#but it’s the aftermath that’s painful

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare Part. 9

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Aemond arrives too late to the Red Keep to prevent the events of Blood and Cheese. His wife, who witnessed the brutal killing is left traumatised and Aemond must set aside his feelings of guilt to comfort her.

Previous part

Writer's note: I'm incapable of being concise so I've split this into 2 parts. This part picks up right after Blood and Cheese and the next part will follow the aftermath and how seeing such a traumatic event impacts on Aemond's wife. Thank you to everyone whose sent such lovely messages about the most recent part. Genuinely makes me so happy :)

Warnings: mentions of blood but nothing graphic. Depictions of PTSD. Pretty angsty but mostly hurt/comfort.

Aemond felt the blood pounding in his ears as he pushed himself to run faster to the upper levels of the keep, shoving past guards and servants alike and taking the steps three at a time. Each step he took filled him with increasing trepidation at what he would find once he reached his mother's quarters. Panicked shouts met his ears as he turned the next corridor, and his heart dropped into his stomach as he recognised the voice of Y/N, laced with hysteria among the din. He picked up his pace as he heard her shout his name, as if she already knew he was coming. He practically growled at the King's guard occupying the hall.

"Step aside." The guards immediately scattered, allowing Aemond to push past them into his mother's chambers. He had no doubt that his rage and desperation was plain to see on his face. All this seemed to fall away in the instant he saw his wife holding her knees to her chest on the floor as she frantically pushed two maesters and his mother away from her. Nothing mattered now except her, not vengeance, not the painful mixture of grief and guilt that wracked his own body.

He crossed the room in several large strides, angered by the way the maesters crowded around his wife when she was so clearly in a state of shock and pushing them forcibly away.

"What is the meaning of this? Get away from her. Can you not see she is distressed?" At his demanding tone the maesters dispersed, clearly unwilling to face the wrath of the Prince.

Alicent's looked up at the sound of his voice, a look of relief washing over her expression he couldn't understand as she rose from her crouched position by Y/N and hurried towards him.

"Thank the Seven Aemond. She'll allow no one near her and she needs the attentions of a healer." Aemond's eye never left Y/N as his mother spoke, she had not even seemed to notice him enter, her eyes seemingly glazed over as if staring at something he could not see. "Aemond she keeps asking for you."

Aemond did look at his mother then. He would have thought that he would be the last person Y/N would want near her right now....this was his fault. Nevertheless, he had heard Y/N call out for him, he was sure her desperate cry would haunt him forever. He passed by his mother, lowering himself into a crouch next to his wife before reaching out to brush her shoulder. Her glassy expression was immediately replaced by full blown terror as she flinched away from him and shrieked. Aemond quickly retracted his hand, but rushed to offer her assurances. "It me Y/N, it's Aemond. I'm here now. You're safe, I won't let anyone touch you." Y/N looked briefly confused. Though as he held his arms out towards her recognition dawned on her face. Only a moment later she had flung herself into his waiting arms, clutching at him as though for dear life as she sobbed into his shoulder. Aemond held her to him tightly, stroking her hair and whispering soothingly to her. "Sh, my love. No one will touch you again. I'm here now." Aemond felt his mother hovering next to him as Y/N seemed less likely to lash out in his arms.

She whispered into his ear, words that made his blood turn to ice. "She tried to fend off the attackers, grabbed the blade of a dagger with her bare hands to protect Helaena. Aemond, she needs to allow the maester to look at her."

Y/N had heard his mother despite her attempt at being discreet, immediately wriggling closer towards Aemond until she was half in his lap and digging her nails into his shoulders. "No" She gasped out. That decided it for Aemond.

"She said no mother. I won't have them touch her if it distresses her so. I will see to her care myself." With that he rose to stand, lifting his wife up with him as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his torso. "My sister?" Alicent closed her eyes, though tears still ran down his mother's cheek in rivulets. "Aegon is with her now. Physically she is unharmed." Aemond nodded and with one hand wrapped under Y/N's legs to support her, and the other cradling her head to his chest protectively, he strode from the room in the direction of his quarters. Y/N's sniffles, as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck to muffle her sobs, wrenched at his heart strings as they passed along the halls of the Red Keep.

He stroked her hair soothingly and tilted his head down to whisper softly.

"I know, little one. I'm taking you somewhere safe now."

All Y/N could see was red. Dark and sticky blood dripping from a dagger that glinted in the soft glow of candle light, inimical to the horrific sight before her. A gut wrenching scream pierced the quiet of the night, the rest of the inhabitants of the Red Keep still abed. She winced at the shrill sound, full of pain and anguish, before realising belatedly that it was her screaming.

Everything seemed to pass in a blur after the King's guard burst in, managing to capture one of the assailants whilst the other disappeared into the night. She was vaguely aware of someone gripping her by her arm, pulling her along hall after hall until they deposited her in another room entirely. She did not care to look around her to determine where she was or who had unceremoniously dragged her there. As soon as her arm was released her knees buckled and she fell in a heap on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking herself, her teeth chattering and limbs trembling in her state of shock.

She felt numb and it was difficult to understand what was being said to her as all the voices around her merged together as one. When she felt hands reaching for her, tugging at her own arm, it was the hands of the assailants she felt, looking down at her own hands she felt even more alarmed to see them covered in red splodges and she could not tell if it was her own blood that drenched her skin or that of the child she had come to love, brutally murdered before her. She screamed, forcefully pushing the hands from her though they kept grabbing for her. Almost without thinking Y/N found herself shouting for Aemond. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind she had a vague recollection that she shouldn't be calling for him, but she couldn't seem to remember why, so muddled and panicked was she.

"Get off me. I want Aemond. Where is he?"

She looked up briefly to see Queen Alicent's large doe eyes staring at her sadly, but the faces of several men had her heart picking up in fright as she thrashed against their hold. What did they want from her? Try as she might she couldn't make out their words through her fear.

The only thought she could hold onto for long was that if Aemond were here they wouldn't dare to touch her against her will. He would help her, protect her as he always had. And his name came from her lips unbidden again.

Only a few moments later a cacophony of sounds outside the room made her wince. First pounding footsteps followed by a voice that boomed and echoed across the hall outside, then the clanging of metal signalling the movement of the guards. Y/N was breathing heavily, exhausted from her efforts to prise the insistent hands from her person, and she felt herself becoming limp. The colours in the room, of the golden flames before her and the deep russet rug beneath her converging until once again all she saw was red. Red so dark it must be blood and she could not determine whether it was real or not. She remained frozen in her horror until she felt a light touch against her shoulder, gentler than the others had been but nonetheless terrifying. Jerking backwards with a shriek, she was relieved when the owner of the hand only retracted it, speaking softly to her in words she couldn't pick out at first.

"It's Aemond."

Y/N looked up quickly at the sound of his name, her senses coming back to her as she recognised both her husband's baritone and elegant features. He'd come for her just as she knew he would, as if she had summoned him with her appellation of his name.

As soon as Aemond opened his arms to her she was falling into them, clutching at him fiercely, somehow knowing through the fog still misted over her mind that he would keep her safe. That nothing would happen to her when she was in his arms.

Tears sprung from her eyes as Aemond began to stroke her hair, assuring her that no one would touch her if she didn't want them to, that he wouldn't let them. She'd started to relax the tension in her body only for it to spring up once again as in a startled animal as she heard Alicent whispering of maesters.

She dug her nails into Aemond's shoulders, clinging to him so they would have to claw her from him if they wanted her. She barely recognised her own panicked cry "No" and worried they simply couldn't understand her. That she had lost her mind and was simply speaking gibberish, and that was why they kept ignoring her pleas for them not to touch her. Perhaps Aemond wouldn't listen to her either.

She needn't have worried. Aemond's voice was a steady anchor as he resolutely ordered the maesters away from her again, suddenly rising to stand and lifting her up with him. She quickly wrapped her arms and legs around him, not caring who saw or if they judged her for her behaviour, only pressing her face into Aemond's perpetually warm shoulder and trying to stifle her cries. She felt sick from crying, her stomach aching and she just wished for the tears to stop flowing so she could make sense of what was happening.

"I know little one, I'm taking you somewhere safe now."

Hearing his pet name for her spoken so tenderly she only cried harder, warmth and a brief sensation of security washing over her despite how scared and confused she felt.

By the time Aemond reached their chambers, Y/N's sobs had dwindled and she'd fallen silent. If it were not for the tension he could feel in her frame and her tight grip on his shoulders he'd almost think she had fallen asleep. In some ways her silence was more disturbing to him, for he could not tell what horrors plagued her mind that left her unable to voice them.

Kicking open the door and closing it behind them, trying not to jostle Y/N too much, he crossed the room and tried to place Y/N down into his armchair so he might collect some supplies he would need to treat her hands. She only clung to him tighter and he had to gently but firmly tug her arms from around his neck. "Just for a moment, my love. I won't leave you."

She let him place her down at his assurance but he could feel the heat of her stare on his back as her eyes followed his every movement as he fumbled around various drawers for what he needed. Placing the bandages, a bowl of water, and ointment he used for any cuts and scrapes he gained from training on a table, he lifted Y/N back into his arms before settling her on his lap,  wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"I am sorry to ask it of you. But will you allow me to treat your hand, my love? It may sting a little but it is necessary."

Y/N looked inquisitively down at her own hands as if surprised to see the gash that ran across her palm, turning her head away quickly with a sharp intake of breath.

"The blood, Aemond. I can't look at it. I don't know if it's mine or the child's."

Aemond felt his heart falter. He could only imagine what his sweet and gentle wife had borne witness too, pain tearing through him for her, for his sister and for his nephew who he'd loved. He tried to focus on the fact that Y/N needed him and that this was the most she had managed to speak to him, and the most she had sounded like herself.

"You do not need to look, love."

Nodding minutely with a grimace, Y/N pressed her face into his chest, going limp in his arms as she allowed him to take her smaller hands in his own so he could assess the damage. The gash was large and had bled a lot already, but he let out a sigh of relief to see that it was not deep and had already stopped bleeding, though it looked alarming. He took a cloth and wet it with water before starting to clean the blood from Y/N's hands, routinely pressing soft kisses to the top of her head and whispered apologies as she squirmed slightly under his ministrations. He tried to be as gentle as possible, wishing more than anything not to hurt her, but knowing he had to clean the wound before any infection could take hold.

Her voice sounded so soft and quiet and vacant to his ears, like that of a ghost.

"You'll get blood on your hands." Aemond already felt there was blood on his hands borne from his actions but did not voice that fear to Y/N. He only replied "It does not matter" before taking the ointment next and methodically rubbed it over the gash, finally wrapping it with the bandages. Once he was satisfied, he brought her hand to his lips to press a tender kiss upon it.

"You did so well, my love. There is no more blood, you can look know."

Y/N withdrew from his chest to look down upon her hands, and Aemond noted that where before her eyes had seemed misted over and unseeing, likely due to shock, they were now focused and he thought she had started to come back to herself.

"I'm sorry." Her soft whisper shook him from his observations. He couldn't understand what Y/N would have to be sorry for.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Y/N shook her head frantically.

"I couldn't stop it. I tried...but they killed the babe anyway."

"Y/N No..."

She interrupted him, her words spilling from her mouth fast and filled with despair.

"I grabbed the knife from the tall one, clawed at him, I'm sure I left scratches on his face, but he just threw me aside like it made no difference at all. And now the little boy is dead. A son for a son they said."

Aemond fought to keep his own breathing steady, to maintain a facade of composure he didn't feel but knew Y/N needed to believe to stay calm herself. He felt anger pulsing within him in the knowledge that someone had hurt his wife and he'd not been there to defend her. Her words resounded in his mind. 'A son for a son.' He knew then what he'd feared from the moment the guard had told him of the attack. This was his fault. Not just because he'd foolishly and selfishly left his wife unprotected. But because he'd let his temper rule him on the day he'd flown to Storm's End, the day he'd killed Lucerys Velaryon. This act of violence was sown by his hands, the vengeance of The Blacks. His eyes flitted to his own hands, half expecting them to be drenched in blood. Luke's blood. Jahaerys' blood.

"Y/N look at me."

Her beautiful eyes bore into his own at his firm command and he kissed her forehead, wrapping both his arms around her now they were no longer preoccupied with bandaging her wound.

"Ñuha nedenka rina. You acted admirably. I will not have you blame yourself. This is my fault. Mine and mine alone."

Y/N ignored his attempts to reclaim the blame, seeming unable to stay on one line of thought for very long. He thought this must be her mind's way of coping.

"What does that mean?"

He assumed she meant the Valyrian. She'd told him once that she found the sound of it soothing and had hoped it would do so now.

"It means 'my brave girl.'"

Y/N slowly lowered herself to rest her head against his chest again her delicate fingers tracing the intricate designs of his brocade.

"You came when I called." Aemond was once again surprised by he turn of their conversation, his eye widening as he gazed down at her.

"Of course, I always will."

"Even though I shouted at you, and told you I wanted separate chambers, and said horrible things to you."

Aemond was surprised by Y/N's directness as she seemed to have fully come back to the present, remembering their disagreement. He quickly interrupted her ramblings.

"Always. Besides, you had every right to be angry with me. This is all my fault" Aemond dropped his gaze, unable to look Y/N in the eyes through his guilt.

"I don't blame you."

He met her gaze oncemore. Unable to believe that he'd heard her correctly.

"What?"

"I said that I don't blame you."

"But I caused all of this with my actions, and then left you unprotected..."

Y/N interrupted him then, pressing her hands to his face.

"You would never have done this. Not if it had been the other way around. I am right about that, aren't I?"

Y/N's expression was full of desperation and silent pleading.

Aemond pressed his hands against hers, holding them in place.

"You are right. It is an act of depravity I had never thought Rhaenyra capable of. It is something I could never do."

Y/N sagged against him, dropping her hands from his face to rest them against his chest as she let her head fall onto his shoulder.

"I know it."

His heart clenched as he felt wet droplets against his neck, and Y/N's body shake with the renewal of her tears. His own voice cracked with emotion. He wished he could take all of the pain and misery she felt from her.

"What can I do?"

"Just hold me." And so he did. Wrapping his arms around her, Aemond held her until her breathing evened out and she fell into a restless sleep. She woke regularly throughout the night, always with him there to reassure her of where she was, that he was there, and that he would not allow anyone to harm her.

Something about being in Aemond's chambers again calmed the frantic beating of Y/N's heart as she focused on it's familiarity, along with the steady rhythm of Aemond's own heart as she laid against his chest. Realising that the red covering her hands was in fact real and not a figment of her imagination almost sent her over the edge again, and it was only Aemond's reassurance that she didn't need to look as he tenderly attended to her wound himself that she was able to get a grip on herself. As he cleaned and bandaged the gash on her hand, the fog that had befuddled her senses and left her feeling confused as to what was happening around her began to diminish. She remembered how she'd injured her hand in the first place, trying to forcibly wrench the assailant's knife away from Helaena, though it did no good at all and the memories that suddenly came flooding like a dam bursting in her mind had her burying herself further into Aemond's tunic in an attempt to smother them.

Aemond. Now she remembered why she had a strange sense that she shouldn't be calling for him to rescue her. She remembered how they'd fought over Luke, how she'd asked him to stay away from her, pushed him away time and time again, and just stopped short of calling him a monster.

And yet he'd still come running when she'd called. Y/N realised she couldn't feel angry with Aemond for Luke's death any longer. It had been an accident and in truth she knew she would have forgiven Aemond eventually for she loved him, more than she thought it possible to love someone. She also could not pretend she had not observed a certain lust for vengeance within him, one that she felt she could now at last understand. She had loved Jahaerys almost as if he were her own child, and for the first time in her life she wished to inflict pain, on whoever had ordered the atrocity.  She wanted justice for Helaena, though she knew there was no vengeance that could erase the trauma they would both now share, of losing a beloved child. Y/N didn't know how to deal with the pressing grief she now felt since her mind had cleared enough for her to regain her grip on reality and she almost wished she had gone mad, just so she wouldn't have to feel as if her heart had been replaced by a gaping wound that continued to bleed out.

"What can I do?" Y/n hated to hear how pained Aemond's voice was, like that of a wounded animal.

"Just hold me"

Feeling Aemond's arms around her somehow made the pain lessen and Y/N had the sense that in a way he was holding her together.

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[bookwormjust]

Threatened and bruises (established relationship, Nyx Archeron’s mate)

Nyx had been away for nearly a week, attending the High Lords’ meeting with his parents, Rhysand and Feyre. The gathering was essential for maintaining the peace and balance between the courts, a responsibility that would one day fall solely on Nyx’s shoulders as the future High Lord of the Night Court. But as important as the meeting was, the absence of his presence left a void that you keenly felt. His absence was a constant ache, like a piece of you was missing, and you counted the days, hours, and minutes until his return.

Though you knew he was where he needed to be, fulfilling the duties that came with his birthright, you couldn’t help but feel a little more vulnerable without him. Nyx had always been protective of you, not in a way that suffocated or diminished you, but in a way that made you feel cherished and safe. As his mate, you were his equal, his other half, and you knew he would never tolerate anyone hurting or disrespecting you.

And yet, someone had dared to do just that.

The encounter had happened just yesterday. You had been walking through the palace gardens, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the Night Court, when a figure had emerged from the shadows. At first, you thought nothing of it—after all, the Night Court was your home, a place where you were surrounded by people who were loyal to Nyx and his family. But the stranger’s eyes had gleamed with something dark, something dangerous, and before you could react, they had grabbed your arm with bruising force.

"You think you're untouchable, just because you're Nyx's mate?" the person had sneered, their voice low and venomous. "You're nothing but a distraction, a weakness."

You had tried to pull away, to use the magic that coursed through your veins, but the grip on your arm tightened, sending a shock of pain up your limb. You refused to cry out, refused to show this person any sign of weakness, but the fear had been real, gnawing at the edges of your resolve.

"You'll regret this," you had said, your voice steady despite the pain. "Nyx will—"

"Nyx isn't here," the stranger had interrupted, a cruel smile twisting their lips. "And when he comes back, he'll have more important things to worry about than a few bruises on his precious mate."

The encounter had ended as quickly as it had begun, the stranger releasing you and disappearing into the shadows before you could fully comprehend what had happened. You had stood there, heart pounding, staring at the darkened spot where they had vanished, your arm throbbing with the aftermath of their grip.

Now, as you sat in your chambers, waiting for Nyx to return, the memory of that moment played on a loop in your mind. Your arm was still sore, the bruises a stark reminder of the threat that had been made. You hadn’t told anyone—not yet. The moment had passed so quickly, and the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene while Nyx was away. But now that he was returning, you knew you couldn’t hide it from him. Not that he wouldn’t notice—Nyx was far too perceptive to miss even the smallest change in you, and the bruises were far from small.

You paced the length of the room, anxiety swirling in your chest. Nyx had always been protective, but when it came to you—his mate, his future High Lady—he was fiercely territorial. The bond between you was strong, unbreakable, and the thought of someone harming you, even in his absence, would enrage him beyond measure.

The sound of wings beating through the night air pulled you from your thoughts. Your heart leaped, knowing that Nyx had returned. You rushed to the balcony, and there he was, descending from the sky with the grace and power that only an Illyrian warrior possessed. His black wings spread wide as he landed, the moonlight casting a silvery sheen over his dark hair. His eyes, those blue-gray eyes that mirrored his mother’s, locked onto yours the moment his feet touched the ground.

"You're home," you breathed, relief washing over you as he strode toward you with purpose.

"I missed you," he said, his voice low and filled with the weight of the bond that connected you. He reached out, pulling you into his arms, his wings wrapping around you like a protective shield. "I couldn’t stop thinking about you."

You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—night-blooming flowers, a hint of wind, and the faintest trace of something dark and powerful. For a moment, all was right in the world. Nyx was home, and nothing else mattered.

But as he pulled back to look at you, his brow furrowed, the warmth in his eyes gave way to something colder, sharper.

"What happened?" His voice was a low growl, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the bruises on your arm.

You tried to pull your sleeve down, to hide the marks, but it was too late. Nyx’s gaze had locked onto them, and the fury that flared in his eyes was immediate and all-consuming. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he took your arm gently in his hands, turning it to get a better look at the bruises.

"Who did this?" he demanded, his voice deadly calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. His wings flared slightly, a sign of his agitation, and shadows began to gather around him, responding to his rising anger.

"Nyx, it’s not—" you began, but he cut you off, his grip on your arm firm but careful.

"Who. Did. This." Each word was spoken with such force that it sent a shiver down your spine. You had never seen Nyx this angry, not like this. He was always so in control, so composed. But now, the fury in his eyes was barely restrained, and you knew that whoever had dared to touch you would regret it.

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice soft but steady. "It happened so quickly. They said... they said I was a distraction. A weakness."

Nyx’s eyes darkened, the shadows swirling around him growing thicker, more menacing. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and you could feel the raw power radiating off him in waves. He was furious—no, more than furious. He was enraged.

"A weakness?" he repeated, his voice a deadly whisper. "You are my mate. My equal. No one touches you. No one threatens you. Not ever."

You placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm him, but his entire body was tense, his muscles coiled as if ready to strike. "Nyx, please," you said softly. "I’m fine. It’s just a bruise."

His gaze softened for a moment as he looked down at you, but the fury never fully left his eyes. "You’re not fine," he said, his voice low and filled with the weight of his emotions. "Someone dared to lay their hands on you. They dared to threaten you. That is unforgivable."

You could feel the bond between you humming with the intensity of his anger, and though you understood why he was upset, you didn’t want him to lose himself in his rage. "I didn’t want to worry you while you were away," you said. "I didn’t want to distract you from your duties."

Nyx let out a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in it. "You are never a distraction. Never." He cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the storm raging inside him. "You are my mate. My future High Lady. No one has the right to harm you, and I will not allow it."

"I can handle myself, Nyx," you reminded him, though you appreciated his protectiveness. "I’m not helpless."

"I know you’re not," he said, his voice softening slightly. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone hurt you. Ever."

He pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly as if the very act of embracing you could shield you from the world. His wings wrapped around you once more, a cocoon of safety and warmth, and you could feel his heart pounding in his chest, matching the rapid beat of your own.

"I will find out who did this," he vowed, his voice low and dangerous. "And when I do, they will regret ever laying a finger on you."

You knew he meant every word. Nyx was not one to make idle threats, especially when it came to you. Whoever had dared to threaten you had made a grave mistake, and they would soon realize just how far Nyx was willing to go to protect his mate.

But even as you stood there in his arms, surrounded by his strength and love, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry. You didn’t want Nyx to lose himself in his quest for vengeance, didn’t want him to be consumed by the darkness that sometimes lurked at the edges of his power. He was the future High Lord of the Night Court, and with that title came immense responsibility.

"Promise me something," you said, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes.

"Anything," he replied without hesitation.

"Promise me you won’t let this consume you," you said softly. "I don’t want you to become something you’re not because of me."

Nyx’s eyes softened, and he cupped your face in his hands once more, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead. "I promise," he said, though you could still see the fire burning in his gaze. "But I will protect you, no matter what

[literaryvein-reblogs]

More Writing Notes: On Fight Scenes

5 Tips for Your Novel’s Fight Scenes

Only Choose to Fight Characters That Your Readers Care About

In order to create an effective, heart-tugging scene, your reader needs to actually care about at least one of the people in the fight scene.

Choose the Right Perspective

When penning your fight scene, think of the reader’s perspective.

Even if you’re writing from third person universal, you should choose a specific character and describe the actions from his or her perspective.

The reader needs to have someone to root for and again, this is best done by choosing the point of view of one character.

Bring the Reader Into the Action

Because the reader will need to use your cues to reconstruct the fight scene in their mind, you should invite them to actively participate in the story.

Set the scene, provide minimal stage direction, and then leave the fine details up to the reader’s imagination.

Don’t get too precise with the fight descriptions.

Avoid Confusion

Fights can get confusing quickly.

Make it clear what’s happening in the beginning by showing exactly who’s involved in the fight and their physical relation to each other.

Also, remove extra characters that can negatively impact the pacing of your story.

Discuss the Aftermath

Now that the fight is over, what happens next?

How did the characters fare?

Remember to explore characterization and how the fight has affected each character’s internal and external goals.

Source Writing Notes: Fight Scenes (pt. 1) Word Lists: Fight ⚜ Poking/Hitting ⚜ Panting ⚜ Running ⚜ Pain

[pink-pkmn-trainer]

ragapom villain au concept bulletpoints

-pomni is an evil little inventor living in a laboratory in the middle of the city, making robots and machines that constantly explode, and always losing to the town's local superhero in combat. basically just your stereotypical kid's cartoon villainess.

-ragatha is slowly working in secret, creating a doomsday plan that'll leave the city in ashes and rubble. she works in a secret bunker, and modified a bunch of abandoned dolls and plushes she found with tech parts so they could work as her loyal minions. the reason? for her whole life, ragatha has been there for the people around her, even in the worst times of their lives, but when she got caught up in a horrible tragedy that left her life hanging in the balance, no one was there to help or even comfort her. she lived, and now she plans to take revenge on the entire city, and make them feel the pain she felt.

-ragatha comes across pomni in the aftermath of yet another loss to the town's local hero. although pomni can't even invent a working robot to save her life, ragatha sees promise and value in the little jester, and takes her under her wing.

-pomni is immediately ecstatic. not only is ragatha the coolest and most brilliant villainess she's ever met, but she's also completely and utterly gorgeous.... (i know what you are pomni)

-ragatha of course knows that having pomni help her make the doomsday device will only end in disaster, and not the kind of disaster she's hoping for. so instead she has pomni continue to pick fights with the town superhero as a distraction, while she gathers the necessary tools and resources, plants cameras and microphones in all the important offices and such, etc.

-she has to admit, she's a bit endeared by how pomni will light up and immediately reply "yes ma'am, right away!" to any instruction she gives her. but she knows that the moment shit hits the fan, that jester is going to leave her for dead, just like everyone else...

-then something goes wrong. maybe pomni tries to help with the tech stuff and causes an explosion, hell, maybe ragatha actually messes up for once. regardless, ragatha is convinced that pomni is going to run away and leave her all on her own, just like her friends did in the past...

-but she doesn't.

-pomni knows what it's like to be down on your luck, maybe a little too well. things are always going wrong for her; the last thing she would want is to be all alone to face that. so she stays by ragatha's side and helps her get back up on her feet.

-ragatha is shocked, and, in all honestly, very thankful. she realizes that pomni is in this doomsday plan for the long run, no matter what obstacles stand in the way. it's actually starting to make a bit of sense, this evil little jester has had her plans foiled and her inventions destroyed countless times, but she always bounces back for another try. pomni may not have a lot going for her, but she's determined. determined to win, and determined to see this city's downfall through.

-and ragatha can't help but admire that...

[brynnmclean]

All right. Here's what I've been thinking about though:

Celeborn falling apart in the aftermath of the war. Beleriand literally crumbling down around everyone, the water pouring in. Everyone lost people in that desperate time-- and he was a soldier wounded in body and mind-- he was lost. He lost her. Galadriel. And he lost others, too, comrades and friends from Doriath, Sirion-- blood and bodies beneath the waves, so many ghosts.

There was a point where he just... it felt like he crawled through the years. Existing, wandering, lost, lost, lost. Eventually, he found other Sindar-- Oropher who had never liked him much, Amdír who liked him well enough. Amdír said, stay with me and help our people, and so Celeborn did. They go to Edhellond first, where Celeborn loses his voice again entirely, drawing inward and trying to shield himself from painful memories of Sirion-- and then Amdír leads them to Lórinand, which Celeborn likes better. He's always felt much more at home in forests than by the sea or under a hill.

There is a little girl with silver hair, an orphan of the war. He doesn't adopt her so much as she adopts him. One day, she marches up to him and puts her tiny hand in his and orders him to tell her about the flowers that cover the ground and the birds that roost in the trees. He does his best, though his voice is a little rough. He helps her climb up a very tall tree. When she scrapes her hands, he cleans the little cuts, kisses them better at her request. When she is tired, he carries her back to where the other motherless, fatherless children stay. She clutches the end of his long silver braid in her sleep.

She's so young, all her family gone. She doesn't remember what her parents called her beyond endearments, but something in her bearing reminds him of-- well. The first time she makes him laugh, he calls her a little queen. So it's rían. Celeborn's rían. Celebrían.

He and Galadriel were waiting to have children until the war was over. Until there was peace in the land and in their hearts. Sometimes there is something like peace in the rolling hills and the whispering trees. But not all the time. And not often in his heart.

He dreams about Galadriel dancing in starlight and sunlight before shadows creep across his vision and steal her away. There's a pull in his heart to the world beyond, but he doesn't leave. But he doesn't leave the forest.

He stays and raises Celebrían as his own. He stays where his daughter can always find him.

The settlement in Lórinand grows. Amdír and Celeborn argue about establishing ties with the high-king beyond the Hithaeglir. Amdír wants nothing to do with the Noldor, but Celeborn talks him into at least having scouts out in the world beyond their forest, to gather news if nothing else. Amdír puts Celeborn in charge of them and of the border guard.

Celeborn misses his friends, his fellow marchwardens, Mablung and Beleg, long dead now, their bones in the ocean. He weeps when he tells Celebrían stories of the home he can never show her. Doriath. Sirion.

Celebrían's hand is still small in his, even when she is grown. She takes up healing as a profession. When his voice fails him, she waits for him to find it again. She listens to all of his stories.

She is there when they first see the haze of smoke in the sky and feel the rumbling of the earth. There are people out there who need our help, she says, we should do what we can to aid them-- and so. They gather intelligence from the scouts, reluctant approval from Amdír, and a small force of Sindar and Silvan.

They march under the sun and stars and-- in Eregion, Celeborn and his daughter find a ghost. Galadriel, on the battlefield, no longer lost.

[maybe-im-dark]

Embracing the beast

A short piece based on this post https://www.tumblr.com/maybe-im-dark/761522294450487296?source=share, where i share my theory that Logan is stronger in D&W because he has embraced his inner animal, after having witnessed the death of the X-Men

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

The attic of the abandoned house was dark, the smell of dust and decay filling the stale air. Logan crouched in the corner, his breaths ragged and uneven. It was the only place he could find where he could be alone, where he could escape the world that had taken everything from him. The X-Men were gone, wiped out by forces they had never seen coming, and in the aftermath, after killing everyone that came across his path, Logan had fled, running until his legs threatened to give out, until he could no longer feel the weight of what he had lost.

Now, he sat huddled in the shadows, his mind replaying the last moments—the screams, the blood, the faces of his friends twisted in pain. His own hands were stained red, blood from enemies and allies alike, and he could still feel the warmth of it, still smell the iron tang of death clinging to his skin. It was too much, too overwhelming. Everything he had tried to bury, everything he had tried to control, came crashing down on him all at once.

Logan gripped his head, claws partially unsheathed, and let out a choked, guttural growl. He was tired—tired of fighting, tired of trying to be something he wasn’t. There was a monster inside him, always had been, and he had spent his entire life trying to cage it, trying to be a man instead of the beast they had made him. But now, with nothing left to lose, what was the point? What was the point of pretending?

He slammed his fists against the wooden floor, his claws digging in, tearing gouges into the rotting wood. “Enough,” he muttered to himself, his voice raw and strained. “Enough.”

Logan’s body shook as he let go of the fear, the guilt, the pain. He closed his eyes and surrendered, allowing himself to fall into the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface. The process was excruciating, every nerve in his body catching fire as he let the animal inside him come to life. He fell forward, muscles seizing, his back arching painfully as he dug his claws deeper into the floor.

“Let it go,” he whispered through gritted teeth, his voice barely more than a growl. “Let it all go.”

He bit down hard on his lower lip, tasting blood as it seeped into his mouth, mixing with the saliva that dripped from his fangs. His eyes rolled back, and for a moment, everything was chaos. The beast roared within him, surging forward, threatening to consume him whole. It was like a tidal wave crashing down, but instead of drowning, he rose with it. He didn’t resist. Instead, he surrendered, letting it wash over him, through him, around him.

And then, something changed. The animal didn’t take him over—it didn’t reduce him to a mindless killer, as he had always feared. It merged with him, filling every crack, every broken piece, every scar he carried, until he was no longer just Logan, or just the beast, but something more. Something whole.

His breathing slowed, and the world came into sharper focus. He could hear everything—the creak of the house settling, the faint rustle of leaves outside, the distant hum of life miles away. His heart thumped steadily in his chest, and he felt… calm.

For the first time in years, there was no inner conflict, no voice in the back of his mind whispering that he was nothing but a weapon. There was just him. Complete.

Logan lay still for a moment, the world around him fading into the background as he adjusted to this new sensation, this sense of being. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, the primal energy that had always been there but had never felt so… right. When he finally opened his eyes, they glowed a bright, piercing yellow for a heartbeat, then faded back to their usual dark hue.

Slowly, he rose to all fours, feeling the raw strength in his limbs, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. He tilted his head back and let out a deep, rumbling roar that shook the rafters, a sound that spoke of pain, of rage, of a lifetime spent running from what he was.

But he wasn’t running anymore.

Logan stood there for a moment, feeling the vibrations of his own roar echoing through his chest, before a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a smile of joy or happiness. It was a smile of acceptance, of defiance, of power.

He needed to move, needed to feel the wind against his face, the ground beneath his feet. He needed to hunt. The world could burn for all he cared, and maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one to set it ablaze.

“Time to have some fun,” he muttered, his voice rough and low. With that, he slipped out of the attic

[heathen-starspawn]

If you've had loved ones taken from you before their time, Sigyn sees you and grieves with you. She understands the pain of having everything that could have been ripped away from you so quickly, and she understands how hard it can be to go on in the aftermath. She is with you in that pain, because she's experienced it too. She is with you in the moving on, and she is with you if you feel like you can never move on.

Sigyn understands that the pain of loss is simply a part of loving, and shares that pain with you as you move through it.

[itwillbelonelywontit]

Do you have any fic recommendations???

OOOOOH WHERE TO START,,, im assuming you just mean dn so I'll stick with that. in no particular order:

time speaks--okay so I know I just said no particular order but this one doesn't count. this is quite literally The Best fanfic I have ever read. its insanely long but genuinely worth every minute. within the first few chapters alone I had to get up and pace the room multiple times because its so absurdly well-written. im not even gonna try to describe it because I won't be able to do it justice.

twist your arctic heart--we love scenarios where light thinks hes in control but feels even more vulnerable in the aftermath. a classic yotsuba arc wet dream fic with some extremely well done characterization.

a tithe to hell--imo this would be The dn fic if time speaks didnt exist. PERFECT characterization, light going increasingly crazy, and a happy ending on top of all of it.

one last try before the core's collapse--angsty lawlight time loop fic. my weakness.

self surgery--mildly ooc sadomasochism pwp with some fantastic psychological overtones. also lawlight gunplay.

perfect life--this is THE psychological torture lawlight fic. its SOOOO good I cannot recommend this one enough. I fucking love innocent teenager light yagami and creepy sadistic L.

heat stroke--wouldnt be surprised if you've already read this, seeing as it's one of quinn's works, but its still one of my favs. L breaks the air conditioner on purpose to see how long it will take light to snap.

wired--my favorite surveillance era voyeurism fic. light thinks he has the upper hand but ends up feeling miserable.

this is how i disappear--quite possibly the most painful fanfic I have ever read. light's on the death row and man. it fucking hurts. I cannot recommend this one enough.

lie cold, consent--part of my own personal niamero canon; 14 year old mello assaults 12 year old near out of jealousy and resentment. INSANELY well-written erotic horror.

not death note, but I desperately want to share a fic that is a huge inspiration for the elementary/high school au, to meet again. this is a superb wangxian (wei wuxian x lan wanji, MDZS) modern au/reincarnation fic where lan wanji grooms wei wuxian, and the prose are just absolutely amazing. tbh no knowledge of MDZS needed to read the fic and completely understand it, so if you want a little inside info on what I reread to write playtime's over, definitely give it a read.

this was VERY long and honestly there are so many more fics that I could recommend, but these are just the top ones. I hope you enjoy and would love to hear your thoughts on any of them!!

[wyvchard]

Safe and Sound Simon Says (Part Two)

IEYTD Mind Control AU (Original idea by @blueorchid-95)

Part One (Please Read For Context)

Shortly after reuniting with the agency, Agent Phoenix, injured from the elevator fall, wakes up in one of the agency's wards. They had an unexpected visitor.

Content Warnings: IEYTD 2 spoilers, Canon Typical Violence and Death, aftermath of mind control, traumatic memories, hallucinations, aftermath of betrayal, hospital stay, blood and injuries, the death screens are canon

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

It had been a long few days. I'm too tired, body feeling more exhausted than most other times as every tiny movement seemed to shift an invisible weight around.

I couldn't even lift my limbs as several of the medical staff gently ushered me away. The mumbles felt watery, nothing entering my mind as they seemed rather hurried.

I hadn't escaped the warehouse unscathed, nicks and scrapes littered my body, barely patched up during the flight to reach there.

My legs were more akin to stone, unable to make me stand and causing me to remain seated in that elevator.

How I managed to get to the nearest control point was mainly a blur of adrenaline, kindness, and luck.

I hate the quiet, the buzz of the machinery keeping the pain at bay, yet my hand traveled down, feeling the spot on my right side yet there was no injury there.

"Agent? GOOD GOD! Agent! Hang in there!" The exclaimed voice made the warm liquid pooling at my side freeze. I can't move. It already hurts enough. If I shift my weight even a little bit, I would collapse.

The blood was already travelling up my mouth as I imagined felt a hand steady me as I we both slowly descended. Everything seemed to travel quickly as I tried to fight the pressure on the right side.

"Shhh... Agent. I have to stop the bleeding. I... I don't... I didn't mean to. Just hold on. Please?" I He tried to press into the wound, yet I we both knew it was futile. I wasn't able to see anything because I had already been out of it. "I'm so sorry. I don't think I can ever say anything to tell you how sorry I am."

"Sss...kay." I tried to say as I chased after my breath, the blood on my hands feeling like it's boiling from how cold I am. However, I can only feel one set of hands over my wound. As the warmth vanished, only to be replaced by the cold realization he'd been far away for a few minutes already.

I'm stupid to think he'd actually break free.

A set of footsteps I'd grown to fear interrupted my thoughts as there was a knock on the door. "Agent Phoenix? May I visit you?"

His voice had been unsure, anxiety dripping from his every word.

The hand not connected to anything barely reached out, twisting the doorknob as I lowered my head. I don't want to see him.

"... I can't bear to look at you. So please don't tell me to open my eyes."

"... If you don't want me around, I can leave."

"DON'T!" I heaved as my throat scratched by my yell. "... Don't. Please... stay."

I don't want to remember the times you walked away as I was dying.

Before he can ask, I reached out my hand to beckon him to come closer. I waved it around slightly, pulling something warm as soon as it approached.

"... Agent..." He held my hand and squeezed it. "I'm here... I-I'm here."

I leaned to the warmth as he gently used his other arm to support me. "That was close."

"... Hug." I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't hear but also wishing that he would. Anything to make me remember that we're both out of that nightmare.

He pulled me into a tight embrace, making sure one of my ears can hear his heart. It was beating quickly, like he was chasing the remnants of me as I was dying. He definitely smelled like tea with a hint of sugar, likely from the cupcakes he usually brings.

"You're here. Agent, I... I apologize. I remember... Every time you dodged, you seemed to have this look in your eye. Like you knew you would have died if you were off for even a second. Remembering it was horrible. It kept me up every night until you managed to reestablish contact. Nothing... What you went through..."

"I know. You don't have to apologize. You weren't yourself." I opened my eyes, still refusing to look up. I can't bear it. But... will I still prefer him to be a faceless voice or not? Can I even move past it?

"I'll still apologize. I'm so sorry."

"I know. But... I don't want to think of it right now. Let's just... stay here?" I stared at the way his hand held mine as his other arm made sure to hold me close.

"If that's what you want, Agent Phoenix."

I leaned into him, fully knowing he's here. We're out of it. I know both of us can move on.

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

A bit of hurt/comfort for everyone.

Also, Reginald didn't bring this up but he often had nightmares of killing Phoenix but his body wasn't listening to him before they reunited.

The injury on the right side of the body was inspired by this post by @stellar-collective. Go check out her art! It's amazing. /gen

@phoenix-and-found-family

@the-one-and-only-043

@ghostlystarwanderer

@jellyfishgummy

@pandagobrr

@agentpheoness

@tillywunderwing, since your Phoenix also has the force-rest ability, I was thinking you might wanna check this out.

[corisanna]

Actually, I'm not done talking about things I love about ANAI! Your Sayaka is *chef's kiss*

The way you went from "writing Sayaka is hard and I'm having trouble figuring her out" to "Sayaka Miki Is Done With Your Bullshit" and her actively be aware of "I'm a support character at best. That is going to change if it's the last thing I do. Just have to wait for a scene change."

You made me care about Sayaka in a way the original show never quite accomplished. She's genuinely my second favorite character in ANAI after Hitsugaya. Depending on the scene and my mood she even steals his number one spot.

I wanted to include specific lines of hers that I go "*points* I liked that!" at, but soon noticed it would be almost her entire script. So.

Here's to your Sayaka whom I adore very much 😌

Thank you!

Interestingly, the more I worked on Sayaka, the more attached I got to her. I had already been soft for her from seeing her arc as an allegory for depression and social stress a teen generally doesn't have the life experience to mitigate careening into a tragic, self-destructive psychological breakdown, but nudging her actions in ANAI to continue at the angle of the more even-headed and positive mindset she started with at the beginning of the anime before getting sabotaged by the contract endeared her to me even more. The way I wrote her made her canon story feel even more tragic in contrast to "what could have been." The life details I reasoned backwards to get included some things that are personal, so I got even more into her head. I love to write her now. She's my favorite PMMM character.

Coincidentally, that "adding personal details to the canon doll that already resonates with me" process is a factor in why Toshiro is tied with her as a major favorite fictional character of mine, with Homura a more moderate degree of favorite. In general fandom, I mean; I try to not play too much to favorites in writing ANAI. I don't know how successful I am at that.

I've gotten a lot of similar comments about ANAI Sayaka over the years. Those and things I see in fandom in general always make me wonder why she gets so much negative commentary or even hate. I find her canon self to be a sympathetic portrayal of teen angst and existential crisis causing a painful spiral. She makes sense to me even when she lashes out and tries to create life stability through some rigid morality and defensive rejection of people and their help. I've seen people scorn that she acted more okay in the immediate aftermath of Mami's death; I read that as intense masking of her feelings. She feels real. Maybe it's because I had a depressive spiral as a teen that I tried hard to mask as being okay, had more and saw friends having them in adulthood, and saw myself in her even before I started playing with her for my story.

One of my subplot goals for ANAI is to develop Sayaka's character through her personal struggles that she masks with cheer and teasing to be more stable and in a better place mentally. I hope I can pull it off. I've wished for better things for her since I first saw the anime.

[loverstrings]

Just sulking.

fatherfigure!aaron hotchner x gn!reader

summary: In a confused state, Hotch reminds you what lead to it. warning: HEAVY ANGST, happy/hopeful ending, reader dissociated, cheating (not by reader or hotch), reader calls hotch 'dad', hotch calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'honey', no use of y/n a/n: RAAAA gaud sometimes my own writings got me fucked up. I hope you enjoy reading this one the way I enjoyed writing it. I was also listening to Decode by Paramore so that’ll be mentioned in the fic hehehe. I didn't really proofread it, sorry for grammar errors.

You snap back into the conversation when you notice your heart racing, tear stains drying on your face and your palm throbbing in pain. Why are you standing? You look around you and see papers and trinkets that lived on your desk now on the floor next to you. Why does every part of your body feel strained? After looking at the aftermath of your desk you look straight ahead to see Hotch, eyes soften, he’s standing, why is he standing your tissue box in his hands. You try reading it, trying to make a profile of why he’s in your office and why Paramore was playing in the background.

“Hotch” You whisper. Slowly losing your composer, the cracks of vulnerability showing. Something you promised yourself you wouldn’t ever show Hotch. He already takes care of so much, you barely wanted him to take care of you too. Hotch didn’t dare to speak until you asked your question. He saw the gears turning in your head. He saw the anger that was once there fade into confusion and fear. So he gave you a soft hum, so you know that he’s acknowledging you. 

Tears start to trickle down your face. A small sound came out of your mouth, almost like a whimper. You didn’t understand, what happened? How’d you end up like this? And what the fuck happened to your voice?

With all the courage you can muster, your frail voice chokes out “H-hotch, what happened?” More tears start to slip out, you sniffle them back and continue. “Please, I don’t understand. Dad, please I don’t I-” The confusion and fear completely taking over your speech. Now tears are streaming down your face as you slip further into feeling fearful of yourself   

In that moment Arron’s closed off professional personality completely shatters when you call him ‘Dad’. You and Hotch aren’t related, he was just a father figure for you since you joined the team at 24. He hasn’t seen you dissociate this quickly since the first heavy case you experienced years ago. Here you both are, standing in your home office with papers and gifts scattered on the floor.  Hotch came to visit and drop off some food, he and the team realized you hadn’t been at work and knew something was up. So they sent their resident dad to the rescue knowing Hotch had a softer spot for you the same way he had one for Jack. 

He tells you all of this while sitting you down in your office chair. He continues explaining that with the extra keys you gave him. He let himself in to drop the food and card that Jack and the team wrote up for you. Expecting you to be too sick to get out of bed, but he saw your office door open, lights dimmed and Decode by Paramore playing a little louder than he expected.

In true BAU fashion Hotch took out his gun to clear the rooms in your house before slowly entering the office. He heard you before he saw you, you were humming to the song. Lowering his gun and holstering it he knocked on the wall and announced himself while calling out for you. You give him a quick ‘yeah’ in response as you continue what you were doing. Hotch walked closer to see what you were so in trance with. That’s when he saw you sitting at your desk looking at your phone. He peered his head over to see what exactly you were looking at and saw you scrolling through instagram. He notices there is no purpose with scrolling and you look stunned. 

He softened up, “Sweetheart, what are you looking at?” Leaning over your desk so you can hear him a little better.

Slouching further in your chair you mumble, “Nothing, just sulking today.” Hotch didn’t believe you so he pushes and asks you “What did you find out?”

You look up from your phone to make eye contact with Hotch. “They've been dating for about 5 months. Well that’s what the instagram story says.” You can barely look at Hotch because you see him, you see Aaron and not Hotch and it utterly breaks you. You have promised him that this guy was different and Hotch approved. Ever since you joined the BAU, you have always looked for his approval. His word  was the one that meant the world to you.

“We broke up 5 months ago, something felt wrong and I tried to profile him but he used me and this team as an excuse to break up. There was never a conversation about why he just left. ” You rise from your seat, hands pressing into your desk, making intense eye contact with the man in front of you.

“Hotch, he lied to me. He lied about everything and before we even broke up faked his love for me but I was so fucking love sick to notice. I should have noticed something, right?”  You don’t realize you raised your voice as you continued talking. “I’m a fucking profile at the BAU for god fucking sake how come I didn’t see it coming.” Pacing from behind your desk, you run your hands through your hair while tears fall onto your cheeks.

“I can’t believe I let this happen to me.” You scuff to yourself, Hotch still standing in front of you. He kept his mouth shut, if he says anything it could possibly antagonize you. So he lets you continue until you can’t anymore, it looks like you’ve hid all this hurt from him for a long time, longer than 5 months. “You know what” you’re pointing at Hotch now, eyes look like they’ve lost life and rage took over.  Hotch sees you dissociating now, he tries to respond to your question but you cut him off. 

“Everytime we’re on a mission, he doesn’t pick up the phone. He would text and say he was busy.” Your voice is straining from raising it, something Hotch thought he’d only see in the field. “So I call who I thought was my best friend because after cases I want something to feel normal, you know. I wanted to talk to someone who doesn’t know what we’ve seen. And god how can I be so fucking stupid. S-she would keep secrets when talking about her day and I didn’t push it because I trusted but god fucking damnit Hotch it was all there. All the evidence was there.” You’re choking up now, the tears streaming faster than you can think, the music seemed to hit harder. “She was supposed to be my best friend. I told her how he didn’t love me once, I told her so many secrets about him so she knew how fucked up he was. But she took his side, she defended him while caring for me.” 

Now you feel insane because you laugh, you let out a crazed laugh. Running your hands through your hair again you look at your desk. 

Hotch is watching you intensely now, feeling like your next move will harm someone in the room. He moves back and watches you contemplate something, raising your hands you push all the contents on your desk with a loud “Fucking asshats. How can you do that to someone you care about?” The screaming and yelling turned into confusion and fear. Which leads to your current state. 

“Woah, I said all of that.” You mumble out, Hotch is kneeling in front of you, hand in his as he cleans your wound.

“Yeah, I’m sorry that happened to you sweetheart. You know outside of this room is some ramen I got from your favorite spot and a card from Jack and the team.” He looks at you now, the light in your eyes start to come back so he pushes another question “How ‘bout I call everyone for a small movie night and you can talk to the girls about what happened.” You look at him with hope and nod, explaining that them coming over would be nice. 

“Sounds good, honey. I’ll call them right now” He says while rising to reach for his phone. Before he calls he turns back to you and says “Don’t worry about the mess, Reid and I will clean it up. I bet he knows exactly where everything was.” You let out a sad chuckle because Hotch is right, Spencer has taken hostage of your office because his words ‘the atmosphere is the same but completely different from his home’.

An hour later, you’re sitting on your couch. A blanket over your lap, as you eat the ramen Hotch brought for you. The team is spread out around your kitchen and dining table, you realize they also brought over everyone’s ramen order to make you feel less guilty for being the only one eating it. During that time, Spencer completely reorganized your desk and left you one of your favorite candies for you to find the next day. The rest of the team came bearing beers and wine, giggling that today is finally the day a team sleepover happens. 

Still in your head you don't notice the slight dip in the couch until you look over and see Emily with a glass of wine in her hand. “So my love, tell me everything.” You giggle and tell the whole group to gather around, yelling that you don’t want to repeat the same story 6 other times. 

[starlightshadowsworld]

The aftermath of Ghouls Rule.

Frankie: So Jackson what was Normie school like?

Jackson: Literally just this but blowing up their science lab gets you detention rather then top marks.

Frankie: Huh I thought it would be so much worse then here.

Jackson: I mean, no one here’s tried to kill me, yet. And Holts actually allowed to exist here. So those are definitely plus’s but as far as welcoming places to be in? Yeah they’re both about the same.

Frankie: But this is monster high the school that accepts eve-

Jackson: Frankie, I cherish our friendship I really do. But if you tell me this place accepts me, I’m going to fry your circuits till you can actually feel pain.

Frankie:…Noted. So what was the food like?

Jackson: Oh you’d hate it, nothing even tried to eat me.

Frankie: But that’s the best part!

[fullladypanda]

PAZZI FANFIC IDEA #1

Paige was laying in her dorm room, the darkness creeping in around her like a shroud. She stared at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep, but the familiar dread tightened in her chest. For the past few weeks, the nightmares had escalated, invading her dreams with visions of loss and despair. She saw her loved ones fading away, their voices echoing with worry and pain, leaving her feeling helpless and alone.

Azzi, sensed something was wrong. The way Paige’s laughter never reached her eyes anymore, the way her smiles felt forced—something was off. One night, as she knocked on Paige’s door, she found her girlfriend curled up on her bed, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Paige, can I come in?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m just tired.”

As Azzi climbed onto the bed beside her, she wrapped her arms around Paige, feeling her body tremble. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What’s going on?”

“I just… I can’t sleep,” Paige admitted, her voice breaking. “The nightmares are too much.”

“Then let me stay with you,” Azzi said, her heart aching for Paige. “I’ll help you through this.”

-

From that night on, Azzi slept in Paige’s bed, holding her close as they drifted into sleep together. Each time a nightmare threatened to surface, Azzi’s presence anchored Paige, easing the weight of her fears. They would talk for hours, Azzi whispering sweet nothings that slowly replaced the chilling echoes of loss that haunted Paige’s dreams.

But as the season progressed, an away tournament loomed on the horizon. The team’s itinerary dictated separate rooms, and when the list was posted, panic surged through Paige. She was roomed with Caroline, and Azzi was assigned to Aubrey.

“Why can’t we just stay together?” Paige’s voice trembled as she looked at Azzi.

“It’s just one night, babe,” Azzi said, trying to reassure her. “You’ll be okay. I’ll text you all night.”

But as the evening wore on, the distance between them felt unbearable. The hotel room felt empty, and as darkness enveloped her, Paige’s mind began to race. She fought against sleep, knowing that each time she closed her eyes, the nightmares would be waiting.

-

The next day dawned cold and gray. During warm-ups, Paige’s movements were sluggish, and her mind felt clouded. The game was a blur of missed shots and uncharacteristic mistakes, and when the final buzzer sounded, the reality hit her hard. They had lost, and her heart sank deeper as Coach Geno’s fiery disappointment pierced the air.

“Bueckers! What happened out there?” he barked, his voice echoing in the locker room. “You’re better than this! You need to get your head in the game!”

Each word felt like a dagger, and as her teammates looked away, Paige’s heart raced with embarrassment and despair. After the tirade, she stormed to her room, her hands shaking with frustration.

-

In the aftermath of the game, Azzi couldn’t shake her concern for Paige. She approached CD, her voice steady but laced with worry. “Can we talk about Paige? I think she really needs support.”

CD nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “I’ve noticed she’s been struggling lately. We could suggest some counseling or therapy, just to give her an outlet.”

Azzi felt a mix of relief and apprehension. “She might resist at first, but I think it would help her.”

Later that evening, the coaches gathered the team. Azzi stood off to the side, her heart pounding. As the discussion turned to mental health, Paige sat stiffly, her eyes downcast.

“We all face pressure, and it’s important to talk about it,” Coach Geno said, his tone softer now. “If anyone is struggling, we have resources available. Therapy can be beneficial.”

Paige’s face flushed with embarrassment as she felt her teammates’ eyes on her. She wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. But then she saw Azzi, standing firm and supportive.

-

Later, in their hotel room, Azzi approached Paige cautiously. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I care about you, and I want to help.”

“I just… I can’t face anyone right now,” Paige said, her voice heavy with defeat. “Not after today.”

Azzi moved closer, kneeling beside her. “You’re stronger than you think. Those nightmares are just shadows. We can face them together.”

Paige looked away, tears spilling down her cheeks. “What if I lose everyone? What if I’m not good enough?”

“Listen to me,” Azzi said, grabbing Paige’s hand. “You’re enough. You’re an incredible player and an even better person. And no matter what happens, I’m here. You’ll never lose me.”

As the night wore on, Paige finally surrendered to sleep. But this time, with Azzi beside her, she felt a flicker of hope. The nightmares still came, dark and relentless, but she could feel Azzi’s warmth next to her, anchoring her to reality.

-

In the depths of the night, Paige tossed and turned, trapped in a nightmare. She stood alone on a basketball court, the echoes of her teammates fading into silence. One by one, they disappeared, their faces twisted in fear and loss.

“No! Come back!” she cried, reaching for them, but they dissolved into the shadows, leaving her isolated.

Suddenly, she heard a whisper, cold and haunting. “You can’t save them, Paige.”

With a jolt, she shot up in bed, gasping for breath. Azzi was instantly awake, her eyes wide with concern. “Paige! What’s wrong?”

“It’s happening again,” Paige sobbed, clutching her girlfriend’s arm. “I don’t want to lose anyone!”

Azzi wrapped her arms tightly around Paige, holding her as the tremors subsided. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

-

The next morning, Paige met with Geno and CD. Azzi waited anxiously outside, pacing. After what felt like hours, Paige emerged, a determined look on her face.

“They suggested therapy, and I think I’m going to try it,” Paige said, her voice steady.

Azzi’s heart swelled with pride. “I’m so glad. You’re taking the first step.”

As they returned to their teammates, Paige felt lighter. She shared her struggles, her teammates rallied around her, offering support and encouragement.

“Remember, we’re a team,” Nika said, her voice firm. “We’ve got your back, always.”

With each passing day, Paige felt the weight of her nightmares lifting. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but she knew she wasn’t alone. With Azzi beside her and her teammates in her corner, she could face the darkness—and together, they could chase the shadows away.

[dullgecko]

omfg you can't stop there with the neck-touching story, i'm so invested. the aftermath, i beg of you. did riz isolate himself/hide from his friends in shame after the fact? how did fabian react? did he blame riz? blame himself? were the bad kids able to coax riz back into the party after his self-imposed isolation?

Fabian had been completely blindsided by the sudden attack. Not literally, thank Cas, Rizs hands were small enough that he'd only torn up the half elfs cheek with his claws before stopping. As it was Fabian had felt him hit bone and had flinched away to cradle the sudden ragged hole in his cheek while the rogue hissed and put distance between them.

He felt Kristen's magic cut through the white hot pain after only a second. Flesh knitting back together in an instant and leaving no trace of the attack save for the heat on his skin and the blood in his mouth. He spat what was remaining onto the ground to join the pool of blood that had spilled there, turning his head when Kristen touched his face to let her check she hadn't missed anything.

"What the fuck The Ball. Claws are taking it a little far don't you think?" The half elf pushed himself to sit upright rather than remaining in his hunched position. His brief spike of anger at the attack fading when he noticed their rogue was gone.

"The Ball? Did anyone see where he went?"

There had been a quick search, each of them splitting up to go check his usual hiding spots in the house before reconvening in the living room. Adaine crouching to clean the blood off the carpet while Fig pulled out her crystal to see if they could find any clues.

She'd been recording while Fabian and Riz tousled on the floor, her cystal propped up on a side table as the teifling cheering Riz on. Whooping when he 'pinned' Fabian to the ground and settled into a cross legged position on his chest in victory. He had clearly been having fun, ears high and alert and tail flicking in a way they knew meant 'happy' as he mock clawed at Fabians face. He had his fingers curled in such a way that he was only batting their fighter in the face with his knuckles though so Fig was confused as to how Riz had clawed the half elf.

It had all happened so quickly that she'd assumed that Riz clawed him first THEN Fabian pinned him to the floor. The video showed otherwise though. Their rogue laughing even as their positions were flipped RIGHT up until the point Fabians completed the pin with his hand around the goblins throat.

The flip from smiling to terror had been almost instant, the video clear enough that they could see his pupils contract to slits even as he full force raked his claws across Fabians face. The goblin scrambling out of the cameras field of view when he was released. Thankfully they had still been recording even as everyone lept to check on Fabian where he was groaning on the floor. They could very audibly hear the front door slamming shut while Kristen was healing Fabian in the footage.

"Fuck dude did you kneel on his tail or something? I think you really hurt him."

Fabian shook his head, eye going wide as he watched the footage over Figs shoulder. A yawning pit of guilt opening in his stomach as she rewound it a few time to watch again and try and work out why Riz had flipped out. If he was hurt they needed to help him but he tended to hide injuries up until the point he couldn't function and they forced help on him.

"We need to go find him."

---------

Riz was in such a panic that he didn't have a plan beyond 'put distance between me and everyone else as fast as possible'. The door slammed shut behind him and he briefly contemplated booking it down the driveway but The Hangman was chasing pigeons about halfway down and Riz had just attacked its master.

He went right instead, rounding the side of the house to cut through the cemetery and find somewhere to hide. He'd never done something like this before and he was terrified. Both of himself because he couldn't remember the attack AND of the consequences.

Sure he'd nipped and scratched his friends before but he very rarely drew blood, and even then it was only usually a pinprick. He obviously hadn't held back this time, the evidence drying on his claws and face from where it had dripped on him before he scrambled free.

What would they think of him now? That he was as dangerous and violent as what people always said goblins were? Would they deal with him the same way they usually dealt with people that attacked them? He'd fled the house completely unarmed and he didnt even grab his briefcase before leaving. Hell, without his sword he didn't even have an advantage when hiding right now.

Riz stopped in the middle of the cemetery, crouching behind a large headstone just off the path so he could hide and collect his thoughts. The goblin whining as he tried to wipe the blood off his hand onto the grass but found that the vast majority of it had dried and wasn't coming free.

He realised he hadn't picked the best hiding spot but he couldn't muster the energy to care. Riz curling into a smaller ball and pressing his face against his knees, arms and tail alike looping around his ankles as he tried very hard to pretend he didn't exist anymore. So what if they found him, maybe he deserved whatever punishment they saw fit.

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

Riz wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting outside whe he heard the first footsteps approaching. He'd let himself retreat fully into his own mind as he tried to work out what exactly had happened and kept coming up empty. The rogue didn't even move when his crystal started ringing in his pocket, Fabian obviously trying to call him since he was the only person not set to mute.

Riz shifted to cover his head with his arms when the footsteps rapidly got closer, hoping to at least protect what he could if they were mad even if he didn't make an effort to run. The last time he clawed someone like this was in middle school and he'd spent weeks hiding the broken ribs from his mom after the kids friends had gotten their shots in.

"I've found him." He heard Fabian shout, though the sound was muffled with his arms shielding his head. The goblin whining and trying to curl up more when he felt hands gently try to pry his arms away.

"Riz? Fuck. Are you okay? I'm sorry. Hey..."

Riz relaxed slightly when the expected blows didn't come, letting the fighter untangle his arms and gently inspect his hand because it was still covered in dry blood. He did yank his tail away from his hand when he tried to inspect it as well though, tucking it up behind himself out of grabbing range and hissing into his own knees.

"Can you look at me? Are you hurt?"

Fabian still had a grip on both of his hands, thumbs pressing into his palms as he kneaded at the soft tissue there. Riz let him continue for a few more seconds before withdrawing his hands from his grip and wrapping them around his chest. Lifting his head to peek at the fighters concerned face which he was relieved was all in one piece.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." Riz said quietly, dipping his ears back in show of contrition.

"What happened was you clawed the shit out of me." Fabian scoffed, reaching forwards to coax Riz to sit up further so he could see his face properly, the half-elf licking his thumb to try and get some of the dried blood off the goblins cheek. The act making Riz screw his face up in a way that made Fabian laugh. "I think it was my fault though. I apologise."

"What? No I attacked you I'm-" He froze, claws digging into his vest as the half elfs hand hovered close to his throat. Fabian making a face as if he'd just made a point before withdrawing carefully.

"No I'm quite sure it was my fault." Fabian shifted to sit next to the rogue instead, bringing a knee up to rest his arm on as he looked out over the cemetary. "Fig was filming and I can tell when someone gets triggered. My father used to get the same way sometimes... Do you think you're up to coming back inside?"

Riz shook his head, leaning forwards to hide his face against his knees again and sighing loudly. Leaning against Fabians side when his friend draped his arm over him and pulled him in to sit a little closer.

"Alright. I'll stay out here with you for a while then."

[ky-landfill]