#because i would not be caught dead in the doom room

[slashingdisneypasta]

Lmfaoooo this no eyebrow joke is just too funny to me as well tbh I'm cackiling in the back room at work 😂

MC going to say something to me and me just stopping him with "No eyebrows, no opinion."

And then him just throwing me the most absolutely unamused annoyed look over.

Me: *Tapping the sign*

The sign:

NO EYEBROWS NO SERVICE

We don't talk to no eyebrow men around here, no no-

[novaursa]

Legacy (the north and the south)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: homesick

- Next part: sisters

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The raven arrived early in the morning, its cries echoing across the stone corridors of Dragonstone. The castle was shrouded in mist, the waves crashing relentlessly against the cliffs below. You were sitting in your chambers, cradling Maelor in your arms while Damon played with wooden soldiers on the floor. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill that lingered outside, but the peace of the morning was soon interrupted by a knock on the heavy oak door.

A servant entered, carrying the sealed letter. "My lady," he said respectfully, offering the parchment.

You handed Maelor gently to his wet nurse and took the letter, the seal unmistakable—the direwolf of House Stark. Your heart quickened as you broke it open, your eyes scanning the words written in Jon’s unmistakable hand.

“From Jon?” Tywin’s voice came from the doorway, calm yet piercing. He entered the room, his keen green eyes narrowing as he studied your expression.

You nodded, rereading the letter before speaking. “Winterfell is his again. Sansa is safe.”

Tywin approached, standing beside you. “And?”

A shadow passed over your face as you continued. “Rickon… he’s dead. Killed by Ramsay Bolton.” Your voice caught, and you paused to compose yourself. “Jon says there is still no word of Bran or Arya.”

Tywin remained silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “The boy was a casualty of war. The North would have suffered greater losses had the Boltons not been stopped.”

You turned to him, your eyes sharp. “He wasn’t just a casualty. He was a child. My family.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his tone softened slightly. “I do not diminish his loss. But this is the cost of reclaiming Winterfell.”

Your fingers tightened around the parchment as you continued reading. “Jon plans to come here. He wants to meet Damon and Maelor.” You paused, the next part of the letter weighing heavily on your heart. “And he intends to speak with you, Tywin.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—curiosity, perhaps, or annoyance. “To what end?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Jon says he will demand justice for what has been done by your family to his.”

Tywin’s expression hardened, his features a mask of control. “Justice,” he said, the word laced with cold amusement. “The Starks have always had an idealistic view of the world.”

“Jon is no idealist,” you countered, your voice firm. “He’s been through too much to cling to fantasies. If he seeks justice, it’s because he believes it’s owed to him.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned to the window, gazing out at the misty sea. “He may demand what he wishes, but justice is not so easily defined. What does he expect? For me to undo the past?”

“He expects accountability,” you replied, your voice softer now. “He’s lost so much—almost his entire House. He blames you for what Boltons did and for the death of his father.”

Tywin turned back to you, his gaze piercing. “And do you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You met his eyes, your heart torn between loyalty to your husband and the pain that lingered for your family. “I don’t know. Roose followed your orders for the Red Wedding, the rest of it was done by him alone,” you admitted quietly. “But Jon deserves to be heard.”

Tywin regarded you for a long moment before nodding once. “Very well. Let him come. I will hear what he has to say.”

You nodded, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”

Tywin’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against your cheek. “I understand what this means to you,” he said quietly. “But do not let sentiment cloud your judgment. The world is not built on fairness.”

You placed your hand over his, your heart heavy but grateful for his understanding. “I know.”

As the day stretched on, the letter weighed on your mind. You found yourself watching Damon and Maelor more closely, their innocent laughter a reminder of what was at stake. Tywin’s words lingered, but so did the promise of Jon’s arrival.

The North and the South would meet again, but this time, it would be in the halls of Dragonstone.

The war council convened in the Great Hall of Dragonstone. The dark stone walls, lit by flickering torches, seemed to absorb the heated conversations as lords and knights debated the many pressing issues facing the realm. At the head of the long table sat Tywin Lannister, his presence as commanding as ever. Beside him, you occupied a seat of equal prominence, your gaze steady as you listened intently to the discourse.

Maps and reports were spread across the table, but the topic dominating the room was not one of politics or armies—it was the juvenile dragon that had made its home in Dragonmont. The beast had eluded every attempt at capture, growing bolder and more dangerous with each passing week.

Tywin tapped his fingers against the polished wood of the table, silencing the room. “The creature cannot be ignored any longer,” he began, his voice cutting through the tension. “It is a liability, one that poses a threat not only to this castle but to our control of the realm.”

Ser Jaime Lannister, seated further down the table, leaned back in his chair, his golden hand resting on the edge of the table. “A liability that breathes fire,” he quipped, though his tone lacked his usual humor. “If we can’t trap it, how do you propose we deal with it?”

Varys, standing near the shadows as was his custom, interjected smoothly, his hands folded before him. “Perhaps the question isn’t how to deal with it, but rather how to use it.”

All eyes turned to the spymaster. Tywin’s gaze narrowed. “Explain.”

Varys stepped forward, his silken voice carrying easily across the room. “The dragon is young, yes, but it is still a dragon. A creature of power, a symbol of strength. Instead of attempting to subdue it through force, perhaps we should consider… nurturing it.”

The suggestion drew murmurs from the lords, some of them uneasy. Tywin raised a hand, silencing them once more. “Nurturing a creature that has already killed men? Do you expect it to be tamed?”

“Not by just anyone, my lord,” Varys replied, his eyes brilliant with calculated intrigue. “But there are two in this very castle who share its blood. Your sons, Damon and Maelor.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Varys’s words sinking in. You stiffened slightly, your gaze darting to Tywin. His expression remained unreadable, though his fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping.

“You propose I send my children into a lair with a creature that has killed grown men?” Tywin said coldly, his voice dangerously low.

Varys inclined his head. “Not immediately, of course. The creature is still young, impressionable. Dragons have always responded to those with Valyrian blood. The sooner a bond is forged, the greater the control. If one of your sons were to claim it, my lord, it would no longer be a liability—it would be an asset.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though some lords exchanged uneasy glances. Tywin’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes searching your face. “What is your opinion on this?”

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on you. “I won’t deny that Varys has a point,” you said carefully. “But Damon is only three years old, and Maelor is barely out of the cradle. It’s too dangerous.”

“And yet your ancestors bonded with their dragons at a young age,” Varys pointed out gently, his gaze sliding to you. “Your blood allowed it. Why should your sons not have the same potential?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his focus returning to Varys. “You suggest we gamble the lives of my heirs on the whims of a dragon.”

“I suggest you secure your house’s future,” Varys countered smoothly. “Two dragons are better than one, my lord. And with a Lannister’s hand on their reins, the realm will bend the knee without question.”

Jaime, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. “You’re assuming the dragon will accept either of them,” he said. “What happens if it doesn’t? If it sees them as prey instead of kin?”

Varys spread his hands in a gesture of feigned helplessness. “All things in life carry risk, Ser Jaime. But this is a calculated one.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Tywin considered the spymaster’s words. His mind weighed the potential benefits against the undeniable dangers. Finally, he turned to you once more. “You are the only one here who understands the bond between dragon and rider. If this course is pursued, it will fall to you to guide them. Can you do that?”

You took a deep breath, your heart heavy with the implications of what he was asking. “I can,” you said quietly, “but only when the time is right. Damon and Maelor are too young now. Forcing it would be a mistake.”

Tywin nodded once, his decision made. “Then we will wait. The dragon remains undisturbed for now. But preparations will be made. If the creature cannot be bonded to one of my sons, it will be dealt with.”

The lords murmured their agreement, the tension in the room easing slightly. Tywin dismissed the council with a curt wave of his hand, and the men began to file out. Varys lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable, before offering a slight bow and disappearing into the shadows.

When the room was empty save for Tywin and Jaime, the latter rose to his feet, a faint smirk on his lips. “A dragon bonded with the blood of Lannister. It’s a strange thought.”

Tywin glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Strange, perhaps. But necessary.”

Jaime shook his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t see Damon as dinner.”

Tywin said nothing, his gaze shifting to the door as if already contemplating the battles yet to come. You placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to you.

“This isn’t just about the dragon, is it?” you asked softly.

“No,” Tywin admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s about ensuring the legacy of this house—whatever the cost.”

The sea breeze swept across the battlements of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the promise of change. You stood beside Tywin atop the castle's walls, your eyes fixed on the horizon where ships emerged from the mist, their sails bearing the stark grey direwolf of House Stark. The sight filled you with a strange mixture of pride and apprehension.

“They’re here,” you said softly, the words almost lost to the wind.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady on the approaching fleet, his expression unreadable. “Punctual,” he remarked, his voice carrying its usual commanding tone. “As expected of the North.”

You turned to him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate Northern punctuality.”

“I appreciate men who understand the value of time,” Tywin replied, his eyes never leaving the approaching ships. “Your adopted Stark child appears to have that much sense, at least.”

Your gaze returned to the sea, the sight of the ships stirring memories of Jon—his determination, his sense of honor, his quiet strength. “Jon isn’t like most men,” you said, almost to yourself. “He’s been through so much, and yet he’s still standing.”

Tywin’s silence spoke volumes, his mind likely dissecting every possible outcome of Jon’s arrival. “The question is whether he’ll remain standing after this meeting,” he said finally. “The North has a tendency to act before thinking.”

You shot him a look, your amusement tinged with exasperation. “Jon isn’t Robb.”

“No, he isn’t,” Tywin agreed, though his tone carried a note of caution. “But he is still a Stark. And Starks are ruled by their emotions.”

“Perhaps,” you conceded. “But Jon’s emotions are tempered by experience. He’s seen things most men couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.”

Tywin’s gaze shifted to you briefly, his green eyes seeing through you. “You seem eager to defend him.”

“I’ve raised him,” you said simply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And he’s been through enough betrayal for one lifetime.”

Tywin’s expression hardened slightly at your words, though he said nothing. Instead, his attention returned to the ships, which were now closer, their banners fluttering in the wind. The soldiers aboard could be seen moving about, their armor shining faintly in the sunlight.

“Cersei won’t like this,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence. “The idea of a Stark setting foot on Dragonstone—of all places—will drive her mad.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Cersei’s opinions are of no consequence. She can seethe in King’s Landing while I ensure this house’s future.”

You folded your arms, leaning slightly against the stone battlement. “Still, she’ll see it as a betrayal. First me, now Jon. In her eyes, we’re all traitors.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, a sound that could have been amusement or irritation. “Cersei has always been blind to the larger picture. She clings to power with the desperation of a drowning woman, never realizing the waters are rising because of her own actions.”

You watched him closely, his words a rare glimpse into his thoughts about his daughter. “And you?” you asked softly. “How do you see this?”

“I see it as necessity,” Tywin replied, his tone measured. “The Boltons are finished, the North is once again Stark territory, and Jon Snow has proven himself capable. If an alliance with him strengthens our position, I’ll entertain it.”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. The waves crashed below, their sound a steady rhythm against the silence that stretched between you.

Finally, Tywin spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you trust him?”

The question caught you off guard, though you didn’t hesitate in your answer. “I do.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the sea. “Then let us hope your trust is not misplaced.”

You followed his gaze, the ships now close enough to make out the direwolf emblems clearly. The sight filled you with a strange sense of both hope and foreboding.

The wind carried the salty spray of the sea across the rocky shore of Dragonstone as Jon Snow and his men disembarked from their boats. Clad in dark furs and armor befitting the harshness of the North, they moved with quiet purpose, their eyes scanning the formidable fortress looming above them. Davos Seaworth stood at Jon’s side, his steady presence a stark contrast to the tense expressions of the other Northern men.

At the head of the welcoming party stood Tywin Lannister and you, flanked by Jaime, Varys, and a host of household guards and attendants. The Lannister crimson and gold stood out prominently against the dark grey skies and the volcanic black stone of the island. Tywin’s eyes were fixed on Jon, assessing the young man with the cold precision he was known for.

As Jon and his men approached, you stepped forward, breaking protocol with a determined stride. Jon’s grey eyes widened slightly as you closed the distance, your pale hair catching the light of the overcast sun. Before he could say anything, you enveloped him in a warm embrace, your arms wrapping tightly around him.

“Jon,” you said softly, though your voice carried enough for everyone to hear. “It’s been too long again.”

Jon stiffened, clearly uncomfortable under the gaze of so many powerful men. “It has,” he replied awkwardly, his arms hesitantly returning the embrace. His gaze darted to Tywin, whose expression was as unyielding as stone.

Davos cleared his throat, stepping forward to save Jon from further discomfort. “May I present Jon Snow, King in the North,” he announced, his tone formal but respectful.

At this, Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jaime’s healthy hand rested casually on his belt, his expression unreadable, while Varys watched with quiet curiosity.

You, however, seemed entirely unbothered by the title. Pulling back from the embrace, you took Jon’s face in your hands, your violet eyes scanning his features with a motherly intensity. “You’ve lost weight,” you said, your voice laced with concern. “And you’ve been fighting again. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he shifted on his feet. “I’ve had… responsibilities.”

“And you’re not taking care of yourself,” you replied firmly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. “It’s just like when you were a boy. Always too serious.”

The Northern men behind Jon exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to the unexpected display. Even Davos looked slightly amused, though he wisely kept his expression neutral.

“Mother,” Jon said quietly, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “There are… people watching.”

You smiled warmly, unbothered by his discomfort. “Let them watch.”

Finally, you released him, your hand lingering briefly on his arm before you gestured for him to follow. “Come,” you said, turning back toward Tywin. “There’s someone you need to speak with.”

Jon’s gaze shifted to Tywin as he approached, the older man standing tall and unyielding as ever. Tywin’s piercing eyes locked onto Jon’s, his expression betraying nothing but a cold, calculating air.

“You must be Jon Snow,” Tywin said, his voice calm but edged with authority.

Jon nodded, his posture straightening under Tywin’s scrutiny. “I am.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Tywin remarked, his tone neither warm nor hostile. “And for a purpose, I presume.”

“I have,” Jon replied evenly, his gaze unwavering. “There’s much to discuss.”

Tywin studied him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “Then let us not waste time.”

As Tywin turned and began walking toward the castle, Jaime fell into step beside him. Varys lingered near the back of the group, his watchful eyes taking in every detail.

You walked alongside Jon, your hand resting briefly on his arm as you leaned closer. “You handled that well,” you said softly, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Jon glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “I’m not sure I did.”

“You did,” you assured him. “Tywin respects strength. Show him that, and he’ll listen.”

Jon nodded, though his shoulders remained tense. “And what about you? Will you listen?”

“I always have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “And I always will.”

As the group ascended toward the fortress, the sound of the sea fading behind them, the weight of the impending discussions loomed heavy over everyone. But for now, Jon was here, and you were determined to stand by him, no matter what the future held. The North and the South were about to collide, and the world would never be the same.

The Painted Table in Dragonstone’s council chamber was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its intricate carvings depicting every mountain, valley, and river of Westeros. The torchlight cast light over the map, making the painted seas shimmer as though alive. It was around this table that warlords and kings had planned their conquests, and now, another pivotal moment was unfolding.

Jon Snow stood at the far end of the table, his posture straight and resolute. Beside him, Davos Seaworth hovered silently, his experienced eyes scanning the room. Across from them, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. To his right, you sat with quiet grace. Jaime Lannister leaned casually against a pillar nearby casually like always, while Varys stood in the shadows, his hands clasped before him, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Jon’s eyes swept the room, taking in the power gathered before him. He drew a deep breath, his voice steady as he spoke. “I came here for justice.”

The room stilled, all eyes on him. Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his fingers tapped idly on the edge of the table. “Justice,” he repeated, his tone carrying a faint edge of mockery. “A vague term, often misused. What form of justice do you seek, Snow?”

Jon’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground. “For the deaths of my family,” he said firmly. “For my father, who was betrayed and executed. For my brother, murdered at the Red Wedding. For my stepmother, who died defending him. House Lannister’s hands are soaked in Stark blood.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air. Jaime stiffened slightly but said nothing, his eyes flickering briefly to Tywin. You reached out and placed a hand on Tywin’s arm, a subtle gesture meant to steady the mounting anxiety.

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his expression as cold as steel. “Your grievances are well known,” he said coolly. “But war is not won by clean hands, nor by mercy. Your father, Eddard Stark, chose to defy the crown. Your brother, Robb Stark, declared himself King in the North and took up arms against the rightful king. The consequences of their actions were inevitable.”

Jon’s voice rose, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “The rightful king was a tyrant who murdered innocents. You chose to stand by him until it served you to betray him. Don’t speak to me of rightful kings, Lord Tywin.”

The room grew colder, the tension palpable. Tywin’s gaze narrowed, but his voice remained calm. “Mind your tone, boy. You stand here as a petitioner, not an equal.”

Before the tension could escalate further, you spoke, your voice gentle but firm. “Jon, this is not a battlefield. It’s a council chamber. Speak plainly, and let us find a path forward.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. “Very well,” he said, his voice steady. “The North has bled enough for the South’s wars. We’ve fought for kings who’ve betrayed us, and we’ve been punished for our loyalty. I’ve come to demand two things: justice for my family and recognition of the North’s independence.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Jaime arched a brow, his expression one of faint amusement, while Varys’s smile widened ever so slightly.

Tywin’s lips thinned. “Independence,” he said slowly, as though tasting the word. “You seek to break the Seven Kingdoms apart.”

“The North is already apart,” Jon replied. “We’ve always been different—our customs, our gods, our way of life. The Iron Throne has brought us nothing but suffering. Let us govern ourselves, as we did before Aegon’s conquest.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “And what will you offer in return for this independence? Loyalty to a crown you no longer recognize? Trade agreements? Military aid? Or will the North retreat into its icy wasteland, leaving the rest of the realm to fend for itself?”

Jon met his gaze evenly. “The North will not retreat. We’ll fight for our survival and for the survival of the realm. But we won’t bow to a king—or a queen—who sees us as nothing more than a tool.”

You watched the exchange carefully, your heart torn between the two men. Jon’s words carried the weight of his father’s honor, but Tywin’s pragmatism was undeniable. Finally, you spoke again, your voice calm but resolute.

“Perhaps there’s a compromise to be found,” you said. “One that ensures the North’s safety and autonomy without severing it entirely from the realm.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered to you, his expression thoughtful. “Compromise is not my preferred method,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone. “But I am not blind to the value of the North.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head slightly. “Then let’s find that compromise. But know this—I will not leave here without securing my family’s future. The North remembers, Lord Tywin.”

The room fell into silence once more, the weight of Jon’s words settling heavily over everyone. Tywin’s strategic mind was already turning over the possibilities, while you sat quietly, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of a long and difficult road.

The Painted Table had seen the plans of conquerors and kings, but today, it bore witness to something far more uncertain—the hope for a future where the North and the South might find common ground, however fragile.

The day’s negotiations ended in stalemate, the members of the war council disbanded, each retreating to their respective quarters with heavy thoughts. No agreement had been reached between Tywin Lannister and Jon Snow, their views seemingly irreconcilable. Though composed, Jon’s frustration had been evident as he left the Painted Table, and Tywin’s silence spoke volumes about his unwillingness to compromise without gaining something in return.

As the sun set below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the Dragonstone courtyard, you sought out Jon. He was standing near the cliffs, gazing out at the crashing waves. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid as he appeared lost in thought. Beside him, Ghost sat vigilantly.

“Jon,” you called softly as you approached, one hand resting on Damon’s shoulder while the other cradled little Maelor against your chest. Damon walked beside you, his small feet padding softly on the cobblestones.

Jon turned at the sound of your voice, his brooding expression softening slightly as he saw you. His gaze flicked to the two children, his brow furrowing with curiosity.

“I thought you might like to meet your brothers,” you said warmly, gesturing toward the boys.

Jon’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. “Brothers?”

You nodded, kneeling beside Damon to encourage him forward. “This is Damon,” you said, ruffling the boy’s silver-gold hair. “And this little one,” you added, lifting Maelor slightly, “is Maelor.”

Damon eyed Jon curiously, his eyes wide as he clutched a small wooden lion in his hands. Maelor gurgled softly, his tiny fists waving in the air.

Jon knelt to Damon’s level, offering a small, hesitant smile. “Hello, Damon,” he said gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Damon tilted his head, studying Jon for a moment before stepping closer. “You’re big,” he observed matter-of-factly, his voice innocent.

Jon chuckled softly, glancing up at you. “He’s observant.”

“He gets that from his father,” you replied with a faint smile.

Jon’s expression shifted at the mention of Tywin, though he quickly turned his attention back to Damon. “Do you like it here on Dragonstone?” he asked.

Damon nodded, his grip on his toy tightening. “It’s loud. The waves are loud. But I like Viserion. She’s big too.”

Jon’s brow arched in mild surprise. “You’ve seen her?”

“Seen her?” Damon echoed, his tone incredulous. “She’s my dragon!”

Jon glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Your dragon, is she?”

You laughed softly, adjusting Maelor in your arms. “He’s not entirely wrong. She’s protective of him. And of Maelor.”

Jon’s gaze softened as he looked at Maelor, who was now babbling happily. “They’re… beautiful,” he said quietly. “Both of them.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “They’re the reason I fight, Jon. For their future. Just as you fight for yours.”

Jon’s expression grew somber, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Do you think Tywin understands that?”

“He does,” you said after a moment. “In his own way. But he’s also a man who doesn’t give without taking something in return. It’s how he’s survived this long.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “The North isn’t something to bargain with. It’s my home. My people.”

“And Tywin sees it as a key piece of the realm,” you replied gently. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. These things take time, Jon. And you’ve already proven yourself stronger than most.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark curls. “It feels like I’m fighting against a mountain.”

“Mountains can be moved,” you said softly. “But it takes patience and persistence.”

Damon tugged on Jon’s sleeve, drawing his attention. “Do you have a wolf?” the boy asked, pointing to Ghost.

Jon smiled faintly, reaching out to scratch Ghost’s ears. “I do. His name is Ghost.”

Damon’s eyes widened. “Can I pet him?”

Jon hesitated, glancing at Ghost. The direwolf stared back, his gaze calm and steady. “He won’t hurt you,” Jon said finally. “Go ahead.”

Damon stepped forward cautiously, reaching out to pat Ghost’s thick white fur. The direwolf remained still, his ears flicking slightly as the boy’s small hand stroked his side. Damon’s face lit up with delight.

“See?” you said, your smile returning. “Even Ghost knows you’re family.”

Jon chuckled softly, standing and watching as Damon continued to pet the wolf. 

You and Jon Snow continue to stand on the edge of the courtyard, watching as Damon eagerly followed Ghost, his small feet pattering on the cobblestones as he giggled with delight.

Jon’s expression remained thoughtful, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Do you truly think he’ll listen?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “After all this—will Tywin Lannister agree to anything?”

You sighed, folding your arms as the weight of the question pressed on you. “Tywin is… complicated,” you admitted, your gaze shifting to the keep where the man in question likely sat in calculated thought. “He doesn’t respond to emotion or appeals to honor. He needs something tangible, something he can’t deny. Proof.”

Jon frowned, his brow furrowing. “Proof of what?”

“That the North’s independence won’t destabilize the realm,” you replied. “That the sacrifices he’s made to secure the Iron Throne’s dominance won’t unravel. Tywin’s a man who weighs everything in terms of power and legacy.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “How do you prove something like that? Winter is coming, the Long Night is coming—and if we’re not prepared, there won’t be a realm left to fight over.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “I’ve tried to make him see that. I’ve told him about the things I’ve seen, the threats that are coming. But Tywin doesn’t believe in visions or warnings. He believes in what he can see and touch.”

Jon exhaled slowly, his hand running through his dark curls. “Then we’re already at a disadvantage. By the time he sees what’s coming, it’ll be too late.”

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, your voice firm but gentle. “Then we’ll find another way to prepare. Tywin may be slow to believe, but he’s not a fool. If he sees the North as an ally in what’s to come, he’ll act.”

Jon turned to you, his gaze searching. “And do you believe he’ll act in time?”

You hesitated, the weight of your own doubts pressing heavily on you. “I hope so,” you said finally. “For all our sakes.”

Damon’s laughter drew your attention, and you smiled faintly as the boy ran toward Jon, clutching a small stick in his hands. He held it out triumphantly, his violet eyes gleaming with excitement. “Jon! Look! I found a sword!”

Jon crouched down, taking the stick from Damon and examining it with exaggerated seriousness. “A fine weapon,” he said with a faint smile. “You’ll make a fierce warrior one day.”

Damon beamed, clearly pleased with the praise. “Can you teach me?”

“Damon,” you interrupted gently, your tone light but firm. “Jon has more important things to do than play swords with you.”

Damon’s face fell slightly, but he turned back to Jon with hopeful eyes. “Will you?”

Jon hesitated, glancing at you before returning his gaze to Damon. “Maybe later,” he said, his voice kind. “But for now, I need to talk to your mother.”

Damon nodded solemnly, though his excitement quickly returned as he turned back to Ghost, who was lying nearby with an air of patient tolerance. The boy reached out to pet the direwolf, his small hands running through the thick white fur.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You’ve made an impression on him,” you said to Jon. “Don’t be surprised if he follows you all over the castle now.”

Jon smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he watched Damon. “He reminds me of Robb when he was little,” he said quietly. “Full of energy, always curious.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the mention of your late nephew. “He’s a lot like Robb,” you agreed. “And like you. Stubborn, determined, always asking questions.”

Jon’s gaze returned to you, his expression serious once more. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly. “I won’t leave until Tywin hears me out—until the North has what it needs. I owe it to my family, to the people who died for it.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And I’ll stand by you, Jon. Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the weight of the coming battles heavy on your shoulders. Behind you, Damon’s laughter echoed through the courtyard as Ghost licked his face, the innocence of childhood a brief reprieve from the storm that loomed on the horizon. The North and the South were converging, and the future of the realm hung in the balance.

[lloydskywalkers]

moats and boats and waterfalls

Read on AO3

Post-Crystalized — after surviving apocalypse no. 2 (possibly 3, currently under debate) the ninja now face the unspeakable horrors of budgeting.

(Years late to the Crystalized party but here's part one of my seven billion fanfics about this season because there are Thoughts to be had about this one)

As it turns out, rebuilding a monastery is a whole lot more trouble than rebuilding the Bounty for the eightieth time. 

And by trouble, Cole means incredibly expensive.

“Re-installing central heating costs what?!” 

Kai’s horrified cry reverberates throughout the half-constructed monastery, the echo from the noticeably empty rooms only adding to insult. 

Oh, what Cole would give to have his bed back. 

“I guess we’ll have to use you during the winter,” Nya sighs, patting Kai on the back. “Lloyd, get ready to supercharge him.”

“Forget heating, do you know how much Wi-Fi costs?” Lloyd stares at the estimated summary like it’s personally kicked his pet. “Who even has that much money? God?”

“If god had money, he could’ve given Sensei Wu his inheritance and we’d all be loaded,” Jay mutters. “But noooo, ‘material possessions are the death of the soul’, blah blah blah, we’ll see whose soul is dead when the gas cuts out and he can’t make midnight tea anymore.” 

“It does seem a bit extreme, looking at it all like this,” Zane remarks. Somewhat ironically, as he’s taken one look at the bill then wisely retreated across the room. 

“Well, blowing up the entire monastery with us in it was extreme, so it figures repairs are just as bad,” Nya grumbles. 

They all shift, the mood dampening at the reminder. 

Lloyd opens his mouth. “I’m sor—”

“Do not,” Kai stabs a finger at him. “Even try.”

Lloyd slumps. “If I hadn’t gotten caught—”

“We all agreed to the plan, okay?” Cole says. “Also, no one knew we’d be sending you to Harumi, so the whole thing was doomed from the start.”

While he looks a bit miffed, Lloyd gives it up. Though perhaps that’s mostly in part because he desperately wants to avoid any more conversation about—

“So speaking of Harumi,” Jay starts. 

Lloyd springs for the window. 

Unfortunately for Lloyd, said window is currently boarded up by heavy-duty plywood, since quality window glass fell low on the list of priorities, which gives Kai plenty of time to tackle him before he can even raise his leg to kick it in. 

“No!” Zane cries. “We can’t afford anymore plywood!”

“Or like, Band-Aids at bare minimum, so don’t you dare!” Nya adds. 

“—overdramatic phase has gotta go, what are you, five — hey, no biting!”

Lloyd makes a muffled sound as he wrestles on the floor with Kai. Cole turns, very slowly, to glare at Jay.

“Oh come on, we were all thinking it,” Jay defends, reluctantly standing to help pry Lloyd from the floor. “Fine, hey, I promise we won’t talk about certain loser ex-princesses who are nice and cozy in their prison cells right now, okay? There, there, little gremlin, she can’t hurt you anymore—”

“I’ll bite you next,” Lloyd threatens, but he returns to his seat, wincing as Kai scuffs his hair. 

“Turn Oni again, and that might be an actual threat.”

Lloyd startles terribly, staring at Kai with wide eyes. “That’s — not — I wouldn’t—”

“Kai,” Nya hisses.

“Woah, hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Kai says quickly. “It’s supposed to be positive reinforcement! Easing it into a normal thing, y’know?”

Lloyd growls. “Nothing about this is a normal thing—”

“Except none of us are normal, so therefore it is,” Kai interrupts him smoothly. “Also we already loved you when you were a tiny demon, turning into a literal one is nothing. Give us some credit.” 

Lloyd pulls his hood over his flaming face, thunking his head against the table. Kai pats him cheerfully on the shoulder. 

“Additionally, unless we can swindle someone by selling Lloyd in his Oni form on the black market for cold cash before stealing him back, I don’t see how this helps matters.”

Zane finds himself on the receiving end of five blank stares. Lloyd, successfully having been pulled from his hood, whistles. 

“I forget how evil you can be, sometimes.”

Kai gapes at him. “So that makes you feel better?”

“I mean, in terms of normalizing it—”

“Alright!” Cole slams his hands on the table, silencing them all. He glares them down. “Meeting room in five. We’re figuring out how to make this place livable if it kills us.”

There’s a brief silence, then Jay hesitantly raises his hand.

“Hey, so uh, we kinda don’t have a meeting room right now?”

Cole collapses on the table in despair. 

---

Twenty minutes and one session of shoving chairs into what could have been the living room later — it’s hard to tell, with all the construction markings and plywood still up — they’ve kicked off the official first meeting of the Finish-Making-the-Monastery-Livable plan. 

“Alright,” Lloyd announces, brushing his hands as he steps back from the chalkboard that may or may not have been stolen. “At the top of the list we have Wi-Fi, central air and heating, beds — huh, maybe those should go higher — running water, electricity — that one’s debatable, me and Jay can tag-team it if we get desperate — blankets-slash-pillows-slash-etcetera, stuff to cook with, actual food — y’know what, I’m putting that closer to the top—”

“So basically, we have nothing,” Cole says blankly. 

Lloyd glances at the list, then to the sliver of chalk left in his hands. “Uh. Yeah.” 

“Take the weaponry, sure, but all my albums?” Jay mourns. “I spent years collecting those.” 

“I lost the blanket we stole from that super fancy apartment we lived in for like five minutes when Lloyd was a kid,” Kai sighs. “That thing literally made it through the apocalypse, just to bite it now.” 

“Two apocalypses too many,” Nya says.

“Did the Preeminent count as an apocalypse? Like, a minor one?”

“Three apocalypses. It took three apocalypses to vaporize my closet,” Cole sinks lower in his seat. “Man, the hoodie you got me for my birthday was in there.” 

“All of our photographs are lost, too.” Zane stares at his hands. 

Lloyd murmurs something under his breath that sounds a lot like family pictures and figures. 

The mood plummets a bit more, after that. 

“Motherfu—”

“Alright, this isn’t helping,” Cole claps his hands. “We can all cry again later. Lloyd, overall mission status conclusion?”

“Well, like you said, we basically have nothing,” Lloyd sighs. “So unless Zane wants to stop chickening out and abandon his morals so we can just hack into everything and get it free, we need to find some way to pay for all this.”

“Again, I cannot hack in to rebuilding an entire cooling unit throughout the monastery, much less make the latest clothing line from Gucci materialize,” Zane says. Kai swears. “Also, that is called stealing.” 

“You call it stealing, I call it a charitable donation,” Nya says. “I turned into the ocean for this city, the least they can do is cut me a check.” 

“Besides, even if it is stealing, what are they gonna do, send us to jail again?” Jay scoffs.

Lloyd jabs the piece of chalk in his direction. “Don’t jinx us.” 

“Too bad we wasted our chance at crime and didn’t even get rich,” Kai mutters. “All we got was Nya.”

He yelps as she punches him in the arm. “What, too soon?”

“You should be so lucky to have me,” she sniffs. 

“Hey, but going on the donation thought train — do we know anyone who’s rich?” Jay asks. “Why don’t we have any rich friends?”

“Hey, you know what’s rich? That coming from the son of a billionaire.”

“Hey, you know what else got blown up? My inheritance!” 

“Please, let it go,” Zane says. “We do have rich friends, I’ll remind you, we’re friends with actual monarchy. But we can’t exactly go and ask anyone else for money, since they all already helped out so much in getting the monastery rebuilt.”

There’s a moment of pensive silence. Lloyd draws a little sad face on the chalkboard next to ASK FOR DONATIONS. 

“What if we just…sued Harumi,” Cole says. “Like, there’s gotta be some law that could work in our favor here.”

“I don’t think the court would go for that,” Lloyd mutters. “Since they’re all morally corrupt frauds who hate us.”

“Yeah! Down with the system!” Kai punches his fist in the air. 

“Also, Harumi likely has very little in the way of money, either,” Zane says. “Considering she blew up any and all assets she might have had claim to.”

“Haha, what a loser,” Nya crows.

“What if we sued Garmadon?” Cole tries. “The courts have to hate him more than they hate us.”

Lloyd scowls, scrawling a large NO on the chalkboard. “Not worth the effort. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s still couch-surfing at Vinny’s, which means also penniless.”

“We could sue Kalmaar,” Nya cracks her knuckles.

“Isn’t he dead?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Nya looks disappointed. 

“Did anyone survive that we can sue successfully?” Jay muses. “And actually get money out of?”

“Vangelis,” Cole snaps his fingers. “Wait. No, we ousted him from the throne, so he’s probably broke too.”

“Vangelis survived?”

As they dissolve into bickering over the status of enemies potentially living-or-dead, Kai squints at the chalkboard, where Lloyd is still scratching out letters despite having completely lost the room. 

“We…are…fu—Lloyd!” 

“Well it’s true,” Lloyd huffs, finishing off his message with a flourish. “Tada. There’s my grand plan.”

“That’s not a plan, it’s a pessimistic estimation at how things are gonna go.”

“It’s extremely rude language, is what it is! I thought we taught you better.”

Lloyd simply looks pleased with himself at having recaptured the room’s attention. It is, of course, then that Sensei Wu walks into that room. He stops, looking from where they’re all frozen in place, then to the chalkboard. 

Lloyd pales. 

Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closes his eyes. 

“My dearest nephew, you have three seconds to make that disappear, or I’ll be forced to—”

Lloyd springs for the chalkboard in record time, wiping frantically at his writing with the sleeve of his gi. 

“People would kill for that thing, and here he’s using it as a chalkboard eraser,” Jay mutters. 

It isn’t until later, when they’ve all retreated to the collective mass of blow-up mattress and borrowed blankets they’re calling a bedroom, that anyone breaches the topic again. 

There’s a loud rustling as Cole turns over where he’s precariously shoved between Kai and Zane. 

“…can we sue the mayor?”

There’s a noted pause of silence, only broken by the whirring of the cheap oscillating fan. 

“You know,” Zane says slowly. “In terms of slander and defamation…” 

An evil, sharp-toothed smile spreads across Lloyd’s face. “I like the sound of that.”

“Hey, let’s sue the new ninja, too,” Jay grins. “Can Pixal retroactively trademark our vibe?”

“You cannot sue them based on vibe appropriation.”

“Yeah, but I can sue them for impersonation.”

---

They cannot, as it turns out, sue the mayor, because legal work like that costs even more money. 

They can, however, ruin his year by filing (and forging) every possible insurance claim under the sun, so they all walk out of the office a little more satisfied than before. 

“I hope all your socks go missing in the laundry!” Nya yells toward the building as they hit the streets. “I hope you have a rock stuck in your shoe for the rest of your life! I hope you’re plagued with a mildly inconvenient headache every waking moment and never fully enjoy anything ever again!”

“Alright, alright, we’re getting looks,” Cole grabs her arm. “Let it go.”

“As much as I appreciate it, I am not going back to jail,” Jay shudders. “Twice was enough.”

Kai frowns. “Twice? When else did you get arrested?”

“We all did, re—” Jay cuts off, suddenly aware of the absolute daggers Nya is staring at him. “Uhhh…aw, snap, another mental breakdown, haha!”

“Is this the whole ‘we all have missing memories you guys are definitely hiding from us’ thing again? ‘Cause I swear—”

“I said I’m getting to it, it’s a really boring story anyways—”

“Didn’t you say you lost an eye—”

“Oh look, a window!”

This time, Jay is thwarted by Lloyd, who’s simply jumped out enough windows to recognize when someone’s about to try it themselves. Except Jay is aiming to jump inside a window this time, so they both go crashing into Pixal just as she joins them. 

To her credit, she barely flinches. “I thought I heard clown noises nearby.” 

Lloyd stares at her in such utter betrayal, the mental breakdown thing might become valid.  

“Pixal,” Jay simply begs. “Please. Help your clowns scavenge our clown dinners.”

Pixel surveys them all, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “There is a nice pizza place down the block.”

The cheers she’s met with nearly succeeded at knocking her over where Jay failed.  

Dinner that night comprises of actual, warm, take-out pizza, which nearly moves Cole to tears.

“Definitely changing the priorities order,” Lloyd says blissfully through a mouthful of cheese. “Food goes at the top, no questions.”

“Seconded,” Kai mumbles. 

“Thirded.”

“Fourthed.”

“I cannot believe, that after everything we’ve been through, we did not qualify for the post-apocalypse discount,” Zane bites out. 

“Well,” Jay says brightly. “Pixal hacked the card reader, so technically we got a hundred percent discount.”

Zane stares at her, in equally utter betrayal. “Pixal?”

She shrugs. “They can try to send me to prison. They will fail.” 

---

Two days later, Skylor cements herself as everybody’s most favorite person in the entire world by not only saving them from starvation by demanding they sit their butts down in the restaurant and eat for free, but also donating six pillows and a year’s worth of shampoo. 

“I know it’s not a lot, but I’m on the lookout for more,” she tells them. “I’ve asked other people to help chip in, too, so hopefully that’ll make things a little easier.”

“Skylor,” Cole nearly sobs into his new, beautiful pillow. “If Kai doesn’t marry you, I will.”

“H-hey!”

“No marriage necessary,” she snorts. “Consider keeping you all fed my way of saying thanks.”

“But you already helped out with the monastery,” Nya says, around the same time the rest of them assure her there’s no need for thanks, despite the fact that no one has the slightest desire to relinquish their food. 

“Fine, then,” Skyler huffs, her cheeks turning pink. “Make me say it out loud, will you — consider it my way of showing that I care about you all. Very much.” 

“Aww,” Lloyd says. 

Kai makes a face somewhere between melting and heart eyes. 

“I hate all of you,” she mutters. 

“We love you too, Skylor,” Cole grins. 

“Hate you!”

Despite her words, they all leave with six boxes of leftovers and free dessert. 

This, of course, brings another slightly-pressing issue to mind.  

---

They end up getting a refrigerator for a steal of a bargain, which is probably again influenced by Pixal’s criminal extremely generous activity. 

Given how enthusiastic they all are about getting it installed, Kai is half-expecting there to be no work left for him at all by the time he returns from the food run. 

He’s…not entirely disappointed when he walks into the kitchen, though he is rather baffled. 

The room freezes as if on record-scratch. Jay is perched on top of the counters, Lloyd has a sledgehammer raised halfway in the air, and Cole is on the ground beside the refrigerator crying. 

“What?” Kai asks, blankly. 

“The fridge…doesn’t fit…” Cole moans into the floor. 

“We didn’t leave enough space between the cabinets,” Jay informs him through a mouthful of gummy worms. “So the door can’t open.”

Kai looks at Lloyd. “So the sledgehammer is for…?”

“DIY home improvement,” he shrugs.

“Huh.” Kai glances at the cabinets. “Put some safety goggles on first, okay?”

Lloyd only gets about two swings in before Zane descends with the all wrath of the Ice Emperor and adds to the tally of times-the- Green-Ninja-almost-met-his-doom, but it’s fun while it lasts. 

They were ugly cabinets, anyways. 

---

While his love for his family could potentially fuel a nuclear power plant, Kai does grow tired of being the living team space heater rather quickly. 

The effort of keeping his power going all night just gets annoying (and exhausting) — so by the time he’s tagged in Lloyd to use his power to keep him going, they’re up to two moody ninja short on sleep, and no one wants to deal with that. 

While they’ve scrounged up a few dollar-store quality blankets, Jay takes the opportunity to highlight his accomplishments in arts-and-crafts.

“You mean your mom’s accomplishments.”

“Hey, we made it together! It counts.”

The it in question quickly gains the name “god-awful-t-shirt-blanket” simply because the blinding combination of all their cast-off shirts sewn together is impressively terrible. 

“I still think this is a waste of good clothes,” Kai grumbles. “It’s not like we have outfits to spare these days, you know.”

“Do you wanna keep heating the room at night or no?” Nya threatens. 

Kai quickly shuts his mouth and returns to sewing Cole’s old plaid shirt to one of Jay’s neon blue shirts that features a dolphin printed in enough colors to kill a man. 

“So, what do we think?” Lloyd steps back, wiping at his forehead with his arm as he surveys their masterpiece. 

Staring at the multi-colored mess they’ve patched together into a quilt, Nya announces, “It’s the ugliest blanket I’ve ever seen.”

“Harsh.”

“Hey, we did our best!”

“See if I ever sew for you again,” Lloyd huffs. 

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” Nya quickly interjects. “It looks a little like us!”

“Are you saying we’re ugly?!”

“Nya, no, our family genes are enough to carry us through this, I promise—”

---

They’re in the middle of figuring out how to steal Wi-Fi from the government when Tox drops by, Karloff in tow. 

“You really…need…to get an elevator…or something,” she pants, red-faced and sweaty as she hauls several large bags behind her.

In contrast, Karloff looks unfazed, casually toting a hideously floral-patterned sofa over his shoulder. 

“Skylor mentioned you need furniture, no?” he says. “It’s not much, but you need somewhere to sit.”

“Karloff,” Jay tells him, very seriously. “This is the most beautiful sofa I’ve ever seen.” 

“Haha! Karloff is right once again,” he brags to Tox. 

Tox stares at Jay in flabbergasted despair. 

“You can’t put that in your home,” she mutters. “You can’t. It’s a crime against eyes everywhere.”

“Well, it’s better than no sofa, and we’re literally turning down nothing these days,” Nya says cheerfully. She leans over to peer at the bags Tox has managed to drag up. “Speaking of…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tox heaves the bags in front of her. “Skylor said you guys needed help interior decorating? So I brought a couple rugs. She also mentioned something about the ugliest blanket she’s ever seen, so we called up some of the other Elemental Masters and got like, six or seven together. They’re not exactly works of art, but they’re okay?”

Kai tears open the first bag, his eyes lighting up. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers reverently. “Hey, guys, we got blankets! Dibs on the one with a wolf.”

“Oh, no, not that one, it’s from my awful middle school phase—”

“What do you mean, dibs, I want the wolf one!”

“Oh yeah? Down to fight for it?”

“You’re on. Training ground in five.”

“Absolutely not, we are not fighting over a blanket we’ve been so generously gifted,” Zane snaps, snagging Kai and Cole by their collars. 

“Yeah, we also don’t really have a training ground anymore,” Lloyd says, half-buried in a blanket embroidered with countless bug-eyed fish. “It went ka-boom.”

Nya rubs her temples. “Zane?”

“Already factored into the expenses,” he sighs. 

“Oh wow, you guys weren’t kidding,” Tox says. “Do you want, uh, like a keychain? I have some mints here too I can donate…man, Karloff, help me out!” 

“Does the monastery need a metal helmet?”

“We’re really not that broke,” Nya says hastily, pushing away the offered mints. “But thanks.”

“Speak for yourself.” Lloyd snags the mints, clasping his hands together in prayer at Tox before slipping back into the emerging blanket battle. 

Nya sighs. “Do you guys want tea? We’ve got three whole mugs, now.”

Tox glances from the other ninja, where Jay has been successfully rolled into a blanket burrito and is in potential danger of being rolled right down the mountain, to Karloff, who’s the reason said danger is potential. 

“We can spare a minute, I guess.”

The t-shirt blanket is later relegated to the living room, where it lives as a throw blanket over Karloff’s floral sofa. They unanimously decide it’s the perfect home for it, and the only real critic is Skylor, who’s almost reduced to tears the next time she visits. 

---

They celebrate their achievement of having a living room by all eating dinner on Karloff’s floral-patterned couch. This comes with a good deal of kicking and squirming and the tragic loss of Kai’s fortune cookie, but they make it work. 

“This is kind of depressing, though. Sitting in the dark,” Nya remarks. 

A muscle in Jay’s jaw twitches. “Well, maybe if someone hadn’t melted all our candles—”

“You were the one who had the brilliant idea of trying to barbecue with them, genius!” Kai snaps. 

“It was a pretty spectacular fire,” Lloyd admits. Then, hastily, “In a really cool way!” 

“Perhaps a lamp should go next on the list,” Zane says. “Rather than relying on Kai as our light.”

“Hey, I’m a great light,” Kai scowls. “I’m the light of your life. I could light this place up all day!” 

“Yes, and I’m sure it would end similarly to the time you nearly burned down a building under the belief that you were achieving your true potential, but were, in fact, just dehydrated.”

Kai gapes at Zane in betrayal. “You said you’d take that to the grave!” 

Zane carefully laces his fingers together. “Technically, I did.”

“No you didn’t!” Jay interjects. “We never buried you, so you never had a grave! Ha!”

Zane looks affronted. “I didn’t get a grave?”

“You got a statue!” Kai quickly consoles . 

“Yeah, what’d you want us to do, pick your exploded pieces out of the street for half a year then toss ‘em in the ground?”

“Oh, as if that’s any worse than being left to pour your corpse out in cups of water.”

 “It wasn’t my corpse, I was still alive!”

“You were the literal ocean. Fish swam in you.” 

“Ew, does that mean—”

“Finish that sentence and I will drown you where you stand—”

“You’re all in desperate need of counseling,” Pixal mutters. 

“Tell me about it,” Lloyd says, leaning back on the armrest of the sofa. 

Cole shakes his head. “Lost causes, all of them.”

Pixal stares at them both, expression pinched, before deciding to respect the hopelessness of lost causes. 

“Hold on, I think Kai’s crying,” Lloyd moves to sit up, only to wobble, slip sideways, and go crashing to the floor gracelessly.  

“Just like when I fell to my doom off the Bounty,” Cole reminisces.  

 Pixal’s eyes glaze over. 

---

Later that evening, Pixal adds “therapy” to the list of potential expenses on the fridge door. Regretfully, it loses miserably in the debate against hot shower expenses, so it too joins the pile of repressed memories that will undoubtedly haunt them in the future. 

“But hey, a hot shower can cure depression on a good day,” Cole says, and that settles that. 

---

Hot showers, as it turns out, are a hard-won priority. 

It’s less so after Jay, Nya, and Pixal camp out overnight near the pipeline and perform their own less-than-legal maintenance, but one of Zane’s carefully filed insurance claims actually went through the other day, so they’re taking their luck as they can. 

It’s not until they get working on the bathroom itself that the true difficulty makes itself clear. 

“Hey, uh,” Kai stares down at the patch of rotted floor he’s ripped up, wiping at the fog that’s spread across his safety goggles. “Is the base layer supposed to look like that?”

“Look like what?” Cole abandons the tiling he’s been placing to glance over. His face drops. “Uh-oh.” 

“Is that all black mold?” Nya gags, nearly dropping her bottle of cleaning bleach.  

“FSM, no wonder we’re all crazy,” Cole mutters. 

“Alright,” Kai strips off his rubber gloves. “Nothing for it. Back up, guys, I’m barbecuing this baby.”

“Wait wait wait don’t—”

Ten minutes and a good deal of hacking and wheezing through teary eyes later, Cole murders Kai while they all look on. 

Well, he attempts to.

“You filled the monastery with chlorine gas, you absolute moron—!”

“How was I supposed to know that would happen, I’m not a chemist—”

Nya glares ahead darkly as Lloyd gingerly treats the reddened blisters on her hands. 

“None of you,” Zane says, through gritted teeth. “Are touching cleaning chemicals for a year.” 

---

“Not sure I wanna know how you pulled off poisoning yourselves, but I’m kinda impressed you did a better job of it than most criminals would,” Ronin tells them, once the monastery has been successfully de-chlorinated and the bathroom tiles firmly put in place, sans black mold. 

“Maybe we can hire ourselves out to them when we’re strapped for cash,” Nya sighs.

“We’re literally always strapped for cash. We’re broke.”

Ronin laughs, clapping Jay on the back. “Welcome to adulthood, kid.”

“I don’t think normal adulthood gets their home blown up on a regular basis,” Lloyd hisses.

“Fair point,” Ronin nods. 

“Well, thanks for saving us all from a slow and painful death,” Cole scrubs his hands over his face. “We can pay you back sometime in the next century. Maybe.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Ronin waves them off. “It’d be like kicking a dog when it’s down, askin’ you all to pay. Besides, I probably owe you one.”

“You sure do,” Jay glares. 

“Hey, hey, I said I was sorry for the whole human sacrifice thing,” Ronin placates. “Want some good news, at least?”

“Is it actually good news?” Lloyd eyes him shrewdly.

“Lighten up, captain trust issues.” Kai barely snags Lloyd before he lands himself back in jail. “I looked into some more of those insurance claims you filed, and you actually got somethin’ out of it. I, uh, helped the bank along a bit, with the refund.”

“Bank?” Cole whispers.

“Refund?” Jay’s eyes shine. 

“Yeah, got you all your checks right here,” Ronin says, tugging six neat envelopes from his jacket. “Just don’t blow ‘em all at once, okay? Haha.”

Zane looks as if he might propose to him on the spot. 

“Hey, this isn’t too bad!” Kai exclaims. “We got money!”

“Guys,” Lloyd says, staring at his check. “You know we should probably pool all this together and spend it on necessities, right?”

“Yeah,” Cole sighs. 

“It would be the smartest course of action,” Zane adds. 

There’s a noted silence.

“Or,” Lloyd says. 

---

In their defense, they spend exactly two-thirds of their checks on household items. 

Whether or not these are needed household items remains a debate. 

“If we’re all buying lamps for the living room, can we at least attempt to match?” Zane sighs. 

“Booo, where’s your joy and whimsy?” Jay sticks out his tongue. 

“That isn’t even a lamp, it’s a light-up axolotl.”

“The heck’s an axo-lot—”

“It lights up, doesn’t it? Ergo, it’s a lamp.”

“Ergo, what are you, Sensei Wu—”

“We’re never having guests over again,” Cole remarks, as Lloyd and Nya maneuver a five-foot-tall rendition of Godzilla into the shopping cart that may or may not light up. 

“The monastery’s gonna look rad as heck, we’re forcing everyone to come over and look at it,” Kai corrects as he tosses a set of flame-patterned curtains into the mess. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“I actually might like them,” Zane muses. “They would capture the energy of our kitchen perfectly.”

Kai beams. “Flame curtains are a go!” 

In the aftermath, they total around six individual blankets, five mismatching lamps and one light-up axolotl, a table that no one knows how to put together, one set of flame-patterned curtains, another hideous couch, and enough cutlery and kitchenware that no one has to eat out of Sensei Wu’s incense bowls anymore. 

“Alright,” Lloyd says. “We’ve got three hours until the stores start closing. Everyone take the rest of your checks, don’t think about how much of a disaster the monastery still is, and start thinking about how valid retail therapy is.” 

“Aye-aye,” Kai salutes, before immediately booking it for the clothing outlets. 

---

Three hours later, Kai’s happily blown his entire check on a new wardrobe and exactly one pair of name-brand brand shoes. He’s unreasonably proud of himself for his restraint, until he catches Cole with three pairs of his own name-brand shoes, and immediately regrets being responsible. 

He spots Jay going off in the N-Pop section of a music store, Nya investing in a sinfully-priced espresso machine, and Zane walking toward the clothing outlets himself with a high-quality pair of noise-cancelling headphones. 

He doesn’t find Lloyd until well after he’s picked up his own clothes, already sporting an oversized hoodie he could’ve just stolen from Kai. 

He’s more concerned when Lloyd proceeds to blow the last of his check at the sporting goods section of the local convenience store. Considering how long Lloyd spent looking wistfully at the candy aisle, Kai is baffled by the decision. 

He’s even more baffled when Lloyd proceeds to box up his purchase for delivery instead of keeping it himself.

He’s utterly horrified when he sees who it’s addressed to.

“Are you serious?!” he asks shrilly, torn between ripping the box from Lloyd’s hands or immediately calling the mental health hotline. “You’re sending her gifts?”

“It’s not a gift, it’s — look, it’s a long story, you wouldn’t get it,” Lloyd grumbles, plastering another layer of duct tape over the box. “Just help me deliver it to Kryptarium and I’ll show you, okay?”

Kai very much does not help, because he’s not an enabler and he cares about his brother’s mental health, but he does follow Lloyd to Kryptarium Prison and lurk behind him as he eagerly watches the surveillance screens. 

Harumi stares at the box before her, looking every bit as baffled as Kai is. 

“Who would send me a volleyball—”

She freezes, her face going utterly blank. A muscle in her jaw twitches. 

There’s a brief flash of what could be amusement, a brief expression as if she’s eaten something sour, then a fury like no other eclipses her face. 

“LLOYD! I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF, YOU THINK YOU’RE HILARIOUS—”

Lloyd’s still laughing by the time they’re escorted from the premises, hard enough that Kai has to catch him when he trips at the top of the steps. 

“What’d you even write on the note?” Kai finally asks, a bit in awe. 

Lloyd grins. “I told her good luck getting together her villainous volleyball team in jail.”

Kai blinks. “Do I…want to know?”

“Nope!” Lloyd says airily. “But I’ve made my point.”

---

Regardless of some behaviors, the mental health hotline remains a constant idea. It simply happens to come up at inconvenient times, such as when Cole drops a dresser on his foot halfway across the courtyard. 

He swears so loudly the whole monastery echoes with it. 

“Oh geez, Cole, are you okay? Why’d you lift the whole thing on your own?”

“We could have helped,” Zane rushes over. “You don’t have to do it all yourself—”

“Yes I do!” Cole yells. “I’m stronger than that, I’m supposed to be stronger, I have to be stronger or you’re all going to die next time—”

He cuts off abruptly. Zane looks heartbroken. Jay—

Is suddenly busy smacking Cole upside the head. 

“No, you don’t!” he snaps back, even louder. “You don’t have to do it by yourself! None of you do! Every time anyone tries to do something by themselves it all goes wrong and we lose someone, so we’re never — doing that — again!” 

He seizes Cole around the arms, his wild eyes meeting Cole’s wide ones. “No one blames you for the stupid tunnel. I don’t care how strong you are. We’re all here and that’s what matters, so don’t you dare put that at risk.”

“But I—”

“No.”

“Jay, I—”

“No.”

“I—”

“No!” A manic expression overtakes Jay’s face. “No, no, no! No one’s taking the blame. No one’s isolating themselves. No. One. Is. Going. Off. Alone. You hear me?!” 

The others are frozen, halfway outstretched hands caught as if suspended in ice. Kai’s expression is twisted painfully. Lloyd’s eyes are on the ground. Zane is as frozen as the metaphorical ice, and Nya looks devastated. 

“No more being alone,” Jay says, the fire in his voice giving way to something wetter and considerably more sniffly. “No more. Don’t — you can’t—”

“Okay,” Cole whispers. He carefully takes Jay’s hands from his shoulders, grasping them in his own instead. “Okay. No more going at it alone. I promise.”  

 The monastery courtyard seems a little colder, in the silence.  

“Anyone feel like circling back to the whole ‘suing Harumi’ idea?” Kai finally speaks up. 

Jay gives a wet snort. 

“Well, we’re probably gonna need to afford tissues,” Lloyd says. His own voice isn’t exactly dry, either. 

---

The downside to sticking therapy smack at the bottom of their priorities is that they all really are, in fact, not okay. 

Most of the time, they manage. 

There’s a solace in being together, a comfort in having the people you trust and care for most in the world right next to you when the nightmares get bad. When Jay awakens screaming for Nya or clutching at his throat for air, Nya is already holding his hand and Cole’s holding the rest of him.

When Zane lapses into silence too long, emotions a roiling mess that leave him paralyzed, Kai is there with one-two-three’s for breathing and Lloyd is there to draw little cats with him until the world subsides again. 

When Cole’s eyes shadow in training and his hits grow wild, Zane is there to pin him before he bloodies his hands and Jay is there to sing horrible off-key songs he loves until the panic ebbs.

When Nya stares at the water too-long, her eyes misty and her expression dreamy, Jay is there to hold her tight and Kai is there to talk until his voice goes hoarse and hers returns. 

There are other times, though, when it’s harder. 

It hits Kai this time about halfway through painting the walls of the kitchen a cheerful yellow, said paint splattered up to his elbows, courtesy of Lloyd. He glances down — to joke, to laugh, to not think—

And pauses. With the headband he’s stolen from Pixal in place, pushing back the mass of thick blond hair, Kai can just see the purple-red edges of the swollen, irritated wounds that scar Lloyd’s scalp. The twin marks are a better sight than when Kai first glimpsed them, bleeding circles that looked as if someone had drilled into Lloyd’s skull — but not by much. 

“S’fine,” Lloyd mutters, catching Kai’s devastated expression. “I can’t even feel ‘em. Not really.”

“Liar,” Kai rasps. “They look awful.”

Lloyd makes a face. “Gee, thanks a lot.”

“I mean it. What if they get infected, or worse, or — have you had Sensei look at them?”

Lloyd wraps his arms around himself, avoiding Kai’s eyes. “No. I didn’t really…I did what he asked. What they both did. And then screwed the whole thing up, so it was all useless anyways, so I—”

He bites his lip, hard enough to crack the already dry skin. 

“I don’t really wanna hear anyone telling me what else I’m doing wrong with myself, right now.” 

Kai is angry enough to feel sick. 

“That’s stupid. That’s so stupid, he should — it shouldn’t be like that, it’s — why didn’t anyone—” he shakes his head. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask us if we wanna be — if we wanna—”

Lloyd’s hand closes around his wrist, gently tugging Kai’s own hand from where it’s clawed unconsciously at his arm, leaving ugly red stripes against his skin. 

“You asked,” he says, quietly. “That meant a lot.”

Kai looks away. “Lot of good it did.”

Lloyd’s grip tightens. “It meant the world to me,” he repeats, stronger this time. 

“But I couldn’t—!”

Lloyd abandons his hold on his wrist to wrap his arms around Kai entirely, holding tight. Bony and strong and familiar, Kai’s little brother to the core. 

“Thank you,” he says, fervently enough that Kai can feel the ache in his voice. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

Kai’s voice is a miserable mess of fought-back tears. “I couldn’t even do anything.” 

“You asked me what I wanted,” Lloyd says once again, and Kai can hear the edge of tears threatening his voice, now. “That was everything.” 

Giving in, Kai drops his head into the mess of blond curls and hugs Lloyd back. Lloyd’s hair smells like blood and paint and steel and the strawberry shampoo Skylor gave them, and now it’s gonna smell like Kai’s stupid snot and tears. 

“Hey, having another hug party without me is lame.” 

Kai gives a wet, broken response as Nya throws her arms around them both. 

“Idiots,” she murmurs, resting her head atop theirs. “I love you both, you know that?”

“Ew, gross,” Lloyd snorts wetly. “Hey Kai, Nya loves us.”

“Little jerk, who you callin’ gross? And here I thought you loved us too.” 

“Well obviously I love you guys back, who’s the idiot now—”

Kai simply clutches them both and cries harder, as if holding onto them will stop himself from falling apart.

It works, in the ways that matter, though it’s always because they’re holding back even tighter. 

Later that evening, Zane bathes Lloyd’s head in antiseptic and Jay forces them all to sit through the PowerPoint presentation he’s made with Nya titled “Every Super Cool Totally Good Character with Horns Ranked”. He loses them the minute he brings anime characters into it, as everyone suddenly develops incredibly passionate opinions about the rankees, but Lloyd’s laughing too hard to have his own opinion and Kai doesn’t feel like he’s drowning under inadequacy anymore — just choking to death under the weight of Jay’s elbow for daring to insult Re:Zero as an anime “since it actually has Oni in it, idiot, your opinion is trash—” 

They get things back to being okay, one way or another. 

---

Somewhere in the third month of renovations, they finally scrounge up six whole beds. It takes a good deal of dragging and cursing, but they finally manage to move into their own rooms, the once-empty spaces looking a little less lonely. 

“Now we don’t have to all sleep together in the same room anymore,” Jay announces. There’s no small amount of celebration at that.

The celebration lasts up until sometime around three in the morning, at which point the  consistent nightmares land them all right back in the pile of communal air mattresses. 

“Just for like, one more night,” Kai yawns, as Lloyd curls closer beneath his arm. 

“Totally, yeah,” Nya echoes, one leg spread across Jay, her arm sprawled over Kai. 

“Go to sleep already, FSM’ sake,” Cole begs, before slumping over Zane. 

For all Cole’s begging, he’s still the first to act when Zane suddenly lurches up from the bed, gasping for air like he’s drowning and giving them all joint heart attacks. 

“—hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just us—”

Cole’s hands hover, non-threatening, as Zane buries his face in his palms, breathing ragged. The others have begun to get up now as well, the slow kind of approach that lets Zane know exactly where each of them are. 

“I despise this,” Zane spits, as his hand drags down to fist over his chest. “I hate feeling like this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it—”

“I know,” Cole says. “I know.”

“This is why — it’s so much easier—“

“It’s okay, it’s—”

“It is not! I do not need to breathe, and yet I can’t!” Zane bursts out, frustrated and frightened. “I’m not supposed to break down like this, I do not, I do not—”

“You’re not a machine,” Cole says steadily. “You get to break down.” 

“But if I—”

“You don’t,” Lloyd murmurs. “You don’t have to turn ‘em off, Zane. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” 

Zane’s head lowers, his eyes shadowed. “It wouldn’t hurt,” he says, but it’s reluctant. 

“Yeah, you’d never hurt, but you’d never be happy, either,” Kai says. “And that’d suck.”

“It’d suck for us, too,” Cole speaks up. “We’d have to live without your laugh. Without your sassy remarks. Without your kindness.”

“We’d live without you,” Lloyd says, quietly. “And you wouldn’t really be living, would you?”

Zane crumples, his shoulders shaking as he allows Kai to pull him close. 

“If it gets too much, just come to us,” Jay says. “We’ll be more, okay? We’re pretty good at that.”

Zane gives a wet, stifled laugh. 

“Don’t go, even if it’s just your emotions leaving,” Nya murmurs, her head against his. “It isn’t worth it.”

With slowing shudders, Zane lets himself relax, the warmth of their little family pressing around him. Kai is an immovable barrier at his side, save for where Lloyd’s tucked beneath his arm. Jay’s legs tangle with Lloyd and Cole’s, his hand held tightly in Nya’s.  

“Leaving isn’t worth it,” Nya echoes. “Not in any lifetime.”

---

Bit by bit, the monastery comes together. 

The smell of new paint gives way to a familiar scent of mixing elements and laundry soap, one that’s followed them since the first Bounty. They comb through every online shop until they find the exact brand of sheets that feel like the first apartment they ever lived in together. Thrift shops and sales and birthdays stock closets once again, new hoodies that are quickly stolen and passed back and forth. The collection of CD’s and movies rebuilds into stacks once again through shared movie nights and pirated music.

And little by little, with the consistent passage of time, photographs line the walls of the monastery once again.

 A little older, a little worn, but a collection of family all the same. 

---

“Except we still don’t have damn central heating—” 

“Suck it up and light the fireplace, hothead.” 

“No respect in this city. None at all.” 

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | april 18 sock | words: 585

tw: slight nfsw, walking in on someone, swearing

“Stop leaving your socks all over the place!” Sirius heard from the first floor.

“Stop being a dick; they’re on my side of the room!”

“Oh, trust me, I can be worse!” And then there was a loud thud, probably Regulus throwing something at James to prove that he could indeed be worse.

Sirius sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. It had been like that since the beginning of the holidays, because everyone forgot to rent a place with six rooms instead of five, so that James and Regulus could sleep separately. When the two of them found out, they reacted in two different ways: James didn’t mind (It’s not like we’ll be spending a lot of time here); Regulus, on the other hand, threw a tantrum like a five-year-old (I can’t share a bed with this asshole for the next six weeks). Unfortunately, there was no other way, since neither of them would sacrifice a comfortable bed to sleep on a couch in the living room. So for the past two weeks, all ten of them were doomed to listen to the senseless arguments the two others provided.

They were all getting tired of it—they came to Italy to rest, not to feel like children while their parents were getting divorced.

“I swear to god, if they don’t stop until tomorrow, at least one of them won’t come back to London,” Barty grumbled, handing a cup of orange juice to each one of his boyfriends. The girls hummed in agreement.

They sat at the big table in the kitchen, having breakfast. Dorcas and Marlene listed all the places they could go to today, while Lily and Pandora were serving more pancakes and scrambled eggs.

“I think the gallery and chapel sound the best,” commented Mary, throwing a grape at Peter, which he caught with his teeth.

After that, they sat in a comfortable silence, chewing on their respective meals.

The silence was almost… too comfortable.

“Do you think they killed each other?” Sirius asked, breaking the moment of peace.

“Who cares? At least they’re quiet,” Evan replied, shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Sirius turned to Remus, starting a silent conversation. After a few seconds, his boyfriend nodded and stood up, with Sirius following suit. They went upstairs, stopping in front of blue door. From behind them came quiet gasps and muffled words neither of them could understand.

The black-haired man knocked at the door gently. “Reggie? Prongs? Are you guys okay?” When, after nearly a minute, there was still no answer, he decided to enter the room.

“Guys, are you—what the fuck?” He was expecting everything: blood all over the place, black eyes, broken bones, shattered windows—everything except James holding one hand on Regulus’ throat, the other on his dick, his own probably inside Sirius' little brother.

All four of them froze, staring at each other with wide eyes, until the youngest finally grabbed the blanket laid in front of him, covering himself and James.

“Why the fuck would you come in without being allowed?” Regulus hissed.

“We thought you were dead,” Sirius answered, unnaturally calm. “I just wanted to check if you were alright.”

“Well, you know now, so get out,” the younger Black replied, making a dismissive gesture with his free hand. Sirius didn’t need much convincing to do so.

When Remus closed the door behind them, the shorter man turned to him.

“You know Moony,” he said, staring blankly. “I think I need to bleach my brain.”

[blackdollette]

"got your bible, got your gun." || part four.

꒰ ៹ . " 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄. "

art deco. - lana del rey

୨୧˖-ׁ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: hatred was strong, but determination was stronger...

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: new ! bau ! female ! reader x jealous ! spencer

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: a little angst, blood, potential for fluff

ㅤㅤㅤ꒰ ៹ . 🍒 previous chapters: 𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈𝐈

it must’ve been a sick joke that the universe was playing on you. or perhaps the team just enjoyed watching spencer and you quarrel like the victims of a doomed marriage.

and that just so happened to be the crime at hand.

right in front of you laid a husband and wife, battered and bloodied until they met a gruesome death right on their cozy white living room carpet. and beside them were the scattered remains of their daughter, who couldn’t have been any older than 5 years old.

you tried to maintain your stoic impression, but the nearly imperceptible cracks in your expression made way for a pained grimace.

spencer glances over and sees your appearance as you look at the young victim, her youth and innocence contrasted against the brutality of her death.

he notices the look of unease and despair on your face. despite trying to keep his distance from you earlier, he can't help but empathize with your reaction.

"first time seeing a scene like this?" he asks quietly, his tone holding a hint of softness that he quickly tries to conceal.

“in person, yeah. what kind of sick person would do this..?” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

spencer can sense your voice's genuine concern and compassion, and it takes him aback for a moment. he had pegged you as the unbothered type. seeing this soft, human side of you causes a strange tug at the back of his mind.

"someone with no remorse, no understanding of empathy," he replies, his voice quiet and filled with a wave of underlying anger. "that's the kind of sick person who would do something like this."

despite the gut-wrenching scene in front of him, spencer couldn’t seem to draw his peripheral gaze away from you. the conceited, shallow girl he viewed you as has made way for one who was capable of sympathy. it appeared that you had layers and to his surprise, he wished to pull back each one to see what was held within.

he cleared his throat, putting an end to the awkward silence that he had caused.

“i created a profile that has been sent out to the others. the press conference will be held this evening.” he didn’t know why he was telling you, but he cursed himself as soon as he caught your biting glare in response.

“the profile? the one that we were both supposed to put together?” you scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in a motion that left him temporarily speechless at the mildly enticing sight.

then he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a bitter response. he had to admit, it wasn’t easy acting like your dispute on the plane never happened, but it was like you had completely gotten over it.

at least that’s what he initially thought. 

“is there a problem, agent?” he didn’t like the way it felt to address you with such formality, like you were undeserving of the title. “last time i checked, there’s a serial killer on the loose and the last thing this team needs is a college undergraduate thinking that she can run things around here.”

he crossed his arms over his stomach, mirroring your action.

you narrowed your eyes, scoffing as you started to leave the room. the presence of the dead bodies and the overwhelming aroma of blood was really starting to get to you. “oh really? because i’d pick that any day over a self-glorifying asshole.”

his jaw hung slightly open at that description. between your words and the gorey sight in front of him, he was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“i’m the asshole? you’ve done nothing but bitch around since we got here!”

you had already moved into the kitchen, taking in the sight of cluttered knives and cutlery all over the place, some covered in blood and some broken. a shiver ran down your spine as your eyes landed on a shattered family photo, being the only thing remaining on the dining table. some sights were hard to see, but this was completely heartbreaking.

you hadn’t even noticed spencer leaning against the doorframe, the anger in his expression wavering.

“is… that more evidence from the scene?” he cleared his throat, cautiously approaching you like you were an unstable animal. unbeknownst to you, your hands had started shaking as you gingerly picked up the framed picture.

“...possibly…” you swallowed hard, carefully placing it into the plastic bag that spencer extended to you.

you inhaled deeply, slowly walking over to the counter to lean against it. the blood, the dead family, the dark symbolism, it was all so much to take in on your very first case. you closed your eyes, slowly massaging your temples in an attempt to still the headache that was summoning.

even spencer, who had gone out of his way to keep you at arms length, felt a pang of pity for you. it was too early for your pure soul to be tainted by the darkness that the world concealed.

his shaky voice broke the silence. “you’re too young. a girl like you shouldn’t be allowed to attain this job. it isn’t fair to you.”

you sighed, bringing your head up. “i’m 22, spencer, don’t act like you’re all high and mighty. especially not now.”

spencer swallowed thickly. there wasn’t much of an age gap between you at all. but in terms of maturity and experience, you two were miles apart. maybe that was why you just couldn’t get along.

while his disdain toward hadn’t faltered in the slightest, the bigger picture slowly became clear to him. he cleared his throat. “i… i know i’m not responsible for you, but believe it or not, i was once in your position. the crime scenes, the killers, it’s all pretty scary. but the team always helped me out, and… i guess it’s my turn to be on the giving side of that interaction.”

you kept your head down, but felt the knot in your stomach loosen ever so slightly. your lack of response was all he wanted to hear.

“the first problem is the way you hold your gun.” he started, pointing to the gun pointing outward from the waistband of your skirt. “you’re basically begging for it to be taken off of you.”

you nodded, quickly adjusting the weapon, using him as an example.

while the tension was still thick between you two, at least you were one step closer to catching a killer.

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[alientee]

To Live Mauga x reader

I wrote this after reading a agnst Mauga fic it made me sad so I changed my past idea from slice of life to a fluffy moments with taking care of Mauga (gender neutral reader)

You didn’t ask Mauga a lot about his past, but you know it made him into the man he is today. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always had a carefree outlook on life. You’ve seen him angry, happy, horny, and even embarrassed.

But you had never seen him sad; nothing could wipe the usual smirk off his handsome face. To have a face of complete shock or dread was not something you were used to seeing. Mauga, the unshakable mountain of a man, was trembling, and you didn’t know what to do.

He came home distressed, covered in bandages. He took one look at you and instantly went to the bedroom, cooping himself up without saying a word. You made your way to the room to see the man you loved on the bed, slightly curled up, as if it would hide him from the world.

You went over to him and put your arms around him. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t even move. But somehow, you knew he didn’t want words; he just needed you. You continued to hold him, rocking him back and forth. And after an hour of that, he finally spoke.

“I almost died today." Your blood ran cold. Those are genuinely the last words you ever wanted to hear from him. You knew working for Talon would come with trouble, but being prepared for it was a whole different issue. You didn’t speak, deciding to wait and see if he’d continue.

“We had a mission to capture this dude. He owed Doom first a lot of cash. I should’ve known it would be bullshit when he sent the whole team. The guy we were chasing had us trapped like rats, trying to pick us off one by one. He had a lot of goons, too, until we finally caught up with him. The place was already torn down and still coming down on top of us. That asshole knew he couldn’t make it out, so he set himself off.”

You look at him, confused. “Set himself off?” Mauga nodded.

“He had bombs on his body, saying he wouldn’t give doom shit. He said he reached his goal, and he'd die knowing he did it with no regrets. I knew he was crazy, but I didn’t think he’d off himself before we could even capture him.”

Mauga leaned his head onto yours; he stayed quiet for a moment before placing his face on your shoulder.

“The whole building was coming down, and because I was the tank, I took the blunt hit off it. I was trapped behind the ceiling debris that fell. The whole building was falling apart; shit was on fire, and I was trapped. I thought I wasn’t gonna get out. When more of the ceiling fell on top of me, it broke open the floor. I fell through, but I had a chance. I had to crawl most of the way and use my guns to break whatever was blocking me off. I reached dead end after dead end, and I didn’t think I could get out. Shit was falling down on me, and I could barely breathe, and by the time I made it somewhere else, I thought it was another dead end until I dug through the debris and made it outside.”

You hugged him tighter, kissing his face all over. He had bruises all over his face. You kissed each of them softly, giving him an Eskimo kiss.

“I’m so glad you made it out, darling. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you. My poor baby."

Mauga leaned into your touch, snuggling closer to your warmth. He kisses your cheek, finding his way back to your neck.

“Wanna know the most fucked up part when I got out. They were flying away, and the only reason they came back was because Sigma saw me and started waving, and Sombra came to look. They left me for dead, and I’m not even fucking surprised.”

You scowled “I’m not surprised either; I really wish you never joined Talon in the first place, but I know that as a mercenary, you have to do what you need to.”

He nodded while kissing your shoulder. He pulled you into his chest, and you rubbed your fingers over his bandaged arms.

“For the first time in a long time, I was afraid of dying. I promised myself after the heart surgery I’d live every day like it was my last; I just never thought that day would come as quickly as that. I was actually fucking scared of dying. I didn’t want to die that way, trapped and alone."

You held him tighter, and if you felt your shoulder getting wet, you didn’t say anything about it.

“I thought about you, how I couldn’t leave you, and how I had to get back to you. All I wanted to do was get back to the one person who gave a damn about me.”

“And you did. I’m so proud of you, my love.” You run your fingers through his hair and console him. "You're so strong. I know I worry about you a lot when you go on missions, but I never doubted that you would always come back to me."

You both hold each other while sharing sweet kisses and longing looks. Putting your foreheads against one another, Mauga squeezes your hips, bringing you closer.

“How about we take a bath together? I could look at your wounds, and after that, I’ll warm up dinner for you.”

Mauga nods, kissing your lips softly. “I’d love that, baby."

You got to the bathroom and ran the bath water. You can hear Mauga behind you getting undressed. You turn around and help him take off his wraps. He runs his hands through your hair, kissing your forehead as you slowly remove his bandages.

You couldn’t help but flinch at some of his wounds. You lift his hands, kissing each one of his knuckles. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You both stepped in the tub, but this time you got behind him. You take the shampoo and conditioner and start with his hair. He growled when you scrubbed his scalp; he always loved it when you played in his hair.

He growled and leaned his head back. As you rinsed his hair out, he leaned into you, kissing your jaw and neck. You softly push him away. “Let me wash your back.” He turned back around, letting you wash him.

“Wanna wash all of me?” You roll your eyes at him while he snickers.

“I’m not washing your butt, you dork," he playfully splashes you, causing water to get in your face and all over the floor.

"Oops"

After you both finish up, you dry off his hair, then clean and rewrap his wounds. He holds your waist the whole time, not giving you much room to move. “Do they hurt really bad?”

He gives you a pout, nodding his head. "Yup, kiss em for me?” You laughed at his foolishness. “You know what? Yes, I will.”

You lean in, kissing every one of his bandaged wounds. Mauga runs his fingers through your hair. He brings your face up to his, bringing you into a slow, passionate kiss. Your tongues caress each other, and his hands cover your face while rubbing your temples.

You lean back and kiss his chest, where his two hearts would be. “Let me warm your food up, then we could watch a movie."

He nodded. You both headed downstairs, and while you got his food ready, Mauga didn’t let you go. You are used to him being affectionate, but not this clingy. You didn’t mind, though he almost lost his life. You almost lost him. No matter how long it took, you’d be by his side, spoiling him until he was comfortable.

“Common Mauga I promised you cuddles and a movie."

And that’s how you both ended the night, cuddled up in each other's arms, sharing kisses and light touches. Mauga hands never left you. He nuzzled himself into your chest, and you played in his hair. Laughing at his cute antics.

“Gimmie kiss,” you lean down, kissing his lips.

"Another.” You start laughing; the sight of the giant man pouting and giving you puppy dog eyes was so adorable.

When you kiss him again, Mauga bites your bottom lip, sucking on it. Once he lets you go, you can’t help but ask something that’s been on your mind.

“You’re not going back to them, are you?”

“Don’t know"

You sighed, not really liking the answer, but not questioning it.

“Just know you don’t need them to make a living."

He looks up at you, kissing your nose.

“I know; all I need is you."

And after that, you couldn’t help but give Mauga all the kisses he wanted.

[clovermarigold]

Late Night Snacks

Various Valorant characters x Reader

Clove, Cypher, Yoru,

Props to anyone who recognizes this reference.

might do a pt.2 if people are interested

pt.2

You really needed to fix your sleep schedule. You swear agreeing to that night mission was a terrible idea. Then again, you would likely be in the same situation if you hadn't. Going to bed before the early hours of the morning was just never your thing.

You used to joke about being a creature of the night, but now you were starting to think it was truer than you'd like.

It didn't help that in your endless doom scrolling you had come across a video that left you with an insatiable craving for the perfect snack. So here you were at 4 am, moving as slowly, quietly, and gently as possible through the kitchen trying not to wake anyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clove- Chocolate pudding (romantic)

"Is it burning? I can't tell if it's burning or if I'm just sleep deprived" you whispered to yourself, stirring carefully to decipher if the clumps you felt were burnt pudding or powder you didn't mix well.

"What are you doing?" you dropped your wooden spoon, looking up to see someone staring at you.

"Clove?! What are you doing up?" They gave you a lopsided grin stepping into the kitchen to peer into your pot, "Eh, mostly watching cooking videos. Looks like I can watch the real thing though".

"I'd hardly call this cooking" they give you a look. "What would ya call it then?".

"Ugh... I don't know, something along the lines of making instant noodles or microwaving a hotpocket" you slowly returned to mixing the pot, growing more comfortable with your guest audience.

"The hells a hotpocket?" you immediately dropped your spoon "Oh we are getting you a hotpocket! It's like a calzone but a cheap frozen version that burns the roof of your mouth when you eat it". They laughed, "Sounds terrible, I'm in".

They watched carefully as you poured the chocolate into two separate bowls along with a spoon, "Are ya sure? I don't want to take yer late-night snack... or would it be morning?".

"It's fine, pack made too much for one person anyways" you blew on the spoonful in your hand before taking a bite. "If ya don't mind me asking. Why puddin?" you snorted a little, remembering the meme that had inspired your insomnia plagued kitchen raid.

"Because I've lost control of my life" their eyes shot open before realizing you were joking. "Righty then" they smiled, joining you in eating as you sat on the kitchen counter and ate. Something Brimstone or Sage would no doubt scold you for if they were awake.

You swear the joke about being the 'parents' of the protocol were serious. "You know you should probably get some sleep" If you couldn't save your own sleep schedule, the least you could do would be to save theirs.

"Eh, I'll sleep when I'm dead. Can't say the same for you" you look away embarrassed. It was humiliating enough to be caught in your pjs making pudding because of a meme you saw at 4 in the morning.

"Ya know... I'm usually up pretty late too. If you're havin' a hard time falling asleep. You could always hang out with me in mah room" honestly, that sounded nice.

"I'd like that" you both smiled at each other, accidentally staring too long. Damn in! you looked away quick. That was awkward. It wasn't your fault they were cute. It was definitely the sleep deprivation. Nothing else. No other possible feelings or thoughts. No siree.

"What the hell are you two doing up!? Is that pudding?" A half asleep and grumpy neon walked into the kitchen. "Scatter!" Clove yelled running towards their room, hand wrapped around your wrist dragging you close behind, giggling. Eh, sleep is for the weak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cypher- Tea & Crackers (Platonic or Romantic)

Lavender. Thats what the internet said the best tea was to help you fall asleep. You had tried everything else, warm milk, hot shower, counting sheep, etc. You looked at the stove's clock and groaned at the painful looking 4 am. You had a mission tomorrow, so you needed as much sleep as you could possibly get. Your brain didn't seem to understand that and fought you every step of the way.

The kettle let out a sharp whistle pulling you from your daze. Shit! Why did you think it was a smart idea to make tea at such an ungodly hour. You quickly moved the kettle off the burner.

You rubbed your eyes with a groan, hoping that didn't wake anyone. A high-pitched whir caught your attention. A camera? It looked like one of Cyphers.

The camera zoomed on your fresh pot before darting to the cup cabinet. "Uh ok" you opened the cabinet grabbing a mug and going to close it, only for the camera to move wildly.

"Oh, I get it" you moved to grab a second mug, pouring two drinks alongside a plate of tea crackers. The camera began to shake up and down, lens zooming and Un-zooming like an excited puppy.

"Ok buddy" you laugh, "Where is he?''. It gave a sharp turn to the left instructing you out of the kitchen, only to see another camera ushering you in another direction. You forgot how many cameras he had. Finally finding yourself in a shipping container on base you knocked lightly, "Come in".

"Ah" Cypher let out a pleased hum swiveling in his chair to face you, the army of monitors illuminating the room. You yawned, handing over the warm cup into his greedy hands. "ohoho" he chuckled to himself, "Now this is just the treat I needed. Too bad it's decaf".

"Why are you still up Cypher?" you asked through blurry eyes. "I could ask the same of you my dear" he turns back to his monitors, fidgeting with what you could only guess was lens sensitivity? You've owned maybe one camera in your life.

"Suffering" is said bluntly, followed by a long sip of tea. Why wasn't this working. "Hmm" He looked away from his screens to give you a once over that made you a little self-conscious, given your messy and sleep deprived state. He stood up before ushering you to sit in his chair, "What are you doing?".

"Just giving a helping hand" reaching under his desk he pulled out a blanket, too thin for your liking but it got the job done in covering you. Something told you it wasn't used often enough.

"I don't think-" he cut you off before exiting the crate, "Just sit down". From your seat you could watch him take the same path you did through the cameras to the kitchen, pouring another mug with the last of the hot water and making his way back.

"Lavender is good. Buuut, chamomile is better" the warm cup was swapped for the fresh new one. "What are you doing?" you take a cautious sip as he changes his monitors.

"Just a little trick I used to do with my- ...... Someone I used to know", well that was cryptic. The light sound of crashing waves surrounded you as white noise played from the screens surrounding you. With a light pressure Cypher rocked the chair.

"Really? Now I'm a baby?" it wasn't really insulting, but you had to admit it made you feel a bit childish. "There's a reason it works on them. Don't you think?" you had to admit, your eyes were starting to feel heavy, the soft padding on the chair was heavenly. It must have costed a ton, either that or he definitely stole it from Brim's office. Probably the latter.

In a matter of minutes your mind couldn't fend off the urge to rest, and you slipped into unconsciousness with relative ease. Cypher watched over you for a moment, making sure you were fully asleep before stopping his motions.

Just like he remembered, first they're fussy and then they're out. It hurt a bit, if he was being honest. But it also felt...good. Like it was healing a part of him. The part of him he lost with his family.

Nothing could ever replace them, he knew that. But that didn't mean he couldn't move forward. And if helping you sleep did that, you could stay on his chair every night. He'd just need to buy some more chamomile the next time he went out

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoru- Instant Ramen

You were definitely going to go deaf at some point with how loud you blasted music. But hey, you were using headphones, so it wasn't like you were going to wake anyone up with your tracks.

Besides, this was your perfect ritual. Finish training at 5, play video games with Gekko till 7, shower, play on your switch till 9, play on your PC till 12, Listen to music and read till 2, then your pièce de résistance, post-midnight snack. It would be more appropriate to call it a late dinner... or early breakfast. Considering you didn't eat with the others, too busy with animal crossing.

Tonight's late-night snack comprised of your favorite instant noodles and a single egg. Depressing at face value, delicious at stomach value. Nutrition value? Zero.

Not like you cared though. All the hallmarks of the perfect youth, unhealthy food, video games, staying up all night, and ruining your ear drums.

So here you were, making noodles at nearly 3 in the morning while you danced in your oversized pj's that were totally not covered in pizza stains.

As you went to spin you unfortunately turned to see a very irritated looking Yoru staring back at you.... Ok, so maybe you should start turning your music down.

"The hell are you doing?" he asked as you slowly pulled off your headphones. "Noodles" was all you could say when he pushed past you to look into your pot, lightly shoulder checking you.

"This is sad" he huffs, shaking his head before walking over to the fridge. "I'll have you know I am anything but sad when I eat this" he rolled his eyes, pulling out a container of leftovers from a previous dinner along with some seaweed and a brown looking container.

"What are you doing?" you leaned over his shoulder as he started to move the boiling water into a larger bowl. "Showing you what real food is" he snapped.

"Geeze. Alright, grumpy" you put your hands up and hopped up onto the counter, only making his brows furrow deeper, "I take it you're making some for you too?".

"Damn right. Like I'd go through all this trouble for you" he scooped a portion of the brown.... goop? into the pot. "Put your lazy ass to use and pull this meat off the bone" he slid the container of Brim's leftover ribs towards you.

"Don't you think he'll eat these later?" he laughed. "Like I care. Old man has a minifridge in his office, that's where the good shit is. He probably forgot about those already" you shrugged, tearing the fat and meat off and placing it into the container.

You and Yoru didn't interact much one on one. you would join group smash bro tournaments and do missions together but other than that your interactions were limited.

"...Soooooo, what are you doing up?" you tried to fill the silence now that your music was gone. "Fixing my sleep schedule. Something you should be doing" you hummed, not quite agreeing, too focused on the way he carefully cut the seaweed into strips.

"No thank you, I'll stick to my routine" he gave you a look, "4 hours of sleep and shitty packet foods?".

"Well when you say it like that of course it sounds bad" you huff a laugh. A light splatter sounded as he dropped the dry noodles into the boiling broth.

"You don't add the noodles before the flavoring?" A look of disgust spread across his face as he threw the intact flavor packet at your face.

"None of that prepackaged chemical shit!" you rubbed your forehead lightly, sliding the packet into your pocket for future use, "Throw that away!".

"That's wasteful" you argued, making him grumble. "Open" he held a spoon of broth in front of you. Curiously you leaned into drink, ignoring the awkwardness of him feeding you, "Holy shit! That's good".

He turned back to the pot, sliding in the meat, "That is why you don't use that instant crap. Miso and dashi. Even an idiot like you can figure it out ". You frowned, only for a shot while as you saw him break up the ramen into bowls, topped with eggs and nori.

Handing you the bowl, you paused when he didn't release it. "No more fake shit?" it was more of a statement than a question, but if it meant you could eat the heavenly smelling bowl in front of you, then you would swear off instant noodles for the rest of your life. "No more fake shit" you nod with a smile, and he releases his grip.

Yoru watches as you scarf down all of his hard work like a ravenous animal. That was a lie, it wasn't hard work. Which made your inability to do it yourself all the more concerning. He knew you weren't going to fix your sleep schedule any time soon.

Maybe he could hold off fixing his for a few more days. No doubt your little promise would be out the window if he left you to yourself.

Some one-on-one time wouldn't be the end of the world.

Requests open!

[causenessus]

binary stars

part 0.5. EQUIPMENT ROOM

NOW PLAYING . . . no other heart by mac demarco

iwaizumi opened the door for them as they arrived.

“how’s he holding up?” hanamaki asked, stepping in first. him and matsukawa both had their usual relaxed faces, with small smiles on their lips. sure, a part of them were worried for their friend's wellbeing but overall they were finding his struggles stupidly entertaining.

“he’s got his head in his hands, grabbing his hair like he’s gonna tear it out but he would never actually do it. not much else,” iwaizumi shrugged, closing the door behind them.

when they saw him, his knees were pulled to his chest and he stared blankly at the wall.

“damn, you messed up that bad?” matsukawa took a seat next to him.

oikawa only curled up into a tighter ball, hiding his face, “yes.”

“you wanna tell us what happened? maybe we can help,” hanamaki offered, sitting on the floor along with iwaizumi so that the four formed a small circle.

“she found out i liked someone and when she asked who i said i couldn’t tell her like an idiot,” oikawa answered. “i want to dig myself a hole and never come out.”

matsukawa and hanamaki shared a look while iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “how’d she find out?” hanamaki asked.

“bokuto said something about it,” iwaizumi answered.

“and now i’m doomed,” oikawa lamented, finally lifting his head up, “how do i come back from this? even if she did like me a little bit before this, now i’ve made it seem like i like someone else and that i don’t trust her.”

iwaizumi only shook his head. he'd already heard all of this before, from both oikawa and y/n.

“she’s not going to give up that easy. you’ve been close friends with her for years, give her a little more credit. and you need to not give up this easy,” iwaizumi said, staring oikawa dead in the eyes.

“yeah, you can still amend this, and you better. try spending more time with her, and act normal with her, or flirt, you’re always doing that with other girls,” hanamaki suggested.

“that’s because i don’t care about them,” oikawa ran his hands through his hair with a sigh, “it’s all fake when i flirt, but when i’m with her, i’m just all open with my feelings, you know? i can’t flirt when i’m like that, and even if i do, what if she thinks i’m just toying with her? that’s even worse.”

“well then, it sounds like you really like her,” matsukawa caught oikawa’s gaze, “do you want to tell her or not? if you’re serious about this, then that’s more reason to fix this. make her know that things are normal between you guys, which will show her that you’re still comfortable with her. then, get closer to her.”

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

at certain times iwa gets so fed up and is on the verge of saying things like "OFC SHE FUCKING TEXTED ME ABOUT WHAT YOU FUCKING TEXTED HER SHE'S IN LOVE WITH YOU YOU BLIND ASSWIPE" but he knows if he says anything like that he'll just get "oh that can't be 🥺 she would never like me blah blah woe is me" and has just given up 

when tooru texted y/n she saw what he had texted her a few days ago again which only continued to make her feel conflicted about how he was treating her

tooru genuinely cannot and will never flirt with yn bc he wants to be all sweet and honest with her he never wants to even act like he's toying with her

hinata is begging takeda and kiyoko for another practice match with seijoh bc he wants to see y/n again <3

taglist: @anonnreader777 @daisy-room @deluluforcarlos55 @eggyrocks @hikikaimar @httpakkeiji @intergalacticrory @localgaytrainwreck @mitfloya @reallyvexin @sunarins @usermins @yenonnoff @wyrcan (form to be added to taglist <3)

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Can u do part 2 daemon and stepdaughter like she’s pregnant and daemon manage to make Rhaenyra agree to let him marry her

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Dark!Daemon Targaryen x Stepdaughter!Reader

summary: she’s pregnant and daemon manage to make Rhaenyra agree to let him marry her

Word count: 1,3K

Warnings: Angst, grooming

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

You did not know what to do, this was a disaster. You could not even confide in Jace your older brother. Your moon's blood did not show up this months and there was only one explanation, you were wit child. And there was only one potential father, your own step father, Daemon Targaryen.

You shivered despite it not being cold yet in King's Landing. You have not seen Aemond either ever since you two got caught and you did not know if it was because he was avoiding you or if it was one of your step father's tricks. You noticed the lack of guards as you walked down the hallway towards' Daemon's chamber, the one he did not share with your mother.

You hands were freezing as you raised on and knocked gently. You waited but no sound came from inside until the doors were pulled open suddenly making you gasp in shock.

"Tala, what are you doing here?" Daughter. Daemon smirked. Crossing his arms he leaned against the door watching you every move. You looked left and right making sure no one was here to witness this.

"I need to speak with you" You whispered. Daemon frowned seeing the serious expression on your face. He stepped inside giving you space to walk into his room as well.

"What is it, tala?" Daughter. He questioned. He moved over to his desk filling two cups with wine. He sipped his cup while handing you the other one. With shaking fingers you took the cup no rethinking your decision to come and tell your rapist that he had impregnated you.

"I-I-" You huffed feeling dumb as no lie came up, you could not back down now from telling him. You were always horrible at lying and you cursed your mother for raising you so pure.

"You can tell me anything, sweet girl" He placed a finger under your chin raising your head up. He looked you dead in the eyes trapping you there, you could not lie even if you tried because he would see right through you.

"I am with child" You whispered, tears building in the corner of your eyes. Daemon's eyes widened in shock and he let go of your chin. You slapped a hand over your mouth to prevent the sos from coming out too loud. You were doomed for the rest of your life.

"My child?" He asked. Your head snapped up in anger, you were furious with that question. Before you could register what you were doing your hand had already made contact with his cheek making him snap his head to the side.

"Who else's could it be?" You snapped harshly. You were about to drown the wine in one go but he snatched the cup out of your hand before you could and downed it himself.

"Wine is bad for pregnant women" He hissed angrily. You wanted to tell him to fuck himself and that he could be damned along with his child but you couldn't, despite everything he had done to you, you still loved him and this child was just as much yours as it was his.

Your eyes widened when he kneeled down in front of you. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince was on his knees before you. He placed his hand flat against your stomach with a soft smile on his face. He almost looked like a normal man in love and finding out his wife was giving him a child but Daemon was no normal man and you were not his wife.

"My child" he grinned brightly placing a kiss to your stomach. You jumped at the sudden sound of something crashing against the floor. Daemon jumped up from the floor and turned to find your mother standing by the open door.

"Y-your child?" She stuttered not believing her ears. Your heart broke at the sight of your mother's eyes filling with tears. You were ashamed with yourself and looked down at your feet.

"Rhaenyra, come inside" Daemon demanded. She shook her head and was about to walk away but he quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her inside his room. Now you were face to face with your own mother who was glaring down at you and you at your feet.

"My own daughter, you imbecile" She yelled turning to face Daemon who barred the door. Daemon glared right back at her.

"Me better than your cyclops of a brother" He yelled back. She was taken back with his outburst. She turned to you again grabbing your chin harshly so you would look at her. Tears were streaming down your eyes and snot was running down your nose, her eyes softened at the sight.

"Why?" She asked, voice quivering. You finally found the courage to look up at her, do you tell her that he raped you? Or do you say it was willingly? You yourself no longer knew. You had touched yourself to the thought of him snapping his hips into yours after he had taken your maidenhead, you enjoyed how rough he was with you but he was still your step father.

"How could you do this to me? YOUR OWN MOTHER!" She yelled angrily stalking closer to you. You staggered a couple of steps back fearing her furry would make her cause you physical harm.

"Mother, please" You sobbed afraid. You have never seen your mother so angry before in your life. She grabbed your chin again making you look her straight in the eyes. You had a feeling se could see and feel your pain and that she knew what Daemon had done to you.

"Why? I loved you more than anything, more than your brothers and more than the world, why would you hurt me so?" She sounded broken. You sympathized wither after loosing Leanor your father and Harwin your real father she found solace in Daemon yet here you were pulling him from her without even trying.

"Mother, please. I did not meant to hurt you" You whimpered. She leaned her forehead don yours letting her own tears stream down her cheeks.

" I wish to make her my wife" Daemon answered before you could. Both you and your mother turned to look at him in shock.

"What?" She whispered letting you go, losing all feeling in her body for a second.

"I found her being seduced by your brother, would you rather he marry her and take her away from you? Or me who will love and cherish her and keep her by your side?" Now you saw how manipulative your step father was. How he was able to win your mother's affections in the first place.

"Y-you" She stuttered. Your heart broke into a million pieces then and there. You loved Aemond and you knew he loved you too, he was going to convince his mother to marry you two but now that slipped away as your parents decided that your should marry your step father.

With a heavy and tears streaming down your face you walked over to your step father in traditional Valyrian robes to be wed by a septon. Your mother was standing in the small crowd along with your brothers, Daemon's daughters, uncles and aunt and the Queen and King. They all watched as your uncle pulled the dragonglass over your lip cutting you and you doing the same before smearing the blood on each other's foreheads. Your eyes trailed to Aemond unconsciously when the sept handed you the cup of blood, he was glaring at you as if you had betrayed him and you did, when you were fucked by your step father and now you were marrying him.

You drank the blood with a grimace but did not have time to dwell on it before Daemon's lips were on yours in front of your family. He held your face firmly making sure you did not pull away until he was satisfied, until Aemond saw who you truly belonged to. You were always his from the moment he set his eyes on you during Laena's funeral as a child he felt a tug at his heart until you lived on Dragonstone and grew up under his watchful eyes. He had always intended for you to wed whether Rhaenyra agreed or not. Getting you pregnant was merely a bonus.

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Two

Fool's Fare: Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warnings: Crossdressing, Cranky pirates, Jake Seresin. I think that's it?

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I feel like this is NOT my best work, but I'm not sure if that's because I'm a perfectionist or if it's because it's actually bad. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

You bolted upright in your bed, sheets drenched with sweat as you fought to regain control of your breathing. Your heart hammered away in your ears as the sound of rushing water faded into your memory. You glanced out the window to see the soft pink of the rising sun as it sat just below the horizon. Good, you still had time. You scrambled out of bed, feet carrying you quickly into the front room. Bradley had his foot propped up on the table to lace his boot, a nasty habit your mother had scolded him for countless times when she was still alive.

He glanced up at you with a frown, noticing your disheveled appearance. “Are you alright?”

“You can’t go,” you said flatly, staring at him. Bradley let out a long sigh as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Guppy,” he started, “we’ve talked about this.”

“No, you’ve talked about this. You decided that I wasn’t important enough to be included in the conversation.”

“That isn’t fair,” he grumbled. “I'm doing this for us and our future.”

“You’re doing it because you can’t stand the thought of staying here another minute,” you snapped at him, causing him to shrink back into himself with a grimace. “Bradley, it will kill me to not know whether you’re safe or not.”

“I already told you-”

“Yes, I know what you said,” you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “But, I will spend every waking minute wondering whether or not you’ve been captured or killed. I will be left here to wait for you on that hill like Mother did.”

Bradley said nothing as he stared at you. His lips pressed into a thin line as he walked past you and down the hall to his room. You heard him moving around, opening and closing drawers before he came walking back towards you.

“Here,” he said, shoving the clothes into your open arms. You stared bewilderingly down at them before looking back up at him. He gestured for you to move down the hall. “Go change.”

“What?”

“Go change,” he said again, a bit more bite to his tone. You slowly moved past him and down to your room. You stripped your nightdress off and quickly began to pull on the shirt and pants he had shoved at you. You didn’t even know he still had these things. They were a little big on you, but they would do. You had just finished lacing your boots up when a knock came at the door.

“I’m decent,” you called, and Bradley swung the door open. He stared down at you, nodding with approval at how his clothes fit you. He tossed you a rucksack that you barely caught.

“Pack only what you need.”

“Bradley, what-”

“C’mon, Guppy,” he ordered, rushing around your room to pack what he thought you might need. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I don’t understand,” you frowned. Bradley turned to you with an incredulous expression.

“The only way you’re going to let me go,” he said like he was speaking to a child, “is if you come with me. So, you’re coming with me.”

“Women aren’t allowed on ships, Rooster.”

“Which is why you’re dressed in my hand-me-downs right now,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m getting you on that ship as a cabin boy if nothing else. Do you have everything?”

He rushed out of your room with you in tow. “Yes, I think so,” you muttered.

“Good,” he said. “I’ve already left a note for Tom. Now let’s get goin’.”

Bradley opened the front door and walked out without looking back. You moved to join him, but hesitated, resting a hand on the door jamb. You turned to take one last look at your home. It was dark, the morning light not having reached the windows yet, and it felt empty as you stood there.

“Guppy?”

You turned to look at Bradley who had stopped a few feet ahead of you. The two of you stared at one another for a moment before he reached his hand out to you. You took it, closing the door to the little cottage as you allowed him to pull you forward.

The docks were already bustling as Bradley pushed his way through the throng of fishermen, you not far behind him. He carried himself confidently, standing a couple of inches above everyone else, and waving to the familiar faces around him. You, however, did your best to hide your face with the jacket and hat Bradley had handed you. It would do you no good now to get caught trying to sneak onto a pirate ship.

“You’re late.”

You glanced up to see Captain Seresin leaning against a stack of crates, a frown pulling on his lips. A handsome, dark-skinned man watched Bradley stoically.

“Yes,” Bradley said, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that.”

“You’ll do well to remember to be on time from now on,” Jake sniffed, green eyes glancing down to where you hid behind Bradley. “Who’s this?”

“This is my younger brother,” Bradley started, moving to rest a hand on your shoulder and pull you forward for the captain to see. Jake stared at you, face unreadable as he looked you over. You stood up a little straighter, puffing your chest out. Bradley had you bind it before you left to help conceal it beneath the jacket.

“What’s your name?” he asked finally. You balked, eyes darting nervously to Bradley. How had the two of you not thought up a name? It was a careless mistake, and the longer you took to answer, the more you began to panic.

“Pete,” Bradley rushed out. Your eyes widened. “Pete Mitchell.”

“Pete Mitchell?” The dark-skinned man blinked in surprise as Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “As in the sailor who went by the name of Maverick?”

“He was my father,” you said quietly, head hanging. How did these men know your father? It didn’t make sense that these men would know him.

“You hear that, Javy?” Jake laughed. “Didn’t know the great Maverick had a kid.”

“Neither did I,” the dark-skinned man, Javy, frowned. His eyes now held a look of intrigue as they studied you. You shifted, trying to hide yourself behind Bradley as the man continued to stare down at you.

“Could be good to have him on the ship with us,” Jake mused, and Javy snorted.

“Or it could be bad luck.”

“Nonsense!” Jake cried out, grin wide. He turned his attention to you. “You got any experience sailing, lad?”

You gave another glance at Bradley who gave you a small nod of encouragment.

“No, sir,” you admitted. “But, my father taught me as much as he could before he died.”

Jake hummed, casting one last look at Javy. He looked back at you with a smirk.

“The two of you can follow my quarter master, Javy, here to your quarters.”

You moved to follow Bradley as Javy motioned for the two of you to follow him, but Jake grabbed your wrist to stop you. You looked back at him curiously, and he fixed you with a humor-filled smirk.

“Don’t go causin’ any trouble on my ship now, you hear?” He winked. Your face remained stoic, unsure of how to respond. He let go of your wrist and motioned with his head for you to follow the others. As you walked onto the ship, you glanced behind you to see a pair of twinkling green eyes still staring after you.

The thrill of finally setting sail after a lifetime of having to make due with the stories that Bradley and your father told you was unlike anything you could have imagined. The sea crashed against the underside of the ship, and the ocean spray hit your face in a fine mist. You were leaning off the side of the ship, watching as your home faded away in the distance.

“You lean any farther, and you’ll fall in.”

You jumped, nearly falling off the ship in the process. The man grabbed you quickly with a low hum of “easy” before helping you stand up straight. He was handsome, dark blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses, and his brown hair was pushed back off of his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Bob.”

“It’s fine,” you breathed, offering him a small smile. “I shouldn’t have been leanin’ over like that. My name is Pete.”

“I heard,” he chuckled. “You’re the talk of the crew. No one knew Maverick had a son.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muttered. Before you could ask him about your father, he clapped a hand on your back, pulling you towards the hull.

“C’mon,” he grinned as the two of you walked. “Let’s go make supper for the crew, cabin boy.”

You followed him down into the dark belly of the ship, moving around crew members as they rested in their bunks. Bob led you into a back room that functioned as the galley. Bob showed you where to find the different tools you would need to prepare different meals for the crew.

“You’ll be expected to help me out with the cooking as the new cabin boy,” he explained as he grabbed ingredients for that night’s meal. You fell into easy conversation with the young man, sharing stories and laughing.

“And then the fish began wriggling, and he hollered so loud, they must have heard it clear across the Atlantic!” Bob laughed as you giggled.

“Reminds me of the time Rooster tried to catch a fish with his bare hands,” you joked, remembering how excited he had been before a rogue wave had taken him by surprise.

Bob turned to you. “What was he like?”

“Who?” you asked, slicing away at the loaf of bread in your hand. “My father?”

Bob nodded, and you paused your movements with a sigh. You stared up at the ceiling as the familiar sense of grief washed over you. “He was very kind. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like him, actually. He was a great storyteller, too. I remember when I was younger, he would sit by the fireplace next to my mother, and he would tell me stories about men who went on grand adventures off at sea. Rooster used to pretend like he wasn’t listening to the stories, but he’d always ask just as many questions as I would.”

You felt tears prickle at your lashline, and you quckly scrubbed at them. Bob gave you a sympathetic smile.

“You must really miss him,” he said softly. You gave him a watery smile.

“I am who I am today because of him,” you murmured. You jumped when the door to the galley swung open to reveal a handsome man with skin darker than Javy’s.

“Bob, is the food ready yet?” he huffed. Bob scrambled to do one last check over the food before nodding his head.

“Yeah, it’s done Reuben. We’ll bring it out in a minute,” Bob stuttered frantically, rushing to dish out the food. Reuben grunted before turning to walk back out the door.

He stopped, glancing back at Bob. “Oh, before I forget. The captain says he’s eating in his quarters tonight.”

Bob sighed. “Thanks, Reuben.”

The other man sent him a wave over his shoulder and departed without another word. Bob quickly handed you a serving dish before pushing you towards the door.

“You better go,” he murmured. “The captain doesn’t like waiting. His quarters are upstairs and the door right in front of you when you enter the hall. Knock on it when you get there.”

You gave him a nod before turning to make your way in the direction he specified. You passed several men who were gathered around the end of a large table. They all cried out at the sight of the dice that rolled out of the cup and onto the table.

“Snake eyes!”

The air turned cool as you stepped out onto the deck, the last rays of the sun disappearing beneath the horizon. You saw the multitude of stars that were already shining in the night sky, and you could just make out some of the constellations your father had taught you.

“The most important star you’ll ever need to know, little minnow,” he had whispered to you one night, guiding your eyes up to the heavens, “is Polaris, the north star. A sailor is never lost as long as they can find it. It brings me home to you, your mother, and Bradley every time I’m away.”

You stared at the shining star, heart wrenching. “You didn’t bring him home.”

You continued on, stepping into the hallway where three doors stood. You walked up to the one directly in front of you, knocking like Bob had instructed. A beat past, and the door opened to reveal Javy standing in front of you. He blinked, taking in your much smaller form.

“Cabin boy,” he greeted, eyes looking at you with intrigue still. You cleared your throat, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“I’ve brought the captain his supper,” you murmured, eyes looking everywhere but at the man before you. “I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t know you’d be eating here as well.”

“I’m not,” he replied, taking the serving dish carefully from you. “I’ll be joining the crew momentarily. I’ll give the captain his meal, cabin boy. You go on ahead.”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure why you did, but the sound of pained grunt from inside the cabin caught your attention. You moved to peer inside, but the quarter master blocked your view.

“That will be all, cabin boy,” he gritted out, a warning in his eyes. You nodded hesitantly before turning to slowly make your way back out onto the deck.

When you made your way back into the galley, you found that Bob had already begun to dish out some of the plates.

“Are you alright?” he asked you, seeing the pinched look on your face. You looked up at him quickly before giving him a very unconvincing smile in reassurance.

“Yes,” you said. “I thought I heard someone in pain in the captain’s cabin.”

Bob stilled for a moment before continuing his movements, humming in thought. “Was anyone there with him?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Javy was there.”

Bob breathed a breath of relief. “That’s good, then. He’ll take care of Jake, don’t you worry.”

You hummed, grabbing a plate he handed you and walking out to serve the rest of the crew.

A couple of weeks had gone by, and you were slowly falling into a routine aboard the ship. Bob kept you busy with meal preparations and stories of the different places the crew had visited during their travels. He was regaling you with one such tale as the two of you sat in the shade provided by the upper deck.

“I think you’ll like Jamaica, Pete,” Bob grinned at you.

“Why’s that?” you ask him, glancing at him sideways with a grin of your own.

“It’s great over there! The beaches are beautiful, and the food is amazing!”

“Personally,” drawled a deep voice, “I think Pete here would be more of a New Orleans fan.”

The two of you looked up to see Jake leaning against a barrel, and both of you scrambled to stand up.

“Captain,” you greeted, and Jake raised an eyebrow at you.

“I see you’ve been working hard.”

“We were just taking a break, Jake,” Bob muttered. Jake hummed at him before gesturing towards the hull.

“Why don’t you go finish preparing for tonight’s meal?”

Bob sighed, moving to obey the captain’s orders with you following.

“Not you, cabin boy,” Jake called after you with a smirk. You stopped, casting Bob a worried glance, but he gave you a smile in encouragement.

“I’ll see you down there,” he whispered to you. “Don’t let him scare you, okay? His bark is worse than his bite.”

“I heard that,” Jake groused. Bob chuckled before patting you gently on the shoulder and continuing on his way. You turned around to face the blond man who was watching you with a twinkle in his eye that you couldn’t place.

“What is it you need from me, Captain?” you asked him, hands folded behind your back. Jake’s smirk grew.

“No need to be so formal, cabin boy,” he chuckled. “You might as well call me Jake. Everyone else around here does.”

“I’ll call you ‘Jake’ when you call me ‘Pete,’” you shoot back at him, clamping your mouth shut as Jake let out a booming laugh, throwing his head back in glee.

“Any other captain would have had you flogged, cabin boy,” he grinned at you. “But lucky for you, I’m not them. Go on and help Bob with the food, and tell him to stop griping at the lack of supplies. We’ll be docking at Port Royal in the morning.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You turned to walk away, but Jake called after you.

“Oh, cabin boy?”

You turned to look at him.

“I never properly welcomed you that day,” he smirked, eyes shining. You frowned at him in confusion. Pushing up off the barrel, he strutted along the deck towards the stairs that led up to the upper deck. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Welcome aboard the Hangman.”

[tokoyamisstuff]

Pistanthrophobia

(n.) the fear of trusting people due to past experiences

Mark Hoffman x GN! Reader

A/N: This request has been sitting in my drafts for 2 years or so, I am terribly sorry😭but kinda iconic that anon predicted the plot of SAW X

Synopsis: While John and Amanda travel to Mexico, Reader and Mark are being left behind.

Warnings: Cussing, (unspecific) mentions of intercourse, alcohol, mental breakdown, unhealthy coping mechanisms, toxic dynamics, mentions of choking, power imbalance, slight d/s elements -> all mostly mentioned, nothing graphic

Notes: Apprentice! Reader, Nurse! Reader, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, No use of Y/N or other names

"So I'll use my voice, I'll be so fucking rude Words, they always win, but I know I'll lose And I wanna cry, I wanna learn to love But all my tears have been used up"

- Another Love by Tom Odell

"I hate you so fucking much..."

Your words were met with nothing but a derogatory laugh, Hoffman's dark voice almost tauntingly echoing through the room.

Unbothered by your remark, he calmly readjusted his pants before subtly winking at you.

"Don't hate the player - hate the game" he chuckled arrogantly, relishing in the knowledge that he was once again victorious in that little cat and mouse game the two of you were playing.

There was no denying it: Hoffman would always end up having the upper hand, this much was sure.

But oh, how much you wanted to wipe that shiteating grin from his face right now!

Slowly but steadily even the last effects of your orgasm ceased in your body, instantly being replaced with unbearable shame.

As always.

You'd love to say this was a one-time occasion, but every argument with your fellow apprentice would ultimately end up this way - with you being slammed on the next best surface, that is. Getting fucked into utter submission until you'd be reduced to a moaning and stuttering mess, begging him for more.

And mind you, but the two of you fought a lot.

You furrowed your brows at the man, a failed attempt to regain at least a fraction of your dignity. Hoffman however found your pathetic resistance rather endearing, shamelessly indulging in the sight of your ruined self.

Straightening your clothes, you intended to escape this scene as fast as possible - but after a deed this...intense, it was doomed to fail.

So as soon as you jumped from the cold working table, your legs gave up...

...just to instantly being caught in the arms of the man you so desperately wanted to get away from.

"Careful there" he mocked, and yet his breath on your ear was enough to make you shiver once again. "You might wanna take it easy after what I did to you."

"Fuck off!" you managed to regain some composure and snapped back, shoving him away and leaving as far as your still weakened legs could manage.

"Little brat" he grumbled under his breath, only to then fix his tie and continue working as if nothing ever happened. "If you want to come back for more, you know where to find me!"

The words he called after you were left unheard as you paced through the narrow hallways, trying to avoid anyone else to see you like this - runny makeup, ruined hair, the front of your shirt torn apart, skin covered in bruises.

Gladly you would cross paths with neither John nor Amanda during the walk-of-shame to your room. Not that this little 'hate-fuck-workplace-affair' - or whatever one might call it - wasn't obvious, you just couldn't bear another lecture right now.

The water in your current hideout - another run down facility - was cold and made you grateful to be vaccinated against tetanus, but it would suffice.

At least this time you actually had running water, right? A vigilantee with a secret double life shouldn't really complain about missing luxury.

You quickly got undressed and scrubbed off the black oily fingerprints Mark had left on your chest and thighs, while dwelling in self pity...

...because even though you'd rather drop dead than to admit it, you sadly enjoyed those encounters with Hoffman way too much.

And damn, that asshole was amazing when it came to making you come undone.

Couldn't even blame him for acting all high and mighty around you when you'd become wax in his hands as soon as his lips crash over yours in the heat of the moment.

Each and every. Single. Time.

Admittedly, he is handsome. Very much so, and aware of that fact in the worst way possible. Tall, more intelligent than he looked for sure. Strong and dominant - no, downright rude was more fitting.

And while usually rather the quiet type, Hoffman was very vocal about his opinion of you.

The detective thought you to not belong here, to be dull and naive - a nuisance whose mere presence managed to irritate him beyond belief.

After all, you were a mere nurse before this - on the very same station that John Kramer was once a patient on. And someone like him was aware of everything.

So it was only a matter of time until he found out you listened to some of your terminally ill patient's pleads and assisted them with their suicide. Much to his disapproval, needn't be said.

Just like Mark, you had no other choice but to join in Jigsaws schemes - yet opposite to him, you actually looked up to your blackmailer.

"Kindness is a virtue - but given to the wrong people, it can become a weakness" John once scolded you, after having interrupted a rather indecent moment between you and Hoffman.

As if you had ever been kind to him. Well, in the beginning, maybe. But he blocked every attempt to get along, and now you just mirror the way he treats you.

As the last drop of machine oil went down the drain, you couldn't help but mentally wander back to earlier - Mark roughly pounding into you, holding your struggling self in place as he once again reminded you that this was exactly where you belonged - beneath him.

Shit, you have a horrible taste in men.

Mabye you just hated yourself for allowing him to manhandle you like this, using you like some sort of toy to let out some steam on...

...or maybe you hated the fact that you still felt this odd attraction to him, despite everything.

"Did it again, huh?"

Amanda's appearance broke your reminiscing, and you stared her down as she was smugly leaning against the doorframe. God knows how long she had been back already, but with no actual doors privacy was a foreign word in here anyway.

"Please" you groaned, not bothering to dry yourself properly and instead quickly getting dressed again. "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know I'll implode if I can't at least voice my disgust for this cheap excuse of a man." Despite the initial atmosphere, both of you broke out into bright laughter at her comment.

"Seriously" she now added with a more concerned and serious tone, gently grabbing both of your shoulders so you'd properly listen. "Even John begins to think Hoffman's beyond help. Instead of listening to John's teachings, he only got a taste for blood. Who knows what happens when he snaps."

For a sheer second, your face dropped at her statement.

What did she mean with "beyond help"?

Sure, he was the epitome of toxic masculinity and a different kind of insane than the rest of you, but he gets the job done without question...

...and somehow you wanted to believe that he had preserved at least a last bit of humanity, buried deep inside of him.

A taste of blood? Certainly. But more as means of self preservance, maybe out of a twisted sense of justice too.

Soon Amanda would take over John's work and the rest of you could be active from the shadows. You couldn't imagine him continuing this afterwards, neither did you.

"Well" you crossed your arms in a defensive manner, "Tell him to keep it in his pants and I might be able to resist climbing this man like a jungle gym."

"Gross."

Gladly Amanda dropped the topic for now, practically tearing you to the main hall for some kind of 'murder staff meeting'.

You couldn't bear to see his fucking face again, but hey, that's what you get for fucking the company.

John and Mark were already waiting, and the latter immediately scowled upon seeing your fellow apprentice.

Well, if there's one person he despised even more than you it must be her - and she was an actual rival to him and not just a pastime and easy target.

"Late as always" Mark spat venom at her, "Can't expect any less from an addict and a good-for-nothing."

Ouch.

"What's with the grimace, dumbass?" she sneered right back and earned a nudge to the side from yourself. You had no nerve for this right now, especially not in front of your mentor.

Instead of biding Amanda another look, he now turned towards you with a mischievous grin on his face. "Got nothing sassy to say today, sweetheart?"

"Nope." You tried avoiding his gaze, only to be met with John's sympathetic one. "Not in the mood."

"Huh" he almost cackled at his own joke before he even said it, "You were 'in the mood' just a few minutes ago. But hey, that's the only thing you're good for."

Amanda was practicall boiling with rage by now, ready to throw hands to defend your honor. What a wonderful friend indeed...

...but all of you knew that while she surpassed him in skill with ease, he was a literal beast when it came to physical strenght.

"I liked your mouth more when it was duct-taped" you finally snapped back at the man, more to hold Amanda back than anything else. "Or even better, with the shotgun draped right in front of it. Might make that mandatory, so you'll finally think before you speak."

"Try me" he answered calm yet not less menacing, a cocky smirk decorating his face as he approached you until you were basically trapped between him and the wall. "Or do you need me to fuck that attitude right out of you again?"

"Enough already!" John then exclaimed, and immediately the room was coated with an uncomfortable silence, strained even. "You're not here to be so distasteful in my presence. Did you learn nothing at all?"

Couldn't he have intervened earlier?

Well, knowing him he probably wanted to observe whether you took his lecture to heart.

God, you couldn't help but wish to disappear right on spot...

You looked down in shame while Mark would only scoff and back away like a feral dog being tugged on it's leash, finally giving you space to breathe again.

"I called you here because Amanda and I will have to leave earlier than anticipated" John had ended the earlier topic just like that, by dropping this huge information. "Tomorrow night, to be precize."

"Only the two of you?" Mark groaned exaggerated at your question, as if the answer was the most obvious thing to figure out.

"You and the detective need to keep your civil identities upright. The preparations will take longer than anticipated, so it would be suspicious if you were to miss work for such a long period of time"

You nodded, only a little bashful at first but it worsened as John once again directed his words at you. "Did you bring the anesthesia and surgical instruments I requested of you?"

"N-not enough" you tried to explain, a little taken aback. "I thought there was more time. If I steal too much at once, my coworkers will find out..."

"It's alright" Amanda interrupted you, putting a reassuring hand on your back. "I know some people, I can get the missing rest."

Hoffman's laugh was everything but subtle, and more than enough to tell what he was thinking - that you were useless and replacable.

Maybe he was right. But you were never voluntarily a part of this in the first place!

"Both of you have envelopes with assignments on your desk, you need to get this done until my return. This is not a request, it's an order."

All of you voiced your approval, like mindless soldiers who were about to fight the war of others.

"Oh, and detective?" John then turned to look at Hoffman, raising a warning finger. "I know what you're about to do in my absence, and I'll warn you only this once: Don't."

It had been hours since John and Amanda's departure and you couldn't help but repeat this last sentence in your mind over and over again.

Those dreading questions were robbing the sleep you so desperately needed in case you'd have to actuall defend yourself.

What did he mean by that? What intentions or plans would a man like Mark Hoffman have? He seemed like a man with no real aspirations, aside from his position at work he was basically an empty shell of a human being.

You never really thought about it until now, gulping at the thought: Even the serial killer they called Jigsaw, the puppet mastermind admitted he could not control this man.

You've seen the brutality of Mark's traps first hand, the way he treated - no, abused - unconscious victims before their tests.

Compared to the rest of you he was the real homicidal maniac, or at least had the potential to become shall he fall even further astray from his path.

You got the sentiment, though. Knew it yourself - what it's like to have nothing and no one, leading a shallow and empty life.

It was apparent how tired he had grown of this corrupt city, of not being able to bring upon real justice. He had been known for his violent tendencies and immoral methods even before crossing paths with John Kramer...

...and now that he was so deep in those games, it seems there was simply no going back for him now. At least as long as there's still apprentices alive that might snitch his secrets.

You once called him "Jigsaw's Monster" to push his buttons - but to be perfectly honest, you were scared you had hit the bull's eye.

And now they had left you alone with exactly this monster.

He is definetly going to kill you...or worse.

You shuddered at the thought, then laughed at your own imagination running wild. John certainly let a lot slip with both Amanda and Mark, even death traps with no real way to win.

But John had insisted that you were to cater to his needs shall his health deteriorate. So he needed you. He would never let Mark get rid of you just like that, right?

Right?

Well, that's some motivation to get the job done and prove yourself worthy you thought, but life got other plans..

...since just when you were about to leave the hideout for your beloved apartment, the last person you wanted to see right now had magically appeared.

No wonder you thought, since both of you had taken paid time off work for several days, back when you thought you'd accompany John to Mexico.

Either way you were frozen in shock, like a deer in front of a lion. Hoffman was just standing there, staring at you wide-eyed from the dark hallway.

Exhaling deeply, you tried to become reasonable again. Dang, you were behaving ridiculous right now.

That's just Hoffman. A terrible person, but still a person and not some kind of abomination.

"Gosh" you chuckled nervously, pacing around the room to collect some blueprints. "Can't you be normal for once? At least knock or announce yourself."

No answer.

"What now? Wanna insult me again, call me a disgrace or worse? C'mon, I've had it all with you. And hey, John didn't take you with him either so don't get me started on that topic."

Still no reaction from the man, except for him entering the room all mutely, stating holes into your skill.

He was staggering, but seemingly not injured. So drunk it must be. A shame, considering he had been sober ever since he met John.

"D-Detective? You there? Did you hear me?" His sheer presence alone could be intimidating at times, but this was downright creepy.

Slowly coming closer, like so many times the proximity between you became too much to bear. But not with annoying banter or sexual tension like usual.

It was different this time, worse.

A million thoughts at once spiraled in your head.

Should you make a run for it? Nah, he's faster anyway and it would only wear you down.

Fight? Haha, nope. Maybe seduce him and hope for the best? Gosh, pathetic.

Before you even realized, you were cornered once again. Mark built himself up, towering over you like a beast in front of his prey. Then he slammed both of his hands on either side of your head, making you jump.

You were trapped. He harshly tugged on your hair, forcing you to look at his devastated self. Squinting your eyes open, your whole body was shaking violently as you glanced up to the man.

Mark was panting heavily, his breath strongly smelling of liquor. Eyes bordering on a dangerous mixture of hurt and pure madness.

God, he was actually going to murder you.

You felt a hand on your throat, one last desperate attempt of his to ward off those feelings. To remain the one in control over the situation...

...and yet, in the end his lips would meet yours.

Detective Hoffman had kissed you many times before. Always rough, sloppy, demanding. Taking what he needed without ever giving back.

But this...this was new.

It felt almost genuine, with his gloved hand now securely holding the back of your neck in place. Unusually tender as his shaky lips laid on yours, careful like you were a fragile piece of art that could easily be tainted or shatter.

It felt like an eternity, until his lips softly brushed alongside the skin of your cheek before completely pulling back, finally allowing you to breathe again.

You were almost temptated to kiss him back, but were still too confused and afraid, sucking in fresh air and staring at him dumbfounded.

"Hoffman, what the-"

Before you could finish your question, the man pulled you into a bonecrushing embrace.

With your ear against his thorso, you could hear the way his heart was practically hammering against his chest. Much to your surprise he was shaking as well, and you could've sworn to perceive some strangled sobs as well.

"Hey, big guy..." Trapped in his muscular arms you couldn't move an inch, no matter how you tried to writhe yourself out. "This isn't much better than the choking. You're squeezing me here, seriously."

Instead of a proper reaction, you felt him press your much smaller body even firmer against his own, desperate to not let you see him this vulnerable...

...however when you felt something wetten the top of your head you understood.

He was crying. Mark fucking Hoffman, the most menacing and cold person was currently bawling his eyes out.

"Mark?" You had never called him by his first name until now, but it felt right at the moment. "What's wrong? Can I help you somehow? Talk to me..."

That was the last straw.

Not even Hoffman himself knew why he came to you of all people in this state of being...

...but all things aside, you were the only person he could call a constant pleasure in his life - even when he was actively making yours worse in the process.

After everything he's said and done, you should be the last person on earth to care. He had expected you to laugh, spit insults his way, maybe even lash out at him. He deserved it all and way worse...

...yet here you are, offering him your support.

Mark broke down, falling on his knees and weeping openly as he was now unable to hold back anymore.

Or maybe it was because your presence made him feel safe enough to open up, who knows.

"Heya there..." you shushed him, hesistantly sinking down to the floor in front of him. "It's okay. Let it all out."

All of your suspicion, all of your grudges had been shoved back into your head at that moment.

Eery person deserved a second chance - that was one of John's lessions you wholeheartedly wanted to believe in.

Well, sadly just like Jigsaws traps, healing always involved hurt in the process.

"I'm here, Mark. I'm not going anywhere."

And you kept your word, keeping him company as long as needed.

It took you some time and convincing, but eventually you got this drunk and utterly exhausted mess of a man into your bed. Staying by his side, with him clinging to you as if you were his lifeline.

However he never spoke a word that night...

...and when you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

You found him not much later, slouched on a run down sofa at Jigsaw's workshop and drinking his hangover away.

Geeze, this guy is incorrigible.

"You look awful" you greeted him, looking at the clock just to see that it was only 9am.

"Yeah no shit sherlock" he croaked back, voice still hoarse from crying before. "Want a job at my department with your great observation skills?"

"Depends" you snickered, "Do I get a promotion for turning you in?"

There, at the corner of his mouth, his lips were twitching into an almost-smile. He let out an amused huff, before taking another sip from the cheap liquor. "Touché."

"So..." you plummeted down on the other end of the sofa, enough distance to not be uncomfortable for either of you. "Want to talk about it?"

Hoffman leaned forwards, a slouched position that made him appear so much less intimidating than he could be at times. "Rather not."

He looked so sad and tired, or rather tired of being sad.

You almost felt pity for him, but would never dare to say that aloud. He didn't seem like the type of person to take people caring for him positively.

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?" Hoffman almost cackled at your choice of wording, making you roll your eyes. "You're making this way too easy sometimes. "

This playful banter made you wonder why it couldn't always be like this - just exchanging some silly jabs, instead of getting at each other's throat whenever you'd meet.

"C'mon, stay focused." You now had both hands at your hips, trying to make an authorative impression. "I seriously thought you came to kill me last night. I think I deserve to know what's going on."

"Kill you?" That seemingly catched him off guard, as he rose a surprised, almost offended eyebrow at you. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"I-I don't know, I...we're all alone, I'm defenseless without the others." A little embarassed at your paranoia, you fondled with your fingers in your lap. "You loathe me, and you've killed people for less."

Your mind went back and forth to his colleagues who he killed in cold blood. People he worked with for so many years, probably went through so much together...

...until he slaughtered them in inhumane ways, without so much as feeling remorse.

"Ah damn it, yesterday was the death day of my sister, okay? You happy now?" He gritted, and suddenly you felt a tidal wave of guilt hit you head first.

How could you not have thought about this?!?

"John didn't want me to relapse with the alcohol" he added, "That's what he meant. But here we are."

This said, he took another sip. And then one more, and another...

In a fit of rage, he threw the empty bottle across the room where it scattered into pieces. As he pulled out another one from his secret storage, you tried to snatch it out of his hand - but his reaction was surprisingly unaffected.

You wanted to drown your embarassment just as much as he did his grief. "We've exchanged all kinds of bodily fluids, a shared bottle won't do any harm."

"...weirdo" he mumbled, hiccuping before involuntarily giving you the bottle.

"Takes one to know one" you shrugged and almost emptied it in one go, ignoring both the burning in your mouth and your companion's pleas to take it easy.

While you continued getting to his niveau of intoxication, Mark seemed to be buried deeply in thought, brows knitted together as he tried to find the courage for the following words.

Sighing deeply, looking anywhere but your eyes, he almost mutely uttered "...and I don't hate you."

"Huh?" You blinked frantically, trying to process what he had just said.

"I don't hate you" he repeated his confession, now firmly and with a stern expression as he scanned your face for a reaction.

"Well, your words and actions certainly don't match." Your mind was alread fogged by the alcohol, and you began to wonder how he could even sit upright with that much running through his system. Well, was certainly not the first time he numbed out his feelings like this.

Not wanting to push him too much, you shuffled closer until your legs would touch. Mark had his face buried in his hands, and you timidly reached out to pat his shoulder...

...only for him to catch your wrist, making you yelp in pain.

Seeing your startled expression, his wild eyes softened immediately, letting go off of you again. "Sorry...bad habit."

"Oh, so you do know how to apologize" you nervously giggled as you rubbed your sore wrist, detecting a glint of self-loathing in his eyes you knew just too well.

Being filled with so much pent up anger and hatred, you thought them to be the only emotions Mark Hoffman was still capable to feel.

Seems like you couldn't have been more wrong.

But it was easier this way, easier to endure his neverending abuse when you imagined him to be some kind of dangerous sociopath and not a mere broken hero.

"Listen, Detective-"

"Just Mark is okay. We're way beyond that."

"Okay...Mark." You gave him a pained yet hopeful smile, and much to your surprise he'd mirror it - not even minding when you cupped his way taller hand with yours. "I'm gonna be blunt: Supressing your emotions won't make them disappear. This is obviously eating you up from the inside, and I'm...worried."

Every sympathetic word of yours made his heart clench.

It was one thing to help a lost soul as a matter of exception, just like yesterday's emergency, but after everything you witnessed not running away, and instead of using it against him still determined to help him?

Why are you making it so damn hard for him to stay away for your own good?

"...I really was right. You don't belong here" he chuckled sadly, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand without even noticing it himself. "You're kind. You deserve better."

Mark's intention had always been to scare you away, make sure you won't continue or even associate yourself with Jigsaw's work after his death.

That's why he manipulated the traps you made, took all tasks from you and led you to believe you were not fit for the job - just so your hands stayed free from blood.

At least you should be free from all of this. One person he could help, but to him it'd mean the world.

"I don't like to get attached" he blurted out, licking his dry lips. "It hurts less."

And yet he couldn't resist the temptation, the bliss that he felt whenever he could have you close, if only temporarily.

Even though he wasn't a man of many words, you understood everything - the unspoken ones as well.

Out of a whim, you straddled his waist, intensely staring at the man in front of you.

Now at last, you saw him in a whole different light.

It wouldn't redeem anything, but understanding his behavior might pave a way for him to make up for what he's done.

Mark's eyes widened in shock when you cupped his face in your hands, his subtle beard tickling the skin of your palms. But soon you felt his hands roaming your body, holding you firmly in place and observing you like you were a myth yet to unfold.

He says something, mutely, but the way he looked at you with sheer admiration gave away his thoughts.

Your touch would not falter, instead your eyes dropped to get stuck on his mouth whose taste you knew inside and out.

A weak "Please..." escaped his throat, almost whining at the sensation of your lips only ghosting across his.

In this moment neither the games nor the past would matter...

...and as soon as your lips met, you knew whatever would happen, together you will figure out the future as well.

[crispycreambacon]

You fill your head with thoughts you find you can't even feel

Try to make room in your skull, but it’s full of them

All of the things that you think and then think about thinking

I know it’s hard, but they're not who you are

They're white noise

— White Noise, Will Wood —

Welcome one and all to "Mashing Two Interests Like Playdough", the first episode is Puppet History x Will Wood, specifically the Substitute x White Noise 'cause holy moly. It fits him so well. Omg.

I had so much fun creating this poster! I'm really proud of how the poses and the rendering turned out even though both gave me a rough time at first </3 I actually had an earlier version of this poster, but I scrapped it because it wasn't doing it for me ngl :,D I'm glad I did though!

Anyways if you'd like to know more about why I think this song fits the Substitute, you can read my interpretation of the lyrics and how they can relate to him below the "Read More" button. You can also find the glitchless + filterless version of the poster there.

Note: A lot of this is speculation on my part, and you don't need to conform to this reading. This is just how I perceive him.

They paint the walls with colors that you're not meant to notice

They fill the halls with tunes you can't get into your head

Let's establish the obvious: The Substitute can't feel. The extent of his unfeelingness is unknown, but what is known is that he can't taste and can't have the sensation of touch. This may lead to him being isolated due to his inability to relate to experiences both humans and his fellow puppets seem to have, particularly the experiences of the one he is based on.

Yeah, it sorta sounds like a retro top-40 but wrong

You're not meant to sing along

It isn't that kind of song

It's white noise

Despite his unfeelingness, he still wants to have the experiences others have. After all, he literally almost killed someone just to have that chance, but his plan is not entirely well-thoughout. How was he going to dispose Ryan's body without getting caught? How was he going to sew the skin onto himself and dispose the rest of it? What was he going to do after he finally what he asked for?

In a way, he was doomed to fail. He was never meant to gain sentience anyway, let alone have the desire to feel like his counterpart. His existence is a complete accident. Now he has to deal with the consequences of actions he never even had a hand in doing.

But if you listen closely I swear, to God I swear

You can hear the ocean if you hold it up to your ear

This lyric directly inspired the pose of the Substitute listening to the conch shell. He has memories of some of the most wonderful sensations on Earth yet he can't connect with any of them. Perhaps when no one was looking, he tries to recreate some of them in a desperate attempt to find a scrap of semblance of feeling and gets increasingly frustrated with his inability to understand them.

Is it any wonder that he would do anything to regain that scrap of enjoyment? To end his torturous experience by any means necessary?

Its personality's a lack of identity

The entire second verse in general speaks about the meaningless of art and how people try to give it meaning anyway. The Substitute's only purpose was to replace the Professor either to console a dead mass or to continue the show. Now that the Professor is back... What can he do?

Moreover, he's also never allowed to have an identity of his own. Since he's meant to be a perfect copy of someone else, especially someone who's presumed to be dead, he can never really deviate from that role because it would break the illusion the puppets created to cope with their grief. No matter what his desires are, he can never really explore any of them because no one is allowing him to do so.

Also, the way the orchestra swells during this part kinda calls back to theatrical music for me. I feel like the Substitute would enjoy performace arts. His bombastic musical number implies he had a flair for the dramatics, and despite his lack of feeling, his expression of his ambitions is quite dramatic.

You fill your head with thoughts you find you can't even feel

This can relate to how the Subtitute is forced to relive the memories of the Professor despite not being able to experience the emotions connected with them. In a way, he has to so that he could remind himself of his motivations. Remembering the joy the Professor got through feeling would keep him going on this path in the hopes that some day, he could feel that joy too.

I know it's hard

But they're not who you are

They're white noise

This line can be taken in two ways. One is based on the speculated official meaning of the outro which is centered on intrusive thoughts. No doubt the Substitute deals with homicidal thoughts, but I wonder if he truly believes in them. Does he genuinely enjoy indulge in them, or does he act on them because it's all that he knows? For all the talk about him having the Professor's memories, at the end of the day, he was crudely coded for one simple purpose. His thoughts are very simplistic—as seen with how quickly he jumps to murder as the most logical solution for his problem—and I wonder if he was given a chance to grow beyond his purpose, he could've reliazed that homocide was not the right course of action.

The other way, which is likely more relevant, relates back to the Substitute being intrinsically tied to the Professor. His thoughts, his memories and his actions are all in a way influenced by the Professor. But it didn't have to be this way. As unlikely as it is, he could've had a life where he discovered his own interests and his own personality outside of being "the evil Professor". If he had gotten to learn more about the world on his own, if he had been able to act not as the Professor but as himself, he would've been able to develop more and find that joy he was missing. He could've had a life.

Unfortunately, he was never given that chance, and it is unlikely that he ever will be.

[bratzkoo]

intro. second lead’s girlfriend

Author: bratzkoo | Credits to: @jintherapper​ for the banner Pairing: prince! jimin x duchess! reader Genre: angst, fluff, isekai Rating: 18+ Word count: 2.6k Warnings/note: it’s a product of my friends and i’s obsession with isekai-ng. isekai is basically being reincarnated but make it posh. 

summary: waking up to a different place. you began to realize you’re Prince Jimin’s betrothed that will die in the hands of a maid sent by an anonymous villain, this event will lead to him falling in love with the female lead and ultimately have his first real heartbreak. you will do your best to keep the both of you alive. you just need to break up with him, try to be the best wingman to him and the female lead, then live a happily ever after. so why would he always choose you?  taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @aretha170 , @jinniegenie , @mooniyooni  .@we8joon​ , @njrwifey​

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

A sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as my eyes fluttered open, my surroundings slowly coming into focus. This was not the familiar sight of my bedroom ceiling, but rather an ornate canopy adorned with intricate embroidery. Panic began to set in as I took in the lavish furnishings that filled the room - the plush bedding, the ornate vanity, the heavy curtains that seemed to block out the world beyond.

Where was I? How had I ended up in this unfamiliar place? Am I dead? I'm dead, aren't I? God, if you can hear me... Tell my best friend to delete my search history or just make her hide my phone. My head started to hurt as the fog of sleep began to clear, fragments of memories started to surface. Recollections of a life that was not my own - a life of privilege, of duty, and that hot guy! This is not... I'm not... I hurriedly looked at myself in the mirror. I was not myself. I stared at the reflection of a young lady, supposed to be me, her flawless skin, her long hair, and her pretty face. Thank fuck, I'm gorgeous! Now, I'm pretty sure this is a dream and I know who this person is. I've read this book before. The person in the mirror is Lady Y/N, daughter of Duke Hansol and betrothed to Prince Jimin. Why this dream? Why this person? I'm pretty sure Lady Y/N died before the setting of the book started. I should've dreamt that I'm Lady Hana- the female lead. I tried to slightly tap my face to wake myself up, but to no avail I was still in this body. Ok, my dream is definitely fucking with me. I pinched myself REALLY hard in my forearm. "Holy f--!" That hurts. I started to panic a little bit at the thought that maybe I'm not dreaming. Is this one of those isekai shits, cause if it was, you got to be kidding me! I was never hit by a truck! Take me back! Take me back! Lady Y/N's character is the role I had never sought and one that now seemed to threaten my very existence. Lady Y/N is supposed to die, I don't want to die! Do I even have control of what's happening? Because my supposed death is the event that would be the catalyst leading to Prince Jimin's second heartbreak.

My breath caught in my throat as the gravity of the situation sank in. I was trapped in the pages of a story that I don't know if I have control over. If I don't find a way to survive and change my course of fate. Then my life is doomed. I got to do what I got to do. I have to do whatever it takes to myself alive, maybe do some wingwoman stuff and guide Prince Jimin to Lady Hana. I've always wanted him to get the girl.

I'm sorry, Author! I have to change the future a bit.

I don't want to die!

As I was still trying to process my new reality, a gentle knock on the door startled me out of my frantic thoughts.

"My lady? Are you awake? His Highness Prince Jimin requests your presence in the garden for breakfast," a soft voice called from the other side.

My heart raced. Prince Jimin? Already? I wasn't prepared for this! But I knew I had to face him sooner or later if I wanted to change the course of this story and since when did I live with him in one castle?

"Y-yes, I'll be right there," I called back, wincing at how shaky my voice sounded. Based on the memories inside my head, it's an arranged marriage and I'm pretty sure we're not in love.

I mindlessly rang the bell to call the maids to help me get ready. Thankfully, muscle memory seemed to kick in. My hands moved almost on their own as the maids dressed me in a beautiful pale blue gown that complemented my complexion perfectly. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.

As I made my way to the garden, my mind raced with possibilities. How should I act? What should I say? I needed to start distancing myself from him, but I couldn't be too abrupt or suspicious.

The moment I stepped into the sunlit garden, I saw him. Prince Jimin stood near a beautifully set table, his back to me as he admired some flowers. Even from behind, he was breathtaking - back view for days, perfectly styled hair, and an aura of regality that seemed to make the very air around him shimmer.

Then he turned, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. The book hadn't done him justice. His eyes, warm and kind, lit up as they landed on me. A smile, gentle and inviting, spread across his face. His lips, fuck, he's prettier than me.

"Y/N," he said, his voice rich and melodious. "Good morning. I hope you slept well?"

For a moment, I forgot all about my plans to distance myself. I forgot about the danger I was in. I forgot everything except the way he was looking at me. Oh God, his face card.

"G-good morning, Your Highness," I managed to stammer out, dropping into what I hoped was a passable curtsy. "I... yes, I slept well, thank you."

He chuckled, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Please, Y/N. How many times must I ask you to call me Jimin when we're alone? We are to be married, after all."

The reminder of our engagement snapped me back to reality. Right. I had a mission. I couldn't let his charms distract me from staying alive and steering this story back on its proper course (without my death- of course!).

"Of course... Jimin," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Shall we have breakfast?"

As we sat down to eat, I couldn't help but steal glances at him. How was I supposed to push this man away? As we settled into our seats, Prince Jimin's eyes never left me. He reached for the teapot, his movements graceful and deliberate.

“Allow me to pour your tea, Y/N," he offered, his voice warm and inviting.

Ding! Ding! Ding! I swear this man graduated in the University of Green Flag Men. I started to hesitate, my mind racing. This may be the only chance to start creating some distance. "Oh, that's not necessary, Your High— I mean, Jimin. I can manage," I said, trying to keep my tone light but firm. A flicker of confusion passed over his face, but he recovered quickly, flashing me that heart-stopping smile. "Nonsense, I insist," he said, already filling my cup. "I enjoy taking care of you."

WHY?!

My heart skipped a beat at his words, but I reminded myself of my mission. I couldn't let his charm sway me.

"Thank you," I murmured, deliberately avoiding his gaze as I reached for a pastry. I took a bite of a chocolate macarons that instantly melted in my mouth. Author, I promise I won’t change the plot that much, I’ll even live my life just eating this macarons! "I thought we could spend the day together," Jimin suggested, his tone hopeful. "The royal gardens are particularly beautiful this time of year. Perhaps a picnic by the lake?" I nearly choked on my tea. A whole day alone with him? That was the opposite of what I needed. "Oh, I… I'm afraid I can't today," I stammered, my mind scrambling for an excuse. "I promised Lady Jihyun I would help her with… with her embroidery." Jimin's brow furrowed slightly. "Embroidery? I didn't realize you enjoyed such pursuits." "It's a… recent interest," I lied, inwardly cringing at how unconvincing I sounded. "I see," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice. He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. The touch sent a jolt through me, and I had to resist the urge to pull away too abruptly. "Y/N, is everything alright? You seem… distant this morning." I forced a smile, gently sliding my hand from beneath his. "Everything's fine, Jimin. I'm just… preoccupied with thoughts of my duties." "Your duties?" he echoed, looking perplexed. "Y/N, your only duty is to be yourself. That's all I've ever asked of you." His sincerity made my chest ache. Author, I might need him to not be so perfect. I begged of you if I need to push him away, I need every fiber of my body not want to jump this man.

“I appreciate that, truly," I said, trying to infuse my voice with a conviction I didn't feel. "But as your future… wife, I have responsibilities to consider. To the kingdom, to your family." Jimin leaned back, studying me with those intense eyes. "You've never spoken like this before, Y/N. What's changed?" I bit my lip, avoiding his gaze. "Nothing's changed. I'm just… growing into my role, I suppose." A tense silence fell between us. I could feel Jimin's eyes on me, searching for answers I couldn't give. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but determined. "Y/N, look at me," he requested. Oh? Look at me, baby. This isn’t you.

Reluctantly, I met his gaze. "Whatever's troubling you, whatever doubts you're having, please know that you can talk to me. Our marriage may have been arranged, but I want us to have a good relationship. I want us to face everything together." His words were like a dagger to my heart. How could I explain that I wasn't really his Y/N? That I was an imposter trying to save my own life? "I… I need time, Jimin," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "To adjust, to… to be worthy of the role I'm to play." Jimin's expression softened. He reached for my hand again, and this time, I let him take it. "You are already worthy, Y/N. More than worthy. But if time is what you need, then time you shall have. Just promise me you won't shut me out completely." I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, as we finished our breakfast in silence.

As the days passed, I found myself caught in an intricate dance of avoidance and duty. Every shared meal, every stolen glance from Jimin, felt like a step closer to my impending doom. It didn't help that I don't know who or what killed me. I had to find a way to push him away, to make him see that our arranged marriage was a mistake.

I really can’t take the direct approach and ask him to cancel our engagement, as Y/N’s father… well my father now, he’s not going to like this.

I need to figure out another way that will end this engagement and not bring embarrassment to myself or my family, get this over amicably.

As I see Prince Jimin, approach me with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. It took all of my self control not to face palm right there and there.

This fucking simp! Does he have feelings for Y/N? How will I live peacefully? Let me break the engagement pls pls pls!

As the days turned into weeks, I found myself growing increasingly desperate. No matter how hard I tried to distance myself from Jimin, he remained unfailingly kind and attentive. It was maddening, and I was running out of ideas. Then the King announced that there’s going to be a royal ball, a grand affair with nobles from all corners of the kingdom and in special attendance, my father. I wasn’t so hang up on the not embarrassing myself anyway, since the start of the book is almost coming to a close meaning my death sentence is right at the corner. I saw this as my chance to finally push Prince Jimin away for good and onto the arms of the female lead.

On the night of the ball, I put my plan into action. I arrived late, my hair in disarray and my gown deliberately wrinkled. Gasps and whispers filled the ballroom as I made my entrance, stumbling slightly for effect.

Jimin's eyes widened as he saw me, but to my frustration, his expression quickly softened into one of concern. He hurried to my side, gently taking my arm.

"Y/N, are you alright?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "You seem... unwell."

I forced a laugh, too loud and sharp. "Unwell? Nonsense! I'm having a wonderful time already!"

I pulled away from him, making my way to the refreshment table. With deliberate clumsiness, I knocked over a tray of glasses, sending crystal and champagne scattering across the floor.

"Oops!" I exclaimed, not bothering to hide my lack of remorse. Surely now, Prince Jimin would be furious, embarrassed by my behavior because even I was. Pls, God let this be over.

But when I turned to gauge his reaction, I found him already at my side, a gentle smile on his face as he addressed the shocked onlookers.

"No harm done," he said smoothly. "Accidents happen. Please, everyone, continue enjoying the ball." Fuck you, Prince Jimin! I really can’t with his kindness, I don’t need your understanding right now!

He turned to me, his eyes full of nothing but warmth. "Are you hurt, Y/N? Let's step outside for a moment, get some fresh air."

Frustration bubbled up inside me. Why wouldn't he just get angry? I allowed him to lead me to a secluded balcony, my mind racing for my next move.

"You must be feeling overwhelmed," Jimin said softly, once we were alone. "The pressures of court life can be daunting, I know. But please remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you, always."

His sincerity was like a physical ache in my chest. I turned away, unable to bear the kindness in his eyes.

"You don't understand," I muttered. "I'm not... I'm not who you think I am."

Jimin's hand on my shoulder was gentle but firm. "You're Y/N," he said simply. "The woman who is going to be my wife and I care for your well being. Nothing else matters."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back tears. This was all wrong. He wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to fall for Lady Hana, not waste his affection on someone who wasn't even the real Y/N.

"Let's return to the ball," Jimin suggested after a moment. "We'll face it together. And if you want to leave early, just say the word."

As we reentered the ballroom, I caught sight of our reflection in a gilded mirror. Jimin, ever regal and composed, and me, a disheveled mess beside him. Yet the way he looked at me, you'd think I was the most precious thing in the world.

I realized then that my plan had backfired spectacularly. Instead of pushing Jimin away, I'd only drawn him closer. And worse, I was beginning to understand why the real Y/N wanted to get married to him.

As we moved through the crowd, Jimin's hand a steady presence at the small of my back, I knew I needed a new strategy. Because with every passing moment, every kind word and gentle touch, I was falling deeper into a trap of my own making.

And I had no idea how to escape.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

for funsies because i got covid AGAIN

quarantine is back because y/n got COVID. skeleton house chaos ensues. what happens in those 7 days?

Undertale Sans - He's the guardian of the main door lol. No one has the right to enter, except if they make him laugh with a very good knock-knock joke. Everyone failed. They're doomed to stay outside. No one really knows it's because you have Covid because Sans forgot to mention it lol. You are so confused when one of your best friends calls you to ask you if you're sequestrated by Sans.

Undertale Papyrus - He watched some video of the first confinement and assumed buying a lot of toilet paper was the thing to do. He got a bit confused but went to the store to buy their entire stock of toilet paper. Since he didn't know where to put it, he built a toilet paper fortress in the middle of your living room. You won't have to buy toilet paper ever again you think.

Underswap Sans - He caught it too, but has no symptoms, like most monsters. He is now going crazy inside his own home crawling on the floor because he can't stop thinking about going out. After a week, your house is a war field as Blue had to find new ways to make himself busy. He tried to cook, which he failed, he painted the walls again, but ran out of paint and screamed when he realized he couldn't go out to buy more, he took a soup bath just because he could... Yeah, never again.

Underswap Papyrus - He would not say he's glad you caught it, but look at that, you're stuck home for an entire week with him! He's going to cuddle with you on the couch all day. He doesn't care if he gets ill, at least that will give him another week with you. He's having the time of his life and he wants to live like this forever, watching Disney movies while hugging his S/O in the couch, with a big plaid and hot chocolate.

Underfell Sans - With the fever and you sleeping 20 hours a day, Red isn't sure you're still alive sometimes. So randomly during the days, he's going to poke your ribs with a broom to make sure you're not dead lol. You better show you're alive quick though or he's panicking and calling rescue services. It happened twice already lol. You woke up so confused to rescuers trying to prove your boyfriend you're actually ok.

Underfell Papyrus - You told him no one has to enter the house and it took it a bit too literally. He trapped the garden and the main road leading to your house to make sure no one got close. He caused three car accidents already and a Karen screamed at him because her kid stayed three hours hanging upside down to a branch of his tree. Edge doesn't care, he's protecting. No one will get in.

Horrortale Sans - He's embracing the golden retriever kind of life, following you everywhere in the house, sleeping at the back of your bed, staring into your soul when it's time to eat to make sure you're eating... You barely manage to keep him out of the bathroom lol. Yeah, Oak is a bit anxious about it and kinda thinks you're going to die or something. You keep telling him you're fine but he's not convinced.

Horrortale Papyrus - Your food tastes like hand sanitizer because he's washing everything with it, food included. You feel even more sick now. You're begging him to stop but he keeps telling you it's for your own good. Man... You just want McDonald's right now...

Swapfell Sans - He's using you as an excuse to not go to work with Toriel and he's so proud of him. You swear he's trying to make the quarantine longer because he really doesn't want to go again. He's a bit paranoid about you though. When you're coughing more than 5 seconds, he's running to make sure you're okay.

Swapfell Papyrus - He will call you nothing but "mutant pangolin" for the entire week and will call all your friends and family to tell them you have started your mutation and won't be able to join them for a week. You're going to have a lot of calls asking what the hell is happening to you. Your mother even thinks you're pregnant. Thanks Rus.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's sleeping in a tent in the garden and refuses to get close to the house lol. You told him wearing an anti-radiation suit was too extreme, but he doesn't want you to contaminate him so he won't listen to you. Wine is maybe a bit paranoid about human viruses.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - You told him you will sadly not be able to cuddle him all week. He gives you the ultimate offended hurt kicked puppy look. He could never forgive you. He's sulking in his room for three days before daring to get down for food.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 3

"Well, well well..." / Hiding / Ambushed / Stalking

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 900

Tag List:@juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: kidnapping, attempted rescue, recklessness, breaking in, stealth, blood, chained by wrists, injury, gun, gunshots, threats

----------

Snap!

Caretaker winced at the noise, tenderly lifting their foot to reveal the broken branch, trodden upon in their careless haste to get close to the house unseen. They likely needn’t have bothered, the house appeared to be empty. 

But looks can be deceiving. 

Especially in this line of work.

Cautiously, paying more attention to where they put their feet, Caretaker crept along the side of the house until they reached a window. The interior was dark, the light from the setting sun illuminating the rough wooden floor, littered with shattered furniture.

Everything within view was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. It lined up with what the police had said about the place: no one had stepped inside for years since a particularly violent tragedy beset the previous owners. 

If what Caretaker suspected was true, however….

Their phone buzzed in their pocket.

Caretaker jumped, their heart leaping into their throat before their rational mind caught up. They pulled the device out to find a text from the officer working with them on the case.

Officer: How’s it look? Caretaker: Empty. Officer: Told you. It’s a dead end. Officer: Get back here ASAP

Caretaker stared at the phone, hissing through their teeth. Seriously? Just because the house in the middle of nowhere looked empty, it didn’t mean it was! For all they knew, this was where Whumpee had been taken! And perhaps the dust was left in view of the windows to keep up the appearance of an abandoned murder house.

They peered back through the window, gnawing the inside of their cheek. If it really was as empty as it looked, then… wouldn’t hurt. And if it wasn’t?

Caretaker: I’m going in. If I don’t text within 10 min, call for backup. Officer is typing…

Caretaker didn’t wait for their response, no doubt an all-caps message about how stupid they were being, with an order to get their ass back to the car. They slipped their phone back into their pocket as it buzzed with the angry message, but they ignored it and hesitantly pushed on the window.

The sash slid up without protest, and Caretaker frowned. If the house had been left alone all these years, how come the window opened so easily? And it was unlocked? Suspicious.

They grunted as they pulled themself up on the windowsill and clambered into the house. Dust rose into the air as they stepped lightly onto the floor and crept through the house, taking care not to make too much noise.

Every room was the same. Shattered furniture, scattered garbage, everything covered in dirt and dust. Disappointment rose in Caretaker’s throat with each room they checked. Maybe Officer was right, and this was a bust….

Their eyes fell on the last door. It was shut, but they guessed it led to the basement. Well, if Whumpee would be kept anywhere….

The door creaked softly as they pushed it open, revealing a pool of light at the bottom of the stairs. Caretaker’s heartbeat quickened. Not so abandoned after all.

They hesitantly put their weight on the first step, keeping close to the wall to decrease the chances of noise. Perhaps some kid had broken in to explore and left behind a flashlight. 

Caretaker descended another step. And another. Or maybe they’d left the lights on. 

Another step. Or—

Was that their breathing? Or someone else’s?

They steeled themself and reached the bottom of the stairs. The bare lightbulb on the landing didn’t illuminate much of the basement, but what little they saw made their stomach turn.

Caretaker had seen a lot in their line of work. Cheating partners, domestic abuse, child abuse, missing persons’ cases, cold cases, murders. They’d dealt with many a crime scene, almost to the point of becoming deadened to blood or injury.

And yet the sight of Whumpee, dangling from the ceiling by their wrists, the stench of their blood heavy in the air, the sound of their labored breathing, all of it made Caretaker step back in shock, hand over their mouth, bile rising in their throat.

They shouldn’t be alive.

With the amount of blood on the floor and the extent of their wounds, Whumpee should be dead. Blood loss, shock, sheer exhaustion….

Slam!

Caretaker jumped and spun around, instinctively moving to place themself between Whumpee and the staircase. Heavy footsteps descended the stairs.

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump.

“Well, well, well…” the newcomer said slowly, pausing just above where the light touched the stairs. “If it isn’t Caretaker, the famous detective. Come to do me in, I presume?”

“What the hell did you do to them?!” Caretaker demanded, voice shaking.

Whumper chuckled, a sound that made the hairs on the back of Caretaker’s neck stand up. “Nothing too terrible. They’re alive, aren’t they?”

“Barely!��� Caretaker reached for their phone. “I’m going to ensure that you never see the other side of the prison wall ever—”

Bang.

Caretaker flinched back with a cry as their phone was shot out of their hand, shattering on the ground in a million pieces.

Whumper tsked softly. “Can’t have you doing that, little sleuth. Why don’t you put your hands above your head?”

Caretaker gritted their teeth. They had to wait until Officer did what they asked and called for backup. Until then….

They slowly raised their hands.

“That’s a good little sleuth,” Whumper teased, “a good little sleuth indeed.”

[courtofthrones]

Pairing:Eris Vanserra x reader

Summary:What happens when two people who are the opposite ends of a thread of fate try to get the other end of the thread to burn knowing they would burn too. Because he was the throne but she will see the throne burn.

A/N: reblogs and feedback are always appreciated. Do let me know of any mistakes. Thank you for reading.

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Stage II:CHOICES OF A DEAD MAN

Despite your unwillingness you found yourself back in the great hall, back in your seat near your parents who did not seem happy about your momentary escape but before they could chastise you about your supposed insolence the High Lord clinked a golden spoon on his glass settling the room into silence.

"My subjects, it has been such a long time since we all gathered to enjoy our much earned celebration after all the hardwork in the previous wars" he bellowed into the hall with his usual air of entitlement.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words. Hardwork in the war? More like enjoying the benefits from the misery of the less fortunate.

"So as your High Lord and as a father I am very elated to announce the betrothal of my eldest son and heir Eris Vanserra."

Giggles and excited shrieks erupted the air as noble ladies from all over the room for they were a step closer to becoming the princess of autumn court.

You could not be more indifferent to the matter if not furious for Eris Vanserra was the unfortunate and biggest contributor in the death of your brother and along with the downfall of your family.

But your attention was stolen by the high table as Beron beckoned his eldest son forward to the eyes of many. And a shiver ran down your spine as your eyes caught on to the red hair and smug smirk that had you mesmerized in the garden.

Rage and unexplainable sadness was all you could feel.

Parents moved closer to their daughters who were brought up their whole lives preparing for this single moment. You watched as in front of you Lady Alena's mother started fixing her daughter's dress. Lady Alena was from one of the oldest families of the court and the rumours were that she and Eris Vanserra have been quite close to each other .They claimed that Lady Alena’s beauty was unparalleled in the whole of Pyrthian. You'd wager all your gold on her if there was a bet on who was most likely bethroed to Eris.

But you could not help but feel pity for her. How couldn't you? She was to spend rest of her long fae life with someone as cruel and miserable as Eris Vanserra. A man who abandoned his previous bethroed to die on the borders just because she was not "pure" enough for him.

" The virtuous lady deserving of such honour is... " Beron let his words hang over the room for a minute.

Since the moment you had arrived you had one question on your mind. Why the sudden welcome of your family in the court after years of shunning you. But the next words from the high lord's mouth put all your questions to waste.

"Lady Y/n of the Family Tarsa"

The breathlessness you felt earlier was back with a renewed vigour. You turned to look at your parents and they looked like they expected this to happen. Proud even.

Betrayal.

"No" "No,you cannot make me do this" was all you could say as a sentry approached to take you near Eris and ultimately your doom.

"My dear calm down, this is for the best and your futur-"

"My future? or your greed ."

You could feel everyone's eyes on you as if asking why her? Her family is ruined right? Her brother was a traitor wasn't he?

But more than the questions, it was your parents’ betrayal that pained you the most.

"You would not have agreed if we told you" was all you got from your mother as she tried to calm you down.

You picked your skirts to escape because you would never bring shame on Elias' name, his sacrifice but your father's painful grip on your arm halted you on your track.

"Are you so weak that you would run at the first sight of things not going your way? "

" I am not weak" you gritted out.

"Yes you are and our family is suffering because of it. Sometimes I wish it was you who turned to ashes instead of Elias" your father yelled loud enough for everyone to avert their eyes from the scene.

And your mother was at his side soothing him as if he was the one who was hurt.

And the painful part was that you agreed with your father's words. You had wished upon every star that why Elias had to go for the likes of you .You recalled how the ladies avoided your mother as if she was some filth from the slums, how your father's trade lost all it had. Of how not one male thought you were worthy of even a small conversation. And how the ladies your age were ushered away by their mothers from you. Of how everyone would be happier if it was you who burned at the stake instead of your brother.

--

"Would you ever have an arranged marriage Elias?" you asked your brother as you cooled down from your sparring.

Elias chuckled as he ruffled your hair "What's with the sudden musings y/n?"

"Well my priestess said that it is an honour to marry someone your family has chosen."

"Is that so? But to answer your question yes dear sister I would because it is my duty and it is expected of me."

"But wouldn't you like to meet your mate and have love as beautiful as mother and father's?" was the question you let out because you could not believe the utter stupidity coming from your brother's mouth.

"What mother and father have is as rare as you beating me in horse riding" teased your brother."And you will know that when you are older"

"I will have you know I am going to be seventeen next month so be careful when calling me young"

Your brother let out a loud laugh at your angry words but then continued his earlier words.

"Listen y/n sometimes we have to choose between ourselves and family, and I would always choose family so that you can always choose yourself " came Elias's caring reply as always.

"Elias! " came a shout from near the gates.

"Looks like one of your choices is here brother." you said giggling as you ran back into the house .

You were pulled out of your thoughts with a sharp pain in your arm from your your father.

Was this what your brother would have done for the family? For you?Was getting married to the murderers of your brother truly your only choice?

Holding your head with your hands you released a strangled breath.

Arranged marriage. To the destroyer of your family.

You felt sick.

Felt like you could vomit whatever little food you had consumed all over the shiny marble floors as your father handed you off to the sentry taking you to your hell on earth.

As you walked towards the high family with all eyes on you, your eyes met Eris Vanserra's cold ones despite fire swirling beneath them, so different from earlier under the moonlight and you felt a sliver of cruel satisfaction when you realised that you weren't the only unhappy individual in this wretched arrangement.

Part 3