#but at least now she’ll have two swords

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Anything for You - Pt3

daemon x daughter!reader 

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: The King and the Hand come up with a plan to get you and Daemon to come back to court. Daemon is barely able to contain himself when he lands on the docks of King’s Landing. 

Warnings: 18+ different PoVs bc i was feeling it, swearing, pregnant!reader this chap, coercion into like kidnapping?, the rogue prince fr, death(not mc), blood, swords, threats, p in v

Authors Note: idk why i locked in writing this like i planned to keep it cutesy and i was like wait 🤭 short hair daemon in his armor 🙂‍↕️ i never intended for this to be more than a one shot but here we are 😶 literally stopped writing my other stuff and was sat

Word Count: 3.8k 

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King and Hand PoV

The King and the Hand sit in the empty council chamber trying to figure out the best course of action. Daemon and his daughter have been gone for almost three moons now and the Keep is starting to speculate. There’s been no word from Dragonstone which could either be good or bad. Whispers around the realm speak nothing of the two, leaving the King at a loss. The King looks at the Hand waiting for his next idea on how to get at least the Princess back to court. 

The King has put in his best efforts to push back the prying Lords who were vying for the Princess’s hand. They come around the council chambers and throne room like vultures awaiting her return. The Queen tells the King daily what she overhears from the Ladies and her handmaidens and it’s been causing his temper to rise. 

“Even the Queen is being questioned about their location.” the King sits back exasperated. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do.” he looks at his Hand. 

“I will send out our best men to sail to Dragonstone. If they find the Princess they’ll bring her back to us.” the Hand pulls a blank piece of parchment in front of him. They spend the next couple of hours picking the company to send and decide on having her guard lead them. They hope she’ll take kinder to him and return with the men. The Hand has the King write a note to place in the Princess’s absence for Daemon. 

“If she’s there and we can get her,” the King shakes his head. “Daemon will not take this lightly.” he looks to his Hand with worried eyes. “Might it be best if we just leave them?” the Hand scoffs. 

“He directly disobeyed your commands. As he does time and time again. You are the King. If you can not control your own brother the realm will begin to see you as weak.” the Hand tries not to let his annoyance show. “The Princess’s hand can garner us alliances, armies. My King, it’s never my wish to speak so poorly about Daemon-“ 

“Yet you never seize the opportunity to do so.” the King shakes his head leaning back in his chair. 

“He’s undermining you. He knows he’ll keep getting away with it.” the Hand searches the King's eyes. “I urge you to send these men out at daybreak.” the King exhales at the Hands plea. 

“Fine. See to it then.” the King waves him off. “Pray to the Gods Daemon will see reason.” the King looks to the ceiling as the Hand goes to make the preparations. 

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Your PoV

I always heard stories of how the mornings were unpleasant when carrying a babe but I’ve never felt more at peace. The maesters here say I am the most relaxed princess they’ve had the pleasure of helping with her pregnancy. I know my father is the one to thank for that. He absolutely worships me morning, noon, and night. The moment my eyes open he’s pressing his lips across every inch of my body whispering sweet words. He stays attached to me until I plead him for a break. 

“I’ll go fetch your handmaidens to bathe you and get you ready for your garden walk.” he presses his lips against my brow before slipping out of our chambers. 

I’ve quickly grown fond of my new company of handmaidens here. They dote on me and have a gentler touch than the ladies I left behind in King's Landing. They pour milk and flowers into my bath and keep their hands on me until I’m resting against the back of the tub. After they bathe and lather me in oils and perfumes they pull a flowing dress over my head and help escort me down to the gardens. 

I quite like being on Dragonstone again. I forgot how quiet and peaceful it is. The low grumbles and songs of the dragons bring me such a sense of comfort and I feel truly calm and at home here. I don’t need guards hovering around me and I can walk in the gardens at my leisure. I let the leaves and petals brush against my fingertips. I stop and bend down to smell the lilies that wash over my senses. 

I delve deeper into the gardens and smile when I approach my bench. It sits near the edge of the gardens and overlooks the Blackwater. I lean back and pull my feet under me as I watch the waves lap against the shore. I tilt my head back and shut my eyes to allow the sun to kiss my skin. Its warmth engulfs me and a smile starts to spread across my face when I hear approaching footsteps. 

“I was wondering if you were going to join me today.” I hum turning. My face falls as I see my guard from King's Landing. “What are you doing here?” I tilt my head. 

“Hello, Princess.” he bows his head before clearing his throat. “Your father wanted to surprise you with a ship to bring you back to King's Landing. If you’ll follow me.” he outstretches his hand and I look at it.

“Where is my father? Why wouldn’t he just fly me back on Caraxes?” my brows furrow. 

“He has a couple more things to finish up here and then he will join us.” he nods his head. I study him curiously but I can’t find a reason not to trust him. He’s protected me my whole life, surely he wouldn’t cause me any harm. 

“Okay.” I rise and grab his arm. He sets a piece of parchment on the bench and begins to lead me back through the gardens. “Why are we taking this way?” I look up at my guard and he keeps hauling me down the back steps.

“It’s much faster this way.” his words seem rushed but I shrug this off. 

As we make it to the dock I see a couple other men I recognize waiting for us on the boat. Once I’m on board the boat begins to move back out into the Blackwater. I watch as we move away from Dragonstone and take a seat on the bench watching it become smaller and smaller. I watch as some of the men on the ship clap my guards back and offer him hushed words of congratulations. 

“When will my father join me in King's Landing?” I look at the man closest to me. He ignores me and goes over to the cluster of men causing a frown to form on my face. My chest tightens and I begin to feel alone and foolish for not going to my father first. A tear slips down my cheek at the same moment I hear Caraxes roar ripple across the Bay. 

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Daemons PoV

Daemon had been waiting for his Princess to return for well over thirty minutes now. He knows how she likes her time in the gardens so he didn’t think anything of it at first. He enjoys seeing her so peaceful here so he doesn’t pay it any mind. When an hour goes by he rises from his seat and starts into the gardens. 

He strolls through them silently admiring and keeping an eye out for his wife. He tries to listen and see if he can catch her humming but all he can hear is the breeze through the leaves. When he doesn’t spot her on the main path he starts in the direction of her bench. He curses himself for not starting there but when he approaches he finds it empty. He looks across the Bay before going to turn back to the castle until he spots a piece of parchment. He lifts it and begins to read. 

Brother-

It is not my wish to anger you or fight with you. You are both wanted and needed back at court. The Hand and I have sent her guard and a group of men to sail her back to King's Landing. We have many potential suitors for her that can look past how you’ve sullied her. I have called some Ladies to court as well to hopefully satiate your appetite. I wish to see you come home.

-The King, Your Brother 

Daemon growls, crumpling the note and throwing it in the Blackwater. He curses loudly off the edge of the cliff and Caraxes deafening answering roar comes from out of the pits. He runs back to the castle and makes his way to the doors that lead to the docks. He rips them open and sees the guard standing just on the other side. He slams his fist into his face and his vision goes red as he continues to pummel the guard in front of him. 

“My Prince,” the guard gurgles. Daemon slams him onto the stone. 

“You’ve let my wife be taken from right under your nose.” Daemon repeatedly hits him as the guards movements begin to lull. 

“My Prince, a moment,” guards from inside the castle try to stop him. The last blow lands with a crunch and the sentry goes limp on the stone. 

“Clean this up and wash the stone.” Daemon barks out before storming back into the castle. 

He takes two steps at a time and pushes his way into their chambers. He grabs Dark Sister from the solar and makes his way down to the pits. He quickly puts his armor on and places his helm before walking out on the platform as Caraxes approaches. Daemon grabs onto Caraxes snout and looks him in the eyes. 

“We are getting her back.” Caraxes blinks at him and Daemon takes to his mount. 

Caraxes drops them off the edge before shooting them forward. Daemon stays on high alert looking for the ship that is carrying his wife. The breeze carries them quicker and Caraxes turns his snout slightly and pushes on with purpose. Soon they’re circling above the ship and Caraxes serenades them with his song. Daemon watches as the sails sway and has Caraxes fly higher. He wishes to land on the boat and claim his wife once more and end this farce but he doesn’t know if the ship will maintain its integrity under Caraxes and he won’t risk his wife and their child. 

He curses under his breath and tugs Caraxes in the direction of the docks at Kings Landing. Caraxes circles above the city grumbling and lets his tail trail across the roofs. He makes his way back over to the docks and sees the ship approaching. Caraxes heeds the command to land at the docks and the common folk who don’t move out of the way quick enough forfeit their lives to the rogue Prince and his dragon. Horses and guards break through the crowds and the Hand comes into view. Daemon stays atop his dragon as he looks down upon the man. 

“The King commands you to stop this.” Daemon laughs at the Hand's words. 

“I do not see the King.” Caraxes tail whips closely to the Hands feet. He turns as the boat begins to dock and the men aboard look to the Hand nervously. “Surely, you knew I would come.” Daemon drawls. He starts to slide off the side of Caraxes and lands to the ground with a thud. He unsheathes his sword and points it at the Hand. “You would take a pregnant wife from her husband? Steal her away and marry her to another?” he tilts his head, stalking over to him. “And be daft enough to think there would be no consequences?” he laughs, pushing the tip of his blade into the Hands chest. 

“If you kill me here the King will never forgive you.” Daemon clenches his jaw knowing that the Hand is right in this matter. 

Caraxes pushes the Hand back with his tail and he tumbles to the ground. Daemon turns and stalks over to the ship to retrieve his wife. His brother would be unforgiving if he took his Hand but for the men who took his wife? He could find ten more of them on the street. As he approaches the boat he calls out for his wife and she comes forward with red cheeks. He sees the tears staining her perfect face and how puffy her eyes are. It’s going to take all of his resolve not to burn down the entirety of the Red Keep. 

“Come here, sweet girl.” he hums and she walks up to him and folds into his arms. He rubs her back as he feels her sobs rack through her. Every sniffle has him seeing a darker shade of red. He pulls back and cups her cheeks. “Did these men cause you any harm?” he searches her eyes. 

“No. Only taking me from you and my gardens.” her voice is soft and his nostrils flare as her tears continue to flow. His hand rests on her stomach before he kisses her brow. 

“Go to Caraxes. Hug his neck and don’t look behind you.” she nods her head and he watches as she wraps her arms around his dragon. He takes one step onto the ship and the guards have their swords out in a blink of an eye. Daemon lets the rage take over him and pour out through Dark Sister. As the men continue to surround him he smiles as he slashes and slices through them. He nods at the last man standing who looks at him with a heaving chest. 

“My Prince, I was only-“ his head falls to the wooden floor. 

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Your Pov

I jump as I feel a gloved hand wrap around my arm. I turn around and look up and see my father. My tears start anew and I cling against him. He holds me tightly and presses his lips to the top of my head. He unwraps me from his embrace and helps me mount Caraxes. He wraps a hand around me and holds tightly to the reins and shots us into the skies. My stomach drops as we approach the Red Keep and he begins our descent inside the inner courtyard. 

As we make our way down we see people scrambling to get out of Caraxes path and once they see my father step foot on the ground they run even faster. I hold onto my fathers arm and he begins to walk us into the Keep. He wastes no time taking us to the throne room and upon entering I see the King sitting with a frown. My father takes his helm off and lets it drop to the floor with a thud.

“How dare you take my pregnant wife from me.” I watch as my father stalks toward the King. I shuffle quickly up to his side not wanting to be away from him. 

“Enough of this Daemon. I am tired of the cease-“

“Your Grace,” the Hand bursts through the doors, panting with a dozen guards on his heel. The King dismisses the guards and the Hand composes himself before taking his place next to the King. “He’s killed countless men today on the docks.” the King looks at his Hand with raised brows. 

“What did you expect? You truly thought he would allow this? Did I not warn you yesterday?” the King glares at the Hand. 

“I urge you to punish him.” my father lets a laugh slip out. 

“My wife and I will be returning to Dragonstone. Where we will remain for the rest of her pregnancy, unbothered. If you send anyone else to try and take my wife I will send you what is left of them.” his words are laced with promise and the King continues to stare at us.

“You cannot possibly be considering allowing this.” the Hand looks at the King, taken aback. 

“If we would’ve left them, none of today's events would have occurred. She’s with child. You planned to marry her to some Lord but her babe will come out with silver hair. What else would you have me do?” The King looks to his Hand exasperated. 

“You are the King. It is your choice.” the Hand looks forward blankly. 

“And you are my Hand, my council.” the Kings voice rises. 

“Mm, this seems as if it’s a personal dispute.” my father hums. “We’re leaving.” he dips down to grab his helm while his other hand encases mine and we begin to exit the throne room. 

“I wish to pack a bag. I want some of my dresses and jewelry.” I whisper up to my father. 

“Of course, sweet girl.” he smiles down at me and leads me up my chambers. 

He seals us into my chambers and I walk over to my wardrobe. I turn and give a slight jump as my father is standing there with a bag. I look up to him and slowly take the bag out of his hands. I continue to look up at him and nibble my lip. His cheeks are still lightly flushed and his hair is askew from his helm. 

“What’s wrong?” he tilts his head with a scrunched brow. 

“I think you look handsome in your armor.” I mumur. 

“Is that so?” he chuckles, caressing my cheek. 

“Very handsome, my husband.” I nod my head as his eyes darken at my words. 

“Mm, I quite like that title for me on your tongue.” he pulls me closer. “My little wife.” he presses his lips against mine and I melt into his touch. 

“Thank you for saving me.” I mumble against his lips. His back straightens as if he just remembered today's events and ushers me back over to my wardrobe. 

“I will always come for you.” his words cause a blush to creep up my neck. “Pack your bag so I can take you home.” I quickly pull down a couple gowns and toss them into the bag before doing the same with most of my vanity. 

My father leads us through Keep and the guards step back in his presence. We find Caraxes snapping his jaws as the guards who are brave enough to stay in their stations outside. He dips his wing down and once we’re settled into the saddle he carries us into the skies. My fathers hands are wrapped tightly around me the entire flight back. 

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I wake in the middle of the night to the hearth still breathing warmth into our chambers. My father has his arms wrapped tightly around me and his breath is tickling the back of my neck. I squirm in his arms and his response is to pull me closer. He presses his nose against my nape and presses his lips against it a moment later. 

“Go back to bed.” his voice is thick with sleep. 

“I want some water.” I trail my fingertips across his arm. 

He slowly unwraps his arms from me and walks over to the table. I admire his nude form in the firelight and watch as his muscles flex as he walks back over to me. I reach up for the cup but he shakes his head and brings it to my lips. I take a couple sips and he sets the cup on the bedside table. I reach out and press my palm against his torso. I trace my fingers over the defined lines and he steps closer.

“I was scared today.” I whisper looking up at him. 

“Of what, sweet girl?” he looks down at me tenderly. 

“That they were going to take me from you.” my eyes start to fill with tears. “That they’d make me marry someone else and take my babe from me.” my voice breaks as I start to cry. 

“I will never let that happen.” his brows furrow and I reach out and pull him closer. “You’re safe. No one is taking our babe. You’re mine and only mine.” he crawls back into bed with me and I tug at his arm until he’s hovering over me.

“I don’t get why they can’t just let us be.” I sniffle as tears continue to fall down my face. 

“They will after this if they’re smart.” he presses his lips to my forehead. “If they try again, I’ll burn the whole fucking city down for you.” he whispers against my brow. 

“I need you, daddy.” I wrap my arms around his neck. He lets out a soft chuckle before placing his lips on mine. His hand travels between my thighs and I spread them waiting for his touch. His fingers slide up my slit and I writhe beneath him. “Please,” I wrap my fingers around his length and he groans, resting his forehead against mine. I guide him to my core as he swirls around my bud. I arch up as he slowly pushes into me. 

“Gods, you’re such a good girl.” he slowly rocks into me as I gasp into his neck. With every roll of his hips he pulls whimpers from my mouth. His hands rest on either side of my head as our lips mash together. He pats my thigh and I wrap them around his waist and he groans into my mouth. He kisses down my jaw and makes his way to my neck to suckle and bite. 

“Daemon,” I breathe out his name and his hips snap into mine. 

“Sat it again, sweet girl.” he purrs in my ear, rolling his hips.

“Daemon, please,” I gasp as his hips begin to fall into mine faster. I rock against him as my pleasure begins to coil quickly. He bites down onto my shoulder and I dig into his. “Daddy,” my toes curl as I fall apart around him. He groans into my neck spilling his pleasure into me. 

His lips find mine and we continue to cling to one another. He pulls out of me and pulls me back against his chest. His arms wrap around me and one of his hand splays across my stomach. He peppers kisses across my shoulder blades while slowly tracking patterns onto my stomach. 

“I love you so much. I will never let another day like today happen. I promise you this.” his arms tighten around me at his declaration. 

“I love you. Thank you.” I scoot back into his chest and hold his arms around me.  

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masterlist 🔌 

and if i say we’re having three more parts of this and two of them are already done - one of them being a prequel to part 1 🫣😏

Part 4

taglist ✍️

anything for you tags: @mamawiggers1980

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004

[therovingstar]

Haven’t set sail yet cuz I’ve been leveling Viper and can I just say I love this job. I love. This job. The mechanics, the looks, the lore. Absolutely fabulous, to me. Also even more perfect for Odzaya than I hoped. Fun lore fact that, back when she lived on the steppe with the rest of the Malaguld tribe, her role was primarily that of scout, secondarily of hunter. She’d head out on horse and later yol-back and scan the surrounding area for resources, good grazing spots for the dzo, and food.

Deeper lore fact, class-wise, she was a conjurer, but also a rogue. For fun I like to parallel her job lore to that of Meteor Maincharacter-kun. He’s got seven jobs, she’s got seven jobs. Every time he learns a new one, she does, too. Know how in ARR, he was a Warrior, but also had history as an archer and gladiator, the latter of which the devs heralded back to by making him a Paladin in Endwalker? I did the same with Zaya; beginning as a conjurer pre-ARR, she took up her cane again as a White Mage main for Endwalker, with the same come-full-circle symbolism.

Now I’m buzzing cuz Viper’s introduction to the lore has allowed me to do it again, though this time with a lot less emotional weight for her to deal with and a whole lot more fun. Odzaya as a White Mage is Odzaya accepting her duty and calling. Viper Zaya is an indulgent return to that girl on the steppe who wanted little more than to escape from that calling and lose herself to the sky and the wilderness. And Dawntrail seems the perfect expansion for indulgence. I’m very happy for her.

[burstfoot]

Your name is Kristen Wright. You’re barely 10. You’re at the outdoor funeral for your parents, a pair of genius scientists that Terra will never see again. You’ve spent the last two weeks giving false smiles to women and men who pretend to grieve them while spending every moment they think you’re not looking lauding them for their ‘foolishness’ and ‘hubris’. Sitting amongst a crowd of these intellectuals, your feel nothing looking at their crocodile tears, knowing they’re just happy there’s less competition for next year’s grants. Your new guardian grabs onto your hand in an attempt to grant you a modicum of comfort. You stare blankly at the sky above.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Joyce Moore. You can hardly communicate anymore. Your best friend killed herself trying to replicate the experiment that gave you permanent brain damage. Every scientist at Rhine Lab now treats you like a child at best, and an animal at worst. Your parents have not come to see you. None of your colleagues seem to understand that you are still you, with a sense of humour, good taste in TV shows, and fucking feelings, god damn it.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Ferdinand Clooney. You’ve lost everything you’ve ever worked for in a futile grab for power. The department of defense has you by the dick after saving you from a group of Pioneers who (justifiably) nearly beat you half to death. It’s playing fiddle to their whims or the rest of your life in prison - or, most realistically, a tragic accident report. Your aspirations aren’t within your reach anymore, and you know that it’s your fault. You will never be Kristen Wright, and it’s eating you alive.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Parvis Ahrens. You’re not that old. You’re only 58. But you’re losing your mind. Every day, a little more slips away. You rely more and more on encyclopedic entries for information you took immense pride in knowing from your heart. You’ve spent the last few years focused on the pursuit of progress of all else. As part of this, you manipulated your star pupil in an attempt to permanently get her under your wing, outside of the influence of the Defense Director, a weak-hearted woman everyone else seems to think is cold as ice. She has years of life to change Columbian science. You don’t.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Jara B. Wilson. You feel like you don’t see the girl who lived for you with so long in Kristen anymore. You’re a washed-up movie star, working for her cause above all else. Do you have anything that you’re working for for yourself anymore? She’ll be gone soon. You know that.

She hasn’t even left yet, and you’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away once she leaves.

Your name is Nasti Londrey. Your people have never had a home. They might never have a home.

You’ve always felt alone. You will always be alone. That’s fine.

Your name is Justin Fitzroy Jr. Your dad died a week ago, and the cure has just been found for the hereditary illness that threatens to cut your lifespan in half. It was found by accident.

The sword of Damacles no longer hangs above your neck. Why then, do you still feel so alone?

Your name is Loken Williams. You reach out to a girl you tortured, who you know can’t remember what you did to her, because you’re going to die soon, and you need someone to remember what you did with your life.

Even if she kills you, at least you won’t die alone.

Your name is Trevor Friston. It’s been thousands of years down here. You just want to see your daughter again, and it will be another thousand until you do.

You’re very familiar with the loneliness that wraps around every single nanometer of your circuit board.

Your name is Dorothy Franks. Your whole family was killed in a Catastrophe. Your name is Elena Urbica. Your whole family, besides your twin sister, has disowned you. Your drive yourself head-first into the sciences to distract yourself from the loneliness.

Your name is Ho’olheyak. Centuries of ancestral memories swarm around your mind. Because of this, your lifespan was cut to a fraction of the life you should be living. You are obsessed with the history of your people, and you resent them from tearing your life away from you. You tear over books and tomes of history to find all means of unspeakable knowledge, hoping that somewhere in there you’ll find something that you can connect to.

You don’t even know you’re lonely.

Your name is Muelsyse.

You saw the writing on the wall. Saria and Kristen just had a massive fight. You’ve been drifting apart since college, but the only two people who you’ve felt a real connection to on all of Terra will hardly speak to each other anymore. Do you try and mend what happened between them? Can you? You don’t know what to do besides take all means to protect yourself in the fallout. You wish you weren’t so paranoid, so self-centered, that all you know how to do is ensure your own safety.

Is there anything on Terra for you besides loneliness?

Your name is Ifrit. It’s cold, and quiet, and you’re pretty sure you’ve killed everyone around you. Your eyes are blurred, you hands are shaky, and shards of black crystal stick out all over your body. Before you pass out, you think one thing:

Hell, you might be alone, but at least those bastard whitecoats got what was coming to them.

Your name is Olivia Silence. You pull yourself out of the rubble in a destroyed laboratory, where you see Saria looming over Ifrit, beaten half-to-death. You beat yourself up for thinking you could trust her - that she was there to protect Ifrit, and you. You can’t trust anyone in Columbia. You run to embrace Ifrit with your entire body, to protect her from the cold eyes of Saria standing above her. You look back at her with nothing but fear in your eyes.

You’ve never felt so alone. You have to get Ifrit out of Rhine.

Your name is Saria. You’re barely 8 years old. You went your father in tears, as a group of bullies came after you and destroyed your toy car. He tells you to stop crying. You’re not accomplishing anything by throwing a fit in front of him. He tells you to fight back - take responsibility for your weakness.

You’ve never felt so alone.

You won’t ever be this weak again.

Staring up at the sky, looking up as Kristen’s ark sends her out through the hole she tore in the false sky, you know that you were foolish to believe you could bypass your own weakness through sheer will.

And you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life without her.

[aethien11-blog]

NOTE: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS. (Also, I’m a sappy, silly, dork at times. Sorry not sorry.)

The boys reactions to learning their s/o has been kidnapped

Fem Reader x : Muzan, Gyutaro, Rengoku, Sanemi

WARNINGS: use of ‘naughty words’, mentions of blood, rape, mutilation, death, violence, and possible spoilers. 

MUZAN KIBUTSUJI

It was supposed to be your last day under the sunlight, that had been your request. Muzan had found you far too intriguing (he would never admit to actually having developed feelings for you) to leave you as a mere human, and you for your part had fallen hard for the red-eyed King of the Demons. Granting you one last day in the sunlight was a small price…or it should have been.

Muzan’s nerves were already on edge. He did not like you being away where he could not watch you and be certain of your safety, but Douma had humans with you, other humans that were to see to your every desire for the day. Muzan had ensured they would have ample funds to do so. It would be fine, at least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself all the way up until Douma appeared before him and tossed a mangled human at his feet. 

Muzan had seen Douma assume many expressions and faces over the centuries, but the death glare down at the now legless man at his feet did not help Muzan’s nerves. Before Muzan could snap at Douma that he did not require anyone else to do his hunting for him, Douma snarled at the human. “Repeat what you just said to me.”

Muzan actually took the time to look then and noticed the robes the man wore. He was a member of Douma’s cult and his face looked vaguely familiar, but the words he uttered through pain stilled the Demon Lord’s heart in his chest, before his blood raged to life through his body.

“T-took her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Muzan's quiet question that was laced with a thousand promises of pain beyond imagination if the answer received was anything but pleasing.

“S-swords. Men with swords. They,” the man coughed another pile of blood at his feet before he stopped breathing. 

“Demon slayers, my lord,” Douma answered from a prostate position.

Before he could blink, Douma’s head was snapped back, clawed hands fisted in his hair forcing the multi-colored eyes to meet the furious ruby of the Demon King. 

Slowly, as if dragging the words from the pits of his now hollow stomach, Muzan ordered, “Where…is…she?”

Douma blinked only once before he heard the familiar strum of the biwa and four other demons appeared on the floor behind him. 

*******************************************************************

You sat up, still with your hands bound before you, in front of the men gathered. There were two women but you would not look at them. All you could feel was cold fear and rage. They had been going on for hours now, asking questions that you gave only short, curt replies to… if you answered at all. 

“You don’t seem to understand just what kind of monster that man is!”

That did it. You snarled out, “You don’t get to call him a monster when you are the ones that murdered my escorts.”

“It might seem that way,” one of the women spoke up and you snapped a glare at her smiling face. Her bangs hang loose, but otherwise her hair was drawn back in a bun, behind a butterfly of all things. You silently scoff at the concept. “We were actually saving you.”

There was no keeping the scoff silent that time. 

The smile faded from her face barely before she forcibly replaced it. “We were.”

“From what? A happy life?” You didn’t wait for any of them to answer. “They were to escort me to gather the rest of my matrimonial supplies and you killed them and you expect me to believe a single lie that drips out of your open maw.”

“This poor woman.” The giant rubbed his beads between his hands again as he began crying. “He has deceived her.”

“She’ll need to remain restrained.” The heterochromatic gaze made you shiver on its own, nevermind the albino snake slithering over his shoulders. “She managed to do quite a bit of damage to slayers that rescued her.”

“Captured,” you snipe back. “Not rescued.”

“Look, sweetheart,” the large man with gems hanging from his hitai-ate on either side of his face began in a far gentler tone than the rest had used, “you’re safe now. The demons aren’t going to get you here. That’s what we call rescued. Yeah?”

You scoff and purposely turn your face from him. As if. Muzan was nothing but gentle with me and would murder any demon who tried.  Your eyes find his face and harden into (e/c) chips. “You are the only ones to cause me harm.”

“Do we know why Muzan wanted her?” the man with hair akin to living flame asked loudly. It was like he didn’t know how to talk if he wasn’t shouting and much like your lover, the noise grated your nerves. 

“Nope,” the flamboyant shinobi answered. “She still won’t say.”

“I think we should schedule a watch. Make sure no other demons come looking for her,” the scarred over man stated.

You couldn’t help the smile that crept up your lips then. You do that. Your gaze fell to the now setting evening sun. It was beautiful, the vibrant blue shifting into orange and red hues as if the sun itself knew what you did.

“It won’t matter,” you stated proudly. Your heart beat in your chest steadily and you smiled pleasantly at the fools before you whose mouths dropped at the beauty you could radiate. This view was for him, for the thought of your Lord that you knew was coming for you. “You’ll all be dead by dawn.”

Despite their pestering, you said nothing more for the remainder of the sunset, slowly watching that brilliant orb sink below the mountains with a radiant smile placed on your face. In its final glory, the sun painted the sky a vibrant vermillion that evening and you could think of nothing more than the beautiful red eyes of your Lord and the arms you wished so desperately to return to.

GYUTARO SHABANA

Gyutaro smiled his too wide smile down at the necklace. Daki had helped him select it. She didn’t understand his obsession with you but she did like that you at least caused her otherwise maudlin brother to smile once in a while so she was tolerant of you. It wasn’t like you’d ever compare with her in his heart anyway, right?

Gyutaro adored the way you would take his face in your hands and smile at him, telling him that he didn’t need to bring you things. You were just a simple farm girl after all. Such finery was for high class ladies.

“I’m just happy to see you again.”

The memory of those words made his grin go wider. His hopeful eyes met his sister’s. “Should I ask her… to become a demon like us?”

Daki smiled fondly and squeezed his shoulders in a hug. “I’m sure you’ll know that answer when it's the right time. For now, the sun has finally set. I’ll step back. Go to her.” And with that she surrendered full control to him and Gyutaro stood, gently cradling the gift for you in both hands.

************************************************************************

Gyutaro arrived at your meeting spot, in the shadows of the fields and froze. The door to your home was never left open. Cold panic sank in his stomach as he sprang across the fields. Your father always kept a single light in the window, but the house was dark and the closer he got, the more he could smell the scent he recognized immediately…blood.

Frozen in the doorway, the scene before him turned his stomach. The walls were spattered in blood, the two little bodies of your younger siblings both mutilated. There was a woman on the bed, older, must have been your mother. Gyutaro looked away. What had been done didn’t need to be guessed at. 

The man on the floor, a large pulsing gash of blood still seeping out into his garments still, mumbled and Gyutaro leaned closer.

“Sa-save…ha…Took…y/n.” It was the last wish of your dying father.

I’m not eating that, Daki echoed through their link but he barely heard her for the blood filling his ears.

His kamas appeared in his hands to a blood curdling screams that erupted from him before his feet were moving. The bandits had left obvious footprints to follow and this wasn’t the first time he pursued humans, but it was the fastest. His vision clouded in red as he saw only his target, only the patterns of feet and something heavy being dragged between them. He would get there. He would find you and save you and convince you to become a demon, so no one could do this to you ever again.

KYOJURO RENGOKU

Kyojuro hummed to himself as he opened the doors to his home one handed, balancing a load of groceries you had asked for on the other hand. His lovely wife sending him on errands first thing in the morning was nothing new. After all, you saw to the whole estate and made sure Senjuro was getting his study time in even when Kyojuro was away.

You supported your husband in everything, especially in being a Hashira and striving to improve the Corps from the top. Kyojuro chuckled to himself as he thought of your insistence that he take a Tsuguko so he could eventually retire.

“I do support you, my light. I just,” you had paused to blush that pretty blush he loved so across your cheeks back to your ears, “sometimes I want you to myself too.”

“Y/n! I’m back!” he called with a grin as he set the items down in your kitchen. 

When you didn’t immediately answer, Kyojuro’s brows furrowed and he began wandering the estate calling to you. 

Finally he stepped out into the yard and raised his arm, calling “Kaname!” 

Kaname alighted to his raised wrist and peered up at him. 

“Kaname, I cannot find y/n anywhere. Could you find her?”

“But of course.” And Kaname alighted once more. 

Kyojuro’s earlier smile failed to reappear as his instincts overrode his gleeful personality. Something was wrong. 

“Brother?” Senjuro called as he walked out onto the patio.

Kyojuro walked over. 

“Are you training, y/n again today?” Senjuro asked, glancing about for you.

Kyojuro couldn’t resist the smile that took him then. “I was actually looking for her. Have you seen her?”

Senjuro seemed almost to freeze, staring up at his brother as if he might have grown another head. “But she went into town with you…to get your steamed buns, right?”

Kyojuro laughed then. “That woman. Such a handful.” He grinned at his little brother. “I hope when you marry, that you find a more docile wife.”

“I don’t want to marry at all. Those things are trouble,” Senjuro shot back. 

Kyojuro’s hearty laugh filled the courtyard. 

“Seems the boy at least learned something useful from your wife,” Shinjuro jibed. “Probably should go after her though.”

“And why is that, father? Y/n is capable after all.”

Shinjuro glared heavily at him. “Because capable or not a woman shouldn’t be on her own. Now get going!”

Kyojuro caught the sake bottle hurled his way and set it gracefully on the porch before grinning down to Senjuro. “When I come back, we can all train.”

“Lotta good that’ll do ya,” Shinjuro grumbled and wandered off. 

**************************************************************************

Meaning to surprise your husband with his favorite steamed buns, you had slipped into town after he left. What you had not intended, was to be held up before you could leave. The men blocking your way were not on the list of things that needed handling today but it seemed, they were going to insist. 

“Please stand aside. I need to get through.”

Their sick chuckles were really answer enough but you held hope one of them would see sense and move.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be wandering about alone. Why don’t we keep you company?” was followed by another round of chuckling. 

“I am never alone. My husband’s light accompanies me everywhere. As does his strength.”

“That light’s welcome to come with us too,” one sniped on a grin. 

“Yeah. Your husband’s light can shine on my cock all it likes.” Another round of chuckles as she sigh and slowly shake your head.

“How uncouth.”

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

Sanemi grinned as he bowed off to Muichiro and Iguro. 

“Thanks for another fun night.”

Iguro only scoffed and Muichiro cocked his head to the side. “Your standards for fun seem very different lately.”

Jumping on the chance, Iguro teasingly asked, “Is it because of y/n?”

“Pft, as if,” Sanemi snarled, turning away, though neither sparring partner missed the dusting of pink over his cheeks to the question. “Man can’t enjoy a good sparring match now or something?”

“I didn’t say that,” Muichiro started as he began walking away. “Only that you seem to have gotten stronger since you began dating-”

“We’re not dating,” Sanemi snapped quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Iguro agreed sarcastically. “You’re just training and fucking. No one calls that dating. Oh, and living together. And eating together. And -”

“Shut up, snake head, before I really give it to ya.”

“Give it to her. I’m out of here.”

Muichiro smirked before putting it away and continuing his walk. They would walk together as usual for part of the way back so he could ask after. 

And when they were nearly to Shinazugawa’s residence, he did. “Are you going to allow her to join the corps?”

Usually, Sanemi would snap at the question but this time, he didn’t get the chance.

“Lord Tokito! Lord Shinazugawa! Thank goodness!” the out of breath kakushi managed as he doubled over before them heaving breath. “Miss y/n…and mister Kanamori…have been….captured.”

Sanemi’s feet were moving before the kakushi could finish their report. YOU IDIOT!! How could you let yourself get caught?! Sanemi dodged between branches of the forest at a full run. He had trained you better than that. Even made you promise not to join the corps if he trained you personally and now…

“Dammit!”

“I don’t think expletives will help us find them any faster,” Muichiro commented from his side, keeping up with his stride nearly soundlessly. 

************************************************************************

One hand to the weapon, the other set out beside you as you spoke, though never turning from the opponents in front of you. “Stay behind me, Mister Kanamori.”

“I’m so sorry. I feel I should be the one protecting you,” Kanamori stated meekly, though he obeyed. 

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Then you don’t know my lover,” you stated as the other hand set to the hilt. “Now come at me, you bastards.”

Special thank you to Miss Vry for helping me with tags :D

[m0nsterqzzz]

(If you're not accepting requests, I apologize) I NEED you to write a part 2 of "happy wife happy life" where years pass and Clarisse proposes to Reader fr 😭😭

Happy Wife Happy Life (part two)

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pairing: Clarisse La Rue x fem reader

summary: many years after your childhood best friend became your girlfriend and a few after you moved with her to Arizona for college, she seems to becoming more distant. Your determined to find out why.

a/n: this is literally such a cute idea first of all. thank you so much for requesting!! i hope it lives up to the expectations and I'm so glad you like the first one anon!! <3333

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Alone can mean a lot of things.

It can mean being by yourself, no one else in the room, or lonely, as in feeling like you're all by yourself in a world full of people.

The thing about you and Clarisse, is she never lets you feel alone. 

Obviously, if you need space, she’ll give it. But she always makes sure you’re not lonely.

Until now that is.

About five years ago, you and your girlfriend left the safe place called Camp Half Blood to go to college together in Arizona, and it was soon after that you had an apartment together. You guys didn’t have a lot of money, and you didn’t have the nicest things, but you had each other. That was enough.

At least, you thought it was.

Recently, Clarisse has been distant. You blamed it on her job at first-she loves being a construction worker, but it’s tiring. When she started taking hours to come home after the time she was supposed to be off, you blamed it on how much she loves going to the gym or out for runs and probably loses track of times like she used to when she would do sword training when you guys were younger. After that, you blamed it on her being stressed from work, and Clarisse sometimes likes to go have a drink with her coworkers after work. But the thing about it was, she never came home sweaty. That ruled out the gym. She also never came home drunk or even smelling of alcohol, so the thought of her going to the bar after work was also out of the picture.

Which is why you find yourself here, curled up onto the couch as your eyes stay glued to the digital clock on the shelf near the tv- Clarisse has never been able to read a normal clock- as the seconds, minutes, and hours pass by. Your girlfriend got off work five hours ago, which makes it now exactly 10:30 pm. It may not seem too late, and you're quite scared that staying up to wait for Clarisse after making her dinner that now rests in tupperware in the fridge as it got cold while you were waiting for her at the table will make you seem paranoid. You push it to the back of your mind though. Clarisse, the girl who punches anyone who looks at her wrong, has always told you that communication is clear in your relationship. It’s the main reason that you have decided to confront her about her distance. Why isn’t she just communicating? 

Your eyes finally peel away from the clock when you hear a key quietly slotting into the front door before it slowly creeks open. She’s always been sure to be quiet when coming home late, and whether it’s because she doesn’t want to wake you up from a peaceful slumber or so she doesn’t have to talk to you, you just don’t know.

“Hey.” You mumble, but it’s silent enough in the room that she hears you and freezes in the entryway. It’s a small apartment as you guys didn’t have a lot of money during college, so you can see her standing in front of the door, slowly taking off her shoes as she avoids looking at you.

“Hey angel. What are you doing up? Don’t you have work tomorrow?” One of the first things she said to you in weeks, and she doesn’t even seem excited to be around you.

With a sigh, you reveal, “I took the day off tomorrow. We need to talk.” If possible, the girl seems to tense even more. “What’s wrong?” She questions, sitting on the opposite end of the couch you're on with her sock covered feet under her legs. A month ago, she would’ve been laying on you, cuddled up so close to you that one would think she actually wants to merge into your skin. Not now though. Now, it seems like she can’t get far enough from you.

“I don’t know.” You start. “You tell me what’s wrong.” Clarisse seems taken aback, but she doesn’t say anything as she stares at the worn out pillow on your lap. “N-Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

You scoff quietly, picking at the skin around your finger nails. Clarisse hates when you do that. She says she doesn’t want you to cause any pain to yourself. She doesn’t make a move to stop you now. “Okay then. Maybe nothings wrong with you, but is there something wrong with us?”

She seems to take notice of the desperation in your tone as her fingers twitch before they hesitantly reach over to hold your hand. "I....nothings wrong with us. Promise."

You sigh heavily, looking up to the ceiling to stop the forming tears from falling. "Then tell me why you're so distant Clarisse. Please." You're practically begging at this point, and her frown only deepens.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is small, a stark contrast to her usual booming tone. "I can't tell you. Not yet at least. But I promise. I will."

You sit in silence for a minute, eyes not meeting before you stand up from the couch and start making your way to the hallway that leads to your guys bedroom. "Stop promising things Clar." You mutter, lingering for a second before you turn off the lights and leave.

That night, you barely slept. Clarisse doesn't come to bed, probably asleep on the couch the way she always does when she thinks she's bothering you. This can't be the end of your relationship. She's been yours since you guys were kids. And you were hers. What changed?

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a loud beeping coming from what sounds like every place in the apartment. Your head hurts from crying last night as you stand up, and you make sure to wipe the dried tears off your face before you make your way out of the bedroom in sweats and one of your girlfriends shirts.

There is a calm but warm breeze coming in from the open balcony doors, but that thought is put on a back burner when you walk into the kitchen to see Clarisse sprinting to the sink with a smoking pan i. hand. She's muttering Greek curse words under her breath as she puts water on what looks like burnt eggs. Once that is calmed down, she opens the oven to reveal a cloud of heat and very crispy biscuits. You can't help but let out a silent laugh at the sight of her angrily swatting a hand towel at the smoke alarm to make it stop beeping.

"What's going on here?" You question, and she quickly tries to get you out of the room of chaos. "Hey honey. Did I wake you?" Clarisse rushes out as she leads you to sit down on the couch. "I'm making you breakfast."

You giggle, the sound causing a small smile to grace your girlfriend's face. "It seems like it's going well."

She nods, sighing as she places a chaste kiss on your head before rushing back to the kitchen to throw out her soaked scrambled eggs. For a second, it feels like the past month never happened. The warmth from the kitchen and open doors can't compare to the warmth in your chest as you watch your girlfriend be the person you know and love for the first time in way too long. 

She comes back a few minutes later, pancake mix on her cheek as she takes off your apron and sits down next to you on the couch. Unlike last night, she sits as close as possible without actually touching you- probably afraid you’ll reject her touch. “I’m sorry.” She speaks, nervously rubbing her hands together. “I’m really sorry.”

The daughter of Ares slowly leans in a bit, resting her head on your shoulder when you don’t move away. 

“If you’re really sorry, talk to me. Tell me what's happening.” You whisper, and she hears it as she takes a deep breath before nodding and standing up. You stare at her questioningly for a moment as she holds her hand out so she can help you up. Nonetheless, you take it, letting her warm hand hold yours as she leads you somewhere.

The balcony.

You didn’t notice it at first glance as you were busy laughing at Clarisse’s terrible cooking attempt, but it's decorated. Usually, two chairs and a small little table would be on it, but those are now gone, probably somewhere in the house. They’re replaced by a slightly bigger table, clearly the foldable one you guys use when your friends come to visit and they need more room at the three person table in your living room; but she’s put a thin gray table cloth on it that's being held down by a pot of flowers and two glasses of orange juice.

With the background of the far away mountains and plants outside, the place looks beautiful.

“Clar….”

“So? What do you think?” It’s complete deja vu to the day she became your girlfriend. The way she nervously shifts from foot to foot as she scans your face for any sign that you hate it.

“I…I love it.” You mutter, turning to her with a grin. Whether it's an apology for the way she's treated you for the past month or something else, you can’t deny that this is a dream. 

She lets out a breath of relief, nodding as she runs back inside to grab two plates before coming back and setting them down. “Why though?” You ask, and she sighs.

“Because I’ve been a bad girlfriend. And all though it’s no excuse, and I should’ve at least told you why.” You nod with a small smile.

The curly haired girl takes a big deep breath, clearly nervous, before she pulls out a dark red ring box and kneels down on one knee in front of you. “The reason I’ve been gone so often, is because I’ve been out trying to find a ring that’s almost as perfect as you. I made Chiron and my brother help, and I’m sure they’re happy I’m finally done looking. It took forever, because I didn’t think any ring out there was worthy of you. But…then I talked to my dad.”

It’s clear she’s struggling to tell this part, so you force down your excitement to comfort her by caressing her cheek. She leans into your touch, taking a moment before she continues. “He said he’s proud. That he’s happy for me and that I found a good one.” You smile. She’s never had the best relationship with Ares, but it’s clear she’s okay with that now. “Then he gave me this ring.” She opens the box, revealing a beautiful, shiny ring with a silver band and red gem. “He told me he saw it in a store once, loved it, but had no one to give it too. Said he’d be honored if I could use it.”

“So, I hope you love the ring as much as I think you will.” She chuckles, hands slightly shaking as she holds up the ring. “Angel, I know we've had our ups and downs in the past, but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you when we were kids, and I still want to. I know that we have grown and changed in many ways, but I still believe in our love the way I did when I was twelve. Will you do me the honor of being my wife? For real this time."

Finally, a sob escapes your throat, and she’d be scared you’re gonna say no if not for the big grin on your face. “Of course I will! Gods! Yes. I will marry you!” She nods, one of the largest smiles you’ve ever seen growing on her face as she slips the ring onto your left ring finger, the same way she did when you guys were kids. The girl stands up, casually picking you up for a hug like you weigh nothing.

“My wife.” She mumbles into your neck, leaning back to give you a kiss though it's hard with the way you both can’t stop smiling. “You’re finally going to be my real wife.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

After many shed tears and gentle kisses, you’re sitting down at the decorated table on your balcony, waiting for your fiance to bring you your breakfast she made.

She comes back with a pan that smells absolutely disgusting, scooping up what is in it before plopping it onto your plate. It’s dark brown mush, and you stare at it for a few seconds before looking up at her with an amused smile. The girl seems to already know what you’re going to say, because she sighs and grabs her phone from her jeans pockets as you giggle. “I’ll order from that café down the road.”

Happy wife, happy life.

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[base0h]

Sorry if I bother you or send you something a bit suck but I wanted to know if it was possible to you to do a hcs (or other forma, it doesn’t matter) with shanks and mihawk with a s/o who can copying everything (Haki, Mouvement, Physic, Devil power fruit, Everything) thanks to a rare Devil fruit..? Than you if you make it and sorry if it’s not corespondent to your blog or rules. 🐙

a/n - watch shanks fall in love with himself 💀 I added Law bec why not 💜

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, s/o has copy copy no mi (copy fruit)

- At first, he thought this was some twisted nightmare where he met himself… “Oh god. It’s me.” He was so disgusted 😭 he was also so embarrassed whenever you copied his abilities, hearing you say “room” and “shambles” made him reconsider what he named his techniques. 💀

- “Room…” -law “SHAMBLES!” -you

- “excuse me y/n. It’s my attack.” Man was offended, you literally interrupted him lmfao 😂 he was all like: bitch don’t take away my spotlight it’s the only thing I have

- “But it’s cool when I get to say it!” He also hates the way his voice sounds now because of this. Overall, he’s very embarrassed of himself, so as a result, you do not use your ability around him much. BUT- he does appreciate it when the marines start targeting you instead of him 🤭

- “LAW. HELP!”

- “Huh? I’m not Law wdym?”

- “YOU EMO MOTHERFU- I WILL THROW AWAY YOUR GERMA 66 FIGURES.”

- “NO-!”

- (ahem, I will calm down)

- enjoys it but also REALLY hates it at the same time. Perona gets you two confused all the time, she’ll ask you where Mihawk’s wallet is and you have to remind her of your abilities. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHEN YOU BOTH LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME?!”

- “Scars on the back are a swordsman’s shame!” You said, holding Mihawk’s sword in front of a pirate who had tried to take over the island. Your physique and features were perfect, an amazing copy of Dracule Mihawk himself

- “Y/n, I do not say that. The young roronoa says that. If you do something, get it right.” He said, sipping his wine while reading a newspaper under his umbrella. You glared at the man, turning back into your normal self before shoving the pirate off the island with ease

- “Can you at least admit that I am literally a perfect copy of you-?”

- “No, because you’re not.”

- “Why are you so difficult?”

- “Why are you so talented in things that do not matter?”

- “…You think I’m talented? 😖🥹”

- shanks absolutely adores the fact that yo have this ability. It makes for amazing party tricks! Turn into Uta and sing a beautiful song? Easy. Turn into Rayleigh so you can scold him? Hell yeah.

- you turned into him one day, and he was impressed. With himself 💀 “Damn- I look good!” -_- You had enough of him looking at you and complimenting HIS looks. So you turned into Rayleigh, and that my friend, is how you get your red haired man to shut the fuck up.

- “Shanks, do the dishes before I punch you.”

- “Yes sir.”

- man is deathly afraid of Rayleigh’s punch- 🤪 so everytime he starts fo be rude in any way, you turn into Rayleigh, it always works! Except turning into the dark king isn’t exactly great for camouflage against marines.

- they ended up seeing you and chasing you around since you looked like Rayleigh. “I’m not Rayleigh! I’m y/n l/n of the red haired pirates!” They stopped in their tracks, “Y/N L/N! THE LEGENDARY PIRATE?! GET THEM!” That plan of yours severely backfired, they ended up calling reinforcements.

- “Rayleigh you need some help down there?” Shanks asked with the literal most smug grin on his face. You got the best idea, while the marines were confused, you turned into a random soldier to blend in. They then caught sight of shanks and started going after him instead. Man did not think to argue with you ever again.

- “Baby I’m sorry 😭 please don’t ignore me I need love.”

don’t give him hugs

a/n - I loved this idea sm 🤭

[hornkerling]

(The gorgeous art was a commission from leylses, who does not seem to to have an active tumblr any more - if you know where they now live please let me know for proper attribution! )

I have papers to mark, but also the upcoming game has my brain in a vice and I found myself going through my old tags to see where and how I'd left everybody, so I'm bringing back a few of the stories that meant the most to me, inspired by @thievinghippo. I have resisted the urge to re-write this beyond fixing a few of the more egregious fragments and parenthetical asides (damn, I loved a parenthetical, didn't it?). So it is here mostly in all of its old age and earnestness.

Look after each other

Isabela is the love Hawke expects. She is the one shaped to old childhood hopes and the words of all Liadan’s favourite songs, and the world turns to lurching delight and fumbling hope as the two circle each other and stare and glare and smile. Liadan grows wilder and Isabela more centred as they each, in their own way, say: let me in. Let me touch you. Let me love you, at least a little bit. And then just a breath more.  

Isabela draws her. Delights her. Lust tangles up between them, the pirate’s hands at her throat, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

(“I have you, sweet thing. There you are.”)

***

Fenris is different. They rarely look at each other directly. They are too busy, heads bent over books or maps, her words caught between his teeth as she teaches him the silly memory songs that made words stick in her mind.

(“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she tells him, when they have three months of lessons behind them. She is delighted at his progress. It’s better than hers. Better than anything she’s ever seen. She’ll ruin it.

“I forgot how bad I was at this,” she says. “I never learnt well. Just ask Carver. We were both appallingly stupid at this. I—”

“—You,” he says, looking up from his work, hair sticking up from where his hands have tangled, “Are a better teacher than you think.”

Fenris is always surprised when he smiles, the warmth in his face flickering as he realises it’s there.

Liadan is never tired of it. She is never prepared for the answering tug his smiles always call up in her.

They look at each other sidelong, and one of them always looks away first, but there no pattern.

***

Together, all three fight well. Liadan is used to Isabela’s ruthlessness, has learned to use her magic in arcs that the pirate can exploit with a kick or a cry or twin, shining blades. She has learned to spot rare gaps in Fenris’s guard, and let that same magic be as blunt and brutal as the sword in her friend’s hand.

Force magic is ugly stuff that no one expects from the reedy singer with poor eyesight and freckles up her arms. She uses that surprise and feels Isabela’s pride and appreciation. She loves fighting from the back mostly because it means she can watch the others come back to her, Isabela kicking at bottles and pebbles and Fenris grimacing as lyrium fades back into his skin.

(“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’s said more than once. “If the magic is—”

“—It’s yours.” A shrug.

He does not look at her and Hawke wants to force it. Wants to hunker down and tilt his chin up and see. A part of her knows she could use her height for this, her self, to demand understanding, but when she feels that, she also hears Isabela’s voice in her head, and their oldest and sorest and most familiar fight twists up her guts.

“People aren’t problems, Hawke. Sometimes? Just back. Off.”

She holds back, jaw clenched.)

***

When Leandra dies, when every second breath tastes like bile, and my mother is dead repeats as the bass beneath her heartbeat, they are there. Isabela first, kissing the corner of her mouth, warm and scarf askew and never still. She looks at Liadan in all her tired hopelessness and does not turn away, but her eyes are half pleading, half embarrassed.

“I’m not good with this,” Isabela says, and Liadan doesn’t have the words to say I know or thank you. She just lets her head rest on Isabela’s chest, lets herself shake. Laughs a little at the other woman’s small huff of relief that they’ve gone bodied and wordless in the dark.

Fenris is a small knock and heavy step, and Isabela shifts to make room.

(“Are you any better at saying sorry than I am?”

“I…Is anyone?”)

Hawke lets them talk over her. She lets herself feel warm and hopeless and lost and loved and nothing, while Isabela eases her into her lap and Fenris lets one mercifully un-gauntleted hand rest on her hair.

***

She and Fenris do not want each other. Not the same way. They’ve never quite said it—never tugged at the difference between their easy company and the shiver-hope-want of Isabela’s lips on her throat, Fenris’s hands at Isabela’s hips.

They never say, You are my best friend.  I love you, and I love that you love who I love. Isn’t it gorgeous? Let’s keep being gorgeous. There is no need. Their voices blend, and in time he reads to her, her clumsy teaching turned beautiful as he shares verse and ghost story and Varric’s latest worlds.

Isabela soars over them both, and catches them both in their laughter. 

***

Liadan wonders if she can ever find words all the world’s different sorts of need. 

She watches them together. Delights at the catch in her breath, the little, happy flip inside at the sight of Isabela’s scarred, clever fingers twining with Fenris’s over a table at the Hanged Man.

In songs, Hawke knows, she’d be jealous.

She reaches out. Covers their hands with hers.

There should be new songs.

***

“You don’t even like men,” Carver says, wide-eyed and credulous as his ten-year-old self even as he looms over her in Templar armour. 

“Well observed.” 

“But–”

“–It’s none of your business, little brother.” Liadan smiles at him, rueful and soft. “I know I say that too much, but in this? It’s true.”

Leaving him at the Gallows, her staff a heavy, anxious weight across her back, Liadan worries that she must grow used to the question. 

She wonders if, given time, it’ll be easier or harder to squash the urge to punch people in the face. 

She chuckles. Easier, she hopes. If not, she’ll need to learn better aim. 

***

Liadan is a better sailor than she expects. She’d assumed she’d be terrible. 

(“You always assume that, sweet.” 

“Hush.”)

Grief does not drift away in the small boat’s wake, Kirkwall’s ashes still clinging to her skin, but it feels like it might. Finding balance is beautiful. She loves the creaks and cries and the strange gurgling noises that sneak into her daily thoughts, the music in her head. She loves the loosening of Isabela’s shoulders. Her strong, heavy body gone light in the rigging as she throws familiar words around in desperately strange ways. Tacking and tying and mainsailing and boarding stars or ports. 

Liadan relishes the slow feeling of her world changing, splitting, and making sense. 

***

Fenris’s skin burns and darkens. Her own only burns. They both catch themselves staring at the blisters on each other’s hands, and they exchange stories of stars as Isabela steers them toward Minrathous.

“Did you think you’d go back?” she asks.  

“Not like this,” he says. “It is–I do not know if it–”

“We’ll help,” Liadan says, hating her own earnestness even as Fenris presses a kiss to her cheek, just above the bone.   “You know that, I hope?”

She catches him smiling–more a crinkle about the eyes than anything else. 

“You did always say I’d never need to ask you to hunt slavers.” 

“You’re teasing me.” 

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris murmurs. There is wonder in it. 

***

Minrathous almost becomes a home. Isabela grumbles–port taxes are brutal, and harder than most to evade. But there is something astonishing in the decaying finery all about them. Liadan’s songs turn learn new stresses that come in groups of six and sevens and full of unexpected tonal fractions. Isabela finds her a stringed instrument that fits across the lap, and Liadan is lost for hours trying to match interval to thought. 

(“I didn’t even steal it, Fenris.” Muttered delight in the corner of a small, dockside room, the sunlight turned thick through bright orange curtains.  

“You sound very proud.”

Liadan looks up as they kiss. She lets them get their breath back before she tells them to hush.) 

***

They are not always together, of course. Isabela is growing in boats and restlessness. A day in the market for Fenris becomes two weeks in Qarinus, Isabela and Liadan squinting in amazement at his bold, sparse handwriting when he lets them know he is following traces of Varania that pricked at him with hope he is not sure he can bear. 

Liadan writes more than songs. Varric’s answers grow thicker and more frequent, paper piling up whenever she has a fixed address, 

(“If I knew what dreaming felt like,” Varric writes, “It might be something like this. The red lyrium’s still here. Still other damn places, and it’s not going away, Hawke. I think the years are turning strange on us. Don’t know what that means.”)

***

Merrill visits. She moves through Minrathous with her energies coiled tight, movements too quick and eyes too large. “It’s lovely to see you all,” she says, while Liadan plays the treasured dulcimer and Fenris avoids her gaze and Isabela, face softer than they’ve seen in years, slips an arm about her waist.

“All of you,” she repeats. “Even you, Fenris.” 

Fenris catches Merrill’s tiny smirk. It distorts in the wine bottle he has brought out for the peculiar table. Merrill holds her glass. It splashes, thick and near-enough-to-blood that he should, he thinks, be appalled. But he’s chuckling, and when he does raise his head to see those ridiculous eyes on his, they’re warm with surprised approval.  

The next day, Merrill asks Isabela a favour. 

“Can you teach me how to spit?” 

“I’m sorry, kitten?” 

“Please,” Merrill says. “Pirates are good at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

Isabela laughs and complies, Liadan watching with wide eyes at the serious discussions of aim and phlegm and head-tilt. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“You love me, Hawke.” 

“Always true.” 

“You’re so sweet,” Merrill says, and Isabela’s laugh turns from raucous to soft. 

“You are,” Merrill says. “Also, you’re staring a little.” 

“I’ve missed you, kitten,” Isabela says. 

Liadan watches them. Catches the faint flush growing on Merrill’s face. Knows that swallow of Isabela’s. The small shifts of muscle that say the other woman is trying very hard, just this once, not to touch. 

She stands, walking between them to kiss the corner of Merrill’s mouth, smiling as the elf turns her head and lets it slip.

“That’s two of us, you know,” Liadan says. She feels bold and open and scalded as her bravery turns into a blush. “If you like.” 

“Sometimes,” Isabela mumbles as Fenris sighs with affectionate exasperation and picks up a book, shaking his head at them, “I really like my life.” 

***

Fenris catches Merrill later, small body tense as she stands at the base of the grand imperial library, looking up at the columns and statues of magisters-past. 

He wants to pull her back. The urge surprises him, sharp and worried as the pricking on his skin from too many eyes in this public place, the skin too tight over his cheeks at his wrists. 

He stares as she spits at the feet an archon. She watches her efforts drip down one enormous, silverite boot, and then turns away. 

He catches up to her. They are silent as the crowd opens and swallows them, his shadow careful over hers as she wipes the back of her mouth with a shaking hand.   

“I’m not as sweet as they think,” she says, after a while. 

“I know.” 

“I think you do,” Merrill’s smile is lopsided. “I’m glad I came, of course. It’s been so good to see everyone; it would have been even without–” her blush flares up. Fenris watches as the blood seems to sink back into her skin, markings stark. 

“Even without all of that,” she says. “But Tevinter. I hadn’t thought. Not really. Seeing all this knowledge. All this old power, and most of it’s nearly dead, but my people died first. For that mural, maybe. Or that statue. It’s all–”

“–Merrill–”

“–pointless.” 

She stops to breathe, glaring at the city-shadows, and Fenris isn’t sure who is more surprised when he pulls her into a rough embrace. 

“I do not understand,” he says. “Not fully. But nothing you do is pointless, and there are many reasons for rage.” 

Merrill looks at him. He does not flinch when she cups his cheek. They are of a height, her eyes dark and locked with his. 

It breaks when she smiles. Her eyes close. He catches small, bright teeth and a half-laughed breath. 

“You love them very much, don’t you?” 

Fenris squirms, 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Merrill says, stepping back. Her hair has grown in the years since Kirkwall. “You’re all very nice together.” 

***

“I have to go back,” Hawke says, in the end.

The rift light tinges everything. Their skin and their teeth; the street and the oily water of the port. Even Isabela’s jewellery picks up a layer of corpse green, and Fenris tastes magic at the back of his throat. 

“Yes,” Isabela says. 

“No,” says Fenris. 

They glare at each other, and Liadan holds back a sob. 

“It’s her choice, sweet thing,” Isabela says, tugging gently on Fenris’s hair. “She’s a big girl.”

“Varric needs my help,” she says. “And if it is–”

“I cut off the magister’s head,” Fenris says. “I pulled out his heart and cut off his head. We all checked–”

“–Twice,“ Isabela sighs. 

“And if Corypheus is still alive,” Liadan says, “Then I’m the one who’s fought him. Feels only right to do it again.” 

“You,” Fenris mutters, words thick, “Are a fool about this.”  

Liadan sighs. “Please,” she says. “Look after each other.” 

“No,” Isabela says. 

“Yes,” says Fenris.

The three hold hands as they look toward the end of the world. 

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

ooooh for the fake dating prompts: geraskier + #1? pretty please 💜

They were actually quite the good kisser, but they of course would never ever tell them that.

“We need a cover story,” Jaskier says. “If the Duchess thinks you’re here as a witcher, she’ll have her guards throw you out before you have time to get annoyed by all the people.”

Geralt wants to argue, but the bard actually has a good point. “I could pretend to be your bodyguard again. At a gathering this size, there have to be at least a few nobles there you’ve cuckolded.”

Jaskier wrinkles his nose, considering. “You showing up with swords might put her on her guard, whether you're here as a witcher or bodyguard."

“Then what do you suggest?” Geralt crosses his arms over the chest, scowling. After passing a couple of messages for the Redanian Secret Service, the bard thinks he’s some kind of mastermind at espionage.

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then brightens. “I know! You can come as my apprentice who is really my lover.”

“Why not just your apprentice?”

“Because no offense, Geralt, but no one is going to look at you and think you’re in training to become a bard. And gods help us if anyone asks you to sing. So it behooves us if they think that the only reason I keep you around is because of the service you provide to my instrument.” He wiggles his hips.

Geralt feels his lips twitch of their own volition. "Hm, not sure if we can pull that off."

“And whyever not?” Jaskier looks offended.

“If I’m your lover, you’d have to go at least three days without letting anyone else into your pants. Might kill you.”

“I can go three days without sex!” Jaskier plants his hands on his hips.

“Since when?”

“I went nearly two weeks without when we were traveling through Velen!”

“And you bitched the entire time.”

“I would have done that anyway. Velen is terrible.”

Geralt can’t argue with him there. “No one’s going to believe we’re really lovers.”

“Why not?”

"Because no one’s going to think that I’m the kind of person you take to bed," Geralt doesn’t say, thinking of the pretty barmaids and fancy nobles Jaskier normally pursues. Instead, he says, “There will be people you know there. They’ll have seen you with your lovers before.”

“And?” Jaskier arches an eyebrow.

Geralt searches for the right words for a moment. “When you’re sleeping with someone, you’re usually all over them. You can't keep your hands or your lips off them. It’s why you nearly get gelded for fucking the wrong person so often. You’re not subtle.”

Jaskier opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do that with you.”

Geralt snorts, skeptical.

“What?” Jaskier asks, taking a step closer. “You think it will be such a hardship, draping myself over you?”

The neck of Geralt’s armor feels a little too tight. Did he have it fitted wrong? “No one will buy it.”

Jaskier takes another step, moving into Geralt’s space. “Then we really should start practicing now.”

“I don’t need to practice,” Geralt growls. “I’m not a spotty youth who’s never held a girl’s hand before.”

Not that hand holding comes up much in his intimate encounters, but he’s not going to bring that up.

“Even the greatest master at his craft needs to keep his skills sharp.” Jaskier tilts his head to the side, studying Geralt’s face. “And you’re right. We’re only going to be able to sell this if we look like two people who are used to being intimate with each other. Kiss me.”

Geralt can’t quite school the surprise out of his face. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Jaskier says again. “Do you want to take the Duchess down or not?”

“Not sure how kissing you will help that.”

“We might need to kiss at some point to maintain our cover,” Jaskier says. “Best not to risk it, right?”

Geralt lets his gaze drop to Jaskier’s pink mouth. The bard’s lips have always been inconveniently pretty, especially when they’re parted in stunned offense or curled into a wicked smile. He almost says no, that he’ll figure out another way to get close to the Duchess. It’s best not to let Jaskier anywhere near a contract this dangerous anyway. Jaskier can go back to his succession of pretty lovers and Geralt can find and kill a monster, just like they always do.

He’s about to pull back when Jaskier seems to get tired of waiting for Geralt to make a move. Before Geralt can react, Jaskier’s lips are on his and suddenly, Geralt isn’t thinking about the Duchess or the contract anymore.

Jaskier’s lips are warm and soft against his, tasting of the wine they had with dinner. He doesn’t realize that he’s cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands until he registers the prickle of stubble against his palm. He slides one hand down, over the silky fabric of Jaskier’s doublet, warm from the bard’s body heat. Jaskier shivers as Geralt’s hand rests on his lower back.

Geralt drags Jaskier closer, breath hitching as Jaskier’s fingers tangle in his hair. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat hammering and can practically taste the arousal in the air. It would be so easy to drag Jaskier the short distance to the bed, to lose himself in Jaskier’s taste and the feel of him and…

Jaskier pulls away, blinking up at Geralt with the dazed look of someone emerging from a deep sleep. For a moment, they stare at each other. Jaskier’s pretty mouth is swollen from kisses, a sight that sends something hot and possessive surging through Geralt’s belly.

Jaskier clears his throat and laughs, the sound more high-pitched than usual. “And you think we couldn’t pull it off!”

“Pull what off?” It takes Geralt a moment to remember why they were doing this in the first place. The Duchess. The contract. Right.

“Pretending to be two people who are intimately acquainted.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. “Now you won’t have to pretend to be unable to get enough of my lips.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Sure, bard.”

“Oh, don’t lie to me. You have to admit, that was a damn good kiss.”

“I’ve had better,” Geralt lies.

Jaskier gasps, mouth falling open. It’s a sight that makes Geralt glad that his new armor has a codpiece. “Pure and utter slander! I’ve had it from reputable sources that I’m the finest kisser on this side of the Amell Mountains.”

“You know they’re paid to give you pretty compliments at the Passiflora, right?”

“Brute.” Jaskier pokes Geralt in the chest. “That’s a terrible thing to say to your pretend lover.”

“Forgive me,” Geralt says dryly. “I’ve never had a fake lover before.”

“And at this rate, you never will again.” Jaskier turns on his heel, nose in the air.

With the bard looking away, Geralt reaches up to touch his lips. He can still taste mulled wine and can still feel the warmth of soft pink lips against him. He’d like nothing more than to pull Jaskier close and lose himself in another one of those kisses.

But this is just pretend and Geralt can’t let Jaskier know the effect he has on him. So he wipes away the lingering taste of Jaskier with the back of his hand and goes to sharpen his sword. There’s a monster to kill, after all.

Fake dating prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[rillils]

written for round 5 @stuckybingo, square I5 - Looking after each other wordcount: 1411 pairing: Steve/Bucky additional tags: fluff, kidfic, general silliness, slice of life, dorks in love, dorks in love + their baby

Steve never believed in sunscreen, no matter how many times he got the hide scorched off of him. Used to just sit there and let the sun fry his skin, seemingly content to suffer through all the pretty stages of a sunburn, the blistering and the peeling, the stinging and the itching.

The serum just gave his stubborn ass one more excuse to walk outside in all his dumb, unprotected glory.

“You know it’ll have healed by tomorrow anyway,” he would shrug in the face of Bucky’s reasonable worry. But oh, how he’d hiss and cuss through gritted teeth, Later That Same Day, when Bucky inevitably wound up spreading cool aloe over his poor, neon-bright shoulders, the shade of them a hot raw pink that’d probably get them both sued by Mattel sooner or later.

“Fuck. Fuck. I always forget how bad it gets. How do I always forget how bad it gets.”

And it would take a herculean effort for Bucky to refrain from saying ‘I told you so’, but refrain he would; he’d simply smooth his aloe-covered fingers down to the small of Steve’s back, where the tan line made his creamy-pale asscheeks stand out like two (somewhat flabbergasted) halves of a moon, and he’d lean over to whisper-kiss a fond, “Dumbass”, against the crown of Steve’s head.

* It was fatherhood that flipped that particular switch for Steve.

Already within the first few weeks of her life, Sarah Barnes-Rogers managed a colossal feat which several people, including her very own namesake, had been fruitlessly attempting for no less than a century: knock some sense into her father.

That summer, they brought their five-month-old baby to the beach for the first time, and suddenly Steve’s baseline shifted from a glaring zero, to at least three separate bottles of sunscreen tucked in his backpack at all times – and he wielded them as dramatically and determinedly as King Arthur pulling his sword from the Stone.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Bucky teased while Steve re-applied lotion on their daughter, and then himself, for the third time in one morning, the delicate scent of coconut wrapped around them like a gentle cloud.

“Protection is important,” retorted his husband, always 101% ready to rise to the challenge, even when it was ridiculous degrees outside and the average human felt distinctly like warm ice cream oozing, slow and tragic, towards an indecorous end on a sizzle-hot curb. Sarah wriggled excitedly in his lap, her pudgy little body slippery like a newborn dolphin.

“Important for you, too? Really? I thought you were gonna heal by tomorrow anyway.”

Steve glared at him, mouth pouting with growing intensity within the neatly groomed frame of his beard.

“We lead by example,” he said petulantly, and since he couldn’t exactly stomp away – at least not with all the dramatic flair required by such indignity as Bucky was willfully subjecting him to – he settled for looking away instead, fixing the hat over Sarah’s ears to keep his hands occupied. Stubborn, mulish smartass. Bucky was sure he’d never loved him quite so ardently as he did in that moment.

He leaned between their loungers and smacked the loudest kiss on Steve’s coconut-scented cheek, not bothering (oh, not too much) to hide his smug grin. “Good.”

*

Now, all things considered, it’s no wonder that Sarah’s grown to be such a sunscreen enthusiast.

The second they hit the beach, she wants nothing better than for Papa to help her get coated in the stuff, from head to wiggly toe; and once the procedure is complete, she’ll scuttle off at lightning speed, drop to the ground, and – to Bucky’s endless horror – roll about until she’s got every bit of her greased-up self nice and caked in sand. Sand which they'll still find sprinkled in every corner, crease and crinkle of every towel, bag and piece of clothing they own for a couple of months at least, but what is parenthood if not self-sacrifice?

Before she gets to that, though, Sarah has her own self-appointed job to do.

She plucks the bottle from Steve’s hand and, as per their private ritual, manhandles him into lying on his belly, announcing with her sweet, recently tooth-gapped smile, “I’ll do your back!”

Steve always indulges her with a smile of his own, and lets her climb onto the small of his back, ready to surrender himself to Sarah’s loving, if somewhat fierce ministrations.

For once, though, she doesn’t simply smear the lotion around with her usual excitement. On the contrary, she holds the bottle up and squeezes it meticulously, her brow scrunched up in concentration as she works with slow, strangely deliberate moves.

It’s only after a minute or so that Bucky really sees what she’s trying to do; and by then, her masterpiece is all but complete. The sight of it makes his heart clench with unexpected fondness.

“Daddy! Daddy, can you take a picture? I wanna show Papa, please!”

He takes one look at her hopeful little face, at the blond curls falling over her eyes, the sun-kissed freckles already crowding the bridge of her nose so early in the summer, and there’s no way in hell he’d ever even dream of saying no.

“’Course, baby,” he says, reaching for his phone with no further ado.

“Show me what?” Steve pipes up, twisting his neck to try and peek over his shoulder. “What’re you guys doing back there?”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky tuts, pushing Steve’s head back down to rest atop his crossed arms, “you stay put for a second, doll. Can’t ruin this shot. Alright, here we go.” The camera clicks softly, once. “Hm. Nope.” Twice. “Eh– almost.” Thrice. “Ha! There. Perfect.”

He helps Sarah down from her perch on Steve’s back, very, very careful not to smudge her precious work, then hands her the smartphone. “Go ahead, baby, show Papa what a good job you did.”

In her eagerness, Sarah all but shoves the phone right in Steve’s face, with a squeal of “Pa! Look, look!”, watching him expectantly.

It’s there, on the screen, that Steve finally gets to see it. A message just for him, spanning almost his entire back, spelling, in Sarah’s wonky six-year-old handwriting, “I LOVE YOU PA ♥”, big squiggly heart included.

Steve doesn’t breathe for three whole seconds; and when he starts again, it’s with a soft, awestruck, “Oh.”

And it might be the stark light, or the warm breeze, or the scent of ocean salt in the air, but when he props himself up on his elbows to look at their daughter, his eyes have a familiar, watery shine to them. One of his strong arms wraps around Sarah’s middle and pulls her in, and he plants a kiss on her forehead, smiling all the while. “Love you too, munchkin. It’s beautiful, thank you so much.”

“Yah!”

Satisfied with the feedback, Sarah can finally run off to fulfill her destiny as a pocket-size sand monster. Steve gazes adoringly after her, then lifts his big, gleaming puppy eyes on Bucky, looking about as lovestruck as Bucky’s ever seen him in the last ninety-five years or so.

“Buck,” he says, soft and just, just on the cusp of choked up. How anyone ever thought they could teach this guy not to wear his heart on his sleeve, Bucky’ll never understand.

“Yeah, big guy. I know. I know,” he soothes, hovering close to place a sympathetic kiss on the swell of Steve’s bicep. “Listen, I’m gonna ask a dumb question here.”

Steve blinks up at him, curious.

“Do you maybe want me to fix your back for you, so you don’t actually burn to a crisp?”

And see, the truth is, he already knows the answer. He knows it with even greater certainty when Steve sinks his face in the crook of his own elbow, half laughing, half groaning, and a hundred percent utterly defeated.

Of course not. Of course he’s gonna lie directly in the nearest sunbeam, and let himself bake there until the words are branded onto his skin, pale white on Barbie-box pink, no matter how short-lived they’ll be.

“Yep. Called it.” He gives Steve’s bicep a gentle pat-pat, knowing that in about ten hours, even that will make Steve hiss with unrepentant, self-inflicted pain - and possibly loving him just that wee bit more for this tiniest of derring-do’s. “I’ll make sure to grab some more aloe on our way home.”

[trancylovecraft]

Is it ok for you to write platonic yandere with nurse bendy (she will always have a special place in my heart<3)

(MORAL OREL) YANDERE PLATONIC! NURSE BENDY x READER: HEADCANNONS

• Nurse Bendy, Probably one of the better ones in Moralton. Though I suppose that doesn’t mean much.

• Protective, Little bit Obsessive, Delusional and Loving.

• Protective in the way she just wants to shield you from the horrors of the world, The horrors she had to go through. She doesn't ever want that to happen to you, Even the thought makes her anxious.

• A little obsessive in the way how she just loves you like the child she never had (Or have met yet)

• Loving in the way she just adores showering you in affection, She likes giving you hugs or kisses on the forehead. She likes holding your hand as she walks you to school, Carefully making sure you don't trip over any rocks or stumble over any little dip in the ground.

• Delusional? We’ll get onto that later.

• There’s really only one way I see this going while platonic and that is a Maternal relationship with her.

• She sees herself as your mother, And this is where we get onto the delusional part.

• If she didn’t give birth to you it doesn't really matter, She completely believes you are her child no matter what evidence you give. She's also delusional in the way she believes you’re always going to be her child, No matter how old you get you just aren’t ready to leave the nest yet according to her.

•  She’s extremely doting towards you, She always checks up on your health and brings you little snacks throughout the day.

• If you weren't her biological child then there’s a few ways I can see this going

• One: You could be a kid at the school who goes in for a Check-up, Bendy gets attached. Two: You’re a little bit older (Teenage years) and get a part time job at the hospital and again, She gets attached.

• We’ll go with option 2

• So when you come into the reception and talk to her so politely with full respect she takes a great liking to you as she directs you to your destination.

• Over the next few days the cycle continues, And her care for you just grows more and more.

• She begins to fret about your health. She asks if you’ve been eating well, If you dare say you’ve forgotten your lunch she’ll be coming in with a homemade packed lunch the next day. She often checks up on you to make sure you're alright, She cares you know

• Eventually her pretend bear family back home gets neglected. She doesn't need them anymore, You're here now. You settle the familial craving inside her.

• Soon enough she starts seeing herself as your mother, Then enough she believes it. Memories suddenly form inside her head: The day you were born, your first steps, The time you fell off your bike and she took you out to get ice-cream. All the way up to how she helped you get the job at the hospital she worked at.

• Of course, All these memories are completely fake and never happened. But Bendy doesn't know, Or at least pushes the thought out her mind.

• If any love interests or other parental figures arise then Bendy wont kill them. Not Outright.

• Bendy may be delusional. But that does not by any means make her stupid.

• She’s an opportunistic killer, She wont seek them out to kill them specifically (Despite how much she may have wanted to) But will wait until they might catch a bug or a cold. And maybe then she would switch out their cough medicine for cyanide and just let tragedy strike her sword.

• Bendy would also find a way to rid of your parents and other family members if they're around, Either by opportunity or a little manipulation it doesn't matter.

• She views your family as a threat to your safety and just cannot handle that. Besides, why are you staying with them when your dear mother is right here?

• If your parents and family do get out of the picture she will be there to pick you up and sign the adoption papers, Which after how long you’d known her and saw her as a mentor you took no issue to.

• The domestic life of Bendy as your mother is extremely sweet.

• She makes your lunches and helps you out with your homework once you finally move into her newly renovated apartment.

• She buys you little snacks and often comes along to make sure you're okay.

• If you ever do meet joe, Bendy fully expects you two to become quick siblings

• However, The con is her Protective tendencies are now at max.

• She doesn't let you go out with friends often, and on the off chance that she does every thirty minutes she sends a text to ask if you're okay. If you don't answer within ten minutes of the text she will file a missing child report.

• She wants to keep your innocence and wants to completely avoid any conversation about adult topics.

• If you ever do find out about what she may have done to your family you would be completely unable to do anything about it, There is no evidence, Bendy made sure to destroy it, If it ever existed in the first place that is.

• You can run and leave home, She wont stop you. But it won't stop the constant figure in the corner of your eye from appearing. It won't stop the random care packages appearing on your front door, Nor will it stop the little letters appearing on your dining room table describing how much your mother misses you and how bad the real world is, Begging for you to come home.

• Overall, A caring parent yet extremely paranoid

[kankuroplease]

What are your best headcanons for KisaSaku?

These will be all sorts of random because why not? Tw: mentions of violence, age gap relationship, sexual themes, and my own brainrot ✨

Getting the obvious out the way, Sakura would be a young adult meeting Kisame in an alternative timeline au. Age gap still intact, but she’s not a kid

How they meet?

Totally by chance

The worlds falling apart in a totally different way than anyone ever expected, but at least they found questionable company in each other

Sakura’s guard is up with him, but she finds herself smiling along his infectious smile after a short time

Kisame hasn’t had a partner since Itachi and little miss konoha is a difference vibe

She talks a lot, maybe too much. But he doesn’t mind it, it’s made getting to know her easier and feels his day with something other than his own assumptions and disillusionment

Her life up until now was a lot more sheltered than his, so he would feel that she needed to prove herself a bit

She’s trained under the notorious copycat ninja and a hokage, so he has no doubt she is capable

Because of this, Kisame does not baby Sakura when it comes to fighting. It’s so or die, pinkie pie

like, girl he’s seen you level a building with a well placed punch. You got this (also he’s not going to let her die unlike how he acts as if he would)

Because of this, Sakura learns to trust her own strength and train harder in her free time

Which, tbh is probably would be what attracts him to her the most

Pretty faces are a dime a dozen, but this girl won’t quit trying to keep up and improve herself

Samehada lowkey likes to steal a little chakra from Sakura, but she can feel it and lectures the sword because who does it think it is

Kisame thinks this is SO funny/cute and will cackle about it

You like her, Same? He thinks he does too

Occasionally Kisame will merge with Samehada when they’re near the ocean for training and a little special sea food dinner for two

If Sakura gets in the water with him, he’ll playfully circle her while she’s floating. Just to keep her on her toes before swimming back off

Sakura has tried to deep dive with him before but that didn’t end so well for her 💀

Sakura becomes enamored with the swords of the swordsmen of the mist and Kisame figures why not retrieve one with her

He can see what she’s made of while welding a blade and there’s a few he will mull over that might be a good fit for cherry girl

First that comes to mind would be The Kabutowari. She’s definitely strong enough to wield it, but it’s size and training may be burdensome

Then there is the Kubikiribocho, it’s another powerful sword that she could easily wield. There’s only the problem of Suigetsu. She might be able to seduce it of him or just beat him up

The sleeper one would be the Nuibari; small but extremely effective and brutal with wielded correctly. Just imagining her tossing it like a javelin through their opponents repeatedly making that dreaded knot of corpses would be quite a thrill.

But the choice is hers, just know she’ll have to earn the right to wield them

Sakura wouldn’t see him in a sexual attraction way at first, but training to wield swords with him and seeing his more, albeit subtle, caring side would have her thinking about it

blue and gilly, he is charmingly unique. Plus his body looks amazing despite not being in his prime and she’s seen the print of what he’s working with in his pants… my the sage, Ino would be slack jawed if she heard her thinking like this

When did she become a pervert? It must be her period talking💀

Speaking of, he totally let her use his hand as a make shift heating pad for her lower abdomen and that melted her heart a bit

After a year of being called every cutesy nickname in the book by him, she’d hit him with a “don’t hurt yourselves now, handsome” after pulling him up by his wrist off a crumbled cliff side

He’s confused. He’s usually the one poking fun at her

This leads to a bunch of not so subtle flirting between the two, testing each other’s interest and limits

Lots of stolen glances between before one of them (Sakura) cracks and slides into the others sleeping bag

Finally saying “fuck it” and crossing that line they’ve both been standing at the edge of dating each other to make a move

Yeah, Ino would definitely faint if she knew. Especially about the double dicks

But that’s Sakura’s little secret in her new life 🤫

[wonilye]

kingmaker | p.sh

prev | masterlist | next

CHAPTER V

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: mentions of blood, killing and death in this chapter (no one dies here). please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with!

You rise early the next morning - if you ever slept at all, that is. Your slumber was anything but peaceful, your troubling thoughts keeping your eyes open long past the ungodly hours.

But how could you fall asleep, with an iron scent lingering in your nose, and the jagged cut in your hand still stinging? Park Sunghoon, your only ally. Simultaneously the one person who could destroy every single one of your plans up till now with only a word to the prince.

So it is today that you rise with dark circles deep enough to startle the maids that come in, only to find you already milling about your room (it’s a wonder they haven’t spotted that knife hidden behind the vanity mirror). You hadn’t even known there would be maids catering to you, but you suppose you should’ve seen it coming. No noble lady lives without being waited on hand and foot in high society, not unless they’re from a house falling into ruin.

All the same, it feels odd as their rough hands glide across your bare skin, gently rubbing away any sleepiness with warm water.. It’s strange to think that had you not shown potential with the sword, this would have been your life - serving as Lady Yeji’s lady-in-waiting, her most trusted servant in a different way.

You hope the maids don’t notice how your hands are even more calloused than their own.

They clothe you in the palace’s finery, every layer of fabric even silkier than the last. Today, it’s a drape-sleeved tiered gown, dyed in the colours of the Hwangs’ flag - a rich mauve. The soft, loose fabric conceals the ripple of muscle in your arms, neckline exposing your collarbones. And of course, a glass violet woven into your hair. It cuts a poised, demure figure, something unachievable by your own means. But the swathes of fabric carry an uncomfortable burn every time they slide over your skin. A reminder that you are an inferior replacement in royalty’s garb.

Pressing your palm to the hidden garter around your thigh, you feel the faint outline of an envelope. A message, left by your door at the break of dawn. You’ve read it, but you can’t help the inkling of suspicion in the back of your mind. Imprinted on the seal is a pattern of forget-me-nots, a mark of a specific family — that of Kim Minji’s.

To be honest, she’s a good companion to have, if trust is what you’re looking for. Based on your intel, Minji’s a fairly gentle, fresh soul, new to the social world. Debuting fairly young, the girl's innocence is more or less intact, preserved by a loving family who doted on their eldest daughter. Of all the candidates, she must be the most naive. She’ll be a prime target of the other girls, no doubt. She’d be the easiest to send home.

At least she’s not inexperienced enough to approach you directly. She’s arranged to meet shortly before breakfast. Two left turns and a right, as per the instructions in the letter, and you’re face to face with the girl herself, reclining in an empty sitting room. Despite her furrowed brows and tense gaze, she exudes an innocent beauty that’s truly worthy of being a part of the crown prince’s entourage. No doubt, she would be his choice if a future queen of an empire needed to be an angel on earth.

As she spots you, her eyes light up, and she pats the seat next to her. Trying not to trip over her billowing teal-coloured skirt, you muster up your most polite smile, gingerly lowering yourself beside her. “Lady Minji, a pleasure. I believe we have not formally met just yet.”

She chuckles, a soft sound that blends perfectly with the pale morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. She is a breath of fresh air, youth incarnate. “It is wonderful to meet you, Lady Hwang. You are kind, to agree to meet me despite not knowing my intentions. I imagine you feared the worst. We are truly in cutthroat times.” Her expression turns solemn as she fiddles with the fingertips of her silk gloves. You imagine she must be nervous, her family undoubtedly warning her of the competition’s aptitude for scheming. “I am fully aware it’s a gamble to throw my lot in with you, but there is a kindness in you I am inclined to trust. Will you tell me I have misplaced my faith?”

The confession startles you. Kindness? You? Either you’ve played your role a little too well, or Kim Minji is seeing only what she wishes to. But this works well in your favour. Kim Minji is likely to be a court favourite, provided the crown prince is looking for true love. And if that is the case, Prince Jay will look upon her and her associated with favour and trust, a good combination that will serve you well in your mission.

“Well,” you muse, playing as though you have the upper hand like you see Yeji do. “Every gamble has its risks. Whether or not I am a worthy risk to take is your choice.”

She swallows. “Companionship. Protection. That is what I seek from you. You’re stronger than I ever will be, in both mind and body. Accept my offer, and the Kims and Hwangs will provide each other with aid whenever necessary.”

She says it so bravely that you almost feel sorry that such a young girl is propositioning you. But all is fair in war. “Lady Kim, what I want isn’t your support. Something much, much simpler will suffice.”

“A-and what would that be?”

You smirk. “Information, my lady.”

Sunghoon thinks he’s going to faint.

He’s never been good at wrapping wounds, much less his own. With the amount of blood he lost wrangling with the bandages that girl gave him, it’s no wonder he’s a little lightheaded. Still, the night is young.

As if trying to mock him, the first light of dawn peeks through the curtains.

Sighing, he rises from his slumped position against the door, stumbling into Jay’s office with more grace than he’d expected of himself. With the flickering light of the candle illuminating the darkened room, Jay’s sleeping figure is cast in an odd glow. Beneath his head is a stack of paperwork and a quill dangling from his fingertips, each stained with dark ink. He’s worked hard today. A miracle, really, that he didn’t get indigestion from that sorry excuse of a meal. The king has never been a very good dinner guest.

Sunghoon shrugs his coat off, draping it across a chair in the corner. He’s guessing it’s about six in the morning, with the dimmest sunlight bleeding through the thick curtains. Jay really hasn't moved since Sunghoon left him where he was to find their new ally.

The memory of the quick spar sends an ache through every muscle. She (was that shadowy figure even a she?) was stronger than he’d anticipated, each calculated movement both efficient and lethal. After that, it was clear to see how someone like her survived for so long as an assassin despite her existence being common knowledge in the line of work.

The fact that he’s even managed to walk out alive from an encounter with an assassin with a hundred percent success rate is a mercy on her part.

With a sigh, Sunghoon squeezes his liege’s shoulder. “Get up already, your harem awaits.”

Jay groans as he rouses, puffy eyes blinking rapidly as he shoves Sunghoon off. “They’re not my harem.”

“Is that all you’re concerned with, your royal highness? Other than the fact that you’ve got hundreds more tasks to complete, not to mention the backlog from yesterday, and the day before, last week, last year-”

“Oh, be quiet,” Jay scoffs, not unkindly as he fixes his collar. “How long more do I have before I have to sit through another meal with the candidates?”

Sunghoon checks his pocket watch, the other hand reaching over to flatten Jay’s unruly hair.

“What’s with the bandages?”

“Fell in the bath. To answer your earlier question, you have approximately two hours and forty-nine minutes. Breakfast will be served in the second dining room today. Their Majesties will not be joining us today.”

“Thank heavens. Last night was a nightmare. All those girls, tense to the point it hurt to even look at them. Did you see how Lady Shin barely touched her plate?”

“Never mind that, I have news for you.” Sunghoon leans in, certain he looks crazed with glee in Jay’s eyes. “I met a very interesting someone tonight - well, more like they found me.”

“Who-”

“Take a guess.”

Their eyes meet, and Sunghoon knows his dear friend understands the moment a conspiratorial glint enters Jay’s eyes. “Impossible,” he breathes out, rummaging around his drawers. “That quick?”

“Have a little more faith in your beloved courtier, won’t you?”

“Then our plans…”

“Are falling right into place. The right hand of the Hwangs is now a player in the game,” Sunghoon finishes. “The Hwangs have thrown their lot. Their stance is clear to us now. Their rebellion has begun.”

Jay chews his lip, deep in thought. “No, I do believe their rebellion has been years in the making. Possibly since the Hwang children lost the previous Duke and Duchess Hwang. No doubt, they’ve harboured a grudge against Father for years now.” He swallows, and Sunghoon can see the gears in his head turning. “The Hwangs are to be feared. And now that we’ve made contact with their assassin, the stakes are infinitely higher.”

“Not that we haven’t anticipated it.”

“Indeed, not that we haven’t. Any guesses on their identity?”

It’s here that Sunghoon freezes. On one hand, it would be wise to tell Jay to wait for the second meeting, or start investigating immediately. But the sting of his palm settles in, as if that girl’s reminding him of the alliance he swore to. True, he might end up working against her. The likelihood is there, especially if her mission turns out to actually be killing the king to-be. So why is he so reluctant to promise Jay anything?

“Not sure. We’ll have to see.”

Jay’s disappointment is evident. “Right then, we’ll work with what we have. Continue to communicate with her, we’ll find out what the Hwangs are planning.”

Right. Sunghoon shakes his head, shelving away his traitorous thoughts. Any plans the Hwangs’ assassin has could never overshadow the ones he’d made with Jay. Plans that have been years in the making, built upon trust like no other. No one can possibly distract him, much less an assassin.

There’s a moment of silence that falls between the two. Sunghoon, with all his heart, wants - no, needs - their plans to work. It’s a matter of life and death for the prince, no matter how selfish the outcomes might be. Jay cannot die at the hands of the Hwangs.

Because maybe, just maybe, this is his only shot at atonement.

a/n — guess who…ahahahahhhaa pookies i’m a mess this is a super short chapter but don’t mistake it for filler! because it isn’t /srs (no really) but ok i am really really sorry this came so late, next chapter’s already in the works! show some love for the girlies named throughout the story, they’re much lovelier than i depict them lololol

taglist (open!)

@stariikis @viagumi @chenfleur

[autisticlenaluthor]

Supercorptober - Kara

TW: Grief

There’s a plastic pillow Kara sleeps with every night. It’s blue and crunches when laid against, with a thin white case that falls off whenever jostled. It’s so flat— flat like a pancake or another sheet. At least, that’s how Eliza tries to justify it when Kara catches her trying to throw it out while cleaning her room. 

Kara takes the thing back with a speed she didn’t know she possessed and returns it to her bed, making sure it’s known that she is keeping her pillow for as long as she lives. She needs it the way she needs air, and that explanation is bursting to escape. It’s the last thing she has, her last real connection. But there’s no way to say that, no way to ever give its meaning justice when Kara knows Eliza will never truly get it.

Because she was in the waiting room when Kara went with Casey and the EMTs who took a sleeping Lena, still in her bed, up to the helipad on the roof. She didn’t see the helicopter (the life flight, as the hospital called it) and all the medics standing around it, waiting for Lena’s arrival. No, Kara was the one who felt the frigid wind rushing through her hair, prickling at her face from such a height, it made her nauseous just to stand. 

She was the one who felt the chilling loneliness. That indescribable twinge in her chest as she watched them move, counting down seconds in her head until Lena was taken from her. Kara had stood, on an island by herself, surrounded by people, as she watched her best friend be slowly and strategically transferred from her bed to a stretcher, where she was strapped down at the legs, stomach, and chest. She’d been holding her breath when they made the switch, and has been clinging to it ever since. 

When Lena was finally moved, Kara was the one who was handed the plastic pillow she had been lying on for three weeks straight when Casey carefully swapped it out for a clean one. Kara took it and hugged it close to her chest, while Casey adjusted the blankets and stroked Lena’s cheek with her palm. 

Six months later, and Kara’s still hugging that pillow every chance she gets. 

She doesn’t have Lena anymore. She doesn’t know if anyone does.

But she has the thing that kept her best friend comfortable. And on the days when the world seems especially quiet, it makes it that much easier for Kara to keep looking for her.

She sees her in twilight skies, when the air is filled with stars and the orange sunrise after another sleepless night. In the bracelet that hangs from Kara’s wrist, made of string now tinted brown from dirt and wear, so unlike the vibrant green and orange thing it was three years ago. It makes Kara cry at first when she sees a picture of how it used to look; so pretty and put together. But like so many other things, she learns to be okay with it. Because to be loved is to be changed and nothing has changed her more than Lena. 

Lena’s nowhere. But she’s everywhere. 

And suddenly, Kara is eleven years old again, thinking about the girl who bought her vending machine candy and made friendship bracelets with her to distract her from the fact that her parents were dying. She’s looking for Lena in every stranger on the street and every shadow she passes. Wondering if one day, she’ll get lucky and sprain her ankle or break a finger and see her in an Urgent Care waiting room.

She looks for signs the way she does with her parents.

When two bluejays land on Kara’s windowsill on the first day of spring, she knows undoubtedly it’s her mom and dad coming to say hello. And when she spots a double rainbow while walking home from school with Alex in a thunderstorm, she can feel it’s the two of them looking out and making sure they get home safely. 

But with Lena, they’re a double-edged sword. It stings when she’s reminded of just how much she doesn’t know and it stings when she’s hit with the reality that maybe Lena really is gone and maybe these moments aren’t just the universe letting her know she’s alright.

It hurts in ways she’ll never be able to explain to lose both parents in an instant. But for all that pain, at least Kara will never have to wonder again if it’s real. She’ll never fear for the day she’ll be told they were out there all this time but now, they’re dead. 

Kara thinks back to that evening on the helipad more often than she’ll admit. When she’s alone in her room, hugging Lena’s pillow close (the last thing she touched. The last thing of hers) it becomes increasingly harder to filter out those thoughts. 

It was never an emergency. They were transferring her to another hospital– one in Metropolis that the Luthors had bought for her. It was a newer facility with doctors who had bigger names and researchers who in seconds, could put the ones in Gotham to shame. 

Casey had said it was better this way. It meant they’d get to say ‘see you later’ (not goodbye, never goodbye) – a luxury not every loved one gets. And perhaps this hospital was an act of love from the Luthors. They were putting Lena’s needs before theirs, and that had to stand for something. 

Kara doesn’t know.  She doesn’t know anything, except that Lena’s a hundred miles away, or in another world, and still, she consumes her.

She’s the reason Kara checks out medical textbooks from the library that she studies instead of her homework. She’s why Kara gets on her knees before bed and for the first time in years, prays to a God she isn’t sure she believes in anymore (because what kind of God could allow one person to lose their world so many times?). She asks for Lena to still be alive because she deserves a chance to get away from all the hatred in her life and to finally live for herself. She asks for her to be healthy and in remission, with the beautiful, thick hair, she’s spent the past three years missing. 

And even though it feels selfish– her problems pale in comparison to cancer, Kara asks for a sign. A real one to show Lena is still out there. 

In the weeks that follow, she feels ridiculous for hoping. It’s like throwing a penny into a fountain and asking for a thousand dollars– those things never come true.

Until one day, she stops at the library after school instead of going home. The librarian stops her before she can find the non-fiction section and asks Kara to come to the front desk. 

Kara does as she’s told, wrapping her fingers around her backpack straps as she waits to be told she’s finally been caught on overdue books or she’s being kicked out for coming in without an adult. But there’s nothing. No scolding. No reprimanding. 

“You’re always reading those medical books,” the librarian says instead. “So I set one of these aside for you. I thought you might find it interesting. Came in yesterday.” 

She pulls out a magazine and hands it across the table to Kara. It’s thick like a book with glossy paper– the kind of thing they keep in doctors’ offices and hospital waiting rooms. And when she sees the cover, Kara nearly faints. 

It’s Lena. Fourteen-year-old alive Lena. Lena, who has short, dark curly hair. Lena, who is free of her NG tube and central line, who wears makeup– real makeup, and freckles on her cheeks from finally going outside. 

Lena Luthor - the Medical Marvel of the Oncology World, the cover reads. The most incredible nine words Kara has ever seen.

She can’t help the way she beams down at the photo. Her heart pounds so hard it feels like it could beat right out of her chest, but Kara doesn’t care. Lena is alive and she’s okay. 

For the first time in seven months, Kara feels like she can breathe again. 

[luce-speaks]

kliff and the friends

last minute submission for day two of @fe-aspec-week 2024!! this one is a little thrown together because i had an idea at the last minute but! here goes!!

—

Kliff has never been particularly fond of other people.

He used to think he just got unlucky, stuck in a tiny village where no one understood the concept of personal space. He dreamed of the day he’d escape them, get out, go anywhere but here, and meet people who were actually decent.

Then he started going to school in the next town over, and with each new person he met, that dream died in front of him. Each and every one of them—over-familiar like Gray, clumsy like Tobin, naive like Alm, or disgustingly romantic like Faye. He hated it. He came back to Ram Village with a disappointed letter from his teacher and a new will to tolerate these idiots so he could safely ignore the rest. He might not fit in, but at least they know him well enough to leave him alone while he’s reading.

—

The war comes on suddenly, like a storm rolling in overnight, and things change. Kliff learns what fire spells can do to a human being, and Gray stops joking about hitting Tobin with his sword, and Faye picks up a lance for the first time, insisting she’ll do whatever it takes to protect her friends. Tolerable acquaintances become battle-allies, people you can trust to have your back. People who could die beside you, any day. There’s no room out here for petty bickering, but sometimes it also feels like there’s no room to get attached. When the war is over, Kliff thinks, they’ll go their separate ways. He probably won’t even miss them.

—

Tobin flags him down at camp one day. “Hey, Kliff!”

He rolls his eyes. “Tobin. I thought you knew not to interrupt me while I’m studying.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I have questions about magic! That counts as study time, right?”

Now Kliff is intrigued, though he refuses to give Tobin the satisfaction. “Since when do you care about magic? I thought it was too complicated for you.”

Tobin settles beside him, keeping a safe distance, but not bothering to ask whether he minds the company. “Well, I don’t really get it. But I want to learn. You know—for the war.”

He sighs. “I don’t know what Alm or Gray did this time, but you’re better with a bow than you’re ever going to be with magic. Focus on getting better at that.”

“Healing magic,” Tobin corrects. “I want to learn healing.”

“What? Why?”

“C’mon, seriously? I’m worried about you guys! I want us to go back to Ram when this is all over—all of us, together. Even if we’re not all planning to stay.”

“…All right, then. I can try to teach you.” Kliff grins. “Though I wouldn’t count on your ability to learn it.”

—

Faye catches him off guard in the middle of an overcrowded mess hall. She’s saying something, but he can’t understand her over the din of too many hungry soldiers. Eventually, she gives up and beckons to the door.

Kliff follows her, plate in hand, out to the cool night air. “What was that for?”

She shrugs. “You looked like you wanted to go outside.”

“I—” He pauses. Mess hall never used to bother him more than any other time around camp, but now that they’ve been getting more recruits, it has been getting louder and louder. He’s never liked loud noises, either. “I guess I did.”

Faye walks a little farther away from the tent, towards the woods. He follows her, and they settle together at the forest’s edge—still in earshot of the camp, but safely away from the clamor of the mess hall.

“I miss Ram,” Faye says quietly, after they’ve been eating for a bit. “Seeing this many people in one place reminds me how far we are from home.”

Kliff snorts. “It just reminds me of school. They always crammed too many people into the common areas for lunch.”

“So you didn’t like leaving then, either?”

“I liked going to school,” he answers. “I didn���t like the people there.”

“What kind of people do you like?”

He thinks on this. “The quiet kind.”

Faye smiles and nods. They eat the rest of their meal in silence.

—

Gray looks out for him during fights.

At first he’s convinced Gray is just showing off, jumping in dramatically and kicking down a mage in mid-chant before they can fire another spell at Kliff. But then it happens a second time, and a third time, and Kliff is more than certain that it’s intentional.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Kliff says, the next time Gray takes a blow for him.

“Do what?” Gray asks. “Look super cool while I’m saving the day?”

Kliff regrets that Gray is too focused on the battle to see him roll his eyes. “Protect me. I can look out for myself.”

“Oh, that? I’m just practicing for next time one of the girls needs saving.” Gray pauses to skewer another incoming mage. “Gotta keep my skills sharp and all that!”

“Gray, I’m serious. Can you stop joking around?” Kliff fires off another spell, stopping an approaching cavalier in their tracks. Now there are no more distractions—Gray will have to talk to him.

Gray turns to face him. “Look, I know you can take it, okay? But that’s not your job. If you’re up in the front lines taking hits, you won’t have the energy to cast your spells. So you do your job, and I’ll do mine, yeah?”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“Great! Now how about a ‘thank you’ for saving your ass?”

“In your dreams.”

—

Alm brings him a book from town.

“Here,” he says, unloading it off a pile of rations and weapons. “They had this on sale at one of the booths. I thought you might get some use out of it.”

Kliff inspects it. It’s a neatly-bound red tome, with gold embossing on the front. It looks well-used, but it’s holding together nevertheless. He flips it open, skimming the table of contents, and frowns.

“I hate to break it to you, but this is a book on magical theory. It’s not going to teach me anything I don’t already know about battle casting.”

Alm looks a little offended. “I know,” he says. “I just figured you would like it. You liked learning about magic at school, didn’t you?”

“I did, but—” He frowns again, turning the book over anxiously in his hands. “We’re in the middle of a war. Did you spend army funds on this?”

“Don’t worry, I spent my own money on it. No funds wasted.”

“But—” Kliff stammers. “Why? What’s the point? What do you get out of this?”

Alm sighs. “It’s just a gift. We may be at war, but we’re still people. I want you guys to be happy—at least, when we’re not having to kill people.”

“Oh,” Kliff says. “Uh. Thanks.”

Alm smiles, bright as ever. “Any time.”

—

The war continues, and Kliff keeps dreaming about the places he’ll go once he’s free to travel as he pleases. He’s not sure what kind of people he’ll meet out there, but—he thinks—if they’re anything like the ones he met in Ram Village, he hasn’t got anything to worry about. Other people may be unpleasant—clumsy, naive, romantic, and over-familiar���but they’re still worth knowing, every once in a while.

[breannasfluff]

Multicolored Rabbits

Flufftober 3: You love me?

AO3 link

Legend and the rest of the Chain return to the house where the Ravio colors have taken over. This time, it seems like they are settling in to stay for a while—at least longer than the scant hour of last time.

Gold is in the shop, helping a customer when Legend tromps in, followed by the other heroes. “Hi, Ravio—why is your robe yellow?”

“It’s gold.” He turns back to his customer. “Apologies, sir. Now this fine wand will save you time lighting fires! It’s not so powerful that it will damage an enemy, but candles, fires, and cookware alike will benefit from its steady stream of flame!”

The man frowns at the small rod. “I guess my wife would like it.”

“Yes, yes! Think how happy she’ll be when she saves time making you dinner!”

Legend edges closer and tugs on Gold’s sleeve. “Hey. The robe. It’s different.”

Gold rolls his eyes and pushes the vet away. “I’m busy! And I like this color!” He aims a blinding smile at the customer. “This can be yours for a steal! Just 299 rupees! If you buy the ice wand as well, I’ll throw in a discount!”

“299!” The man shoots him a look. “This isn’t worth more than 50!”

“50!” Gold doesn’t have to feign his horror. “I’m an honest salesman! I need to put food on the table for my family!”

“You’re just trying to scam me!”

Legend edges around the two, waving the other heroes to follow him. “I call the bath and then I’m taking a nap. The rest of you, get settled. Ravio, mind finishing that sale and putting on something for dinner? The other heroes went to Kakariko for supplies, but they will be back later.”

Gold ignores him. “I don’t scam! I have fair prices! It’s called supply and demand, and I have the only supply.” His smile has the customer taking a step back. “Where else are you going to buy a fire wand?”

The customer finally leaves and Gold counts his rupees before carefully noting them in the book. Purple may owe him for watching the shop for the afternoon, but Lolia, it is always good to make rupees.

~

Purple hums as he hefts his bag of goods. Kakariko is a nice place to visit and it’s good to get out of the shop for the day. Gold will probably complain about how much he spent, but there was a good deal on carrots! Combined with the honey saved in the pantry, they can make some nice roasted carrots for dinner.

“Ravio!”

Purple fixes his smile in place on pulls on the Ravio persona—mostly himself with Gold’s wheedling. It’s good enough to make it through short conversations without arousing suspicion.

However, the people approaching are not customers. Are those…the heroes that stopped by before? The youngest waves energetically. “Mr. Rabbit! You’re Ravio, right? We met last time we stopped by!”

Does this mean Link—Legend is back? Purple hurries over. “Hello, heroes! Are you heading back to Mr. Hero’s house?”

“Yeah! We’re stopping in town to restock on supplies and then heading back.”

“Oh, what do you need? Maybe I have it?” Purple pulls open his bag and looks at them expectantly.

“Ah—” Warriors waves the offer away. “I don’t think we want to make a deal—”

“A deal!” Purple clutches the bag to his chest. “If you need something, I want to help you! It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of you!” Gold’s voice screeching about rupees echoes in his ears. “I, ah, save that for the…customers?” It comes out a question more than a statement.

Warriors gives him a squinty look but shrugs and lets it go. “Okay, we need to pick up some health and stamina potions.”

Purple dives into his bag, pulling out the bottles he’d picked up to restock their supplies. “Here you go! Now, what else do you need?”

~

Cyan stares at Four. The smith stares back. Their sword, almost a replica of the one Ravio found gleams from its sheath.

“You seem…different.” Four squints at him. “Weren’t you wearing a yellow robe earlier?”

Cyan blinks at him. Gold would be disappointed to hear them get the color wrong.

“Did you change?”

When will the others get back? Actually, where’s Gold? Wasn’t he in the front shop?

“Is this some sort of item? Can you…duplicate?”

Cyan would like to see the sword, but logically it makes more sense to wait for everyone before explaining. No need to do it multiple times.

“Did something curse you from talking?”

Where does the hero come up with these theories?

“Can you understand me? Do you know hylian? Sign? …words? Speaking? Anything?”

The color blinks slowly and continues to stare at the small hero. Throwing up their hands, Four stomps out of the room, muttering about weird rabbits under their breath.

~

Pink comes inside after finishing organizing the cellar to find strangers in their house. Two of them are hiding in the hallway, peering into the kitchen. This is strange—besides the fact that they are strangers—so Pink pauses to watch for a moment.

There’s a rhythmic thud in the kitchen where Pink left Gleam chopping vegetables.

White cape nudges wolf pelt. “Twilight. Why is Ravio in the kitchen angrily chopping a carrot?”

“I’m more concerned about the fact that he’s glowing. But sure, Sky, let’s focus on the carrot.”

“The glowing is weird but, you know, potions and stuff.”

Silence as they watch. Pink watches them. They seem nice, even if their names are odd. Purple mentioned those names before when he told them about the heroes. Maybe they’re back? Oh, Legend must be back as well!

Sky nudges Twilight again. “How long has he been done with that carrot?”

“A good couple of minutes.”

Pink edges closer so he can see past the heroes. Gleam is where he was left and, after dutifully finishing his pile of vegetables, continues to chop the air on the empty board. Well, Pink did promise to come back with more veggies and he did get caught up organizing the cellar…

“It’s creepy!” Sky hisses.

Gleam isn’t creepy! Sure he’s…odd, but he just needs a friend. And directions. Very clear directions.

Twilight’s ears flick back at a particularly loud chop. “Do you think he’ll murder us before dinner?

Well! That’s enough of that! Pink pushes past them with a sniff. “Gleam is perfectly nice.” Then he turns his attention to Gleam. “Hi, Gleam! Sorry it took me a while to get back, I got distracted in the cellar.”

He dumps his armful of supplies and vegetables on the counter. “I got some potatoes—no!” He slaps Gleam’s hand away when he reaches for them. “Remember, we need to wash them first. In water.” A pause. “Without soap.” See? Pink learns from experience! And the complaints of three colors about soapy food.

“Ravio?” comes a tentative voice behind him. It’s Sky, edging into the kitchen.

“I’m Pink!” he offers before scooping the potatoes into the sink.

“I can…see that.”

He passes a potato to Gleam and turns to smile at Sky. “No, I mean you can call me Pink. This is Gleam.”

Sky looks between the two, then turns back to Twilight. “You got anything?”

“Don’t look at me. Magical weirdness is Legend’s domain.”

Pink perks up. “Is Mr. Hero back with you?” Gently, he nudges another potato into Gleam’s hand and takes the clean one before the skin is rubbed off.

Twilight doesn’t answer, but he leans back into the hallway and bellows, “Legend! Sky is stealing your stuff!”

“No, I’m not!”

For a second, there’s silence. Then, a door slams, and the vet pounds down the hall and barrels into the room. “Don’t touch my—Ravio! Multiple Ravio’s! Din’s Tits, did you get into the cursed rings?”

Sky looks from one to the other. “You have one that does that?”

“I’ve got one that does everything. Seriously, Rav, what’s going on? And why are you…glowing?”

Before Pink can answer, Gleam turns and chucks a wet potato at Sky, who squawks and ducks. “What was that for?”

Gleam stares. “Don’t. Steal.”

“I’m not stealing! I’m not touching anything!”

Gleam points to where Sky’s feet are on the floor.

“That doesn’t count!”

Before the situation can devolve further, the front door bangs open. “Hey Ledge!” Wind shouts. “We met Ravio out shopping and brought him back with us!”

“Did you now.” Legend’s brows are scrunching in so much Pink wants to smooth it away. “Funny. Because Ravio is already here.”

“What? No, he’s right…here.” Wind trails off as Purple bumps into his back.

“Oh.”

The vet is seething as he rounds on Purple, who likely looks the most like Ravio. “Why are there clones of you? What did you do?”

“Hey now—”

Gleam throws another potato at Legend. “Don’t yell.”

“It’s my house!”

Pink pries the rest of the potatoes away from Gleam and nudges him further from the knives. Just in case.

From down the hall, comes Four’s voice. “I know you can hear me! I see your ears twitching! I heard you talk early!”

Blue squeezes past Legend to grab a glass from the cabinet, ignoring the tension in the room. Pink is in front of the sink but takes the cup with a smile and fills it.

The color takes a sip and looks around. “Looks like everyone’s here now. Four has a sword that looks identical to the one we found.”

“You do talk!” Four, for all he’s short, manages to gain inches in height. “Why were you ignoring me—wait.” He deflates and rocks back on his heels. “What do you mean about my sword?”

More heroes crowd into the doorway and everyone shuffles, trying to accommodate the extra people.

Time puts down the supplies he was carrying. “Four? What’s going on with your sword?”

“I don’t know!”

Legend points at all the colors. “Which one of you is Ravio?”

Silence.

Then, from the hallway, Gold bellows, “Did you fucking forget about me?”

Blue blinks placidly. “We’re missing Gold.”

~

By the time everyone is sat down and explanations are traded, Four is clutching his head and Legend is banging his on the wooden table.

“Four. This feels like your fault.”

“I’m not dealing with this again! Especially not—him!” He points at Gleam.

“Hey!” Pink moves next to the color and squeezes him in a hug. “Gleam is nice!”

Sky edges behind Twilight. “He threw a potato at me.”

“And me,” Legend says.

“Yeah? Well, he didn’t throw knives!”

The vet’s head meets wood again. “The bar is so low.” Then he glares at the colors. “Figure out how to fix this. I’m not living with multiple Ravio’s.”

Four seems truly miserable as he raises a hand. “I can probably…help with that.”

“Cyan,” Purple says, “why don’t you go talk to Four? The rest of you can help me make dinner.”

The color goes, as does the smith, even if he is hissing like a tea kettle.

Pink shifts. The tension in the room makes him itchy. Why can’t everyone get along? All he wants to do is give Legend a hug. He’s missed him! And if Pink misses him, everyone else does, too.

The heroes file back out of the room and spread through the house, but Legend stays. “What were you thinking? Cursed swords in Lorule? That’s your idea of treasure?”

Purple steps forward. “Where do you think your items came from, Mr. Hero?”

“Don’t you ever learn? You could have gotten hurt! You are—split! What if it’s not reversible?”

“That’s a risk we took when we went looking for treasure! We can’t change it!”

“Well, I wish you did! Of all the idiotic, truly goddess-blasted things to do, you had to do this while I was gone! Wait—” He steps forward and nearly snarls at Purple. “You were acting weird when we visited last.”

Purple shrinks back slightly. “Ah…the others were gone and, well…there wasn’t a good time to tell you?” It ends in a squeak.

“You lied? You lied about being a person?!” The vet is yelling now, face flushed red.

“We are people!”

Pink whimpers and burrows into his scarf. Why is everyone so angry? This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Gleam looms behind Pink and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into an awkward hug. Pink pats his arm in thanks.

The yelling continues. Purple is at the end of his rope and Legend long ago lost his. Pink watches the back and forth, cringing with each cutting word.

“You should never have left!” Legend shouts.

“Stop it! Just stop!” Pink’s scream silences the room and they all turn to stare at him. He’s crying, but it doesn’t matter because everyone is mad and he never got a hug. “I’m sorry you h-hate us, but don’t yell at Purple!”

Legend opens his mouth, closes it, and then tries again, softer. “Hate you?”

With a nod, Pink rubs his sleeves against his eyes. “I’m sorry Mr. Hero. We can…well, Cyan will fix it.”

The vet is still stuck on the previous words. “I don’t hate you, Ravi. Any part of you. I love you, even if you're a freeloading pain. I’m just worried! And I don’t…deal with worry well.”

Pink stares. “Wait, you love us?”

“I always have. Jeez, you think I’d let you crash here otherwise?”

Purple picks up the conversation, but Pink tunes out. Legend…loves them. He loves Ravio. He loves…all of them?”

Something warm settles in his heart at the thought. He’ll need to discuss it with the Colors later—or maybe they’ll be Ravio again. Legend loves them.

Maybe he’ll get his hug after all.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Not me thinking about how Brennan gets hit with Dorian going back to Tevinter and Ena dying in rapid succession. But what I actually came to ask is does Ena ask him to take care of Esti because she knows her sister's gonna be a mess?

“Dorian,” Ena says. “I need your help.”

“Of course,” Dorian says. “What ever would you do without me?”

The corner of Ena’s mouth twitches. She holds her left hand with her right, her thumb pressing into the center of her palm where the Anchor resides. “I need you to find Brennan, and get him away from Esti in a way that she won’t follow.”

“Oh, is that all?” Dorian asks. “That will be–”

“And I need you to bring him back to me in a timely manner,” Ena interrupts. “I need to talk to him. And you. Without Esti around.”

“You’re making this much less fun,” Dorian says.

“Dorian,” Ena says. “Please.” 

Her voice hitches on the single word.

“All right,” Dorian says, his manner snapping back to sober. “I’ll get him.”

-

Ena drags them all the way down to the pantry off of the least-used kitchen. Cole is waiting there, like Ena asked him to clear the kitchen, or perhaps to find her a location already cleared. “This doesn’t - ah!” She winces and flexes her left hand as it flashes green for a moment. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

“Are you sure that’s all right?” Dorian asks.

“It’s fine,” Ena says.

Cole, sitting on a table next to a few cheese wheels, swinging his legs, staring at the floor, suddenly looks up at her.

“It was glowing like - like you’re closing a rift with it,” Brennan says, “but when nothing is happening.” In the quiet, he swears he can hear it. Not a steady hum, but an erratic crackling like a distant fire, and then it pops—

The bright green light flares for a moment again. Ena hisses softly.

“It hurts,” Cole says. “You brought them here because it isn’t fine.”

Ena stares down at her hand. Curls it into a fist. “Right,” she says. “Actually, I’m dying.” 

“This isn’t all that funny,” Dorian says, his voice hardening to a cold edge because it can’t - it has to be—

“The anchor has been doing this for a while,” Ena says. “And getting worse. And now with the Crossroads, all the magic there, it’s getting–” She curls her hand into a fist. It’s shaking. “It’s going to kill me. Sooner.”

“How - how long is ‘a while’?” Brennan asks. It can’t - it can’t be as bad as she’s saying. It can’t. Someone would’ve noticed. He would’ve - he would’ve seen something. Esti would’ve. And Ena - she’s at the training grounds less, but there’s not a war. She doesn’t do her hair like she used to, with the braid, Esti remarked on that once, but that’s - she needs her hand to braid - to swing a sword - that can’t—

“Months,” Ena says. 

“And you didn’t–”

“You should have said something!” Dorian says. “To me, if no one else!”

Brennan doesn’t know what he should take this remark to mean.

“So you could do what?” Ena spreads her hands. They’re both shaking. “Dorian,” she says, softer now, “there’s nothing you could have done. We don’t know anything about this magic, even now.”

Dorian laughs. It’s sour, and ugly, and bitter, and curdles in the pit of Brennan’s stomach. “Solas does,” Dorain says, and the sneer wraps itself all around the words.

“Well,” Ena says, and her expression has gone still, her eyes forced just a little too wide like if she blinks she’ll cry, “he’s not here, is he.”

Brennan remembers all the times he went down to the rotunda with questions for Solas. He’d always thought that Solas had been so patient with him, the human who’s not even a mage, blundering in trying to understand something so far beyond him. All the times he went down to the rotunda and Ena was already there with questions of her own. Or her books, or Inquisition correspondence and reports, laid out on the floor around her while Solas worked on his frescos, the two of them separate in a companionable silence. And Brennan remembers talking to Solas - after - and how even if the conversation never veered anywhere close to Ena, or wasn’t a conversation about anything at all but just a passing hello, sadness still hung heavy over him.

Either he was the world’s greatest actor, greatest liar, or - what? Or what?

Two years and it’s never made sense. Brennan hasn’t even had half an answer. Ena said once she thinks he must be an ancient elf like those at the Temple of Mythal, but that still doesn’t answer the biggest why. 

Brennan wishes that Dorian hadn’t brought up his name. Ena knows as well as he does that Solas was the only one who could ever have claimed to understand the mark.

He left and now she’s going to die.

“I’m not asking you to try and fix this,” Ena says. “Or even - Tevinter doesn’t deserve you, Dorian, but it needs you. Brennan, go where you will, wherever your heart takes you. I just need you to - to look after Esti. When I’m gone. Whatever else you have to do, promise - promise me you’ll make sure she’s okay before you leave.”

“Of course,” Dorian says softly. Ena smiles sadly, curling her left hand up against her stomach and reaching out and squeezing Dorian’s hand with her right. 

Brennan chokes out a sound like a goat. Then he tries again. “Yeah,” he manages. His head spins. He needs to sit down but if he moves he might just collapse. “Yeah, I promise. But I - if you’re not going to tell her - I don’t think—”

“She’ll find out,” Ena says. “Soon. I’m sure.”

She isn’t asking him to hide it. She doesn’t think she can hide it. She just knows that Esti chafes when she thinks Ena is treating her like a child, but Ena - Ena wants to protect her. Even now. Even after. Make sure Esti’s okay. Make sure Esti doesn’t know how Ena worries. Even now.

“A hammering heartbeat, not yours, louder in the last verse,” Cole says. “Your heart howling through crossroads, closer and calling for you, your hunt almost at its end.”

Brennan doesn’t know what all of that means, but it doesn’t sound very good. Too much of it sounds final. Last verse. The end of the hunt. He really needs to sit down.

“I won’t get any sappier on you now, don’t worry,” Ena is saying to Dorian, and Brennan doesn’t know if he missed words in between. “Heavens forbid. Sooner isn’t now.” She lets go of his hand. “I’ll wax poetic about your virtues once I’m on my deathbed and not before.”

“Oh, well, if you want to sing my praises and tell me how I’ve carried this Inquisition as far as it’s come, by all means—”

“Later!” Ena says brightly, but Brennan can hear where her chipper tone is forced. He’s known her long enough to pick up on that. “For now, I must go speak with Cullen again, and I—” She stops in the doorway. Cole slides off the table. “I know you would,” she says. “Even if I didn’t make you promise. But I - thank you.”

Then before either of them can say anything in turn, she is gone, with Cole trailing after her like a shadow. Silence falls. The crackle of the anchor fades. A door closes across the kitchen. Dorian lets out his breath in a shuddering sigh. Brennan lets his body give up, sinks to the floor, and puts his head in his hands.