#but. first rule of sewing. is to just stop. when you even feel a little bit tired or cranky. put it down.

[moe-broey]

Wow, I'm really making steady progress on my Askr siblings plushies, more than I've made in god knows how long, I can finally kind of see how everything is gonna theoretically fall into place --

The Unauthorized Fucking Thing:

[hyukascampfire]

𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉

𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

wc ➳ 7.5k

pairings faerie!taehyun x human!reader

warnings violence, blood is drawn, some heated kissing and groping, a magic spell is placed over a human character, fem reader, mentions of violence, animal death

playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series

…🪶 ashlynn's note okay i am actually so obsessed with a icy and mean taehyun. like genuinely it is rotting my brain. lmaooo

⑊ →

The stale reek of the ancient, crumbling palace walls makes it feel like they are closing in on you. You trail only a foot behind the odd goblin spy. He treats you with quiet. He’s relatively short in stature and quite grubby, worrying his hands while he walks. You have plenty of reasons to be scared of him; a royal spy, no doubt lethal in skill, who could probably spin around and end your life the second he decided he didn’t like you. But you aren’t scared of him—no, your brain is quintessentially human, and more worried about whether or not the rest of them would find you up to their standards when you arrive where he takes you.

Growing up among the folk was, in an understatement, challenging. They were of a different nature. They did not understand the rules of the human world, and could never understand your resentment for being spirited away. Most would argue that it was a blessing, that you would one day grovel at the feet of the faerie that had stolen you here all those years ago. Resentment bloomed like a potent seed in your mind each time Nut-hatch made you sew the gowns she couldn’t manage until your fingers were bleeding and sore. Because, who wouldn’t adore a life spent at the beck and call of the faerie that snatched you right from your cradle?

You trip over a loose, fractured stone, reaching out for a wall to catch yourself. Palm stinging, you hiss. Re-steadying yourself, you spin the hand over to inspect the burning scrapes. Blood wells around shallow white trails where stone had bitten skin, but you kick your legs back into motion. The goblin does not bother to wait for you. You expect that he’d just continue walking if you don’t.

“And you expect to be a spy,” the goblin laughs, a throaty and irritating sound, “crying over a scuff.” He does not even turn around to address you, but you can’t say you expected him to. You had done nothing to earn his respect. You are going to change that.

Instead of defending yourself or making yourself sound pathetic, you just stop nursing the scrape and let the sound of footfalls fill the air. The walk is long, and you find your mind wandering off to agonize over the different ways that this could play out. Many of them do not end well. You squeeze your eyes shut, gulping down a swallow despite the tightness in your throat. When you feel your foot catching on flat ground again, nearly toppling forward, your eyes lurch open. Don’t close your eyes walking down the halls of decrepit old castles, genius. 

He makes a stop a few feet ahead of you, just before a towering, ornate, and no doubt heavy elmwood door. The metal handles are scuffed with well use to the point that they are utterly dull and reflect little light, and there are four long gashes that splinter the wood. Wild gashes like that could only have been carved by a beast of Faerie origin. 

“So, this is the entrance?” you ask, catching up to him. You gesture at the door ahead. 

He levels you a stare, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. A yellowed canine, so sharp it would pierce your jugular like a knife through sweet cream, peeks out. You squirm under his glare, those yellow eyes scrutinizing you for a moment. 

“More like this,” he says simply, looking pointedly to a slate tile at his feet.

You sigh. You suppose you should’ve inferred that the entrance of a royal spy den is not just a door with no visible locks or veiling. You watch as he dislodges the loose tile from the ground with practiced ease, a heavy hunk of stone that reveals beneath it a set of stairs leading down into the ground. The palace they had decided to conceal the den within is no doubt timeworn, but the staircase you look at now seems much newer. The stone is significantly less worn and eroded, save for the dirt that cakes the tops of each step. Wafts of earth and root greet your nose.

You frown at the prospect of heading down without even so much as a torch on the wall. It’s hollow and black down there, leaving you to only imagine where a root or pebble might steal your balance and send you down who even knows how far. “How deep is that staircase?” you ask. The goblin had already begun descending, pausing at the third step with visible impatience. 

“Oh, just get down here, won’t you?” he grumbles. “This damned stone is heavy.” You observe the utter pitch black of the stairwell for a moment, considering all the awful possibilities, before relenting and descending into it. Stone grinding and light weaning to nothingness tickle nerves up your spine as he slides the coverstone back over the entrance. 

“I can’t see,” you say, words falling out into the thick, muddy air. Perhaps obvious, but how are you supposed to walk? He curses you out under his breath before he grabs you by the meat of your arm with gnarled, calloused fingers, tugging you forward and down. You protest as you almost slip off the ledge of a step, stumbling down each descending one for a few moments until you come to another stop. The floor here is softer beneath your feet, no longer stone. You sit in waiting for whatever he is doing in the pitch black. You do not question him again. It’s better to not come off as any more incapable than you already had made yourself look, considering your goals. Your stomach is tied in such tangled up knots that you don’t know how to act right; how to act like the capable spy that you had painted yourself to be in order to even end up in this decaying palace. You wonder if he is second guessing his decision in even bringing you here. You hold your head up a little more, squaring your shoulders. If you act sure of yourself, you’ll appear that way.

A resounding pattern of knocks bounces off the dirt walls surrounding you two, and the sound of muffled words spoken follow. A soft yellow light luminates your surroundings as a peephole slides open. You blink your eyes to readjust, taking in your surroundings for the first time since that stone snuffed the light out. A rickety, rotting wood door stands before you, oddly shaped to fit the round, burrowed out dirt hollow. The light filtering in from behind the door disappears when somebody peeks through it. No words are even exchanged before a metal sliding bolt cues the unlocking of the round door, and it swings open. You squint your eyes in the light.

“This is her?” A reedy faerie stands holding the door open, her skin a pale green and with an iridescent sheen to it. The hood from the cloak around her shoulders is tugged over her head, but you can see the way she takes you in even through the shadow it casts. 

“Something wrong?” the goblin asks, shoving his way past the long-limbed sprite. You stay put, not sure whether or not they’d like you just barreling your way in behind him.

She scrutinizes you for a moment longer, shrugging. “No,” she answers, lips pursed, “just a bit…” The sprite hesitates on the wording before finishing,“Underwhelming?” She leaves the door to follow him in. You gnaw at your cheeks. You are used to being lackluster—You were raised from infancy here, in a world of creatures that are beauty incarnate. Humans could be beautiful, yeah. But it was not the beauty of starless nights for eyes, nor of flower-petal skin, and never hair of twinkling, gold-spun strands. Human beauty could only ever exist in the four-walled prison of facial symmetry and physical attraction. Even the most gritty of the folk had a certain air of ethereal about them, worted and twisted as they may be. You resent them for it; resent the way your skin and hair dull beside them, becoming something mundane and underwhelming.

Their little hideout is humble. It smells of old wood, and furniture is minimal. The two of them sit down at a square table to the center of the room, leaving three other seats empty. You mull over whether or not simply taking a seat next to them would be offensive before just shoving your nerves down with a foot long stick and sitting. To convince them that you’re a needed part of their team, you’ve got to act the part. An indelible spy does not wonder whether or not a seat is for them, they know it is theirs. However you may try to play an act, though, you’re sure that they can see how the scars that decorate your fingertips are more from pricks of a sewing needle than they are of blades and combat. The sprite girl tugs her hood off her head, revealing a head of tousled white hair except for horizontal stripes of black that decorate some chunks. Her eyelashes are chunky, spidery, and curled, so long they tickle her brow with each blink, and they frame her grass-green eyes. She doesn’t look far off from the insect that she shares her name with. Regarding you, she sits nonchalant and kicked back in the chair, worn boots up and criss-crossed on the table. 

“This is the place where you’ll meet us,” she says, addressing you finally. She wiggles a foot as if this conversation is the last she’d like to be having.

You pause inwardly—you had thought this would be some sort of rugged test of skills, not an initiation.

She continues. “You’ll meet the others whenever they—”

You cut her off. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my qualifications?” 

She quirks a delicate brow, speaking for her just as well as words might.

 “Or, like, test me? Or something?” you continue. The two of them share a look, before breaking out into snorts and giggles. You shift in your seat, frowning. There was nothing funny about your questions.

“We would have never even brought you down here if we didn’t already decide on you,” the sprite girl says, and then gestures at the goblin, “We heard plenty of you from Gristle.” 

The goblin sputters to explain himself, embarrassed how the sprite had made it seem like he was raving. Gristle is his name, then. “We needed a human counterpart,” he says, pointing a clawed finger at the sprite girl. “Nobody else was doing the heavy lifting in recruiting. You try and see how it is, then,” he huffs, voice gravelly. “We needed one, and I brought you one.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, voice softening to a tone reminiscent of soothing a tantruming toddler. “You sure did.” She flexes her booted foot to point in your direction, “But did you bring us a competent one?” 

You cross your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes. “I’m plenty competent,” you say. Sure, you are the servant girl of a busy seamstress faerie, but you need to make something more of yourself in one way or another. You could learn anything, if it meant that. “You don’t have to worry about me running off and telling anybody anything.”

She barks a laugh, as if the notion was ridiculous. “Well, I should know that, because I assume you value your life well enough.” She lets her feet drop off the table, prowling toward you on legs a bit too long for her body, before sliding an ornate dagger from its sheath at her hip and brandishing it to you. “But could you even hold your own if someone engages you out in the field?” She then drives the blunt, thick pommel end of it into your chin. Your head snaps back with the force of the strike, and you can feel by the warm trickle of blood that it had busted your chin open. 

You look at her, wild-eyed and accusatory. Your jaw aches as you open your mouth to ask, “What was that?” A trail of thick blood runs down your neck, and she just scoffs.

“Figures.” The sprite sheaths the dagger, dropping back into her seat unceremoniously as if she did not just bash you in the chin. 

“I don’t know how to fight yet,” you say, wiping at your neck. You bring your hand up to check the damage, hissing through your teeth as you prod around the gash. You shake your shoulders as if it would shake off the searing pain running up and down your jaw before adding, “But I can learn. I will learn.” Gristle tosses you a rag he had retrieved silently from a drawer, his mouth pulled taut into a line. You wipe up the remnants of the blood, the metallic tang of it finally reaching your nose. You shudder as you press the rag to the wound and hold it there. 

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Gristle cracks, his grin toothy. “We weren’t going to find humans who could already fight,” he says, a fur-tipped ear twitching, “but one willing to learn…” He looks at you, and then returns his gaze to the sprite. “We can work with that, Cricket.” When her face stays drawn, he repeats, “We can work with it.” His yellow saucer eyes are serious.

Cricket doesn’t say anything; her grassy eyes simply go distant with thought for a moment. It was true: humans are not brought to the world of Faerie to learn to fight. Or to be anything more than servants, at that. The luckiest ones, like you, are at the very least schooled on reading and faerie histories. Lucky would be an overstatement, though. Nobody stolen from their homes and then forced to accept a reality in a foreign world is genuinely lucky. Despite it, you no longer dream of the life you could’ve had in the human world. It is not your life. It will never be your life. And, considering the look that Cricket and Gristle share, your life is now to be the human counterpart of a royal band of spies. 

“Do you know how an oath works?” Cricket asks, pulling out that same embellished dagger and spinning it between two fingers. You hesitate before nodding. You don’t, and she seems to read right through you. She narrows her eyes at you. 

“First of all, don’t lie. Never lie. We have to be able to trust each other.” She says, still spinning that glittering dagger utterly nonchalant. “You’ll want our trust when you’re on the field and need your back covered. Not knowing how to officiate an oath is one thing,” she stops spinning the blade to point it at you, “lying to me is another.”

 You shake off the embarrassment that crawls up your throat. “I’m sorry. I want you guys to trust me.” 

“Trust is especially important with you,” she says. It’s true. Humans can lie blatantly with their mouths. The folk could twist truths to deceive, and bend over backwards to make one thing sound like another, but they could not just lie. In your schooling years, you were taught that a lie is simply against faerie nature. You had laughed at that—if anything seemed to be in faerie nature, it was lying.

 “We can start our trust”—she gestures with one finger between you and herself—“off on the right foot with a geas.” Taking your arm that does not hold the rag, she tugs it toward her.

You struggle with the word geas. A geas is a faerie ensorcellment the folk dearly love subjecting humans, who did not know any better, to. They sweet-talk them into it, and when the human was fully ensorcelled, the human becomes a living plaything to make dance unabashedly and kiss the dirt off their boots. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

“An oath and a geas are not interchangeable,” you say, wary and preparing to take your arm back. “Which is it?”

 “An oath means nothing to a human.” She looks to Gristle for support, “Right or wrong?”

“Leave me out of it.” 

Cricket rolls her eyes. “We just have to get some type of way to ensure that I won’t have to tie up loose ends.”

A knock rings through the room, the same rhythmic knock that Gristle had performed on the door. Gristle clambers over to the door and slides the peephole open. 

“Decided to show up to do your work today?” Gristle says through the peephole, before sliding the hatch open. You look away from the door before seeing who enters as Cricket grows impatient, spinning your arm so that your palm is facing the roof. She takes her dagger and slides it across the delicate skin. You try to reclaim your hand, but she holds it steady and slides a slit across her own palm. 

“Are you guys trying to bleed me for every drop I have?” you protest. You could probably count the amount of wounds you’ve been inflicted with since stepping into the palace on two hands. She clasps your hands, mushing together the wounds still seeping blood. 

You had forgotten about the knock at the door until a new voice with a deep and silvery quality to it asks, “Trying to do it before I could get here, Cricket?” The voice travels from behind you to in front of you, and the man who owns it comes into view. He is relatively tall, towering over Gristle and quite a bit taller than Cricket. His hair is dark, hanging over a pair of sharp eyes that glare daggers at the sprite. You thank all things good that he is not leveling you with that icy smolder. You notice quickly that his ears are the distinct rounded form of a human’s ear. 

“This is Taehyun.” Cricket gestures with an exasperated arm. If the roundness of his ears is not already telling, the name is. He was human. You frown, retracting your hand.

“I thought you guys were looking for a human counterpart? That you had no human piece?” 

The quickness that Cricket is trying to get a geas over you is already unnerving, but now they are lying about the circumstances of your recruitment?

Cricket gives Taehyun a look that could match the heat of a thousand suns. His face is stony in response to it, utterly unmoved. Gristle does not make so much as a peep. 

“Taehyun,” she says while she takes your wounded hand into her own again, “is faerie.” 

“What about his ears, then?” You make a gesture around your own ear, one that drags along the round curve of it. Faeries were not born with rounded ears, not the goblins, nor the hobs, nor brownies, not even ones that are the most humanlike in nature. You have seen folk with knives for teeth, skin of boulders, hair from ear to clawed foot, but never rounded ears. It was another intrinsic piece of their nature; what set you apart from them. He was absolutely a human, and they were absolutely not telling you the truth. They had to have spoken their words in a way that made one thing seem like another, spun truths into lies. It was the faerie way. You would not be magically compelled by liars.

Taehyun’s face flashes with the first emotion you had seen since he arrived, but it is muddled and hard to read. 

Cricket scowls deeper, telling you, “He is not a human.” 

Taehyun gets in closer, his eyes venomous. “You know how I feel about that shit.”

 You try to decipher whether he meant being human, or the geas, but his next words solve it for you. “And you were going to try and do it before I could say anything.” When Cricket opens her mouth to say something, he cuts her off, “Don’t you say that’s not true.” 

Cricket turns to you, decidedly not responding to Taehyun. “I want the geas, because it will make us feel safer. I swear on the Mighty King’s life that I will not use it to control you in any way, other than to keep your mouth shut about our operations. You will not hear another thing of it from this day forward, anyway.” Her words are proof enough of her honesty, plain and so obvious in their wording that she could not be twisting her truths around a lie. She means what she says, or else she would not be able to say it. “Would it make you feel better if you were the one to make it, Taehyun? Would you just seal your lips and let us move on from this?” She asks. Gristle feels the tension as bad as you do, so thick in the air you could choke on it, making himself busy sliding a blade down a sharpening stone.

Taehyun does not respond, his black eyes conveying exactly how he feels about that. You attempt to ease the atmosphere while also catering to your own curiosities. “How is he a faerie, with rounded ears? That doesn’t… exist.”

Taehyun’s eyes flicker at the topic of his ears again. “Well, it seems you don’t know all that you think you do about Faerie then, huh?” he spits before spinning and disappearing down a hall that leads further into the spy den, long legs clad in black striding near silently beneath him. The words crawl under your skin successfully. You could spend your whole life here, and still the folk would see you as foreign. It makes you want to make that geas, to make something of yourself. To be a spy, and make them see that you are so much more than what Nut-hatch told you that you are destined to be; A servant to the superior beings. To make him chew his words, because you know plenty about this foul world, and how to live in it. If anything was true, it was true that you know more about it than him. 

You turn to Cricket, more determination in you now than you even had when you pledged your case to Gristle. “I’ll take the geas. I’ll do whatever it takes to become a competent piece of your team, I swear it. I know my words don’t carry much weight to you, but please, let me show you that I mean them.” Cricket grins, tightening her hand to yours, tilting her head to one side and batting her spiky lashes at you. 

“I knew you were a smart girl.” She taps you on the nose, before her expression drops to a more solemn one. The headiness of faerie enchantment tugs at the sides of your vision, turning it wavy and magnified about the edges. You feel it thread through the air, and then spread from your palm to your arm, and then all over, under your skin, like an itch, and in your head, like potent faerie wine. It lasts for a moment’s width longer, before you blink it away. She drops her hand from yours. 

“You will not speak of this team, nor its dealings, to anybody I do not authorize, and are, from this exact moment forward, unable to reveal the location of this den.” You shudder under the gravity of knowing that your autonomy is vulnerable and in her hands. Was it ever truly yours to have, though? Faerie glamour and enchantments on humans are unpunishable, and often seen as entertainments. Is a geas permanent? You shove back that worry; it’s too late now.

Gristle whistles a descending tone, finally making himself known again. “This place, we call Homebase. Or, The Hole. Whichever you prefer,” he gestures around, and you take in the shoddy ceiling, the make-shift kitchen, and the weapons strewn about every surface. Definitely a spy hideout. “There are a few others for you to meet. They come and go; but you’ll be staying here, I understand?”

 You nod. He knew about your situation with Nut-hatch already.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you a room.” He hobbles to that hallway Taehyun had stormed down, his gold-embroidered cloak dragging on the floor behind him. You follow, scoping out the scenery. 

“Do the others not stay here?” you ask. You two continue down that same hall, the smell of underground musk still heavy. That would take you some getting used to. 

He grunts in affirmation. “Whoever you met today, stay here. The others dwell elsewhere, for some reason or another.” He stops at a room, and opens the door. The room is ornate in contrast with the other rooms of The Hole, the bedding plush and made of fine threads. It was not anything overly extravagant, but perfectly fit for a spy of The King. It is better than sleeping in the sweltering-hot attic of Nut-hatch’s cottage, you decide, appreciating the cool and damp air. And here, they decide that you are worthy enough of your own room. That is more than enough for you.

 “But, you’ll meet them tomorrow, no doubt. Make this room your own, I’ll fetch some more fitting garments for you,” he gestures down to the simple linen frock you adorn. You feel the odd tickle of embarrassment at the back of your mind. The irony of your attire, while living under the roof of an esteemed seamstress, is hard to ignore. Nut-hatch had always liked to scold you up and down that there is no need to look frilly working a gown shop, while simultaneously being dressed in ribbons and lace. You take a deep breath of linen-scented air, and then release it. And then, you get to making the room your own. 

❆

You do your best to plant your booted foot to the ground, to save yourself from anxiously toeing dirt or stone. The clothes they had brought for you were odd and foreign as someone who only wore the most efficient of dresses and leather slippers for the entirety of her life leading up to this moment. The hooded cloak bunches around your neck and shoulders, stifling. The boots at your feet are so heavy and chunky that they chastely kiss the ground when you step. The sensation of pant legs securing your thighs and shins is the most suffocating, and the weight of the weapons secured by straps are heavier than you’d ever expected them to be. And, to top it all off beautifully, your first assignment is with Taehyun. You’re supposed to be heading north, to the land of the Northern Queen, where the folk are Unseelie, and are said to be the most vicious. You’d already let that thought sink in, though. Now, all you can mull over is spending the trip with Taehyun; the contempt he had regarded you with before he left last night is still fresh in your mind.

Lightweight footsteps approach behind you, and you know it’s Taehyun. He plops a full pack on the ground wordlessly before tugging the hood of his mantle up and over his head. He is, like yesterday, fashioned in a black tunic and a matching doublet, embroidered with silver threads at the lapel and cuffs, a heavy bow strapped to his back. Maybe a bit flashy for days of traveling by foot, but maybe you also have no idea what flashy actually means. 

You cross your arms over your chest, before gesturing to the bag you had already packed for yourself. “I packed.” 

He sends you a vacant look. “Put that one back,” he tells you. The air is so tense that you consider just doing it, but his tone ruffles your feathers. 

“I have stuff that I want to bring in mine.”

He doesn’t respond, his face locked and static.

“Look,” you huff, “I know you don’t respect me yet, but I’m trying my best to become competent, you know?” 

“I respect you.” He picks up the pack he brought for you and dusts the bottom off. “You would freeze to the core in the north without the stuff packed in here. Competence is nothing to a corpse.” 

You blink at the bluntness of his words and press your mouth into a thin line, before dropping your original bag on the table and slinging the other over your shoulder. You gesture for him to lead the way with a restrained sigh, and he does so without falter.

The beginning of your mission starts off on a lovely foot.

❆

There is plenty of time to mull over what you would be doing in the north as Taehyun leads you through the lushness of the forest. The hum of insects and nearby streams and the cloying scent of summer-warmed bush berries reign supreme. When your stomach begins to rumble for not having eaten all day, you stop by a bush with exceptionally heavy branches and begin picking. The juice of the berries is thick and golden like honey when they mush between your fingers, and it glitters in the odd way that all Faerie fruit does. 

“Are you dull?” Taehyun’s voice, thick with contempt, makes you jump and lose a few from your handful of berries. “That is a Goldhip bush,” he says, his brows pinched, “you would die without a sign; just drop dead to the grass.”

Blinking, you drop the rest to the floor, wiping the glazed juices off on your pant leg.

He scoffs, spinning and heading the same way he had been going before you decided to grab fistfuls of, apparently, intensely poisonous berries. You follow him, shaken. 

“I had no idea,” you say, mostly to yourself, but he stops, turning on you. 

“You can’t afford having no idea out here. Either you step up to your role, or you die.” He gives you a long look before turning back around and stepping over a felled log. 

You step over the log as well. “I didn’t really have any reasons to know your poisons in my old life,” you say. Nut-hatch had at least fed you well, and you were never set out scavenging off berries with an empty belly. You set your pace so that you are parallel to him instead of trailing him. “What are the ones I should know?” 

He doesn’t even pause to think for a moment. He knows them like the back of his own hand. “Goldhip berries are turned into a liquid extract, and dropped into drinks. It doesn’t have a smell, but has a notorious sweet taste. It doesn’t matter by the time you taste it, though; you’re as good as dead.” A chill burrows its way under your skin. You had been so close to death; had you just popped a berry into your mouth, you would be dead right now. 

“How would you even avoid being poisoned by that, then?” 

“You don’t,” he deadpans. “It’s why you have to stay always painfully aware of your surroundings. Always.” You nod.

“Silver and salt are poison to the folk. They singe the skin, and when ingested, they decay the insides. It’d be best if you use that to your advantage. A poison harmless to you, but deadly to another, is an asset.” You clasp your hands and thank the sky inwardly at that. It feels like an ah-hah moment, to have something over the folk. Small mercies. 

“Human poisons don’t work on the folk at all. So, whatever you remember from your old life won’t serve you here.”

Old life? You have no old life. “I was raised here,” you say, keeping the hurt that tugs at your features on a tight leash. “I was in Faerie before I could even walk.” 

You watch as his face falters, sunlight filtering through tree leaves dappling his features and highlighting his nose. He is beautiful, like all fae are. He only nods in acknowledgement, but you can tell he tucks the information away.

He presses forward. “Hunter’s Bane is a milled-up tree leaf that inebriates, and fizzes up the drink it is sprinkled into. Not deadly, but the state it leaves you in could be. Deadly Pinchweed is ground up as well, and leaves a green tint—and is deadly. Lachrymose is a faerie fruit. As I’m sure you know, it makes a human agreeable and fogs their mind. It’s usually not prepared in any special way, just fed to glamoured humans.” 

The name of the fruit brings back the memory of a boy, a bit older than you, who at a particularly wild revelry was fed faerie fruit, and buttered up by folk who thought it would be exceptionally humorous for the boy to make an audience with The King. Of course, the boy did, spewing nonsense at the foot of the dais, before going to wrap The King in a hug. A guard shot an arrow through his heart. He could not have been older than sixteen. Nut-hatch barred you from any form of revelry after that; she couldn’t spare her hard-raised shop worker over some faerie fruit. You fold the memory up neatly, compacting it so that you can keep it vibrant and alive in your mind. You solidify, in that memory, that Taehyun and every other wretched creature of his kind, would hardly blink twice to see you die such a death. 

❆

Taehyun kindles a small but mighty fire with dry twigs and pine needles; they catch quickly and roar into blazing life. You settle onto the ground, propping your back against a gnarled trunk and try to breathe out the ache in your back. You miss the way the mattress back at home base had cradled your body into sleep, and abhor the dirt and foliage that sticks to your pants and palms where they meld with the ground. 

Taehyun’s voice, returning from his last round of searching for pine needles, startles you. “Get up.”

 You shoot him a look that, hopefully, channels all your exhaustion. “I just sat down,” you tell him, exasperated. 

“If you’re hungry, get up,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. He has ditched his mantle cloak and his doublet, and now is only in his simple black tunic, its sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s serious, then. 

You huff and complain, but stand up and dust off your palms and pants from the needles that stick to them. The especially deep indents itch a bit, and you soothe them as you follow him promptly into the thicker part of the woods. 

“Lighten your feet,” Taehyun commands, his voice low, as a third twig snaps under your foot. You wince and try to replicate the lightness of his walk, but it makes no difference. If anything, your gait is more off than before now that you overthink it. Taehyun stops walking, pointing to his feet, before slowly demonstrating his footfalls. “Tense your legs, and keep your weight on your back foot until the other is fully on the ground.”

You oblige, and can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as it works. Your steps come lighter, and dodging crunching foliage easier. It reminds you of how a stalking beast might make itself light and airy while it watches and hunts.

The two of you continue through the shrubbery and low-hanging branches until Taehyun pauses, placing a finger over his lips. You see it now, too; a plump pheasant that pecks at the foliage, none-the-wiser. Taehyun reaches for his bow, and notches an arrow. He pulls the bowstring taut, centering his shot, and the arrow sings as he lets it fly. 

The thud of the arrow piercing the pheasant makes your stomach flip. The pheasant cries, the arrow having pinned its wing and pierced through its stomach, but not killed it instantly. You avert your eyes as the scene burrows under your skin. Your heart sinks heavy like stone in water. Taehyun bounds over to the still squawking bird with hurried steps, and the sound of metal unsheathing is followed by a loud final cry and then silence. You go rigid, nails biting your palm. You do not open your eyes, even as Taehyun announces in a whisper that he spots a second bird. The pheasant’s final cries bounce off the walls of your mind, reverberating and driving a stake into your hurting heart more with each echo.

❆

Taehyun ended up catching two other pheasants on the way back to the temporary campsite. You watch as they roast over the fire, yellow flames licking at their lightly charring bodies. Taehyun takes one off, passing it to you on a stick whittled sharp at the end. You shake your head, queasy at the thought of eating it. 

He delivers you nothing but a cold resolve. “Respect its life.” He holds the stick there for you to take once more. 

“I’ll throw up,” you say, shaking your head again and wrapping your arms around your stomach. 

He barks a laugh. “This is ridiculous.” He lets the stick drop back over the fire, and you flinch as embers flurry up into the air and narrowly miss you. Attitude flares up in your chest and you go to say something smart-mouthed, but before you can, he continues, “Go back, if you’re just going to become a waste of my time. You think you’re a spy under The King? You’re a spoiled brat who believes life should be handed to her. If you wanted that, this was not the life to choose.”

You reel at the bite in his voice. His words cut right where it hurts. “You think so?” you say, willing back the hot tears that prickle your eyes. They would only prove his case. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that you don’t know shit about being a spy,” he says, standing up. “I know that you’re weak and for some reason think you’re ready for a world that is going to kill you, and that you should probably be on your way back to Homebase to tell them you were never cut out for this. Save us both the time and effort.” 

You’re up to your feet in an eye’s blink, closing the space between you two. “Humans don’t have the privilege of being spoiled brats in your world,” you hiss. The warm sensation of a tear rolling down your cheek has you hoping that he doesn’t notice, and you reach up to wipe it away quickly. You curse being an angry crier. “I’m doing what I can with what I have. Just teach me what I need to learn, and I’ll learn it.” 

“Eat the damn pheasant, then.” he urges, like a wild, roaring beast in a delicate bauble shop. 

You laugh an exhausted laugh. “I’ve never killed something, and then eaten it. It's… I think it’ll take me some time to get used to it. Just give me some time, yeah?” Your mind urges you to scream that the standards he is holding you to are unfair, that the two of you lived very different lives, and that you are going on this mission regardless of his haughty attitude, but you tidy those emotion-fueled words into something that he might like more.

He goes quiet. You sit for a moment, too, stewing in all your rehashed hurt. It isn’t just that he’s treating you like a burden, or the low-blows he seems to keep opting for. He’s unknowingly cutting down to your deepest worries, rubbing salt in the wound, that maybe you are never going to amount to anything more than a servant girl. 

He unsheathes the longsword at his back, getting into a solid stance. “Show me you can be strong, then.” You hesitate. You’ve never so much as swung a sword, and the weight of it is heavier than you’d expect as you unsheathe it. The metal hisses, and the handle of it is solid and plainly decorated in your palm. You replicate his stance, and shift the weight of the sword awkwardly in your hand, trying to find your grip

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you say, palms a bit sweaty against the cold metal, rocking in your stance. He swings hard, and the force of it colliding with your sword jolts you. It flies from your hands. You panic, frozen to the ground as he swings again. Your heart lurches as you realize he isn’t going to pull his swing. 

Wind whooshes as his sword stops just by your face. He leaves it there, pointed right at your nose. “Pick it up,” he cocks his head toward your sword. You stare at him, wide-eyed, as you oblige. You both reset your stance, him barking commands every time he finds your stance or swing to be flawed. You accept his criticism with open arms—it is better than disdain painting his features. 

You grit your teeth. You’re sheened in sweat, tugging for deep breaths, and your limbs are slow to recover from each blow he sends you. You’re twisting, dodging, and parrying how he tells you, but it's sloppy, and you have to summon your energy from already low reserves for each. His skin is irritatingly free of sweat and of a cold and pristine quality. It only comes to your attention now with your new proximity how much looks like frost twinkles just under his skin. 

Your back collides with a tree you had not noticed Taehyun was backing you into, air escaping your lungs in a big whoosh. He gains on you, pressing the long edge of his sword so that it sits mind-numbingly close to your neck. You pulse rushes frantically, heart beating from your chest in a nearly audible thudding. You continue to try and catch your breath. He swoops in so close that his breaths fan over your face. An emotion that you have a hard time reading flickers in his eyes, and then he’s slamming his mouth to yours. 

It’s a desperate clashing of teeth and lips. He lets his sword drop from your neck and to the ground, and he takes your face in his callous-roughened hands. Your own find purchase at his shoulders, tugging him closer as if he could be any more so. The sound that escapes you as his hand tangles into the hair at the back of your head and tightens, tugging your head back and pressing in with more fervor, is like none you’ve ever made before. 

When he pulls back for air, your vision swims around the edges, and is dappled with stars. He studies your face, and you’re suddenly more conscious than ever of how your cheeks burn and your lips are smeared with his kiss. He takes in your debased state. His eyes have more fire in them than you ever thought you’d see—swirling and ravenous, an innate need clawing to reach the surface . It’s a dizzying mixture of pure headiness and I shouldn’t be doing this. He dives back in, and each nip and lick at your neck is blazing. They electrify your veins and send shockwaves buzzing from the column of your throat and through your chest, zipping up and down every one of your limbs. You’re not even sure that, if Taehyun were to stop holding you fast to the tree, you would be able to stand on your wobbly and unreliable legs. 

“Taehyun,” you gasp, your voice sounding not entirely your own. “Taehyun.” 

“You piss me off so fucking bad.” He keeps one hand fisted at the back of your head, exposing your neck to him, but the other travels down your body experimentally. “And I have no idea why.” 

Your mind wants to reel and dwell on that, but he doesn’t let you. He wanders a hand about the hem of your shirt, and then he dares to go underneath it, and then he trails that cold hand up the plane of your abdomen. Your stomach flips. “Have,”–you gasp–“have you considered that maybe you’re just an asshole?” 

He draws back from ravishing your neck to give you a look, his eyes wild and untrained. It feels, for some odd reason, good to break down his impenetrable exterior—to puncture it down to where he is in his basest desires. Maybe it’s because you just need him to see you as something other than useless; to need you so badly that he forgets his contempt for you. He maintains eye contact as his thumb traces the swell of your breast, watches you gasp as he finds your nipple and rolls it under his thumb. His eyes set you ablaze, and he delights in the way you burn. 

“What, you’ve got nothing to say to that?” you say, meeting all the intensity of his gaze the best you can. You try to goad him into something; even if anger, so that he’ll soothe the pounding between your thighs. He does not entertain you, just regarding you with that same blistering intensity. Your scalp begins to ache with the relentless tug of his fist, and you whimper, your hands leaving their place in his tunic to grab at his hand. 

“You’re every bit the whiny brat I’ve known you to be,” he says. His voice is gravelly, as if even those few words were hard for him to formulate. Just as your chest had adjusted to the chill of his palm, he drags his fingertips back down your abdomen. The pads of his fingers rake over you, your skin prickling and alight. 

“And you’ve got every bit of faerie entitlement in you,” you hiss. His hand pauses just above the waistline of your bottoms, and every bit of untamed need carved into his features is dust in the wind within a heartbeat. You reel at the loss of warmth as he pulls away. You try to reach out for him, to tug him back and wipe that awful indifferent look off his face again. But he’s already kicking out the fire and propping himself up against a thick pine tree. Your stomach churns wildly as you set up your own sleeping situation. The silence is worse than any you’ve sat through—it’s charged with words better left unspoken, and heavy with the weight of your hands all over each other seconds ago. 

Sleep does not come easy to you, but when it does, you sleep dreamless and weary.

…🪶ashlynn's note how was thatttt? my first fanfic!! i've been looking forward to doing a high fantasy/faerie fanfic for sooo long. i'm sorry to leave you off like that but.. know that I am plotting, and planning. i'm already working on part 2, so stay tuned!!

﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[mothhball]

HELLO?

I appreciate your writings sm And these are not just words for starting requests, like I really like them. I would like to request. Jonathan crane x reader when the reader comforts him after whatever it's gonna be... So the drink will contain Gin+Creme de cacao+grapefruit juise,lime juice+pickles Hope I understood the requesting rules correctly so beforehand thank you(I rly love the idea but my cocktail is crazy 💥💥)

Gentle Patience

Nolanverse!Scarecrow x Reader

summary headcanons + physical hurt/comfort + cuddles + neck kisses + ❛ I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m just really tired. ❜

warnings stubborn, injured Jon, mentions of his past of being bullied (comic canon)

notes thank you so much for ordering and thank you even more for your lovely words <3 first time writing headcanons aaaa

! MINORS DNI !

event masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: n/a

God, he’s just like an injured stray cat

Expect him to try and avoid you at first, even if you live together.

And he’s surprisingly sneaky, even with a cracked rib and a limp in his step

Growing up as little bullied Jon Crane meant that he had to learn how to take care of himself FAST, and sadly, he got used to patching up wounds all by himself and toughing out the pain

Turns out his practice at sewing his masks comes in handy when he’s sewing up himself

An injured Jonathan will come home late on purpose, trying to make sure you’re asleep so you can’t fuss over him

It never works

Whenever you get the slightest suspicions that he’s out there, getting his ass handed to him, you stay up for him until he gets back

He’ll complain about it (ofc he does)

But while he’s still trying to undress and drag himself into bed, you’re already pulling him into the bathroom. His attempts to dissuade you, obviously, but it’s not working. And when he finally snaps and your grip on him falters, he feels even worse.

“I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m just really tired.” “Tired or not, we’ll need to get you fixed up…”

His injuries always look worse in the light, and he hates the brief flicker of pity in your eyes when you look at him, but he knows it’s not because you find him pathetic.

He’ll grumble and complain while you check him out, trying to play it off like you’re the crazy one for insisting to take care of him for once.

Especially at the beginning of your relationship, he’s not used to physical affection or tender touches. He’s not even used to a kind word, so he’ll be a little overwhelmed. Not that he’d tell you, of course.

But he’ll warm up, and you’ll notice. His shoulders relax, he’ll lean into your touch, and his inner monolog of beating himself up stops for a moment.

Where he once frowned and squirmed away, he now sighs contentedly as you pepper his skin with kisses, making sure to be gentle with his scrapes and bruises.

The neck kisses are his secret favorites.

For a man who seems so grand and cocky when he’s in his element, he sometimes gets scared that you’ll see in him the little boy he used to be. A victim of cruelty who couldn’t defend himself. Like he still sees himself sometimes.

It’s a little tricky to balance the urge to reassure him and the necessity to give him his space, but if he allows you to hold him afterwards, you know you’ve got the hang of it.

It’s one of those quiet moments, then. Moments when he’s exhausted and hurt, and you’re both waiting for the pain meds to properly kick in. Moments when he sinks into your arms and willingly lets himself be the little spoon.

And you know that even before he says it, he’s thankful to have you by his side.

[bonny-kookoo]

LO King Yoongi, how did Yoongi and MC meet? How did their relationship evolve?

A/N: Warning for injury, blood, this is LO we're talking about after all haha

You hiss at the rather rough manner the nurse is cleaning the large gash over your back, your tears just quietly falling by now. Neither this planet nor their ruling species do really care much for empathy- you've learned that over the years you've been working at the palace here.

It's better than earth however, since you do have shelter and food here, at least.

You notice how a door opens, and everyone moves away- probably to address whoever just entered the room accordingly. And from the way the nurse closest to you bows, you can only assume who it might be.

"Leave." His voice is the only thing suddenly heard, low and rather monotone. "I'll take over from here." He states, and with that, you simply believe he's probably talking about getting rid of you. After all, you probably embarrassed him to high heavens- you honestly don't know what you were thinking.

It's quiet, the only thing you can hear the jewels on his robes moving as he takes the wet rag to tend to your wound- surprisingly enough a lot more gentle than the people before him. "Do you think of me as a king unfit for his role?" He asks, while he looks around for the needle and thread to sew the worst portion of the gash shut.

"..no." You mumble, voice quivering as you try and control your breathing as you spot him pick up the utensils necessary. His hands are warm against your skin, and you like to pretend that he's trying to sooth you with his touch rather than just doing it to push your skin back together.

"Then why did you do what you did?" He wonders, stopping for a split second as he feels you flinch from the needle going through your skin.

"..you weren't looking." You hiccup, wiping your cheeks quickly before you cover your front properly again. "It.. it wasn't fair." You just say, unable to shrug since you know that would just hurt.

Yoongi simply continues to sew your wound, hand at your front pushing you into a more straightened position, fingers able to feel you trembling from the pain. Did they not give you anything for the pain?

How long can you endure this with your weak body?

What you're correct about is the fairness of it all. The fight had been done, finished as the young man had willingly admitted defeat- just to get up and try to end the King while his back had been turned to return to his throne. And that's where you came in.

Hired from earth as a cheap worker at the palace, you'd been a little bit of a troublemaker all the time. According to other workers, you cry easily, or you'd hug and smile even more whenever someone showed you just a minimum of basic kindness. You're very openly emotional, something that doesn't fit within the usual standard of this planet's ruling species-

but he dismissed it, because down the line, you never complained, and never slacked on your assigned role. In fact, more often than not, you'd work like a ghost- Yoongi had to truly sharpen his senses to even hear you move around in the palace sometimes.

You're not even in a high position at all. You're just a helper that the general staff can use whenever they need you.

So when you jumped entirely out of line and shielded him from the attack he didn't notice quick enough, he didn't really know what to feel at first. In his culture, this is nothing but an insult to his abilities- but you're not of the same species, let alone culture.

You're human, and humans do things that sometimes don't make sense.

"You could've died." He says, trying to make it as quick but thorough as he can.

"..you're more important." You say, shrugging now- and immediately whimpering from it, making the king click his tongue in annoyance before he pushes the front of your shoulder again to make you sit straight.

"Keep that posture or you'll rip the stitches." He scolds, and you just sniffle, continuing to cry. "...I'll order them to give you something to sleep later." he mumbles.

"I have to finish the palace floors-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"You'll do none of that." He denies, quietly finishing your back before he moves to clean everything one last time, beginning to dress it. "You've earned your place." He simply tells you, placing the patches of dressing material dipped in medicine over your wound. He's silently impressed by how well you push through this- he's heard of humans passing out from much less than what you're experiencing right now.

"What do you mean?" You ask, as he wraps the gauze around you.

"You've proven strength." He explains, carefully finishing up his work. "And it's about time I chose anyways." He simply says, fixing the gauze before he let's go- making you turn a little bit, hands still covering your chest as you look up at him with eyes still full of tears.

"Chose what?" You wonder, and he reaches out to wipe your cheeks a little roughly.

"A fitting Queen."

[rita-repulsa-ke]

jealousy

post-finale, set in the past. Death is a jealous lover, they are both exceedingly petty. They are doing their normal fighting and flirting thing, maybe a bit more fighting. This is probably PG-13.

Going with two headcanons, that Death can’t kill people directly and that Agatha and Death have a deal where Agatha kills for her to keep herself alive, thus the murders.

Also Agatha speaks incredibly anachronistically on purpose, because she should be able to.

In 1780, Agatha takes a woman to bed.

No one who matters, a younger woman she passes on the street, doubles back to compliment the sewing on her dress, and then to compliment the blush on her cheeks. She forces herself listening to the girl's concerns about her upcoming nuptials, plies her with beer and sympathy until finally she gets her bodice off and things proceed from there as they have for the centuries before and will for the centuries after.

Her plaything has run off home when the air currents in the room change and the scent of grave dirt fills the room. Agatha, lying naked on the bed, opens her eyes, her expression twisting to one of malevolent, contemptuous hatred, and looks up at Death.

"Oh," she says. "It's you."

"I want her," Rio says with no precursor, motioning in the vague direction of the door and presumably the girl who had recently exited through it.

"Sure," Agatha says, easing up to sitting, reaching for her clothes, aware of the way she is being stared at, hungry, possessive. "I don't mind if you have my sloppy seconds."

"Agatha," Rio complains, because they both know Agatha is being purposefully uncooperative. "I want her dead." She slices her knife lazily through the air, a slow cut across an invisible throat.

"Do it yourself then," Agatha says, then gasps in mock-shock. "Oh, but that's right, you can't! It isn't her time. That's too bad for you, I'm so sorry."

Rio rolls her eyes. "I'll let you skip the next tithe."

Agatha stops and considers that. It's a good offer. That's time she could use for things other than finding and killing a coven of witches, time for her own personal projects, of which she was many. And it would be easy, she wouldn't even have to watch. There's hair all over her pillow, one of those and the right spell and the woman will sicken and die by morning.

She should say yes. It's just that she's very, very petty.

"Nope. Don't feel like it. She wasn't that bad in bed, honestly. Better than you ever were," she says, hopping into her pants, still shirtless and aware of where Rio's eyes are.

Look all you want, she thinks, you'll never get to touch. It's a stupid, small, petty victory, how much Death wants and can't have her, but such little victories are some of the few joys left to her.

"You're so immature," Rio murmurs and Agatha snorts.

"I'm getting better. Remember when I went through my bad boy phase?"

Rio studies her, head tilted to one side, hip cocked, aggressive and deadly, but Agatha isn't worried. Death can't touch her. There are rules.

And then Rio has her down on the bed, straddling her, the knife against her abdomen and Agatha remembers the fine print of those rules.

Rio can't take her life, but there's nothing stopping her from causing Agatha pain. And that knife is positioned in a way that could cause quite a bit of pain.

"Reconsider," Rio says, looking down at her with unnerving adoration.

"Hey, when we're talking about immature, can we talk about your sudden desire to have me kill the first woman I've had in my bed since—" she stops what she might have said, self-corrects. "In thirty years?"

In answer, Rio trails her fingers over Agatha's neck, down to her collarbone, but no further. Agatha finds herself wishing she had gotten her shirt on before they'd ended up like this. Those warm fingers on her skin evoke memories she could do without.

"Mine," Rio says. "All mine. No one else touches you."

Agatha bursts into snorting laughter, quickly restrained by the blade indenting her skin. "Wow, this is incentive to turn into the biggest slut possible. Feel free to do your creepy lurking, though. Watch all you want." Her hand cups Rio's cheek and with great care, she levers herself up on her elbow. "Miss me, baby?"

"Yes," Rio says, turning lighting-quick, pressing a kiss to Agatha's palm. Agatha jerks her hand back, wipes it on the bed with the expression of someone who squashed a bug barehanded.

"Ew," she complains, and okay, maybe Rio is right and she is petty, but the flicker of real fury in Rio's eyes, behind the more obvious exasperation, is very rewarding.

Then the knife bites in, sends a trickle of blood down her stomach and she hisses in pain. "Do what I want," Rio singsongs. "Or take your medicine."

"How about option C?" Agatha snarls, magic slamming into Rio's chest, throwing her across the room. She scrambles up, snatches her shirt, but has to shield against the next attack before she can put it on. Black tendrils of magic try to find a way around her shields, crawling bits of craft probing for any weakness.

"Still so sloppy," she taunts.

"How so?" Rio asks, not bothering to hide her amusement at Agatha trying to pull a shirt on with one hand while she continues to cast with the other. "And when did you get so modest, anyway?"

"Honey, no one likes to be ogled by their ex," Agatha says. "As for how, you are using so much power for that little exploratory spell, if you didn't have literally endless limits, you'd burn out before—"

She stops abruptly, because this is starting to get fun. She's starting to smile, a wild, exhilarated smile. She's starting to feel the urge to giggle, to experiment with spells, to find out if she can remove the floor from under Rio before she notices and send her plummeting into the room below.

For one breath, one heartbeat, she's forgotten to grieve.

She drops her shields at the same time Rio launches a real attack. It won't kill her, but it will hurt.

That's all right. It should.

Then there is a shape in front of her, only very slightly a woman, the impression of arms spread wide and an all-encompassing, welcoming darkness, the space behind the world.

The spell hits, and then there is only Rio, staggering, holding her side and Agatha's instinct is to reach for her, catch her, offer comfort or more likely, a scolding about not being able to better redirect her own energy—

Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and watches, impassive, unmoved.

Rio whirls on her, nostrils flared, eyes wide. "What was that—" she stops, looks at Agatha. Snorts without mirth. "Oooh. Ags, if you want it to hurt that badly, you only have to ask." The knife is back in her hand, as much a part of her as any of her limbs. Perhaps more so, who can say what real shape lies under her favored guise? "I've got better ways than magic." She pauses, then adds, softer, more careful, "And that could have really hurt you."

"Can't have your favorite killing machine injured, hmm?" Agatha purrs. "Who'd get you all those bodies you love so much?"

"You know that isn't why," Rio says, colder, unimpressed.

Agatha shrugs, indifferent, resummoning her magic. "So are we going to do this or—"

Rio doesn't answer. She looks away from Agatha, always a bad idea. "…ss me," she murmurs, syllables too soft to be properly made out.

"What was that?"

"Kiss me. And I'll let it go." She still can't make herself look at Agatha.

"Wow," Agatha says, then repeats. "Wooooow. This is a new low, even for you. I know you're obsessed with me," she tosses her hair, preens a little. "And who could blame you. Still, that is really pitiful."

Rio taps her knife against the air, her expression one of grim patience, as though Agatha is a trial she’s trying to will herself through. "You can't beat me."

Agatha snorts. "We'll see about that. But all right, Romeo. Let me skip the next tithe and I'll do it."

Rio nods at once, as easy as that.

Agatha swaggers toward her, places her hand on her former lover's cheek, shockingly warm against her palm. "Close your eyes," she whispers, her voice gone husky. "I'll make it good."

Rio trembles ever-so-slightly and obeys.

Agatha spins her free hand in the air, mouths a silent incantation and the floor drops out from Rio, sends her plummeting into the room below as Agatha cackles with delight and for just a moment, forgets to grieve.

if you haven’t read it, I recommend the mistake.

[lulu-tutu]

Rise tmnt request; platonic hc of mom figure female reader who's taking care of her teenage turtle kids; how she's enjoying cooking with mikey and attend his dr. Feelings sessions, how she sew for raph many dolls and teddy bears with different colors (she hate ghost bear for hurting her baby), how she used to put donnie and leo in get together shirts whenever they start chaos.

But her favorite activity; gathering embarrassing pictures, videos of the turtles's childhood and show it to everyone, like if she ever were kidnapped by big mama they would spend a lovely time talking about the turtles when they were kids (the mad dogs try to save their mom faster before their secrets get exposed😂)

Mother Dearest ⭐️ Rise!Turtles HCs

A/N: *throws unlimited affection at you* How in the world did you manage to give me so many heart clenching, tooth aching, fluff filled requests?? Please take my hand in platonic marriage, we do not deserve you. I almost enjoy these parental requests as much as I enjoy angst. Almost.

Pairing(s): Mother Figure!Reader & Turtles

Warning(s): FLUFF, may make you cry from wholesomeness

Proof read :)

The boys are, well, your boys. You don't make the rules. The turtles are your babies.

Do you spoil them? Yes. Will you ever stop spoiling them? Of course not.

You do everything in your power to keep your kids happy, no matter the cost, even if it's the tiniest of things that make their faces light up like fireworks.

Mikey, oh sweet baby angel, you could never say no to him, why would you even consider that in the first place?

You and him make the most mouth watering dishes the universe has ever seen, and you always give the credit to Mikey despite how he tries to wave it off and reflect it back towards you.

When the two of you are in the kitchen, it's like watching art come to life. When one of the other boys enter the room, they sometimes have to stop and gaze in amazement at the two of you, hypnotised by the way you both work so effortlessly around each other.

You always try and give Mikey little tips to push his dishes towards perfection, and he always does the same to you when you find yourself making something you haven't even heard of before.

You and Mikey are the dream team when it comes to the kitchen, no one could even compare.

Watching his face turn darker from your praises as you all dig into his meals, it just makes you so giddy to see him so happy.

When it comes around to it, you definitely attend his Dr Feelings sessions! You're there to listen and take in whatever your youngest son has to offer, your face serious the whole time he reads through his clipboard or points towards the projectors screen.

Raph was also one of the most spoilt of the four, though you tried to make sure to evenly give the others gifts.

After many nights of learning how to sew and stitch (while getting many pricks and pokes at the same time) you had learnt how to craft the most adorable plushies, dolls and teddy bears Raph had ever seen.

Or maybe it was the thought behind them that made him love them more than any other plushies he had. He would just guess it was both.

The first time you had rushed into the lair with a plastic bag swinging at your side, Raph had thrown you so many worried questions. "What happened? What's in the bag? Did Donnie make you steal from the museum again-?"

Like I said, you'd do anything to make your boys happy.

When you tore open the bag to show him your hard work, he gasped so loudly, tiny stars in his eyes.

He couldn't pick a favourite! Of course the red bear was one of them, with it having a red bandana around its neck and tiny roses dotted around its body, the blue one was also adorable-oh, the yellow one too- a pink one?

The more he looked around in the bag, the more colours he saw.

And then he caught a glance at your bandaid covered hands, which instantly activated his own 'mother bear' instincts. heh.

"You didn't have to make me anything, you hurt yourself doin' it!" "Raph, sweetie, I'm fine! The look on your face was enough to heal any injury."

He melts, which makes you melt.

You helped him organise his room, placing the plushies on his bed, making sure each one got enough love and care. You didn't want any of them feeling left out!

And oh, don't even get started on Ghost Bear. You hear one mention of him and you're shaking your head, biting your tongue from cursing him out for even thinking of hurting your baby boy.

"That guy has no right being idolised by the great Raphael! If I ever get my hands on that no good-"

Mikey has to drag you away after that, hand covering your mouth to prevent some not very nice words from slipping out.

You knew how much Donnie needed to hear any sort of praises from a parental figure, and you were there to give it and more. He was desperate, and you didn't blame him.

You spend a lot of your free time in his lab, even when he has his music blaring loudly. You got use to it after so long.

He doesn't say it, but he really enjoys your presence. You two don't have to speak, all he needs to know is that you're there for him while he tinkers away.

He shows you something new and most likely dangerous?

"Holy cow, that's amazing! You're amazing! How did you even make that?"

Cue him flapping his hands around wildly before diving into a deep explanation about it that you don't understand at all, but you nod along and smile as he talks away.

You also offer to help collect materials with him! Bonding! He never turns you down, even when he's in a bad mood thanks to Leo's pestering.

You let him get his frustration out to you, happy to listen to him rant and just be that shoulder for him. If he wants you to give him advice or feedback, you will. But most of the time you let him just get everything out in the air.

Talking about Leo, hoo boy.

Chaos. Always chaos.

There's rarely a time to relax around that boy, he is such a handful.

"Leo, leave Donnie alone before he pulls out a flamethrower or something."

"Leo! How can you make the most fanciest looking sandwiches I've ever seen, but manage to burn toast? And why is the toaster on fire?!"

"Did you take Raph's shark bear? I'm going to count to three and it better be back on his bed before I stop counting. One- Good. That's what I thought. I'll make you one too, just ask next time."

When you do get the rare moments of peace, it's blissful and strange at the same time.

Sitting down reading together, whether it's him reading a comic and you a novel. Playing video games with him teaching you some neat and secret tricks, or him even showing you around the Hidden City.

You meeting Hueso was the worst thing to ever happen to Leo. Now he has to deal with the teasing of not only one parental figure, but two? At the same time? He has many regrets. At least you two end up getting along well.

When Leo and Donnie decide to have their daily argument? Into the Get Together shirt they go!

"Wha- No! I demand that I be set free! Being close to this moron is a fate worse than death!"

GASP! "How could you say that, dear brother? I was about to say the same thing!"

"You two continue like this and you'll stay together for a lot longer." "Yes, mom."

"Yes, mother."

When it eventually gets out to the world that you're very dear to the turtles, you weren't surprised that an enemy of theirs would decide to use you as bait.

Thankfully, Big Mama was pleasantly fun to be around. When you told her about your boys, she instantly released you from her webs and beckoned you to come closer.

When the boys come bursting through the doors, they instantly crumble to the floor in horror. They were too late.

"Oh, hey sweeties!" You wave towards their tearful faces, your phone out and facing you and Big Mama, a picture of the four when they were younger and taking a bath was currently on display. It was only one of the many you had shown the spider Yokai who giggles at the cuteness.

"We're too late! We've failed!" Mikey sobs on the floor, clutching his face out of pure embarrassment.

"Please tell me you didn't show her-"

You cut off Donnie with a large grin, "The video of you guys pretending to be mermaids? I did."

"NO!"

This was not the first time those pictures and videos have been shown to someone, and it will not be the last. You make it your last mission to show off your boys to anyone and everyone.

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

SEASON 2 CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Blackbeard rules the sea. Despite wanting his captain back, Izzy realises his mistake. Protecting the crew is his concern. Protecting you is his life mission. Stede's return brings hope, but there's a lot of work to be done before this crew becomes a family.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Spoilers. Izzy's depression spiral. No real unicorns were harmed in the making of Izzy's new leg. Things get a little steamy at the end.

Chapter Thirteen - Loving touch

♡♡♡

Stede had gathered the crew, minus Izzy, to talk to them all. Turns out Ed woke up. You swore under your breath when you heard that. No way is that man going to be happy with any of you.

"What happened to your face?" Pete asked Stede who was standing to a bruise on his cheek.

"Bet Blackbeard did that, didn't he?" Wee John asks.

"It was an accident. Okay? I think Ed just sat up too quickly," Stede says.

"That's what they all say," Roach states.

"As you know, he's gone through quite the ordeal and he does need to regain his strength," Stede explains.

"Yeah. He'll probably get around to killing you after he's rested," Jim says, looking Stede in the eye.

"Yeah, I'd say it's a pretty obvious mistake letting him get strong again," Lucius points out. You nod.

"Kick him off the ship already!" Jim yells.

"We just don't banish people, do we?" Stede says. "That's not us. Let's give him some time, perhaps to rebound a bit."

"Medically speaking, the man can't speak, and his brain is maybe couscous." Roach points out. "Also, gonna need that steak back. It's dinner."

"Right. Yes, aye."

"Maybe we should put it to the vote," Fang suggests.

"Do we have to do this now?" Stede asks.

The crew start yelling.

♡♡♡

Stede got his answers from the crew, that much was clear enough. As you head out, Stede catches up to you.

"You were awfully quiet in there."

"Don't get me wrong. I agree with them, Ed has to go."

Stede's expression falls.

"I know you like him, but that man... he did things. He hurt people like I've never seen before. He hurt Izzy..."

"Ah yes, Izzy. How is he?" Stede asks.

"He's been better."

"Where is he anyway? I didn't see him in there."

"Drinking probably. He, uh, he's stopped talking to me at the moment. He won't talk to anyone."

Stede frowns again. "He's stopped talking to you?"

"I think it's the constant drinking... It's making him... upset. Like, more than before."

"I see..."

You shrug lightly and sigh. "Look, I'm not looking for sympathy. You're the captain, sort this out."

You walk off. Stede watches you go, his heart feeling heavy. Maybe he could have a word with Izzy for you.

♡♡♡

You sit on deck with the wooden sparrow in your hands. After everything that happened it had survived. Izzy had kept it in his cabin. You had found it when you had gone in there to find him. Izzy was nowhere to be seen, but the sparrow was sitting on his desk. There was a slight chip in the wood, right on the wing, but for the most part it looked good.

You sigh as you run your finger carefully over it's little head. Did Izzy even notice it was gone? Probably not.

"The atmosphere around here sucks," Lucius sighs, sitting down next to you. You notice the cigarette between his fingers, but you don't ask. "What's that?" He nods toward the wooden bird.

"Marietta."

"Marietta?" He looks at you with a funny expression.

"That's what I called it. It was a gift for Izzy from me. I dropped the first one in the sea while I was angry at him... so I remade her." You hold the sparrow up. "She's a little beaten, but still in nest condition."

"You carved him a bird?"

"Look, I can't draw like you can. I can't make sew like Frenchie, or knit like Wee John. I can, however, whittle."

Lucius smiles a little. "I like it."

A moment of silence passes while you play with the bird in your hands a little more.

"So, you and Izzy?"

"So, you and Pete?" You reply, sarcastically.

"We're fine," he says defensively. "What's going on with your boyfriend?"

You raise your eyes to Lucius. "Blackbeard abused him. Punished him. Took his leg. He's a little upset at the moment. Rightfully so."

Lucius stands up a little defensively. "We've all been through shit," he says.

You narrow your eyes at him. "I'm not saying you haven't. We thought you were dead!"

"Well, I wasn't." He puts out his cigarette. "I've suffered too and it's all his fault!" He points to where Blackbeard is tied up on the deck.

"He's fucked everyone over, Lucius. Just need Stede to get his ass in gear and do something about it."

Lucius sighs. "Do you think anything will ever go back to how it was?"

"No," you admit honestly. "But I do believe things can get better. In time."

Lucius says nothing. He glares at Blackbeard and then leaves. You sigh and return to holding the bird, caressing it again gently.

"Oh, Izzy..."

♡♡♡

Stede found Izzy at the front of the ship. He was leaning on some of the rope rigging, his wooden leg propped up on the railing. In his other hand was a bottle of rum, of which he was drinking merrily.

He looked a mess.

Stede offered him a smile as he joined him, ignoring the look Izzy was throwing his way. He means over and notices the unicorn is missing it's head.

"He's seen better days, hasn't he?" Stede asks in a lighthearted manner.

"At least he's still got both legs!" Izzy yells.

"Yes!" Stede joins in. "He can't hear you, he's go no head. You've got a head, though, which you should look after."

Izzy down his rum. Stede sighs.

"What do you want, Bonnet?" Izzy asks, not really in the mood for conversation.

"Well, here's the thing. The crew, they're in a bit of a deadlock over the whole banishment of Ed thing and I just thought, seeing as, well, you were the one who kept his body aboard, maybe you should weigh in. You've already murdered him once. Seems like a pretty good payback." He chuckles softly. "So, what do you think?"

"My vote?" Izzy leans in a little closer to Stede. "A rotten let's got to come off."

"Right. Just to confirm, was that a nay or yay on the banishment?"

Izzy just drinks some more.

"Right... I suppose I just mention that our Spirit of the sea is worried about you. You've stopped talking to them apparently..."

Izzy says nothing.

"Don't push them out, Izzy."

Izzy just drinks from his bottle again. Stede sighs and takes his leave.

♡♡♡

"So! We, the crew of The Revenge, have voted and we've chosen banishment, unfortunately." Frenchie states, announcing the result. "So, yeah. Effective immediately. Your complimentary dinghy awaits you portside. Now leave, please."

"Fuck off," Ed hisses, walking past him. You watch him closely.

"Alright, rude."

"Fuck you," Ed laughs softly, walking past Olu.

"First time I've been on this side of a walk of shame," Wee John comments.

"Way to make this awkward, bruh," Archie says.

"Shitty sailing with you." Jim chimes in.

"You're making it really hard to look up to you, man," Pete sighs.

"Hey, made you this sandwich for the trip," Roach says, holding it out to him. Ed slaps it out of his hand and Stede catches it

"You don't want your sammie?" Stede looks sad.

Ed slaps it out of Stede's hand and it hits Lucius in the face. You have to cover your mouth to stop from laughing. Lucius bites back his laughter too. It really isn't a funny moment, throwing someone off the ship, but at least you can find something to laugh about, you supposed.

"Ed, say something at least."

Ed turns his head and looks at Stede.

"You're not a fuckin' mermaid."

You knit your brows together in confusion by that statement. Stede looked equally confused.

"What?"

Ed climbs off the ship and into the dinghy. Stede looks down and watches him, you and Lucius part with the rest if the crew, not hanging about to watch any longer.

Ed was gone. That was that.

♡♡♡

"Is it me or does the energy around here seem off?" Wee John asked.

"By 'the energy,' do we mean him?" Roach nods over to Lucius who was smiling and freaking out a little. "Or him?" He gestures over to where Izzy is still standing at the front of the ship yelling at the unicorn.

"Well, mythical creature?" Izzy yells. You sigh as you watch him from where you stand. He still wasn't talking to you much. "Anything to say to yourself? Fuck you!"

"Or them?" Roach asks, looking at Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang scrubbing the deck of any "possible" bloodstains left over from where Edward had bled out.

"Do you still see blood?"

"Yeah. We'll get it. Just keep scrubbing."

"They're lookin' this way." Fang says.

You tune out the rest of their conversation to watch your stupid drunk pirate curse at the unicorn some more. If only you could talk to him. He would surely listen to you.

It was breaking your heart to see him fall apart like this. Izzy hadn't held you since you got back onto The Revenge. He was shutting you out, suffering on his own.

You hated it.

You try not to let the tears fall as you walk away, letting Izzy do whatever the fuck he wanted.

♡♡♡

Olu had invited you to join the crew for a surprise. Jim had speculated they were planning to kill you all off for being disturbed after sailing with Blackbeard. You thought it was a bit of a stretch, but you wouldn't put it last them either.

You were all guided below deck where the surprise was.

"You gotta close your 'cause it's a surprise." Olu says.

No one does that, everyone sceptical. Frenchie leads you all behind Olu. You find Pete and Wee John waiting.

"Ta da!"

Wee John moves to reveal the surprise.

The crew all jump and startle, hiding the knives they were all carrying behind their backs incase of an attack.

"Fuck!" Lucius sighs, jumpy enough already.

"Guys, it's called a pine-ata." Pete says.

"Yeah. So, you just pull this string and then--" Olu tries to explain.

"And then you hit it with a stick!" Pete demonstrates.

Everyone is triggered. PTSD from the storm, from Blackbeard.

"Time for blindfolding." Wee John tries.

"Stay the fuck sway from me!" Jim yells.

"You won't want to stay the fuck away from this came!" Roach says, brining the cake in.

You feel your stomach churn at the sight of it. It looks like the wedding cake...

"God's sake, take it away!" Fang screams.

You all draw your weapons. Yeah, even you. This is too much, too soon. This how it ends up at a stand off.

"One-half of this room has some serious emotional damage," Jim explains, holding Wee John in a choke hold. "And it's not us."

"Well, it's not us!" Wee John says back.

You have your knife pointing at Olu.

"Right, so, is everybody else's arms and various limbs getting tired?" Frenchie asks.

"Alright, look, look, look, look. I think there's actually an easier way to resolve this." Olu days, eyeing your knife. "Yes? Right. So you all think that we're plottin' against you?"

"Yeah," you nod.

"Which, in hindsight, maybe was inaccurate." Frenchie says. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Okay. So, can we all agree to just not jump the other crew and solve this as fuckin' adults?" Olu asks.

"You're saying this is like a space that is safe?" Jim asks him.

"Yeah, babe." Olu looks at them.

"I love that."

"A safe space."

"Yeah, okay."

You all lower your knives. You take a deep breath. Nearly lost your cool there.

"A lot has gone unsaid," Roach speaks. "I think now is a great time to discuss lingering issues."

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely." Archie nods. "Can we talk about the fucked-up sleeping arrangements?"

"Excuse me, do you even have a name, new guy?" Wee John asks her.

"Yeah, fuck you is her name." Jim starts, drawing their knife again.

"Hey, stupid name for a person," Roach draw his knife on Jim.

"You know my name is Archie," she point her weapon at Roach.

Everyone draws their weapons again. You sigh and point your knife at Olu again, but he doesn't sense any actual malice from you.

The sound of something thudding against the floor draws everyone's attention to the door. You turn and your heart skips a beat at the sight of Izzy. Two wooden legs at his feet.

"There! It's done!" He yells. "Maybe next time he'll think twice about not doing his fucking--" Izzy's peg leg breaks from under him as he raises his crutch and he falls harshly to the ground.

You gasp and drop your knife, hurrying over to him. He shrugs you off.

"Get off me! Fuck off!"

You sit there on your knees as he rolls over and starts crawling down the hall. Your heart breaks watching him.

"Leave me alone! I'm already gone." He mutters. He starts repeating a phrase over and over again. "You're born alone, you die alone. You're born alone, you die alone."

You can feel tears building up again. God, only Izzy could ever make you cry so much.

"Yeah, he's definitely more disturbed than any of us," Lucius says, watching Izzy go.

You try to hide your teary eyes as you get up and leave.

♡♡♡

You're sat up on deck with yours curled up wiping away the tears that were falling. If only you could get that stupid man to talk to you. You just wound to heal his internal wounds, and soothe his external wounds.

You don't hear the door open, but you do hear footsteps coming over. You turn your face away, but you know it's Fang who is now sitting beside you. He has one of the unicorn legs in his hand.

"You okay?" He asks softly. Fang was a soothing presence.

"Spectacular," you mutter.

He look down at the wooden leg and then back at you.

"We, uh, we had an idea for Izzy."

You wipe your eyes again. "Yeah?"

"We're gonna make him a new leg. You wanna help? It would sure mean a lot if you gave it to him after." Fang smiles.

"You want me to help?"

"I think Izzy would like that, don't you?"

You shrug quietly. "I don't know. He's not exactly talking to me right now."

"Aw, listen. He still loves you. He's just hurting, but maybe we can help. Let's do something good for him."

Fang offers you a small smile.

You find yourself smiling back. You reach over and take the leg from him. "Okay. Let me see what we can do."

Less than 30 minutes later the leg is being constructed, the crew are gathered to help. Fang constructs the leg into a strong, comfortable, and practical leg. Lucius had got some gold paint to add something that little bit extra.

You smile as you paint the leg.

"The gold was a gold touch."

Lucius smiles, happy he could help.

You leave the leg to dry and then Fang returns to your side with it. You sigh as you take it, looking it over.

"We sure it will do?" You ask.

"Its been measured and made just for Izzy. It will more than do. Oh don't forget the note." Fang holds out the parchment.

You take the leg and take the note.

"Right..."

"Just leave it outside his door if he doesn't want to talk. I can assure you he'll talk to you again soon."

You nod and make your way to Izzy's cabin.

♡♡♡

As you approach Izzy's door, you don't hear much. It's almost too quiet for your liking. You hover outside the door, the leg in hand. That's when you hear his voice. He's talking to someone.

"And you? What's your excuse?" You hear him say. You lean a little closer to listen, worried about him. "I mean, what even are you?"

You knock on the door hoping he'll answer.

"Fuck off." You hear him shout. You knock again firmly. "Fuck off!" He yells again.

You sigh. Telling him it was you probably wouldn't make a difference. You prop the leg up but the door, tucking the note and Marietta, Izzy's carved sparrow that you still had, into it.

You knock again and hurry away, disappearing down the hall.

"You are harassing a cripple! Fucking twats!" Izzy yells, no longer realising the person has gone from behind his door. He limps his way over and opens it, looking down the hall.

He sees no one.

His gaze drops down to the item waiting for him. He sees the note and the bird. He reads the note first, all emotion clogging up in his throat.

Those little shits.

He cries. Izzy covers his mouth as tears overwhelm him. He looks up down the hall, trying not to break down.

"Fucking cocksuckers."

He sees the sparrow and picks it up. It's then he realises you had been the one knocking. His finger close around the bird and the tears fall freely.

Shit. He's been really shit to you.

Izzy hold the sparrow against his chest and takes a few deep breaths. He grabs the leg and hobbles back inside his room.

♡♡♡

It's the early hours of the morning.

Izzy stands on deck with his new leg on. It's a good fit. Made really well. His hair is slicked back against his scalp, out of his face. His face is a little cleaner. No rum in sight.

In one hand he's clutching the ring he wears under his clothes, hanging from a string of twine. He smiles as he looks down at it.

In his other hand is the note. His eyes drift over to the words written on it. His heart feels full.

'For the new unicorn.'

Izzy smiles.

With the dawn of a new day comes a new Izzy. A healing Izzy.

He's going to be okay.

No. He'll be more than okay.

He just needs to talk to you first.

♡♡♡

The sun hasn't even risen yet when Izzy wakes you. You've been sleeping with the rest of the crew since Izzy stopped talking to you, so he had to be quiet when waking you. You're startled awake by something hitting your face again and again.

You wake up to find little balls of paper being thrown at you. You look up to see Izzy waving you over. You look at him confused. He wasn't talking to you befkre, and now he wants to?

That's when you notice the leg and your heart begins to race.

You climb out of bed and make your way out of the room, not waking a single person. You follow Izzy into his cabin and enter cautiously. He looks tidier, cleaner, more content.

"Izzy?"

He stands there and looks at you. There are several emotions flickering in his eyes, but he finds his words in no time.

"Thank you."

You stand there awkwardly. "I didn't do anything."

Izzy inhales loud enough for you to hear as he looks down at his leg, his hand resting over his thigh. "You did this."

"It was the crew's idea."

Izzy holds up the sparrow. "I noticed it was gone, but there was only one place it could be."

You nod your head softly.

Izzy puts the sparrow down and walks over to you, closing the distance between you both. You find your heart rate picking up as you look into those beautiful eyes of him.

"I love you," he whispers.

Just like that he's reaching out and kissing you. You're in his arms again. You return his kiss, having missed his lips. Having missed him. You reach out and take hold of him.

The kiss is hot, passionate, desperate. It's significance lies with the fact that you two spend all your time wanting each other, but when you're hurting, you don't reach out for one another.

You remove his scarf, taking the ring around it and carefully placing it down. It belonged to his mother and you know he would definitely curse you if you lost it. You begin to undress him, and he, you.

Clothes land on the floor. The soft thud of his wooden foot taps lightly on the floor as he moves you over to his bed.

Doing this right after the emotional rollercoaster you both has been through probably wasn't the best idea, but this time no one could stop you both, and this was long overdue.

You push Izzy down on the bed and take care of him, admiring him. You notice the other ring around his neck. You had seen it before, but it's origins you hadn't known. He was wearing it last time you did this too.

Still, your mind was focused on other things.

Safe to say, both of you are going to be a little late getting up tomorrow.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world - @outer-space-beech - @ahewi24 - @grace585 - @innertimemachinegirl - @dmitrytherat - @emilynissangtr -

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

Okay okay!! I was wondering if u could make like cg!havik(specifically for mk1) with like a baby regressor headcanons please and thank you? -🐯

Absolutely!! I hope I got the babyspace part right, I've only written about it a few times!! :D

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Havik Hcs w/ Baby Regressor

🫀 I think Havik would adore a baby regressor, ngl

🫀 This isn't saying he'd love a toddler or a bigger kid less!! It's just that he gets to be really soft with babies, but also act as chaotic as he wants

🫀 Although will keep any gore down to a minimum to basically none, he doesn't want to scare you by accident!!

🫀 Can't do much about his face though . . . But will totally allow you to put on any bandaid or stickers you want!!

🫀 Will try to pep your face with kisses

🫀 Or his version, small clicks or gentle bites

🫀 If either if these make you feel uncomfortable or the first one makes you feel icky, he can settle for putting your foreheads together, another thing he adores

🫀 If your a more softer regressor, he's so totally up for snuggles and tummy time

🫀 But if you like a little bit of chaos, oh boy

🫀 Piggy back rides while running around the house

🫀 Pulling small pranks on others just to grt a giggle out of you, even if you didn't do much to help out other that grab the wrong things and babble

🫀 His little partner in crime, he's so proud 🥺 (Darius off to the side pouting)

🫀 Doesn't really care what titles you call him exactly

🫀 Dada, Mama, Goober, whatever makes you happy

🫀 But definitely has favorite nicknames for you

🫀 Baby-Boo-Boo, my little heart, his little rascal, squishy, precious one

🫀 Although if you have any personal favorite you know he's going to use them almost every other sentence <3

🫀 I could see him absolutely adore peek-a-boo for some reason, ngl

🫀 It's a favorite soft activity, and he can even use some of your plushies just to make it even more fun!!

🫀 If any of your stuffies get hurt or injured, he's gonna fix them right up for you!! (And have Darius sew it, but he totally did it!!! . . . 👀)

🫀 If you can't make out many words or are mostly nonverbal, he's got you!!

🫀 He'll ask all the questions to find out what you want or need

🫀 Babble encourager

🫀 No seriously!! He finds it so adorable when you get all small and can only make sounds

🫀 Will get you regression toys but with his flare 😎 (Darius tells him no half the time >:(

🫀 Has gotten you a paci with a small heart on it and gem stones, made it himself!!

🫀 If he needs to do something or he's busy, he'll let Darius watch you

🫀 But will probably be just as pouty and fussy about leaving you too, your HIS baby >:/

🫀 If your a padded regressor for any reason, he's very encouraging about it

🫀 Whether you have accidents or use them only for comfort, he's with you 100% of the way!!

🫀 Will totally buy you those baby yogurt pelts and then eat half of them himself and chuckle when you get all pouty cause he ate them ALL!! 🥺

🫀 He didn't, but he practically DID!!! (He got you more, don't you worry)

🫀 Doesn't do punishments because rules are silly!! >:/ (and thinks your too small for them, which you are)

🫀 Doesn't exactly do rules but will stop you from hurting yourself

🫀 Like, if you wanna stay up past your ‘bedtime', he's got you!! You two will stay up all night!! 😎

🫀 . . . . Until you pass out on his lap nit even two minutes later because you were too ‘eepy

🫀 Likes pampering you

🫀 Does NOT do self care for himself, have you seen that man? Could probably care less

🫀 But you?

🫀 Your all soft and squishy and precious to him 🥺

🫀 Will let you sit on his lap and brush your hair, doing whatever hair style you want or just messing with it

🫀 And if you wanna brush his? Of course you can!! Even if you wack him on the head repeatedly with the hair brush, he’ll tell you you did an amazing job

🫀 He likes squishing your cheeks because he known you can only whine and try to push him away, but you can't do much, your just a baby after all!! (Will stop if you don't like it or do it only rarely, he might hate rules but he understands boundaries)

🫀 Buys (steals) whatever you want!!

🫀 A new toy? Already off the shelf. More snackies? He's already got three of them in his pockets. A super soft blankie? Well, they're gonna have a fun time catching him!

🫀 Back onto tummy time, he really enjoys it

🫀 Either tummy time is you laying on him and he holds you while rambling about his latest destructive ways

🫀 Or laying beside you on a comfy blankie and watches as you try and chew on your stuffie's hear

🫀 Might even get you one of those baby tummy time mats in a bigger size (He'd make one for you if he has to)

🫀 If you do bottles, he'd love to bottle feed you if your okay with it!!

🫀 Whether he'll cradle you or you just lay your head on his lap

🫀 Can and Will scoop you up and carry you around, he likes showing off how strong he is

🫀 I'm not saying he'll purposely use his powers around you

🫀 But I am saying there might be a few accidents here or there

🫀 If he does scare you, he'll try his hardest to make everything better

🫀 Doesn't like seeing you cry, and doesn't like the idea of you being scared of him

🫀 Over all, he's definitely really fun and accommodating, even with a few minor hiccups

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

*sigh* I actually love Havik, ngl. He was my first favorite MK1 character

[aonungyoufuck]

hi! i hope my request will be okay to you rules but im thirst for smth like this ;

y/n is sully, and mated with aonung (aged up obv)

so in the first part they do yfkyn (smut) and in the second part y/n is pregnant and all alone in the shore bc everyone went to fight with sky people. the birth started but there is so much complication so she end so messed up with so much blood coming out from her v and half conscious. when aonung come back he found her and first he loose his mind he was so scared but then he take her to ronal who need to do all the things like sew her and everything - her condition was tragic.

firstly im so sorry for my english (it is not my first language so yeah) but i decided to write because i see that youre aonung specialist 😂❤️

Ma Baby Ma Baby

Warnings: Obv birth, Some tear kinda gore? Graphic for sure.

Ao'nung (22) Reader (21)

Thank you for the request Anon! Sorry it took me a while since i dont typically write Smut i tried making it up with it some more with the rest of the story (Also i was lowkey coughing up my lungs so excuse my tardiness i hope this was okay!)

Finally. was all you can think about as you felt the stinging pain of the tattoo now being painted over your skin. Sure You dint really need to do this Given your darker complexion and the fact that well you weren't really metkayina well... But that didn't matter. You had stated this is what you wanted for you. For him.

"Almost done don't worry"

Truth be told this was only one Tattoo of many you were sure to have. One of your spirit sister, No doubt later came the mate tattoo.

Just the thought sent shivers down your spine. You had never thought this would happen. That you would be Mated to Ao'nung. Truly no you didn't see this coming.

Had you told yourself when you arrived and hated the poor man's guts. Well You'd probably ask you to drown. However now it was different. He had changed along side you.

"How gorgeous you are"

"Oh stop that i just came to show you" You said slapping his hand off of your hip. No doubt some time later you'd see your spirit sister with one too.

"And yet you take my breath away anytime i see you"

"Oh hush. Do you like it or not?" You asked moving your loincloth just a little bit more to show him fully the full thing.

Feeling his hand stroke your inner thigh and beginning to whisper in your ear. "I do"

"Stop that" You spoke slapping his hand feeling the other now rest on your back and pull you into him.

Now you were not much shorter than him. Not by a lot but right now you felt so utterly small, and in a good way too. Feeling him rub against you, the loincloth now rubbing right above your own.

"Ao'nung stop we cant stop once we start"

"Who said i want to stop" He whispered again now pushing you two down at full force. Him atop you feeling you and you in turn him.

It honestly felt like a bunch of little things were crawling on you with the excitement that you felt.

You two never done anything more than hug or kiss. Never taking it too far. You two knew better than doing anything before mating. But maybe it was time to try something new.

"Ao'nung seriously! Your mother and my father will kill us if we do anything right now"

"Its a good thing your worth it then" He spoke. Kissing your neck and lowering dangerously. Feeling his hand messing with your top.

Jake was a very strict father, It was a blessing he even gave Ao'nung the blessing of courting you. But if this went on any more you were sure you'd lose your mate before he even officially became your mate.

You may as well go out together, you thought now pulling him closer to you. You were thankful that right now it was well past eclipse and no doubt everyone was asleep. So if anyone were to see anything, well it was really their fault.

"It seems even you want this my love"

"Oh shut up"

Almost like messy teens trying to get something from each other. You two messed around with the knot of each other's loincloth. before Finally being expose to one another.

You couldn't help but avade looking at him. Before he placed a hand on your cheek making you turn to him. "Look at me my dear"

Taking in a gulp the air now thick with a tension you had only ever heard of. Looking at him fully. His tattoo on his shoulder wrapping around to his back and little over his peck.

"No need to hide now, dont you think"

You smiled letting him feel you. And you in turn touching him.

"May i ?" He asked looking down to your core. If you weren't high on the emotions you were sure you would have slapped him away to not look. But right now you didn't care.

You chuckled now going to sit at his lap. You wetting him and him in turn causing a friction you so desperately wanted right now. Kissing him. So desperate and yet so gentle.

Both your breathes becoming labored as you smelled each other. Kissing his head and then his collarbone before looking into his eyes.

"Take me as you see me"

He took in a gulp. Feeling you. Seeing you and tasting you. It was all he ever had dreamed of.

And with a prayer on his lips he guided himself to your core. The feeling engulfing you two as he bit your shoulder to hold back a growl that he had been holding.

Now exactly nine months later here you were standing and waiting for Ao'nung to return. Just like you had predicted Your parent's weren't pleased to know you two had laid with each other. Not that you had admitted to.

Actually you had a whole four months to prepare for your ceremonial bond. But Ronal wasn't stupid neither was your mother. Neytiri was talking to jake when the suspension came on. You had been eating too much and so she asked Tsahik to make sure of it.

Sure enough your parents. Especially Jake was beyond furious. And by default you two had your ceremony much sooner than expected.

Now To say Jake and Ronal were the only ones who were furious was an understatement. It really felt that Tonowari, Tuk and Tsireya were the only ones that were happy.

Bless Ao'nung for handling your family.

Unfortunately that short lived bliss of being mates was interrupted. Roa had been found dead with her calf. Now you all stood watching as your father told them to warn the Tulkun. You couldn't move. You weren't allowed.

You just waited watching as Lo'ak and Neteyam were now arguing.

It all happened in a flash. You were in the arms of Ao'nung, and then the next you were asking him to be safe in bringing your brother's back.

Taking yourself into your pod.

You prayed. The pit in your stomach now hurting as you felt your breath hitch. You still had a few months to go. But it felt painful suddenly.

"Eywa please please let this fear leave me" you begged. Hand on your stomach as you couldn't even hear the horns sound.

War didn't just hurt those to went to it. Soldiers bled but the innocent stay and suffer that pain.

The silence of the village was what alarmed you. You were completely alone. Perhaps the stress? The emptiness of it all but you felt your water break.

Panic seeped into your heart. It was far too early. Too dangerously early and you were alone. Nobody in sight. Without even thinking you let out a cry unbeknownst to you calling your Ikran 'Ana.

You didn't even know what to do. All you remembered was what little you had learned from Ronal and your mother. You thanked 'Ana for being ever so patient as you pulled at her face and held her there while you went into the water.

Let Gravity help

That's all you were told was your best of friends. And so you did. Feeling 'Ana Grumble and growl along side you. Perhaps too she was scared of what was happening.

You felt the sting. And then the shooting pain. You began to push on instinct too But that sharp burning pain didnt stop. Looking down at the water you saw red.

Blood. A lot of Blood

'help'

it was the only thing on your mind as you finally felt the relieve of the growing tension ease.

But that wasn't the end of it. Yours lungs ached and the bleeding was getting so much worse. Looking at 'Ana you looked at her finally.

"Please..get mom"

That's all you wanted letting her fly off. You looked down again. Placing your hand down to feel. An open wound. And the head of your babe poking out.

Screaming again as you began to push. Feeling yourself get lightheaded. You looked to the open sea. Cries. War. And you were all alone delivering your babe by yourself.

Begging, Silently praying to Eywa as you felt your legs shake.

Ao'nung along side Tsireya was now dragging back a wounded Neteyam. He made a promise to bring your brother's back. Jake Had told him to take him back to shore and that's what he did.

His people Some wounded and some not so much. Some being dragged. To the safety of his mother's healing pod.

And that's when he saw you. He was so sure he didn't let you anywhere NEAR the battle. He was so sure he didn't see you there. But there you were.

He was one of the very first few people back. And there you were laying on the shore. The water around you red.

"Ao'nung!" Tsireya yelled now taking Neteyam in her arms as she saw him run to you.

So much blood. So much blood. Dragging you he saw the cord that now left your legs and he began to search the water. Scared. Terribly scared, frightened to his core to think that something happened to you or the babe.

And then he brought the small thing up. Its movement now erratic before he let out a shrill cry. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to be so happy

But this babe was so so small. So terribly tiny. And you were bleeding.

"Go take her to the pod! Go" Tsireya yelled again struggling to drag ao'nung but noticing some people coming back.

Ao'nung didn't think he just picked you up and placed the babe in your arms as he took you to his mom's pod.

Now he was no healer. But his mom had taught him how to stop the bleeding So while she would take a while to get here He could do what was the best for the meantime.

Jake now stood in front of the pod where you were being taken care of along side Neteyam. He was both thankful and yet Furious with himself that he let this happen.

He looked at his son in law. his face a distant memory of when he let home tree fall. A loss and yet being so lost in thought.

"kid?"

He didnt respond possibly to shell shocked as he waited

"Hey it'll be alright okay?"

"Will she be alright?" He asked like a little kid. Looking at his family and then Tonowari both parents dealing with having to protect their kids.

Before he could speak. Ronal opened the veil of the pod looking at all of them and then her son. "she's alright"

"and Neteyam?"

"He's alright as well. Hasn't woken up yet but is stable. Come" She said stepping aside and letting them all in.

You kept looking at the ceiling. As you had been the entire time you were conscious. Ronal having to stitch you up and while painful it wasn't as traumatizing and enduring labor alone.

You saw Ao'nung and then your father. And that's when you began to cry. You had been so scared and you were terrified as Ronal had not said a word about your baby.

"Shh its okay. Its okay sweet girl" Your father said stroking your head as you couldn't help but cry.

Ao'nung holding your hand before he felt his mother tap him on the shoulder. A small bundle. Barely the size of a healthy babe in her arms.

"He is tiny. Premature. But he is healthy" She spoke watching as all your family now surrounded her and watched.

She was right. Such a tiny little thing.

Ao'nung smiled. Kissing your head as he just held you. "healthy my love healthy"

You couldn't help but laugh a little through your sobs as you felt ronal lay the small thing on your chest. Sure now came the path of having to care for such a premature babe. But you were just glad all that pain. All that panic was worth it. Because as you two stared at your little son. It made it all worth it.

"Welcome to the family little one" You heard Neteyam say next to you. and Oh Eywa. Was it the thing you wanted to hear after hearing your babe cry too.

[alrightbuckaroo]

Button

thanks for the tag @jesuisici33! this came out much sappier and longer than expected but oh well. Rules: Everyone uses the same word prompt. Write as much or as little as you want for any fandom. Tag at least 5 peopleThere’s NO time limit! Just have fun! Reblog or post separately

"Carlos would kill me if he knew I was showing you this." Andrea flips through the photo album, the plastic pages crinkling against each other as she turns the through it. "This is was the first time we took him to see the Easter Bunny."

Andrea shows TK a photo of a five year old Carlos who's teary eyed and red faced. "It was also the last time we took him to see the Easter Bunny."

Andrea points at a photo of a nine year old Carlos in wide-brimmed black cowboy hat, black button down, a denim jacket and denim jeans. "He wanted to be Cordell Walker from Walker, Texas Ranger for character day at school. He said he wanted to be just like his dad."

Next to it is another photo of Carlos is the same outfit, but Gabriel is kneeling down to be level with his son. They're both wearing cowboy hats that are battling for the focus of the photo. Carlos is smiling TK's favorite kind of smile. He remembers seeing the same smile when he asked Carlos to marry him. Carlos is smiling like he's unapologetically happy.

"Who's this?" TK reaches for an amalgamation of fuzz that's sitting in the box. After pulling it out, he sees that's it a stuffed Koala that's a little weathered, faded grey and missing a blue button eye.

"Kique." Andrea says the name fondly, like she's being reunited with an old friend. "Most kids had a safety blanket, but my Carlitos." Andrea reaches out and gently rubs on one of Kique's ears, feeling the soft fur against the pads of her finger. "He had Kique."

Andrea tilts her head and takes in Kique's missing eye. "If only we knew where that eye went, though." Andrea sighs, then shrugs. "I don't know, part of me wonders if he still needs Kique, maybe even now more than ever." Andrea looks at TK and smiles. "Then again, now he has you."

TK grins at the statement, flattered that Andrea thinks so much of him. That said, TK looks at Kique and can't help but think, maybe having a couple of reinforcements isn't a bad thing. And he is pretty sure he has a couple of buttons lying around the apartment looking for a new home.

"Andrea," TK begins, hoping the answer to the question yet to be asked will be yes. "Do you have a sewing kit?"

Andrea smiles and TK feels hopeful. "I sure do."

--

"Hey baby," Carlos announces when he walks through the front door. "I stopped by the pharmacy and got band-aids, like you asked. Are you finally going to tell me, oh my god." Carlos eyes widen when he sees TK's red stained fingers. "What did you do to yourself?"

"I thought I knew how to sew." TK says while looking at the tips of his fingers. "Turns out, I do not know how to sew."

TK watches as Carlos frantically opens the box of band-aids. "I promise, it looks worse than it is."

"Well it looks pretty damn bad." Carlos had already unwrapped a band-aid and is working to take off the pieces of paper on the back of it. "Why were you sewing in the first place?" He wraps the bandage around TK's right index finger. He doesn't need to, TK could do it himself, but Carlos wants to. He looks up at TK. "TK?"

"I was trying to surprise you." TK comically frowns as Carlos wraps another bandage around TK's left ring finger.

Carlos raises his eyebrows. "I'm surprised all right. What was the actual surprise?"

TK holds up a band-aid clad finger and walks into the bedroom before walking out with a stuffed koala one with a blue eye and a red eye. "Your mom took me down memory lane."

"Of course she did." Carlos mutters under his breath.

"And in doing so, introduced me to Kique, the one eyed protector." TK wipes at the red button eye. "Figured I would take matters into my own hands to make sure he has a second eye. Better to see any oncoming monsters with."

He passes the koala to Carlos, and Carlos smiles TK's favorite kind of smile. "TK, you didn't have to do that." Though, based on Carlos' reaction, and the way he instinctually grabs on to Kique like he never wants to let him go, TK think he had no choice but to do just that.

"I know, but I wanted to." TK tries to respond casually, but his grin gives him away.

"I can't believe I have Kique the Koala back in my arms again." Carlos smiles down at the mismatched eyes. "I'm going to cherish this like it's what I love most in the world. Well second most, I suppose."

"What's the first?" TK asks, eyes bright with knowing.

Carlos reaches over and pulls TK into a kiss. "You, and I think you know that."

TK smiles and it's Carlos' favorite type of smile. "I did, I just wanted to hear you say it."

no pressure tagging: @heartstringsduet, @carlos-in-glasses, @catanisspicy, @rosedavid, @strandnreyes, @reyesstrand, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @bonheur-cafe and @sanjuwrites :)

[itsbeesknees]

Ode to the Grim Reaper

Terzo x GN!reader

——0——

Summary: Terzo is dead. Atleast.. he should be.

Warnings: MDNI, Angst, death, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning, revived corpses, use of google translated Italian, mentions of gore and blood (beheadings),

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: This is my first time doing an x reader, so don’t mind me testing the waters here,, I apologize if it sounds a little rushed, I wanted to try and keep it short.

Even though there is technically no smut, all my works are 18+ regardless, I do not want any minors interacting with my fics‼️

——0——

Terzo is dead.

Well, he should be dead.

Dead people can not, should not, feel things once they’re gone. Their bodies must remain cold, frigid, and lifeless— becoming nothing more than a shriveled and polar shell of what they once were.

Dead people should also not blink. Yet here lies the deceased, supposedly deceased, third Emeritus brother, nictitating his dried eyes. He blinks again. Because, as it would seem, he does not play the role of a deadman very well. He’s a corpse abiding by his own rules now, curling his toes and sucking in a harrowing breath.

Terzo can’t entirely see yet, all that’s currently lining his peripheral is nothing but a kaleidoscope of dancing black dots and faint popping static. He doesn’t understand where he is, doesn’t quite realize he needs to be a motionless cadaver and not a quivering boy. But his neck burns. It won’t stop burning. A deadman’s neck shouldn’t burn, however the pain is singing Terzo away at the edges anyways, convulsing his nerves like a white hot live wire.

Lethargic and rather sluggish, he flexes his gloved hands as he wakes and settles deep into his weeping bones, palms eagerly sliding off his sternum and stretching outwards, only to be curtly stopped by a gritty glass barrier. The more Terzo’s vision focuses, the quicker he comes face to face with ragged claw marks that scoured each side of the coffin he had been tucked into, much like a porcelain doll propped in a curated case. The top pane of glass was missing, removed for replacement. It’s almost sickening how easily Terzo is able to pull himself up into a proper sitting position because of this, since he hadn’t been as fortunate when he first got shoveled into the casket.

Right. How long ago was that again? How much time had passed since he was lounging around that dingy table, squabbling with his brothers?

His neck continues to burn.

It wasn’t just his neck. The scalding infernal heat ran rivulets around the insides of his throat and melted his vocal chords as well, as if someone had butchered the muscle and sewed it back together with fishing line.

The horrid thought of such a thing has Terzo shooting his fingers up to brush along the cusp of his jaw, before briefly sinking them down to the culprit of his torment with a featherlight caress. The leathers of his glove won’t let him catch onto the cracking textures of his dried, flaked blood that had dribbled out and stained the collar of his chasable, but it snags the ridges of a fresh scar coiling in his skin.

It is then Terzo realizes, mortified, that his head had been severed and reattached.

His hands tremble as he peels back his gloves, wanting desperately to feel the festering wound for himself, without anything else in the way. To make sure that it was in fact real, and he hadn’t just conjured it up in a spat of paranoia in attempts to make sense of this wretched situation. Though, if Terzo was being completely honest with himself, none of this felt real. As far as he could be concerned, it was all some twisted dream. A dark carousel of sweltering nightmares and glass coffins and rancid stenches of death.

The calcine pinching in his throat reminds him not to get too ahead of himself.

Regardless of his fright, stripping away his gloves only seemed to distract him further, all due to the glinting band on his ring finger— A ring. A wedding ring. Which means a spouse. His spouse. His lover and muse. You.

The initial shock of ‘rising from the grave’ recedes like the tide of an unforgiving sea, with bittersweet tendrils of memory beginning to seep and ebb back into the fragments of Terzo’s shattered mind. Of course he remembers you. How could he ever forget?

The thought of you flanked any other pressing matter into the shadows of his closet, because he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with everything else yet. It was all too much. If he actually accepted it all— the mockery, the failed expectations, the injected needle, the gaping laceration of a decapitation— he may actually just wither away. So, here Terzo’s quandary will rot in the metaphorical wardrobe with all his other skeletons, until he can finally will himself to face the monstrous calamity that was his death.

It took a miracle to puppet his body out of the casket, his joints hissing and protesting from days.. or months, of inexperience. He had to clutch the edges of the hardy table his coffin laid upon for good measure, since he surely would’ve fallen straight to his haunches if he hadn’t. Yet he managed to liberate himself nonetheless.

The room surrounding him was concealed by a tenebrous midnight, dim and sterile, wreathing his cryptic figure in gloomy shadows. Terzo knew this place, he didn’t need night-vision to attain that he was hobbling around the morgue. The lack of light made it much more troublesome to make a break for the door, but it spared his already splintered heart from anymore misery. Because, if the lights had been on, he would’ve seen the bodies of his brothers displayed pristinely in their own polished coffins.

Lucky for him, Terzo supposes, that the door with the wrought iron handle was unlocked. He has to strain his muscles to wrench it open, which is comical, but expected for a reanimated corpse. Entering the hallway was a bit easier, yet he still leans on the walls for support.

Terzo has walked these corridors hundreds, if not thousands of times, but not like this. Never like this.

Everything was still, silent. No deacons or priests walked through foyers, no siblings of sin scuttled around the courtyards— You could blame that on the fact it was nearing one in the morning, and majority of the congregation was tucked securely underneath their crisp cotton sheets and puffy duvets.

Terzo was grateful for the relative solitude, really, because he certainly did not want to risk the chance of running into any members of the Clergy when all he wanted to do is get to you.

It’s childish, how hastily he longs to be with you through all this madness. His own head had gotten chopped off and weaved back on for fuck’s sake, he should be screaming, lunging into hysterics. Those are the proper reactions to grieving an unexpected death, right?

Later, Terzo assures himself, not all too convincingly, there will be time for that later. Preferably when he’s shrouded away from everyone, so no one can witness him crumbling.

Right now all he wants is you. Maybe he was greedy in that way, clinging to the idea of holding you again. Greedy with your affection, hoarding it like a dragon would with its finest treasures. Terzo loved the way you smiled, the sound of your voice, the way you felt, the warmth your company could bring. So much so, that he never wanted to let you go. Yes, the third Emeritus brother was a greedy one. But only because he’d been alone for so long. Terzo could be surrounded by multitudes of idolizing crowds on the daily and still manage to feel achingly lonely.

His loneliness stems from pure selfishness, he thinks, or his self sabotage thinks, since he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Terzo’s privileged, he knows this, he’s rich in the ways of friends and he’s never met someone who was poor company. Yet here he is, sequestered and drowning amidst his woes.

You’d probably chide him for his thinking if you were walking beside him right now. Terzo's lips quirk into a wistful smile. You were always good like that, anchoring his feet to the floor when all he wanted to do was let the hate consume him.

There was no use in ever trying to put up a front around you, because you were like a bloodhound that could smell malarkey a mile away. And even if Terzo was incredibly reserved and a tad bit stubborn with his emotions, you were patient. Waiting patiently, listening patiently, and when he’d finally rupture and lament into your open arms, you’d patiently card your fingers through the locks of his raven black hair.

There was a sense of vulnerability between you two, something you witnessed in Terzo that others did not, a sacred secret kept between two lovers. A mutual understanding. He may have been Papa once, but he was yours first.

The ministry is too hollow tonight, too big. A bitter gust of wind whistles through a set of open windows as the plodding corpse treks on, one stinging step after the other. The way to your shared quarters is muscle memory to him, it would be an easy path to tread if it wasn’t for the prickling soreness in his throat and chest.

Eugh, he definitely was a sight for sore eyes.

How would you react to seeing him like this, all things considered? There’s a chance you might scream, maybe even hurl a pillow at him, and Terzo would never hold it against you. He’s fairly terrified of his present state, too. Would you cry? Point a finger at his chest and wail and tell him over and over; ‘I told you so’? You had told him so, after all. You knew something was amiss ever since the Clergy tore Terzo off that stage during his final ballad of Monstrance Clock. You had been skittish and riddled with worry for his well-being, and despite all of Terzo’s consoling— he was fine, everything was going to be fine, mio caro.— you were right.

He imagined you enraged, furious at him, not willing to forgive, never willing to forgive. But you weren’t like that. Perhaps you’d cry, or scream, or throw something at him in a fit of shock, but never act spiteful. The most malicious Terzo had ever experienced you being was in domestic acts of grudgefulness in passing of some fatuous argument; like rolling over in bed and giving him the cold shoulder. Or drowning him out with the vacuum. Once you even went as far as ‘accidentally’ washing his whites with some of your cherry reds. Petty, but not cruel.

How far along were you in your stages of mourning? Were you still waiting for him to return to you? Have you locked yourself into the depths of your shared quarters? Have you shut the world out? Terzo hoped that if you were waiting, he hadn’t made you wait for too long.

He tries to break down the remainder of his journey into smaller, more manageable pieces. He reclines against limestone walls to catch his breath when the pain shocks him too much to bear, and starts again when the image of you enters his mind. He almost sobs at the sight of your door.

Hesitant, Terzo jingles the doorknob once, twice, then throws it open, stepping into the darkened room.

Everything is just as it was since he last occupied the space, however long ago that had been. Wedding pictures still hang pristinely on the walls, his comb is still intact on the surface of the vanity. It all remains hauntingly untouched, all except for the bed.

You stir from under the covers, most likely woken from the noise he made in opening the door, rising and blinking blearily in the direction of where he stood. There you were and here he was.

Terzo finds himself faltering, unsure of how to go about this. What’s the proper etiquette of greeting your lover after being recently deceased?

“Terzo?” You call out, voice faraway and hoarse, wavering at every step he takes towards you. Terzo should not be there. He’s dead, immobile in a glass coffin somewhere. You’re either dreaming or must have finally lost it.

But then he replies, whispering your name and moving closer, and the mattress is suddenly dipping from the weight of him sitting on its borders. For a moment you say nothing and he says nothing, only because he’s reaching out to stroke the skin of your soft cheek. His delicate touch makes you recoil frightfully as if you had been stung by a wasp, since you hadn’t actually been expecting to feel him.

“Is this real?” You breathe, eyes wide and flicking down to gape at the gruesome scar that decorated his neck like some debauched necklace of curdled gore. “Are you real?”

“Yes, amore. I’m real.” It pains him to speak, and Terzo’s larynx is definitely worse for wear, sounding all garbled and warbled. But he needs to talk to you, apologize for anything and everything. He needs you to know how sorry he is, because he failed you. He made all the wrong choices, and look where that ended him. It hurts, he really did try, he tried so hard to play the role, appease the Clergy well enough to leave him and his beloved be, yet he was playing checkers while the world was playing chess. And Terzo was never any good at chess. It wasn’t his fault, but he was too lost to understand that.

“I’m sorry.” He begins, it’s a start. “I’m sorry, mi dispiace tanto.” Then came the tears, dripping and smearing the paints that marred his face. It’s all coming crashing down now, every inhale he takes sounds like agony.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. He wants to say, needs to say, but can’t manage the words.

You take Terzo and ease him into your arms, shakily tucking his face into your shoulder so he can cry freely without anyone else seeing. It was what he always preferred; weeping into shoulders or pillows, hiding from the chance of being caught under a scrutinizing gaze.

Terzo is dead. Was dead. Should still be dead. But he’s not.

So, relieved and confused, but mostly confused, you thread your fingers through his hair. Later, you will talk and ask questions and shed your own tears until sunlight filters through the drapes. But for now, you hug Terzo, your Terzo, and shield him from the world as he wails anew.

—o—

[lilpuffyart]

Posting this here just bc I doubt I'll finish this ever

It probably has a lot of writing mistakes and I wrote this months ago instead of sleeping so don't expect anything good :p

Forneus had a simple life. While she was traveling, she would look for food, be it fruits, vegetables or fishes. When she made her stop in her habitual spot from each realm, she would knit something. Be it toys for a few kids she would find on her journeys, or be it some piece of clothing.

And since she was just a friendly traveler, she wouldn't have many issues with each place she went, having sold items for the bishops of the old faith before, and her appearance gave the old Gods some kind of comfort for knowing she wouldn’t do anything drastic. But now, with the bishops gone and the anxiety of who would now rule each place, she sometimes found it hard to travel, especially now.

Forneus wasn't a fool, she was aware that she was aging, but the black cat had her most precious gifts back.

Her children.

When The Lamb and Narinder had brought them back to her, the old cat felt like she was dreaming, touching their faces in an attempt to be reassured that it was real, that she wasn't, yet again, dreaming they were there. Forneus felt alive again that day.

With her kittens back, however, she had to teach them all the things that her mother had taught her once.

And that was what she was doing at the moment.

"Sweetheart, you're going to hurt yourself that way", Forneus said softly to her son, Baal, who was so focused on the yarn that he attempted to turn into some kind of garment. While not looking at her, the gray kitten still paid attention to her words, moving his ears in her direction to show that.

Baal took a quick liking for knitting and sewing, something that impressed his mother. And the interest in it started just as fast, she remembered fondly. The tall cat had awakened before his brother one day, and made his way to their mother, who sat outside their comfortable caravan while knitting. Forneus was sitting comfortable there, stitching the yarn to later turn it into a sweater for one of the children. His eyes followed the object, picking every small detail and curve she was doing with the needles.

He, however, still had a long way on it.

“I can’t make this knot”, he huffed sadly, admitting defeat when he put the yarn and needle on the ground. “You make it seem so easy…”, the young cat sighed and brought his legs close to his chest. Baal felt bad for letting his mom down. After being away for so long, he wanted to desperately make her proud.

But he heard a soft chuckle coming from his side and Baal looked at his mother.

“Oh, sweetie, there’s no need to feel frustrated over this”, she purred softly and rested her paw over his. “You have a lot of time to learn how to do it. Take your time”.

He moved his ears a little bit and he blinked while staring at the ground. Baal was always used to memorizing and then getting things right. Unlike his master and his brother, he never had much patience for these things. He moved his tail back and forth and looked away.

“Let me help you, Baal”, Forneus said while reaching for the needles that were in her son’s paws. His soft dark eyes lighted up with the idea of his mother teaching him something that was so important to her. “First, you

“Oh, sweetie”, she meowed and brought him close to her chest. Even though he was taller than her, Forneus’ hugs always made him feel like a kitten all over again. “I’m already proud of you”.

Baal hugged his mother back, letting her warmth embrace him. He then closed his eyes for a few minutes, feeling the summer sun on his back. Baal huffed and lowered his ears.

“Still”, he murmured. “I’m going to finish this scarf for you”, the black she-cat laughed warmly at her kitten’s stubbornness.

—

Aym was different from his brother, for he liked to be on his own, away from everyone. Not that he disliked the company of his family; he loved it, but he easily felt overwhelmed around others and would wander off for a while.

It didn’t take him long to get to Pilgrim’s Passage in these walks and to take fishing as a hobby. His family needed to eat anyway, so he assumed it would be a useful hobby to have anyway.

Once a week, Aym would make his way there and sit on the small and old deck. Normally people wouldn’t bother him much there either because he was fishing or because he seemed to never like to be bothered. He never minded the company of his mother, she seemed to always understand his boundaries well and would always have a big smile and a few encouraging words to say to Aym whenever he caught something. It was contagious.

“Aym”, she called from behind him, broughting him back from his thoughts. “Did ye catch something?”, she said softly, a small basket was being held by her big paws. The sweet smell of strawberries that was coming from the basket was enough to make his mouth water.

“No”, he simply murmured. He sounded disappointed at himself and Forneus was quick to pick the hints of it.

“We could go back, my heart”, Forneus meowed softly to him, moving her basket to be held by only her left arm. “And come back tomorrow in the morning when the fishes are fresher”.

“No”, Aym inhaled and then exhaled heavily, feeling the pilgrim’s soft breeze enter and leave his lungs. “I’m going to wait longer”, he said softly and flicked his ear.

The old maine coon looked around. It wasn’t late, and the sun hadn’t even started to set yet. She figured that keeping her child company wouldn’t hurt her old body. And even if it did, she would never trade a change to stay by his side.

So she gave a tired sigh and made her way to the end of the dock and sat down next to Aym. The black cat could feel the soft and salty waves hit her feet and she found herself surprised that she wasn’t as against the feeling of it as she thought she would. It was relaxing.

“You should eat something then”, she said as she gently brought the basket close to him. The cat smiled softly at the other cat that slowly picked the basket, as if waiting for some kind of approval from his mother. Aym was careful to put it on his side

[onegianthotmess]

Headcanons For Jane

I’ve been wanting to do this for a while so let’s go!!

Here is the post where I introduced Jane and showed what she looked like: Jane.

Also, I know that @queengiuliettafirstlady is a bit curious about Jane! I’d like to clarify that she is my OC as @natimiles informed you and that there will be a happy ending with her and Theo, just give me a little bit, please! But, in the meantime, you can enjoy these random headcanons that are canon because Jane is my OC/baby and I love her!!!

Jane is Comte’s first daughter, so obviously she’s a bit spoiled in the beginning

Not in a bad way, more so Comte just goes a bit nuts and almost buys all of the women’s clothing in Paris when he brings Jane home, but Leonardo stops him because he doesn’t want the mansion to overflow with gowns and take up his napping spots or for Jane to be overwhelmed

And yes, Leonardo also unofficially adopts Jane and gives her daily headpats because I said so

Jane is incredibly grateful to have been given a second life, but it has led her to question things

She was a devout Catholic while human, but she was confused on what to do with her beliefs when she’d been given an impossible second chance

So, after much contemplation, Jane did decide to remain Catholic in terms of beliefs, but not as devoutly as when she was human because her second life as a vampire has given her a new perspective on things

Jane is often compared to Vincent in personality and none of those comparisons are incorrect

Historically, Jane Seymour was actually called a peaceful angel while in court and was known to be one of, if not the most, beloved queen that ruled during King Henry VIII’s reign

So it makes sense her personality would stay the same even after becoming a vampire

In fact, the reason she wanted to continue living was to help children, even though she couldn’t raise her own son

So, yes, she is often compared to Vincent in terms of being an angel, but her and Vincent don’t see how they’re similar to each other and it’s so cute!!!

Jane only knew English while she was alive and had to learn Modern English from Comte, so when she started dating Theo, Arthur tried to learn Dutch swear words so he could tell Jane to say them to Theo as “terms of endearment”

But, before Arthur could do that, Vincent began to teach Jane Dutch without Theo knowing so she could surprise him

Jane is a very good cook and actually surprised Sebastian the first night she was there because she started cooking dinner way before Sebastian and was about halfway done with the meal when Sebastian walked in

Needless to say Sebastian was both bewildered and very interested by this and started scribbling in his notebook that Jane Seymour was an exceptional cook

Jane will also sit down and knit, crochet, or sew with Sebastian when he gets some downtime and she usually mends his suits if a tear is ever on them

Sebastian’s notebook is getting a nice section on Jane Seymour’s hobbies

Jane loves birds and her pet dove Enid was actually a gift given to her by Shakespeare as a thank you for her sewing some costumes for him for a play he was putting on

And Theo doesn’t like that Enid was from Shakespeare, but Jane loves Enid and sees Will as a nice person and good friend, so he stays quiet

Jane likes to watch Vincent paint and she usually tells him when it’s time to eat and when it’s time for him to go to bed

Jane is actually the only person King doesn’t knock over when he sees and is always gentle with Jane, which pisses Theo off a bit but he also thinks it’s cute as fuck-

When Jane feels restless, she will clean and organize things around the mansion

She’s reorganized the library so many times that it’s literally impossible to not find a book within thirty to sixty seconds, if you know what you’re looking for

Jane will occasionally go into town to help teach children with Napoleon and Isaac

It usually takes a minute for Jane to wake up, so Theo usually has to help her get dressed and occasionally has to help her with her hair if she’s that sleepy

Despite being a queen while human, Jane can be very naive and believes a lot of what Arthur and Dazai say if someone doesn’t immediately stop them or tell her otherwise

And yes, she’s fallen for this plenty of times

She’s the baby girl of the mansion, leave her alone-

Jane has days where she can faint very easily and she has done this while out helping Theo with his work

The first time this happened, Theo rushed her to the hospital and was panicking internally the whole time

And when Jane woke up with instructions from the doctor to go home and rest and drink a lot of water, Theo went with her and didn’t leave her side the rest of the day

When Leonardo and Arthur were asked to see if anything was wrong with Jane after multiple fainting spell days happening, Leonardo and Arthur eventually came to the conclusion that, because Jane’s death and final days had such a massive toll on her body, it affected her even after becoming a vampire

Leonardo and Arthur advised her to try and watch for signs of feeling weak or faint within herself to see if she needed to stay home so that her bedroom wasn’t too far to carry her to if she fainted and another resident found her

Luckily, these fainting spell days are usually few and far between and rarely even happen once a month most of the time

When Jane was dying of postpartum complications, she’d gotten an infection in her eyes from a remedy one of the doctors had given her and it damaged her eyes to the point of her needing glasses

For the first two to three months of Jane’s new life as a vampire, she needed to be guided around the mansion because her eyesight was awful and she needed to wait for Comte to take her to an optometrist to settle a prescription for her and get her glasses made before she could walk around the mansion freely

And during those first two to three months, Jane had broken a few things around the mansion while left alone and wandering the halls and after she got her glasses, she apologized profusely for the damages she’d caused

Occasionally, Jane and Arthur will mix up their glasses and Arthur has to go and find Jane to give her her glasses back as quickly as possible before she breaks something and feels guilty about it

All of the mansion pets have at least a slight fondness for Jane, but the birds, Brush, King, Vic, and Chérie all really like her in particular

Vic actually almost prefers Jane to Arthur and it makes Arthur really jealous because Vic is meant to be his dog and love him

But Arthur feels better after Jane reassures him that Vic still loves him before handing him his precious pup to go and play with King for a bit, who was getting jealous of the attention Vic was getting

Arthur and Jane are very good friends, with Jane almost acting motherly in a way towards Arthur and Arthur just being the flirt he is while also being nice and a gentleman to Jane because she’s a babie who must be protected

Jane actually has a great knowledge on the language of flowers and their properties, from medicinal uses to poisons, she knows almost everything about flowers, even some things Leonardo doesn’t know

Jane has always wanted to go to the beach, but she never really could in her life as a human due to being a lady-in-waiting, then a queen who was pressured to produce a male heir who eventually died after giving birth

Also, she can’t swim-

Jane makes Sebastian take breaks from housework and takes care of it herself

She will cook and clean and do the laundry and have it all done all before Sebastian arrives, thus forcing him to take a day off

Jane enjoys taking walks and usually has someone accompany her, which is usually Arthur and Theo

Arthur occasionally goes out to the bar alone with Jane and challenges her to a drinking contest, which usually ends in Theo being called down to carry his drunk wife back to the mansion and makes sure a tipsy Arthur is alright to be left by himself long enough for Leonardo to come down and eventually carry him back home

Jane gets unusually hungry while drunk and she’ll usually ask Theo if they can go get pancakes while he carries her back home

Jane is allowed to drink with anyone except Jean because of how they both get easily wasted and so they need someone else to watch over them so they don’t get themselves killed or do something worse while drunk

Jane and Vincent often go to Shakespeare’s villa together so that they can have tea with him and talk

They occasionally bring Brush and Enid along with them and both of their pets love both Shakespeare and Puck

Puck is a bit iffy on Vincent, but he LOVES Jane and doesn’t focus on giving Vincent half of an evil eye because he’s too busy getting pets from Jane when they visit

Jane has made winter scarves for everyone in the mansion, Shakespeare, and even the vampires in the castle

Jane met Vlad on the street as he was packing up his little flower cart one evening because she was waiting for Theo and Arthur, and Vlad took a liking to Jane and gave her a few free flowers from the selection he had left

Vlad thinks Jane reminds him of an innocent little girl and finds her cute, so he usually gives her a few free flowers whenever he sees her

And it makes Theo jealous whenever Jane tells him about “the very nice man with strawberry eyes” who occasionally gives her a few free flowers because….it’s Theo and Theo doesn’t like to share his precious and innocent little hondje

And Jane makes pancakes for Theo whenever he’s jealous to help him calm down and to reassure him that no one else will ever catch her eye except for him

Pancakes and a night of cuddling usually does the trick to make Theo feel better and Jane is always happy to oblige

Jane does try to limit Theo’s sugar intake, like giving him the option of letting her pour his syrup on his pancakes or having no syrup at all

It usually works, but sometimes Theo is sneaky and swipes the syrup bottle to put more on his pancakes when Jane isn’t looking

Jane usually instates herself as Sebastian’s replacement and caretaker whenever he gets sick, despite his objections

Even though Jane usually tries to take care of any one of the residents when they get sick because she doesn’t like to see them unwell

Jane loves going to the park and will take Enid with her so she can fly around

Jane actually met Charles at one of her visits to the park and asked if she could visit him at his home so she could get to know him better and meet his friends that he lives with

And that’s what led Jane to visit the castle and meet Faust for the first time and figure out who Vlad is

And Theo does not like Faust

Why?

Because Faust finds Jane interesting, very interesting and just gives Theo a bad vibe

Meanwhile Jane likes him because he doesn’t seem that bad and she finds him funny

Also everyone added Vlad to the “Don’t Let These People Drink Alone No Matter The Cost” list with Jane and Jean due to his zero tolerance for alcohol

Seriously, don’t let them drink alone together without at least one other person or someone is going to die or something weird is gonna happen

They all woke up hungover in Vlad’s flower garden once and flowers were on fire, there was a bear sleeping with them, Marshmallow was trying to get past Cherie to gnaw on Jean’s leg, Enid was asleep on Jane’s head, Vlad was hanging upside down in a tree, a pot of boiling water was in a rose bush, Jean’s eyepatch was missing, and Jane was using Vlad’s black cloak as a blanket

Yeah, Charles had to clean that up and Faust had to take care of Vald, Jean, and Jane while they were all hungover before Jean and Jane could go home the next day

Comte was freaking out about where his favorite most lightweight children went for the three days they were gone

Vincent had to calm down Theo and assure him Jane was fine, but it didn’t really fully work until Jane was home

Jane has a mouse/kitten sneeze

The first time she sneezed at breakfast, everyone looked at her because they never thought she could get any softer or cuter, but they were very wrong

Children love her a lot, she’s like a magnet for kids

When she goes with Theo to take King to the park, children usually come up to her to tell her she’s pretty or to invite her for a game of hide and seek

And babies somehow calm instantly when she holds them

Jane is just really good with kids

Jane was worried about Vincent not having a bed and became even more worried when he said it was fine because he had his couch to sleep on

And Jane couldn’t let that happen, so she talked with Comte and made sure Vincent got a bed put in his room

She even set up some tarps to act as curtains around the bed so that the pillows, blankets, and sheets would be safe from any possible stray bits of paint that would possibly be splattered around in cast of an accident

Jane usually makes Vincent take breaks from painting because she worries about him and they usually make flower crowns together or they go and visit Shakespeare

They make flower crowns for Shakespeare and Puck, too along with their own respective pets

Jane has made flower crowns for Theo and King as well, which makes Theo embarrassed and shy and King very happy because he looks even cuter and eventually gets a snack when the flower crown falls off his head

For Christmas one year, Jane made everyone a special embroidered decorative pillow, even Shakespeare and the castle boys

Theo’s had a golden retriever on it, Arthur’s had a magnifying glass on it, Leonardo’s had tools on it, Jean’s had a tiger on it, Vincent’s had a sunflower on it, Napoleon’s had a sword/rapier on it, Isaac’s had a stack of books with an apple on it, Dazai’s had a book and pen on it, Mozart’s had a violin on it, Sebastian’s had a lamb on it, Comte’s had an hourglass on it, Will’s had symbols for his three most popular plays on it, Faust’s had a monkey on it, Charles’s had resurrection lilies on it, and Vlad’s had strawberries on it

Jane spent about a year and a half planning, researching, and gathering supplies for those pillows before she actually spent another year making the pillows before putting them in nice boxes with wrapping and bows and tags and a hand written card in each to everyone for how grateful she was to have them in her life and that they could do what they wished with their gift

Everyone was very touched by Jane’s dedication to just one gift and they all keep their handmade pillows out on display because they deserve to be seen

Yeah, needless to say that Jane is the queen of going above and beyond for handmade gifts, and just gifts in general

Any holiday involving the giving of gifts, Jane is on top of those gifts, which she planned months in advance for

She’s also the queen of arts and crafts, Sebastian being an extremely close second to her

Jane has made new collars and leashes for both King and Vic because she saw that the ones they had were getting pretty old and worn out

She even made a little harness and leash for Comte’s precious ferret, Thyme

When Jane told Theo she loved him in semi broken Dutch, Theo eased up as best he could on his swearing so that he had less of a chance of his sweet hondje learning any sort of bad language, especially from him

Arthur received many death threats just in case he decided to corrupt Jane’s pure and innocent, and definitely a bit naive, mind

Because Arthur is…well, Arthur

One time Jane accidentally broke her finger on a door and started crying, Theo nearly ripped the door she broke her finger on off its hinges and used it as firewood

He would have, too, if Vincent and Comte weren’t holding him back

Overall, Jane is a sweet babie who could make even the most stone faced serial killer melt with a single kitten sneeze and I love her

(A/N: I got the divider from @firefly-graphics, if you wanted to know or if they wanted to receive credit in this post because I used one of their divider graphics! Either way, go look at some of their stuff because the graphics are really nice!!)

[lizardrosen]

You Speak Like A Green Girl, Unsifted In Such Perilous Matters

Bridgertons performing Hamlet, part two, for @avocado-moon and @glintglimmergleam - this one's all about Ophelia (part one)

One difference Benedict notices right away between the warnings Laertes and Polonius give to Ophelia is that Laertes is looking after Ophelia’s heart and doesn’t think that Hamlet is just using her for fun only to abandon her later; while Polonius talks about “my daughter and your honor,” the implication being that she’s to naive to understand what she’s doing and anything she does will reflect badly on him. Laertes does warn her about gossip and how it’ll turn anything into a scandal no matter how innocent, but it’s not necessarily a moral judgment. He also has sympathy for Hamlet’s position, or at least understands that as a prince he can’t always carve for himself.

Out of this, Benedict creates a Laertes who wants his sister to make the most of life as long as she’s cautious and accepts that there are rules even when she chooses to skirt them. Maybe he waves an issue of Whistledown on “the chariest maid is prodigal enough” and Eloise stifles a snort. He also privately believes that Laertes speaks from personal experience about Hamlet, but he’s not about to try to get Anthony in on that backstory, not when he can’t even be sure Anthony believes Hamlet and Horatio are together. (Hyacinth does believe it, but she lets the language of firm handshakes and hearty slaps on the back and knowing nods speak for her, she doesn’t need it much more explicit than that)

Eloise asks Anthony what exactly is going on when Hamlet comes to Ophelia in her closet. “I see what the words are, of course, stockings fouled, downgyved to his ankles, he sighs and nods and leaves without a word, but that doesn’t really tell me what Ophelia’s describing, does it? How does he do all this and more importantly, why?” She interrupts herself almost as soon as she’s stopped talking. “Ah, no, the most important question, how much of this little charade did he plan from the start? What on earth is going through his mind, Anthony?”

He’s never really thought too hard about it, truth be told. He’s treated it as background information, just the first performance to set the scene for everyone to believe Hamlet has no idea what he’s doing so it can’t be anything worth paying attention to. Somehow, hearing the question phrased as what he had planned, a different answer comes to him and he knows it’s true — at least for this Hamlet and this Ophelia, at this time and place. A year from now he may answer differently; that’s how Hamlet is.

“He was going to tell her about his father’s ghost,” says Anthony. “He hasn’t even told Horatio yet, he’s just been driving himself half-mad trying to figure out what to do, and probably hasn’t changed his stockings for a few days, certainly hasn’t bothered to brush his hair — you’d know all about that, El, wouldn’t you?”

“Ha ha.” she says without humor.

“And then he thinks ‘Ophelia will think of something’ and goes looking for her right away. It’s too sensitive to trust with writing, with her father’s servants how they are — not that she’s been reading what he has to say — so it has to be in person and it has to be now, before he loses his nerve.”

“So did he tell her? It’ll change almost everything if she’s in on it with him and telling Polonius what he needs to believe. Or did he lose his nerve?”

“I wouldn’t say he lost his nerve, exactly, but he opened the door without knocking — sorry — and saw her sitting there just looking so normal. What do you suppose Ophelia was sewing anyway?”

“Not embroidering violets,” says Eloise emphatically. “That’s so obvious it’s practically trite. I think… adding pockets to all her dresses, big enough for a notebook or two.”

“Oh, naturally!” he laughs, because that’s such a perfectly Eloise answer. “He looks at Ophelia with her pockets, tongue sticking out like she always does when she’s concentrating, and it feels like they’re living in completely different worlds. He can’t drag her into the conspiracy he’s gotten caught up in, but he can’t go back to pretending he’s a part of her world either, so…”

“So what Ophelia describes to her father is a goodbye,” she says, thinking of that awful fight with Penelope, “And she might not even know it.”

“Right. It’s not what Hamlet expected either, or he would have been better prepared.” Anthony shakes away an image of himself knocking on the door of Siena’s latest gentleman with an armful of flowers. “But he’s there in front of her and he doesn’t get a do-over. He can’t even speak to give her an explanation, he just holds her hand and tries to memorize everything about that moment before he leaves it behind.”

“No wonder she’s so affrighted; a sigh with so much behind it must have felt like the world was ending. There’s good news, though,” Eloise adds with a wicked grin. “They get a do-over after all, it’s just forced on them by their awful parents and makes everything worse for both of them.”

“Hooray! No communication, only disaster!”

“By the by, I do intend to scream back at you in that scene, at least as much as you yell at me.”

“Yes, well, Hamlet deserves it,” he says with a small grin.

Almost anyone could play Reynaldo, the spy Polonius sends after Laertes in France, so the question becomes: who’s most likely to tattle on Benedict for something he might not even have done. Eloise would notice what he’s up to, but usually keeps it to herself unless it’s funnier to call him out at the worst time, and he keeps too many of her secrets for her to make something up to get him in trouble. Besides, Ophelia enters right after Rey exits, so Hyacinth gets to play Reynaldo instead.

Reynaldo is left out a lot of the time because he’s really the B-plot at most, or he’s combined with Osric because they both carry gossip in plot-relevant ways, which is a sensible enough double-casting. However, Rey also keeps an eye out for Laertes the way Horatio looks out for Ophelia after Polonius dies, so it’s a nice connection. She plays Voltemand, the ambassador to Norway, for similar reasons — an outsider wherever she goes, carrying news across borders.

Hyacinth’s Reynaldo is quiet and polite and refers to a little notebook with Polonius’s previous instructions, but after she’s firmly told her employer goodbye for the second time, she just walks away and stops paying attention as only a youngest sister can do, and then Polonius doesn’t notice Ophelia and her distress at first, but he does genuinely comfort her and keeps the lines about the different temperaments of youth and age.

[wispstalk]

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer and @nuwanders for this tag game to share lines from my fics, which are under the cut.

Rules are to post examples of your writing for the orange lines. (you don't have to make them orange I just did for ease of reading)

Tagging back: @ehlnofay @da3drat @druidx @jiubilant @thealterscrolls @profanetools @larkscribbles @everybodyknows-everybodydies @ervona no obligation, some may have already seen/done this, and anyone I forgot to tag who wants to join in please @ me

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

“I doubt Baurus will be laughing,” [Jauffre] says wryly. “But I will,” [Coradri] trills, and sets the helmet aside.

From this one shot. It's mildly funny in context but when I read this out loud to my bf, I did a sing-song voice for Coradris line and cracked myself up so bad I could barely get through the sentence 🫣

A line from your fic that makes you sad

The water is leaking from his face again. He never knows when this is going to start up, and he doesn't know how to make it stop. 

From The Nature of Fire

A line from your fic you’re proud of

 An echo of warmth still lives in his hand where they had touched, where they exchanged glimpses of some fundamental inner part of the other. What had the priest sensed? He can hardly guess, but he knows what he saw. That soft-spoken, soft-hearted, soft-handed priest has a will like the ocean in a storm.

From Idle in their Thrones

A line from your fic you think could have been better

A small task. Sewing is easy for him. The rest — trying to dredge up some understanding of the mess he's gotten himself into — will take a little more effort.

From IITT, during the confrontation at the mythic dawn cave. Got the idea across but there's pieces missing... that whole chapter came out a little hamfisted.

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character

“The Chalice of Reversal,” [Thadon] wails, and clutches at Tanis’s sleeve. “You must retrieve it, champion, or else..."

From TNOF. Fuck Syl for stealing it but man like YOU gave out these drugs it's on you to keep ye olde magickal naloxone on hand

A line from your fic that makes you go ‘aww’

[Rona] lays a gentling hand on [Little Makob's] arm. “Mind your volume, tadpole. Come, why don’t you fetch me my crutch and we can go sit by the fire and talk?”

A line from your fic that’s full of symbolism

From this one-shot. Something something people who are patient and gentle with upset children

When the Black Hound is off the leash, his people used to say, pick a god and start praying.

In TNOF but first referenced in IITT. The reader only sees Tanis past his "prime" mercenary days, so it's meant to take on a little different timbre when it comes up in the stories. And blah blah blah the themes the themes

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

But Irathi put them up at a nice inn, and they spent their evenings drinking with a crazy old alchemist who lived in the basement.

From IITT. Sinderion :)

A line from your fic that’s shocking

The hot smell of offal presses the back of his throat like a blunt, insistent finger.

From TNOF. Discovered recently I like writing stuff that is gross and I grossed myself out with this one.

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

“My little beasts of inspiration,” Tall-Trees-Falling explains drily, as she affixes a spiral shell to one of them, forming a claw. “Perhaps one will strike you.”

Tall-Trees-Falling is a one-note character in the Shivering Isles DLC who mostly stands around lamenting that she sucks at writing. Relatable, but I thought of all the time I spent unable to write or draw....i wasn't just, like, doing nothing. So I made her a sculptor.

But it's a funny thing where if you're not doing The Creative Act that you have tied to your identity, it can sometimes feel like it doesn't count. She's like "oh I build life-size fantastical creatures out of trash and shit I find on the beach but it's whatever." I'm a little like this with my hobbies. I spent years learning different fiber arts and gardening techniques and fucking CARPENTRY but it only recently occurred to me that I was referring to that period as some kind of creative dead zone because I wasn't drawing. Anyway her gag is that she is making immobile sculptures so they can't strike, but she keeps at it anyway.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Long Fic Titles (8+ Words) (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form (ao3) - templeofshame

Summary: Dan considers safety, the internet, and rules he wants to break.

can you be sure there's gonna be more? (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: dnp go to their afterparty after their last tatinof show in the uk

Cross your legs and hope for the best (ao3) - waterbearer_sun

Summary: Dan is sitting in a lecture, desperate to pee and desperate for Phil to be his.

defining a life by full stops and him (ao3) - zvyozdochka (paperdaisies)

Summary: The book is a window, of sorts, framing your life in neat margins and a mess of brainstorming sheets. It’s easier to see in from the outside, and memories that had faded into a comfortable, if bewildering, wallpaper, are cast into stark relief. You can see, in black and white, how two entities came to be danandphil, and you will be honest with yourself as you try to be in these matters: it is quietly terrifying.

every kiss suspending gravity (but only the lonely survive) (ao3) - whatdoiknowx

Summary: Dan and Phil apocalypse omorashi.

Yeah, I don't know either. Enjoy?

How To Find Your Missing Husband, or, The Amazing Crossover is Not On Fire (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: In the year 2063, just as International Rescue finally recovers from the absolute mess that is the Hood's attack on Tracy Island, an event known as the Great Restructuring occurs. Multiple universes are merged together, a teen who is supposed to be dead is revived (and promptly adopted), Sportacus is there... and two longterm partners, famously described as 'actual soulmates', are torn apart.

Will Phil ever find Dan again? Or are they doomed to be separated forever?

I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages (ao3) - coldtea (orphan_account)

Summary: Phil is a writer who can’t seem to stop including Dan in everything he writes.

i can hear it now (like i heard it then) (ao3) - kay_okay

Summary: Dan watches Phil light up, and suddenly feels like everything's in slow motion. They're still making their way up 7th, Times Square’s persistent neon glow casting waves of pinks and greens and yellows onto the pale of Phil’s face like a projector to a wall. He's struck by his own memory, their own night up on the Manchester Eye, surrounded by another city dark and light at the same time.

He doesn’t hear a word of Phil’s story.

I guess it's fine (it blows my mind) (ao3) - t_hens

Summary: things get interrupted when Phil's neighbor knocks on the door, but maybe the interruption can be used as a chance to discover something new.

I Know You Really Well (And Like You Anyway) (ao3) - abriata

Summary: At the time, Phil had rather liked the idea of playing matchmaker for two of his friends, especially when one of them was Dan, who seemed like he might like a little support in the dating arena.

In Phil's defense, he'd only known Dan about five weeks. He hadn't learned yet.

I'm gonna keep falling for you now (even if I keep falling down) (ao3) - t_hens

Summary: 'The first night that we met

We climbed up on your roof

You saw the sky light up the way I did right next to you

"We'll take it slow", you said

As we kissed inside your room

You saw the morning light the way I did right next to you'

i quit my dreaming (the moment that i found you) (ao3) - phanetixs

Summary: Phil pulls back when Dan’s teary-eyed and staring at the ceiling. “Whatever you’re worrying about, don’t. We’ll be ok.”

Or, the end of TATINOF and its implications.

lie with me (sew your heart to my sleeve) (ao3) - trademarkblue

Summary: You make me feel safe, Phil. I've never felt like that before. Safe like this. Not for a long time, at least.

A ficlet about comfort and new love.

Stacks of pancakes as tall as my love for you (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil loves pancakes and he loves Pancake Day but he isn't really in his usual mood for it when the day comes around in 2021. It's a pleasant and befuddling surprise when he finds Dan has taken on a surprise pancake project all on his own.

The city is so loud (but you drown out all the noise) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil's pack might have kicked him out for mating with a human, but his love for Dan was much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced before. It wasn't easy to adjust to living with Dan in his - now their - small flat in London, but Phil would do it again in a heartbeat. With Dan by his side, Phil was sure he could get used to all the weird things humans did.

Two Chains, Six Letters: On the Edge of 2020 (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: While spending Christmas with his family, Dan discovers an Instagram story that fills his mind with sensual possibilities. He can't wait to surprise his boyfriend on New Year's eve as they continue their ten-year-long tradition of beginning sex in one year and taking it into the next. Both men take turns surprising each other, and the end result leaves each of them speechless and supremely satisfied.

We balance each other out on the seesaw of life (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil had dragged Dan to Isle of Man after his return home from tour. The sea air would do him good (even if it gave him hobbit hair) and he could be surrounded by Phil's family (who were his family too). He hadn’t actively planned to drag him onto a seesaw on a playground but it turned out to be a precious moment all the same.

when it feels like nothing else matter, will you put your arms around me? (ao3) - commonemergency

Summary: “Sorry.” Phil says.

His father wraps his arms around him, and the embrace feels warm. It’s an embrace that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s like when he was a kid and something scary happened and his father just held him like nothing could ever hurt him because his father was there protecting him.

“It’s okay.” His father quietly whispers into his hairline. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t know how to tell him all the things that he wanted to say, like: I don’t know how to stop my thoughts from spiralling out of control. What if the medicine makes it worse? What do we do if things don’t get better? How do I live in a world that doesn’t have my dad in it?

“Let’s just enjoy right now.” His father says, and he doesn’t let go of him.

when you are young, they assume you know nothing (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: After a misunderstanding at prom, Dan finds himself in a dilemma; should he fall into a summer affair with Phil, or should he make up with his boyfriend of 3 years, Blake?

Based on Taylor Swift's Folklore.

you look so good it hurts (in my favorite t-shirt) (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Phil is gifted with a "Mega Dilf" shirt. Guess who picked that shirt out?