#back to saving like a madwoman again

[maranull]

got bad news so I bough Hades II in retaliation ✌

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 3 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. ( need to edit this later because I'm exhausted right now)

word count: 3.5k

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If the intruder had made another noise then hadn’t been able to hear it. Not over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Dread washed over you, the blood in your veins turning to ice as you were struck with a sudden realization: 

Either you fought for your life, here and now. . . or you died. 

Your throat locked up, and suddenly you found yourself unable to say anything at all. Shouldn’t you be screaming like a madwoman? Had he seen you undress for the night? Had he been lurking in a corner or a closet as your attendants had run your bath? Was everybody in on this? 

Every nervous smile and antsy movement came rushing back to you. Betrayal slapped you in the face so hard that it stunned you back into motion. 

The knife that you had hidden away in your room after breakfast was shorter than you would have liked- minimal reach, meaning you’d have to get up close to the attacker. Still, you somehow managed to kick the sheets off of you in order to lurch to the side before he was able to brandish his own blade. You heard it cut through the air, the loud tearing of the pillow where your head had just been perched a millisecond ago echoed through the pitch black room. 

You moved towards the door, bare feet against ice cold marble, and finally began to open your mouth to scream for whatever guards were sure to be stationed near the guest quarters. 

“I wouldn’t bother,” The man’s voice sneered, a smile evident in his voice. “No one will save you.” 

There it was. The truth. 

Everyone hated you, but you already knew as much. There was very little you could do in your nightdress- no way you could properly fend off an attacker without any shoes on your feet. Even worse, you had no shield. 

“Why are you doing this?” You questioned, raising the knife so that you were holding it defensively in front of you. You hated how pathetic you sounded with your voice shaking like that. Still, your hands held strong. 

Under immense trauma and stress like this your body had gone into autopilot. Again and again your training has been hammered into you. You must remain calm. Act with surety. 

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. 

You waited, listening to see if he was getting close to you. The bed creaked, the attacker stepping into a single ray of silver light that had escaped through the blinds.

 It was a guard. 

So this was planned. You should have known enough. You would have thought that Feyd would have been the one to orchestrate the whole thing, but his earlier warning had made it clear to you that he hadn’t wanted you to perish. At least not like this. 

He didn’t say anything else to you before his arm came barrelling down. You stepped to the side, almost tripping over the fabric of your dress in your panic. The cutter blade struck the wall behind you, and in the man’s blind fury he left his side completely defenseless. You surged forward, the knife tightly clutched in your hand, and brought it down hard on his arm. He cried out, the sound nearly deafening you as it echoed off of the empty walls. 

“You bitch!” His weapon clung against the ground. 

Still, his uninjured arm struck against the side of your face. The world tilted beneath you as you stumbled backwards, your spine cracking against the dresser drawer as your knees buckled beneath you. Pain. It felt like he had just drilled a hole clean into the side of your face. No one had ever landed a blow to you like that. The guard took advantage of your stunned state, moving forward so that he could wrap his meaty hands around your throat. 

You needed to use the Voice. He had to stop. . . but his hands were squeezing too tightly. Your lips moved but little more than fearful croaks escaped you. Tears pooled in your eyes at the pressure, at the pain, at the fucking fear that was threatening to swallow you up whole, whole, whole until you were nothing. Your nails scrapped against any bit of skin that you could find. He hissed in pain, using the weight of your own body against you as he slammed you against the dresser where he currently had you pinned. 

You kicked out your legs, desperately trying to find a foothold so that you could wrench yourself upwards. If you were in pants then you might have been able to save yourself, but your bare feet slid out against the loose fabric pooled underneath you. The man had struck when you had been most vulnerable. He was killing you. 

Your eyes widened, the tears finally spilling past the thick wall of your lower lashes. He was killing you. He was killing you. He was killing you. 

With the ringing filling your ears, you hadn’t heard the commotion outside of your door. Only when it slammed open, light from the hall flooding in, did you realize that someone had been alerted. The hands around your throat loosened just enough for you to take a deep, wheezing breath in. 

“Help me.” But you couldn’t reach the correct frequency, not when your vocal cords were so damaged. 

Still, with bleary eyes you stared up at whoever’s large form filled the doorway. Begging them to save you. 

And so they did. 

The world just fell away, like ink on wet paper- it all bled around him. All sound and sight ebbed away, the only thing visible in his rage being your tear filled eyes. Feyd had seen looks of pure terror on the faces of men he had bested countless times before. It never meant much to him. The lives he had taken never weighed heavy on his shoulders. He never cared much for anything aside from his own ambitions. He had goals- found minor joy in sharpening his mind and his blades. 

 He had carried his memories of you from childhood with him into adulthood, each glance and nervous smile acted as a balm that soothed any future traumas or worries. He knew that one day he would be standing exactly where he was right then, with you within arms length. 

This wasn’t what he had pictured throughout the years though. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was currently witnessing. 

Women bled the same as men did. He never felt overly-noble when it came to protecting them, no matter how weak or frail they looked. Feyd understood that it was survival of the fittest. People lost their lives every day in much crueler ways than suffocation. . . 

But the guard had his hands around your throat, and in that moment Feyd no longer saw the proud woman that had managed to nearly knock him off of his feet earlier. No, in that moment you looked just like that six year old little girl he had always cared for so dearly. You looked exactly how he had left you- scared, fragile and innocent. 

Feyd-Rautha wasn’t quite sure what love was, but he could imagine that it must be what he felt for you. Losing you was an impossibility, he’d never let it happen. He couldn’t. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

An eerie sort of calm befell the room, the only sounds being your shaky breaths as you tried to fill your aching lungs with air. The guard didn’t answer him, only stared with fearful eyes up at the Na-Baron. He was looking Death right in the face. 

“Was it your idea to attack her in the middle of the night like this?” Feyd took another step into the room, which had the guard scooting back awkwardly on his knees. “You were going to kill her in the dark like she was no better than an animal.” 

He hadn’t even been brave enough to face you with the lights on. 

Feyd, without turning around, used his foot to close the door behind him. Once again the room plummeted into pitch black darkness. There was a shuffling sound in front of him, the man trying to get to his feet as fast as he could to put some distance between the two of them, but it was too late. Feyd followed the source of the noise and reached out, grabbing the man around the stomach before sinking his blade deep into his neck. A sick wet gurgling noise caused you to let out a small cry. Still, the blue eyed man wouldn’t be offput by your disgust. 

He had to pay for what he did to you. 

And so he dislodged the knife easily, the sharp blade gliding through muscle and skin, and then stabbed again. And again. And again. The guard moaned in pain, trying his hardest to buck and fight Feyd off of him. Even when the man’s legs gave out from under him Feyd followed him, falling to his knees so that he could continue his ruthless assault. 

The Na-Baron grit his teeth, eyes wide as his knife continued to find purchase in the corpse beneath him. The bastard had caused you to suffer. He had hurt you. Feyd didn’t stop there either. He stood up and made his way out into the hallway. 

The rage had made a home somewhere deep in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with so much anger. He needed. . . he needed to make everyone atone for what they had done to you. Did they think that he would approve of their lame assassination attempt? 

“You heard everything and did nothing!” He screamed out at the other guards who stood in the hallway. 

His hands were coated in blood, his black shirt and night pants soaked through, clinging to his skin. All they could do was watch him, unable to say anything at all. Feyd knew that they could not deny his claims. They had all been in on this from the start. 

And so he raised his blade again and did not stop until every man in the hallway was long-dead. 

Not a word had been said since the incident. You didn’t even complain when Feyd had all but dragged you through the halls, rather you followed him as emotionless as a doll. The blood of the fallen marred your arms and crisp white nightdress. It was as if your body had gone into auto pilot. Your mind was lost to you, as you felt as though you were floating off somewhere far away. You no longer existed at all. 

You were just a hollow shell now, in a state of shock that had you shutting down completely. 

Where was he taking you? You didn’t know, nor did you particularly care anymore. 

The guard’s final breaths had sounded wet, probably due to the blood in his lungs. The blade hitting bone. His moans of pain. Those sounds still echoed in your ears, and you were positive that you’d never be able to get them out of your head. 

You’d never witnessed anything like that in all of your life. Someone had been killed mere feet away from you. And yet you weren’t sorry for him. You searched yourself for even an inkling of pity and came up short. The bastard got what he deserved. 

“Why did you have to do that in front of me?” You managed to mumble out. 

Tonight would soon become a memory that would never abandon you. Even in old age you were certain that you would be able to recall every gut wrenching detail of tonights events. When the door leading out to the doorway had opened and illuminated the room, Feyd’s sins had been revealed in full to you. 

The guard was unrecognizable. He no longer looked human to you, his insides turned out. Your betrothed had quite literally gutted your attacker in front of you. 

Your bare feet tracked blood on the floors, the long skirts of your nightgown soaked with another man’s blood. 

“I killed him for you. I wanted you to experience every moment of retribution.” He didn’t turn around to face you as he spoke. Instead he kept his eyes on the hallway, the pupils of his pale blue eyes blown out wide. 

You cast a look down at the hand that was holding your arm in a vice-like grip. He was shaking. It was almost as though he could feel your eyes on his hand. His trembling fingers dug into your soft skin. 

Feyd released you once the two of you were alone in a room together, closing the door behind him and locking it for good measure. You stood there, motionless as you followed the line of his jaw with your eyes. The muscle there ticked a few times as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was still agitated, you could tell. 

“You’re starting to bruise.” He motioned towards his own neck. 

Your hand flew up to your throat, poking at the tender skin. It felt hot under your touch- sore too. It would serve as a reminder of how close you had come to death. Tonight you felt nothing. . . but what about tomorrow? Would you ever be able to sleep again? 

“How did you know that I was being attacked?” Your suspicion was beginning to build back up again. There were just too many coincidences. 

“You think I had something to do with this?” He sounded agitated. There was no hint of his usual sarcastic lilt in his tone. 

You’d never seen Feyd like this before. He actually seemed. . . offended but your gentle accusation. 

“You can’t answer my question with yet another question. How did you know I was being attacked?” You might have been in a state of immense shock but you still had some wits about you. 

You were locked in a room with a murderer, and the possibility that he had a hand in your assassination attempt was high. Once again you found yourself utterly defenseless. If he tried to attack you now there was no way that you’d be able to defend yourself. Not only that but your throat was wrecked. You could barely talk at the current moment, meaning you couldn’t even depend on the Voice if you needed to. You were as helpless as a child in the wake of Feyd’s power. 

“I see you in my dreams sometimes.” 

Anyone else would have called him insane, but you were used to Paul’s dreams. They’d been getting even more vivid as he aged. So Feyd had a dream that you were in danger? You found it difficult to believe that he would go out of his way to come to your rescue. Still, here he was. 

“Is that why you warned me today at breakfast?” The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. He’d known something was going to happen since last night. 

“Yes,” He tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. “Something told me to go and see you.” 

You didn’t have it in yourself to question him further. You’d have to be satisfied with his answers. What you really wanted was a bath and a fresh change of clothes. One last look at your soiled clothes had your nose wrinkling in disgust. The smell of blood was thick in your nose- so strong that the iron scent almost smelled sweet. You gagged outwardly, putting your hands on your knees as you suddenly dry heaved. 

“You realize that he couldn’t be left alive after what he had done, don’t you?” 

Of course you did. That didn’t make it any better though. Your fingers stuck together, caked in blood, as you balled them into fists at your sides. 

“Bath.” Was all you said, already looking around the room that you assumed was his living quarters for any sign of a tub. 

He didn’t make any complaints as you closed the bathroom door behind yourself. Feyd gave you the time to process everything, didn’t knock on the door even once as the minutes ticked by. You stayed in the water until your fingers pruned and rubbed your skin until it was raw. Blood was everywhere. Under your nails, between your toes- it had even soaked through your dress and now caked your lower legs and thighs. 

You threw on a thin cotton robe you found neatly folded on a small towel rack, tying it tightly around your waist before you built up the courage to face your fiance again. 

“Take me back to my room.” You were eager to fall asleep. 

You’d been through too much. The thought of having to be conscious was tiring in itself. If you could close your eyes and sleep for the next ten years then you would. 

You missed your home. You missed your parents and Paul. You missed stability and security. Your life felt lost to you now. 

“This is your room now.” He was laying on the bed, already in a change of clothes. He seemingly took a bath himself while you had locked yourself away. There was no trace of gore left on him now. 

Your mouth went dry, palms pooling with sweat. Surely you were understanding him incorrectly. 

“You can’t expect me to sleep in the same room with you. We aren’t married.” There was absolutely no way your parents would approve of something like this. 

“I don’t trust anyone besides myself with your safety.” 

You didn’t trust anyone. Especially not Feyd. 

“Why should I be expected to sleep with you? I don’t feel comfortable-” 

“I will kill anyone that lays a finger on you again. Let that pile of bodies act as a warning to anyone else that tries. That’s why you should be expected to stay here with me. Get in the bed.” He seemed tired. Aggitated. 

“No.” You held strong. Never in your life had you slept in the same room as a man, let alone someone like Feyd-Rautha. He’d sooner kill you in your sleep then anyone else would. 

“Come here.” His tone caused you to jump. 

You had to bite your tongue as you approached him, sitting down awkwardly on the bed before you finally succumbed to his wishes. The bed was softer than your own, which you immediately envied. The soft mattress enveloped you, and all at once the tiredness you hadn’t felt until then finally sank in. 

You didn’t put up much more of a fight. Your eyes were beginning to close on their own accord. Feyd was watching you, turned on his side so that he could get a better look at you. It was then, for the first time ever, that you fully noted how beautiful he was. Up close like this he was even more striking. Blue eyes, full lips and pale, flawless skin. 

One thing that went unnoticed by you was the fact that Feyd didn’t turn the lights off. 

Without having to ask. . . he didn’t turn the lights off. 

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[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

We’re In This Together

Female reader x Dream Visitor | Female reader x the Emperor | I adore them both so why not both | elf daddy smut | mind flayer smut | tentacles literally everywhere | soft domination and mild manipulation | reader’s had the worst day and needs to be absolutely and so sweetly wrecked | PWP | nsfw

You’re having a hard time coping with everything that's happening to you and your crew, but your Dream Visitor knows how to make you relax and keep you on the right path. His path, of course. You know about his true form and you’re intrigued by what those tentacles can do for you. 

AKA please will an eight foot monster wrap his tentacles around you and lovingly use you as his fleshlight.

***

It’s been a bitch of a day. Your stomach is churning as you recall the manic gleam in Gale’s eye when he spoke about keeping the crown’s power for himself. Wyll wants you to decide whether he should sacrifice himself to save his father’s life. Karlach is going to die and you don’t know what to say to her, because there’s nothing you can say. To top it off, Lae’zel has been kidnapped by that madwoman, Orin.

Everything is too much. You rub a tired hand over your face as you sit before the crackling flames of the campfire. Who decided it was a good idea to put you in charge?

Tomorrow. You’ll fix it all tomorrow, you tell yourself as you crawl into your bedroll, your throat burning with despair. Everything will be clearer after a good night’s sleep, or maybe something will kill you and you won’t have to think about it anymore. That would be nice.

There’s blackness all around you as you drift off to sleep, and then stars prickle into life in the sky. You’re no longer at the camp, but in a dreamy, ethereal location with marble columns and purple twining flowers.  

You see a tall elf with long, white hair, a handsome face, and knowing eyes striding toward you. He’s so beautiful that he takes your breath away, but this isn’t his true form. You’ve seen the real one, and he’s a mind flayer.

He stands head and shoulders over you in glinting armour, folds his arms, and gives a heavy sigh. “What a bundle of self pity you are tonight.” But there’s gentleness in his eyes as he says it.

“Shut up, Mr. Perfect. If this is all so easy, switch places with me and you do it.”

“We’re doing this together,” he assures you in that deep, velvety voice. 

Are you? You want to trust him, but you’re still unsure of his motives. 

He reaches out and takes your hand in his enormous one, and the gesture is so kind and comforting and you need comfort so much right now that you allow it. 

Looking deep into your eyes, he says, “I would spare you if I could. You know I’m nothing without you.”

His thumb rubs circles on the centre of your palm and it feels so good. Why does he always know exactly what to say and do to make the tension in your body melt? And other parts of you melt as well.

He knows that, doesn’t he? He knows everything about you because he lives inside your mind.

“Yes, I know,” he says, answering the question that you didn’t ask aloud. “I’m flattered, but I’m nothing thinking about me. I’m thinking about you. I can help you relax,” he offers, the smallest smirk on his lips. “It’s the least I can do for you after all you’re doing for me.”

You’ve seen that smirk before. It’s the same pleased, secretive smile that was on his lips as he boasted that he saved your life. Twice. Then again when you spared his life inside the Astral Prism. He was so proud of himself for convincing you to be on his side, but he is a mind flayer after all. Everything about this species seems to be about domination and power.

“Why have you appeared to me in your elf form?” you ask. 

He flicks a sideways look at you, that same self-satisfied smile on his lips. “No reason. I just felt like it.”

“What’s the real reason?”

“You are too clever, little one. You read me as easily as I read you.” He laughs softly and takes a look around at the heavens. When he finally turns back to you, his eyes have darkened. “Because I’m hoping to seduce you, and I believe you’re more attracted to this form.”

His confession sends a hot spark shooting through you. No doubt this is more manipulation. He’s trying to use you, but maybe you can use him right back.

Experimentally, you reach up and cup the nape of his neck. Stroke his strong jaw with your thumb. He’s solid and warm. Very solid. He feels real. 

Moving toward you, he whispers, “I am real. Close your eyes.”

He waits to see what you will do--lift your chin to receive his kiss, or tell him that you're not crazy enough to try this with him? 

If he wants to touch you, you can think of no better way to relax tonight. Your eyelids drift closed, and a moment later you feel the brush of his lips across yours, soft and questioning.

You open your eyes and you see that he’s wearing not the armour anymore, but robes that reveal his strong shoulders and chest. Heavens, he’s beautiful. The world can go away and leave you alone tonight, because crazy is looking and feeling pretty wonderful right now. 

You hook your fingers into the fabric of his robes and pull his mouth down to yours.

He kisses you insistently, and you moan as his tongue flicks your lips.

“That’s right,” he murmurs softly in between kisses. “Just relax, little one. You’re safe here with me.”

You’re in your soft and thin sleeping clothes, and his large hands slide down to your ass, gathering you closer and kneading your flesh as he pulls you tightly against him. Your body molds to his muscles, you breasts pushing against him and your nipples tingling. This feels more real than anything that happens while you’re awake, and you give into it completely, opening your mouth so his tongue can caress yours. 

He lifts you up in his arms and lays you down on blankets that have suddenly appeared. 

You deserve someone kissing you and holding you like you’re precious. 

It’s so hard being strong and steely all the time.

You don’t have to be strong right now. 

You can be sweet and soft and surrender to this.. 

You frown slightly. Are these your own thoughts, or are they his? Some of them feel like his, as if he’s pushing them into your mind and making you believe them, but you don’t want to shove them away. It’s everything you want to hear right now. 

Your Dream Guardian pushes your robes up your thighs and drags your underwear down your legs, hunger and possession lighting his eyes. He strokes your inner thighs wonderingly, like he’s never felt anything so soft.

Then he pushes your thighs apart and runs his fingers down your sex. “So pretty. I have been imagining the way you taste. I know that it’s...” He lowers his head and caresses you with his tongue, making you gasp and jump. “Wonderful.” 

With a deep, contented sigh, he licks you again. As your breathing picks up, he strokes a finger down your sex, and then pushes it inside of you, all the way to the knuckle. You cry out loudly. Oh, by all the gods in the heavens. Nothing has ever felt so good before. 

As he goes on licking and thrusting his fingers into you, you whimper and clench your hands on the blankets.

“This is one thing I like about this form. A tongue,” he murmurs. 

“Which form do you prefer?” you gasp.

“Whichever you prefer,” he answers smoothly.

This form. Of course this form. Right? How would you even touch and kiss in his mind flayer form?

But even as you’re enjoying his soft tongue on your clit and his thick fingers pushing inside you, your heart and your core crave something...more.

Finally the words spill from your lips. “I want your true form.”

Your Dream Guardian sits up and looks at you, and for the first time you see worry in his eyes. The desperation of someone who hasn’t known intimacy in a long time. “Please let me stay like this. I worked so hard to make you trust me so I could finally kiss you. I can only persuade you so far that you...I don’t want this to end.”

You reach up and touch his face. “Who says it will end?”

He thinks about this for a moment, his fingers still moving in and out of you. Then he lowers his head and tastes you again, more insistently now. His voice is roughened with desire as he says, “You’re already irresistible. If I transform, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let you go until I’m finished with you. It’s a primal form. Everything I have will want to latch onto you. You have to be sure.”

Everything he has. His tentacles? The mental image you get makes heat pulse through you, and he groans.

“Yes, just like that,” he whispers. 

You’re so close to coming. Heat is balling up inside you as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. You don’t want this to end either. There’s so much more the two of you could have together. “Please,” you beg him. “I want your true form.”

He sucks thoughtfully on your clit, and this slowly sits up, considering your body. “It seems a waste not to use this form when I know you like it. Let me just…” He pulls off his long robe so his naked body is revealed to you. A breath-taking form. Strong thighs. A muscular stomach. He’s hard and his cock is thick and beautiful. 

Wrapping his hand around his cock, he moves so he’s braced over you, and you feel the broad, plush head of him pushing against you, and then sinking into you, inch after inch of his length. He’s right. This is wonderful. His body is entrancing as he slowly starts to fuck you. 

With each thrust, you moan louder and louder, your hands clenched on his shoulders. 

“Yes. Beautiful. You’re so good to fuck. You take me so well,” he whispers. His voice is hypnotic. The adoring expression on his handsome face is everything you’ve ever craved. Heat swells inside you with every thrust and drag of his cock. It grows and grows until you can’t take it anymore. Your nails dig into his muscular shoulders and you cry out, pulling him closer and deeper into you until you’re left shaking and gasping. 

“So you do want me like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you as he pulls out of you. “Then let us try the other way.”

You open your eyes to look at him but he covers them with his hand. Suddenly, the air around you shifts. Everywhere you’re touching him suddenly feels bigger.

When he takes his hand away, it’s a purple colour tipped with black claws. Your Dream Guardian is looming over you in his true form, with its tapered skull, luminous eyes, and four long tentacles where a moment ago there was a mouth. 

So strange. But not unfamiliar by now. And...alluring. You reach up and stroke your fingers over his smooth, fleshy tentacles. His hands stay braced against the ground, but his tentacles move over you, exploring your breasts, your hips, between your thighs. 

He watches you carefully as a tentacle pushes inside you, deeper than his cock. Thicker. It pulsates, making you cry out. Your whole body feels alive.

His cock has grown larger and turned a deeper purple than the rest of him, aggressively thickened, and with bumps along the underside and a slightly tapered head.

You don’t get much chance to look at it before he moves closer, the tapered head slipping easily into you, and thrusts inside you. You feel every bump. The tapered head probing sharply. The stretch of a thickness you’re not used to. He feels so strange, but as you cry out, you hold onto his shoulders with both hands, watching in fascination as the monstrous and strange cock moves in and out of you. 

“Yes. This will work. But you need more. I want to give you everything.” His reverberating voice speaks inside your mind.

He pulls out and two of his tentacles snake down to caress your thighs before slowly massaging your sex. Pleasure ripples through you and you close your eyes and relax back. This feels right. This feels even better than his handsome elf form. His tentacles are firm and fleshy and first one of them pushes inside you, and then the other. You reach down and stroke your clit as the thick, slippery tentacles slide and thrust inside you.

He pulls you up and astride him. You put a hand out to steady yourself in his embrace but, faster than a striking snake, his other two tentacles wrap around your body and pin your hands behind your back.

Without pulling his tentacles out, he pulls you firmly and sharply down on his cock. The sensation is overwhelming. You’re not sure if you can take much more. 

You feel a victorious growl inside your mind. He’s hungry for you. Greedy for you. “I have wanted you like this ever since we were connected. I am with you everywhere. I hear all your thoughts. I am always inside your head, but your body has fascinated me just as much. Each time your power has grown and evolved, I have craved you more and more. You’ve held yourself apart from me. You wouldn’t let me dominate you, but now you haven’t no choice.”

His clawed fingers dig into your waist, pricking sharply. Your sex clenches at his possessive, dangerous words, and then allows him deeper. 

You can do this. 

You want this.

A tentacle snakes up and wraps around your throat. You open your mouth to tell him that you don’t want him to stop, but the tentacle pushes past your lips and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I can hear you. I hear every thought you have. You can never hide from me. You’re mine.”

Your mouth waters around his tentacle. You feel saliva stream from the corner of your mouth and down over your breasts. So many wet, squelching, sucking noises fill your ears, along with your muffled moans and the deep rumbling from within his chest.

“You don’t want to think. You want to surrender to me. Have me dominate you completely. Fill you so full until there’s no room for doubt and uncertainty. Until there’s only me. Forever.”

One of the tentacles inside you slowly wriggles free, and he continues to move you up and down on his cock. Almost like a rag doll. You’re helpless in his grip. The tentacle pushes against the tight ring of your ass. That isn’t anything you’ve ever felt before. Your eyes open wide and alarm shoots through you. 

The Emperor sends a soothing impulse into you at the same time as his tentacle slips inside you, just a little at first, and then worming deeper. Gentle ripples flow along its length in time with his cock moving in and out of you. By all the gods, that feels so strange, but so good. Your head falls back. Your eyes close. He moves even deeper into your throat. Deeper into your pussy adn ass. He would never hurt you. He only wants to give you pleasure, and he feels so good everywhere that he’s deep inside you. 

“So good. So obedient, and all mine. This is what I can do for you. Only me. You love this, don’t you? Feel how good it is to surrender and do exactly what I say. Just a little more and we can be together forever. Just a little more. Just a little more…”

The mind flayer pushes deeper and deeper, stretching your ass, and making your pussy throb. Your core is lighting up with every rough thrust. All the delicious tension is winding your body tighter and together.

“You were made to be fucked like this. You were made for me. Only me. ”

Suddenly, all the tension in your body releases in an overwhelming rush. Your core burns with golden light. You feel his victory and self-satisfaction stabbing through you along with his cock, driving your climax higher and higher. You’re his. He owns this pleasure. He owns you. 

Every place he enters you convulses against his cock and tentacles, gripping and squeezing him. His pride and victory turn to urgent pleasure as your body works its magic on him. His thrusts grow sharp and selfish. Needy. Faster. His panting fills your ears and his pleasure fills your mind. He hasn’t let go in so long.

A spasm goes through you as he bursts inside you, and he pulls your body roughly against his and rocks you back and forth in his embrace. You’ve never felt anything like this. You never want to leave him. He lets go of your hands, and you wrap your arms around him. 

Slowly, you both open your eyes. He lays down on the ground, taking you with him and withdrawing his tentacles from everywhere but keeping his cock inside you.

With your cheek pillowed against his shoulder, he strokes you lovingly and murmurs, “I need to stay inside you longer. I’m not ready to let you go. Sleep. You may stay here with me as long as you need to rest. Time passes differently here, and when you finally awake, you’ll be deeply rested, your mind will be clear, and you’ll understand everything you have to do for me. For you. For us.”

You close your eyes, your whole body relaxing and feeling deliciously full, and you drift off into dreamless sleep.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hoped this pleased your horny monster heart. Please leave me a comment/reblog and let me know what you think.

[ruruvxz]

hello! new reader here. i think hanni would write romantic love songs!

“My Dearest Clementine”

Hanni Pham x fem!reader

↳ synopsis: You and your overachieving (ex)girlfriend broke up, but little did you know, she still hasn't gotten over her little clementine. And what's better than food to get into a woman's heart? A good serenade.

↳ cw: foul mouth reader, reader once again is lowkey so mean, breakup, established relationship, comfort, fluff

↳ word count: 2.1k

a/n: omg my first ever anon, im tweaking out, but i agree she definitely would make/cover love songs about reader. and she’d put her whole heart into the performances too… she’s such a cutie pie nfgagggghhhhhh fun fact this was originally a jihyo fic but then i thought really hard, and decided on not making it about her. oh and this is song is clementine by grant perez heheheheh

Skimming through the channels, you really couldn't help but be so agitated by everyone broadcasting this god-awful music show. "God, do these people only watch one thing, and why does it have to be music shows of all things?" You huffed to yourself, whilst aggressively mashing the poor remote. To be honest you'd be the first one to admit that you did enjoy all the award shows and music festivals. Hell, you've even been to your fair share, but do all these channels have to screen the same thing?

It's been the same MAMA award show on almost every channel, even networks that talked about important news, couldn't help but talk about it. Almost as if there wasn't anything else of importance to speak about, making your blood boil even more at the thought.

However, your visceral hatred for music programs wasn't always like this, well, not before at least. You used to adore watching the latest performances, always admiring the work put into performing on stage. It came to the point where you'd buy tickets for venues near your apartment. Despite not always recognizing everyone performing, you'd always sit through every performance, all the while waiting for that one special person to take the stage. Embarrassingly your true intentions were to go watch your then-girlfriend, Hanni, and cheer her on from the sidelines.

That was before, and now, the one who you called your one true love, had just recently shattered your heart into pieces because of work.

All the memories of her loving presence came back flooding into your mind, like how she'd escape practice using Minji's help just to find herself wrapped around your arms. Everything was just too much, the fact she would leave you to save face just enraged you further. "Argh! I am not about to reopen old wounds! Leave me alone you— minx!" You yelled at the screen, before throwing profanity after profanity, like some madwoman trying to stop the voices in her head. At this point, your neighbors were on the verge of sending a wellness check to the apartment.

Your rage was at a tipping point when you saw her gorgeous face popping up on the screen. You held up the remote, ready to shatter the poor television by projectile throwing the remote at the screen. It wasn't until your phone started vibrating erratically that snapped you out of your female rage. Holding your hand out and snatching the phone from the coffee table, you put the speaker to your ear.

"Yeah? Who is this?" You asked curiously, taking a mental note of how the caller's number looked eerily familiar, summing it up to being a coworker.

"Hey, I know we aren't close, but my friend needs a favor." The woman on the other side spoke with a soft and soothing voice, it sounded familiar, though the loud sounds of chanting made it hard to decipher who was on the other end. Thinking for a moment, you took your gaze out from the phone and to the television screen, biting your teeth as you saw New Jeans without Hanni nor Danielle. Sighing in relief you didn't have to see your stunningly aggravating ex-girlfriend.

Still reminiscing about all the times she's carefully and delicately peeled various fruits for you to eat without you even asking. You started to drift off thinking of ways to get her back, before snapping out of your pitiful daydreams, just to respond to the woman on the phone. "Uhm, not to sound round or anything, but who is this? I mean I'd love to do you a favor but—" You rightfully questioned, since this was just such a perplexing thing to ask someone, especially since you had no memory of them.

"Listen I’m…a friend of a friend...?" She spoke unsurely.

"Look, I'm really busy at the moment, I've got a maximum of 30 seconds before the next song starts..." The woman spoke, while you sat there still trying to puzzle together who she was. "It's just, my friend REALLY—" she exasperated the 'really' as much as her voice could. "Wants you to watch the MAMA performance today."

"What... I'm sorry, with all due respect, that's such an odd demand. I must emphasize that I don't know you, and you're not making the effort to state who you are." You commanded at the mic before the call closed, the woman on the other end not wanting to argue with you.

Before you could interrogate me further, the speakers connected to the television erupted loudly with my nose, the screams and praises abundantly clear. And of all the songs it could blast powerfully loud, it was "How Sweet" by NewJeans, but all that you could notice was Danielle throwing the phone to one of the staff before her muscle memory pushed through. (And that Hanni, who was previously sitting perfectly fine with the other members wasn't going to perform the song with them.)

As quickly as you comprehend the song was playing, you put down the volume to a bearable state. Admittedly you still felt a bit creeped out by that call, but then again compared to the phone calls and letters you received from crazed lovers, it wasn't the worst thing you've gotten.

Suddenly a sinister realization hit you, other than working, you didn't do much during your day off, only thing mildly interesting happening today on my day off was this fuck ass show. And if that caller's so-called "friend" wanted you to watch the performances, you'd do just that. So that's how you decided that you'd spend your precious time letting out your toxic rage on these performances in the comfort of your own home.

The time flew so quickly, and most if not all the artists were so enjoyable, but then, the performance you had dreaded the most was about to happen. However, a part of you was quite ecstatic to watch that dreadfully alluring woman fail miserably on stage. (But be honest, Hanni never does, she always looks perfect doing what she loves, not the mention how elegant she sounds when she sings.)

"God Hanni, even till this day you're insufferable. Fuck." You screeched, as the painfully beautiful memories of her flooded your brain, while all you could do was continue to shove chips into my mouth, eating them up with a bittersweet rage. But with your prior knowledge, before the performance started, the artists were given about a 10-minute break to get all the equipment and stage ready. So you were left with your heart racing inside your chest.

After a dreadful wait, you watched as the dim lights began to slowly light the stage with a warm spotlight, and the LED backboard displayed a beautiful orange orchard. It took you aback since Hanni’s most recent solo tracks never mentioned anything about flowers or fruits. You hated to admit that no matter what you still supported her career to the bitter end of your relationship, so every little detail about her was engraved into your mind. But oh hell, if it's a mess up, even better for you right?

"Ah, hello everybody. I hope you've been enjoying the performances today. Everyone is so good!—" Hanni spoke, the crowd roared at her words, and the camera flashed to her coworkers smiling proudly at her words.

"I understand everyone wants my more recent solo songs, but I wanted to showcase a new song. I made it about someone close to me." She continued, while even more mental anguish bubbled up inside your head by how she spoke so softly about the song, and how you assumed she moved on so quickly.

"I hope you all will enjoy this performance." That was the last thing she said before the backtrack began to play. It was a gentle stroke of a guitar before the other members of the band continued to play to the rhythm. The song continued as you leaned closer into the TV, using your remote to turn up the music playing from the speakers.

“Color it gray...” She sang, your heart thumping out of your chest, your mind drifting to the moments leading to your eventual fallout.

“Until I forget you

Like I never met you” The memory of her pleading you to forget about whatever connection you both shared because she didn’t want to drag your career down. Her tears still linger in your mind.

“My dearest, my dearest Clementine” She continued, looking back at the first time she ever spoke so dearly about you, using ‘Clementine’ as a term of endearment because you both cringed at the thought of calling each other ‘baby’ or anything of that sort.

“Color it gray

Until I forget you

Like I never met you”

“My dearest Clementine”

“Throw it away

But close enough to you” Her voice strained by her sorrow.

“Cause although I hate you

I will still fall in love, my Clementine”

“Every time, always”

“No matter how hard I try”

“My Clementine, every time”

You're always on my mind” She ended, fixing her gaze to the camera, looking longingly, as if she was looking at something— no someone through the screen.

You watched in disbelief as she closed up her performance, and walked off the stage, still wearing the matching dragonfruit and orange necklace you bought together. It was a few minutes sitting in utter bewilderment before getting a call on your cellphone. All you could do is weakly pick it up, while still being in complete shock at what you just watched, and without checking the contact you forced yourself to speak up, "Uh..." with a very long pause, you resumed "Hello."

"Clementine!" The voice on the other line spoke loudly, there was no other person who called me that sickening nickname other than the one and only Hanni Pham.

"I thought I blocked you!" You shouted defensively at your phone trying to get this woman to hang up.

"Yeah! But you never blocked Danielle since she never really messaged you, haha!"

"Just leave me alone you freak!" You argued loudly, "I'm hanging up on you Han—" Before you could press, block caller, you heard her scream from the other side.

"No wait!"

"You saw my performance right?"

"Uhm... I wouldn't say I didn't." You awkwardly admitted, still trying to avoid answering her questions.

You sat in awkward silence for a while before she spoke again, "Please, I know you— we weren't the most mature people, but please give me one more chance. I know I shouldn't be asking you on the phone…” You hear a faint sigh before Hanni carries on with her whole speech. “but I don't know any other way to contact you without you running in the opposite direction."

Rolling your eyes behind the phone, you took in a deep breath and analyzed the situation before making a very calm, calculated response. "No! Die in a ditch, Hanni! You dumped me! Then made a song with my nickname and aired it out to everyone!"

"No! No! No wait! Please! Clementine! That's the only way to get through to you! Please Y/N, I wouldn't be begging like this for anyone else."

"Ugh... fine! We'll talk about this later once you're done with work alright? Besides you shouldn't be stressed during award shows, it shows."

"Really?!" She questioned, a bit shocked that you would even give her the time of day.

"Yeah, whatever, don't overwork yourself."

"Thank you so much, I promise I won't, thanks for caring so much, even with everything I’ve done."

"Yeah yeah, you know my place, I'll cook something up, and bring you comfortable clothes, because I'm going to give you a piece of my mind."

"I should've expected that, don't worry, we'll talk, I promise, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say— and I promise I won’t make any more stupid decisions."

"Sure."

"I never break my promises clementine."

"Just— go back to work, Hanni! You're pissing me off, your sweet talk won't work on me this time, I'm gonna beat your ass no matter what."

"It was worth the try." She laughed before hanging up the phone, you swore you were gonna kill her when she came back home. But for now, you forced yourself off the couch and prepared everything for her arrival, after all, she never broke her promises.

[princesssmars]

something something riding karlach until she sees stars. 18+.

karlach is about ninety percent sure her engine is about to fucking explode. and one hundred of that ninety percent is all your fault. its no secret that you're beautiful, annoyingly perceived as so by pretty much everyone who meets you. she could tell when you first walked up to her from across that branch without fear, later telling her you already knew she wasn't the murderous psychotic devil everyone made her out to be. you listened to her story, defended her against wyll, and she could tell the irregular tick in her chest wasn't just her being nervous about facing probable death at the hands of the blade of frontiers himself.

(although if she had to die at your hands she wouldn't much mind. which is normal. in hindsight, she could also remember her subtly flirting with you. also normal.)

and she's so happy that despite your shared bundle of traumas and saving-the-world problems you could find some respite in each other. she's also really happy that as sweetly as she treats you you also understand how fucking horny she is after ten years of absolutely no contact and then meeting someone who is just as crazy for her as she is for them.

which is how she got to the current moment, her nails digging into your hips as you straddle her hips and rock yourself into her, each subtle glaze of your clit against hers bringing a strangled moan out of her throat.

she's not above begging, especially to you, but everytime she finds the ability to speak without releasing sounds of ecstasy she loses it in seconds. everything she's feeling is too overwhelming in the bestways possible, your hand running through her hair, the other palming at her breasts and bringing out very new and very embarrassing squeaks out of her, your legs squeezed around her waist which just brings her attention and eyesight back to the brief view she can get of your pussy when you pull your hips back before bringing them forward again.

she must have been hyper focused on the space between your legs because your hand is bringing her head back up with a giggle, asking her where she went with a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, smiling when her eyes close and her lips fold like shes holding herself back, the exact opposite of what you want her to do.

"'m sorry. i just...fuck, soldier, you're killing me here." she gasps, bringing your hand to her chest to feel her newy tuned engine, the heat growing by the second as the blue flames flicker across her skin.

"gods, you really are burning up. we cant stop if you want-" you start to pull your hips off of hers when her claws dig in harder and simultaneously force you down while she thrusts up, loud moans leaving both of you that make you very glad you put a spell over the area inside her tent.

she keeps going, thrusting her cunt into yours while you struggle to keep up, wrappong your arms around her neck when she lies flat on her back and spreads both of your legs further apart, your shared wetness making the glide of your cunts so much easier and all the hotter.

"dont stop, please dont stop. i'll die if you do."

you take a few seconds to catch yourself when her noises take on a more whiny approach, little 'fuck fuck fuck-'s whispered into your ear as she bucks her hips like a madwoman. with a sadistic smile you adjust your body so your nipples can rub over hers the same time you bite into her neck and with a strangled cry she comes, continuing to buck her hips until you fall apart on top of her.

you can feel her breathing slowing down beneath you, the heat of her engine cooling down to a comfortable heat. you start to move your head up to give her a smile and check up before you feel her hips move again, the feeling of your clit being overstimulated nearly making you cry. when you do get to look ather she already has her eyes focused on you, heavy lidded as harsh breaths escape her mouth.

"its starting to look like you'll die if i dont."

"well, i always knew id go out with a bang..."

teehee

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

I wrote a Hellblade 2 fic for Senua/Thórgestr because I have a problem. Rated Explicit (as everything I write) and it’s kinda a love story?

Summary: Thórgestr is brought back to Sjavarrisi to heal from his wounds, while Senua avoids him by the sea. As a storm rolls in, she finds herself alone with him in the longhouse, where she decides that the Northman is everything else but what he once was, and there is room in her to feel love again.

‘He’s coming.’

‘Thórgestr. He shouldn’t be, though. He’s still too weak.’

‘Hurt… dead… almost dead. Should be dead. We saw him.’

From the wooden vardhus overlooking the cliffside seas where Senua sits aloft the briney spray of crashing waves, Thórgestr’s figure approaches. He is a black shift of shade ambling through fog and winter—a Draugr if not for time and the healing touch of the læknir. It had taken many a day and night to drag the dying-dead Northman to Ástríðr’s settlement against the shoreline, where the promise of someone—anyone but the viciously seething healer of the Borgarvirki—could save Thórgestr, for he’d shown Senua the rock beneath the moss… his soul beyond the flesh.

And, it was on those passes of moon and sun during their trek back to the sea cliffs of Sjavarrisi that she spoke to him. Of love—of Dillion—of home, fathers, mothers, and the hidden folk who still talk to her now. It had been easier then, back when he could not speak for the blood in his lungs and the infections that came and went without Thórgestr leaving for Helheim. But even in the nights, when time stretched long between the rattle of his inhale and the wheeze of his exhale, his eyes watched her. Those blue, odd depths, wet and red-rimmed, wait for Senua to speak again.

… and so she did. She spoke on small things, great things, and hidden things until Ástríðr brought them—at last—to her home by the cliffs.

The læknir that Ástríðr promised bore skills to bring back that which was nearing death and, in doing so, shook Senua.

‘Happily so.’

‘The tyrant that nearly pierced his heart. His own father. He, too, deserved to die…’

��At first. Before. But not any longer.’

Now, the Northman lives, and with his voice returned, Senua speaks less. It is different when the audience of her tales and trials cannot comment in stride. It leaves her guarded now… distrustful, as though his winds will change and Senua will be a madwoman again, not a seer—not special.

She watches him from the lowest platform on the smallest vardhus as Thórgestr draws near, plodding on weakened legs with nothing but determination urging him forward. His ferocity to see her—to seek Senua out in the dark, in the cold—nourishes that distrust his waxing voice began.

Though it is winter, and though sea spray sprinkles from the crush and crash of waves upon the rocks below, Thórgestr appears chin held high, in bandages, leather brók… and little else. The muscles in Senua’s thigh—dangling from the platform overlooking the skerry—tense at the sight of skin and blood-daubed dressings. It is not like it was with Dillion… and yet…

‘He is nothing like her lover. Dead. Gone. Dead Dillion.’

‘No, nothing like him. Isn’t bad. Doesn’t have to be.’

Senua looks at the whole of him, then the pieces: strength beneath skin overgrown by vessels, rivers of moisture that coat curvature with love, a freshly shaven jawline with the raised welt of a shaky hand. She takes in these parts of him, then looks away as Thórgestr’s mouth curves upwards. He knows how her eyes linger in places, or perhaps it is that pleasantries are oddities, things Senua is unfamiliar with. These smiles, words, and looks freely given… as though he feels more for her than Senua does him… yet doesn’t mind—is patient—content to wait.

‘He will wait for her. She knows he is changed. She has changed him.’

‘And he likes to wait… they all do.’

‘You’re just a prize to be won now. A souvenir, like the Goði said.’

‘No. Senua is special…’

“It is cold,” Thórgestr says, a brisk tremor that is hot where the world is cold. He leans against the vardhus’ wooden post, unashamed—it would appear at first glance—of the weakness his wound lays over his shoulders, “Only getting colder.”

‘He doesn’t want you to freeze out here, Senua.’

And then, when Senua refuses to look at him, Thórgestr continues, “You know, as a boy, I would find the highest rock and sit, contemplating my purpose. Even then, my father found love in power. Control. I would do anything to be away from him then…”

‘He’s trying to reach out. Shared experiences… camaraderie… why does she push him away?!’

‘It’s no use. She doesn’t like him. Hates him!’

“I do not mind the cold,” Senua tells him, harsh and finite.

‘Tell him to go away. You don’t need him, Senua.’

She looks to the sea where the remnants of the giant’s fall have left the sea brackish and tumultuous with new disruptions that send foamy droplets up the landslip, wetting the cliff’s edge. Jagged, hunched rocks split waves like the onslaught of a raid, filling the coast with Aegir’s horrible lullabies. Only after a disagreement begins on the horizon between sea and sky does she look back to Thórgestr, whose gaze has not left Senua, though his eyes shift to meet hers.

‘Where was he looking?’

“It is you who should worry,” she scolds, “Unless you prefer to freeze. Bound to your sick bed.”

‘Look. He is warm, though. Not cold.’

‘Let him warm you, Senua.’

I’ve got the rest on AO3 cause it’s like almost 10k. Feel free to check it out HERE.

[melpomenelamusa]

Allies - Chimeras

~Original story~

Previous

CW: Reference past pet whump, reference past child death, mentions of drugs, someone is briefly bound and gagged at the end.

Elafi and Warrick listened attentively to Fidi’s story. The deer boy felt his heart tighten as he watched the snake girl's life story, as she narrated in a monotonous, dull voice each of the events in her life, from the time her parents sold her and how she ended up being the pet of a machiavellian millionaire. In her hands was a half-drunk cup of hot chocolate, and Warrick had wrapped a soft blanket around her shoulders. When Fidi reached the part where she fell into the river, helplessly watching her only friend being captured, her voice broke. Thick tears rolled down her cheeks, and her words turned into sobs. She wrapped herself in the blanket, unable to do anything but cry.

Elafi felt empathetic tears forming in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to endure so much suffering for so many years at the hands of that madwoman, Madame Lavenza. He exchanged a glance with Warrick and saw the mask of deep sadness and concern etched on the man’s face.

Fidi cried until she could shed no more tears, her throat hoarse from sobbing. Warrick asked if she wanted to lie down in bed, and she nodded. They let her rest in Warrick’s room. Once they were alone again, Elafi could no longer hold back.

“We have to do something,” he said firmly.

“Do what?” Warrick asked.

“Save Fidi’s friend! No chimera child should be anyone’s pet. We have to do something to help them.”

Warrick let out a tired sigh.

“It’s not that simple. Unfortunately, this world doesn’t see chimera children as regular people, and without laws to protect them…”

“So what? Just because of who we are we lose our rights?” Elafi asked, struggling to contain his anger. “All those chimera children, just because one day, without asking for it, they transformed and changed their appearance, they lost their right to be treated as people?” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling voice. “Did I lose my right to be treated as a person from the moment I was born?”

Warrick placed both hands on the teenager’s shoulders.

“Of course not,” he replied. “If I could change the world so you and every other chimera child could live a dignified and peaceful life, I would. But it’s not that easy. Unfortunately, people like me or Lupita are few compared to those who see chimera children as non-human. You’ve seen it yourself the times we’ve gone to the city.”

Elafi bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated.

“I wish I could do something…”

Warrick hugged him, and Elafi clung tightly to the fabric of his jacket.

“Thank you for being with me,” he murmured against Warrick’s chest.

“I’d never abandon you,” Warrick said, running a hand through the boy’s curls.

A few hours later, Fidi appeared in the kitchen again. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she was still wrapped in the blanket. Her pale skin and slow walk made her look like a sorrowful ghost.

“Um, excuse me,” she asked weakly. “Could I have something to eat?”

“Of course. I was just about to make dinner,” Warrick replied with a small smile. “How do you like your eggs?”

While Warrick cooked, Elafi and Fidi sat in the dining room. Warrick overheard them chatting quietly. Out of curiosity, he glanced their way and felt a warm sensation in his heart as he saw them getting along well. Memories of happier years suddenly came to him. Back then, if he hadn't been so focused on his job, he would have gladly agreed to give Devin a sibling so the boy wouldn't be alone and would have someone to play and talk to.

“Or would you have left him to die too?” a small, nagging voice inside his head said. Warrick gritted his teeth and focused all his attention on the stove.

Meanwhile, Elafi and Fidi talked. Elafi let Fidi touch his antlers and furry ears, proudly showing off his hooves. In return, the girl showed him her long fangs, her thin, forked tongue, and the scales on her arms, which shimmered with pearly and greenish hues depending on the light’s angle.

“Does it hurt if your scales fall off?” the deer boy asked.

“No,” Fidi replied. “Sometimes they just fall off and new ones grow, but it doesn’t hurt. I guess if someone tried to rip them out, it would hurt, but luckily that’s never happened. I imagine it would feel like having your nails torn out.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Yeah. I imagine it would also be horrible for you if you lost your antlers, right?”

A sad expression appeared on Elafi’s face.

“Well... I was captured by a hunter once. He... cut off one of my antlers with a saw. It was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had.”

“That sounds awful,” Fidi said. “I’m so sorry.”

“But the good thing is my antlers grew back,” Elafi said, smiling. “So I’m okay now.”

Warrick arrived just then with dinner, and the three of them sat down to eat. On the table were cheese, beans, and tortillas to accompany the eggs.

“Thank you very much,” Fidi said once her plate was empty. “This has been the nicest dinner I’ve had in years.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed the food,” Warrick replied.

“Fidi,” Elafi said suddenly. “I wanted to ask... would you feel comfortable if I gave you a hug? It’s something that always makes me feel better, and I wondered if it might help you too.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of the snake girl’s lips.

“Sure, that’s fine.”

Elafi extended his arms and waited for her to approach. At first, Fidi hugged him timidly, but then she adjusted her grip, wrapping the boy’s body tightly, as if a hug was exactly what she needed.

That night, Warrick let Fidi sleep in his room.

“We can lend you some clothes if you’d like to change,” the man said. “Though I doubt I have anything your size or any girl's clothes.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take anything,” Fidi said. “I just want to get out of this dress.”

Once the two chimera children were sound asleep in their rooms, Warrick settled on the couch, wondering what on earth he was going to do next. Taking in Elafi had been an impulsive decision, yes, but one he’d never regret, even with all the challenges it brought to his once peaceful and solitary life. But taking in a second chimera child... he’d do it gladly if he had the resources. Besides, if it was true that this girl had escaped from a millionaire’s house... Warrick didn’t want to get into trouble with those people, not again.

He pulled out his phone and started typing. He wrote to Lupita to tell her everything, trusting his friend would know how to guide him better in this situation. Then he thought about calling Patrick. It had been so long since they’d talked. How long—months? Would he even be awake at this hour? It was almost midnight. Warrick didn’t want to bother Patrick if he was at work or asleep, but since he wasn’t tired and his urge to act was stronger, he decided to take the risk. He scrolled through his contacts, found the number, and dialed.

~

There was a man tied to a chair.

His head hung forward, exhausted from the beating he’d received about half an hour earlier. His breathing was heavy, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his mouth. Soon, he heard footsteps echoing through the abandoned warehouse, and with difficulty, he lifted his gaze to see his captors approaching.

“Did you miss us?” said one of them, the leader, a man with crooked, yellow teeth. “Don’t get your hopes up. We’ve finally decided what to do with you.”

The man in the chair shifted nervously in his restraints. He wore glasses, one of the lenses cracked. He had blonde hair, tan skin, and blue eyes.

“I told you already,” he said. “I-I don’t know anything. I was just passing by when I saw you…”

He decided to stay quiet, omitting the fact that he’d seen them in the middle of an illegal drug deal. He’d been so engrossed in the scene unfolding in the damp, dark alleyway that he hadn’t heard the footsteps of the person sneaking up behind him. And now, here he was.

The man with crooked teeth clicked his tongue. His breath stank, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Oh yeah?” Stretching out a hand, he grabbed a fistful of the man’s blonde hair and yanked. The wig came off, revealing tufts of brown hair beneath. “Then what’s the wig for?”

The man swallowed hard but kept his mouth shut and his gaze steady—until it was interrupted by a punch to the face.

“I bet he’s a spy for the rival gang,” one of the drug addicts spat.

The man with crooked teeth pulled a phone from his pocket.

“This yours?” he said, waving the device in front of the prisoner’s face. “Maybe we’ll find some answers here. We were thinking about ransoming you, get a little cash out of this. But don’t worry, we don’t plan to let you leave alive.”

“No, please…” said the man, watching as one of his captors approached with a roll of duct tape.

Suddenly, the phone began to vibrate and ring. The man with crooked teeth looked at the screen with curiosity, then a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Is it your boss calling to check on you?” he sneered, showing the phone.

The screen displayed a number saved under the name “Warrick.”

Ricky??, the man thought in disbelief. What the hell are you calling me now for, of all times?

“Well, guess we’ll just have to answer and find out,” said the man with crooked teeth, accepting the call.

“Wait—!” The man’s words were cut off as a thick piece of duct tape was slapped over his mouth.

On the other end of the line, a gruff voice spoke.

“Hey, Pat, you there?”

“Mmmh!” The man tried to shout, but a punch to his stomach left him breathless.

“Patrick, are you okay?!”

Before anyone could say another word, the warehouse doors burst open with a loud bang, and a group of uniformed officers stormed in, guns drawn.

“Police! Hands in the air!”

Minutes later, Patrick was free from his restraints, while the men who had captured him were being loaded into a vehicle bound for the station.

“Again?” said one of the officers as he approached. “How is it you always end up in the middle of a crime scene?”

Patrick removed his broken glasses—he’d urgently need to get new ones—and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

The officer said nothing, only giving him a reproachful look before turning away.

“We’ll take your statement, and then you’re out of here. This isn’t a place for civilians.” The man paused, then added in a low voice, “I’ll pretend that wig, those colored contact lenses, and the camera in your backpack are just because you were coming from a costume party and not because you were sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong again.”

“You’re the best, Max!” Patrick replied.

Max just rolled his eyes and walked off. Once alone, Patrick turned his attention to his phone, looking at the record of missed calls. He dialed Warrick’s number, and as soon as it was picked up, he said:

“What?”

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Warrick said sarcastically on the other end.

“No, not anymore,” Patrick replied, massaging the bridge of his nose. He felt tired and sore. “What do you want?”

“I’ll get straight to the point: I need a favor. Could we meet one of these days? I’ll explain everything, your call on the time and place. Just a heads-up, it’s a long story.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Patrick hung up. Oh, how he longed to get back to his apartment, take out the colored contacts, have a hot shower, and sleep until noon. He stretched his shoulders and prepared to leave.

It seemed that, after a long time, he was finally going to reunite with his older brother.

Next

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba@morning-star-whump @lancedoncrimsonwings@3-2-whump@whumped-by-glitter@string-of-broken-hearts@alyscat@oddsconvert@what-if-i-just-did@bacillusinfection@writinglittlepains@washing---machine @bilightningwhumper @enasolos @inhurtandincomfort

Oh! So much mystery! Thank you so much for reading! ⭐

[vampyrial]

A World For Her Alone | Stranger

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, murder, suicide, misogyny

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude completely loses his head.

He opened his eyes once more to the dimness of his bedroom. His despair did not break, it lengthened like a long red string from one life to the other. His body was whole, reset again to perfect health and he knew that the ringing of his ears with the sound of an infant wailing was only an illusion. However, that reality only made things harder to bear than if there were medicine to be taken to rid himself of the noise. He laid in bed for a while longer, gazing listlessly at the sliver of sunlight that slipped through his heavy curtains. He gave himself over to the utter despondency of one who simply has no choice but to go on. That darkness was very tempting, he could give his strength over to it, he could fall backwards into it and know it would embrace him like a mother. But Claude was not so used to his helplessness, so somewhere in his mind, he held a small flicker of determination which kept him from falling completely. He had but wax wings to fly with and the sun was indeed approaching but he had some thought that he could reach you before they melted. 

He set eyes on Diana yet again, and yet again with childish glee. He looked deeply into her ruby eyes and saw nothing but the blood which was still wet on the bedsheets you laid cold and lost to the world on. He thought of the violence of it, your marriage. Even still, the muddled euphoria of being in Diana’s presence raged on, desperately trying to smother everything else. The memory of you remained a cold corner in his mind, a cell to lock his inner self inside as if it would help anything. As if that was the person who needed to be contained, needed to be reminded. But he was just so disgusted with himself, from his past life and watching his current one from outside a body that no longer seemed to be his own that he needed a place to take everything. He needed someone to punish…and he had no one who would obey but himself. He had no one to blame but himself regardless of the fact that he no longer even knew who that was. A ghost perhaps, unable to rest and unable to move forward, to be better. He would always be that man who died under the sword of your knight, always the last to realize. Always too late to save you.

In the corner of his eye, casting a shadow over Diana’s eyes, he saw you stumble to the table. You were a sight that shocked his body into moving as he would if only he controlled it. He had never seen you this way, you stumbled clumsily like you were drunk but your face was harrowed and tense. Words of concern left his mouth but he knew, he knew what the truth was. For once, he knew without doubt what had been done as it unfolded. He looked into your eyes and knew. 

Had you come back the same as he had?

“Where are they?” You muttered. His heart dropped. Your eyes were unfocused, forever staring at a point past both he and Diana, at an unreachable figment. He saw your chest rise and fall rapidly with your breaths. He saw your body tremble. 

“Sister?” Diana called, her eyes clouding with genuine confusion and unease. Her lovely face went slack with surprise as she watched her sister mumble like a madwoman.

“Where is my child?” Words that bit a hole through his chest. He had desperately hoped that what he believed couldn't possibly be but just those words alone had consumed him completely. You confirmed the nature of this reality, the true extent of his sins. The you who had given birth to his copy, who had died knowing her husband was at the side of another woman, who had died believing he doubted her fidelity, was the same you who stood before him now.

He remembered the eyes of your daughter, those teary eyes without malice that he thought would damn him. He was wrong to think the girl was his complete copy, no, right now he felt her eyes and yours were the same. Crying for something lost, a hazy, clouded little memory. A warmth that dissipated into nothing, a weight that held them to the earth.

But the resemblance was fleeting for your eyes quickly filled with anger. You seized Diana by the shoulders and you looked into her eyes unflinchingly, although Claude’s body rose on instinct, the him within only wondered if you saw in those rosy eyes the very same thing  he did.

“It wasn’t enough for you to have him, you wanted the only thing—” He didn’t let you finish, he was grabbing you and pulling you away from Diana like an animal. He felt his hand take your arm into a forbidding grasp. He could not stop, it was useless but if it were inevitable he wished to retreat inside. At very least he did not want to watch himself hurt you, not as he carried the knowledge that you had every right to go mad. Every right in the world to rage against him, rage against Diana even if in her eyes was an utter guileless that he could not deny.

“You don’t have a child yet. No one has taken anything from you.” Uselessly cruel words from a thoroughly and uselessly cruel man. They were more than lies, they were violence. He knew he was robbing you of any right to mourn the loss of a child who never had the chance to even have a name of her own. Forcing you to pretend, he was dragging you from your child just the same as death had. He was twice as forbidding as the universe, far more cruel, far more violent because unlike the universe, he knew your pain inside and out. And he watched himself wound you again.

You wilted, went limp in his grasp, your eyes went blank and confused. Your eyes were big and teary like your daughter’s were. “Please help me….I….” You muttered. He knew you were seeing her in him as you pulled away from his hold and he thinks, just for a moment, he might have been the one to soften his grip. To open his hands. It had felt like a long time since he could control his body in any meaningful way, he could no longer be certain. You were swaying on your feet, teetering away from him. He was still arrogant enough to want to comfort you, even knowing he was the source of your pain. His limbs almost trembled to hold you. To tell you that he had known your daughter too.

Instead, your knight stepped forward and gently caught you before you fell. He felt such a relief to see you caught even if his own body would not move at will. And then he felt…a sickness he could not place. “I’m afraid my lady isn’t feeling well, I’ll see her to her room” He said, without looking at Claude. He spoke informally, inconsiderately. Before he could respond, Felix was already walking away with you. A hollow hearted feeling came over him as he watched your body lean against his as if he was the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. He ought to have been relieved and the darkness that grew on him mostly felt annoyed at your outburst but it wasn’t the only thing there…his heart was sinking too. The one that was his own.

This life, despite the revelation he’d been shown, was much the same except that he was far more brazen than he’d ever been before. He came over to your parent’s manor without even hiding the fact that he only intended to see Diana. You stayed wherever you were, he wasn’t even sure you knew he was there. Your mother led him up to Diana’s room without question, not once did she utter your name. Nor did he. 

Again he was shut into a shared world with Diana. Her love was like climbing ivy, it smothered and it grew until he could not see anything more. But a part of him loved the feeling so desperately, he hoped he’d never breathe again without feeling the leaves brush against his insides. He hoped her love would grow part of him, he hoped that her love would continue to be so evasive that he would feel her vines cage his lungs. The longing for her to be a fundamental part of his life was strong, so strong that he pretended it was already so. When he strode up to your parents’ doorstep, he pretended he was supposed to be there for Diana, that she was his fiancée.  He did not even have to ask her to indulge this charade, she was more than happy to live in one of the romance novels that lined her bookshelf.

It did not escape his notice that you had been imprisoned in your own home. He looked toward your window each time he came over and the bars installed there remained. You did not even leave your room, he knew not whether you’d been forbidden or whether you simply did not want to see his face. The latter was the better, he thought, if you hated him then there was something to be saved. You not been entirely broken if you still had capacity to hate him for what he did. It would mean you understood his fault, it was all his fault. He would tell you as much if he was free to speak. He would say, “Give it to me, give me what pain you carry and leave it there.”

In this life, he saw you scarcely, desired you frequently. He was pulled this way and that by the high of Diana’s love and the time slowly disappeared. There was dread in the days approaching your wedding and he lived in a daze, always in a daze. This devouring thing inside made him feel bleak, numbed all his concern to nothing but the pathetic mourning for Diana. The wedding date slowly approaching was like a noose around his neck slowly tightening and he knew exactly when the platform would drop from beneath him but it did not give him peace. He could not enjoy his final moments. In other words, he was burdened on both sides.

The day your parents arrived hastily, hands clasped and eyes on the floor, informed him that you’d run away, the first thing he felt was relief. It hit him like the first burst of cold air from outdoors, it stunned him that his own consciousness was forefront for once. But before he had the time to wonder, there was more to be said.

Your mother, her eyes on the floor, had more to confess. She looked like a scolded little girl and frankly, he wanted to laugh at her until she opened her mouth. “It seems she has run away with her personal knight.” She was near choking on the words as if they made her sick.

A strange feeling came over him. A unbearable burn searing through his chest at the thought of you with Felix, alone and out of reach. But his lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, a bitter and hateful smile. “Our knights will take over the search for them.” The anger of his greater self, took him over with ease. It buried and twisted into him. It grew to a flame that cast his own consciousness into shadow. You betrayed him, you ran away with another man after promising to spend your life with another. He grabbed onto the fragments of thoughts his empowered self was too angry to finish. “How could she…” “A whore, nothing but a whore…” “If I ever see her again–”

Wherever you went, he hoped it was too far for his men to reach. He hoped you’d never be close enough for him to reach again. The darkness churned up thoughts to quell itself. Thoughts of the violence he felt owed.

In the days without you, he stewed in his own thoughts. The silver lining was being given reprieve from Diana, at least most of the time. She still sent her letters and he still answered them and enjoyed the brief moment of peace they bought him. The first letter, a hateful thing of pretty lace and ribbons, he wanted to throw out without reading but his hands worked against his own interests and he was treated to Diana’s apology. She apologized for her sister running away and disgracing him. ‘Disgrace?’ he remembered thinking. ‘Am I the one who has been disgraced?’ His fingers traced the lace decorating the letter, as he remembered what he’d accused his wife of in their very earliest life and the life directly after. Death by prison filth and deprivation, death by birthing the child of a man who left her alone. A disgrace? What did he know about being disgraced? All he knew was the very opposite.

All of these were whispers, of course. His greater self was soothed by Diana’s words, words he felt negated his responsibility. For what had he done other than be an exemplary fiancé? What did you have to be displeased with? What was he lacking that any other nobleman had? What was so bad you would run away with another man and have him made into gossip fodder? Her words fortified him, they justified his anger not as an ugly thing eating away at him but as righteous outrage. Diana was comforting him as no one had, not even your sniveling suck-up parents. She understood the value of a promise better than anyone. He held the letter up to his lips with shaking hands and he pressed a kiss to the place where her hands must have been when she pressed the ribbon into place. 

The waiting for you to be found was the hardest thing for him. Perhaps if you were not found in a decent amount of time, it would be more prudent both fiscally and emotionally, to wed Diana who was also a daughter of your house. Oh, how he reveled in that thought. His mind conjured such pretty, bloodless thoughts of marriage to Diana. It almost combatted the thoughts he had about seeing you again, the words he’d bring forth to shame you in a place where you could not do anything but accept your own fault. Your indecency, your infidelity, your selfishness. The irony of his anger and his eagerness burned no one but himself, who lay paralyzed in his own mind as he settled into the fact that if you were found, he might truly have to watch himself beat you. For something he was far more guilty of, no less. He couldn’t so much as grit his teeth to express the anguish, all he could do is call upon god, the well in the sky he poured desperate wishes into.

‘Dear god, you seek to punish me, I know. But do not punish my bride, let me go hollow from missing her, from wanting to retrieve some of the person I used to be but do not hurt her to show me your wisdom. Tear me apart as you will but do not use her to do it. Let her stay lost to me.’

The sky really must have been empty, there really must have been no god to hear him, for you were found on a rainy night and brought to his mansion. Felix was dead, slain as a matter of course. A sick delight came about as he heard the report that your new lover had been killed where he stood. He heard himself speak in a low voice that suppressed none of his malice. “Let me see her, then.” 

But his mother stopped him, assessing at him with serious eyes, sizing him up. “No. You’re too angry. You might do something to damage her.” She was right and the inner self rejoiced for the prolonged distance, for the fact that although his mother clearly considered you more product than woman, she would not have him harm you. 

He kept you like a prisoner, sequestered to some bedroom at the center of the manor, locked from the outside and served by maids who watched you carefully as their jobs would not be spared if you were to pull the same trick again on their watch. The greater part of himself did long to look into your eyes, to feel the rage inside bloom and overflow and finally, finally allow him to release it. He nursed this hate like the phantom child he had left behind.

He allowed for one visitor, the young lady betrothed to Felix, who beseeched him. He wanted you to feel as he did. This woman who’d been forced to only partly display her mourning through plain black clothing rather than the true mourning garb of one whose loss was as great as hers, was a perfect tool for it. It was to show you who your actions hurt besides him. The extent of your selfishness brought consequences for more than just him, he wanted you to know that. He could tell you himself but showing you was all the better. If you hated him so much you’d run away short of your wedding, his emotions likely meant nothing to you. So let you have the hatred of someone else you hurt, let you see what you’ve done through the tears of a woman you’ve hurt just as badly.

The day of your wedding was a humiliation, for both of you. A farce that became the den of gossips gawking at your stiff steps down the aisle. He was relieved to know that you were the target of insult but displeased to be pitied. Still, such was worth it, if only to show a woman who seemed to think she was above having loyalty to her betrothed that you were not even above being gawked at on your wedding day like a caged animal. If he had to put up with being humiliated the inevitable moment everyone found out you fled with another man, you would put up with this. He would have his pound of flesh before you were married, before he’d have to forgive you.

Still, though he wanted your pain, he was caught between that motive and the fact that it still severely angered him that you thought you had the right to pity yourself. When he saw tears in your eyes as you reached the altar, he snapped at you in a whisper. Why were you of all people crying? If anything, it should have been him. You did this, what right had you to cry about it now? In the time you were far from home, living with that knight, what had you done together? Living in the squalor among commoners, had you found some pleasure in that? He had no choice now except to marry a woman who ran about with another man short of their wedding.

Claude rejected the notion of your culpability, but that didn’t matter when the loudest voice within his mind did not belong to him. He knew he had no right to be jealous and bitter as he was, he knew it was ludicrous for him to act like you were the one to betray him as if he wasn’t always alone with your sister, coming to visit her while neglecting you. Never mind the fact that he knew what you had lost, what he had stolen from you. But what did knowing that do? All that mattered to this darkness above him was that you existed and therefore had sinned. The more he pondered this thing which plagued him, the more hopeless he understood his situation to be. This thing, this darkness, its separation from his true self only mattered to him at this point. All you could see was a cruel husband, a man who hated you, who would leave you to die alone. Did it matter if there was more to him, if all he could show you was the most hateful part of him? It might not have been his true self that tormented you for so long but…they shared one body and it was still his hands that dripped with your blood.

When he woke one morning and his consciousness had swam up to the surface of his mind, allowing him to control his own body for the first time in ages, he knew that something was wrong. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the quiet of his room with the faded rays of sun reaching through the curtains after a stormy night. The moment he realized he was free, he went to your room still wearing his pajamas, his hair disheveled. Each step was his own doing and yet it still felt as though the path was fated, there was nothing to be done except go to you. See what this life had made of you, pray to a god who wasn’t listening. When he opened the door, what he saw struck him so hard his vision went white.

You were hanging from the center of the room, your body was still and cold. He knew it was too late to save you but stupidly he fumbled with the sheets around your neck, trying to get your body down. Murmuring little words of comfort to ears that could not hear him. If only he could just get you down, he could save you. This time, this time, he had to save you. How foolish he was. How could he not see that such was not the way things worked for him?

Your body was not even warm when he set you down on the floor, when he put his head on your chest, he heard no heartbeat not even a weak and staggered one. Your eyes were open, unblinking and looking constantly at a point in the distance away from him. You had been dead for some time, for your body had not even been swaying from where you hung. He couldn’t feel you anymore. But he could not let go of you either, he stayed with your body until the steward was firmly pulling him away. “My lord…please leave her to us.” His head had been lain again your chest, his tears wetting your chemise for how long? He did not know. 

Even after your body was taken, he remained kneeling on the floor where he had held you. 

He was not even coherent enough to kill himself but for the state he was in, the doctor recommended he take sedatives. They made the days pass like minutes and often he was in the dark with his misery, not able to speak it, show it. Not allowed the reprieve or the punishment of a knife against his throat. He was in the dark with your body hanging in front of him. He was in the dark every day until the morning he was woken up for your funeral. That day he awoke by a caress, a warm hand against his cheek and for a confused, bleary moment, he thought it was your hand. His heavy eyelids opened and caught a glimpse of golden hair. 

He was besotted again. Diana was beautiful even in mourning garb, dressed in delicate black lace, inches away from him with tears in her eyes. “Lord Claude” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to wake up. The funeral is soon, I’ve already let you sleep as much as you can.” He couldn’t help the enormous love that came over him as he saw her trying to be strong before him. He stretched his stiff limbs around her and held her to his chest. She did not refuse his comfort, she fell apart in his arms and cried. Her face was nuzzled into his neck as he ran his hand up and down her back. Yet again, something had bloomed from the void inside. The honey of her love had sweetened everything and it was reaching inside him to claim control once more. What defense had he against her, his consolation and mercy?

The funeral service was carried out at the marquisate. A lady should be buried in her husband’s family plot after being married, after all. A marchioness is a marchioness, not even the part of him that despised you could deny as much. He’d relinquished himself to that greater instinct again, he was sure it had happened while he was in Diana’s arms. The moment his control was undone indefinitely was when remembered his love for her.

Diana cried throughout the funeral and held to his arm, looking at the coffin which cradled her sister who looked fitful as if she were having a bad dream even in death. She trembled to see her sister, young and newly married, dead. Perhaps she saw herself in the coffin next and the thought of that made Claude hold her closer. No one commented on him embracing his sister-in-law so intimately at his wife’s funeral, least of all your parents who looked more burdened than bereaved. They apologized to him for the inconvenience caused by the whole ordeal from your wedding to your death and offered to take over the planning of the funeral at some point. They apologized to him for your death. Instead of mourning you, their firstborn daughter. You, your mother’s only daughter, a loss that should have shaken her to her very core was being treated as a matter of political burden. You were no more to her than a fallen knight, a matter of replacement or compensation. A financial headache, perhaps a political one but never a mother’s heartache or confusion for a daughter who took her own life. 

What did he feel? Was it a husband’s grief? No…no, it was impossible for him to only feel a husband’s grief now. He was not just your husband, he was your killer, your jailor, your tormentor. The constant catalyst of your demise. He had not just lost a wife, he had killed one. There was never a time where he had been a husband to you, it was fitting that his grief was not that of a loving, dutiful husband.

Diana insisted upon not leaving him alone so your parents left her in his care. They didn’t flinch when she asked them and she didn’t think anything of spending so much time alone with her dead sister’s husband even though she had flirted with him so heavily while she was alive. Should she not be ashamed to ask this of him? Or did she think it was alright since she believed what everyone else did, that you didn’t love him, that you ran away to elope with your lover and killed yourself because he had been slain in the end? Nevertheless, he welcomed her.

Diana spent an entire week with him, days that comforted his hateful heart more than anything ever had. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, for she was mourning you as he was supposed to be. But it was as if they were playing pretend again, except this time they had the entire marquisate at their disposal instead of just Diana’s bedroom. When he wanted to see her, she was in the library or out in the garden or taking lunch in the guest room. Always in reach, it made him feel better. She was safe, she was healthy this time around and she was his. More than she ever had been before. Perhaps the suddenness of your death made her all the more open, made the need for comfort greater. Either way, the sweetness of her love was falling over him as warmly as summer rain.

But after that week, Diana did need to return home. For the sweet girl did not want her parents to miss her for too long. Claude insisted on accompanying her home in the carriage, under the guise of her safety but in all reality, just to spend even a few more moments with her. 

They were halfway there when the carriage started moving faster than it should have. The horses were whinnying in fright desperately racing forth, Diana’s slight frame nearly flew across the carriage before he caught her and held her. They were run off the dirt road and into the forest. Claude couldn’t understand what was happening, he only caught the glimpse of dark figures out the window before the carriage flipped over. 

He used his body to keep Diana from getting hurt the instant he felt the carriage tip. His head hit the door of the carriage hard but he seemed to be alright, there was only a little blood. “Diana?” He hadn’t the time or the wits about him to form the sentence he wished to speak, he could only call her name, frantic and panicked. “I’m alright!” Diana answered, looking up at him, still in his arms. She was trembling and fear clouded her eyes. He could hear commotion outside, fighting, the clang of swords. His heart sank at the staggered realization that they were being attacked but he was quick to action regardless of how badly his head pained him and how he couldn’t find his balance. 

Still, by the time he’d helped Diana out of the carriage, his two knights were laying on ground before several men, cloaked in black with their swords wet with blood. He pushed her behind him and gripped his own sword to hold out before him. It was at least four swords against one, there was no way for him to live but he still needed to save Diana. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t logical, that he knew in his rational mind that he had no chance, he had to wield his sword against them. They were quickly done in, Diana seized and his sword arm badly injured. Strangely, they did not seem to have any intentions of killing him which gave him hope that it was a ransom situation. Until the man who had Diana, who seized her as she tried to flee to her best bet of survival — the thick forests around them, slit her throat unceremoniously and let her body drop to the ground into the dirt. 

Claude let out a sound of unbridled anguish that startled birds from the trees. He fought against their hold wildly, turned half feral and dripping blood on them. The man who stayed back, took down the hood of his cloak revealing black hair, he seemed to be their ringleader. “Now that we have that out of the way, let me.” He stepped forward and drew his sword. Claude was still fighting, still writhing in the grips of his assailants, uttering curses at them. The stranger pulled Claude’s hair to lift his head and make him look up into his eyes. He wore a soft smile, dissonant from the situation. “Lord Claude, I hope you’d agree you’re entirely too important to be dealt with by just anybody.” 

The stranger, his eyes glittering with joy, stood back and brought his sword down over Claude's head.

author's note: Oh, Claude. Didn't anyone ever tell you the forest is full of wicked things?

Next

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl @s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: For Old Times' Sake Fandom: Pillars of Eternity Rating: G Status: One-Shot Characters: Maneha, Pallegina Ships: Maneha/Pallegina Additional Notes: Canon Compliant, Exes with Feelings, Bittersweet Word Count: 2.3k Summary: When Pallegina and Maneha parted ways all those years ago, they never thought their paths would cross again. A reunion in the Deadfire is unexpected...but not unwelcome.

Femslash February #2: Sweet Pea (we didn't think we'd meet again, but here we are)

read below or here on ao3

Traveling with the Watcher has taught Pallegina to never be surprised by anything.

Spectral visions? She accepted those years ago. Vengeful gods? Those are nothing new. Adra statues coming to life? That one…that one is more recent, but when the tales first reached Pallegina’s ears, some part of her knew that Desta would not be far behind. The point is, Pallegina has seen it all, and will likely see stranger things in the days to come. To save time, she has simply ceased being shocked whenever the unexpected happens.

And yet…she is shocked to see Maneha again.

Who would not be? Who could possibly expect to walk into a dubious establishment on an island in the middle of the Deadfire, many years and an ocean away from where they last saw their ex-lover, only to see her lounging about at the bar as if she belonged there?

Desta enters the inn at Pallegina’s side, and for a moment she is too distracted by the unique décor of the King’ Coffin to notice their old companion. She notices Pallegina’s sudden staring, however, and follows her gaze until recognition causes her to cry out in delight.

“Maneha!”

 Desta’s typical lack of subtlety is accompanied by a sunny grin as she rushes forward, and there’s no opportunity for Pallegina to duck out of sight before the woman in question turns and sees them both.

For the first time in ages, Pallegina locks eyes with Maneha, and that look alone is enough to bring back a wave of emotions and memories, all things which Pallegina thought she had left in the past.

Meanwhile, Maneha has never been one to easily be taken off guard. There is a brief moment when Pallegina swears she catches a reflection of her own surprise flashing through the other woman’s eyes, but she is quick to recover, and her gaze snaps to the Watcher who is already bounding forward to greet her. The two clasp hands and easily exchange the expected greetings- what are you doing here, how have you been- and Pallegina is granted a moment to collect herself.

By the time Desta thinks to pull her forward, Pallegina is back to her usual self. She gives Maneha a cordial nod, and her feathers barely ruffle when Maneha claps her on the shoulder with a wide smile.

“Now here’s someone I never thought I’d lay eyes on again,” Maneha says. “Damn, Pallegina. How’d someone like you end up in a pirate’s nest like this?”

“By following this madwoman, of course,” Pallegina says, gesturing to Desta, who laughs.

“Oh, we’ve got tons to catch you up on, Maneha. Would you have time for a drink?”

“A drink with old friends? Of course I’ve got time!” Her gaze drifts to Pallegina once more, a familiar spark lighting her eyes. “I’ll be here all night.”

Desta arranges for the crew to stay at The King’s Coffin for the night, and Pallegina spends the evening carefully stepping around mentions of old adventures with Maneha. Half her mind is occupied with the worry that the other woman will say too much about the time they spent together; the other half is steeped in a strange resentment when Maneha shows no sign of acknowledging that time at all.

None at all! Pallegina knows it is ridiculous to be bothered by such a thing when she herself has kept things quiet, but she cannot make sense of it.Unlike Pallegina, Maneha has never been the kind to make secrets of her attractions or conquests; rather, she seems proud of her collection of dalliances.

This attitude of hers has always baffled Pallegina. She makes no habit of announcing such things. It’s not that she is embarrassed- Pallegina simply values her privacy, and always has. The prospect of questions and teasing from companions, however well-intentioned, fills her with a sense of discomfort.

Maneha knew this. Perhaps, Pallegina considers, that is why she avoids the subject now.

The thought brings her comfort, in spite of herself.

As the evening winds down, Maneha throws Pallegina a knowing look and then disappears out the door. Pallegina waits a few minutes, then announces that she needs to get some air. Thankfully, Desta and Edér are oblivious as ever. Aloth does watch her with knowing eyes as she leaves, but she gives him a stern glare, and he says nothing.

She is not keeping secrets, she tells herself. There are not even any secrets to be kept, not anymore. Some things are simply not anybody else’s business.

It’s not that Pallegina and Maneha intended for their relationship to be some big secret. That was just…how it happened.

It was after Thaos’s death, when the worst of Dyrwood’s conflict was over. The team Desta had assembled was gradually drifting back to their old lives, but Pallegina found herself lingering; with her release of service, she had no life to return to. Desta happily brought her into the fold of the Kind Wayfarers, which was admittedly a gracious gesture, even if the career was a brief one. It had, at the least, provided a mission for Pallegina to undertake when she was in sore need for some sense of purpose.

At the same time, Maneha had decided to leave the Giftbearers for good. She’d been enjoying the luxuries of Caed Nua, but wanderlust was taking hold, and she was looking for a new adventure on which to enjoy her unfettered freedom.

Their reasons couldn’t have been more different, but they were both setting out on a journey. There was no reason they shouldn’t travel together.

During their travels…they grew close. Something sparked between them, and with no higher duty requiring her full devotion, Pallegina allowed the spark to catch. She and Maneha spent…maddicho, was it a whole year they spent together? Looking back, that time seemed both far too long and far too short, and it was something of a miracle that it happened at all. For someone like Pallegina, someone who had always lived firmly on the ground, it took a whirlwind to sweep her off her feet.

Maneha was nothing if not a whirlwind.

But whirlwinds never last. The purpose given to Pallegina by the Wayfarers dwindled quickly; they could never replace her beloved homeland, and Pallegina yearned for home more and more with every passing day. Maneha could never understand this part of her, no more than Pallegina could understand Maneha’s contentment with living her life like a leaf twisting aimlessly in the wind.

Disagreements turned to arguments, which turned to fights and wounded feelings. They both saw the end coming; they both decided to part on decent terms, while they still could. It was mutual, and as amicable as could be expected, and that was that.

It was nothing that Desta and the others had needed to know about when Pallegina reunited with them years later. How was she to predict Maneha would show up again, out of nowhere? It’s just another impossible twist of fate, one which has left Pallegina embarrassed and indignant.

But…also pleased. That cannot be denied, not when Pallegina steps out of the inn to find Maneha leaning casually against the hull of the repurposed ship. Waiting for her.

Maneha hasn’t changed much over the years. She is bright and bold as ever, and still decorated in the glinting jewelry she so favors. Her smile is the same, too, and Pallegina can’t deny the old affection called forth when Maneha flashes that smile in her direction.

“Hey, you,” Maneha says with a casual nod. “Still can’t believe you’re actually here. Damn, but it really is a small world, huh?”

“It would seem so.” Pallegina moves to stand at Maneha’s side, and after a moment of awkward silence clears her throat to say, “I appreciate your discretion around the others.”

“I figured you would.” Maneha tilts her head, her large hoop earrings jangling a familiar tune as she moves. “And I get it. My only question is- did you sneak out here just to talk, or did you have something else in mind?”

Straight to the point, as always. Tempting, too. But Pallegina has to shake her head. “I’m only here to catch up. Anything more is not possible at this time.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone and found another flame?”

Pallegina’s face warms, and Maneha chuckles. “Oh, I’m just messing with you. You know I’ve never been the jealous type. Not the type to settle down myself, either. You’re free to do whatever you want.” Her smile falls, just a fraction. “Besides, I know you too well. There’s nobody in the world that could distract you, now that you’re back with your Republics.”

“Ac, you do know me,” Pallegina sighs. “And I know you want to say something about that.”

“Just that they don’t deserve you. Never have. But I’ve said that before.”

She has. Many times. Often while drunk. There was once something validating in the words, back when Pallegina was still in disgraced exile. Now that she has a chance to earn everything back, however, they feel more like a slap in the face.

“I have an oath,” Pallegina says forcefully. “My loyalty lies with the Republics, now more than ever.”

A frown crosses Maneha’s face, but it’s quickly erased by a shrug and an air of forced indifference. “I wouldn’t know much about oaths, I guess. But oath or not, it is good to see you again. And if you’re actually happy with this arrangement you’ve got going- well, it’s no longer my place to say anything. I’m just…glad you got what you wanted.”

“…Thank you.”  Pallegina rests her head against the wooden planks behind her, relieved. Up above her, stars decorate the inky blackness of the night sky. She keeps her eyes on the stars as she asks, “What of you? Have you found what you wanted out in the world?”

Maneha chuckles. “All I’ve ever wanted is to keep moving. See new places, have new adventures. Can’t ask for more than that, and I’ve been doing it all pretty well.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” Another moment of silence passes, though this time it is more companionable than it is awkward. Then Maneha glances over and says, “But you’re sure you don’t wanna repeat any history tonight? You gotta admit, we were good together.”

She moves in close, and oh, Pallegina can feel the warmth of her body. The attention leaves her flustered- Maneha was always so good at that- but she manages to stammer out, “I- yes, I remember.” She swallows, recovering herself, and in a steadier voice says, “But there are plenty of other women in armor back in the tavern. I’m certain you can have a good time with any one of them.”

“You do know what I like. But you know what I like even better than a woman in armor?” Maneha’s eyes gleam with mischief, and Pallegina smiles in spite of herself.

“Let me guess. A woman out of her armor?”

That earns her a pleased laugh. “Got it in one.” Maneha steps away with evident reluctance, and Pallegina misses her warmth immediately. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t shoot my shot. I am glad I got to see you again. And I’m glad you’re living the life you want.”

“Likewise,” Pallegina says softly, trying with all her considerable might to ignore how much colder the night air feels without Maneha pressed against her. “Auret agori. Safe travels.”

“You, too. Hey, maybe we’ll run into each other again in another few years.” Maneha laughs at herself, but her brash voice eases a bit as she adds, “And hey- don’t let that Brotherhood of yours look down their noses at you. Do whatever you want, just make sure they treat you right. You’re worth it.”

“Maneha, wait,” Pallegina calls. She doesn’t know what her own plan is, but when the other woman stops and turns, Pallegina finds herself stepping forward and closing the distance between them, catching Maneha’s mouth in a clumsy kiss.

With one kiss, it all comes flooding back, even sharper than before: the salty taste of Maneha’s lips, the firm touch of her hands, the raspiness of her bawdy whispers. The days spent traveling at her side, listening to her stories and her jokes and her laugh; the nights spent in her arms, letting herself be touched and kissed and loved.

The kiss deepens, and Pallegina moves backwards until her shoulders hit the wooden hull. Maneha’s jewelry clangs against Pallegina’s breastplate as their bodies press closer- a glorious sound, Pallegina thinks, as Maneha’s mouth moves eagerly against her own.

“Maneha,” Pallegina gasps into the kiss, her hands grasping at the amaua’s skin. She runs her fingers over Maneha’s arms, relishing the touch she’s been missing for so long. New scars line her biceps, and Pallegina makes a mental note to ask her about them, if they have the time.

But that will have to come after. Right now, Maneha nips at Pallegina’s bottom lip, and all Pallegina can manage is another shaky gasp.

“Come on,” Maneha whispers, “Say that thing I like.”

A small bubble of laughter breaks through Pallegina’s haze, and she presses her lips to Maneha’s ear. Her hand reaches up to cup the other woman’s cheek as she does so, and she drops her voice in that way she knows Maneha likes so much. “Voc se vellico, mi aimora.”

Maneha’s whole body shivers. “Damn, woman. I missed you.”

It’s not wise to be doing this, not when they both know tomorrow they’ll part ways yet again. But fate has led them to be together again for at least one night, and for once, Pallegina decides not to fight against it.

“I missed you, too,” she confesses, as she pulls Maneha in for another kiss beneath the stars.

[ariadosanon]

[TW: POKÉMON ABUSE, IMPLIED POKÉMON DEATH. HEED THE TWS]

[A ransom video is attached…]

The video opened in an unfamiliar room. This wasn’t Victoria’s house, or really anywhere familiar to the viewer. It seemed she was in a fully concrete warehouse. Try as the viewer might, there were no markings anywhere to give away what the warehouse may have once been for, or where it could be.

This was a ransom video. Victoria stood in the middle of the image, grinning and adjusting her new glasses.

“Welcome BACK, Rotomblr!” She singsonged, spreading her arms out dramatically.

“Did you all miss the real me?” Victoria raised a scraggly eyebrow. Her eternal grin unfaltering.

“Of course you did. My inbox is overflowing with you freaks screaming praise.” She chuckled, rubbing her clawed hands together.

“Addisgon, overlay.”

A soft ‘Cha-Ching!’ Played from behind the camera. An image of Victoria’s inbox appeared in the corner of the screen. Addisgon scrolled, showing hundreds of messages, anonymous and otherwise asking what the poachers next move would be.

“It feels good to be so loved! If I had a heart, it would be so overwhelmed with joy I might keel over and die of a heart attack.” She continued to grin, making a heartbeat motion with her hands.

“But the world isn’t kind enough to kill me off.” She stuck out her pierced tongue. Addisgon removed the overlay of her inbox, flashing a little heart with a money sign in the center.

“Or is it? That’s what we’re here to find out, lads!” She stepped aside, revealing the reason for her video.

A well kept Espeon was sitting inside a small cage. It noticed the camera Pory, turning its head and tilting it.

“This is ESPIE!” She revealed, slapping her hand on the top of the cage. The Espeon inside didn’t react to the violent stimuli, instead turning its head to look at Victoria incredulously.

“You may know him from Head Ranger Wesley’s battle team over in Kalos.” She explained, idly sticking her fingers in the small cage. The Espeon licked one curiously. It was becoming clear to the viewer that this Pokémon was surprisingly nonplussed about being pokenapped.

“I’ve been thinking about family a lot, lately,” Victoria put on a fake ‘poor me’ voice, one hand on her heart, and the other reaching for the knife at her side. She slowly removed the skinning knife from its sheathe, flashing it to the camera.

“I got this for Winterfest. You like?” She waved it in front of the camera, showing off the little carvings of Eevee faces in the blade.

“Anyways. I’ve been thinking— If your family can’t come through for you, who will?”

She circled the cage as she spoke, pacing around like the madwoman she was.

“So in light of my new acquisition, we’re going to play a game. I know how much you all loved my games back in the day.” She faced the camera, raising the knife dramatically.

“I need to start my life back up. A million pokedollars should be enough!” She suddenly and harshly shook the cage Espie was in, causing the Espeon to mewl in angry protest.

“You all out there, watching this video right now have a chance to save little Espie from being Vayne’s new playmate.” She grinned wider.

“I’ll be accepting donations! With a 10,000 dollar limit of course. If you try and pay over, I’ll assume that’s a tip.” She giggled to herself. “No anonymous donors, either. Just so I can be sure you’re not cheating and double donating.”

“If I get a million within three days, I’ll send Espie back to poor Ranger Wesley, safe and sound! The kindness of strangers will prevail.” She dramatically made a rainbow motion with her hands, to which Addisgon superimposed a real rainbow over.

“If I don’t, then we’ll have another video. And you can all see exactly what happens when you YANK ME AROUND LIKE A FEKKIN DOGMON ON A LEASH!” She screamed, shaking the cage again with one hand.

Victoria paused, taking a deep breath before grinning her horrible grin again.

“Donations start now! Tell your friends, your enemies, anyone you think has enough of a bleeding heart to send money to save a strangers Espeon.”

She leaned against the cage, waving mockingly at the camera. “Ta-ta for now!~”

[The video ends there.]

[zablife]

Drinks with Polly in the Parlor

Requested by @notyour-valentine for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

"Would you care for a glass of champagne, Aunt Polly?" you asked sweetly. You wanted to impress your husband's aunt with your hospitality, but you needed a glass of liquid courage yourself after being left alone with the imposing Shelby matriarch. The silence which had already grown between you was terrifying and made you feel like a failure.

She turned from the mirror where she was checking her crimson lipstick, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arched in your direction as she replied coldly, "Champagne is for celebrations, my dear. I'm afraid a toast seems woefully late considering your nuptials took place weeks ago. Wouldn't you agree?"

You could only blink in shock. It was true you and Tommy had eloped without a single family member present to witness your vows, but he assured you it was the done thing. This was his third marriage after all and you agreed a lavish affair would be inappropriate, especially given the fact that he divorced his second wife less than a year ago. Surely Polly understood all this? Then again, the withering glance she gave, proved otherwise.

"I'm sorry if we've offended you..." you began.

Polly waved off your apology before you could finish, crossing to the bar to pour her own drink. Like Tommy she preferred Irish whisky, neat and she sipped it slowly as she looked you up and down carefully. A small smile began to form on her lips as she noticed the abundance of diamonds caressing your delicate neck.

"It's not you or I who should be apologizing. My nephew can be a careless man," she hummed, smile quickly fading as she stared at her own reflection once more, seeing something which obviously displeased her. "I always thought he favored his mother, but he is so like his father at times the way he treats the women in this family."

"Excuse me?" you asked, twisting your fingers and wondering what could be keeping Tommy. You were beginning to feel uncomfortable with the turn in conversation.

She chuckled darkly as she stopped in front of you, her hazel eyes dancing with a manic energy that made your stomach drop in anticipation of her next words. "I died for him once. Did you know that?"

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, fingers now clutching the cool metal at your throat as if it might make your husband appear more quickly to save you.

"It's alright, I escaped the noose," she assured you, lowering the volume of her voice to that relegated for the telling of secrets. "Climbed through it like a window to the other side. And I found you can do anything you want cause there are no rules, cause there are no risks. When you’re dead already, you’re free," she whispered as though she was imparting wisdom you might find useful one day.

"He did me a favor really," she mused. "Now I'm the one protecting this family because I'm the only one who can see it all clearly. My second sight keeps us safe, you know." However, you only heard the rantings of a madwoman and your body began to tremble involuntarily.

"Oh, darling. You're shaking," she noted, reaching a hand out to steady you. Her fingers grasped your forearm, nails digging in like talons, and anchoring you to the spot. With saccharine sweetness she cooed, "That's a beautiful necklace," drawing out the vowels in beautiful until it sounded like a taunt. "What does a woman like you have to do to earn a bauble like that?"

"T-tommy chose it on our honeymoon because he loves me," you stuttered, eyes searching hers for a sign she would release you from this trap you'd unwittingly fallen into.

"Diamonds," she said reverentially. "Goodness, you are special then, aren't you?" she couldn't help but add sarcastically.

"I should hope so," you answered in a defiant tone you could no longer hold back given her blatant disrespect.

Her hand slipped from you and you took two steps backward as she smirked. "You know it was sapphires for Grace. They represent wealth and abundance so that suited her I suppose. Rubies for Lizzie, all vitality and passion. But here you stand wearing diamonds," she pronounced.

Feeling the clasp of the necklace dig into your skin in the same painful way Polly's nails had clawed against your arm, your irritation grew. "And what does that mean?" you demanded. Your unease caused the gems to weigh down upon you like bricks. You tried to inhale deeply, but found it difficult to draw breath.

"Some say eternity," she answered in amusement before turning her concentration to your neck. A cackle erupted from her lips as though the idea of your union was a complete joke. Your anger mounted along with the suffocating feeling, closing your throat so you couldn't scream or reply.

"Others say invincibility," she added. "But that's not what you two have. I can see it in the air around you. I know what you are," she proclaimed, eyes narrowing at you hatefully. She closed her fists tightly by her side, knuckles white from the force. And that's when you felt the crushing grip at your windpipe. You fell to your knees, hands flying to your throat, ripping at the necklace or whatever phantom force seemed to be cutting off your air supply. As you rocked back and forth spluttering and choking, Polly stood over you triumphantly.

-----------

When Tommy came looking for you in the parlor, Polly sat sipping her whisky calmly on the sofa. His eyes immediately darted to your tear stained face as he heard your hiccuped sobs coming fast between uneven breaths. "Y/n?" he called to you in panic, crossing the room in quick strides before Polly held up a hand for him to stop.

"She has something to say, Tommy," she announced, looking to you expectantly.

Tommy furrowed his brow in confusion as his foot came to rest over something small and hard. Stooping to retrieve the object, the hurt became evident on his face as he surveyed the floor where your beautiful necklace lay in ruins, a constellation of diamonds cast over the carpet.

As the jewel winked up at him, he looked from his palm and back to you as you stood, wobbling slightly from lightheadedness. "I've made a terrible mistake," you sobbed, brushing past him and running from the room with the urgency of someone fleeing their own execution.

Before he could turn to follow, Polly's eyes flicked up to Tommy's, holding him motionless within her hypnotic gaze as she promised answers. "Perhaps now she'll tell you what she really wanted here because it was never you, my boy."

------------

Tag List:

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[labselkie]

hey that new episode right

not going into detail on how they got out. dooont care. marie’s finally coming to accept her,, she’s getting a bit more mischievous but trust me she’s still an angel. it’s sorta cheesy that so much of marie’s personality can be defined by just her love for agatha, but i think that adds a bit more for when the witch actually has to decide between her evil ex or a worshipper. bird with heart eyes who only thinks of how she can fix her gf /lh

apologies again if marie seems childish. she’s really not i promise,, she’s pretty smart and not totally blinded by love, just a bit screwed by the circumstances (at least right now.) she’s been thru a lot, she’s strong when she needs to be and is def emotionally intelligent. agatha goes to her for solace, and she goes to agatha. they’re each other’s best choice

“Agatha!” A shaky voice called out as its source breached the mud’s surface. Marie gasped when her wings broke out of the ground, and they flop back down with a painful slap. She claws at the ground, fingers barely reaching the thick roots of a nearby tree. A sharp breath can be heard beside her, and she flounders to regain her bearings.

“Agatha! My hand-“ She stammers, holding out her left hand as her right grasps for anything outside the pit. The witch lets out a pained groan before actually grabbing on without any hesitation. Marie’s wings are drenched, and act as dead weight whenever they’re not trying to push into the mud like snowshoes.

Once she’s almost out, just barely held back by the mud at her thighs, she pulls Agatha harder. All her strength is going into saving a madwoman, and she couldn’t even think as to why.

But it works, Agatha climbs out, caked in mud, and Annamarie does shortly after. Agatha stays on her knees, groaning angrily as she tears off her heavy jacket. Marie just lies on the ground for a moment before weakly starting to wipe the mud from her wings.

“God, that stupid-“ Agatha mumbles, shakily rising to her feet and wiping dirt from her face. “Ugh!”

Marie, knowing that she doesn’t have the time to preen, quickly gets up after. Her movements are shaky from the exertion, and her wings are quite limp. Simultaneously, both women pause, a hand flying up to their collars as they check for their amulets. A crystal and a locket, all accounted for.

“Honey..?” The mutant chirps. She steps a bit closer to Agatha once the witch turns, and shakes her wings like a wet dog. “You’re ok-“ She practically scurries up, putting a hand on Agatha’s shoulder as she circles to her front. For the first time, Agatha doesn’t shy away; she just stares when Marie brushes mud-caked hair out of her face.

The side of her mouth twitches, a hint of confusion ghosting over her face. Then, she smiles; it’s a sharp grin, one that’s accompanied by the start of a small laugh. She leans her head forward, chuckling as she takes in the disheveled state they’re both in. She brings her right hand up, gently moving Marie’s hand before brushing the mutant’s bangs back. Flashes of magic flicker between her fingers with each movement, and the sight makes her laugh even more. Annamarie slowly brings both hands back, but she’s quickly stopped by Agatha grasping both of her wrists.

“I’ve got it back, Anna!” The witch says quickly under her breath. She shakes her wrists, making direct eye contact as she pushes aside the fact that they’re a mess. Marie’s eyes widen just as Agatha continues, “We’re back, birdie!” The laughing practically grows to a cackle.

Agatha takes a fast step back, pulling Marie along in a flurry of mud and wet feathers. She pulls the mutant to the side, spinning with her as she laughs. In their quick bout of excitement, Marie smiles too. She’s a bit more nervous, as usual, but she even laughs along.

“You’re back!”

Agatha is the one to stop their twirling, she nearly trips on the branch they used to crawl out, but she’s still happy. Somehow. Marie’s brows furrow, and she can’t help but add:

“You’re sure that the Road will bring her back, right..?”

Agatha gives a small scoff and rolls her eyes, she’s got what she wanted, but she’ll still humor her girl. “Of course, nothing would pass up the opportunity to torment me…” She pauses, glancing over Marie’s shoulder to a tall figure surrounded in an ominous blue aura further down the road. “Maybe little Billy has an idea.”

So, she sets off to confront him, Marie on her tail. The mutant does a little skip once, but she’s can’t get a strange feeling of dread out of her mind- Nor the mud between her feathers.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

I felt inspired after reading your isekai and bring you this prompt/drabble?

Ft. the troupes of: [I had a good reason for abandoning you] [Childhood sweethearts] [Unnecessarily Cruel Rejection]

You are an inazuman Dastur of Sumeru’s Akademiya who just completed your fourth thesis defense and has been studying since you were a child in order to discover the cure of a particular illness, you aren’t even sure why you started obsessing over it but you were determined and after 15 years you finally could find a complete cure.  After publishing your results and starting to mass produce it you catched the attention of the fatui. Due to the insane level of usefulness of the medicine you made and the level of money it could bring them, you were kidnapped to Snezhnaya and the tsaritsa herself offered you to become her last harbinger due to your intelligence and determination.

You are a mousey, noncombatant, visionless nerd and you cannot think of a sufficient excuse until you remember the tsaritsa is the goddess of love, so you proclaim you could never stay in Snezhnaya because your beloved has been waiting 15 years for you in Inazuma.

The tsaritsa, a busybody goddess of love who also had a soft spot of Signora: so you won’t become my harbinger because there is a boy in Inazuma waiting for you?

You: We promised to marry when we were children. (which is actually true, but you are sure he forgot and is probably already married since ages ago.)

The tsaritsa: Alright then, as goddess of love I would never stay in the way of two lovers, then when is the wedding? I’ll be sure to attend and get you both the most wonderful gift!

You: Wedding? … Next… year… I think…

The tsaritsa, holding your finger without hesitation: Yes! Oh I know! Let’s make a pinkie promise! You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again! We will meet again next year in your wedding day to your darling in Inazuma!

Your life is over. You might as well just go to Inazuma to meet your childhood sweetheart about the promise you both made 15 years ago. At least his Shuumatsuban will only slice you in half and it will be less painful than being frozen for lying to the tsaritsa.

-----------

Ayato: Thank you for coming to see Ayaka, traveler. [illness] killed both our parents and if it were to take her too… the cure was discovered very recently… to think that if she got ill just a bit earlier she wouldn’t be here…

Thoma: She is recovering splendidly. I thank every archon for it.

Ayato, leaving: Thoma, please see our friends have rooms and dinner here for the night, both are welcome to stay, I must get back to work…

Thoma: Of course.

Traveler: Uhm… Now that he is gone… There’s also word about [YN] in the streets… I know she sounds insane… but don’t you think the way Ayato rejected her was a bit too much? I don’t think I would be able to show my face in this country after that kind of humiliation…

Paimon: That name…

Thoma: Miss [YN]… Can you believe her nerve? Now? Of all times? 15 years later? To come after so many years for a kid’s promise?

Paimon: Oh! Oh… OH! Paimon knows this one!

Thoma: Please don’t mention her in front of him. My lord was very upset; I had never seen him like that…  even more after what happened to lady Ayaka…

Paimon: Paimon remembers this now!!! Tighnari told us! She is infamous in the Amurta Darshan because she has been working like a madwoman for years on the cure to [illness]. It runs in the family of her lover. It killed his parents and it will most likely kill him in the future. [YN] reached out to the akademiya in order to save him… huh…? Why are you both looking at Paimon like that? Does paimon have something in her face?

Gang, Anon really wrote a dialog heavy piece like it was nothing. Inspired by ME? In MY inbox? I’m actually so flattered frfr 🥹😭

[hel-phoenyx]

Oli belongs to @thal-ent, Meili to @azeler, Domhildr to @soupedepates, the others (mentioned) to @corneille-but-not-the-author and @noa-de-cajou

___

I stopped counting the days I woke up in a cold sweat, my night clothes sticking at my skin. A nightmare. Again.

I'm not a child anymore. I am Tyrfing Harkyrsen, prince af Mundir, for Ocean's sake, I shouldn't be so scared by some kind of monster I could so easily kill. If only she played fair, and I know it's foolish to think fairness is on the table.

I hate her. I hate how she looks at me like I'm a liability she's waiting to kill. How she looks at my mother as if she's a thorn on her shoe she can so easily crush. How she looks at my father with the contempt she would give us, like we tainted him by simply existing.

I hate how she brings us in the throne room only so we can look at ashes and charred remains of what was once someone that didn't look at us with hatred in their eyes.

I hate how the flames and the screams still wake me up today.

You could have done something.

I could. Even if I am still, on the eyes of royalty, a child. I could have extinguished the flames. I could have defied the Mad Queen in a duel. I know I would have won. She is the only person I have ever wished to kill.

You could have done something.

My mother doesn't tell me but that's what I'm reading in her eyes. and she's right. I have complementary powers. One spell and the victim would be saved, or could get a dignified death. It would mark the end of our status quo, but this is what I am supposed to do, put an end to this once and for all.

You could have done-

"You couldn't have done anything."

Meili is looking at me with his unreadable brown eyes. He saw me pale and trembling this morning, and he's the only one I could talk to about that. After all, how can I tell Kaizarz I wish to see his mother's head on a pike ? And Domhildr always tells him everything. No, no, I can't shoulder them with this burden. They're too young for this.

You are, too.

"What do you mean ? I-"

"No, Tyr, I'm not talking about your strenght. Or anything, really. I just think that madwoman would not have played fair. At all."

Gustav told me the same. He told me to wait and see. But I can't wait and see. Not when the smell of charred flesh still haunts me.

I could

"I should have done something."

"And let Kaizarz witness you being the next ? I don't think so."

"I could have extinguished the flames, I have water powers for the love of Harkyr-"

"She's our queen. And an adult. She would have found a thousand ways to make you pay."

I can't telle you I would have ended her on the spot, would have been able to, right ? Death plagues my very existence since so long. Supports, friends, family, I'm not a stranger to death, not anymore. I have not taken any lives yet but my hatred burns enough for her to be the first.

It burns stronger than her own flames.

Meili is not an idiot. His expressions hardens, for a second, before he just puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, Tyr, don't get distracted, alright ? Wouldn't want to earn an easy win because you're lost in thought."

"Fuck you, man."

"Try to land a hit on me and we'll talk about that."

He goes down just in time to avoid my training sword right to his neck. Damn. He got quicker since last time, I really need to catch up. I'll ask for more training on the graveyard. Even though no one there can evenly match me anymore.

Soon we're engaged in a real fight and this is the only thing I can focus on.

****

Again.

This is the third time this week. Third time since I got back to the castle. Being here awakens my visions. The screams. The pleas. The noise of burning wood and dripping blood.

I can't go yet.

He wanted me there and I still don't know why.

Why would you-

I need to go out. My clothes stick to my skin, and even though I know it's just sweat I can smell the blood and hear the flesh. Everytime I look to my hand it comes back covered in crimson. Sometimes I see purple in the hints of color.

Never the blue tint that taints my own blood.

Only theirs is important.

Mine was already spilled so many times and yet not enough.

The ocean. I need to reach the ocean. Pretty sure Kaizarz is pacing in the corridors, I can hear footsteps too heavy to be anyone else's, but it's okay, it's okay, I won't disturb you, I wont shoulder you with the weight of my burdens, I promise, I promise, I'll just go through the window-

"Hey there, Tyr !"

I can't.

She's here, flying next to my open window. Smiling like I always see her, and extending a hand.

"Trying for a nocturnal escapade ?"

The memories hurt. She's sat on the edge of the window like I was once twice countless times. Far tinier than I was, then, but with the same smile, met with the same incredulity.

"... What are you doing here, Domhildr ?"

Her smile wavers as I call her by her complete name, she who was so use to the nickname I gave her. Still, she's smiling.

"Well, I was out for... er, a little expedition, and I saw you pacing through the door. You good ? You need unwinding ?"

I know what kind of expedition she's talking about. The matter still flusters me, but I am no prude, neither I am innocent. I know, however, that if I open my mouth she will start teasing me like I did to her, once.

"I'm... fine."

"Never believed you before, won't start today. You know I can... Distract you, if you want~"

She wiggles her eyebrows and I sigh.

"No, Domi. Not like that."

She falsely throws her arms in the air like I just turned down her wedding proposal, yet I can see her smile is now stronger on her face. Her little show of dramatisation is just, well. A show.

It pains me to admit how much those years of knowing each other don't rease themselves that easily.

"But how, then ?? How can I help a friend in a dire need of some happiness ! Tell me, Tyr, before I die of uselessness !"

"... Letting me out ?"

"If I was sure you wouldn't throw yourself from the top of the castle, yeah, I would. I know this face, you know ? I know that you want to die, but I don't want you to die, because, because you're my friend, and I thought you dead once, and I don't want to go through that again, because you're a great person, and, and-"

I lift my hand, cut through her rant. I can't listen to that again. I can't listen to those worlds and know that she believes in them, for fairies can't lie. Those are the kind of words I know would crumble if only I told her what blood tainted my sword, so which one wouldn't sully a knife.

"It's fine, Domi, I just needed to reach the shore. I promise I didn't plan to die."

Kaizarz wouldn't let me.

She squints her eyes.

"Promise ?"

I smile.

"Nice try, you little shit, No, I won't let myself caught in a little fairy pact, I know this is how you get me. But I can say again that I don't want to."

Because the day I would lock myself in a deal with you is the day I would stop running away.

I trust you. Always did. You scare me with your antics sometimes and you annoy me more times than I would admit but I know I don't have to lie to you. Except for one thing.

Shepouts, and I find that adorable, somehow.

"Darn. How did you manage to avoid me for so long."

"I studied, you know. Fairies are very secretive but books and knowledge are easy to find-"

-when you know where to look.

I know her culture is a sensitive subject, for her. Yet she drops the matter instantly and just extends a hand.

"Well if you really want to go to the beach, I'll just have to come with you."

"Really ? Isn't that just an excuse to get naked ?"

"Oh, I know you love my boobs, Tyr.~"

Little- This time my cheeks color bright red and she laughs like we weren't at risk to wake up everyone. Every fucking time she finds a way to tease me.

Yet the crimson on my skin makes me forget the other kind of burgundy.

****

I don't enjoy losing sleep because of those damn nightmares, but I have to admit for now, they're stronger than me. Even stronger than my powers. I had to rush outside the castle so the storm would follow me. Don't need to wake up everyone with the sound of thunder. The only time I hear Domhildr and Kaizarz's peaceful breath when I run past their rooms.

I can hold on for a long tome, but that doesn't mean it's not taking a toll on my body. This is probably why my steps are carrying me towards the graveyard, towards my old house. In stress the mind recognises the safe places.

Yet, when I finally reach the shore, I find myself company. I don't know what Oli is doing here, or even if that place has any significance for them, but here they are, walking in the middle of the ship debris.

I spot from the corner of my eye a pile we once did when we were still teenagers. Apparently, even seastorms can't make old memories go away.

I still remember the first time they found me here. I was alone on the shore, but I could here the muffled exclamations and feel the hidden fear. That day, no one showed up among the ships. It was only Oli and me, and my hands on her wings.

How different things would be if they showed up, if they introduced themselves ?

Today is exactly like that day. We're all alone in the graves.

She probably heard my footsteps, since she turns around and smiles at me.

"Nightmare again, isn't it."

He knows. He has always been the most perceptive, and the one getting the most to the point. His voice holds the same tone, yet it is the softest I've heard in a long time.

I can't lie to that voice.

"Yeah. Again."

"The same ?"

"Still."

Pleas and screams and the smell of the sea. Burned wood and ligthning and my hand on the ground. My lips crying supplice and his dripping with blood.

Stop that. Please. I'm begging you.

She doesn't ask any more questions. I always appreciated that. This is exactly why she knows it is always the same nightmare.

They extend a hand towards me and I take it. Both our feet lay naked in the seawater, their talons brushing against algae and my toes feeling the sand beneath me.

Their smile looks so peaceful when reflected under the light of the moon. Peace. Safety. Comfort. Everything we share, from the moment I carried them in my arms until today where their hand is softly wrapped in mine, through those dayw when they were waiting in front of my door for an answer I wouldn't ever give them.

I've missed this.

Feeling simply loved.

The storm behind me falters. Soon enough coulds are nothing but a distant memory.

"What are you doing outside at this hour, anyway ?"

"Wanted to fly a little under the moonlight, but a certain seastorm kinda threw me off. I sought refuge. Just didn't expect to see you there."

I smile, the corners of my mouth weightened with guilt.

"Sorry. I guess I needed a safe place, too."

"Is this place special to you , It's not the first time I see you there, so I was wondering."

Yeah.

"I suppose you could say that."

He shrugs.

"Well, I guess we both find what we were searching for."

I guess I did.

***

...

Nightmare.

Again.

This one is the biggest I've had in a while. Since I got up on this boat, in fact. Evrything was so

So

Vivid.

My hand hurts where it's missing. I can feel something clenching around my wrist. I can hear the cries. I can hear the screams. I can taste the blood like I've bitten in flesh instead of trying to rip of my pillows in pain.

I can still feel his cold, hating eyes on me. Blue like the ocean and yet so, so much colder as my flesh is ripping.

I can still feel the cold, cold steel in my hand, covered in warm, warm blood.

I can still remember the only warmth I felt

Was his arms

And yet his tears were so cold, too.

I get up on the deck. Maybe I can just swim for a while. Maybe I can let that ship forget me in the sea. maybe I can just

Somethin stops my walk.

Three pair of eyes full of worry. Even if one of those is artificial and an other doesn't even look in my general direction.

They're here.

"What... Guys ?"

"We heard you cry in your sleep, said Oli this time without smiling. We thought you would get out sooner rather than later."

The others don't say a word.

I just feel a pair of arms circling around my waist. Tiny, warm, soft, Domhildr's, looking at me with tear-filled eyes.

"Hey, you know we're here, right ? We'll always be here."

Oli steps forwards, join the hug. Then it's Meili's turn. Soon enough I am trapped by three pairs of arms around me and the warmth of three bodies I can't fight against.

I can't only let myself go in their embrace.

You're not lying, Domhildr. I know you really believe that.

But I know you will once look upon those words and see a lie.

Because when you learn about

What I've done

You

Won't

Be

Here

Anymore.

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Part 4

Summary: Freya and Halsin return Oliver to Thaniel, and Halsin gives her a new armor set that he had Dammon make after the events of part 1. Freya opens up some about her past, and they get ready to go get Thorm’s relic and end him. Lots of fluff, as fluffy as my oc gets.

Content warnings: mentions of suicide and domestic violence. Death/undeath. Act 2 spoilers

“Be gentle with him,” Halsin whispered to Freya. They stood on the cusp of reuniting Thaniel with his missing half, in the form of a young boy named Oliver. One wrong move, and they could lose their chance to break the curse forever. “He’s much more than a child, though he doesn’t truly know that.”

Freya got down on one knee, lowering herself to Oliver’s height. “Oliver,” she began. Her tone was firm, but gentle, like a mother teaching her child. He’d only ever seen this softness in her once, when she told Arabella of her parents’ fates, and it made his heart squeeze. “You’ve been so brave. No child should ever have to endure what you have, and yet you survived despite all the challenges in your way.” Halsin didn’t dare breathe lest he scare the boy away as she spoke.

“Thaniel did not abandon you, Oliver. You were taken from each other, and now he needs you more than ever. You needn’t invent friends any longer. Thaniel’s returned, and he’s waiting for you. You won’t be alone anymore, I swear it.”

Oliver considered her for a long moment, searching for some lie or deceit in her words. Halsin knew he would find none, as Freya did not make promises lightly. She was the most honest person he’d ever met.

“Alright. I’ll do it. I want to do it. It’ll be nice to see him again,” Oliver said, a hopeful smile spreading across his face.

“Well done.” Halsin’s eyes filled with tears as his heart swelled. Soon, the land would begin to heal, and it was all thanks to her. She was incredible. A parasite threatened to take over her mind at any moment, yet she still acted with compassion and kindness. She still found the time to save a bear from a cage simply because she thought it was the right thing to do. This curse was not her responsibility, yet she aided him in breaking it simply because he asked for her help.

“Are you crying? You’re a bit big to be crying, but I suppose that’s okay,” Oliver commented as green light surrounded him. “Bye! And thank you for playing with me.” Oliver vanished in swirls of gold and green and Halsin watched as Freya stared in awe and hope.

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and crushed her to his chest. She stiffened for a moment in surprise, as if she’d never had someone embrace her before, and then hesitantly hugged him back. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Thank you.”

He rested his chin on her head and inhaled the scent of thunderstorms and pine and steel as he closed his eyes, soaking her in. He didn’t want to let her go, to give up this moment with her. He let his tears fall silently, thanking Silvanus and Selûne and every other god that would listen for bringing this woman to him.

Her hands moved to his hips as she gently pulled away. “We should go to the inn and speak with Jaheira on our way back to camp,” she said, blue eyes twinkling with hope. “Tomorrow, we’ll head to the mausoleum and find the relic. The time has come to make Ketheric Thorm bleed.” She grabbed his hand in hers and pulled him along with her towards Last Light, everything about her radiating indomitable determination.

Whatever she needed him to be, he would do it. A protector, a friend, an ear to listen, a lover. If she just needed someone to clean her boots, he would volunteer just to have a moment in her company. Ever since he kissed her that day after she raided Moonrise like a madwoman, he’d been so drunk on her that he could think of little else. Memories of Freya drowned every trance, and he spent his waking moments seeking her out. The wild thrill in her eyes with each swing of her blade, the way her hair glowed pure white under the moon, how she stood tall and resolute as she faced every obstacle in her path. Her soft heart, hidden behind that rock hard exterior, wielding her strength as a shield in front of the most vulnerable.

And by the gods, that smile of hers threatened to put him on his knees on the rare occasions it shone through.

They reached Last Light in record speed, propelled by their combined hope and newfound purpose. He squeezed Freya’s hand before reluctantly letting go as Dammon caught his eye. “You go talk to Jaheira,” he told Freya. “This is your victory to share. I want to get some supplies while we’re here.” She nodded, and behind the safety of Isobel’s shield she finally sheathed her sword across her back as she entered the inn. Halsin made his way to the pens where Dammon had set up shop.

“It took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but it’s as ready as it’ll ever be,” the blacksmith said to Halsin as he approached. He held up the new suit for inspection, a perfect replica of the sketches Halsin had given him.

“It’s perfect, Dammon, thank you.” He tossed the tiefling a pouch full of gold coins he’d gathered on their travels. Halsin rarely dealt with money, preferring to craft his own things or trade in favors or materials, so the sum was hardly a loss. He knew that in Baldur’s Gate, Dammon would need it far more than him.

Dammon’s eyes went wide as he felt the weight of the small bag, and Halsin just nodded before he could protest. The blacksmith packed the new suit of armor as Freya exited to the village center. Halsin slung the pack over his shoulder and took her hand once more, falling into an easy, comfortable rhythm as they made their trek to camp.

————

Pure shock dominated Freya’s expression as Halsin carefully emptied Dammon’s pack and she took in its contents.

“How did you…?” She whispered the unfinished question with a fist clutching her heart.

“The first time we marched on Moonrise, I recall a young woman leading the vanguard,” Halsin began. “I remember the whispers that she was Selûne’s Chosen, and that she would lead us to victory.” Freya’s eyes near bulged out of her skull at his recollection. “When I first met you, I had my suspicions. I dreamt of that day the night of the party with the tieflings, and I sketched her in my journal. It wasn’t until I saw you blast those shadows with moonlight that I knew it was you.”

Freya fell to her knees, her identity settling over the two of them like a blanket. He knew why she didn’t tell the others who she was. He understood the guilt and shame and failure that waged war in her mind. She bowed her head, hands resting on her thighs as her shoulders shook with unshed tears.

“I gave the drawings to Dammon when I picked up your armor after you’d been hurt. Forgive me, if I’ve overstepped, I just know that you hold significance in symbols, and I thought that the next time you faced Thorm in battle, you’d want to do it as Selûne’s paladin.”

She gathered the winged helm in her small hands and allowed her tears to fall silently on the steel. She ran her thumbs over the carvings of the moon, and Halsin held his breath while he waited for her verdict.

“I took this armor off that day,” she whispered. “I remember leading everyone to battle, as I’d done a thousand times before, and I watched my brother take a blade that was meant for me.” A lump formed in Halsin’s throat as she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the night sky. “I held him as he took his last breath. We did everything together, he and I. We left the North when we were sixteen and nineteen, never spending a day apart from each other. Our father was a cruel man, and the two of us did everything in our power to protect our mother from him. He was relentless. Always drunk, always angry.

“Az found her. She’d hung herself from the balcony outside her bedroom. I’d never seen him so angry, he was always so good, so kind and annoying and always cracking jokes no matter how fucked everything around us was. He came to my room that night, bags packed on his back, and told me we were leaving. We traveled south, and never looked back. I don’t know if my father still lives, or if Az killed him, and I probably never will.

“That day at Moonrise, I held my brother as he died. I watched as the life and light left his eyes.” She choked on a sob, and Halsin’s own cheeks were wet as he knelt in front of her. “Then I watched as his body cracked and transformed, and his eyes glowed sickly green and skin turned black.” Horror settled in Halsin’s gut, ice spreading through his core. “He lunged at me, and I severed his head. My brother, my sweet, brave brother, was one of the first victims of the curse. I took my armor off, and never wore it again.” She took a deep breath and held the new helmet to her chest, finally opening her eyes and staring into Halsin’s own. Her sorrow and guilt quickly hardened to cold determination and righteous anger.

“Until now.”

————

“How is the fit?” Halsin asked over his shoulder, his back turned to give the paladin her privacy. His chest ached for her, yet swelled with the knowledge that she trusted him and only him with the burden she’d been carrying alone this last century.

“Dammon is one crafty motherfucker,” she said. “It’s excellent. Better, even, than any of my old sets. The scalemail was a perfect touch, I feel like I can actually move rather than being weighed down. You can turn around, by the way.” He did so, and as he took in the sight of her he had no idea how he’d ever doubted she was the Moonmaiden’s Chosen.

The old armor she wore was well-fitted, but in comparison to the new set it was bulky and, as Dammon had said after she was hurt, full of gaps. Where the plate ended, silver scalemail hugged every curve and muscle on her body. Accents of dark blue fabric, a color Halsin had come to associate only with her, flavored the silver steel and symbols of the Moonmaiden intricately adorned the plate. Halsin had no idea how Dammon had pulled it off in such a short amount of time.

He retrieved her new helmet from where it lay at her feet and placed it over her silver braids like a crown. It slid snug into place, another perfect fit. Her sapphire eyes bore into his own, gratitude and hope and trust pouring through her features.

“It feels right. Thank you, for bringing me back to myself,” she whispered. He stepped back, squeezing her shoulder. He circled her, searching for any cracks in the armor she couldn’t see, and found none. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her back to his chest, and she leaned against him. She took her helmet off and dropped it at her feet, then clutched his forearms with both hands and let her head fall back against him.

“Your secrets are safe with me, my friend. Your trust is an honor I can’t even begin to describe.” Halsin kissed her hair again and rested his cheek on her head. He meant every word. He would guard her back and her secrets with his life.

“You’ll come with me tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Wherever you need me, that’s where I’ll be.” She spun in his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“I need you to promise me something,” she murmured.

“Anything.”

“If I fall tomorrow, burn my body. Don’t let me change like Az.” The thought alone made Halsin’s blood run cold. He took her face in his large hands and tilted her chin up to look at him. A lump formed in his throat as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“You have my word,” he vowed to her. He knew that if she fell, it meant he was dead. He would be her shield whether she liked it or not, and he would not fail her.

[hacked-by-jake]

Spoiler (badly written) poem ahead:

✨️

✨️

✨️

✨️

✨️

I said I was done with Duskwood.

Said I moved on.

Told everyone I won't write fanfictions anymore.

Impatience killed the love for Duskwood.

I said I didn't love Jake anymore.

Was fine with him being killed in the mines.

Didn't care about the group.

I closed the chapter.

Never looked back.

Thought the new game would never arrive.

Two years passed.

A notification of Instagram popped up.

Everbyte posted something new.

Shrugging, I opened the notification.

After endless waiting, Moonvale came out.

Like a madwoman I sprinted to the play store.

Downloaded the game.

Like a fury I played the mini games.

Oh, I hated them with passion.

A burning passion.

But this burning passion quickly changed to...

Burning love.

A desire.

A fire in my heart.

The tingles under my skin when my screen glitched.

A new data got transmitted to my phone.

A save data of Alan's body cam.

In the dark forest, he held out his gun.

Pointing it at invisible ghosts.

But his target was long gone.

The trace he left behind...

A hoodie black as midnight with burning holes.

An empty burned backpack.

And his famous anonymous mask.

And suddenly.

My screen flickered again.

His profile picture with his famous mask popped up.

MC. I will find you.

As it turns out, I do love him still.

Never stopped.

Tried to drown the pain of losing him in distraction.

Please find me, Jake.

An emotional poem by a former fanfiction writer.

Badly written?? Not sure if we're reading the same text. This is fantastic! A Duskwood/Moonvale poem! Simply awesome! Holy!

You know, I hope you don't mind that I don't say much about it, but I feel like I don't have to, it's wonderful and I won’t comment on it because it say everything perfectly.

And I'm very sure a lot of people will relate to that! 💚

Welcome back in the Jake fan club, hehe!