, still watching the old men cautiously before following after her. Throné glances over at her and sees Castti grasping the strap of the satchel at her front. She's restless; Throné feels the same way, her hand ready to whip out her dagger at any sound. Just being here makes Throné feel on edge, like she's going to find yet another unpleasant secret here.

"Ori's journal mentioned that Trousseau and I had been there," Castti begins, looking all around them again. "That would explain the sense of familiarity I had while we were there and why I could not remember why. But the people there, though..."

"You want to help them?" Throné asks. Castti falls silent before she sighs.

"I want to, I truly do... but for those people, there's no longer any sort of life inside of them. What sort of thoughts that go through their mind, what their favorite things were, what they think about the situation... just... nothing." She takes a deep breath. "In that situation... can that really be called living?"

"... I don't know about that."

Throné doesn't even know what's happened to those people inside there. Had Vide done something to them? Or... had Claude? They'll never know the answer. It still repulses her though, that she had meant to be... a part of that, whatever being a vessel meant. The fact that even Claude didn't seem keen on wanting to be one and intended to foist that duty onto someone (his own offspring even) should mean something.

Perhaps it'd been a blessing in disguise that she found herself lack of appetite to eat much before coming to Lostseed. Throné has strong claim to say that there are very few things that can unnerve her but Lostseed... is one of them. The origin of the Blacksnakes, that bloody history—created here in this very town. A place like this... shouldn't exist. And the people inside... it's almost as if their heads are bitten off, only their bodies left, waiting for rot to take them back into the ground. There's just nothing inside of them anymore.

The town's largely unchanged even with Claude's death, not that Throné had expected much to happen. There's no blood here but the air here reeks of nothing but death and decay; the stench still forces its way into Throné's lungs, makes her feel as if the very air itself is trying to choke the life out of her. There is something inside of her that feels like she's being pulled apart, like a void inside of her she hadn't known, a dark whispering at the edges of her mind—

"Throné."

Something's gotten a hold of her hand. She knows what it is but still looks down, to see Castti's gloved hand covering her own. Even through the glove, it's warm—she breathes easy now and shakes her head.

"... thanks," she says, glancing over at Castti, who gives her a nod and slight smile. They step through the town again.

Everything about the town is just so... lifeless. Claude, that disgusting man himself, seemed more content to watch everything around him fall to decay and ruin while he walked the earth to spread his seed. Throné shudders to think of having his blood running through her.

And it must be true for everyone else in this town. That old man in the corner whom she'd stolen the Thieves' Guild dagger from—he must have been one of Claude's children from decades ago... and that boy who refuses to turn around and look at her... also one of Claude's children from only just a few years past... and the girl standing guard in front of an empty house with a streak of silver in her hair, only just a few years older than the boy...

Would killing them be considered a merciful act? She doesn't know... nor does she have the right to judge them for that either.

But there, in the middle of town, is their target. Mira's just standing there, looking all around with wide eyes, just as confused as they were when they first set foot inside of here. Throné has to give her credit, being able to trace the steps Throné had taken.

Throné motions for Castti to halt while she steps forward, purposely letting her footsteps echo through the stale air. Mira spins around, panicked.

"You... you!" Mira quickly brandishes a knife, pointing it out toward her. Throné doesn't even blink. She can see Mira's hand shaking. She's only gotten used to stealing; killing, and even hurting someone else, is something different... far different.

"You followed me to even here. Not bad," Throné replies.

"You..." Mira can't seem to find any other word to say but the way her lips pull back and she looks at Throné full of rage says more than enough. Her eyes flick to her neck, where that collar Mother had put on her still rests. Throné had given the key to the gardener to open the collars of everyone at the orphanage. Somehow, she's not surprised that Mira still has hers on.

"Did you follow me here to collect? I didn't think you'd do it so soon." Throné pulls free the dagger from her leg, readying herself. "Think you can get the best of me now?"

Mira's frozen in place, Throné can tell. Her hand is shaking so much that it's miracle it hasn't fallen to the ground already.

Castti steps forward with a frown. "Throné—"

"She has a collar from Mother so this makes her a Blacksnake... and this is an issue between Snakes," Throné only says coolly. She knows Castti doesn't like it when she says this and she'll certainly get an earful about it later but she hears Castti sigh and step back. She'll just have to make this quick.

"All right, then, come on," Throné says, creeping forward. Mira backs away. Well... if Mira isn't going to make the first move, then Throné will.

In a flash, Throné appears at her side and Mira spins around with a gasp, just narrowly parrying off Throné's strike with her knife. Throné backs away, a smirk on her face. "Hm, you're not all that bad, are you?"

Mira stares at her in awe, looking back and forth between both Throné and her own knife. She must have reacted on sheer instinct and guessed right. Maybe she might have had a promising future as a Snake. Who knows now, at this point?

Which is precisely why Throné needs to cut this head off too.

Throné moves around her, taking quick slashes but never anything too deep. She leaves nicks on Mira's arms, one on the side of her face, another on her shoulder, two on her legs—it's almost like a dance, one that Mira's trapped in. Throné's never been one for flashy maneuvers but she's just waiting, waiting for—

Mira finally cries out and just as Throné is about to leave another nick on her leg, Mira's arm snaps out like a snake bite, catching Throné on her cheek. It's not a deep cut at all and it isn't as if she felt the pain of it but it's managed to break through the skin, and that's enough for Throné to back away. She touches the injury, sees the blood on her fingers. She smells it again, that stench, but it's her own blood... which means she isn't afraid.

She looks over at Mira, a slight smirk on her lips. "Heh, not bad. How's it feel, getting a cut out of me?"

Mira doesn't say anything, only swallows as she looks down at her knife and up at where she's cut through Throné. Her hands are still shaking and she looks uncertain now. Throné will make that decision for her, then. She moves faster than she's sure Mira's eyes can see and knocks the knife out of her hands and pins her down on the ground. Mira cries out in pain and looks up at Throné through the strands of hair that's fallen on her face. There it is, that anger again, that scorn.

"... and now, imagine doing that for the rest of your life," Throné mutters. "Whoever they tell you to kill, you kill, no questions asked. You want Mother's praise? You do what she tells you. And if she tells you to die, then you die... and she gets a new child to praise."

Mira stops struggling. She's still staring at Throné but there's that petulant and rebellious anger she's expected from a child. It reminds her of back then, when she had killed Mother and Mira had given her that same look where she'd been tied up after all her screaming had done nothing to stop Throné. She had considered it then... killing Mira as well. She had thought it an act of mercy, that she would be spared from the pain of losing whom she thought was a parent... the same pain Throné goes through after killing Father. It's like a void, something that can't ever be filled anymore. Throné's the one who's made that crack inside of her herself but it still hurts all the same.

"M-Mira!"

Throné turns her head to see the gardener running toward them now. Once he gets close enough, she releases Mira and steps back to allow the gardener to take her place. He lifts her into his arms, tears gathering at the edges of his eyes. "Oh, Mira... I'd been so worried for you. When I couldn't find you, I was so afraid... ah, you're hurt as well.. I'm sorry I couldn't come faster."

Mira opens her mouth but no sound comes out of her. Instead, the tears well up in her eyes too, and she hesitantly reaches out for him. He takes her hand, holds it close to him. "No more of this blood, no more of this violence, no more of..." he looks over at Throné, forlorn.

Throné steps forward, and she can see Mira flinching at her steps. She crouches down, reaching out to the collar. Mira's eyes widen and she starts to shake her head.

"N-no, Mother gave me that! Don't—don't take it away from me!" she cries out. Even as she kicks and elbows him, the gardener holds her tight through her tantrum. He grits his teeth, a tear falling down and splashing on Mira's face. She stops immediately, face pale as she looks up at him.

Throné takes that as her chance, pulling free the key from her pocket and unlocking the collar. Mira gasps, her hands clutching at her neck but Throné holds up the accessory now. It looks just like the one she'd been given, only smaller and fit for a child... but the poison no less lethal.

"Hold out your hand, kid," Throné says and when Mira hesitantly does, she drops the collar into her hands. "Here. Do whatever you want with it. Throw it away, or keep it. Whatever you want. It's yours to do as you wish."

Mira is gawking at her. There's been a lot that's happened to her in the last several minutes for her. "You still want to get revenge on me?" she asks.

"... I don't... I don't know," Mira mumbles, looking down at the collar in her hands. The gardener takes both of her hands into his larger one, cradling them. Tears spring to Mira's eyes again and now they fall down her face. She shakes her head. "I don't... want that either... Mother won't... come back but I don't... I don't know what I want."

"... and that's fine. You're a kid, you've got time." Throné looks up at the gardener, smiling wryly. "You've got someone that cares about you like this, Mira. That's... better than what I had."

Mira looks up at her through her tears and there they are, the final ghosts being released from her. She reaches out now to the gardener, burying her face in his chest as he holds her, rubbing her back and whispering soothingly. "I promise to take care of you... you and all the children."

"A moment, please." Castti comes next to them, holding out a poultice, freshly made. "Allow me to treat you real quick," she says, and Throné huffs a bit when she sees the side eye Castti gives her. Mira looks afraid though, glancing back and forth between her and Throné. Is she afraid simply because she's Throné's companion right now? Looks like it.

Throné had made sure the cuts she left on Mira were shallow and would heal in a day, easy when Mira had been too afraid to move and stood still like some kind of training dummy. Perhaps, though, it's a good thing that Castti is here; she's being gentler than usual as she smiles patiently at Mira, praising her for keeping still and being a good girl and Mira slowly stops looking scared and nodding to Castti's words.

"A strong girl you are!" Castti says once she's done. She pulls her hand free from its glove and pats the top of her head. Mira seems to freeze before her expression changes, her face drawn tight like she's recalling a memory. Throné can see her eyes misting over again, and Castti steps back.

"I thank you, apothecary," the gardener says with a grateful nod, "and you, as well," he says, looking over at Throné. He helps Mira to her feet, hand on her back as she stands on unsteady feet. Once she's gotten her footing, he holds out his hand to her. "Let's go home, Mira."

She takes it and their hands immediately curl around each others. The gardener crinkles his eyes and leads them home. Throné watches them leave; perhaps in another life, that might have been...

Throné rids the thought from her mind.

It's funny to think of Mother's Garden as their home but since Mother and the Snakes loyal to her are no longer there, it's close to one. It's a real orphanage now, especially once Alrond had been informed of its premises. He'd been surprised to learn of such an area right underneath his nose but promised to lend his aid to them.

"Throné."

She turns around to find Castti's smiling at her but Throné's freezing up instead. Ah, she's about to get a different reckoning right now and it won't be from Aeber himself. Even under that glare, Throné... might feel a bit sorry about everything that's just happened.

Castti heaves a sigh then, reaching into her satchel and pulling free a handkerchief. She wipes up the blood on Throné's face. Throné feels embarrassed but allows Castti to do so. A shallow cut like this isn't going to do anything and she's certainly had worse but she knows to deny Castti this is akin to angering a god.

"You... could have done that better but you've dissuaded that girl from a future of blood," Castti says as she dabs some of that same poultice she used on Mira on Throné now. "There."

"... least I could do. And thanks." Throné wrinkles her nose. She's going to be smelling these herbs for the rest of the day but it's certainly preferable to the stale air of this town. She looks back again, at where Mira and the gardener had left. "I thought about ending her life too, when I killed Mother. When she cried out for her like that... she sounded so broken and pathetic. I thought maybe it would have been better to put her out of her misery than to live a life like that, feeling that pain of loss." She releases a breath. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't."

"I am glad you didn't," Castti murmurs, reaching out to touch her hand again, her sign of solace. Throné closes her eyes for a moment, breathes out deeply, and opens them. She moves over to the railing, standing behind it. It looks if she leans on it, it'll give way and she'll fall right into an abyss and never be able to claw her way back out.

Castti joins her, the both of them peering out over the rest of the lost city. It makes Throné feel as if she's staring at a page in a history book; everything is so worn and decrepit, as if even breathing on them will turn all the buildings into dust. Are there even people in there? Are they the same as the ones up here?

"Perhaps when Trousseau looked out over here, that was when he felt the despair that he did," Castti murmurs. She's staring hard at everything, as if trying to take it all in. "Standing here and seeing all of this... decay, seeing the people here and... being helpless to even soothe what's ailing them... it does make you feel as if our efforts to heal are powerless." She turns her head to look at the people just standing around, merely there, merely... existing.

For Throné, all she's ever learned is how to kill. She's never had to use her hands to save lives. Even back then, she couldn't do anything to save Donnie except to carry his wounded body and hope that they'd be able to get out of the sewers in time to find someone who could help him... and he died in those sewers instead, a terrible final resting place for anyone. Life can be so easily snuffed, so to reverse death's claw is...

"If you're feeling this way... then I think it's a good thing that you lost your memories of this place," Throné says. "You might have also felt that same hopelessness he did, might have also come to that same conclusion." She turns to look at Castti. "But you met all the people you've saved instead, and got that hope back."

"That's..." Castti looks away for a moment before sighing. "Yes... I suppose you're right. I lost my memories and had been told that I was cause for malaise instead of curing it. And with the scars on my body... I might have truly believed their words."

"But you didn't." Throné shakes her head, a slight smirk on her lips. "You're too stubborn for that."

"Throné," Castti chides but even she's trying not to crack a smile. "You're right. I just... is it unfair of me to think that if I had been more attentive, I might have been able to pull Trousseau back? To convince him back before he enacted his plans?"

"... I don't know about that, but what's done... is done. No matter how much we hope for what we've done in the past... it's already done." Throné shakes her head. "So who knows, really. The only thing we can do... is keep going."

Castti lowers her gaze. Her hands scrabble at her apron until they ball into fists. "I just... only wish the lives he took... our friends and colleagues, the villagers..." she pushes her lips together, squeezes her eyes shut, and exhales deeply. Only wished to give their deaths more meaning, Throné thinks she can hear, like an echo of her own mind.

Castti remains that way for a few more seconds before her eyes flutter open. Her hands release slowly and she stares out toward the town now and for a moment, she almost looks... like the people in town, listless and drained.

"Castti," Throné says, reaching out to lay her hand on her shoulder and Castti blinks; the light is back in her eyes now.

"... forgive me," Castti says, lowering her head. Throné lets her hand stay and she can feel Castti's shoulders tremble until finally, she releases one last breath. "This place is still so... unpleasant but I still wish to do something for the people here. I'd like to conduct one last physical for them and then we can leave, if you're done here."

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea," Throné says. No point staying here now that their job is done. Castti raises her head now and meets Throné's gaze.

"Thank you, Throné," she says, a soft smile on her face before leaving. Throné's not sure for what; sometimes... it feels like they're both looking for the same things.

It's ironic though; to be alive is to feel all this pain. Is it right to find salvation in death? Perhaps, for some. Throné knows more than several Snakes who couldn't stand the thought of living, and she doesn't fault them for it, not with the way they're forced to live. Life can be gone just like a puff of smoke.

Then, what does that make of the people here? The question still sits in Throné's mind: what had even happened to them? If it had been Vide... it would have been the work of the Shadow. If it was a god that had taken their minds... then must it be a god to to restore them? But if it had been the Shadow that consumed them, wouldn't it have turned them into grotesque monsters instead? Why, then, had it only shattered their minds and left their bodies intact? Or is a part of them still trapped inside, unable to scream or cry out for help?

Is that mercy? Or cruelty?

Throné doesn't know.

What she does know though, is there's at least one more little girl who won't grow up with a dagger and blood on her hands anymore.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

The High Priestess and the Magician

(Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. True insanity comes from getting that result.)

Stalking into his quarters, Basil Hawkins slammed the door behind him so hard a few straw dolls on his bookshelf fell over. It was unusual for him to show much emotion, but his temper had been growing dangerously short as of late. Even Faust was not exempt from his displeasure. A rare thing, as he valued the feline Mink more than the rest of his crew, but his mind had been ill at ease since his reading one hundred days ago.

In truth, he should have known better than to ask them such a dangerous question. It had been his own hubris that had driven him to ask about his own future. To demand to know when he would reach Raftel and claim the title of King of the Pirates.

Instead, the cards had foretold his failure. Predicted his eventual, inevitable death. They hadn’t specified exactly when, but he had received enough information to paint an unpleasant picture. At the time he had brushed it off, as the Tarot was up to interpretation, even if his readings were generally highly accurate. Except he received the exact same reading when he’d tried again the next day. And then the next. And every day since.

Ninety-nine days. Three cards. Always the same.

The Magician reversed. The Ten of Swords. The Emperor reversed.

Hawkins had always treated the Magician as an avatar for himself. He had claimed it as his epitaph for a reason, after all. Even reversed he accepted it, and the cards had never presented it in a reading that did not end up directly involving him. So it was concerning he had drawn it in succession with the two other cards. The Ten of Swords meant painful endings and betrayal. The Emperor reversed referred to domination and lack of discipline, which made him think that his fate was in the hands of one who embodied these traits. And there were four Emperors standing between him and the title of Pirate King…

Growling in frustration, he shoved a pile of books off of his desk, the hardcover tomes scattering as loose pages flew about. Since the twentieth identical reading, he’d been furiously researching ways to potentially avert his fate. The cards did not lie. Not to him. They told him the odds of overcoming any obstacle that stood in his path, allowing him to act accordingly. They gave him an undeniable advantage. At least, they did most of the time.

Now, they spoke of his inevitable failure.

So far, the odds were nearly 100% that he would not succeed in his ultimate goal, and in fact he would fall disgracefully. He was a man of control. He enjoyed telling others that their fates were out of their hands. He did not appreciate that misfortune being reversed. He did not appreciate his own cards defying him.

“You don’t scare me, Hawkins. I’m from Joras. As far as I’m concerned, your spooky ass barely registers a 7/10 on my weird shit-o-meter.”

A feminine voice danced blithely through his head, its very presence as mocking as the words themselves. The speaker had been the catalyst for his current fit of anger. He’d encountered one of the Heart Pirates while attempting to find more obscure literature that might help him reinterpret his cards’ message.

Ikkaku, the submarine’s engineer. The sole woman he knew of aboard Trafalgar Law’s vessel. He’d glimpsed her in the past when his and the fellow rookie’s paths had crossed. A pretty face, and an attractive figure that was shamelessly put on display in her wanted poster. A point he would acknowledge briefly on lonely nights, but no more than that. He was not one to be brought to his knees merely by a woman’s body. However, despite recognizing her, this was the first time she’d spoken to him. It had started as empty politeness on her part, which he’d responded to with an idle threat to her life. He had no time for pleasantries. Yet instead of cowering or even just leaving, she’d jutted out her hip and spat out a disrespectful retort. The woman was far bolder than she had any right to be. She didn’t even have the decency to fear him despite their clear gap in power! She was a normal woman with a distinctly non-combative role, while he was a powerful pirate captain and a Devil Fruit wielder!

She was as infuriating as her smug bastard of a captain. Had Marines not stumbled upon them, he would have gladly shown her their difference in strength before handing her over to Trafalgar in pieces. Or perhaps challenged the man to a fight and used his Straw Man technique, making her captain slaughter her in Hawkins’ place. That would serve them both right.

Inhaling deeply, Hawkins forced his face back into its usual stoic expression. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not some irritating woman. She was hardly worth his attention, much less his fury. Just a subordinate of one of his rivals. Nothing special. Her arrogance would get the better of her sooner or later.

He had no reason to concern himself with her fate, anyway. He had his own to consider.

Sitting down at his desk, he pulled out his deck of tarot cards. There was only one question on his mind – was his fate truly set in stone? Was his death 100% certain?

One hundred days. Ninety-nine identical card readings. This would be the last attempt, no matter the outcome.

He shuffled the cards for a solid ten minutes, though he acknowledged deep down he was merely stalling for time. It didn’t matter how he cut the deck – the cards would be drawn as they were meant to be.

With a sigh of acceptance, he gracefully slid the first card off of the top of the deck, setting it down on the surface of his mahogany desk face-up.

The High Priestess. This was…unusual. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn her. Yet there she was. She symbolized the divine feminine, sacred knowledge, and the subconscious mind.

Why did he draw her?

Brow furrowing, he set down the second card. The Tower reversed. Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster. Now that was far more positive than anything he’d drawn in months. Were his cards telling him he might have a chance to avoid his fate? He scarcely dared to hope.

His hand shook faintly as he pulled the last card. The Devil, also reversed. Releasing limiting beliefs, exploring dark thoughts, sexuality, and detachment. Quite the swerve from the past two cards.

He sat back in his chair, attempting to make sense of his reading. He felt as much confusion as he did relief. Three of the major arcana had been drawn, which was unusual. More than that, they implied a woman was involved. But whom? Could she really avert his fate? And where did the Devil come in?

“You don’t scare me, Hawkins. I’m from Joras. As far as I’m concerned, your spooky ass barely registers a 7/10 on my weird shit-o-meter.”

Ikkaku’s voice once more drifted through his skull, and this time he actually listened. Joras. She was from Joras. Of course he knew of that bleak, superstitious island. It was a land once known as Innsmouth before it had been heavily industrialized. A place of fog and darkness, full of stories that were fantastical and frightening. Dead bodies rising from their graves, plagues that drove people mad, ancient rituals and sacrifices that were used to gain favor from eldritch horrors that slept deep beneath the ocean waves.

It was a land Hawkins had often been accused of coming from himself, and while it was not true, he had always felt a sort of longing for it. He’d greedily read every bit of information he could get his hands on, enthralled by the twisted lore of the Old Ones. He’d always held a strong inclination toward the morbid and the supernatural, and though he’d concluded they were likely nothing more than stories, he’d still gladly taken a copy of the Necronomicon from a book seller who had attempted to sell it to him for an extortionate price. A book bound in human skin and written in mermaid blood made a lovely addition to his collection, regardless of the validity of the myths and rituals etched on their pages. He’d even taken the time to learn the language of Innsmouth so he could read and appreciate it properly.

His earlier irritations towards the woman shifted into intrigue. Now her lack of fear made sense, and his ego was soothed. It was rather hard to measure up to eldritch horrors, though he’d still be happy to give a demonstration of his powers to remind her that while they were stories, he was very much a reality.

More importantly, her appearance had broken his losing card streak. The cards had ceased predicting his failure to instead speak of her. There had to be a reason for that.

“Tell me more about this woman. Who is Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates?” he whispered to the deck, praying his cards might give him more insight.

They did not disappoint. First, he drew the Sun. Not that he needed the cards to tell him she was a woman of positivity, warmth, and vitality. The woman practically glowed with it, especially compared to her dark captain. Perhaps that was why Trafalgar kept her at his side. He could imagine many found her easy to like and were drawn to that warmth.

Nine of Swords reversed. Inner turmoil, deep-seated fears, and secrets. How interesting, considering the previous card. Perhaps she hid some insecurities beneath that sunny shell. A dark secret, perhaps? She was a subordinate of Trafalgar Law, after all. No one innocent would bear to be around that man, or if they did, they didn’t remain innocent for long. And she spoke so casually of being from an island renowned for twisted beliefs. People with happy, well-adjusted pasts didn’t become pirates. There was certainly more to Ikkaku than meets the eye.

Long, pale fingers set down the final card. The Star. It represented hope, faith, and purpose. Another card seldom associated with someone who sailed with a pirate crew. Stars were often used to guide the lost. To navigate vast, unforgiving seas and guide them to safety. But she was no navigator as far as he knew. That job belonged to the polar bear Mink. So why was it associated with her?

It was all quite interesting. He’d drawn two forms of light when he’d asked about Ikkaku. Very curious, especially for a pirate who willingly followed a man like the Surgeon of Death. Especially for a woman who came from such a bleak, oppressive island. Yet he could not deny that the cards suited her. It appeared despite the darkness that surrounded her, she kept a bright, almost blinding aura.

An old story tickled his brain. Most of the tales of the Old Ones he’d heard whispered throughout the North Blue, as they were common campfire stories and bedtime fables to scare the cowardly and superstitious. But the Necronomicon had told him tales he’d never come across before. Getting up, he strode quickly to his bookshelf to pull out that morbid tome. Flipping through the pages, he at last came upon the deity he was looking for.

The Creator Turtle. The sole being of light in the pantheon who existed to counterbalance the twisted and shadowy Old Ones. He had gifted the humans he’d vomited into existence with the lighthouse that sat upon Joras’ jagged cliffs. The story stated he’d given his chosen Light Keepers the power to stand against the darkness and alter reality with their belief. It claimed they’d willed a weakness into the otherwise unstoppable Old Ones’ reality.

Through pure belief, they’d found a way to make the impossible possible. To rewrite reality and fate.

A fantastical story? Most certainly. But his cards did not lie. They had shown her to him for a reason. Was she a Light Keeper? Were the legends true? Did such a power lay within the heart of such an ordinary woman?

Maybe, maybe not. Yet even if the stories were just fables, it was undeniable that Ikkaku was still a key player in avoiding his fate.

Hawkins hated jokes, and because of that, he was a man who seldom laughed. Yet the raspy sound of elation that escaped his mouth and throat could only be described as such.

At last. He had his answer. A way to cheat destiny. It was a 1% chance, but it was still a chance. An opportunity Hawkins would greedily grasp with both hands.

Being told ninety-nine times how you would die was enough to crack even “the Magician” Basil Hawkins’ mind, it seemed. And like a weed in a sidewalk, an idea sprouted and began to grow through that narrow opening.

“To think I considered killing you,” he chuckled, a twisted grin on his lips as he stroked the illustrated cheek of his High Priestess. The woman on the card even bore a stunning resemblance to Ikkaku, now that he looked closely. A warm smile and dark curls peeking out from beneath her veil. He found himself wondering what they would feel like between his fingers. He pictured them twisting like tentacles around his digits, her disrespectful tone now full of reverence as she gazed up at him with adoration.

Was he the Devil? Were the cards telling him he needed to release the beliefs he had and instead explore darker thoughts? Because oh, his thoughts were already straying into rather unsavory territory. If she was the key to diverting his path, he couldn’t simply let her galivant about with Trafalgar. No, he needed her at his side. He needed her to be utterly devoted to him. To believe in him enough that perhaps this fabled Light Keeper power could make him unkillable. Failing that, perhaps she could spill the secrets of the Old Ones. Tell him who might give him the knowledge and power to twist reality himself. Perhaps in exchange for a lovely sacrifice upon their limestone altar?

Even the more mundane option of her simply dying in his place to whichever Emperor he was unfortunate enough to cross was an acceptable outcome. Sometimes the best solution was the simplest.

But how to do this? Well, she was a woman. Were they not all slaves to love? Puppets pulled by the invisible strings of emotion? Surely, she was just as easy to manipulate. Hawkins simply needed to take advantage of that weakness. To seduce her and make her love him. Surely, that would not be difficult. The only real complication was her captain. He would be forced to either kill Trafalgar Law or manipulate Ikkaku into betraying him. The former would take cunning and force, while the latter would take subtle seduction and perfect timing.

And, well, if that failed, there was always old-fashioned kidnapping and torture. Even the strongest will could be broken with enough pain and creativity. And a man desperate to defy his fate was willing to commit atrocities a lesser man would balk at.

Plan taking shape in his mind, Hawkins opened his cabin door, calling out for his first mate. “Faust! Did you happen to see which way Trafalgar’s ship sailed?”

The cat Mink paused mid-step, surprised at the uncharacteristic grin on his captain’s face more than the question. Had he not been angry less than an hour before? “Trafal-nya’s ship? It seemed to be headed towards the next island, based on the log pose.”

“Excellent,” Hawkins purred, patting Faust’s head before heading towards the top deck. “Tell the helmsman to stay close, but not overtake them. We don’t want them thinking we’re following them.”

“We don’t?”

Blonde locks draped over Hawkins’ shoulder as he glanced over it. “No. Because we’re not following them. We’re following her.”

“‘Her’?”

“My High Priestess. The woman who will make me a god,” he replied before leaving a confused Mink with no further explanation. Not that one would have made sense to anyone but Hawkins. But he didn’t need his crew to understand. He just needed them to obey. To remain devoted, just as Ikkaku would be when he was through with her. She’d sealed her fate the moment she’d crossed his path. The cards had spoken. Light would succumb to darkness. The High Priestess would submit to the Devil. The Magician would become Pirate King.

Hawkins would not die. It was not his fate.

Deep beneath the waves, shadowy tendrils writhed as an ancient being laughed to itself, pleased that the seed of madness it had planted in the mortal’s fragile mind had taken root so perfectly.

[littlesweetchurro]

Frayed Nerves

Chapter Two

✨Summary: In the wake of the final battle, Hermione Granger is determined to restore Hogwarts. When she hears about a powerful restoration potion from a mysterious hag in Knockturn Alley, she takes a risky plunge. But after a magical mix-up leaves her and Viktor Krum with matching tattoos, they're forced to confront their growing feelings while searching for a way to reverse the potion’s effects.

✨Content: 18+ Loss of Virginity, NSFW

✨W.C: 2511

✨ Also on AO3

Viktor materialized with a crack, the familiar tug of Apparition pulling him back into the rolling grounds of Hogwarts. The Scottish air, crisp and tinged with magic, filled his lungs as he steadied himself. His eyes swept over Hogwarts.

He hadn’t seen the aftermath firsthand, the images in the newspaper had not done the wreckage justice. His manager had advised against coming, deeming it an unnecessary risk. “Focus on the upcoming season, Viktor,” the gruff old wizard had insisted, “Your place is on the pitch, not picking up rubble.”

But his manager didn't know what it was like. He didn't have his mind controlled by a manic, power-hungry wizard. A cold dread clawed at his insides. The memory of the Imperius Curse . The feeling of being a puppet, every move, every word, every thought controlled by another. He could see the image in his mind's eye: the dark wizard, a snake slithering around his neck, his voice echoing from the other's lips, spitting venom. 

His body wasn't his own. It was a vessel, a mere puppet controlled by a master puppeteer. Each breath, each step, each movement, was dictated by the cold, calculating mind of another. He'd been a weapon, a pawn in a game he couldn't understand, forced to perform acts he'd never dream of in his right mind.

“Mr Krum, how good of you to come.” The crisp, Scottish voice broke through his thoughts. "Thank you for coming. Your assistance is most appreciated."

Professor McGonagall – now Headmistress. Even the ever-stoic Headmistress seemed a bit worse for wear.  Her usually sharp robes were slightly askew, and a smudge of dirt marred her cheekbone.  But her eyes, those piercing green eyes, held the same fire.

“Headmistress,” Viktor nodded, bowing his head slightly.  “It is good to be back. I am sorry I could not be here sooner. Ve vere fighting the last vave of Death Eaters in Bulgaria."

His voice was low and measured, betraying none of the emotions beneath the surface. Shame. Regret. A desperate need to make amends. If he had been stronger, he wouldn't have attacked Fleur. If he had been stronger maybe Diggory would have lived. If he had been stronger maybe he would have prevented so many deaths back home.

The older witch's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Many of our allies were scattered during those final days, Mr Krum. What matters is that you're here now."

Viktor shook his head. His eyes drifted to the castle again, taking in the full extent of the damage.

"Vhere do you need me?"

McGonagall gestured towards the east wing. "The Charms corridor sustained heavy damage. Professor Flitwick could use your expertise in reinforcing the magical foundations. She pointed towards a cluster of students hauling what looked like enchanted tarpaulins.  “We could use your strength with those if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

“Of course not, Headmistress,” Viktor replied, already rolling up his sleeves. 

As he turned to head towards the Charms corridor, a bespectacled figure appeared in his path. Viktor nearly collided with Potter.

"Krum?" Potter stammered. "I, um, I didn't know you were coming."

Viktor straightened, studying the younger wizard. Potter looked older, wearier than he remembered.  Though, if Viktor were being honest, he probably couldn't think of a time when the boy didn't look…haunted.

"Potter," he replied. "I came to help."

"Oh, er, that's good."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Viktor searched for something to say, aware of their shared history – competitors turned allies, but not quite friends. Acquaintances at best. 

"Hov are you?" he finally asked, wincing internally.

Potter's shoulders relaxed slightly. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

Viktor shook his head. 

"How was it for you?" Potter asked, pushing up his glasses. "The war I mean."

Viktor studied Potter's face, noticing the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes.

"The var in Bulgaria vas difficult," he said slowly, weighing his words. " Many vere lost. But ve fought the Death Eaters for months, they did not stop." 

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he remembered the chaos, the destruction. Innocent lives were lost all because of one insane wizard.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Potter said quietly. "The fighting here was intense as well." 

Viktor gave a curt nod, not wanting to dwell on the horrors of the war. He had had enough of that. "And nov, I vill help here."

"Thank you," Potter replied, scratching the back of his neck."That is really nice of you. Hogwarts needs all the help it can get right now."

"I vill do vot I can, I vill be vorking vith Professor Flitvick."

"That's good, he's been needing another pair of hands."

“Have you, er...have you seen Hermione around at all?" asked Potter

Viktor's eyebrows shot up. "No, I haffe not seen her," he admitted. 

"Ah, well, right, I'm sure you'll see her soon. She's been busy—like always, but she's around."

Before Viktor could say anything, he noticed movement across the grounds. There she was, Hermione Granger, with her wild curls escaping her ponytail, looking as brilliant as ever.

A small smile appeared on Viktor's face. 

His smile faded when he saw Ron Weasley beside her, casually draping an arm over her shoulders. Memories of newspaper clippings about their new relationship flooded his mind.

He involuntarily scowled.

Of course, they are together now. It had only taken the Weasley boy literal years to realize the type of witch Hermione was. Viktor felt an unexpected pang in his chest and quickly suppressed the emotion. 

No. No. She was his friend and as his friend , he was going to support her. Even if it meant dealing with the annoying redhead.

Potter shifted awkwardly beside him, clearly noticing where Viktor's glowering gaze had landed. The bespectacled wizard opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say.

Viktor's gaze returned to Potter. "Is Her-my-oh-knee vith Veasley?" he asked flatly.

The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to smash his head against the wall. What an idiotic question.

Potter shifted from one foot to another."Er...well, you know..." he stammered, scrunching his nose. "Yeah, I think so, I mean yeah, they're...together. Seeing each other, I mean."

Why had he asked?

The confirmation, though expected, still stung more than Viktor cared to admit. She is a friend , he had to remind himself. Friends do not get jealous. 

An excruciatingly tense moment passed between the two wizards. Potter looked as though he wanted to say something else, but seemed utterly lost for words.

Finally, Viktor broke the silence. "I should go and find Professor Flitvick," he stated brusquely. "Thank you, Potter."

Well, that didn't go very smoothly. But what else could Viktor do? Standing there Potter looked as though he wanted to tell him how great his friends were doing now that they were dating, but there was no way Viktor would willingly listen to that.

Without waiting for a response, Viktor turned and walked away. As he crossed the grounds, he glanced back at Hermione one last time.

A small, wistful smile appeared on his lips. Despite the lingering ache, he felt happy for her. She deserved happiness after everything she had been through.

Maybe they would catch up later, as friends . For now, Viktor had work to do — work that would help him focus on restoring the castle he once called home, even if only for a short time.

Taking a deep breath, he quickened his pace toward the Charms corridor, pushing thoughts of Hermione out of his mind.

Viktor's fingers traced the spines of ancient tomes. The familiar scent of parchment and ink filled his nostrils and brought back memories of late-night study sessions and stolen glances across crowded tables. Of simpler times.

He'd always loved the Hogwarts library. It was the quietest place in the castle. Which was why he was here. Today had been so loud, the younger students hadn't stopped asking for autographs and Quidditch advice. 

He closed his eyes but snapped them open as a flash of movement passed by. Bushy brown hair, a stack of books teetering precariously. 

"Her-my-oh-nee?"

She whirled around, nearly dropping her tower of books. "Viktor? Viktor Krum is that you?"

"Da. Unless you knov of other Viktors."

Her brow furrowed as she continued to stare at him.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

He moved quickly, steadying the wobbling stack.

"Here," he offered

Their fingers brushed as he took the books. Her hands were soft. Friends could still appreciate the softness of the other's hands, right?

"Thank you," Hermione said, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "I didn't know you were here at Hogwarts."

Viktor shook his head, following her to a nearby table. "I got here in the morning. Professor McGonagall vrote for me."

"That's wonderful of you to come," Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. "We can certainly use all the help we can get."

Viktor couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her normally vibrant curls seemed limp and lifeless. Yet there was still this spark in her,  a fire in her eyes that he remembered all too well.

"How haff you been?" he asked, genuinely curious. "It has been a long time."

Hermione's smile faltered slightly. "It has, hasn't it? Well, I've been... managing, I suppose. Trying to keep busy with the restoration efforts."

Viktor shook his head.

"And you?" Hermione asked, her eyes searching his face. "How have you been?"

Viktor considered his answer carefully. How could he explain the nightmares that still plagued him? The guilt that gnawed at his insides?

"I haffe been vell."

Hermione's expression softened. "That's great Viktor."

An awkward silence fell between them. Viktor searched for something to say, anything to break the tension. Should he ask how long she and Weasley had been together? What happened after she left Fleur's party?

"So," he began, gesturing to the pile of books. "Vot are you vorking on?"

Hermione's eyes lit up, and Viktor felt a warmth spread through his chest. This was the Hermione he remembered – passionate, brilliant, always eager to learn. It was the same Hermione that had captured his attention those years ago.

"Oh! Well, I've been researching ancient restoration spells," she explained, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. "I think if we combine some of these older techniques with more modern charms, we might be able to accelerate the rebuilding process."

Viktor leaned in, genuinely intrigued. "Vot spells are you looking at?"

As Hermione launched into an explanation, Viktor found himself captivated. Not just by the subject matter, which was indeed interesting, but by her enthusiasm. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about. The slight furrow of her brow as she worked through a particularly complex idea. It was all her. Even after the years had passed by, he had never met a witch quite like her.

"...and if we can just figure out how to properly integrate the Fortification Charm with the Ancient Rune of Stability, I think we might be able to create a much stronger foundation for the castle's magical infrastructure," Hermione concluded, slightly out of breath.

"It is good idea. But vot of the potential magical interference?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Interference?"

"Vell, in my experience vith complex spell-veaving, mixing different magical traditions can sometimes create unexpected results."

He reached for one of the books, flipping it open to a diagram. "Look here," he said, pointing to an intricate series of runes. "These Ancient Norse symbols, they are powerful, yes. But they vere not meant to vork vith Latin-based incantations."

Hermione leaned in close, her brow furrowed in concentration. Viktor caught a whiff of her shampoo – something floral and light – and had to force himself to focus on the task at hand.

Friends definitely don't smell each other's hair.

Fuck, normal people didn't do that either.

"I see what you mean," Hermione said slowly. "But surely with the right calibrations."

"Maybe. But it vould take very precise calculations. One small mistake could unbalance everything."

Hermione bit her lip, a habit Viktor remembered all too well. A habit he had learned meant that she was deep in thought, and indeed, not flirting with him. 

"You might be right. But I still think it's worth exploring. The potential benefits could be enormous."

Viktor smiled. Her determination was admirable, even if he thought her approach might be a bit reckless.

"You haff not changed," he said softly. 

Hermione looked up at him, a mix of emotions flickering across her face. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked softly.

He wanted to tell her it was one of the things he'd always admired about her. That her brilliance, both internal and external, though it had been her mind specifically, that had drawn him to her in the first place. But he couldn't say that. He couldn't say that she had one of those rare smiles that feels like a ray of sun in the winter. He couldn't say that as her friend.

"It is vho you are," he said instead. "And it vill never be a bad thing."

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, and she quickly looked back down at the book. "Well, um, thank you. I suppose we should get back to work then?"

Viktor shook his head, ignoring the twinge of disappointment in his chest he had no right to feel. "Da."

Viktor watched her as they worked. Watched the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her fingers traced the lines of ancient runes. She still possessed that same captivating energy that had drawn him to her years ago. 

He noticed the way her eyelids drooped occasionally, and the slight tremor in her hand as she reached for a book. She was pushing herself too hard, he could see it. 

"Her-my-oh-knee," he said gently, "Maybe ve should take a break? You look like you are about to fall asleep on this scroll."

"No, no, I'm fine," she insisted. "We need to figure this out."

But as the minutes ticked by, her resolve seemed to waver. Her body, as if with a will of its own, began to lean against his. At first, it was just a slight pressure, her shoulder brushing against his arm. But then, slowly, she seemed to melt towards him, until her head was resting against his chest, her hair tickling his chin. 

Viktor froze. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. 

Indecent thoughts, thoughts that had no place in this library or anywhere for that matter, began to flit through his mind, a dangerous, alluring swarm. Images of her, her hair tumbling down her back, her lips parted in a silent gasp, flickered before his eyes.  He banished them as quickly as they arrived, but the lingering warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, was enough to set his pulse racing.

[gaearise]

remake spoiler stuff in tags hehehe

[bing-bang-bingo]

- 4x3: c. 40:00 Cas comforts Dean after Mary makes a deal w/ Azazel

- 4x7: 15:50 Dean stops Sam from shooting Cas, then Sam mentions that he’s “heard a lot about him”

- 4x7: 39:00 Cas tells Dean he prayed he’d save the town, then he tells him about his doubts and Deans future troubles

- 4x10 & ???: Dean calls “last night on Earth” his best line. He uses this line on Cas

- 4x10: 27:15 “Castiel has this weakness. He likes you.”

- 4x10: 32:50 Cas looking jealous and sad when Dean kisses Anna

- 4x16: 7:30 Cas tells Dean he got in trouble for showing emotion and getting to close to Dean. 8:20 “I would give anything not to have you do this”

- 4x16: 39:00 Cas warns Dean to be careful while Dean is in the hospital, they discuss the first seal and saving Dean from hell

- 4x18: 31:30 Cas tells Dean how to save Sam from Lilith even though he’s not allowed to interfere

- 4x20: 38:00 Deans face when Cas tells him he “learned his lesson when he was in heaven”

- 4x22: 30:40 Cas considers rebelling for Dean. 33:00 He does. 35:20 He fights multiple Archangels for Dean

- 5x1: 5:45 Dean denies Cas’ death 8:25 “I learned that from my friend Cas you son of a bitch”

- 5x1: 31:00 Cas saves Sam and Dean from Zach

- 5x3: 6:10 Cas-“I need your help because your the only one who will help me”

- 5x3: 10:20 Dean fixes Cas’ tie and jacket

- 5x4: 38:50 “Don’t Ever Change”

- 5x8: 38:20 Dean makes Gabriel bring Cas back, then makes sure he’s okay

- 5x13: ?:?? Cas won’t let Dean meet with Anna because it’s not safe

- 5x17: 30:30 Cas and Dean discuss what it’s like to have a deadbeat dad

- 5x18: 25:15 Cas kicks Deans ass for trying to sacrifice himself

- 5x21: 3:50 Cas and Dean bickering like and old married couple then Cas gives Dean a heartfelt apology.

- 6x17: 18:55 “No you’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trench coat who is in love with you.”

- 6x17: 38:00 Sam: “So you killed 50,000 people for us?” Cas: *looks at Dean*

- 6x19: 25:20 Bobby reassures Cas that they’ll be back soon, Cas acts like a worried and disappointed wife.

- 6x19: 36:25 Cas yelling “Dean!” when Eve bites him

- 6x19: 40:00 Dean is the only one who doesn’t think Cas is working with Crowley (he’s wrong but it’s sweet)

- 6x20: 4:50 Dean v v worried, “But Cas you’ll call right? If you get into real trouble?”

- 6:30 Crowley implies that Cas is distracted by Dean and tells him he reeks of the Impala.

- 7:20 Cas says that Dean taught him how to care and what to care about. Then Cas saves Sam (for Dean)

- 13:15 Cas says that the worst part of working with Crowley (basically his sworn natural enemy) is that it hurt Dean and that he hated lying to him.

- 25:20 Cas refuses to ask Dean for help because he has “sacrificed too much” even though it means Cas could die.

- 26:00 Crowley tells Cas he has a way for everyone to get a happy ending “with all possible entendres intended” while Cas stares longingly at Dean.

- 33:00 Dean is close to tears when he learns that Cas is working with Crowley, Cas says he did it to protect Dean.

- 35:25 “Dammit Cas we can fix this!” “Dean it’s not broken!” He then tells the boys to run from the demon cloud and Dean gives him the saddest look in the world before being forced to leave him behind.

- 38:00 Cas watches Dean sleep. “I’m doing this for you Dean. I’m doing this because of you!”

- 6x21: 22:40 “I do everything you ask. I always come when you call and I am your friend. Still despite your lack of faith in me and now your threats I’ve just saved you yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you?”

- 6x22: Dean to Cas- “Don’t make me lose you, too.”

- 7x2: 5:35 Dean nearly cries on screen when he thinks Cas is dead

- 7x17: Cas says “I remember ~you~” as soon as he regains his memories.

- 7x17: Cas ask why Dean didn’t tell him all the horrible things Cas did. Parallels the conversation Karen and Dean had about telling Bobby she remembered him killing her and her telling Dean that he had never been on love before.

- 7x21: The face Dean makes when he sees Cas again plus the prolonged eye contact when Cas says Deans name.

- 7x21: Hester telling Dean that when Cas first saved him from Hell he was lost- parallels- Lucifer/Jess saying she was dead the moment she met Sam.

- 7x23: 8:50 “Go ask him. He was your boyfriend first.” Meg to Dean about Cas

- 7x23: 32:45 “I’m sorry but I’d rather have you, cursed or not.”

- 7x23: 36:50 Cas steps in to protect Dean despite spending the whole season avoiding fighting and saying he won’t fight.

- 8x2: 25:00 Cas ran away to keep the Leviathans away from Dean. Dean refuses to leave purgatory without Cas.

- 8x7: 20:30 Deans reaction to seeing Cas all cleaned up.

- 8x7: Dean convinced himself that it was his fault Cas was still in purgatory because he’s a sweet idiot boy who hates himself

- 8x7: 35:00 The whole Dean and Cas conversation about purgatory and Cas doing stuff that puts him in danger.

- 8x8: 12:30 Cas just casually going through Deans stuff and Dean not saying anything.

- 8x8: 13:00 Cas offering to watch over Dean while he slept

- 8x8: 15:15 Dean talks to Cas about feelings and heaven even though Dean hates talking about feelings.

- 8x17: Cas fights Naomi’s mind control for Dean

- 8x23: 22:50 Dean and Cas sadly discuss Cas closing the doors of heaven and say goodbye

- 9x1: Dean prays to Cas and tells him he isn’t mad about the angels falling.

- 9x1: Cas’ first instinct is to explain himself to Dean then to come help him.

- 9x1: Dean begs Cas to “for once, look out for yourself.”

- 9x3: 36:45 Dean to Cas after Cas came back from the dead “Don’t you ever do that again!”

- 9x6: Literally just Dean trying desperately the whole episode to hang out with Cas

- 9x10: 26:00 Dean and Cas talk about how Cas is doing and Dean offers him a rare sincere apology. Plus the “I prefer the term ‘trusting’. Less dumb, less ass.” dialogue

- 9x18: Cas’ little smile when Dean makes a joke about Honor Bars and Cas is just so happy to hear his voice.

- 9x18: Metatron’s illusion of Gabriel calls Cas Dean’s boy-toy

- 9x18: Cas can tell something is wrong with Dean, then Cas yells at Dean about getting the Mark of Cain

- 9x22: Cas chooses Dean over all of Heaven once again

- 9x22: The Cas and Dean conversation about the three of them being enough when an army wasn’t and Cas giving up an army all for Dean

- 9x23: “I’m blaming you for taking Cas’ grace.”

- 10x1: 5:00 Cas about Dean- “I miss him.”

- 10x2: 9:00 Cas’ reaction to learning that Dean is a demon

- 10x3: The conversation between Dean and Cas at the end of the episode. “You look terrible” “You on the other hand, your looking good.”

- 10x5: Deans reaction to Cas and Dean actors hugging and holding hands

- 10x5: “Put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” *looks directly at fake Cas*

- 10x9: 15:00 Cas tells Dean he’s a good role model. Then asks him if he’s okay and when Dean lies and says he is he pushes it further. Dean makes Cas promise to kill him if he goes Dark

- 10x22: Dean and Cas fight and parallel Cain and his Wife.

- 10x23: Dean sees Cas’ bloody face in the mirror

- 11x1: Cas being more worried about Dean than himself even though Cas is under a spell that will kill him.

- 11x2: Dean calling Cas and stressing out when he doesn’t answer

- 11x3: Dean trying to coax Cas out of the attack dog spell, refusing to fight back when Cas was attacking, freaking out when Cas took a minute to wake up, refusing to let Cas heal him (because he “had it coming”), and refusing to let Cas apologize (because “there’s nothing to apologize for”).

- 11x10: “Dean, I came as soon as you called.” Also: “Stick your tongue out.” Dean-*does*

- 11x11: Dean realizing that something is wrong with Cas (while he is possessed by Lucifer)

- 11x11: Mildred says that Dean is pining for someone else(probably meant to be a reference to Amara, but she told him this after he had seen Cas for the first time in a few days.)

- 11x14: The sadness on Deans face when he realizes Cas is Lucifer and then his determination to save Cas

- 11x15: Dean getting kinda dark when he talks about what he’s willing to do to save Cas and he prioritizes saving Cas over bearing Amara.

- 11x17: Dean once again prioritizing saving Cas over saving the world. Sam reassuring Dean that they’ll save Cas (even though Dean didn’t say anything about what was upsetting him)

- 11x17: The camera zooming in on Dean after Michelle says that there is no normal after losing the man you love.

- 11x18: Dean refuses to put Lucifer in the cage or let him fight Amara while using Cas as his vessel.

- 11x18: The difference in the way Dean looks at Lucifer vs at Cas

- 11x18: Dean about Cas: “Lets go find that idiot and bring him home.”

- 11x19: Dean has been looking for leads non stop for a week since Amara took Cas

- 11x21: Amara uses Cas’s heart to find Dean, then shows Dean images of Cas beaten and bloodied to convince him to turn against Chuck

- 11x23: Dean’s face when he realizes Cas is back and Lucifer is gone.

- 11x23: Dean tells Cas he isn’t stupid and that he always helps

- 11x23: Cas: “Dean are you okay? How do you feel?”

- 11x23: Cas hugging Dean super tight before he goes off to die. Dean entrusting his life’s purpose (look after Sam) then thanking him for everything.

- 12x1: Cas seeing that Dean is alive and hugging him while his voice breaks.

- 12x1: Cas taking the job Dean have him very seriously

- 12x2: Dean adorably venting to Cas about his mommy-issues

- 12x3: Dean- “Morning sunshine want some coffee.” Cas- “No thank you.”

- 12x7: “Well at least I don’t look like a lumberjack.” They are such husbands

- 12x7: “Engaged in what Cas? killing you?”

- 12x8: Cas being so worried about what happened to Sam and DEAN that Kelly escaped.

- 12x9: Mary-“You left them!” Cas- *voice breaking* “Dean told me to go!” Also, just Cas looking so hard for them.

- 12x9: Cas blaming himself for Sam and Dean being taken

- 12x9 Cas knowing how long the boys have been gone down to the hour.

- 12x9: Cas’s voice and eyes when he hears Dean’s voice on the phone.

- 12x9: Cas killing Billie because “You mean too much to me” and “The world needs as many Winchesters as it can get.”

- 12x10: Poor Sam having to deal with Cas and Dean while they fight like an old married couple.

- 12x10: Dean immediately telling Ishim to go to hell when he insults Cas

- 12x10: Sam telling Dean to go to Cas when Dean thought Cas was in trouble

- 12x10: Cas immediately believing Dean about Ishim even though they’re mad at each other. Dean about to let Ishim kill him to save Cas.

- 12x10: Ishim comparing Dean and Cas’s relationship to Ishims relationship with his human lover, then saying he was going to cut Cas’s human weakness

- 12x11: “And Cas is my best friend.”

- 12x12: Dean about Cas- “My shy but devastatingly handsome friend here...”

- 12x12: Dean stressing out and voice breaking as he tries to comfort poisoned Cas

- 12x12: LITERALLY TOLD DEAN THAT HE LOVED HIM WHILE CAS WAS DYING

- 12x12: *looking at Dean* “I love you.” Then adds “I love all of you”

- 12x12: Cas- “Run.” Dean- “Cas, no.”

- 12x12: The look Dean gives Cas when he won’t stop staring at him after he’s healed.

- 12x14: Dean says some very harsh stuff to Mary after finding out the reason they Cas almost died at the lake house was because Mary was working for the British Men of Letters

- 12x15: Dean could tell something was up with Cas after talking to him for less than a minute, over the phone.

- 12x18: Sam trying to make Dean feel better about not hearing from Cas.

- 12x19: Dean literally always acting like a scorned wife when Cas comes back after long periods of time

- 12x19: Dean made Cas a mixtape

- 12x19: Cas- “I ~needed~ to came back here with a win for you.”

- 12x19: Cas- *gesturing between Dean and himself* “You mean... we?” Dean- “Yes, dumbass, we.”

- 12x23: Dean screaming for Cas when he attacks Lucifer and trying to chase after him forcing Sam to drag Dean back through the rift. A direct parallel to Dean pulling Sam away from Jess and the fire in Pilot

- 12x23: Dean kneeling next to Cas’s dead body looking up at the sky completely devastated.

- 13x1: Dean couldn’t bring himself to say dead when referring to Cas

- 13x1: Dean PRAYED to GOD to bring Cas back

- 13x1: “We just lost ~everything~. And now you’re gonna bring ~him~ back.”

- 13x1: Dean personally wrapping Cas’s body and giving him a hunters funeral.

- 13x1: The look of complete devastation on Dean’s face when he burns Cas’s body.

- 13x3: Dean refusing to help save Jack because he blames him for manipulating Cas and getting him killed.

- 13x4: The Empty to Cas: “I know what you love, what you fear. There is nothing for you back there.” He loves Dean and Cas fears that Dean doesn’t love him back.

- 13x5: Sam being worried about Dean who has given up all hope since Cas died.

- 13x5: Dean being so distressed thinking Cas is gone forever that he tries to kill himself

- 13x5: Dean seeing Cas alive again and they both have tears in their eyes.

- 13x6: Dean hugging Cas and saying he’s been gone for “too damn long”

- 13x6: Dean being immediately happier and nicer to everyone once Cas is back

- 13x6: Cas saying “Yes. Yes, he does” (in response to Jack saying Dean really likes cowboys) with the tone of an exhausted spouse.

- 13x6: “I told you, he’s an angry sleeper. Like a bear.”

- 13x6: Dean made Cas watch Tombstone with him.

- 13x6: Dean and Cas dresses like cowboy husbands.

- 13x6: Cas saying “I’m your huckleberry” to Dean in a deep accent and Dean looking away.

- 13x6: Their undercover names are Russel and Kilmer

- 13x14: The whole scene where Cas and Dean fight Gog/Magog and act like an old married couple.

- 13x14: The angry, dark look Cas gives Donatello when he tries to kill Dean

- 13x16: “Dean has him by the thigh!” Cas, jealously: “He ~what~?”

- 13x16: “and that includes the Cartwright twins.” Cas, again jealously: “what did you do with the Cartwright twins?”

- 13x19: Cas angrily confronting Naomi about forcing him to kill a bunch of Dean clones.

- 13x21: Cas secretly sliding Dean more pizza when Mary and Sam left the room.

- 13x21: Cas having to hold Dean back from going after Sam. Dean would have beat the shit out of anyone else who tried to stop him.

- 13x23: Cas trying to stop Dean from giving himself to Michael even if it meant losing Sam AND Jack

- 13x23: Cas sitting alone in the bum jet with tears in his eyes after Dean left

- 14x1: Demon: “How is it you lost Dean. I thought you two were joined at the... everything.”

- 14x1: Dean trying to save Cas from Lucifer then vs Cas trying to save Dean from Michael now

- 14x3: The look that Dean and Cas give each other when Dean comes home.

- 14x9: Cas almost being happy seeing Dean happy. And then having to force himself to not be happy so he doesn’t die.

- 14x12: Cas being phased at Dean for wanting to put himself in the box with Michael forever

- 14x14: Cas is the only Dean will let talk to him about Michael and be honest about how Dean feels

- 14x14: “No, it’s on us.”

- 14x14: Cas’s voice breaking when he talks about the possibility of Dean dying one day.

- 14x18: The pure self loathing in Cas’s eyes when he feels like he failed Dean by not telling him about Jack’s soul.

- 15x2: “You asked ‘what about all of this is real?’ We are.” THE MOST ROMANTIC LINE EVER. (Plus later Eileen and Sam have the same conversation but they get to kiss because homophobia)

- 15x9- 20:00 Dean said that they lost everyone they cared about, then added Cas specifically. Then he says “I had to bury him” not “we”

- 15x9- 23:00 Dean cries when he can’t find Cas. Then he prays to him and apologizes for letting him go. He falls to his knees praying to him and fully crying

- 15x12: “I created the world.” *shows Destiel*

- 15x15: This time when Dean sees Cas leaving the bunker, he stops him. (In reference to Cas saying “you didn’t stop me” when Dean got mad at him for leaving)

- 15x16: This is the the only version of Cas that rebelled for Dean. This universe is literally being saved repeatedly because of Cas’s love for Dean

- 15x18: CAS CONFESSES HIS LOVE TO DEAN then goes to mega hell for being gay

Anyway, Cas loves Dean and Dean LOVES HIM BACK, OKAY?!?!? Feel free to add more

[biconderoga]

Part 1: Here

Scenario: The death of Itadori hung over Y/N’s head at every waking moment. The circumstances were shrouded with mystery, and Y/N couldn’t do anything but carry on with a heavy heart. Minor Spoilers ⚠️ (Just briefly mentions the way Itadori was revealed to the first years).

Word Count: 2,069!! (My longest piece to date-)

“It’s me! The dearly departed Itadori!”

Megumi liked to think he could take a joke. He could handle teasing on his behalf. Gojou was relentless in that field, so it wasn’t a foreign experience for him. Years of dealing with the blindfolded sorcerer taught him to deal with sometimes tasteless jokes.

But this…this was the most distasteful joke he had ever seen. It left an incredibly bad taste in his mouth. He would rather chug curdled milk than deal with the spectacle that was playing out in front of him. His so called dead comrade was wheeled in by Gojou, and surprise surprise! He was alive and well.

Megumi closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a very deep breath. He opened his eyes again, and glared at Itadori. Itadori, sensing the tense atmosphere, feebly made jazz hands in hopes of alleviating the mood.

It did not work.

“So, um,” Itadori rubbed the back of his neck, and continued in a quiet rushed tone, “Sorry about not telling you I was alive and all...”

Nobara’s eye twitched at his apology while Megumi turned around to join the second years. The shikigami user didn’t have time to deal with this. The Goodwill Event currently took priority. Perhaps after it was done, Megumi could properly wrap his head around Itadori’s revival.

He didn’t know what to feel. If anything, he felt anger. Anger on Y/N’s behalf. How would she feel about Itadori’s return? She didn’t know how he died, and would especially not understand the fact he was alive. Megumi was not one for strong emotions, but the swelling of anger in his chest was too great to ignore.

“Oh? What’s got you so pissy, Megumi?” Maki leaned against the wall as she placed her head on the back of her hand, “You seem upset. Shouldn’t you be a bit more relieved about Itadori?”

Megumi silently huffed, “It’s nothing.”

Nobara, who was marginal to Maki, rolled her eyes, “Always so secretive.”

“You know you don’t have to keep visiting me…”

Megumi merely nodded at Y/N’s statement, “I know, but it’s only fair that I check up on you.”

Y/N groaned at his statement, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to babysit me. I may have been Itadori’s girlfriend, but I’m not nearly as rash as he was.”

He nodded once again. Megumi himself didn’t understand why he habitually returned to Y/N’s residence. She didn’t properly know him, and if anything she most likely associated him with Itadori’s death. He wouldn’t be surprised if Y/N was just being polite. She easily could’ve been putting up a facade as she silently seethed on the inside.

“You can say you hate me,” Megumi paused as he chose his next words, “You can kick me out if you want. I know you probably blame me for Itadori’s death, I know I blame myself.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Megumi ended his miniature spiel. She shook her head before she firmly placed her hands onto his shoulders, “We haven’t known each other for long, but Itadori did tell me you were strong. I’m not sure where your strength lies, but I do know it’s not your fault. Itadori’s stupid mistakes don’t have anything to do with you. If anything, I hate myself for not asking him more questions,” She lowly whistled, “and I would be lying if I said I didn’t blame Itadori. He was always doing the most, and never took a break.”

Itadori was right, Megumi did like Y/N. Despite the fact she knew absolutely nothing about the circumstances of his death, Y/N was still able to continue forward. She was hurting, but she still took her time to confirm her faith in Megumi.

“Before he…” The sorcerer paused and swallowed thickly, “…died. Itadori told me I would like you.”

Y/N weakly laughed, “And do you?”

“You’re nice…” Megumi smiled, “Itadori got lucky.”

With the goodwill event said and done, Megumi found himself back in his dorm. His blinds were shut, and he was curled beneath his covers as he nursed a headache. No matter the occasion, Megumi found himself injured…

A quiet knock resounded throughout his room followed with a weak, “Hello?”

Megumi shifted under his covers and huffed, “Who is it?”

Silence was heard before the voice mumbled,“Itadori.”

‘Ah,’ Megumi thought, ‘He’s alive’ Following all of the hustle and bustle of the festival, Itadori’s miraculous revival was the last thing on his mind. Megumi processed his answer. He liked his lips before he uttered a, “Come in.”

Itadori entered the room and stood awkwardly by the entrance. He rubbed the back of his head, before gathering the courage to speak. “I heard you made everyone the meatballs I taught you how to cook…”

“Yeah,” Megumi sat up, “Everyone liked it.” The black haired male scratched his head. Itadori was usually a straightforward and happy-go-lucky person, this tense small talk was beneath him. “What do you need Itadori?”

“Ah! Well-you seem distant? Are you still mad at me?”

Megumi shrugged and feigned indifference, “I was never mad. I’m just not used to dead people being revived.”

“Oh, true!” Itadori visibly calmed, “Well if your not mad, can I ask you something?”

Now there was the Itadori that Megumi knew, blunt and straight to the point. The male raised his eyebrow, a silent indicator for Itadori to continue.

“So um…about Y/N…” The vessel fiddled with his hands, “She’s probably real mad I went M.I.A without telling her. Especially, after going a two months without contact! Can you be my excuse? Like we can say we were on a surprise field trip in the middle of the country.”

Megumi sighed at Itadori’s rambling. It seemed to be an ongoing trend that he was the bearer of bad news. First, it was Itadori’s death to Y/N. And now, it was the fact Y/N now thought Itadori was dead. What was first an act of kindness on Megumi’s part was now a huge problem for Itadori.

“So whaddya say?”

“She thinks you’re dead,” Came Megumi’s blunt reply, “If you’re ever going to talk to her again, she deserves the truth. She isn’t going to blindly trust you after thinking you were dead. It’s the least she deserves.”

Itadori’s eyes widened into saucers, “Who told her? Gojou-sensei said no one would—“ He threw himself to the floor and rolled back and forth, “He said since she was a regular person no one would bother telling herrrrr.”

As Itadori continued his senseless bemoaning, Megumi took in a deep breath. The black-haired male rose from his bed and approached Itadori. He gently kicked his side (in a silent hope that it would shut him up) before he spoke, “I did.”

“You did? I thought you hated doing that type of thing.”

“I do,” Megumi rolled his eyes, “But it isn’t fair that she would’ve been waiting for a dead person to call her.”

“But I’m not dead!”

Megumi’s vein nearly popped out of his forehead, “Well I didn’t know dumbass!”

“Can you pass me the ginger paste?”

The male nodded as he foraged through Y/N’s fridge. Once found, he tossed it to her. The girl fumbled to catch it, and playfully glared at Megumi when she did.

“Did Itadori teach you how to make the meatballs?” Megumi queried, “He taught me how.”

“Yeah right, it was me who taught him.” Y/N kneaded the meat in the bowl, “He failed to mention that didn’t he?”

The stutter of the subway cart knocked Megumi out of his thoughts. To his right was Itadori, who appeared to be contemplating something. They exited the cart, and like many times before, they started on the familiar route to Y/N’s residence.

This current predicament eerily mirrored his first meeting with Y/N. Except this time, Megumi brought good news instead of bad news. Hopefully Y/N would take it well and not blow up in anger. She had every right to be angry, but Megumi had an inkling she would hear them out.

“Should I surprise her like I surprised you and Kugisaki?” Itadori pumped his fist, “She’ll probably swoon and fall into my arms! It’ll be super romantic!”

Megumi deadpanned, “I don’t think she’ll appreciate that.” Was Itadori truly that dense? Didn’t he see how Nobara reacted to his revival? He could only imagine how his actual girlfriend would react, “Didn’t you see how Kugisaki reacted?”

“True…” Itadori pouted and placed his hands on his hips, “She looked like this, and she kept glaring when I spoke.”

“I wonder why…” Megumi rolled his eyes at Itadori’s theatrics.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I suppose I should break it to her…” He ruffled his black locks, “Then when she’s ready you can come in.”

“Alright…”

With a nod, Itadori walked out of view. Megumi took a deep breath, before he knocked on the door.

“Where do you keep running off to? The second years keep nagging me whenever you skip training.” Nobara crossed her arms, while she tapped her foot on the ground as she waited for Megumi’s answer.

“To visit Y/N,” Came his short answer, “After I told her about Itadori’s death we exchanged numbers and kept in contact.”

“Oh…” Kugisaki murmured, “Tell her we should meet up sometime. Maki’s the only girl I’ve talked to on a regular basis,” She pinched her nose, “There’s too much testosterone here.”

“So…what is that you need?”

“Uh, can we sit down?”

“Right, ok...”

Megumi awkwardly trailed behind Y/N as she led him to her couch. He tugged at his uniform’s collar. Was his uniform always so stuffy? No, it was just the nerves. Megumi was at a lost about how to break the news. He wished it was as simple as watching a YouTube video titled ‘How to tell a girl their boyfriend isn’t dead!’. But alas, here he was, with a choked up expression painted on his face.

“What is it Megumi? You’re freaking me out.”

“Itadori isn’t dead.” Megumi truly needed to practice on his execution. His forward way of speaking could easily rub someone the wrong way. The poor guy couldn’t help it! His nerves always loosened his mouth. It wasn’t normal to just vomit information like that. His execution was so poor that he couldn’t help but internally cringe.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You’re joking. This has to be a sick joke.” She leaned back onto her couch, “Then again you’re not really one for jokes.”

Megumi slightly recoiled from her subtle insult. It may have been nothing malicious on Y/N’s part, but Megumi was still irked. He could tell a joke! Instead of pursuing the matter any further, he kept his mouth shut. It was inappropriate to complain now.

“I found out a couple of days ago. I would’ve told you sooner, but I was busy with school.” He started, “It would’ve been unfair of me to just tell you over the phone.”

“C-can I see him?” Y/N mumbled, “Is he here now?”

He nodded, “I’ll grab him for you.”

Within minutes, Itadori is ushered into Y/N’s living room. Megumi quietly excused himself as he was not keen on being caught up in a couple’s quarrel.

Itadori was uncharacteristically silent as he witnessed the tears falling from his partner’s eyes. Itadori’s arm slightly raised out to her, but he ultimately faltered. He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he was unsure if the situation called for it.

“Y/N please don’t cry—“

“Two months.” Y/N hiccuped, “Two months I thought you were dead. I got no explanation. I didn’t even get to see your body.” She tugged down her sleeve to wipe her eyes, “Megumi was the only person I could talk to. He couldn’t give me a reason, but he respected me enough to tell me.”

“I’ll explain everything to you, I swear.”

“You’re an asshole for this…you tell me you transferred to some fancy school, and then you die! This isn’t some drama Itadori, you better not have joined some cult!” As her tangent ended, Y/N stumbled over to Itadori and threw her arms around him, “Please trust me, tell me everything from the beginning.”

Itadori tightly returned the hug, and littered kisses on her forehead. Once done, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Of course. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“So you did join a cult.”

“Y/N I swear it’s not like that-“

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

Would it be to much to ask for a Eren scenario where both he and the reader are both equally toxic, manipulative and possessive over eachother but both just cannot let the other go to the point where even when they reunite when Eren escapes the survey corps he asks her to tell him if anyone else whether it was the army or the jeagerists, if they had touched her even if it was just to escort her which she just nods and refuses to tell him any names cuz she likes to see him riled up by her having been "corrupted" and seeing how with a single act she can have him on edge and he falls for her even more by her devious and selfish wiles to have him get irritated and angry but only to end up wanting more of her charms.

Just some good dark angtsy feels all around🖤

A/N: just a little drabble. i've never done canon-verse stuff for AOT so this was fun to try. thank you sending this ask. i did deviate from your ending a little bit so im sorry <3

Warning: AoT Season 4 Spoilers, extreme possessive behavior, toxic relationship, anger issues, gaslighting/manipulating

Eren can feel himself getting restless. Hange had been getting on his nerves. He was the literally the only reason they had secured their victory against Marley on multiple fronts. She and the rest of the fucking Survey Corps should be bending over backward in gratitude.

He cracks his knuckles although he had no need to, wanting to focus on a physical sensation. His thoughts eventually circle back to you. He misses you sorely.

In Marley, there was this kind child Falco. Eren could say he felt guilty for manipulating the poor boy. But that's not true. He's shed that part of humanity a long time ago. All's fair in war after all.

The fair-haired boy was worried about his friend, didn't want a certain special someone of his to become titanized.

Is this other candidate a girl?

Eren had asked. Because he could relate to the Marelyan child. There was a girl he was trying to protect too, who he'd raise hell over, who he'd destroy the world for.

The dark-haired boy can feel himself grow restless. There are a million things to do. Coups to start. Militia to gather. A brother to manipulate. A world to ruin.

But first, he needs to see you. It's already been so long. He had barked orders to Floch to make sure you were safe and secure. If any hair off your pretty little head was misplaced-well no one wants to witness the rage of the Founding Titan's holder.

CRASH

The ground shakes. Eren closes his eyes and lets the Warhammer titan's power course through his veins. Foolish to think any prison could ever hold him.

He's walking uphill. The sunset bathes the land in vibrant pinks, oranges, and light violets. There is a crowd of people standing tall and at attention, postures rigid, save for one.

You hurl towards him at the speed of light and twice the fury, wrapping your arms around his neck. If Eren wasn't six feet of hard muscle, he would have been knocked off his feet from the vigor of your crushing embrace.

"Eren!" You cry out.

The attack titan vessel is too shocked to respond. He's been anticipating your presence for the longest but to finally feel you in the flesh and to smell your soft pretty scent was sending him into overdrive. He couldn't believe you were tangible and not some hauntingly beautiful apparition.

He wraps his arms around you, enveloping your body in his warmth, and you rest your head in the crook of his neck. He feels your nimble fingers toying with his hair.

"I like this new look. It suits you." You mummer.

"Like me without a shirt too?" Eren teases.

He forgot how easy it was to be himself around you, to joke and laugh like he wasn't planning a global genocide of epic proportions. No, even that's an understatement. His goal was an omnicide, utter annihilation. Only Paradis will be left after the ashes settle. A Paradis with you.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask, eyes wide with an untouched innocence that Eren doesn't know how you still possess. All of that eager wide-eyed optimism had been snuffed out from all of his friends. From him. But you, you don't change like the seasons or winds. You're you.

And that was going to be his ruin.

After the Yeagerists brief him on what happened with Zackley and Zeke Yeager's possible whereabouts, Eren gives into his overwhelming urges to see you.

He approaches your chambers, trying to conceal his impatience with soft knocks. You don't answer which irritates him, so he knocks louder and louder, the sound of his fist banging against the door sounding like thunderclaps.

Where the fuck are you? Were you with someone right now? He knew you were getting a little too friendly with Floch from the way you guys were talking at dinner. It was so obvious. He's been gone, for what, a few months and you're already whor-

The door opens and exposes a sleepy-looking girl whose rubbing one of her eyes. Admittedly, very adorable.

"Eren" Your voice is saccharine, "Do you need anything?"

He lets himself in, and shuts the door behind him, locking it in place.

"I don't usually lock the door," You pout but there's a playfulness in your expression that Eren would have noticed had he not been consumed by rage.

"What? So you let anyone in?" He asks, nearly snarling out the words. as he stares scandalized at your slip of a nightgown. A pale translucent pink that reached the middle of your thighs. He could even make the outline of your nipples poking through.

"No, silly." You giggle, twirling the hem of your dress, "Floch's security measure." You pretended not to notice how Eren's fist clenches.

"Is that so?" Eren said, words spoken between gritted teeth. As long as Eren was here, there need be no concerns over security measures. But he knew Floch. The ginger worshipped the ground Eren walked on and would never make a move on you if he cared about his limbs staying intact.

You sat down on your bed and Eren couldn't help but watch your skimpy dress ride up your creamy thighs.

He stood over you, his form looming over yours as you sat on your bed, feet swinging above the ground.

"I wanted to ask you something."

You look up with those big childlike eyes, "Okay."

"Did. Anyone. Touch. You?" His voice is low and he punctuates each word slowly.

You blink "What do you mean?” But there’s a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Quit playing dumb." He growls, anger evident in the crease between his eyebrows.

You're quiet for a still moment, mouth opening and closing. Eren's anxiety increases more each second and it finally boils over when you softly ask, "What kind of touch?"

Like a chess piece topping over, he shoves you down the bed, pinning your wrists with his strong hands.

Usually, Eren was smarter. Quicker to call you on your tricks. But alas, absence makes the heart fonder. You love making him lose his stoic composure, so lost in his lust and desire for you that all he can see crimson. And if the price for that is to play the fragile maiden, it is what it is.

"Ow." You pitifully whine, lightly shaking your right hand. Eren knew he wasn't holding you too hard so he experimentally thumbs over a certain spot on your right wrist, eliciting another small whimper. He brings your wrist closer to him and finds a purple bruise.

"Who touched you? Was is it any of the yeagerists?" His voice is deadly calm but an ice-cold rage simmers in his eyes. You can feel yourself growing excited, heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. You’re rubbing your legs together for the friction but Eren assumes it a nervous tic to avoid answering any of his questions.

When you avert your gaze and simply look the side, he delicately cradles your cheek: “Was it the scouts?”

The delicate touch turns harsher when you don't respond, forcing your pretty head to look straight at him. He sees your eyes glistening, and when he looks into your dewy irises, he can see himself.

His voice drops a pitch, "Please tell me."

Your breathing is shallower and you can't help but enjoy this so much.

It's been so long since you've seen him-since you begged him not to go but he went anyway, and having him here right now--the pride and joy of the Eldian empire , the holder of the Founding Titan-unravel in your fingertips, well this was the closest to true power you've ever been.

Eren can feel his patience sleeping, anger seeping into his bones at your silence, and the bruise on your delicate wrist only serves to anger him further. He can't even do what he swore to do and that was to keep you safe.

"Are you not telling me who it is because you're protecting them?"

The words are delivered deadly calm with the tension of a brewing storm behind it. You're nervous, exactly aware of what your beau is capable of, but the excited kind of nervous where butterflies are swarming in your stomach.

Maybe you underestimated his anger because within a second, the telltale red lines start to form under his eyes, lightning bright sparks forming between each breath.

Without thinking, you envelop the back of his head with one arm (the other hand rendered useless bu the force of his hold), trying to bring his head into the softness your breasts.

Understanding your gesture, Eren immediately calms down and lets himself be smothered in your chest like a babe being cradled in his mother's warmth.

"There, there" you coo, words soft and melodious on your tongue.

You can feel wet-spots on your nightie, "Eren...are you-" you begin, not sure when to end.

His voice is tightly controlled as if not let his coiled emotions fuse again, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was about to hurt you." He sounds so broken, and all you can do is stroke his hair.

You press a kiss to his head. You know what the right words to say are. You should be comforting him and assuring him he could never hurt you.

Instead you stay silent, softly exhaling. He can't see the pleased smile on your face.

*

"Your wrist feeling any better?"

You whip up your head to see Floch whose peering down at you in slight concern. You must have looked confused because he elaborated, "The one you accidentally banged against the doorway. Looked like it hurt."

"Oh." You pause, looking down at the fresh set of finger shaper marks overtaking the fading violet.

You laugh airily, "Yeah it's alright."

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (1/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: Mature / Explicit (Lemon) 18+ Readers ONLY

Word Count: 3931

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link 

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy... all words that described Regulus Black's grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: Should be maybe 2-3 chapters. It’s a mini series! I’ve never even thought to write Regulus content so I hope this is good! I enjoyed writing it. I want him to go from cold pureblood quiet boy to a more “loving” person. I hope that translates in the next few chapters.

Enjoy

"(Y/n) Raynott will be your bride," Walburga says matter-a-factly. Having been used to his parents making decisions for him his entire life, Regulus doesn't argue with the announcement. The indifference he wears well masks the annoyance he feels.

"We will arrange for the ceremony to take place soon."

His eyes dart up to his mother, "I have not met miss Raynott."

Walburga waves her hand dismissively, "dear, that is not  necessary  for a wedding."

It sort of is , he thinks to himself. He doesn't dare vocalize his displeasure. Orion looks between the two, too disinterested in the whole affair to give his opinion. Hell, he probably had something to do with the match.

"You'll have plenty of time to acquaint yourself with your wife when you are married."

Regulus looks towards the parlor window. The sky is grey, with storms passing over since the morning. A perfect reflection of his mood.

***

Mother fusses over my dress. "You need to look presentable. The Black family is respectable; they want a proper young woman,  who has been raised as you have , to be the perfect wife for their son."

The sudden betrothal has me in a state of shock. I hadn't thought my parents would do this without my permission... without telling me! 

"We will solidify the engagement tonight and choose the date." Mother continues to prattle on. "Probably in the next months. How exciting, isn't it (y/n)?"

"Yes, ma'am."  Lies.

***

Regulus straightens his shirt collar in his bedroom mirror. Grey eyes stare back at him, devoid of emotion. 

It'll be fine.

"Regulus!" His mother's shrill voice echoes through the house, "come down this instant! The Raynott's will be here soon."

Regulus takes another look at himself in the mirror before making his way down to stand by his parents. His mother nitpicks his person for a minute before she restrains herself. Not pleased with him completely but satisfied enough to let it go for now.

A knock sounds on the door, causing Kreacher to make a mad dash to the door to greet the guests. The house-elf leads the family of three towards them.

The first glimpse of the woman he'll be tethered to… He could admit she was pretty. She probably was very pretty. All he could focus on is the anxious tightness of her lips.

***

Dinner is a quiet affair. I don't talk, not to Regulus, or my parents, or the couple who will soon be my in-laws. I don't know if I could talk if I tried.

Walburga and Orion look pleased. Probably enthralled to have picked out such a meek and obedient wife for their son.

Their son , who has stolen glances at me the entire dinner but hasn't let a word fall from his lips.  His rather shapely lips.

He was handsome; I could acknowledge that. Not that it helped in the situation I've found myself in. No, his good looks  did not  make me happy to be stuck with him.

"Have we thought about potential dates?" Orion asks, taking a sip of his wine.

Father looks at mother, "Possibly in the next few months--" Mother is interrupted by Mistress Black, who makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

"Nonsense. Next Tuesday will do just fine."

I nearly choke on my wine.  Next Tuesday?

"That could work as well," Father looks at me, "how does that sound, Sweetheart." I want to roll my eyes. How dare he call me some loving pet name as he was marrying me off.

"That-- It is fine." I look up at Regulus. Unreadable as ever.

"What do you think, Regulus?" Mistress Black turns her attention to her son.

Regulus glances my way, blinking slowly, "the sooner, the better."

**

Days fly by, finally arriving at the day he was to be married.

Married.

It didn't sound quite like it should be a word that describes him. Regulus never assumed his parents would find him a match at his age. Nearly twenty now, his parents had suddenly decided he had his fair share of bachelorhood. 

Orion had taken him to his first brothel at the age of seventeen, intentions being his son would learn the art of procreation early on and get any foolish actions out of the way. Some of his best and worst moments had been in his father's favorite whorehouse. 

Orion clearly believed his education in whoring should be satisfactory by now. The bloodline was to be his mission next.

'Mission' was harsh. He didn't want his wife to feel like the women he had slept with were in preparation for this match. He wasn't the perfect man, he could admit that, but the last thing he wanted to do was make this girl believe she was being used for his pleasure and creating the next heir.

There was truth in her being the vessel for his line, but he hoped she could see he did not intend on treating her like such. Regulus did not know (y/n), doubted he could ever love her,  even with time , but she was to be his wife. The next Mistress Black. She should be happy. If they could not share mutual happiness like a couple ought to, he would try to make her happy in  different  ways.

Merlin knew his presence alone would not make her happy. Regulus was a cold man; he didn't share sweet moments or loving smiles. He would never promise to kiss her goodnight or hold her hand in public. It just wasn't who he was. But he could try not to make her completely miserable. And he hoped that would be enough for (y/n). 

It would have to be enough.

***

I feel numb as I stand in front of the long mirror in the white dress I didn't want. It wasn't ugly; I just wasn't the one to choose it. Which fits perfectly with the day's mood. Wearing the dress I didn't pick to marry the man I didn't pick.

Poetry.

I sigh loudly as mother walks into the room. She squawks about how beautiful I look in the dress  she picked.

"Thank you," my voice is so quiet I can barely hear myself.

"Where is that veil..." mother searches around my packed things for the long organza veil. Finally, she locates it. 

"Come sit so I can place it in your hair. Hurry now. We're nearly late." I obey, sitting down on my bed so she can fuss with the damn veil.

"Perfect. Let's scurry now. It would be very embarrassing for me if we were late for your wedding."

Would it be mother? 

***

"Who is giving this woman to be married to this man?" The older wizard officiating looks to my father.

"Her mother and I do." Regulus doesn't show a pinch of emotion; his face as inscrutable as ever. 

When I had dreamed about this moment, I had imagined the man who was to be my husband would have shed a tear or at least smiled at me as I walked down the aisle... Regulus regards me like I'm a chore as he takes my hand from my father.

"The ceremony of pureblood marriage in which you come to be united in values is one of the first and oldest ceremonies of our kind. Marriage is a gift in that we give ourselves totally to one another. Marriage is a gift given to comfort the sorrows of life and to magnify life's joys." The wizard continues spewing lies of a happy marriage to come. 

"Pureblood marriage is that of traditions, where two families come together to strengthen our convictions. The ultimate union, a blending of blood." I grimace, happy the veil hid my face well. It gave me no joy to think of a  blending of blood  between Regulus and me.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," the wizard turns towards him, "Do you take this witch as your wife? Do you promise to provide for, protect her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." He says the words with such ease. The wizard turns to me, reciting the words once again.

I pause. Maybe longer than what is appropriate, surely an embarrassing pause compared to Regulus's swift one. His grey eyes stare into mine. He doesn't look angry or alarmed that I've taken nearly half a century to reply. 

"I do." The words slip from my lips. I stare back through the wall of organza between us. 

"Master Black, you may kiss your bride." 

Surprisingly, Regulus hesitates for a moment before he lifts the veil from my face. The kiss is nothing more than a quick brush of lips. His hand wraps around my wrist as he pulls away. Without appearing to drag me, he pulls us through the dining room doors away from the crowd.

Letting go of my wrist, Regulus sits down on one of the velvet couches of the parlor. From a decorative box, he plucks a cigarette, lighting it without a word to me. The drag of the cigarette is long, the smoke billowing from his lips, expanding throughout the room. 

I have half a mind to tell him to extinguish the cigarette at once. Instead, I walk to the other side of the room and sit on a different couch.

The feeling of his eyes on my person can't be ignored, but I cannot make myself meet his eye. I want to wallow away in my misery, if only for a moment. Long stretches of misery are what I expect most of all from this union.

"Come," he stands from the couch, beckoning me like a lap dog towards his awaiting arm. I frown but obey, seeing no other option at the moment. He'll be surprised when he tries this again when I'm not expected to be with him. 

Regulus pulls out something from his dress robes pocket. Taking my left hand in his, Regulus slides a purple jewel on my finger.

"What--?"

"A wedding present. From me."

I look down at the large jewel. It looks expensive.  Hell , it probably is expensive. It's a massive ring, for Merlin's sake.

I remember myself quickly, "thank you."

Regulus nods. "They'll be waiting."

***

Regulus sits on the bed, watching as I pace around, searching for my clothing and personal items. Where the hell did all of my stuff go?

I huff, hating that I must ask Regulus, "Where are my things?" 

"They have been appropriately placed in our room."

"Yes, but  appropriately placed where in the room ?"

Regulus looks at me for a moment. His eyes are cold as he stands, walking towards a door. I follow close behind, finding my clothing has all been hung within the large closet. He glances at me before walking away.

I exhale, beginning to rifle around my side of the expansive closet. I pick a nightdress from the large collection, intending to remove this ridiculous dress...

Damn it!

The only buttons I can successfully reach on the back of the bodice are the top two. There's at least a dozen down the back, and the last thing I want to do is ask for Regulus's help… but if I don't, I'll be trapped in this damned dress for the rest of eternity.

With nightgown in hand, I shyly walk back out into the bedroom. Regulus now stands near the lit fireplace, staring into the flames. He's still dressed in his wedding robes.

"Regulus," I say quietly. He turns towards my voice. The light from the flames flutters against his dark curls.

"Yes?"

My face scrunches up. I hate to do this. "Can you help me? With the buttons, that is?" I turn my back towards him, waiting.

His feet make the lightest of noise against the wooden floor as he approaches me. "You'll need to move your hair." Slender fingers lightly touch my neck as he gathers my hair. I oblige, moving my hair out of the way as his nimble fingers loosen me from this trap of a dress.

When his task is complete, he doesn't move away. Instead, Regulus stays put, his breath fanning gently over my naked shoulders.

He stinks of cigarettes, and I wonder if he had somehow snuck another when I was occupied in the closet.

"Did you smoke?"

He's quiet for a moment before chuckling softly. "I did." 

I would have maybe pestered him about the habit, but I'm so caught off guard by his laughter. 

"Do you not like that?" He whispers in my ear. 

Turning around does nothing for my flustered state as I end up nearly nose to nose with Regulus. He doesn't move, his eyes never leaving mine.

Finally, I find my words, "no."

"No?"

"No, I do not like that you smoke."

He studies me, eyes flickering across my face. I find myself wanting to know what he's thinking. His face betrays nothing.

I don't know what to do with this, his body so close, eyes glued to my face. It unnerves me the way he hasn't said a thing back.

"Regulus..." his name comes out as barely a whisper.

Suddenly, Regulus is leaning in closer. There's no time to react before he's kissing me tenderly. It's not much more than the kiss we shared in obligation earlier, but now his fingers caress my neck and jaw. I get lost in the kiss, my body unconsciously pressing in closer to his. 

"Regulus--" I sigh as he presses kisses down my throat, his fingers beginning to move my sleeves off of my shoulders.

His nose brushes against mine before he mutters a low, "come." 

The nightdress in my hand drops to the floor, forgotten as my body seems to move by its own volition. Willingly letting him situate me on the bed has me in perfect shock. Only a few soft touches and gentle kisses have me so pliant under his touch.

"Do you want this?" he asks curiously, moving ever so slightly away from me.

I pause, unsure. I'm certainly attracted to him. I would be a fool to deny that. And... well, there's the pressure from this sort of relationship to complete the bond of marriage. In pureblood marriages, an extra spell was placed upon the couple specifically to encourage coupling. It was meant to bring a couple together, an artificial sort of attraction. The bond only strengthened with intimacy. Most couples liked to complete the initial bond on their wedding night because it gave a stable foundation for something  like love  to blossom from arranged marriages.

I stare up into his cold eyes, "yes."

"You're sure?" 

I nod. Deep down, a girlish fantasy still burns within me. That this artificial attraction that was placed upon us will grow into something other than comfortable civility.  I wanted Regulus to love me . I want to love him back in turn. I didn't wish to live in civility with children and an overbearing mother-in-law. I wanted romantic, passionate love. I wanted his glacial eyes to thaw. Wanted those eyes to be filled with warmth  specifically for me.

Regulus kisses my neck again, his fingers moving down the front of my dress.

"Can I?" His eyes flit up to mine. Fingers move across the neckline of my dress. 

I feel dizzy as I nod. Regulus gently pulls me up to a sitting position, moving the dress up and off my body. I want to cover myself up as he inspects my naked body.

"Don't cover yourself," his tone is alarmingly smooth. He seems to notice the way my eyes widen at his words. He rephrases himself, "please do not cover yourself."

"Are you going to get undressed?" I ask, trying to figure out where to put my arms.

A small smile jumps on his lips. He almost looks amused. I squirm as he begins to loosen the silk scarf from his neck. 

Slowly, he strips out of the rest of his clothing. Before I can get a good look at his physique, he's moved back onto the bed.

"Have you done this before?" He leans down, whispering into my ear.

My mouth opens and closes slowly before I shake my head. No, I had not. But, what was he expecting? Of course, I hadn't. No one like us--  like me  would even dream of this before this specific moment. Like Mother had said,  I was raised for this life. 

He stares down at me for an unnervingly long beat. Much too long for my liking before leaning in to kiss me. The kiss is deeper this time and full of something  more  than the last two we had shared. Courage comes over me, and I tangle my fingers in his curly hair. A low moan escapes his lips as he moves to press open-mouthed kisses to my neck.

His hand moves down my body, stopping to cup my breast. My fingers grip his shoulders as I press up against his palm.

Pupils blown wide, Regulus pulls away to situate between my legs. His long delicate fingers run across my skin, spreading my legs further.

Trying to breathe normally and push the sudden embarrassment that comes over, I focus on his face, ignoring the light brush of his fingers as they move up my inner thigh.

"It's going to hurt a little bit." His thumb moves slowly against my clit, as he watches my face with interest.

"What are you doing?" 

"Getting you ready for me." He gives me a small smile.

I frown, turning my face away from him again.

"Don't be that way," he gently moves my face back towards him, "there's no need to be embarrassed with me."

"I have no idea what I'm doing." Admitting this shouldn't make me so... self-conscious.

He looks amused, "I'll keep that in mind."

Regulus presses my knees closer to my chest. Maintaining eye contact, he presses kisses down my abdomen to my thighs. 

"Relax, (y/n)."

"Regulus--" I squirm as Regulus's thumb moves from my clit, dipping into my sex. 

"Relax." Regulus replaces his thumb with his finger, slowly easing it in to his knuckle. 

He watches my face as he moves his finger gently, "how does that feel?"

"Odd."

I catch his smile before it disappears from his face.

"Not exactly what I wanted you to say" He presses a kiss to my clit before lightly sucking. 

"Oh!" My fingers find his hair again. I hadn't expected this to feel good...  for me , at least.

A second finger joins the first as Regulus continues to please me with his mouth. 

It feels like electricity flowing through my veins. Small jolts pulse through my nerves with each swipe of his tongue or movement of his thumb. I want to close my legs, the feeling becoming too much too quickly. 

"No," he moves my thigh back towards the comforter.

"But--"

"No." Regulus continues the dance of his tongue against my sensitive clit, his grey eyes locking with mine as I writhed under the hypnotic movement of his mouth on me.

The pleasure crashes over me in waves. My fingers dig into his hair, pushing his mouth closer. My fingers relax as the aftershocks take over. I feel like I'm melting into the bed, satisfied and pulsing with dull electricity.

Regulus sits up, leaning over my body. His right-hand plants down by my head, his left moving my leg up towards his waist.

"Are you ready?" 

Suddenly, I'm shy again. I nod.

"I need you to tell me you are ready, (y/n)." His hand smoothes over my upper thigh as he waits for me to give consent.

"Yes, I am ready."

Regulus nods, hand pumping his cock slowly, "I'll be gentle, as gentle as possible." 

I stare up at Regulus, watching him focus as he brushes the head of his cock against my slit before pressing in slowly.

"Relax. The pain will subside in a moment. Relax." His voice is surprisingly gentle as his thumb brushes the sun under my eye, moving down my cheek. 

As he continues to press into me, I try to do as he asks. 

Regulus bottoms out, his eyes staying glued to mine. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of something in those grey eyes. 

I open my lips to say something, but the words don't come. His eyes flicker to my lips. Slowly, he leans down, kissing me tenderly. 

"You can touch me if you want," he whispers. His nose brushes against mine as his hips begin to move.

"I--" I inhale shakily as he presses forwards, "Where?"

"Anywhere you want to. I don't mind." He continues to watch my face as I reach for his hair.

"Do you actually like this?" I laugh, raking my fingers through his curls. 

He huffs out his own version of a chuckle before replying, "I do."

"Oh--" I was expecting him to tell me I was giving him a headache with all the hairpulling. 

He continues the slow pace of his hips rocking against mine, watching my face.

"What are you looking at?" I ask quietly.

"You." 

I squirm uncomfortably. "Well... don't?"

Regulus stops, "don't look at you when we're doing this?"

"You're making me self-conscious!" 

He rolls his eyes, " I'm inside of you.  There's no room to be self-conscious."

"That..." I frown, "does not make me feel any less self-conscious."

I wiggle, sitting up slightly on my forearms. I look down where he's buried deep inside of me.

Regulus sighs, "There's no reason to feel self-conscious with me."

"But--"

"No." Regulus stops me from rambling on, "no more talking unless you want me to stop or you want something specific from me. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Good," Regulus looks like he's collecting his thoughts before he restarts his pace. "Touch yourself."

"What?" 

"Touch yourself," he presses his lips against mine, "touch your clit."

Hesitantly, I move my hand between our bodies.

"Just like that. Trust me."

My fingers press against my sensitive clit. I shudder beneath him, feeling overwhelmed by the push and pull of his cock as I press deeper against the nerves.

I look up at him, "Will you kiss me again?"

Regulus doesn't give me an answer, leaning in to kiss me hungrily as he chases his release.

Without warning, he moves my hand out of the way, replacing it with his own, more skilled digits. 

"Cum for me," the snap of his hips quickens as his fingers move rapidly. My world shatters as I cum for the second time tonight.

"Fuck." He buries his face in my neck as he releases.

I feel lightheaded as he rolls away from me. Slowly, I turn my head to look at him. His hair's splayed across the pillow, jaw relaxed as he catches his breath. I study his side profile with interest.

The question sits at the tip of my tongue. What happens next? He hasn't tried to... cast anything, a charm to end the chances of a pregnancy. Unless this was his plan?

"What... what about the possibility of a baby?"

"Don't worry about it."

"But there's a possibility, or maybe you wanted--"

"No," with a flick of his wrist, Regulus stops any chance of that.

I turn my body towards him, "are you tired?"

Regulus glances over, "Yes. I am."

***

He holds her as she falls asleep. It's nice, he supposes.

But dangerous.

It couldn't hurt to hold her when she's sleeping. He just can't let her catch him holding her when she wakes up.

She can't get the wrong idea about their relationship.

[bugsyfics]

Hey! Can I please request prompt#38 with undertaker, prompt #4 with Sebastian,and prompt #47 for ciel please?Thank you!!

A/N: Hii! Thank you for the lovely requests <3

Tw: mention of overdose/suicide

Undertaker

Prompt: #38

It was of pretense your true love would be yours forever. In fact, whenever that shimmer in your eye faded after every ‘I love you,’ he spoke against your apprehension.

“Stay with me,” Undertaker would mumble into the crook of your neck.

Though your heart skipped a beat every single time he uttered those words, you couldn’t help but feel heartbroken.

It was loss. It made you afraid and vulnerable; it broke your trust in those who cherished you down to each vessel within their beating heart. But one thing you couldn’t decipher was whether you were more weary of loss or of love. Love always seemed to betray you with those untimely tragedies, so the words that your partner spoke never failed to tear you to pieces.

You knew of the consequences of your actions. Simply you would leave in ignominy and be shunned by your bitch of a mother. Though you still remained uncertain how your lover would take it all. Sure he was happy-go-lucky, but that was all a facade. Underneath, there lied a fragile soul, easily crushed by the barbarity of this world. The world he claimed to have failed himself and his dearest friends, then you.

Perhaps, it was the chemist to blame or Undertaker's lack of warning, but the lazy smile that lingered on your ashen face made it clear you were fond of your choice.

As the glass prescription bottle clattered to the floor out of your weak hand, you watched Undertaker catch you. His mouth hung open a bit, grabbing at your pale face.

Your body went limp in Undertaker’s arms.

Free. You felt closer to yourself than you had all those years of living. Closer to your self. And though you knew this feeling wouldn’t last, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore of the suffocating darkness “love” had sucked out of your essence. You finally found the beauty of it —your longing grew stronger for your heart’s desire.

Just as you were enveloped in ear-splitting silence, an ethereal bliss washed over you. You came to your senses.

Your eyes opened, only your darling in sight.

Undertaker shook his head with a shallow laugh, brushing wisps of hair away from your face.

“God, you’re so annoying,” he exhaled, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

“But I can stay with you forever.”

Now the color of chartreuse, your eyes danced over Undertaker’s, bright with a similar glow.

Sebastian Michaelis

Prompt: #4

Silky black fur and oh so perfect paws, you have!

Sebastian couldn’t help but admire such a beautiful creature. He was fascinated with how the feline’s limber body took each step without a care. Those pleasant, soft purrs against his chest nearly melted the man. Poor Y/N, she watched as her partner gave more attention to the old cat rather than herself. Jesus, she was jealous over nothing, but that didn’t stop her from spying on the strange interaction.

“I love you far more than anything in this world,” Sebastian cooed softly atop the cat’s head.

You scoffed. He is beyond smitten of that thing over me!

Creeping back behind the bushes, it was best for you to leave before you were caught.

“Darling?”

Oh no, of course he could sense you there. Popping your head past the hedge, you were summoned to him.

With a little attitude, your lip jutted out and arms crossed.

“You love it more than me, huh?”

“Yes,” Sebastian smiled, “cats are simply more superior beings than humans after all.”

“Seb! You’re so mean,” you whined, stamping your foot like a child. A faint smile tugged at your lips.

Quickly, he stood sitting the cat down, and embraced you with a soft hum. “It was a joke, dear. I swear.”

Surprising Sebastian, you giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. “Oh, I know!”

In amusement, Sebastian stroked his chin. “You know, I’ll never understand how you can switch emotions with such ease. You’re an interesting one, my love.”

Ciel Phantomhive

Prompt: #47

“I didn’t mean to... Ciel, you know that.”

The earl exhaled, a shallow laugh fell from his parted lips. The Darjeeling tea in his cup, sat for a while during your heated argument, so when he finally took a sip he cringed at the coolness of it. He couldn’t complain too much, he needed that quick drink to suppress his distaste.

The earl spoke, “I can’t take you seriously —you disappoint me. How did you think I would accept something like that? You think telling my adversaries where my ships are docked is the proper way to get ‘even?’”

Too upset to continue, Ciel shook his head and pushed his teacup aside. He mumbled to himself and grabbed for a pen and paper to take a few notes. You couldn’t read what he wrote from where you sat, but you knew it wasn’t good. Finally, he set the pen down and glared back up at you.

“Y/N—”

“Shut your mouth! You must be a fool to not realize that what I did was imperative. My God, Ciel! You forced me to choose between you and my dreams,” you scoffed.

“And, and, what was I supposed to tell those men, knowing that you pissed me off?” you hissed.

Ciel slammed his cup of tea, rattling the chinaware, and pointed a finger at you. “Would you for once, stop being a bitch?!”

You froze, unable to believe that he would call you such a name. Ciel realized what he said and how terrible he sounded, talking to a woman he was courting that way, and covered his open mouth. His eyes wide.

Standing, you threw your kerchief to the ground.

“I will stay at the townhouse for a while… Until you get your act together and learn how to speak to a lady, there won’t be any further communication. It’s up to you to fix this mess.”

You motioned to the butler, ordering him to pack your belongings. That afternoon you left for London.

— bugs

Taglist: @second-weeb-chick @master-of-schadenfreude

[morganas-pendragons]

Long Story Short (I Survived) | Din Djarin

Okay, I apparently write for Din now. This is set after It’s A Long Way Down and will feature the same Grey!Jedi reader, I am done with finals and am intending to write a fic between this one and the first one for Chapter 13! 

i forgot that din took his helmet off in the first fic i wrote for him, so we’re going to call this - another separate instance in which reader could have seen helmet less din  - and change one saber to two 

if you’d like to be added to tags for when I write for din, please let me know! until then... 

@earthtokace / @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ / @kyber-queen / @kaikai1324 / @snippy-tano / @fractiouskat​ / @doctorsteeb​

SPOILERS FOR THE BELIEVER 

Din is staring down at the Imperial console when he feels it creep up upon him. It’s a niggling fear, one that sinks deep down into the pit of his stomach and very nearly disappears - which gives him hope that it’ll just dissipate and die - until realization smacks him right back into reality. 

  “You’ll have to take your helmet off.” 

He’d felt this same emotion when IG-11 had coerced him into taking his helmet off when he’d been injured. It had felt the same, affected him the same, paralyzed him the same. 

Panic. It’s panic. 

The last time he’d done this had been out of necessity, out of fear, and that had been the only reason he’d survived. He’d broken The Creed to save his own life and of those who had been with him when the Moff attacked. Now, staring at this console, the life of his son is at stake if he doesn’t take this helmet off. 

Din whispers into the corners of his frightened mind. I’m scared. 

You had accompanied Mayfeld and Din as the third party (since Boba and Fennec had Cara) and had displayed skill in aiding him with the bands of pirates who had attacked their transport of Rhydonium. His mind was still spinning with the sheer speed in which you had spun those lightsabers. He didn’t think a person could move that fast. 

Around the corner and turned away from Din, you allow yourself to feel the whispers of The Force encircling your mind - the newly acquired bond you’d somehow formed with Din since having seen Ahsoka - and whispered in reply I know. A beat of silence passes before you continue. Remember who you’re doing this for. 

In the moment that Din’s fear threatens to overtake him, you send waves of comfort and assurance through your Bond in the Force - which shouldn’t exist to begin with, it’s not that easy to create bonds with a non-force sensitive -  to coax him into doing what needs to be done. Your eyes are turned. Your focus is on Mayfeld and the dozens of Imperial Officers who surround you. 

As he removes his helmet, Din remembers. He remembers your boundless laughter playing with The Child. He remembers the way his son beams at you, the way he falls asleep on specific words of lullabies because that’s always the precise moment your voice goes just soft enough that he feels as if he needs no more comfort. Din remembers the way you’d watched on in silence, quietly mourning a relationship that had yet to reach its peak, and how breathless you’d appeared - and overjoyed, he still hasn’t recovered from the sudden hug you gave him upon return to the Razor Crest - when he’d brought Grogu back inside after Ahsoka claimed he could not be trained. 

Remember who you’re doing this for.

Maker help anyone who dared to cross him when his child, his son - the one attachment he has not verbally acknowledged yet, but everyone else has, including you - is the one in danger. When you are the one in danger.

Maker help them.

You are not anticipating what comes next. 

This was supposed to be easy. Get in, get the coordinates for the cruiser, and get out. Mayfeld had mentioned to you after Din had entered the mess hall that he’d need to take his helmet off in order to access the terminal, and on instinct you had turned away from the mess to survey the crowd around you. 

Your lightsabers - now meshed together into the staff slung across your back - lay comfortably and within reach as dozens of Imperial troops brush past you and congratulate both you and Mayfeld on being the only transport to bring back the Rhydonium. 

  “Trooper? Hey, trooper!” 

Mayfeld’s hand shoots out before you can protest, and your head is whipping back just enough to ensure that Din hasn’t been found out. “No.” Mayfeld murmurs, shaking his head. “Not yet.” 

You’re not focused on him. You’re focused on the dark hair that frames the very visible head of the same man you’d resigned yourself to falling in love with. 

His helmet is off. 

Dread curls itself in your veins as you and the former Imperial turn to the mess hall. You’ve managed to respect Din’s wishes in refraining from both seeing his face - and using his name, you’re only allowed to do that in private - since you met, but circumstances have ruined the reverential act he would’ve saved for marriage. That was when he’d had removed his helmet to allow you to see him. 

The thing is though.. You’ve always seen him. You don’t need to see his face to know Din Djarin’s heart, and his heart lays with you and that baby. The one he’s fighting to get back. 

  “No, son. What’s your TK number?” 

Lucky for you, you’d been alive during The Clone Wars. You can worm yourself and him out of this situation fairly easily. 

  “This is our Commanding Officer TK-593, and First Officer TK-616, sir.” Mayfeld slaps your back as the two of you enter the mess hall and flank either side of Din. You cannot bring yourself to look at him head on. It would not be fair, not in the midst of the pure fear that’s coursing through his mind. 

I’m right here. You whisper into the heart of the fear that plagues him, fingers idly tracing the inside of his hand as you stare the Imperial Officer down. As expected, Din visibly relaxes at the gentle trace of your fingertips against his palm. We’re surviving. 

  “I am Imperial Combat Assault Transport TK-111, sir.” Mayfeld continues, folding his hands over each other as he stands at relaxed parade rest at Din’s side. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak up to him a little bit since his vessel lost pressure in Taanab.” 

This gives you the brilliant idea of conversing with Din in Tusken sign, something he’d been adamant to teach you after your excursion on Tatooine. 

  “She’s our interpreter. We call her Whip.’’

While Mayfeld guides the conversation with the officer, you and Din are easing into talking in Tusken about however many ways this can go wrong, but then he changes the topic to something you’re not quite ready to acknowledge. 

You can look at me, you know. He signs, hands frantic as he tries and fails to find your eyes. You value him - and his heart - far too much to be the first person he knows to have seen his face.

No. You shake your head. I can’t. 

And you don’t. You only look at his side profile for the remainder of that trip, refusing to allow yourself the satisfaction of being the one person he cared about that has seen his face. Seen him. 

Like I said. You don’t need to see Din Djarin’s face to see him. 

*** 

Din is almost positive he’s ready to accept how he feels about you. 

The minute Mayfeld shoots that officer in the chest, you spring into action and whip that staff off your back - disengaging the lock that holds the two lightsabers together - and the world explodes in a flurry of blue as you perform the sword and shield method he’s seen you do flawlessly at least five times now. 

You don’t look at him even after you’re back in Slave One. He and Cara have escorted Mayfeld back to the surface of the planet, and it’s just you and Fett in the cockpit. Despite the clone and bounty hunter being so much older then you, there’s something oddly comforting knowing you’re sitting next to has suffered as much as you have. If not more. 

Long story short, we both survived. 

  “You know, I’ve been with you a grand total of a day and I can already see it in your eyes, Whip.” The nickname Mayfeld had come up with in the facility has already made its rounds on the ship, and Boba feels it’s more then appropriate for the first Jedi he’s met since the kids who put him in the Sarlacc to begin with. Being inside of that thing had mellowed him out. He had accepted his life for what it was now. Oddly enough.. Boba Fett is at peace. “You’re lovesick for the Mandalorian.” 

  “Boba-” 

The older man, one who mirrored what you’d always envisioned the clones - may Maker rest their souls - to look like as they aged, removed his helmet to look at you. “Take it from someone who knows. He gets you. You get him.” Boba turned his gaze back towards the ramp of Slave One where Din was talking in low voices with Cara. “Wish I’d had a jeti like you who saw me despite the armor.” 

He stopped speaking after that.  

Taking a deep breath, you descend from the cockpit just as Slave One takes off again, the coordinates for Moff Gideon’s cruiser inputted into the navi-computer. Fennec and Cara move by you to join Boba in the cockpit which leaves you and Din alone in the cargo bay. 

It’s deadly silent. 

Ner jeti. He whispers. You can hear his thoughts as clear as you hear your own. Why will you not look at me? 

Your eyes slam shut as his fingers curl around your hips. You cannot do this to him, no matter how much you want to - no matter how much you desire to finally kiss those lips you’ve dreamt idly about so many times - because here’s the truth of it: You have suffered, parts of you have died, everything you have ever known has died, you have lost everything and didn’t even try to save those on the other end of those attachments you’d formed... but something, something good, put you right here. Right here in this moment with Din Djarin mere moments before plunging into the subject of your night terrors after months of being tormented by nightmares of your fellow Jedi being tortured by the Empire for simply existing. 

And quite frankly, there’s no one else you’d rather take that plunge with. 

That fact terrifies you. 

  “I can’t look at you, Din.” You whisper. “I can’t look at you because then that would be breaking your Creed for me... and I can’t let you do that when the baby hasn’t even seen your face yet-” 

  “Oh, believe me.” A clunk echoes in the cargo-bay as the beskar falls from his hands. Your heart stops and your breath catches in your throat as you tremble beneath his grasps, eyes still closed as he steps into the curve of your body - chest to your back - and lowers his entire head to your shoulder. “I intend for him to.” 

Din lays a kiss at the nape of your neck. Maker... he’s real. Your head starts spinning as his kiss ascends right to the shell of your ear, in which he then whispers, “Open your eyes, Sarad.” and it’s such an intimate act on the behalf of someone who has not known love until you and the baby showed up that you can’t not open your eyes. 

When you turn around, your world is enveloped in a mirage of onyx. Brown eyes. 

  “Din-” Din chuckles at your obvious reluctance because he is absolutely terrified to let you see him, the real him, vulnerable and waiting and desperate for the same acceptance. 

  “I told you my name way earlier then I ever anticipated I would.” He begins, taking your hands in his own to lay them against his cheeks. It has been so long since he allowed himself to accept touch, to accept that people in the galaxy were still gentle, that he trembles when your warmth seeps into his skin. “After what Bo-Katan told me and what Mayfeld kept saying in the transport... I’ve done alot of thinking recently, and I’m coming to the conclusion that maybe the way I was raised was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with taking the helmet off.” He exhales on a shaky breath and turns his face to kiss the inside of your hand. “But then again.. I’ve always wanted to around you.” 

Your voice is small as you ask, “Why?” 

  “Because you’ve always seen me.” Din replies. “Despite the armor and the helmet, you’ve always seen me for who I was. You saw me as a father for the-” He swallows the knot in his throat and leans inward until you are a hairs breath apart, forehead resting against yours as he pulls your body into his own. “As a father for our child. Not just as a bounty hunter, but as a man. A man I could never see myself as. When you came around, I stopped surviving. I started living.” He snorted sharply through his nose. “I almost forgot what that felt like.. I think you pulled me back right before I forgot entirely.” 

He’s so grateful. It’s hard to live feeling like you’re a ghost. 

Din tests the waters of this desire radiating from you both by applying just the barest amount of pressure of his mouth on yours. As to be expected, your entire body quakes at the contact and it takes all his physical control to not allow his spinning head to make his knees give out and send him falling on the floor. 

Oh.. he could get used to this. Used to this feeling.

He’s felt this before.

Joy. 

  “That’s the thing.” Inward, outward, forward and back again, you slowly allow yourself to succumb to Din’s kiss and grip his face in your hands just a little bit tighter. “I’ve always seen you.” You pull away just enough to force your eyes open, and then you are graced with the face of the man you love. You do. You love him, and you’ve accepted it. Kriffing Boba Fett. “And you know what? I thought I’d died before I met you. I never thought I’d make it here, much less be with you.. and I am so lucky.” There it is then, that breathless smile Din has pressed the sight of twice now into his memories, that presses itself into your aspect as the two of you look at each other. 

  “Why are you lucky?” 

You wink and shrug. ‘’Long story short?” You muse. “It’s a good thing I survived.”

Little to Din’s knowledge as he plunges into the mystery of his growing love for you - his flower, the one who made him bloom - that when he kisses you again, your eyes are wide open the entire time. 

There’s never been quite so beautiful a sight as somebody who’s survived. 

bonus: i am thinking about how beautiful pedro pascal was in this episode 

[hannahstarshade]

R I S E

It's that time of year again. The weather is getting colder and we all want to snuggle up under some blankets and watch something comforting to distract us from the hellfire surrounding us. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles will always be a comfort franchise to me. In recent years, the 2018 animated series Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles has risen to the top of my list of go-to’s. I can't remember the last time I felt this kind of wholesome energy from a bunch of fictional characters. This particular iteration of the turtles hits home. So yeah. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was great and here’s why. Please be warned, there will be a few spoilers ahead.

CHARACTERS

In every iteration of TMNT, the characters are what matter the most. The four brothers are the focal point. Their experiences and interactions with the world are key. This is by far the most loving family dynamic I’ve seen with Turtles. They act as teenagers would, and not in a “boys will be boys” kind of way. They have their moments of stupidity and insightfulness. They are aware of what they do, but still have much to learn. I also appreciate that April is a part of the family from the get-go. There aren’t any episodes that show her acclimating to the idea of mutants. She’s their ride-or-die in the first few minutes all the way through the finale. Another thing this show has going for it is Splinter. He comes across as uncaring and washed up until we learn about his backstory. I’ve said it before, but his influence on the brothers is paramount. The rogue’s galley is more reminiscent of a villain of the week style show, with a few stand-outs that drive the more plot heavy episodes. Before being introduced to Shredder, the biggest threat is Baron Draxum. He is brand new to the canon, and is just campy enough to fit into this universe. Also don’t even get me started on Big Mama, aka the literal definition of gaslight gatekeep girlboss. I like this show’s version of Shredder. He is by far the most intimidating and the most powerful. This makes the turtles’ numerous defeats and final victory all the more impactful and satisfying. 

STORYTELLING

Most of the episodes are split in half into segments. These run about eleven minutes each, and are full of the typical wacky crazy adventures you’d expect the teens to get into. Returning a rented movie, trying on fashionable clothes, competing for the best bedroom in the lair, and more, all lead to hijinks aplenty. While these episodes have a few elements that link together in the grand scheme of things, they can be enjoyed on their own as short romps. The more plot driven episodes take up the whole twenty-two minutes or so. As someone who has difficulty paying attention sometimes, this set up is perfect for both binging and casual watching. I can take breaks and feel like I didn’t miss something vital, or I can view everything all at once and watch the threads weave together. The story itself feels both familiar and brand new to the Turtle canon. After nearly four decades, we all probably know the lore. Four turtle brothers are trained by their rat father to defeat the evil Shredder and save the world from various national and intergalactic threats. What makes Rise stand out is the fantasy elements and the emotional beats. Baron Draxum is the main threat for a long time, as he attempts to take over the Hidden City and the surface world by amassing power from Big Mama and the Foot Clan. Instead of being a present figure, Shredder is in literal pieces. His vessel has to be constructed to bring him to life. Despite the fun times, there is a constant looming fear that Shredder will return, and the turtles are none the wiser until it’s too late. As this is happening, the turtles are still coming into their own as they train to master their mystical weapons. Splinter, on the other hand, must face the past he has been running from. When they do encounter Shredder, it feels earned. They then have to shift gears and save the world from a demon’s wrath. Draxum has a change of heart, Splinter comes to terms with his mutation related trauma, and the turtles and April band together as a family to save the day. While simplistic on paper, it works with this show’s particular format.

ANIMATION & DESIGN

There was a lot of initial criticism directed towards the animation. Some saw it as too bouncy or thought characters like Splinter were too ugly. Personally, I loved it all. Each character is designed with their personality in mind. Raph is the bulkiest of the turtles, lending to a more direct bruiser approach to fighting. He is also the biggest softy of them all with a lot of love to give. In contrast, Leo is smaller and able to move through fights with ease. Just as he dodges blows, he dodges his responsibilities. The animation itself is quick and clean. Because this series leans more towards light-heartedness, this makes the exaggerated expressions and movements all the more effective. This also means fight sequences are spectacular to watch. The most noteworthy are the no-weapons fight against the rogue gallery, Splinter vs Draxum, and all fights against the Shredder. If you know, you know. If you don’t know, please go watch them. You will not be disappointed. The colors are rich and vibrant in every scene, working to set the mood throughout the entire story. The two main settings are the bustling metropolis of New York and the mystifying Hidden City underneath. They both feel alive and well populated. We are constantly introduced to side characters and reminded that the Mad Dogs (the main characters) are constantly surrounded. We empathize with their discomfort in New York and their awe in Hidden City. Coming off the heels of a series where New York consisted of roughly twenty people, this makes for extremely important world building. As we draw closer to the series finale, the destruction of New York and the disappearance of its residents makes the situation feel all the more dire. 

BREAKING THE MOLD

Rise had a lot going against it, but it’s biggest downfall was the lack of marketing and promotion. I fully believe the reason it began airing on Nicktoons so quickly was because Nickelodeon panicked over the reactions of long time fans. The turtles had different roles, there would be more fantasy elements than sci-fi ones, the main antagonist was brand new. I’d argue all of these elements are what make the show fantastic. The world the writers and animators created was a breath of fresh air. Making Raphael the leader of the group lent itself to a completely different dynamic we have never seen before. Leaning more into the fantasy genre opened up a completely different world with brand new stories and characters. Focusing on different villains made the build up to the Shredder all the more exciting and suspenseful. A lot of hard work and dedication went into making this show what it became. Way back when I ranked every iteration of TMNT we’ve seen over the past 37 years, I ranked Rise as third best based on only a few episodes. After seeing the show in full, I'd say it’s earned it. There’s something incredibly endearing about this show. It did not deserve to be pushed to the wayside like it did by the Nickelodeon executives. While I feel it would have reached it’s full potential had the series been produced in full, despite the rushed finale, the show we got was phenomenal. My only hope is that the movie doesn’t get stalled and captures the same vibes as the series. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles truly managed to transcend what a traditional TMNT show could be. These turtles did what they promised: they rose above the rest.

[klbwriting]

Pirate’s Heart - Chapter 1

Perfect Color, or Not

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Warning: so this chapter is pretty dark, Kaz’s backstory is dark and there is suggestion of sexual assault but it is not described

Song: Perfect Color - Safety Suit

Taglist: @sixofshadowandbone @thedelusionreaderbitch @itsemy01 @angelicdanvers @marinettepotterandplagg @screen-to-stage @aysegust @sagewrites111 @lilyoflower @hey-peeps @starjane312 @spawn0fsatan @myalupinblack��

Yellow nice to meet you

Do you know that you just blue my mind?

It was the perfect conversation, I think that I red about one time

And I told a white lie when I told you, I've never been green with envy you

You are the perfect color

 The song would not get out of Y/N's head and she hated it.  Pekka sang it to her about her tail all the time.  And she hated Pekka Rollins.  Well hated him as much as she could without a heart.  Why was she thinking so much anyway?  Wasn't she sleeping?  Why was she moving and why did she hear voices?  She groaned, eyes slowly opening to see two teenage girls standing above her.  They were gazing at her with curious eyes and she tried to wipe her own eyes, only to find her wrists were tied to the table she was laying on.  

"She's awake Nina," she said a girl with bronze skin and dark hair.  

"I can see that Inej," the other girl, creamy white skin with brown hair and freckles.  Nina was light eyed while Inej had dark eyes, and both girls were fourteen, maybe fifteen years old.  How long had she been asleep?  It couldn't have been that long, she didn't feel any older.  She turned her head, finding a mirror on a table nearby and seeing that she didn't look older, only dirty.  

"Where am I?" she asked.  She knew she was on a boat, she could feel the sea moving them, but how did she get there?  She was in the jungle before, bleeding, stabbed where her heart should have been.

“You’re on the Menagerie,” the one called Nina said. Inej tried to shush her and Y/N could hear footsteps nearby.  

“What have you girls brought me?” a beautiful blond woman asked, entering the room.  She was dressed in fine silks with an intricate peacock feather tattoo on her face, making her look almost like an animal herself.   Y/N felt a very strange pang of fear, dulled by her lack of heart, but she felt it enough to worry about this woman.

“Tante Heleen, we found her in the jungle when we were hunting,” Inej explained, her eyes downcast.   Y/N was fast learning that this woman was not to be trifled with, but she didn’t care.  She wanted out of these bindings and she would do what she needed to survive.  

“My, my, she is filthy, we will have to clean her up, get me the sponge and some water,” she demanded.  Nina did as asked, and Heleen started to clean her face.  “Not particularly special in the face, homely and plain.  Face too round for most men…eyes are dark but not special, lips are too pale will need color,” the woman continued, cleaning down her body and commenting on everything.  Breasts were too small, stomach too round, hips too wide, legs… She stopped at her legs, staring in shock as the bright scales that still dotted her thighs. They were remnants of her tail in case she ever got it back.  Heleen demanded Inej get a message out at the port for the commander, they had something special for him.

“What is it Tante?” Inej asked.  The look Heleen sent her made Inej run.   Y/N was becoming very aware of how this ship worked.  Heleen was a captain of some kind of pleasure vessel and all these poor young girls were stuck here attending to the men who paid for them.   Y/N was disgusted, and she could see from the look on the woman’s face that she was going to be the centerpiece of some kind of show for this commander. Like hell she would have another man touch her without her permission.   Y/N looked around the room and realized she would need to wait for her time to arrive.  She started to pretend to be scared, her acting not very good, it had been a long time since she’d been around anyone and Heleen saw right through it.

“O now, I see, you’re fearless are you?” she asked, a snake like smile on her face.  “Well, let’s get you dressed and shackled.  The commander will want us to report back to Argoes immediately.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed.  Like hell she was going anywhere near Argoes, not when Pekka was going to probably be there.  She would bide her time, wait for a moment to strike.   Y/N may have been a lovestruck mermaid but she was also a rare tail, trained to defend herself.  She knew things were different with legs but her upper body defensive maneuvers should be the same.  

Heleen had her hands shackled and took her to a room full of clothes, dresses in bright colors, silk, and lace.  Nina had followed, listening as the captain listed items for her to retrieve.  While they were distracted by clothes Y/N slid a hat pin into her hand, starting to work the cuffs.  Humans learned many things about mermaids and nearly none of them were true.  The idea that they were stupid, unable to function at the same level mentally as humans, they were underestimating Y/N right now and she was pleased.  

The child, Nina approached her, getting her dressed. Y/N saw the girl look at the hat pin, saw the shackles were no longer together and instead of outing her the girl said nothing.   Y/N smiled, she would let the girl live whenever she killed Heleen.  She wasn’t a monster, at least, she didn’t think she was. Heartless or not she wasn’t going to kill a child who was clearly being used by adults for terrible things.  

“Let me cut this string…” Nina said, moving to a dressing table and taking a pair of scissors and moving back to Y/N.  She cut a pretend string and slid the scissors into the sleeve of the dress she wore.  Their eyes met and an understanding crossed between them.   Y/N would kill Heleen, take this ship, and then she would take care of these children.  No more powerful men were going to use these babies for their own pleasure again.  

Heleen took her above, walked her to the side of the ship.   Y/N looked around, all the crew, everyone, was a child except for one man who seemed to be the muscle on this craft. All young girls of various ages, some as young as 7.   Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she looked in the eyes of some of them, their eyes were much older than they should have been.  She looked at Nina and motioned for her to fall back a little bit. Nina took two steps back and sat down on the deck.  Heleen turned to face the mermaid as she stood, pointing to the island in the distance.

“Now, when we arrive at Argoes…” she didn’t finish her statement. Y/N sunk the scissors into Heleen’s eye, digging in as deep as she could.  She pulled them back out, feeling the blood on her face but not letting the warmth distract her.  As soon she killed Heleen the man came storming over, lumbering a large. Good.   Y/N ducked down, sliding under him and kicking out her leg.  He ran into it, nearly snapping it in half as he faltered, trying to balance.  For a moment she thought he would regain his footing and come for her but then Inej and Nina came out of nowhere and pushed him, sending him toppling over the side of the ship and into the sea.   Y/N stood up, rubbing her knee as she leaned to the rail of the ship.  

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that…” she started.  Nina and Inej just shrugged and the rest of the girls on the ship looked at her.  She felt her soul ache for these children and realized maybe her soul could harness strong emotions, but it still didn’t feel completely real, still dulled by her lack of heart.  O well, she would protect these children, make them into a force a nature, show the world that they were more than just a body to warm a bed.  

“Come on, let’s push her over,” Inej said so some of the older girls, moving to Heleen’s body.   Y/N held out an arm.  

“No, you are children, you shouldn’t be disposing of dead bodies, you shouldn’t even be touching them,” she said.  “Get the ship ready, we are sailing for any port except Argoes.” She struggled but finally tossed Heleen’s body to the sea.  Turning she sought out Inej.

“Inej love, did you send that message like Heleen asked?” Y/N asked, gently touching the girl’s face.  Inej shook her head.  “Good. Now, you and Nina are my first mates alright?  So, where have you always wanted to go?”

  Kaz Rietveld didn’t know how long he had been on that boat in the middle of the ocean.  He didn’t know what day it was, what time, all he knew was that he was starving and so very thirsty.  Sitting in all this water was making it worse.  He had tried seawater, even knowing that it would do nothing but make him sick, but he had been desperate.  God, is this how he died?  15 years old and in the middle of the cursed ocean.  Fucking hell.  He should have just let his uncle know he was alive when he had the chance, but instead he had hid, never wanting to go back to that horrid fortress.  But instead, he was just going to die here.  O well, what really was his life worth anyway, crippled leg from a botched escape with his brother when he was 11 and now, well now he was broken entirely.  He knew that the moment they got on that boat, but he had gone anyway.  

He was laying down, ready to die, when the water moved, waves hitting the boat harder than before.  He sat up and looked seeing a pirate vessel flying the black colors approaching.  He knew this was his only chance.  Kaz could die in this boat or he could try his best at getting on that boat.  He waved his arms, screaming at the top of his voice.  He thought they were just going to pass but then a rope ladder was dropped down the side as they pulled up next to him.  He scrambled up the ladder and dropped on the deck, panting.  

“Water…please…” he begged.  The men around him smiled, looking like they had found a present. One of the men handed him a cup and he drank before spitting out the burning drink.  Whiskey, not water.  The pirates laughed at him and he saw a few cabin boys standing by, looking fearful of him. No, not of him, for him.  Kaz realized that he may have escaped one prison and wound up in another.  The spirit of the sea witches clearly wanted revenge on his entire family.  Taking his parents before he could remember them wasn’t enough, claiming his brother wasn’t enough, now he was stuck here. Fine.  If the sea wanted a war, he would give it one.  

For the first six months of his time aboard the Crow he was a cabin boy, but just in name.  Truly he was whatever the other men wanted him to be.  He was relieved when they brought aboard women for a week or two when he could just be a normal cabin boy.  Unless the women liked him too.  He noticed the two other cabin boys clung to each other, Jesper and Wylan, keeping each other as safe as they could.  One of the crew, an honorable ex-navy captain named Matthias also tried his best to protect them.  He often would give sleeping drafts to the crew to give the boys a night to themselves, but even he could only do so much.  

Kaz waited, biding his time until the captain himself wanted a visit. Then he put the plan he had with Jesper, Wylan, and Matthias into action.  

         Matthias put the poison in the crews dinner, which they ate at 6PM before moving to do night work on the vessel.  They were all dead before 6:30.  The captain ate his dinner at 7PM so Wylan stayed in his cabin, distracting him by being a bumbling fool and getting a severe punishment for it.  Kaz would have felt bad but he didn’t know if he was capable of feeless anymore.  Jesper brought dinner to the captain and helped a bloody Wylan out of the cabin. Kaz slid in as they left and stood, watching the captain as he ate his meal.  

         “Come here boy, I want a better look at you, want to see what all the fuss among the crew is about,” he said.  Kaz swallowed the sick in his throat and approached, letting the captain touch him, roughly feeling his hands on him.  Then the coughing started and Kaz let out a breath of relief.  The captain clutched his throat as his airways closed and soon he was dead at Kaz’s feet.  

         With the help of the others Kaz had the crew overboard and they headed towards a port far from Argoes to gather a new crew using the money the captain had stashed in a vault in his office.  The four of them argued over who would be captain but Kaz won out, being the only one truly willing to kill for the title.  He decided that as soon as he got to port it was time to reinvent himself. Kaz Rietveld was no more.  It was time to take a new name and become something else.

[hes-writer]

Trial (4)

Summary: harry and y/n face the truth

Warnings: angst, a tiny bit of fluff

Word Count: 4249 words

A/N: thank you so much for supporting this series !! @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. I will do the taglist later in the day :)

EDIT: idk why the ‘read more’ is not working. I apologize for the scrolling!!

Part 4 of the Tarnish series!

___

Harry was crying.

Admitting his feelings when he was younger was quite a task for him. Now that he was nearly in his thirties, the journey of being vulnerable with himself and with his feelings became easier with each emotion that he permitted himself to submerge in. Harry validated those emotions--he was allowed to experience them because it makes him human. It added texture to the ever-growing mosaic that painted who he was as an individual. Adding to the people that surrounded him, influenced by their kind-nature and the goodness of their heart to become who he was now.

And now, it seemed like his emotions increased tenfold. The clench of his abdomen and the harsh jolt of his chest forced his slouched shoulder to stay deflated. His breathing hitched as sobs threatened to take over, throat sore with the effort to keep it all in because Harry was smart enough to know that these emotions coursing through him right now were ones he wasn’t validated to feel. Paired with the latest information that that little girl being held by another man was his own daughter--and that the woman who was glowing with her caring, motherly-instincts was supposed to be his family; it broke him completely. 

Quaking thoughts circled his brain and punctured his muscles as if they were attacking him not only mentally, but physically as well in exchange for his past mistakes that he couldn’t quite place if he deeply regretted or not. Was it a mistake to cheat on Y/N? To leave her alone in the exposure of the public eye while she was carrying his child in her tummy? 

Harry should have known the day she fell sick and vomited in their kitchen sink. He was, sadly, too busy throwing a subdued celebration of finally having time alone with Camille. He should have noticed the way her face brightened with radiance. Or the way her cravings for strawberries and pickles either grossed her out or completely compelled her to consume more than she usually would. 

But Harry guessed that that was around the time his efforts went out the window because he didn’t have to pretend to care as much anymore. Camille appeared to be his one and only. With their relationship coming so close to being revealed and Y/N having one foot out the door, Harry let fate play out the rest. Don’t get him wrong, Harry still loved Camille; that was why his slashed heart still throbbed at the sight of her watching over her little cousin, yet knowing that the topic of children was still not a card on the table. 

The distress that he was feeling right now was core-shredding, heartbreaking grief that left a hole in his heart. The worst part was that Harry didn’t exactly know how to fix it or whether he even could. As he walked to his car with hands jammed into his pockets, he was grateful that the hood of his sweater hid his face and the tears sliding down the slope of his cheeks.

His senses were in overdrive, figuring out how to fix the mess he created. Wanting to run up to Y/N and ask her why she didn’t tell him, needing to feel his little girl in his arms. Pinching his skin to transfer the pain he felt in his heart because of the thought that he missed his baby’s first words, her first steps. Was it ‘dada’ that babbled out of her mouth? Did she reach out for Connor when she stumbled over nothing when she walked on stubby legs? Did Y/N mention his name to her?

“Harry!” 

He kept on walking despite the hushed call of his name, assuming that it was a fan that caught sight of him and wanted a picture. Harry adores them, but now is hardly the time to fake a smile or act like his life didn’t just flash right before his eyes--quite literally. 

The vehicle beeped as Harry pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob, just about ready to pull the door open and shield himself from prying eyes. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder, “Harry,” 

He looked up to find Gemma panting, resting her hand on the roof of the car, “Are you. . .alright?” Her drifting eyes inspected his face, tinted a slight pink and moist with the salty liquid dripping from his tear ducts.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry clutched the handle to let himself in. Gemma followed his actions, shutting the door and locking it. The tinted windows of the car provided a semi-private enclosure that was filled with Harry’s sniffling and Gemma’s heavy breathing, trying to catch her breath. 

“H-her name is Halo,” Gemma began, gulping when Harry paused his ministrations, straining his ears to listen despite the dull thud occupying his vessels. “She’s almost two years old,”

“You said you didn’t know,” Harry’s gruff tone echoed. Gemma anxiously rubbed the ends of her palms against her jeans. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this time and y’didn’t tell me,”

“I-I was--she didn’t want me--” 

“Why would she tell you and not me? I’m the one that dated her,” He raised his voice with every syllable he spoke. The frustration he felt from seeing the woman he once loved living the reality they shared together, except he wasn’t anywhere in the picture and that reality was only a fantasy in his life now. “It doesn’t make sense,” He rested his forearms on the wheel, facing the car’s symbol.

“The baby is yours, Harry,”

His head quipped with speed, grazing his forehead on the rounded leather but that pain didn’t amount to the new wave washing over him. “W-what?”

“It’s really not my place to tell,” Gemma said nervously, making eye contact with Harry’s searing yet teary gaze. “She wanted to tell you but you were so happy with Camille. She was posting these things on her Instagram about your trips and Y/N called me crying because you looked so free and happy without her. Y/N didn’t want to ruin what you guys had by dropping this on you,”

"That's-that's my baby?" Harry stuttered over his words while tugging his head out of his memories. Gemma nodded in confirmation. “Then why in the world was she--Halo?--calling him ‘dada’? 

“Look, Harry, you’re not stupid. You know why Halo called Connor her dad,” Gemma spoke slowly, “This is a conversation that you need to have with Y/N if she lets you,”

At the mention of the man’s name, Harry couldn’t help but be filled with anger. He barely knew this man yet he received everything that Harry wanted in life. ‘But she’s my kid. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s supposed to give her kisses and make her laugh,” He mumbled quietly as if his inner thoughts were far too strong to be kept in his mind

He was staring mindlessly at the numbers on his dashboard, hands gripping the leather steering wheel to try and ground himself. "But if that's my baby, how can she call someone who's not her father, dad?" He whipped his head towards Gemma, searching for validation that would make him feel better but the siblings were aware that he lost that title three years ago. 

“I think you know you lost that place in their lives,” She reached a comforting hand to pat his arm, feeling just how tense he was under the fabric.

Harry shrugged her off, pinching his brows and pursing his lips as sadness began to swirl down the drain only to be replaced with resentment, irritation and bitterness. The taste on his tongue was hot with anger and his ears felt warm as he wheezed air instead of opting to yell his dissatisfaction near his sister. 

“This isn't fair. She's m’baby too. Connor is not her father,” He spat with venom, “I am,” A pointed finger poked his chest. "She knew she was pregnant when she left me. She’s so fuckin’ selfish. How could she do this to me? 

Gemma was quick to remind him of his actions, "You cheated on her, Harry.” Gemma cowered back at Harry’s beady eyes glaring at her with an unreadable emotion, stone-cold. “Maybe you should go home. Calm down a little bit,”

“No!” Harry cut Gemma off, “Need t’a hear her say it myself,” 

Harry didn’t know what his plan was when he harshly slammed the car door behind him, practically storming on the patches of grass like a mad man. It wasn’t hard to spot the picture-perfect family sitting on a park bench which brought a scowl to his shielded face. He wanted to give Y/N a piece of his mind and it wasn’t necessarily the nicest thoughts that crossed his brain. 

Halo was sitting on Connor’s lap while he was feeding her a peeled cupcake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting—-Harry felt like he was punched in the gut. The baked good was Y/N’s specialty and it had a lot of sentimental value to both of them. It was what she baked for their first year together. He could vividly see her frosting-dotted nose, aiming to splotch the cream on his cheek while she laughed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging Y/N from behind and proceeding to kiss her sweet cheek, leaving the perfect opportunity to stain his skin with the frosting. 

But he didn’t care if he was smashed headfirst into the cake (as long as it wasn’t ice cream cake)—Harry just wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh heartily. 

Y/N was snuggled on Connor’s shoulder, fixing Halo’s hair as she made grabby hands at the confection. He cannot lie--Connor was a handsome man. Harry rarely felt intimidated or insecure, but seeing that this man managed to snatch everything Harry could ever want seemingly in a blink of an eye; Harry felt very jealous. 

He pouted, eyes rimmed red and lips quivering wishing that Cory or Connor--whatever that little shit’s name was would disappear so that Harry could take his place instead. Actually, it was his spot in the first place. Only if he didn’t mess up, he thought. He missed Y/N so much! Seeing Y/N in her element of niceness and bright-gleaming smiles sent a truck full of sand down his throat as he gulped his emotion below the surface. The closer he got to them, his vision tunnelled towards Halo; brown, flouncy curls and a cute dimple embedded in her cheek as she giggled, accidentally knocking the cupcake on the ground.  

If that wasn’t symbolism staring at Harry straight in the face; a sign that their so-called relationship really had no chance of reprieve. Harry chose to ignore it.

Connor clutched Halo tightly against him, crouching down with a napkin to clean up the scattered cake on the ground. Y/N was the first to notice him, her forehead creasing as her eyes bulged at the sight of Harry walking towards them. She subtly poked at Connor’s arm, hurting Harry even more because it meant that Y/N felt uncomfortable with his presence. 

He was close enough to read her pink lips, “We should go,” matched with Y/N’s frantic actions of packing the juice boxes and the Tupperware of cupcakes into the tote bag beside her. Connor searched the park until his gaze landed on Harry, protectively shielding Halo from him. 

Is he serious? Harry thought. That’s my own daughter.

Speaking of Halo, the two-year-old happily continued munching on her new cupcake, frowning slightly when Connor stood up, “Why we leaving, Daddy? Did I do somethin’ bad?”

Y/N sighed, they promised that Halo could play at the park all day and now it was cut short because of a certain someone. 

“No, you didn’t, bub. Let Daddy explain at home, okay baby?” Connor hitched Halo higher on his hip, hoping that she wouldn’t ask any more questions until the trio left.

“Who’s that?” Halo asked, pointing at Harry only metres away from them. Her stubby finger outstretched at the stranger in front of her, eyes bright and sparkling with curiosity. There was no sign of recognition painting her green orbs. 

Harry gulped, wanting so badly to scream “I’m your dad!” but he knew that Y/N will add that to the list of his mistakes he had made. 

“No one, angel,” Connor planted a kiss on her head, looking over at Y/N who had finished packing everything up. He tilted his chin in an attempt to scare Harry off.

But the thing was, Harry was already scared. He could feel his stomach in his throat but vomiting wasn’t the right word to describe it. His heart drooped deeper than the levels of the Earth. He was scared because his family was right in front of him but he couldn’t touch them or hug them in his arms. He was only allowed to look from the outside because there was a small possibility of being forgiven.

“Y/N. . .” Harry began hesitantly. The surge of confidence he had decreased with each passing second. He kept a close eye.

Y/N shrugged the strap on her shoulder, “Leave us alone, Harry.”

He felt his anger disappearing, a new emotion cascading his tear ducts and the blood in his veins. Harry looked back in retrospect; she really did mean it when Y/N said that she never wanted him around again. “I just want to talk. Please, let’s talk,”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Harry,”  Connor interrupted, grabbing the bag from Y/N and wrapping an arm over her shoulder, guiding them away from Harry. “She’s happy without you, mate. can’t you see?”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Y/N’s face, actively avoiding eye contact but drifted when Halo’s frown caught his stare. The little girl’s chin was hooked over Connor’s shoulder, squirming in his arms in an attempt to stop him from walking. Halo was smart enough to know that Harry’s expression screamed sadness and her mummy said that “you need to find a way to make them happy” if someone was sad.

“Wait!” Her shrill yell caused both Connor and Y/N to turn around. A piece of Harry’s heart shattered on the floor when Halo pulled Connor down by the nape of his neck, small hand leading his ear next to her lips. Then, she did the same to Y/N, pointing at Harry which caused him to straighten his stance, wanting to impress his daughter even though there was no point.

The couple shared a look before ultimately having Connor walk closer to Harry. Halo gripped her cupcake towards him, “‘ere y’go hawwy,’ She still couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ yet. 

Harry began to sob. 

It was his daughter and those were the first words she had uttered to him. She didn’t know him yet Halo treated him with kindness and it ripped at his chest because Y/N must’ve taught her that. His palms became wet as tears streamed from his eyes, dampening the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't care about looking foolish in front of them, not when his daughter saw him as a stranger and called Connor her ‘dada’. 

Halo recoiled at the sudden reaction, her lips curving downwards, “Dada, mama, he’s cwyin’,” She tucked her face at the junction of Connor’s shoulder and neck, scared that she made him cry. Halo didn’t mean to make him cry. She felt so guilty that she started spilling tears of her own too, her face contorting into a scrunched expression as her mouth wailed open sobs, matching Harry’s. 

Harry’s first instinct was to take a step forward and comfort Halo but he was rendered frozen when Connor shot him a glare, shifting Halo’s body out of reach and he could only see her face over the man’s shoulder. Y/N dimmed her eyes, brows pinching when she couldn’t help but let a smidge of sympathy wash over her. She muttered a few words to Connor, pushing him by the small of his back towards the parking lot. 

When they were out of earshot, Y/N faced Harry, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to mess everything up again?” He tried to cut in, “Isn’t it bad enough that we’re talking about this in public? Why must you ruin everything, Harry?” She whisper-shouted, trying her best not to garner them any attention. 

“N-no, Gemma told me and I jus’ wanted to see her--and you. Wanted to hear the truth come out of your mouth,” His large hands jammed into his pockets to prevent him from fiddling with them. 

“Look, you have no right coming here,”

“I know that b-but I--,”

She held a palm up, “I’m not sadistic like you Harry. If you thought that I wouldn’t let you around her then you’re wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss you and I wish that you were there for us when we needed you,”

“I had no idea--,”

“Will you let me speak?” Her tone carried irritation. “But we’re alright now and we don’t need you anymore.”

Harry never thought that those statements would ever come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Don’t you think I deserve to get to know her?” 

She sighed, “Deserve? Definitely not.” He nodded in agreement. “But I’d live in regret if Halo never got to know her real father. . .”

Harry’s expression lit up, hopeful eyes shooting glances at her, “D-does that mea--? Are you--?”

“You can see her. You can get to know her but only because you’re Halo’s father,” Y/N took a brave step forward, ignoring the way her heart throbbed as if she was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Painful memories drifted in and out of her train of thought until she shook her head to muster them out. It was in the past but she could never forget the feeling of hopelessness taking over her whole body. 

With a hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Anyone can be a father and you’re just that. Don’t think that you’re entitled to anything more. You will never be her dad. Connor is. Understood?”

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed a heavy gulp, “I. . .understand. Thank you, Y/N. For letting me back in when I don’t deserve it,” He glanced at the two tiny figures piling in the car. He could just imagine himself plucking little Halo into her booster seat, booping her nose as she asked for the hundredth time why she had to sit at the back and not at the front with them. 

“I’m not finished,” She deadpanned, “You are going to be there for her. Not for me, not for us because our relationship is over. You can hurt me as you did before and I can accept it but don’t you dare try to hurt her,” 

And it was true. Having endured his painful game once before, Y/N was stronger now. She could take heartbreak as agonizing as that but she wouldn’t dare stand seeing Halo’s teary eyes staring back at her, asking why Harry had left them. She was far too young to experience the feeling when a piece of herself is ripped apart. 

“I won’t hurt her. I promise,”

“I heard those words come out from your mouth years ago and look where we are now. Once you hurt her, it’s over.”

“Y/N, t-that’s hardly fair. I am her dad, aren’t I?” Harry cleared his throat at Y/N’s raised brow.

“No, you’re not. We just went through this, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that,” He muttered quietly because she only ever called him ‘baby’ or ‘h’.

“Will you stop? I laid out my cards. If you want to even have a speck of presence in her life, then you have to abide by what I said,” She crossed her arms in defence, “You will never be Halo’s dad, Harry. Connor is her dad. I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat this before it gets through you thick head,”

He opened his mouth to talk, “No wiggle room whatsoever?”

“No. Do I have to write a letter for you to understand that?”

In a moment of hurt and despair, Harry spat out, “Might as well, yeah? Waited over two years to tell me anyway,”

“Are you kidding me?”

His throat ran dry, realizing that he just ticked another box to favour against being a part of his daughter’s life, “I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,”

“Whatever. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Harry suggested, wanting to have some sort of foot on the ground so he doesn’t feel like he’s topping over with guilt and sadness. “Maybe you can come over to my house,”

Y/N shook her head, glancing briefly at her phone when it buzzed, “No. I will not step foot in that house again. If you really want to discuss it, you can come over at our place,”

“Your place?” Did they all live together? Well, that was another slap to the face. Not only was Connor playing dad to Halo, but he was also part of the household. Harry’s face must have contorted into a grimace because Y/N sighed softly. 

“Yes, our place. Meaning all three of us,” She gestured behind her. “I have to go. You can probably get my number from Gemma; you can text me then.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, I want to talk to you. . . about this, I mean,” Harry lowered his enthusiasm. The small voice in his head reverberating that this was not about him and Y/N; this was about Halo. 

“And make sure you don’t bring anyone else,” Y/N said sarcastically, subtly pointing in the direction of the paparazzi hiding behind some bushes. Harry was usually good at spotting them but today was just a puddle of hurt and confusion. “I don’t want her having to read nasty things like I did,”

What Y/N said may have been a side comment, but Harry couldn’t help but take it to heart. Was this a good idea? Sure, he wanted to be a present dad in Halo’s life. However, is it worth it to stir unwanted drama? If only he didn’t cheat on Y/N, all of this could have been avoided. 

With his mind in a haze, Harry barely noticed Y/N’s figure moving away from him. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry felt numb to the way she shrugged her touch off of her immediately, “Were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?’

Y/N stared at him quizzically, tilting her head a little bit sideways, “I thought I did? Wait!” A look of recognition plastered across her features, “I did try to tell you but you blocked me before the message sent through,”

Harry gulped with realization. He blearily remembered  bitterly blocking her number just as she texted “I need to tell you something,”

___

Y/N: Since you’re not picking up my calls

I need to tell you something

Y/N took a deep breath as her thumbs tapped on the letters slowly as if to withhold the news from him. She was not at all ready to reveal that she was pregnant and that he was the father but Y/N knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the fact that he was currently out of the country on vacation somewhere on an island with sandy beaches with Camille. Y/N was aware that this spike of courage was rare and so, she had to do it now.

Y/N: I’m pregnant

And you’re the father

She locked the device as soon as she pressed the arrow to send the message, clutching the phone close to her chest and shutting her eyes so tightly that it hurt. Minutes passed with no response and Y/N was shouldered by curiosity to check if he had sent anything back or simply left her on ‘seen’. 

It was neither. The screaming red exclamation mark surrounded by a circle indicated that she had been blocked. 

___

The times when she left missed calls on his phone were for a reason much bigger than the two of them. Y/N didn’t call to beg for him back or to ask Harry to want her again. He was ashamed to admit that he had rolled his eyes upwards every time he clicked on a voicemail she had left, stating, “Hey H, it’s me. Call me back when you hear this. I need to talk to you,” which he deleted without a second thought. She didn’t text him endlessly to politely ask for her things packed and settled for her pick-up because Y/N could not bear to spend another second in a room with him.

It wasn’t that at all. 

Y/N was physically moving farther and farther away from him, settling herself into the car before driving off to hers and Connor’s shared house. Halo sat in the backseat, singing along to the radio.

Harry was surrounded amidst the joyful squeals of children and reprimanding voices of their parents.

He stood alone with no one but loneliness by his side and the brisk flash of cameras in his peripherals.

_____

Let me know what you thought!

———

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[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 2

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

Chapter 2:

The journey to Mother Miranda’s personal laboratory was much shorter and more enjoyable than the original walk to the meeting site, in Salvatore’s humble opinion.

Mother Miranda was mostly quiet, distant, and preoccupied throughout the duration of the walk, even more so than normal. That being said however, while this sort of behavior would usually spell disaster for whichever one of the 4 lords was forced to be in her presence during these sorts of moods, in this situation, Mother Miranda did not appear tense or agitated or hostile like she usually would be. Just lost in thought. As though she were only quiet because she was too busy thinking about something else to speak. She didn’t even seem to mind his various attempts at starting conversation, which surprised, but endlessly delighted, the mutant man.

‘Mother must be in a very good mood today. She hasn’t hit me or told me to shut up the whole time we’ve been together. Maybe she’s made another breakthrough with the cadou? I’d certainly be very happy if I were in her shoes’ Salvatore excitedly thought to himself as the woman in question stepped forward to unlock and open the large steel door of her personal laboratory, allowing Salvatore to step into the facility before closing and locking it again behind her.

“Moreau, do you recall the set of mutation experiments I began at the beginning of last year?” The raven mother asked, turning around and beginning to quickly make her way down the long, dark corridor.

“Y-you mean… the o-ones with the new c-cadou strain th-that I… that I d-developed… f-for you?” Salvatore stutters, breath labored and body struggling to keep up with the taller woman’s vastly larger steps.

“Correct” Mother Miranda says, turning a corner. “As impressed as I was with the final results of this particular strain, I’m afraid it still isn’t good enough. None of the subjects I implanted with cadou last year turned out to be favorable candidates.”

Salvatore stops in his tracks, a look of horror and agony on his face as news that he’d failed mother once again practically tears him apart from the inside out. “O-oh Mother… I-im so s-s-sorry to h-hear that… b-but don’t w-worry… I’ll-I’ll try h-harder next t-time… I w-won’t fail y-you again Mother, so p-please… please j-just give me a-another chance to get it r-right… i b-beg of y-you…”

Mother Miranda stops and turns toward the mutated lord, staring at him in silence as he drops to his knees and grovels at her feet, begging desperately for his failures to be forgiven.

“Off your knees, Moreau, this behavior is unbecoming of a Lord such as yourself. Besides, I never said that you were the one to blame for the lack of successful results, nor am I necessarily displeased by the fact that these experiments yielded failed vessels.”

Salvatore allows his gaze to rise to his mother’s face, where, true to her words, the parts of Miranda’s face that Salvatore could make out from behind her mask did not appear marred with the familiar expressions of anger and disappointment that the 4 lords were usually met with after another round of failed vessels.

“Y-you’re… you’re not upset with m-me?” The deformed man asks, his voice laced with shock and disbelief.

“No, my child, I’m not upset with you. While these experiments may have ended in failure, they did provide me with useful information that may prove to be pertinent to our mission in the near future. In fact, as I said earlier, the reason why I’ve brought you here is because I want to give you a gift, as a reward for all your incredible work. Did you expect me to be upset with you simply because this round proved unsuccessful as well? Do you really think so poorly of your loving mother, who works tirelessly to ensure her children are happy and rewarded for all their faith and trust in me?” Mother Miranda sniveled pitifully, turning her gaze away in mock dejection as Salvatore, horrified that he’d insulted and hurt her somehow, scrambles to his feet, gently taking both of Miranda’s hands into his own and holding the supple skin to his bloated and deformed face, desperately hoping this would comfort her.

“No no no no, o-of course n-not, Mother… I-I’d never expect s-something like th-that from y-you… and-and I k-know better… b-better than a-anyone… just h-how h-hard you w-work… not j-just on y-your experiments… but f-for all o-of us… too… you l-l-love us… you… love ME… I-I’ll always love y-you, Mother… always” Salvatore blurts, stumbling over his words as he tries desperately to comfort Mother Miranda, an effort he’s seemingly rewarded for, when Miranda takes one of her hands away and brings it back to the top of Salvatore’s head, once again gently brushing her hand against it.

Salvatore’s knees nearly give out from under him as the heavenly sensation washes throughout his body like a raging typhoon, leaving him feeling tired and weak yet hungry and wanting for more, though whatever that “more” was, Salvatore was quick to beat it back down deep within himself, knowing this was neither the time nor the place for him to be entertaining such… primal desires about someone like Mother Miranda, no matter how little he intends to act on them.

“Thank you, Moreau. You always know exactly what to say to make Mother feel better. You’re such a good boy” Mother Miranda says, making sure to put extra emphasis onto the last two words as she reaches forward and pulls Salvatore closer to her.

“G-g-g-gggg… good… boy… me?” Salvatore chokes, tears beginning to fill his eyes as Mother Miranda’s arms come to wrap around him, pushing the deformed man’s face to lean against the soft, feathery material of her bosom.

“Yes, Moreau. You’ve always been very special to me. From the day I met you, you’ve been such a good, well-behaved boy that I never have to worry about” Miranda begins, her face blank and expressionless as she passionlessly strokes Salvatore’s face. “No matter how simple the task, those 3 are always making mistakes of some kind and forcing me to come and clean up their messes after them, especially that snake Heisenberg. But you? No, never you, Moreau, not my special, perfect little boy who always tries his best to make Mother happy. Do you enjoy making Mother happy, Moreau?”

“Y-y-yES! Of-of c-course I do” Salvatore moans, his voice slightly muffled by Miranda’s chest as he violently nods his head in affirmation, tears freely falling from his eyes as his head swims deliriously from the endless wave of kind words and gentle touches.

“Good! I always knew you did. And for that, I'm going to reward you with something very special. Something to… keep you busy... while I’m away for a little while” The raven mother coos again.

Salvatore stops for a moment when the meaning of Miranda’s words finally registers in his brain. “While… w-while you’re… away? You’re l-leaving us?” Salvatore asks, his voice growing increasingly distressed with each word.

“Only for a short time, hopefully,” Mother Miranda answers, “but yes, at the end of this month, I will be leaving the village in order to attend to some very important business I have. I’m not sure how my journey will fare, however I'm optimistic that it will be the key necessary to finally getting my Ev- uh… pardon me; the key to finally achieving our goal of creating a perfect vessel. Doesn’t that sound nice, Moreau?”

“It-it does” the deformed man says quietly, still put off by the mention of Mother leaving, but not wanting to put a damper on his mother’s incredibly rare good mood. “But… where is i-it… th-that you’ll be g-going… an-and for h-how long?”

“Just down the mountain to pay someone a visit, however I have no idea when I'll be back. That will depend on how successful my mission goes, I suppose.”

Silence falls over the two as Salvatore, still upset by the news that Mother Miranda would be leaving, continues to take in the comfort and warmth of his Mother’s arms for just a moment longer, selfishly wishing that Mother held him more often. Eventually however, Mother Miranda does pull back from the superficial embrace, gesturing for Salvatore to follow her once more, which the deformed man begins to do without question.

“Of the 4 of you, you’re the last one to come and pick your gift,” Miranda says, unaware of the visible slump that Salvatore’s shoulders take on upon hearing this. “However, despite there only being one option left, it would appear as though your siblings have decided to spare you their usual games of trickery this time around. If anything, I think you might be the one to have ended up with the best deal after everything is said and done.”

Salvatore looks up at Mother Miranda with an expression of mild confusion, wondering what on earth she could mean by that. His musings are quickly interrupted however, when the two enter a large room filled with various pods.

“Of the 22 test subjects we started with last year, only 13 were genetically compatible with the cadou parasite, and even then, only 4 ended up surviving the full mutation phase. Despite their impressively stable conditions, they still aren’t suitable vessels for my purposes, however I felt as though it would be such a waste to just do away with them. So, with that in mind, I’ve decided that my gift to you all, before I must leave you for a time, is to give one test subject to each of you.”

“G-give? You’re… y-you’re giving us t-test subjects?” Salvatore repeats dumbly, not certain he understood where this was going.

“Correct” Mother Miranda affirms. “This is easily the most successful batch of mutations we’ve seen to date, and given the amount of time and effort I poured into making sure these last 4 survived until now, I’d at least like to see some use gotten out of them before they die or suddenly lose control of their mutations and go rogue.”

“Like… l-like what?” The hooded man asks nervously.

Miranda merely shrugs her shoulders, uncaring. “Anything you like. Housekeeper. Playmate. Labrat. Partner in Crime. Whatever it is you desire of your gift, you may have without question. And in the event they refuse you… well, you’ll at least have a fun little toy to chase after for a little while.”

“I... see...” Salvatore says quietly, growing less and less excited about this whole “gift” thing, now that he knows that his gift is just another person.

Another person to scream and wail at how unbelievably hideous and disgusting of a monster he looks, no doubt.

Without another word, Miranda heads over to the large control table located in the middle of the room, pressing a few buttons before 4 of the many identical pods begin moving toward them. Steam pours out the tops and bottoms of the metal pods as the large capsules slowly finish lowering themselves from their hung pedestals, displaying them directly in front of Miranda and Salvatore.  The man in question stands anxiously in front of the still sealed door, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he waits for Mother to show him his gift, a myriad of thoughts and fears and worries flying throughout the mutant man’s mind.

“The first 3 have already been chosen by your siblings, but the one on the far right is all yours” Miranda says, pushing another button that causes the singular pod in question to click open, its door slowly beginning to rise upward toward the ceiling.

Salvatore nods in understanding as he tries to avoid watching the door of the pod open, instead hyper focusing on what Miranda is saying as the tension in the room becomes so thick it feels as if it could be cut with a dull knife.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of waiting, the pod door finally finished opening, and in that exact moment, as the disfigured man’s gaze finally fell upon the sight of his gift for the first time, his eyes went wide in shock, his mouth dropped open in disbelief, and his hands fell limply to his side in complete and utter bewilderment at the sight that stood before him.

“That… th-that’s… for me?” Salvatore manages to croak out, his throat suddenly dry as a desert and the air from his lungs having left him the second before.

Raising his hand up toward the creature wired into the pod, the hooded man finds himself unable to look away, feeling almost mesmerized as his mind struggles to figure out whether all this is really happening, or if he’d finally succumbed to the insanity of his condition and dreamt all this up as a sick and twisted way of coping with his soul crushing loneliness. Either one was just as likely at this point.

“I’m sure you’ll still be quite pitiful on the day I have to leave, but at least this way you’ll have something to keep yourself occupied with until I return, yes?” Mother Miranda says smugly, clearly pleased by his reaction. “So, what do you think, Moreau? Do you like the gift I’ve gotten for you?”

It wasn't until after several moments of silence that Salvatore finally responded. After stuttering and slurring unintelligibly over several sentences worth of responses, 2 words, and 2 words alone, finally managed to tumble from the mutant man’s lips, his eyes shining as he finally reached forward enough to slowly and carefully intertwine his fingers with the small and delicate hand of the beautiful young woman that slept peacefully inside the pod.

“She’s perfect!”