#cause it wasn’t needed for her body’s immediate survival

[little-pondhead]

The Phantom's Letters

[I had fun with this]

—

Uh...hey, I guess. 

I don't know how to start this, but I'm your��son. I think? Maybe clone. Still trying to figure out the details of that. But I just wanted to send a letter. I don't want a reply, but I just wanted to let y'all know I exist. It would feel nice if you did. 

And, uh, I don't have anything else to say, really? I have a sister. She's my adopted sister, so she's not related to you, but my sister says that writing letters is one of the ways you can vent your frustrations and organize your thoughts. She wants to be a therapist, so I'll take her word for it. I guess this is just my way of being angry. I can't be angry any other way, too many people would get hurt. 

So if this works out, expect more angry letters in the future? CW says that bottling up my negative emotions and keeping everything to myself will lead me down a dark path, and I'm trying to avoid the end of the world, thank you. So you're gonna be my outlet. My...trashcan. Ew, no. That sounds like the title of a weird porno Johnny made me watch once. I just need someone to see the ugly side of me, without expecting anything else. Right now I'm just basically yelling into an empty void, trying to be 'healthy' about my feelings.

Sorry. If you don't like the letters, just burn them or something. I won't care. 

Anyways, uh. See you next time?

-Phantom

—

Ancients, this is still weird. CW said it was helping, though. So that's good. 

I failed my English test today. I didn't mean to. I even studied all weekend! But Boxy decided it was the perfect time to get into a fight with Lunch Lady, and we nearly had another Nasty Burger Incident. By the time I returned from breaking them up, the class was over, and I got an automatic zero. It was an important test. Like, a state one. I'm still...sad, I think. 

I'm not sure. I know I'm disappointed in someone, but I don't know who. Myself? Lunch Lady? Boxy? The teacher? Whatever. As long as I don't cheat, it's not the end of the world. 

Being a student sucks major ass.

-Phantom

—

hehehehehehe

I played a prank on my friends today! I turned everything upside down in their lockers and switched the colors of their clothes. It was really funny, even if they gave me shit for it. I had some help from Sidney Poindexter, this guy I know, so everything was right at the end of the day. 

Sidney's a pretty alright dude once you get to know him. He hated me at first cause he thought I was being a bully to this jock kid, Dash. When in reality, I’m the one being bullied. That day Sidney caught me messing around, I was just trying to get some payback after Dash did something really nasty. It was really weird, looking back, cause Sidney suddenly got up all in my face and kept trying to defend Dash, thinking I was some horrible person. Eventually, the mix-up got cleared up, and I apologized to Sidney for reminding him of his trauma around bullying. He hates it for a reason. Don’t tell him I told you this, but Sidney died from being stuffed into a locker by a bully and being left there. Now I’m afraid of getting stuck in my locker, even if I know I can get out. And Sidney would never let that happen to another kid. It just…eats at me. Whenever Dash closes that metal door on me. It always feels final.

Huh. Am I claustrophobic?

-Phantom

—

I defeated Skulker again today! Whoo!

Who is Skulker, you may ask? Why, he’s only the most annoying and persistent bounty hunter I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I don’t even have a bounty on my head! Well, except for that one from Walker, but Skulker hates Walker on principle and rarely teams up with him. Walker likes to put everyone in jail, even me! (Even though I think I’m his grandson somehow??) 

Anyways, Skulker just likes to chase me around cause I’m ‘rare.’ He wants to skin me for his pelt and display it on his island, even though he doesn’t like people visiting said island. So what’s the point? Also, I rather like my skin, thank you. I’ve already been electrocuted to death, I don’t want to keep floating around my afterlife with no skin. I’d have to ditch my organs, too! (Cause bones are more pleasing to look at, aesthetically) And then how would I finish school?

Oh and that whole ‘rare’ thing? BULLSHIT. Skulker regularly takes work from another one of my kind, and most of that work is making my life difficult. There are only four of us in existence right now, maybe five if CW’s hints are to be believed. But let’s stick with the four. There’s me, that fruitloop fucker, and then the other two who are still technically ME! (long story)

Well, enough of that. I blew Skulker’s head off with his own missiles so it’ll take him a while to reassemble himself. I’ll get a break from him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

-Phantom

—

I went to go see Frostbite today, my doctor. 

My kid is finally stable. She’s gonna be discharged next month. 

How do you feel about being a grandparent?

-Phantom

—

Well, I’m not gonna reveal names n shit cause then you might find me, but the kiddo wanted to send you a gift from the sickie bed. Drawing was something she took up to keep herself occupied since she can’t read much yet. Her ‘creator’ didn’t bother to install that knowledge, cause that would apparently lead to more trouble than it’s worth. But she's learning fast! She already picked up a few letters just from the nurse's documents. Granted, they're in the wrong language...

Holy fuck do I want to punch that fruitloop fucker. 

Anyways I’m keeping it short, the doc wants to talk to me about her recovery and medicine plan. I attached the pictures below. 

-Phantom

—

I hurt someone today. I didn’t mean to.

Please, believe me, I didn’t want to. That damn clown-

It hurts so bad. I can’t breathe and my core feels like it’s breaking.

People are flinching at me now. I can still feel bones breaking under my hands, and I can’t remember if blood was spilled. Why me? Why can’t I remember? My friends won’t tell me what I did. Not all of it. 

I know I did something bad. I didn’t-

I can’t do this anymore.

-Phantom

—

Okay, so I’m all better. What’s a little mind control for the trauma list, eh?

Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten over it. As long as the people close to me know I wouldn’t hurt them on purpose, it’s all good! :D 

Some of the townsfolk kinda hate me now, but I just avoid them. In and out, just get the job done. The others don’t mind. They were affected too, so things will be quiet while we all recover. 

The kiddo is doing okay and is asking about you. I told her I don’t want replies, but she still wants to send a letter. You might get one soon.

-Phantom

—

Hey.

How the FUCK does one handle being a king?

Asking for a friend, thanks.

-King Phantom

P.S. I am not the one putting that signature down. Sorry about that, I’ll get it fixed.

—

Hm. I think it’s fixed now.

-Phantom 2, Electric Boogaloo

—

OKAY, NOW IT’S REALLY FIXED. THAT LAST PART WAS A PRANK FROM MY FRIEND I AM SO SORRY.

You’d think that writing on fucking parchment paper would make it difficult to change one’s signature after it was written in ink. But nope. I just had to make friends with a time lord and teach my friends old magics.

-Phantom

—

Just a heads up, I’m gonna come out to my parents tomorrow. Er, adoptive parents. About my death. About everything. They're ghost hunters, so I may or may not disappear for a bit depending on their reactions. Don’t worry about it, I always come back swinging!

-Phantom

—

bear granbparents ,

my nane is ellie.

i an baddy’s datuher

he needs helq.

pleas come

dab menn in wite

theg got hin

- da n i elle p han tom

—

Danny finds out hes a clone/ adopted, and instead of processing that like a normal person he decides, "Well its not like they can find me so imma mess with my bio parent(s) while venting my frustrations. Two birds with one stone."

Hence (hero or villian of your choice) begins receiving letters via untraceable magic of him telling them he's thier clone/son and just telling them about his day/past adventures.

Unfortunately most of his adventures are horrifying and the person is desperately scrambling to find thier dumb (possibly undead) child and rescue them.

It probably doesn't help that Danny only signs his name as Phantom and is careful not to give clues to his location.

[fanaroff]

Dp x DC Prompt: Space Like An Ocean

An alien had taken up residence outside of the Watchtower. Its first appearance immediately started a panic with most of the heroes that could survive in space converging on the station to see whether it was friend or foe. In the end, it did not seem either.

In fact, it seemed fine with just basking and napping wrapped around parts of the Watchtower that made up the outside. It wasn’t the size of the Watchtower, but off and on it was a very near thing.

Humanoid, yet distinctly inhuman. White whispy hair sat atop its head, pointed ears, and the only feature that could be made out of its face were two bright green glowing eyes. A color that sent Batman into a research frenzy. Its skin was void-dark. Almost looking as if a piece of space itself had separated from the cosmos and took and almost snake-like form. Or maybe an eel?

The most notable thing about the creature were its injuries. Multiple lacerations covered it, leaking a green that never touched the Watchtower and seemed to evaporate not long after leaving its body. Any silent attempts to collect it for study and to figure out what it was were met with emotionless green eyes and a bare hint of fang. They backed off quickly.

Flash liked to call it a mer-eel. “Cause it’s got an almost human torso, two arms, and the rest just kind of curls up!”

Wonder Woman was unimpressed with this. “That would suggest it is more like a naga.”

To which Green Lantern replied, “No, no, he’s right. There’s an almost white fin-like bit that goes down the tail like an eel’s does.”

Any more attempts to identify the creature led to nothing and soon the “eel” became a silent fixture of the Watchtower.

It was ages later when Zatanna entered the Watchtower to discuss a completely non-connected case when she stumbled immediately upon leaving the Zeta Tube and had to lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

“Something feels like Death.” Was all she could get out before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she dropped to the ground. She wouldn’t wake up, dead asleep. Immediate worry all around lead to Justice League Dark being contacted in full.

Constantine with Deadman in tow were ultimately the ones to solve the mystery. It took but a moment for Deadman to be seen thanks to Constantine’s “magic” and awe was the first thing apparent on his face. Deadman didn’t even need to leave the Watchtower to know what it was.

“Oh,” he whispered like a prayer. “So that’s where he goes when he takes a break.”

Queue questioning.

“He” turned out to be Phantom, the Ghost King who had apparently decided the Watchtower was a perfect basking spot. Confusion was abound at this.

“No, see,” Deadman tried to explain. “He has two Obsessions and the Watchtower feeds into both. Heroes who protect, as he is a protector spirit himself and probably feels a kinship, and space.”

Constantine and Deadman explained as best as they could, but when the questions finally settled, the last was “Why isn’t Constantine affected like Zatanna? Why aren’t the rest of them affected like Zatanna?”

“That’s easy!” Deadman piped. “None of you are attuned to death magic! I’m a ghost, he’s my King. Zatanna is a magician with experience in most magics. And Constantine doesn’t own enough of his soul to feel the death!”

In the end, a request from Deadman was all it took for things to change. With barely a rumble, Phantom pulled himself from the Watchtower and drifted far enough away for his aura to no longer affect Zatanna. The heroes could only watch in awe as the eel-like god returned to the open ocean of space.

Addition:

There were a giant green eyes observing the conference room. Every hero inside was frozen in place, staring back at the eyes and trying their best not to move a muscle. Phantom had moved from atop the station. Phantom had acknowledged them. Phantom was staring at them from a window of the Watchtower.

No one knew why he was there. Just that suddenly he was. The bright green lighting the entire room with its shine was the only warning they got. They stared. He stared.

Slowly, he moved. A hand-shape pointed with a claw. They were confused. The hand made a pointing motion again.

The table?

Ah. Several shards of kryptonite sat on the table. The topic of the discussion as someone had somehow gotten ahold of the shards and used them against Superman. They needed to know who supplied them.

The hand pointed again.

Why did Phantom want the shards?

Apparently, it wasn’t up to them to question as the pointing hand phased into the room, palm up. Waiting. No one moved for a moment until a white narrowed slit formed in Phantom’s eyes.

Green Lantern was quick to grab the shards (Batman made a token protest, those were his damn it) and placed them in the palm. He shivered as his finger brushed the skin, ice cold washing up and down his spine.

The hand closed, retracted and approached the face. The eyes stared as a large mouth opened (fangs, sharp sharp fangs laid in green) and a tongue popped out. The shards were placed on the tongue and the mouth closed with a sharp crunch.

Phantom grinned almost smugly before he drifted away from the window and back to the top of the Watchtower.

“Did- Did Phantom just ask for a snack?”

[moonselune]

companions and drunk reader crying and cuddling with scratch + owlbear :33

I did this set at the reunion party because for some reason I thought that was part of the prompt but hey ho, some fluff to warm our souls and brighten us up during this darkside of the year <3

Karlach:

The reunion party was in full swing, the lively hum of conversation and laughter filling the air. Music played from a makeshift ensemble, and the scent of roasted meat and ale mingled with the crisp night breeze. You and Karlach had been inseparable for most of the evening, both of you reveling in the joy of being free from the hellish grasp of Avernus - even if it was a brief respite. Friends surrounded you, their faces lit with genuine smiles—a rare luxury in the trials you’d all endured together.

But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, Karlach found herself chatting animatedly with Wyll and Gale about some shared escapades. It wasn’t until a lull in the conversation that she noticed your absence.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the crowd. Where had you gone? You’d been right beside her just moments ago. Her heart sank slightly as her mind played through the possibilities, but then she noticed a faint commotion near the far side of the camp, where the light of the bonfire barely reached.

Curiosity and concern prompted her to investigate.

As she approached, Karlach was met with a sight that was both hilarious and heartwarming. There you were, sprawled on the ground, your cheeks flushed from too much drink, nestled comfortably between Scratch, who was contentedly licking your face, and the owlbear cub—no longer a cub but still unmistakably affectionate. The owlbear had draped itself partially over your lap, its massive body radiating warmth, while you murmured incoherent endearments and occasionally giggled.

“You are such a good boy, Scratch,” you slurred, scratching behind the dog’s ears with one hand while your other patted the owlbear’s soft feathers. “And you—big ol’ fluff monster—you’re my second-best friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Scratch, though.”

The owlbear let out a low, rumbling coo, and Scratch wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Karlach leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and just watched you for a moment, her expression softening. The firelight caught in her amber eyes, reflecting the warmth she felt in her chest. After everything you’d been through—fighting, surviving, struggling—it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile. Seeing you so carefree, surrounded by creatures who adored you, filled her with a quiet contentment.

“Well, well,” she drawled, stepping closer, her voice laced with affection. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’ve already gone and replaced me with fur and feathers.”

You looked up at her, blinking owlishly, and broke into a wide, dopey grin. “Karlach! Join us! There’s so much love here, it’s like… like a cuddle explosion!”

She chuckled, her heart melting a little more. “A cuddle explosion, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s the best kind of dangerous,” you declared, patting the ground beside you.

Karlach didn’t need much convincing. With a theatrical sigh, she dropped to the ground beside you, her warm body pressing against yours. Scratch immediately climbed into her lap, while the owlbear shuffled closer to include her in its feathery embrace.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and tender, “I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“‘Cause I’m with you,” you mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder. “And Scratch. And Big Fluffy. It’s perfect.”

Karlach wrapped an arm around you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

“You’re perfect, babe” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Minthara:

The reunion party was a raucous affair, the camp alive with laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst of song. Minthara had joined reluctantly at your insistence, her usual composed demeanor barely hiding the faint amusement she felt as she observed the chaos.

The Drow paladin rarely indulged in such frivolity, the two of you had an Underdark to conquor afterall, but tonight she allowed herself to linger, even engaging in a deep conversation with Astarion, who had recently returned to the Underdark to settle down.

As the two shared dry wit and sharp banter, Minthara’s keen eyes darted across the camp, instinctively searching for you. When she realized you were nowhere in sight, she narrowed her eyes.

"Where has that fool wandered off to now?" she muttered under her breath, much to Astarion’s amusement.

“Ah, love,” Astarion quipped, a sly smirk on his lips. “It makes us chase after them even when we’d rather not.”

Minthara rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She excused herself, muttering something about responsibility, and began to search for you. It didn’t take long—muffled giggles and low, rumbling noises led her toward the outskirts of the gathering. There, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, she found you sprawled on the ground.

You were nestled between Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it had long since outgrown the 'cub' moniker—and were clearly the drunkest she had ever seen you. Your face was flushed, your hair mussed, and your arms were wrapped tightly around the two creatures as if they were your most precious treasures.

“Listen,” you whispered conspiratorially to the owlbear, though your volume defeated the purpose. “We’re gonna take over the Underdark. Me, you, Scratch, and Minthara. She’s so scary and smart. We’ll rule everything. But don’t tell her—it’s a secret plan.”

Minthara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she approached.

"A secret plan, is it?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “Taking over the Underdark with a dog and an owlbear? Truly, you’re a visionary.”

You looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, your face breaking into a sloppy grin.

“Minthara! You found me!” you exclaimed, holding out a hand. “Join us! It’s a cuddle coup.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though there was a flicker of amusement in her crimson eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning to walk away.

But before she could take a step, you staggered to your feet with surprising agility for someone so far gone. With a triumphant shout, you lunged at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down to the ground.

Minthara yelped in surprise, glaring daggers at you as she landed unceremoniously on the grass.

“Have you lost your mind?” she snapped, but her anger quickly gave way to resignation as Scratch and the owlbear cub immediately joined in, nuzzling against her.

She froze, her normally stern expression softening as Scratch licked her cheek and the owlbear rumbled contentedly. She didn’t push them away, though she grumbled, “You’ve turned me into a damned pillow.”

You beamed at her, your face close to hers as you slurred, “You’re the best pillow ever. And the best everything else. I adore you, Minthara. You, Scratch, Owlie—you're all my favorite.”

Her cheeks darkened with a faint blush, though she refused to acknowledge it.

“You’re drunk,” she said curtly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

“And in love,” you replied with drunken sincerity, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Minthara didn’t pull away. She sighed, her hand coming to rest on your cheek for just a moment before she let it fall.

“I'm going to kill you,” she muttered, though her tone was more affectionate than irritated.

You grinned, nuzzling against her like a contented cat. “I can't wait.”

Minthara rolled her eyes, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of her mouth. As Scratch and the owlbear settled around you both, she resigned herself to her fate, lying back against the grass and letting the warmth of the moment wash over her.

Perhaps you were impossible. But you were hers.

Lae'zel:

The reunion party was in full swing, the air buzzing with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. You’d coaxed Lae’zel into attending, promising her that Xan, your precious hatchling, would be fine under the watchful eyes of Voss and the rebels - who were surprisingly more than happy to look after him. Though she had reluctantly agreed, you noticed her gaze drifting toward the camp’s perimeter now and then, her brows furrowed with that familiar Githyanki intensity.

“Relax, Lae’zel,” you teased, nudging her gently. “Xan is fine. Tonight is about us.”

Lae’zel gave you a skeptical glance but said nothing, her hand brushing against yours briefly—a rare public display of affection from her that made your heart swell. For a while, the two of you enjoyed the festivities, sharing drinks and banter with your companions. But as the evening wore on and the wine flowed more freely, you became… well, significantly more inebriated.

At some point, Lae’zel turned to speak with Wyll, who was recounting one of his latest exploits. When she turned back, you were gone.

Her jaw clenched as she scanned the crowd, her warrior instincts kicking in despite the harmless nature of the gathering. She stomped through the camp, muttering curses under her breath as she searched for you.

“You couldn’t stay in one place, could you?” she growled.

It wasn’t long before she heard familiar, albeit slurred, murmuring. Following the sound, she found you sprawled on the ground near the campfire, flanked by Scratch and the now nearly full-grown owlbear cub. Tears streamed down your face as you hugged the animals close, stroking their fur and feathers.

“I love her so much,” you sobbed into Scratch’s neck. “And Xan. Xan is perfect. Perfect little hatchling.”

Lae’zel froze, her expression caught between exasperation and disbelief. She crossed her arms and glared down at you. “What are you doing, fool?”

You looked up at her, your face lighting up with drunken joy.

“Lae’zel!” you cried, holding out your arms. “You’re here! You’re so amazing, and strong, and—hic—beautiful. I love you.”

Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders heaving with a deep sigh.

“You are worse than Xan when he is hungry,” she muttered. Turning her attention to the animals, she pointed toward the river. “Drag this mess into the water. Perhaps it will sober them up.”

Scratch tilted his head, his tail wagging, while the owlbear let out a soft, rumbling croon. They looked at her, clearly uninterested in complying.

You giggled, stroking the owlbear’s feathers. “They like you, Lae’zel. They know you’re the best. Everyone knows you’re the best.”

Lae’zel’s irritation flickered, her lips pressing into a tight line as she fought to suppress the small smile threatening to emerge.

“You’re insufferable,” she declared, but there was no venom in her tone.

At her words, you burst into fresh tears. “Xan is so lucky to have you as a mom. I’m so lucky! How did I get so lucky?”

Lae’zel knelt beside you, her movements stiff but deliberate as she pulled you upright and into her arms.

“You’re drunk and ridiculous,” she said, her voice low but steady.

You wrapped your arms around her, clinging tightly. “But I love you,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

Lae’zel let out a small, exasperated sigh, but she didn’t push you away. Instead, she adjusted her grip, holding you firmly against her.

Her fingers brushed against your hair as she murmured, “You are fortunate I have patience tonight.”

You snuggled into her embrace, your tears finally subsiding as warmth and exhaustion took over. Though her expression remained stoic, a faint, hidden smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She did love you, she loved Xan, and the feathered and furred beasts weren't too bad either.

Shadowheart:

The reunion party was a vibrant celebration, a gathering of friends, companions, and allies, each reveling in the hard-won peace after so many battles. You and Shadowheart stood together, hand in hand, sharing a quiet joy amid the merriment. The news that the owlbear cub—now a formidable but still affectionate creature—would be coming back to your farm had filled you both with delight. The prospect of a peaceful life on your little slice of the countryside, surrounded by Scratch, the owlbear, your other small army of animals and each other, was everything you’d dreamed of.

You’d both mingled, laughed, and shared drinks, but at some point, Shadowheart turned to grab another bottle of wine, only to find you had disappeared. Her brow furrowed, though she didn’t panic. You weren’t exactly subtle when you were drunk, and it wasn’t hard to follow the sound of your voice, rising in animated, tearful elation.

When she finally found you, Shadowheart couldn’t help but pause, her arms crossing as she observed the scene before her. You were seated on the grass near the campfire, Scratch pressed against your side, his tail wagging lazily, while the owlbear nestled on the other side, its feathers ruffled as you gently stroked its beak.

“And you’re gonna love the farm,” you slurred, gesturing wildly with the bottle in your hand. “There’s fields to run in, and soft places to sleep, and you two—” you sniffed, your voice breaking slightly as you turned to the animals— “are gonna be so happy. So loved.”

The owlbear let out a deep, contented rumble, and Scratch licked your cheek, which only made your drunken tears flow harder. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she said, stepping into the firelight.

Your head snapped up, your face lighting up as if you’d seen the sun itself.

“Shadowheart!” you cried, scrambling to your feet only to stumble and flop back onto the grass. “You’re here! Come here, come here—cuddle pile!”

Shadowheart sighed but couldn’t suppress her amused grin as you reached out for her.

“You’re hopeless,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She approached and allowed herself to be pulled down into the pile of fur and feathers, the owlbear shifting to make room for her as Scratch barked happily.

“This is the best night ever,” you declared, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m so happy, Shadowheart. We’re gonna have the best life. You, me, Scratch, and this big feathery baby.”

She shook her head, laughing softly as she snatched the bottle from your hand.

“You’ve had enough,” she said, taking a swig herself. The wine burned pleasantly as it went down, and she let out a contented sigh. “Though I suppose I can’t argue with your enthusiasm.”

As the night wore on, Shadowheart found herself caught up in your infectious joy. She joined in on your rambling talks of the future—of gardens you’d plant, adventures you’d take, and all the little moments of happiness waiting for you both.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft as she leaned her head against your shoulder, “I think you’re right. This is going to be a good life.”

Your only response was a drunken hum of agreement, your arms tightening around her as the warmth of the fire, the animals, and each other enveloped you both. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

Jaheira:

The reunion party was in full swing, laughter and music filling the air as friends and allies celebrated the peace you had all fought so hard to achieve. You and Jaheira stood together for much of the evening, your hand occasionally brushing against hers in a quiet intimacy. She was radiant in her element, speaking with old friends, trading stories of past battles, and offering wisdom to those who sought it.

At some point, she became engrossed in a conversation with Halsin, the two of them naturally drawn together by their shared love for nature and nurturing. Their talk turned to the orphans Halsin had come to care for, and Jaheira, with her ever-compassionate heart, shared tales of her own tendency to adopt and guide wayward children.

“I suppose I can’t help myself,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps it’s the druid in me, or perhaps just the mother.”

Halsin nodded with a knowing smile. “It’s a noble trait, Jaheira. The world is better for it.”

But as Jaheira began to share another story, she realized something: you were no longer at her side. She scanned the crowd, her brow furrowing in mild irritation.

“Speaking of wayward children,” she muttered under her breath, excusing herself from Halsin with a polite nod. “Now where have you wandered off to?”

It wasn’t hard to track you down; she simply followed the faint sound of sniffling and tearful rambling. What she found made her stop in her tracks, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.

There you were, sprawled on the grass near the fire, clutching Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it was hardly a cub anymore. The owlbear sat with a dignified sort of calm, its feathers ruffled from your clumsy affection, while Scratch lay happily across your lap, his tail wagging lazily.

“And you guys,” you sniffled, gesturing to the animals with the bottle still clutched in one hand, “you’re the best. I love you so much. You’re good boys. The best boys.”

Jaheira approached, shaking her head as she took in the sight of you, your face red from tears and wine.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, though her voice held a note of amusement. You looked up, your tear-streaked face lighting up at the sight of her.

“Jaheira!” you cried, holding your arms out dramatically. “You’re here! Come cuddle with us!”

“Cuddle?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Darling, you’re drunk.”

“I’m emotional,” you corrected, your voice wobbling as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “And you have to cuddle with us, or—or I’ll never forgive you! Ever!”

Jaheira sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though trying to muster the patience of a saint.

“You are worse than Halsin's orphans,” she teased, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. “And that’s saying something.”

Your lip wobbled, and you clutched Scratch tighter.

“Please,” you whimpered, the plea so earnest and pitiful that Jaheira couldn’t help but laugh.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “If it means that much to you.”

She knelt beside you, allowing you to pull her into the chaotic cuddle pile. The owlbear gave a soft hoot, adjusting its position to include her, while Scratch wagged his tail even harder at her presence.

“See?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her as you leaned heavily against her shoulder. “This is nice. Isn’t it nice?”

Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, though a smile tugged at her lips as she rested her head against yours.

“You’re ridiculously impossible,” she said softly. “But yes, this is… nice.”

For a while, the two of you sat there, surrounded by warmth and fur and feathers. Jaheira found herself relaxing despite the absurdity of the situation, her arm slipping around your waist as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured. You hummed happily, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“I know,” you slurred, the wine making your voice thick. “And I love you, too. So, so much.”

Jaheira chuckled, shaking her head as she tightened her hold on you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she said fondly. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gale:

The reunion party buzzed with energy, laughter and conversation flowing freely among friends old and new - thanks to Minsc's addition. You and Gale were nestled in a quieter corner of the celebration, a glass of wine in your hand and Gale gesturing animatedly with his own as he launched into an impassioned tale about his latest trials as a professor at Blackstaff Academy.

“…and would you believe it? One of the students thought it prudent to attempt wild magic on their first evocation test! I spent half the afternoon dispelling chaos and putting out fires—literal fires—and the other half explaining why summoning imps in a classroom was hardly conducive to learning.”

You nodded along, smiling as you watched the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his work. His passion was endearing, and yet… a mischievous thought crept into your mind as you caught sight of Scratch wagging his tail nearby, the owlbear cub—no longer quite a cub—lounging lazily beside him.

When Gale paused to take a sip of his wine, you saw your chance.

“Fascinating,” you said quickly, standing and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Be right back, love.”

He blinked, caught off guard but easily reassured by the peck. “Oh, certainly. Don’t wander too far.”

You didn’t answer, instead making a beeline for the animals. A few moments later, you were leading Scratch and the owlbear cub away from the main gathering, giggling to yourself as you went. An hour later, Gale finally noticed your absence and set off to find you.

He tracked you down by the sound of your voice, soft and teasing as you lounged in a quiet grove just beyond the party. There you were, sprawled on the grass with Scratch snuggled into one side and the owlbear cub resting its heavy head on your lap. Your cheeks were flushed with drink, your eyes glassy with a mix of affection and mischief.

“And Gale,” you slurred, stroking the owlbear’s feathers as if imparting some great wisdom, “wanted to be a god. A god! Can you believe it? Silly Gale. He doesn’t need to be a god. He’s already… already my god. My love, my life…” Your voice dropped conspiratorially, and you hiccupped. “But he would’ve been a prick as a god. Don’t you think?”

“Do you think so?” Gale’s amused voice cut in, and you turned your head to see him standing there, arms crossed but a fond smile tugging at his lips. You gasped dramatically.

“Gale!” You grinned at him, patting the grass beside you. “Come here! Join us! Cuddle!”

“I think not,” he said, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Someone has to ensure you don’t declare my divine candidacy to the owlbear.”

Your grin wavered, and you pouted, your bottom lip trembling as your eyes filled with exaggerated tears.

“You won’t cuddle with me?” you sniffled, your voice wobbling. “You don’t love me anymore?”

Gale’s resolve crumbled instantly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t say no to that face.”

With a dramatic flourish, you opened your arms wide. “Then get over here, Professor Dekarios!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the laughter bubbling in his chest as he lowered himself to the grass beside you. Scratch immediately wriggled over to press against his side, while the owlbear gave a satisfied huff and shifted to accommodate him. You threw your arms around him, nuzzling into his chest as if he were the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“See?” you murmured, your voice soft and content. “This is perfect. My god. My Gale.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I suppose there are worse fates than being your god. Though next time, perhaps less wine and more water.”

You hummed in agreement, already half-asleep against him. Gale shook his head, his heart full as he tightened his arms around you and let the peaceful moment wash over him.

Astarion:

The reunion party was in full swing, with the warm glow of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. You and Astarion had arrived arm-in-arm, though the two of you quickly found yourselves mingling with different groups. Astarion had gravitated toward Minthara, the two of them caught in an animated conversation about how you and he had adjusted to life in the Underdark—a topic Astarion spoke of with a surprising fondness.

You, however, had been immediately distracted by Scratch, whose wagging tail and joyful demeanor were too much to resist. You’d spent some time tossing a stick for him before finding the owlbear cub—now fully grown—lounging nearby. One thing led to another, and soon enough, you’d wandered off, leaving Astarion none the wiser.

When he finally noticed your absence, it was only because Minthara raised an eyebrow mid-conversation. “It seems your partner has… disappeared.”

Astarion sighed, his eyes scanning the crowd. “They do tend to wander, don’t they? One moment they’re here, the next, they’ve likely befriended every stray within a ten-mile radius.”

It didn’t take him long to find you. The sound of your drunken sniffles and delighted murmurs led him to a quiet corner of the grove, where you were sprawled on the grass, your arms wrapped around Scratch and the owlbear cub. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glassy, and you were mid-sentence in what appeared to be an earnest declaration.

“You’re just… so cute,” you hiccupped, scratching the owlbear behind its feathered ears. “Both of you. The cutest. I don’t deserve you. Nobody does.”

Astarion stepped closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “The drunkest I’ve ever seen you, cuddling animals and crying over their cuteness. Truly, a sight to behold.”

You looked up at him, your expression a mix of delight and indignation.

“It’s not my fault!” you exclaimed, sitting up—though the effort made you wobble. “Scratch… Scratch has been fetching me wine!”

Astarion raised a skeptical brow, his smirk widening. “Scratch has been fetching you wine? Darling, I taught you to lie better than that.”

You gasped, clutching Scratch protectively. “Are you calling me a liar? Scratch would never let me lie. He’s too good, too pure!”

The dog wagged his tail innocently, clearly pleased with the attention. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he moved to sit beside you.

“Yes, yes, Scratch is the pinnacle of virtue. Now, move over before you collapse completely.” He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. You immediately snuggled into him, still hiccuping slightly as you continued to pet the animals.

Just as Astarion was starting to feel truly settled, Scratch suddenly trotted off.

“And where are you going, you furry little enabler?” he called after the dog. Moments later, Scratch returned, tail wagging proudly as he carried a bottle of blood in his jaws. Astarion’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and then he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Well, I’ll be damned. He really is a very good boy.”

He took the bottle from Scratch, patting the dog’s head affectionately.

“My apologies, my love. It seems you weren’t lying. Who would have thought Shadowheart’s greatest contribution to our journey all those months ago was teaching this beast to fetch drinks?”

You giggled, leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Told you so. Scratch is a genius. The cutest genius in the whole wide world.”

"And what about me, am I not cute?" Astarion asked in mock offence as he brushed a rogue strand of hair out of your face.

"Not as cute as Scratch and Owlbear but you try -hey give me back my wine!" You whined as Astarion took your bottle from you, brows raised, suggesting you try again. You huffed and rested your head on his shoulder looking up at him with big wet doe eyes. "You are not as cute, because you are twice as beautiful."

"I don't know if that makes sense, but I'll take it." He said, giving you back your wine with a small smile. He would have taken it off you, you really were the drunkest he had ever seen but your so-called 'wine' was actually water, Scratch really was a genius.

Wyll:

The reunion party was in full swing, a mix of old friends, laughter, and the clinking of glasses raised high in celebration. The air buzzed with the joy of shared victories and the promise of futures finally free of hardship. You and Wyll had spent much of the evening together, arm in arm, swapping stories and indulging in the abundant wine. It was a rare, beautiful moment to simply be—no battles to fight, no worlds to save.

For Wyll, the sight of you laughing and glowing with life was a reward all its own. But as the hours ticked by and the wine loosened tongues and inhibitions alike, you had somehow slipped away.

It wasn’t unusual. You had a penchant for wandering when the drink took hold of you, curiosity leading you to wherever your heart fancied. Wyll, ever patient and knowing, only chuckled to himself when he realized you were gone. After excusing himself from a lively conversation with Halsin and Minsc, who were subtley trying to out-brag the other (nothing had changed there) he set out to find you, his long strides carrying him through the grove as he kept an ear out for your familiar voice.

It didn’t take long. He followed the soft sound of sniffling to a secluded patch of grass where the moonlight spilled down like a spotlight. There, nestled between Scratch and the owlbear—no longer a cub but still affectionately devoted—you sat, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you buried your face in the owlbear’s feathers.

“They’re just… so cute,” you murmured, your voice thick with drunken emotion. Scratch’s tail thumped happily against the ground, clearly basking in your attention, while the owlbear tilted its head in quiet curiosity.

Wyll stopped, the sight making him blink in surprise. His hand rose to cover the grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my love,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both amusement and affection. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and the moment your eyes met his, a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Wyll!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as though his very presence was a miracle. “You’re here! And you’re so… so cute!”

Wyll blinked, momentarily startled, before laughter rumbled low in his chest.

“I’m cute, am I?” he asked, kneeling beside you. His grin widened as he took in the wine bottle lying haphazardly nearby and the glassy, adoring look in your eyes.

“Yes!” you wailed, throwing your arms out dramatically. “Your smile is cute, and your horns are cute, and your eyes are cute, and your hair is cute!” You punctuated each word with a hiccupping sob, your hand waving wildly as if to emphasize your point.

Wyll’s brows lifted in amusement, though his gaze softened with love.

“I see the wine has been particularly generous with you tonight,” he teased, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so… unbearably adorable. Shall I tone it down?”

“No!” you exclaimed, clutching his hand as though the idea was unthinkable. “Don’t stop being cute! It’s the best thing about you—no, wait.” You gasped as though struck by a revelation. “Everything about you is the best thing!”

Wyll let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You are truly something else,” he said, his voice warm as he reached out to steady you. “Even when drunk, you’re determined to flatter me into blushing.”

Your lip wobbled, and you suddenly looked utterly distraught.

“Even your boots are cute,” you whispered, as though it was the most profound truth you had ever spoken.

That was enough to undo Wyll completely. He laughed, full and unguarded, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Alright, alright,” he said gently. “I’ll take responsibility for being impossibly charming.”

You sniffled, your tears slowing as the exhaustion of the evening began to creep up on you. With a soft hiccup, you slumped forward, burying your face in his chest. Wyll’s arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close as he stroked your back.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” he murmured, though his tone held no irritation—only affection. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The owlbear gave a low croon and leaned in, its head nuzzling against Wyll’s shoulder as though to share in the moment. Scratch let out a soft bark of agreement, his tail thumping against the ground. Wyll chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“You’ve managed to rally quite the crowd,” he said softly, glancing down at your peaceful face. But when you didn’t respond, he realized you had fallen asleep, your breath even and steady against his chest.

“Oh, my heart,” he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “What am I to do with you?”

Carefully, he adjusted his hold and scooped you into his arms. The owlbear and Scratch followed as he carried you back toward the firelight of the party. Wyll’s steps were steady, his gaze warm as he looked down at you. Even in your drunken, tearful mess, you were his mess.

And he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Halsin:

The reunion party was nothing short of spectacular. Lanterns hung from the ancient trees, casting soft, golden light over the gathering. Music and laughter mingled with the sounds of the old faithful camp at night, a serene backdrop to the revelry. You had started the evening with Halsin, both of you basking in the joy of seeing friends and allies together again. It was a rare chance to relax, to celebrate the life you had built after the chaos.

Halsin was soon drawn into a conversation about the orphans you and he had taken in. A circle of the more compassionate companions had gathered around him, captivated as he spoke about the children’s growth, their joy, and the home you were creating. His deep voice carried over the crowd, filled with pride and hope. You stood beside him for a time, sipping wine and listening, but your attention was eventually caught by a familiar sight—Scratch wagging his tail and the owlbear, now fully grown, ambling nearby.

"Look at them," you murmured, already swaying slightly as the wine took hold. "Two perfect, fluffy creatures, and they need my attention."

With a mischievous smile, you slipped away, weaving your way through the crowd, wineglass in hand. By the time Halsin realized you were gone, you had already disappeared into a quieter part of the grove. He smiled to himself, fondly amused, and excused himself from the conversation.

“She’s probably plotting something,” he said with a chuckle, following the faint sound of your voice.

It didn’t take long to find you. Beneath a sprawling oak, you were sprawled on the grass, cuddling Scratch and the owlbear. You had an almost-empty bottle of wine in one hand, your other arm draped dramatically over the owlbear’s shoulders. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit disheveled, and your voice carried through the night as you spoke with exaggerated fervor.

"Listen here, Scratch," you said, poking his nose gently with your finger. "And you, too," you added, pointing to the owlbear, who blinked at you with wide, curious eyes. "You’re coming home with me. No arguments. It’s decided. We’re a family now."

Scratch barked happily, his tail thumping against the ground. The owlbear hooted softly, tilting its head as if contemplating your declaration.

You nodded solemnly, taking another swig of wine.

"Halsin might say no, but don’t you worry." You leaned in close, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that was anything but quiet. "I have my ways of convincing him. Very persuasive ways." You wiggled your eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, giggling at your own implication.

Then, as if struck by the sheer emotional gravity of the moment, your voice wavered, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"But if that doesn’t work," you said, your words thick with feeling, "I’ll just cry! Like this!" You dramatically buried your face into Scratch’s fur, letting out a loud, theatrical sob.

From the shadows, Halsin watched, arms crossed, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice warm and steady. “Tears, my heart, will not be necessary.”

You froze, your head snapping up to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Halsin!" you exclaimed, scrambling to sit up and almost tipping over in the process. "When did you get here?"

"Not long ago," he replied, crouching down beside you. "Long enough to hear your… strategy."

You waved the bottle in his direction, sloshing a bit of wine onto the grass.

"It’s a good strategy," you insisted, pointing at him with exaggerated authority. "Very effective."

Halsin chuckled, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I’m sure it is," he said indulgently. "But I assure you, no convincing is necessary."

“What about the other thing?” you asked, your voice dropping into a clumsy attempt at sultriness that only made Halsin laugh more.

“When you’re sober,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You turned back to Scratch and the owlbear, lowering your voice to a loud whisper. “See? I told you it would work. He may be Daddy Halsin, but we all know who the real daddy is.”

Halsin’s brows shot up, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “Do we now?” he asked, scooping you into his arms with practiced ease.

You clung to him, your head resting against his broad chest as you continued to mumble incoherently about your master plan.

"Fluffy family forever," you declared, nuzzling into his tunic.

Scratch barked again, wagging his tail enthusiastically, while the owlbear lumbered after you both. Halsin shook his head fondly, his smile softening as he looked down at you.

“You are a marvel,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As he carried you back toward the heart of the party, you sighed contentedly, your arms tightening around his neck.

“You’re the best, Halsin,” you murmured, your words slurring but full of affection. “The absolute best.”

“And you,” he replied, his voice low and full of warmth, “are an utter wonder.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this, I worked quite hard on it and it was quite a good distraction. Love you all - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[phefics]

come take a dive

ship: finnick odair x reader summary: reader rides finnick's face. prompted by anon!! includes: afab!reader, gn!reader, slight insecure!reader (she's nervous to sit on his face bc she's worried to hurt him but her weight/body type isn't mentioned), face sitting, f!receiving oral, vague mentions of finnick’s canon sexual trauma asked to be tagged: @lufvg word count: 0.9k

"I can hold my breath for a pretty long time," Finnick said, smirking. "So you don't have to worry about me, baby.”

You laughed at his words, but there was a nervous shake to the sound. It had been his idea, for you to try sitting on his face, and he was insistent that you could actually sit.

As in, put all your weight down on his face and focus on nothing but your own pleasure, which was an incredibly generous and appealing offer, but…a little scary, too. Surely even Finnick’s well-trained swimmer’s lungs couldn’t withstand being smothered by your thighs.

He had already survived so much, it would be incredibly pathetic of him to die like that. When you told him as much, he grinned and said, “At least I’d die doing what I loved.”

You had rolled your eyes, but it had managed to ease your nerves. And so, you finally agreed to give it a shot, much to his delight.

Finnick’s past sexual encounters had not been about love or intimacy. When you met him, sex was something that he did because he had to, because it kept him safe, and well, he learned some valuable Capitol secrets along the way.

But now he was free of that life, and sex had become something entirely new and exciting for him. He especially enjoyed making you cum, as if your pleasure was something sacred to him.

Perhaps it was. To know that he had made you feel good, not because he was required to, but because he wanted to. Because he loved you, and he loved to make you feel good.

You hovered over him on the bed, bare from the waist down, only wearing one of his t-shirts. You straddled his shoulders, looking down at his face with a nervous grin.

“You sure about this?” you asked.

“Absolutely. Are you?” he replied, large hands rubbing soothing circles on your thighs, sneaking grabs at your ass.

“I think so. Do you promise you’ll tap out if you need?”

You had previously agreed that if Finnick ever felt triggered during sex, he would tap your nearest body part three times, quickly. The same applied to this situation, whether it was something that upset him or merely the fact that it could be difficult to breathe properly with his face being smothered by your pussy.

“I promise,” he assured you. “Now, c’mon. I wanna taste you.”

It was hard to resist when he spoke like that, and so you took a deep breath before adjusting your position so that your already wet pussy was right above Finnick’s pink, perfect mouth.

Slowly, you lowered your hips, sinking onto his face and gasping as his tongue immediately went to work, lapping at your clit desperately.

You moaned softly, grabbing the headboard to keep yourself steady. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but you understood the appeal.

Finnick whined against you, the action tangible against your cunt, a little vibration that made you pull up in surprise, just a tiny bit, but he wasn’t having that. His hands grabbed your hips and pushed you back down onto his face, his tongue fucking into your hole.

It felt incredible, and you whimpered at the mixture of sensations: His strong grip, holding you in place, fingertips digging into your flesh. His tongue, moving inside of you. And, most interestingly, his nose, which was nudging against your clit, keeping the nerves stimulated while his mouth was otherwise occupied.

You weren’t even sure he was doing it on purpose. Perhaps it was just a lovely coincidence, but the friction made your hips move of their own accord, rutting on his face desperately.

All the moving, combined with your wetness, it caused Finnick’s face to practically slide along your slit, somehow leading to the tip of his nose touching your hole, making you jump in surprise. It didn’t feel bad, but it was definitely a strange feeling. Not bad, though.

You felt Finnick chuckle beneath you, mumbling something that sounded like ‘sorry’ as he fumbled to reposition you.

“Don’t be,” you breathed.

He returned his mouth to your clit then, finally deciding it was time to make you cum, and it didn’t take him long to bring you there. Your legs shook as your orgasm built, and Finnick held you tightly in place until you were crying out.

You carefully got off of him before laying beside him on your back, your body still shaky and pumped with adrenaline. Your legs ached from holding that position and your thighs were soaked.

Finnick rolled onto his side, smirking at you. His face was damp, shiny with your wetness. “See?” he said.

You rolled your eyes, giggling. “Okay, yes. It was worth it.”

“Are you gonna thank me?”

“For convincing me or for making me cum?”

“Both.”

You smirked, eyeing Finnick’s hard cock in his pants. “I know a way to show you just how grateful I am.”

He grinned.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 40.

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Ophelia Riorson)

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

”When do you think she will wake up?” A low, familiar voice says, breaking through the fog in my head.

Garrick.

”Hard to say. I’ve never seen a signet like hers before. No one has.” A voice I can’t quite place. But still slightly familiar.

Me. They’re talking about me.

”Do you think the damage it’s caused is permanent?” A gruff female voice asks. Imogen. Definitely her.

Damage? They can’t be talking about the Wyvern I took down. There was nothing left of them. Perishing into a pile of dust as they hit the ground behind Garrick. And Garrick... He seems to be ok. That means they’re talking about me.

”Hard to say till she wakes up. The internal damage looked worse than it was due to the blood she was coughing up. But it will be interesting to see if she can see out of that eye now with the colour its turned.” The voice I still can’t quite place says.

Who was that? Definitely not Bodhi. Liam? No…. I know Liam’s voice. Who the hell was it?

Before I can try to pinpoint it the fog starts to seep back in, pulling me back to its depths.

This time when I break through the fog I’m able to open my eyes. It’s night, the room I’m in cast in an eerie glow from the mage light next to my bed. The familiar sound of wind hitting the cliffs.... Wind hitting the cliffs. A sound I hadn't heard in years. A sound that I would only hear in one place.

Home.

I sit upright, releasing my hand from another's grasp as I survey the room. My room. My room in Aretia. Home. I was back in Aretia. I hardly have time to absorb the surroundings before I am enveloped in a tight hug. The individual's arms press me against their trembling body, their sobs shaking us both. I don't need to turn my head to try and see who embraces me, recognising the familiar scent that fills my nostrils.

Garrick.

I immediately wrap my arms around him as my own tears roll down my cheeks. I was alive somehow. He was alive. We had survived. Something we both hadn’t thought would happen. And yet here we were. Sitting in Aretia of all places.

Garrick finally loosens his grip on me as he pulls back to look at me. Both of us looking over each other to make sure this is real and we’re both ok. It’s then I see the new scar adorning his face, stretching from his temple down to his jaw.

”This is new.” I ask, my voice hoarse and gravelly from not being used for a few days.

He nods slow. “Yeah, I got it after you-”

I watch his eyes gloss over with fresh tears that threaten to spill over as he takes a shaky breath. I’d never seen Garrick like this, and it’s easy to tell what had gone through his mind in that moment. He had thought I was dead. He’d watched as I’d doubled over, coughing up blood before collapsing. And judging by the shadows around his eyes, and his slightly sunken in cheeks, I’d been out for a few days at least.

”I’m here. I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere.” Reaching out to caress his cheek, my fingers tracing lightly over the new scar.

He chuckles darkly, “Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you. I’ve had to go through pretty much losing you twice in my life now.”

Ouch. But he wasn’t wrong. Twice in six years he had to go through thinking I was actually dead and thinking he’d just watched me die.

”Trust me, I’m doing my best to stay alive.” I try to assure him in a joking tone.

Garrick’s eyes harden ever so slightly and I know he hasn’t take my joke lightly. “Then you promise me you’ll never do whatever that was again. What was that?” His voice raising slightly.

”I honestly don’t know.” I start as I look down at my hands where the shadows had come out of. “I just panicked when I saw it direct those Wyvern at you. I just wanted to do anything I could to stop it, to save you and I just remember feeling this surge or power and…”

”And what?”

I take a deep breath before looking back up at him, noting the way his gaze flickers to my left eye.

”Death. It felt like what I’d imagine death to feel like.”

Garrick takes a sharp breath, his gaze locking back on my left eye. “Well that might explain why that happened.”

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, Garrick turning to grab a mirror from the bedside table. He hands it to me, reflective side down. Clearly giving me the choice on if I wanted to see what had happened straight away or ease myself into it. I grasp the handle, turning the mirror towards my face. I’d honestly been expecting a scar or terrible bruising to adorn my face. But there wasn’t a single mark on me. Not a single scar or a bruise. Instead my left eye being a usual bright green, is void of any colour. As if the colour had been drained out of it, and I can’t help but be reminded of the way the colour had been drained from the ground after the Venin had channelled. Almost as if whatever I had done had taken some life out of me to do it. As if I’d drawn something out of me to do that.

”Well good news is I can still see fine.” I try to say positively as I look back over at Garrick, handing the mirror back out to him.

”Least that’s something.” He mutters as he places the mirror back on the bedside table before standing and walking over to the window that over looks Riorson house.

I stand on shakey legs, having to use my bed to steady myself as I stand. Definitely had been a few days I’d been out for then if I can barely stand.

Least you’re alive little one. Not everyone can say that.

I breathe a sigh of relief at hearing her in my head. Also feeling a little guilty I hadn’t reached out to see if she was ok. But if I was alive I knew she was to. But I sense a double meaning in her words.

What do you mean not everyone? I ask, almost snapping at her.

I remember Soleil and Fuil not making it. Something about her tone makes me think we lost more. If it was Xaden, Garrick would have told me.

“Liam and Deigh.” Garrick mumbles from the window, before turning slowly to me.

I shake my head, not wanting to believe his words. But there’s no denying the slight hurt in Garricks eyes. Liam was dead.

Fuck.

I blink back the tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks, a few managing to escape before I quickly rub them away with the back of my hand.

Liam was dead because of the Colonel. Soleil was dead because of the Colonel. All those people in that outpost dead because of him. Because they wouldn’t tell us the truth. Wouldn’t teach us what was really out there.

“Why do you look like you want to kill someone?” Garrick asks, a hint of concern in his voice as he watches me.

“Because I do.” I say sternly as I wobble over and join him at the window, look out over the place I call home. “If they just told us what was really going on out there. If they didn’t lie to us…”

“But they do. And they will continue to do so.”

I snap my head towards him. “And we’re just going to let them?”

“Yes, because if we go back there and start telling everyone what we’ve seen then they will kill us all.” He warns me. “We’ll be lucky if they even let us live when we go back.”

Shit. He was right. As angry as I was. As much as I wanted to fight back and show them as the liars they really are. We couldn’t. They’d kill us all without any hesitation.

“They’ll let us live.” I tell him confidently. “They have no choice but to let us live. If they do, they’d have to explain what we saw. What we fought. They can’t kill us because it will arouse too many questions.”

“I hope you’re right sweetheart, because I can’t have them killing us after this.” He says softly, a slight shake in his voice as he steps back from the window slightly.

No not stepping back. Kneeling. Kneeling down on one knee and holding the box he had placed in my hands at Athebyne out to me. The box he had told me to look after. And now I know why. Inside the box is a ring I had seen countless times growing up. Had seen it every summer when his family had come to stay with us. A beautiful silver band adorned with emeralds. His mother’s ring. Probably the only thing he had left of hers. I look down at Garrick with shock, his familiar cocky smirk on his face as he looks up at me.

“I know you said you’d let me know when you’re ready. But I will be damned if I’m waiting a moment longer to do this. Twice now I’ve thought I’d lost you. Twice I thought I’d lost my chance. Twice I’ve asked for someone’s blessing to marry their daughter and sister.”

Oh gods. This is really happening. And all I can do is stare down at Garrick in shock, just like he’s done when he’d seen me in to rotunda nearly a year ago. Or when I’d approached him near the Parapet on Reunification Day.

“Ophelia Riorson. Will you marry me?”

To Be Continued.....

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel @wolfbc97 @just-an-ace-elf

[having-a-hyperfixate]

Don’t mind me sprinting to try and get this thought in order before the Anime Expo panel. I need it to be out in the wild Just In Case.

So, a few of the Gung Ho Guns have gotten reworked for Stampede, yes? To varying degrees.

Ninelives is apparently not a horrific flesh mech, Dark Souls boss thing, according to the end credits of episode 3.

E.G. the Mine just got a HUGE upgrade and didn’t get owned 3 seconds after he showed up.

Monev was an actual character with a fubar backstory and emotional impact instead of just Some Guy who trained in a basement for years specifically to kill Vash. (and Orange is SO EVIL for this)

Elendira is. *gestures futilely* There is so much going on there but yeah. She’s going to be terrifying once she achieves adult body and loses (drops?) the childish attitude. Also because of the whole Plant hybrid thing her nails truly are literally infinite sooooo.

So I have some thoughts about Hoppered the Gauntlet.

In Trimax, Gauntlet’s narrative weight comes from the fact that he makes Vash remember, which by extension makes US, the reader, understand what July really meant. Before that we had heard mention of it a few times as ‘a city destroyed in a single night’ and talk of there being ‘no survivors’ but we had no actual connection to it, and also no real idea if that was even true. But in Stampede, we saw July happen. We were there. So even if Vash’s memory is still shot afterwards, and he doesn’t remember Lost July, we the audience DO. So having the Dragon’s nest play out exactly the same isn’t going to have the same narrative punch in the gut that it did in Trimax. It can’t.

There’s also the fact that, given how we’ve met most of the major players in the story, or had them mentioned at least (hi Milly), it feels kind of Odd™ that we haven’t seen someone has emotionally impactful as Gauntlet yet.

Unless we have.

We saw with Rollo/Monev that Orange is willing to have the person’s regular name be one thing and then have a second Eye of Michael code name. I suspect that is going to happen with Gauntlet; either because EoM or because he has decided on his own to lie about who he was.

And yes, I do in fact have someone in mind.

I checked myself the translation there is accurate; the only change I would make is calling the gun ‘gaudy’ instead of ‘shiny’ but that’s not a huge deal. Also for the record, the original tweet is from Jan. 11, well before he makes his reappearance for the season finale. So when it talks about a ‘reappearance’, it is talking about seeing him again in July. Original tweet here, tweet containing the translation here.

I think Chuck Lee is going to be our Gauntlet. That he made it just far enough out of the city to survive, but that he was badly maimed in the process, and that his family didn’t make it. He’s the ONLY member of the military police with a unique design. He has an actual name, and the director himself tweeted about his backstory. His gun is so unusual that we would recognize it anywhere. Hell, I referred to him as ‘the gold gun guy from episode one’ when one of my friends didn’t recognize him immediately. His gun is so incredibly recognizable. Almost like we need to be able to recognize him by that alone, when everything else about him has changed.

THIS could be how narrative weight for Gauntlet is established in the Stampede universe when it can’t be done the same way as in Trimax. Taking a character who has, in a way, also been with the audience ALL ALONG, who was there with us for two pivitol moments, the beginning and the awakening, but who comes at it from such a horrifically different angle and bringing him back in such an agonizing way. Because he was very much in the wrong with his stunt at Jeneora Rock, but his rage over the loss of his family in July would be justified, even if we know it wasn’t Vash’s fault.

(Also, the IRONY of him ending up as one of Knives’s lackeys when Knives is the one that caused all of this? Damn.)

Footnote: I have Thoughts on why they can get away with adding Milly to The Squad late. That is a whole other Thought but tldr; (and also I haven’t actually written it out) Milly is the most perceptive of all of them she doesn’t NEED an extended intro to Vash to Know.

[greensimp]

Gyutaro falling in love with a pregnant S/O - with no husband or whose husband left her - and adopting her child as his? 🥺

I love this idea! I'm already doing a fic where the child is biologically his, but it would definitely be more realistic for Gyutaro to acquire a child through adopting one. Whether he'd actually do that or not is irrelevant, anything can happen in fanfiction >:)

__________________________________________________

Cannon!Gyutaro x Pregnant!Reader

TW: implied/referenced sex work, foul language A/N: Headcannon-ish format, but more detailed than the average one. Reader is obviously AFAB.

___________________________________________________

You live in Rashamon. Like most girls in the entertainment district, you did what you could to survive. And, well, that meant doing a lot of unsavory things.

It was an inevitability that you’d end up pregnant, but unlike many women who do in your town of origin, you were determined to give your baby a good life.

You had no idea who the father was, but you had a feeling that he wouldn’t be much help anyway.

You decided to beg for a place in one of the many houses of Yoshiwara, but you were unsurprisingly shot down at the door once you mentioned you were with child. At least, until you arrived at the Kyogoku house.

Much to your surprise, you were given a place in the house in exchange for your services as a house maid. While you weren’t required to take clients, you were expected to work a lot. That included assisting the Oiran with her many dress changings throughout the day.

This is how you’d catch the attention of Gyutaro.

At first, he’d be indifferent to your existence, only occasionally listening in to your conversations with Daki from within her body. You aren’t the first poor girl to tend to his sister, and you most certainly wont be the last.

However, something you mentioned one day would cause him to shift a bit.

You were from Rashamon.

It was a simple response to a prompt from Daki, but the way you said it tugged at a long-forgotten part of his brain.

Soon, he’d ask you questions vicariously through his sister, much to her annoyance.

The more he learned about your situation, the more interested he would become.

Around the 6-month mark of your pregnancy, it was evident that you were becoming unfit to work like how you’ve been doing. So, you were allowed more bedrest.

You absence did not go unnoticed by Gyutaro, who at this point had been technically talking to you for about 3 months through his sister.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was beginning to care about your progress.

It would frustrate him to no end. To the point where Daki would forcefully eject him for writhing around so much.

“You need to take out this crap somewhere else, brother! Or else I’ll just eat the bitch and say she ran off-“

Oh he didn’t like that.

One stone cold glare was enough to confirm Daki’s suspicions.

She couldn’t believe her brother was beginning to care about a human. How bothersome.

“Fine, go show yourself to her, then. I’m sure she’ll just jump all over you looking like that.”

He’d indignantly storm off to go and vent, but he wasn’t very careful about it because the second he stepped out of the door he bumped right into you.

You’d yelp in surprise and begin to fall, but he’d panic and catch you before you hit the ground.

You’d seen him.

This was bad.

You’d look up at him in surprise, instantly taking notice of the unnatural bodily proportions and eye color. However, you wouldn’t start screaming or try to run away. In fact, you’d stare.

Daki would immediately try to trap you in her belt, as now you’d know too much, but Gyutaro would squash it with his foot in anger and fear.

“Brother! She saw you! I can’t let her just walk away!”

He wouldn’t understand it, but he’d feel this overwhelming urge to protect you.

“Don’t you dare.”

Daki would be pissed. Pissed and betrayed that he’d choose the well-being of a random woman over his own sister. Had these past 100 years meant nothing?!

“What has gotten into you! She’s just a human!”

You’d just be standing awkwardly behind the strange demonic entity that was suddenly hellbent on protecting you from your Oiran, who was supposedly the sister of said demonic entity. You’d think this was some kind of weird fever dream.

“Wh-what’s going on?!”

Gyutaro would snap his gaze to you, the way his face softened sending a strange tingly feeling through your stomach.

Gyutaro, on the other hand, would be extremely conflicted. There’s this pregnant human woman he, for whatever reason, grew attached to, and his beloved sister. Would he be able to make some kind of dynamic work with you two? One where you can co-exist?

He’d pick you up in a panic and bolt down the hall, leaving Daki scrambling to catch him with her Obi. She was too slow, though.

Wouldn’t this be a funny story to tell years from now. Your child’s adoptive father kidnapping you from his own sister. Well, that actually is what happened, but we won’t talk about it very often for Daki’s sake (she’s very embarrassed).

Anyway, back to running away.

He’d run with you like a bat out of hell straight out of Yoshiwara.

You’d, of course, be stressed the hell out, so he’d have to make the supernatural speed part of the escape a short-lived venture.

He’d set you down before pacing around you and mumbling to himself, neurotically scratching at his skin until he bled.

Out of worry, you’d grab his arm to snap him out of it, telling him that it was bad for him. Of course, when he began to actively regenerate before your eyes, you shot your hand back and stared in awe.

“Y-you’re a demon, aren’t you?”

Shit shit shit shit he didn’t know what to do. Perplexingly enough, however, you wouldn’t act scared.

You felt as though this man had good intentions, and… well… he did look a lil’ pretty… okay very pretty.

“Does… does that not freak you out?”

You’d place your hands on your tummy in thought, the sight of which made an unexpected wave of butterflies shoot through his stomach.

“Well… maybe a little… I don’t really know much about them other than they eat people. Although, I feel like if you were going to eat me, you would have done it already…”

He didn’t know if he liked your blind trust in him or not. Of course, HE knew his intentions were not to hurt you, but how would YOU know that?

Turns out, you would just be really good at reading people. It saved your life a lot when you lived in Rashamon, that fact eventually dawning on Gyutaro in the future.

Gyutaro would finally get to genuinely talk to you on that night. And boy did you two talk.

He learned more than he probably should have for you having just met him hours before.

He would learn that you yearned for a little home in the mountains away from Yoshiwara so you could raise your child without the threat of the dangerous men that plagued your childhood. That was why you were working so hard even though you were supposed to be resting.

The more you indulged in his questions, the more he wanted to give you what you wanted. Your resolve to break your familial cycle of sex work and thievery for a life of peace for your baby only deepened his feelings for you. You weren’t pathetic. You weren’t selfish. You deserved more than this place. You deserved what he and his sister never received.

After convincing Daki to not kill you, he’d visit you in your room every night for hours at a time.

Eventually, he’d do it. He’d be unable to ignore that he’d actually fallen in love with you. He was physically unable to hurt you in any way. Intentionally at least. The mere thought of you bleeding or crying for help would send him into a panic attack. It would be quick, awkward even, but he’d grab you by the cheeks and kiss you.

And you’d kiss back. Why wouldn’t you? He’d become a rock in your life before you had even realized it. You were looking forward to his visits. He’d always bring you gifts and food, it was so obvious he was trying to court you.

After he’d confess, he would secretly set off into the night after you fall asleep to work on a special present for you.

What is this present?

Well, he wouldn’t be done with it until right before you were due to give birth, but he managed with a little help from Daki.

He’d blindfold you and gently carry you into the night, not allowing you to peek.

Once he’d arrive at his destination, he’d set you down and ask you to close your eyes, which you would do.

Then, when he’d tell you to open them, you’d burst into tears.

A little house…

It would overlook a beautiful clearing in the forest where a river full of fish would cut through it. It would never flood, because it was on a hill. You’d never go hungry, because the land was fertile. You’d never have to worry about muggers or assaults from creepy men ever again.

You would bawl into his chest and thank him a million times.

You were forever in his debt, but he’d never ask anything of you. Your love was enough for him.

The house was quaint, and you barely got through the little tour he gave you until you reached the nursery.

That’s where you swear you could have fainted.

“You thought about them?”

“Of course.”

“Does… does this mean you….”

You wouldn’t be able to finish before bursting into a fit of sobs again.

But he knew what you meant.

“If you’ll let me…”

He’d adopt the baby as his own.

[narrans]

A Small and Tall Collection | Chapter Thirteen | Little Acts of Kindness

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Chapter Thirteen | Little Acts of Kindness

The next two weeks were absolutely brutal.

Cold.

Hungry.

Tired.

Alone.

It reminded Ashlynn of when she was first out on her own. It was survivable at the time, and it would be survivable now; at least, she hoped it would be. The constant fight a Borrower needed to go through just to survive usually kept one’s mind occupied. When seen by a human, the scramble to get everything up and out was panic inducing. That panic served as a reminder as to how dangerous humans could be.

Except, they weren’t. At least, Soren and his sons weren’t dangerous. Sure, they were capable of danger and harm, but other than the accident none of them had intentionally caused harm to Ashlynn.

She knew she was supposed to abandon her camp and move immediately. It wasn’t even a choice on the table. Ashlynn was aware of that. There were a few exceptions to the rules, like in the case of bad weather like what they were in right now with the heavy snowy conditions outside. The partial exception was that the next good day to move should be taken immediately and, if you must stay, a Borrower should never never never return to a home where they were or suspected they were seen.

This was hard for her.

True, Soren and his family weren’t the only humans in the apartment. True, she could go and borrow from wherever she needed to in order to survive.

It just so happened that she liked borrowing from Soren’s place, and no one was going to tell her no. So, despite the “dangers,” Ashlynn found herself in the walls and countertops of her once perceived captors. She hadn’t been spotted again, as far as she was aware, but Ashlynn did notice that some things were being left out longer or, if she guessed right, on purpose. Little things like essential dried goods, cups of fresh water, a stack of cloth fragments perfectly, and even an assortment of office supplies including thumb tacks and paper clips.

It was both infuriating and heartwarming.

On one hand, how dare those humans think she couldn’t take care of herself!

On the other hand, how sweet that those same humans took time and care to remember her.  

Ashlynn found herself in mental battles with herself constantly. Each side of herself was arguing with the other. What could she do? Leave? Stop borrowing from them? Never think of them again?

To her own credit, she did try. During those two weeks where she struggled to stay away, Ashlynn tried to avoid peeking down in the home she lived above. It was a struggle though, especially with the pieces being left out for her as a kind of memento or offering.

One evening, after a particularly viscous round about with herself about why she should avoid going down and performing surveillance on Soren’s home, Ashlynn found herself crouched by the edge of trim she’d used so many times to check and make sure Soren wasn’t home.

The tunnel was dark and quiet, but the sound of the garage door and both Dorian and Rey talking meant that Soren was also home. She’d cleaned the area recently, so no dust or cobwebs would give her away if she wanted to look down. While it sounded like no one was in the room, she needed to check. Just to be sure, Ashlynn pushed the piece of trim to the side and peered down into the room she had become very familiar with two weeks prior.

Sure enough, Soren had just come into his room. He looked exhausted as he closed his door and leaned against it, eyes closed as his shoulders sank. Ashlynn couldn’t see his features well from where she was crouched from behind the trim, but what she did see was Soren snag the bottom of his shirt and flip it off his body in the blink of an eye.

The sight made the Borrower blush.

You’d make an excellent Borrower with a build like that.

She felt her jaw slacken as she stared at a shirtless Soren, entranced at his lean but muscular frame. The temperature suddenly seemed unbearable. Her heart skipped a beat. Even the way his hair fell by his eyes as he turned and snagged another shirt was hypnotic. Ashlynn might’ve fallen right there out of the wall just to get a better look when she noticed something she hadn’t before.

Scars.

Soren’s back was littered with dozens of scar marks. It was mortifying. Some were thick and others were thin. Some looked old while others seemed more severe. What bothered her the most was that they didn’t look like burns, but cuts and slashes. All were long since healed, but it snapped Ashlynn out of her admiration stupor as she wondered what Soren’s life was actually like and whether humans really had it that “easy.”

She made it back to her home and the comforts of her bed as she thought about Soren and how, during her time down there, that he was right. Well, he was right about a lot of things, but one phrase stuck out in her mind.

“Wish we could’ve learned more about each other, but that’s life, right?”

It was a weird sensation, regretting talking to a human and offering some kind of information exchange to learn more about them and the human world they occupied. Ashlynn did have a lot of question about the human world and why certain things were the way they were. Why did kids have to go to school? What exactly is the point of “home work”? If you go to work, what do you get in exchange? Where do humans get all of their food? And where does that place get the food? How to phones and televisions work?

The dangerous part of this hypothetical information exchange was the questions Soren and his sons would ask her. What are you? Why are you so small? Are there more of you? Why do you have these rules? Do others know about Borrowers? How do you live? Where do you get your supplies?

Though Soren might not ask these questions, just the mere possibility that Ashlynn would have to try and explain so many things about who and what she was just to know about the human world made her stomach churn.

No. It’s better if I keep to myself and don’t say anything to them. I shouldn’t talk to them anymore. I shouldn’t even think about going back down there. It’s best if I keep my distance. Maybe they’ll forget about me? I don’t have a reason to go down there to talk or interact with them anyway. In fact, I won’t go.

Ashlynn was wrong.

Three days after this mental conviction, a need arose that was too great for Ashlynn to ignore.

She was walking along under the floorboards, checking for mice, when she heard a *thunk* followed by the familiar, muffled voice of Rey saying, “Oh no! Aw man!”

His brother, Dorian, responded with exactly what Ashlynn was thinking. “Rey? What is it?” Ashlynn could see the passage clearly. It was just down one set of boards and then under the floor joists. Should she? No. Did she? Yes.

Ashlynn crept down one set of boards and then under the floor joists to find herself in Rey and Dorian’s room. The two shadows further away told her the boys were currently hunkered over on the ground peering under the bed at the vent, which was close by where Ashlynn crouched.

“I dropped it!” sniffled Rey, sounding more pitiful than ever.

“You what? Dropped what?” Dorian’s response sounded nonchalant. Rey’s quivering voice was saturated with tears.

“S-soren’s car.”

“Soren’s car? The one his dad got him? Oh man! You’re in trou-ble!” Dorian chided. “Why were you playing with it?”

“H-he s-s-said I could when I p-p-promised h-him I’d be ca-care-careful,” sniffled Rey. “A-an-d I r-rolled it under the b-bed ac-cidentally and it fell into the v-v-vent.”

“Aw man…” Dorian mumbled. “Do… well…”

“I’m in s-so m-m-much trou-ble!” Rey sounded like he was on the verge of crying harder.

“Hey… it’s okay,” soothed Dorian. Ashlynn heard the sounds of ruffling cloth, like Dorian was rubbing Rey’s back. “You know… you could tell Soren I lost it. I don’t mind.”

“N-no! I d-don-n’t want to get you in t-trouble,” sputtered Rey.

“Well, one of us is going to be in trouble,” pointed out Dorian. “And that’s what older brothers do.”

Perhaps it was her affection for the youngest boy or a sensation of indebtedness that led her choice. Maybe it was the showcase of valor from Dorian that inspired her. Maybe it was how pitiful Rey was being. Or, maybe, it was because she wanted to give something back to Soren after all he did for her.

Whatever the case, Ashlynn crawled her way through the narrow spaces toward the vent she knew was right under Rey’s bed. Cobwebs, thick and sticky, coated her cloak and smeared in her hair. Dust caked her shoes. The Borrower pushed forward and, after wrestling with a few nails, found the end of the vent that Rey was talking about. It was a trick to slide in, but it was well worth the reward because, plain as day, there was the toy car sitting in a pile of dust bunnies.

It was a much smaller car than Ashlynn thought, but was grateful all the same since she would be the one hauling it back. It took some finagling back through the edge of the vent where she slipped in from and the fierce cobwebs tried to trip her twice.

 By the time Ashlynn made it back to the floorboards where she heard the boys talking about the lost toy, she could hear the two of them talking to Soren. The closer she got, the less muffled their voices became.

“Rey, thank you for telling me the truth and for apologizing. And Dorian, I appreciate you trying to protect your brother, but it’s important to be honest. You getting in trouble doesn’t teach Rey the valuable lessons of being truthful and taking care of things that don’t belong to him,” Soren explained. The way he scolded was firm, but fair, that honey smooth voice making it hard to focus.

“Yessir,” the boys answered in tandem.

“Okay. Well, I wish that hadn’t happened, but maybe I’ll be able to get it back. I’m going to see if I have any tools that’ll help.” Ashlynn heard the floorboards creak above her loudly, followed by rumbling footsteps as Soren left the kids’ bedroom.

Okay… how am I going to do this? Ashlynn wondered as she hoisted herself up onto the ledge of a nearby block which led to the piece of trim she used to get into the boys’ room. Just as she did, she heard the older boy pipe up.

“Hey, you see if you can get under the bed and reach again. I’m going to go help Soren look for some tools,” said Dorian as, lightning fast, he skittered off down the hall and into the kitchen.

“But!” Rey didn’t get a word in fast enough. Pouting, he mumbled, “I wanted to go help look for tools,” before crouching on the ground again and peering under his bed.

Cute kid… Ashlynn thought to herself. Then, an idea struck her and, all at once, she knew how she wanted to do this. She watched Rey crouching down and laying flat on his stomach as his thin little arms groped under his bed to try and pull the cover off of the vent.

Hopefully this works, thought Ashlynn as she set her bag onto the ground and stepped forward, toy cradled in her arms. The Borrower woman stepped up onto the floor behind the bed and dresser and set the car onto the ground. She pulled the car back and, using all her strength, gave the car a push.

The slightly rusted and cobweb filled tires squeaked loudly as it rolled across the floor from under the dresser. Other than Rey’s grunts of frustration, there were no other obvious sounds in their home. So, when he heard the squeaking, Rey’s attention immediately shifted from the task at hand to the miniscule toy that, seemingly, moved on its own.

Ashlynn heard him gasp softly as he crawled over and carefully picked up the toy, which made the Borrower smile. There was something about the hushed fascination in Rey’s voice that was endearing. The childish wonder of seeing something that couldn’t be explained was something she had always enjoyed; though, to be fair, she never thought she would be enjoying it from a human. She’d always associated that sound of childish curiosity from a human with danger for herself or a fellow Borrower.

She was about to leave when, with a bit of hesitation, she saw Rey lean down and peer under the piece of furniture. His pale blue eye and round, boyish features were clearly visible now, and Ashlynn knew instantly he’d spotted her. His eyes flared wide and a big smile spread across his face. From where she was crouching, Ashlynn could just make out the top of Rey’s eyebrows all the way down to his chin.

“Hey there, little miss,” he breathed. His voice was so soft and sweet that Ashlynn would’ve thought he was trying to coax a butterfly closer to him if he weren’t staring right at her. Rather than set off her panic and will to run, Ashlynn felt warm and fuzzy. For one, the fact Rey called her “little miss” meant either Soren hadn’t told the boys that she could talk and gave her name, or Rey was still being respectful. Two, she remembered what it felt like to be appreciated every once in a while.

It felt nice.

Rey held up the toy and asked, “Did… you get this back? For me?” Ashlynn smiled and, deciding there was no harm in it, decided to acknowledge Rey’s statement by nodding. The smile on the boy’s face was absolutely worth it, cobwebs and all. “Wow! Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you thank you, little miss!” The kid’s enthusiasm and sheer joy saturated his voice.

Ashlynn felt the ground beginning to tremor ever so slightly. Her heightened Borrower senses told her a human was coming. It was undoubtedly Soren and Dorian returning to help get the toy back.

It wasn’t that Ashlynn felt uneasy being around all of them at once, but she didn’t want to end up staying for too long. She hadn’t intended on being seen today after all. She just happened to be by and the desire to help was stronger than her instincts to flee and vacate the walls. The Borrower glanced from Rey back to the door before glancing back at the boy.

Rey was most certainly related to Soren because he picked up on the tiny movement and glanced back toward the door.

“Oh, do… you need to go?” asked Rey.

Ashlynn nodded.

“Should I keep seeing you a secret?”

Ashlynn thought about it before, after a moment, shaking her head ‘no.’ She didn’t mind if the others knew. She just wanted to make her leave quickly.

“I can tell them? Awesome! Oh. Right. You need to go. Bye, little miss,” Rey muttered quietly. “And thank you again.”

Ashlynn thought about it, only for a moment, before daring to breathe and reply a simple, “You’re welcome,” before darting back into the walls. Rey was in the middle of pushing himself up when, quite obviously by the way he tripped over himself, that he laid back down on the ground to look under the dresser only to not see her.

Good. I shouldn’t have said anything, but… he’s so sweet. I just couldn’t be silent.

On her climb back up the walls, Ashlynn could hear Rey eagerly bouncing around like an excited puppy talking about how he saw “little miss” again and how, this time, she talked to him.

“I swear! She said, ‘you’re welcome’ before taking off to wherever she goes. You should’ve seen her!” said Rey eagerly.

“Aw! Man! I wanted to see her too,” grumbled Dorian.

“Maybe! Maybe you will. She looked like she was feeling better. B-but don’t worry, Soren! I didn’t touch her or anything. I was super-spectful.”

“It’s respectful,” corrected Dorian.

“Nu-uh! This is a new word I came out with, and it’s super-spectful.” Ashlynn could imagine the grin on the youngest boy’s face.

“Well, I’m glad you got a chance to see her. It’s nice that she’s still around, especially with the blizzard coming. Looks like we’re getting snowed in for Christmas this year boys,” replied Soren. The two youngsters cheered, their excitement contagious, and just for a moment Ashlynn dared to open the trim and peer down into the human world below. Both Dorian and Rey were bouncing up and down as they followed Soren out of the room. He paused in the doorway momentarily, a thoughtful smile tugging the corners of his lips up while his eyes traced the baseboards, before following the two out of the room.

The trim piece was secured once more and the Borrower headed off back to her room for the time being. She had cobwebs to peal off and goodness knew what was in her hair at the moment. In the quiet of her place, Ashlynn thought about her brief interaction with the youngest boy and wondered what it might’ve been like if Dorian were the one to find her.

Alas, she didn’t have to wonder for long.

Not two days later when she was out borrowing, she’d managed to get her hook snagged in one of the splintered sides of a cabinet. It was the middle of the night, and she needed some supplies from the bathroom. She was still a Borrower after all.

She was trying to open up the cabinet under the sink, but instead of her hook sinking into the wood of the door, it was lodged right into the frame directly beside it. Try as she might, Ashlynn couldn’t get the hook undone and was taking a break for the sake of her arm and to brainstorm what to do next when she heard a faint thumping sound. It was coming from the next bedroom, and it was approaching rapidly.

Ashlynn darted under the overhang of the cabinet just under the door, silently praying whoever it was wouldn’t notice her hook, just as the lights flicked on. The blinding light kept her from spotting who it was at first, her own eyes adjusted to the meager lamp on her hip, but moments later it was very clear it was the oldest of the two boys because he was squatting right in front of her.

Ashlynn saw Dorian’s sleep filled face looming just above her hiding spot, but he hadn’t noticed her. He noticed her hook! His body was rigid and he looked nervous, but also excited. Dorian hesitated, obviously torn as to whether or not he should bother with the line and the wedged hook.

Instead, he stood slowly and carefully, did his business, and then began washing his hands. Ashlynn, while crouched and remaining as silent as a Borrower, thought just for a moment that perhaps this was perfect timing. She couldn’t get her hook out at the moment, and rather than possibly injuring herself again or straining her arm, which was particularly sore today after a vigorous climbing session, she started to think that she could use the helping hand.

A flash of movement in front of her caught her eye, and Ashlynn snapped out of her temporary stupor in time to see Dorian crouch again, eyes fixed on the hook. Though her instinct screamed for her to stay motionless, Ashlynn held her breath as she poked her head out from under the cabinet. Immediately, she watched the youth’s pale blue eyes widen, a wave of rigidness visibly shaking him before holding perfectly still. The kid offered a tentative smile as his eyes flicked from Ashlynn, who was barely peeking out at him, to the hook still imbedded in the cabinet.

“Hi… little miss…” Dorian breathed. “I… um… sorry. You’re probably hiding from me, huh?”

Ashlynn wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that question. Yes and no? She was hiding, but that was instinct. It didn’t have anything to do with it being him. It might have at one time or another because of the accident, but that’s what it was – an accident. Unfortunately, the moment it took her mind to make up an answer was just long enough to leave Dorian looking absolutely crushed.

“It’s… it’s okay. I’d be mad at me too and probably hide if someone hurt me,” he sighed. There was an obvious crestfallen tone that shook Ashlynn out of her hesitancy and, suddenly, she found herself standing and shaking her head while shaking her head. Sympathy tugged at her heart as she bit her lip, trying to think of something to help make Dorian feel better. “I… I am really sorry. I wish I could make it up to you.”

It was such a novel sensation, feeling bad for a human. Never in her life did Ashlynn think that she would ever feel this way. Humans had it all. Food. Shelter. Hardly a care in the world. It felt hard to pity someone who she thought had it all. Also, what Dorian said about wanting to make it up to her. The feelings of guilt were obviously eating at the boy.

Then, like a bright flash of lightning, Ashlynn thought of something that would kill two birds with one stone. It was so simple that she actually chided herself for not thinking of it sooner.

Ashlynn waved her arm, stepping forward one other step, and made sure Dorian was looking at her. His pale blue eyes picked up the movement easily. If she looked closely, the Borrower swore she could see her reflection in his eyes. Now that she had his attention, she stepped back up to her line and gave it a tug. The hook was still steadfast in its hold in the woodgrain.

Dorian’s eyes glanced from Ashlynn to the line again before recognition sparked. “Oh… do you need help? Is this stuck?” Ashlynn nodded. “Y-yeah. Yeah! Absolutely.” Dorian slowly reached over and, as easily as lifting a strand of hair, plucked the hook from the wood before lowering it and handing it over to Ashlynn.

Being close to the same fingers that had dislocated her shoulder made Ashlynn force a shudder from zipping up her spine and, instead, she stepped up and carefully took the hook from the child. It was then that Dorian glanced up to the door and pointed to it.

“Were… you trying to get in there? Do you need something?” asked Dorian. It was a good question, but it still made Ashlynn hesitate. The act of borrowing was done solo or by other Borrowers. Even though the three had been leaving things out intentionally for her, Ashlynn still felt weird about being “caught in the act” of borrowing. At the same time, they seemed like they wanted to be helpful.

So, with a quick glance back to the cabinet door she was struggling to open, she nodded sheepishly. Dorian took the initiative and opened the cabinet door, making sure it wouldn’t swing shut, and then retracted his hand.

“Better?” he asked. Eagerly, the Borrower nodded, immensely grateful that the boy was being so helpful without asking questions. “Good. Well… goodnight. Be safe.”

Ashlynn watched as Dorian cautiously stood and began heading for the door, but she couldn’t just let him go like that. It didn’t feel right.

“Thanks, and sleep tight,” she said, a bit louder than she anticipated, before jumping up into the cabinet and switching her hip lamp back on. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know Dorian had paused at the door, and she didn’t need to listen hard to hear him mutter a faint “yes” before scampering back off to bed.

Two more days passed. Ashlynn noticed a few more things were being left out or slightly open. Cabinets. Bags. It was an odd. Ashlynn knew she should’ve felt unnerved. She knew everything in her should be screaming to flee. It made her feel guilty that she was quickly losing those feelings. The Borrower worried she might be losing her independence, but how could she? She was living in the walls freely. She could come and go at will.

Was it something to do with the boys? Soren? Or was she subtly being changed?

The real question was did she mind?

Ashlynn didn’t know the answer. What she did know was that while she was out gathering some bread fragments from the bread box and heard Soren and the boys come in, her sense of panic was minimal. Crouched in the darkness, Ashlynn watched the shadows of the two young boys dart through the kitchen back and forth, the sound of plastic bags rustling in their arms.

“Soren! Soren, do… um… do you think we should get her something? You know? For Christmas?” asked Rey.

“Yeah! She might like something under the tree,” Dorian chimed in. “Do you think she celebrates Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Soren replied. The sound of the door shutting and clicking into place was followed by more rustling sounds. “She might not celebrate Christmas, and she might be doing something. I think the gesture would be nice though.”

“Yeah! What do you think she’d like?” asked Dorian.

“Let’s check out what we have in our room. Maybe we can make something for her. I hope she likes the staff I made,” Rey replied. Ashlynn couldn’t stop the little smile that pulled up onto the side of her lips. As a matter of fact, she had. The tool Rey had presented to her while she was still in their care had come in more handy than the child could ever know. Easy for climbing, reaching, and cutting, it took only a few tweaks for it to be Ashlynn’s number one tool next to her hook and line.

The sound of the boys darting away gave her a moment to gently push open the bread box and peer out at Soren, who looked like he was putting away whatever was in those plastic bags. She was just about ready to make a dart for the slightly ajar electrical outlet when she saw Soren turn on his heel, loaf of bread in his hand, and open the box she was concealed in.

It happened so fast that Ashlynn barely had time to duck off to the side, which obviously didn’t go unnoticed. Soren’s quick inhalation and instant hesitation told Ashlynn she had been busted. Rather than shy away from it, however, she stepped forward and offered a bashful smile. Soren’s face mirrored her own. He crouched, movements calculated to not startle her.

“Hey there, Ashlynn.” Soren’s voice was low, most likely to keep Rey and Dorian from hearing him. Hearing him say her name was strange, but not unwelcome. “I didn’t interrupt, did I?” Seeing the miniscule woman standing there in his bread box was the last thing Soren expected to see today. He had been worried about her, naturally, but didn’t expect to see her again. She looked well enough with color in her cheeks and her hair up in a messy pony tail. What really made him smile was the fact he saw Rey’s walking stick attached to her backpack along the side.

So… she did like it….

Ashlynn bit her lip and gave a miniscule shrug before saying, “A bit, but I should’ve been more careful.” Soren’s eyes gleamed as she spoke. It was as if he hadn’t expected a response, and receiving one was a pleasant, but novel, experience.

“Oh… then… do you need me to leave?” asked Soren. Ashlynn exhaled in a slight puff. Did she need him to leave? Did she want to leave right now? When so many things had been going on recently?

“I… I should go, so… yes?” Even as she said it, Ashlynn didn’t feel entirely sure. The thought of learning more about Soren and his family fascinated her. It was enticing, luring her forward out of her solitary existence into something she was sure she nor any other Borrower had experienced. Soren nodded, smiling thoughtfully.

“Okay then. I’ll keep this between us,” he stated. He had begun to stand when he hesitated. He glanced back at her with a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “Um… this might seem like a weird request, but… would you like to come down and have dinner with us? It doesn’t have to be now or ever, but the boys have been asking and it seemed polite to offer.”

Ashlynn felt her cheeks flush, and now more than ever she was grateful that she was standing in the shadows. She hoped it was going to go unnoticed. The rules blared like sirens in her mind. She knew she was supposed to say no. Again, did she want to?

“I…” The words caught in her throat, as did her decision. What did she want to do?

“Well, like I said, you can if you’d like. Think about it,” said Soren. A reminiscent smile turned his lips upward. “You know, you telling them ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ really made their days. Anyway, be safe and maybe we’ll see you around.”

Soren reached up, pausing only for a moment, before delicately closing the lid to the bread box. The Borrower heard him walk away into the other room, giving her the perfect opportunity to leave.

Slipping out of the box was easy enough, and clambering up part of the backsplash and getting into the walls was even easier. It was the next thing that Ashlynn suddenly found impossible – leaving.

The question of whether or not she minded being out with three humans came back into her mind. She thought about her own bed back in the ceiling and the silence of so many evenings. She thought about the evenings and mornings making food solo. Images of so many borrowing missions alone flooded her thoughts.

Have I really been so lonely? That I’m not bothered that these three humans know about me? I didn’t tell them anything about me. I told Soren my name, but that was it. Was it learning about them? Did that make me more sympathetic and understanding of these humans?

Ashlynn glanced back toward the outline of light made by the electrical cover.

What should I do? What do I want to do?

~~~^*^*^~~~

Soren preoccupied himself in his room for the next few minutes. Seeing Ashlynn was an unexpected surprise. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been worried about the little woman in the walls, but it wasn’t for him to tell her how to live or insist that she “needed protecting.” He had enough things to worry about without trying to dictate how someone else was living their life.

Exhausted, he stared at the mail he’d read through a thousand times, glaring at the name listed in the folded papers. It was an appeal which was obviously going to be denied if Soren had anything to say about it, but it was still an unnecessary stressor. It made his blood boil. To think that man has the nerve to reach out and try to appeal everything that happened.

He ran his fingers through his hair, noting how long it was getting, and laced his fingers behind his neck while swaying back and forth. It was something he’d seen his dad do countless times when he was thinking. It was involuntary, and something he’d picked up only later in life. If only mom could see me now, he chuckled to himself.

Certain enough time had passed, Soren left his bedroom, making sure to slide the documents into his bedside table drawer, and headed back to the kitchen. Chattering, muffled voices in the next room told him Dorian and Rey were both engrossed in whatever thing they were trying to make for Ashlynn.

He started to wonder what his brothers could be concocting and how much he’d have to get involved when his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He felt his brow tug downward in confusion as a smile spread across his face.

Right there, on the counter, was Ashlynn. She was sitting on the ledge of the backsplash right in front of the electrical cover. When Soren first spotted her, her fingers were laced and on her lap, focus obviously locked onto her twiddling thumbs. Her pack was by her feet and, as soon as she spotted Soren, she straightened up rigidly.

For several seconds, they locked eyes, saying nothing, until Ashlynn spoke up, and what she said made Soren even more curious about the miniscule woman.

“If I’m going to stay, I have some rules for you three.”

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

A Tall and Small Collection | Original Story

[cuchufletapl]

It truly drives me nuts the way that a good portion of the fandom talks about Vi abandoning Powder, as if she is irredeemable for her actions right after the explosion that killed Mylo and Claggor and directly led to Vander’s (presumed, at the time) death.

For one, I think it’s a deeply uninteresting way of looking at things, because that scene is what kickstarts the conflict between Vi and Jinx, which is one of the driving narrative forces of Arcane (… during season one, at least, even though it is present in season two as well). Powder causes the explosion, Vi hits her and walks off to calm down, Silco approaches Powder, and Vi gets kidnapped and sent to prison. The main wedge between the sisters is the extremely traumatic experience that they went through right before being separated for seven years — during which they become different people than whom they used to know, and they struggle to accept that. Powder/Jinx reinvents her identity around the last thing that Vi told her, assuming the idea that she is only good for death and destruction (something that Silco incentivises by having her do his dirty work). Vi spends her entire time in prison berating herself for leaving Powder alone for even just a minute, betraying what she thinks is her duty as an older sister and their group’s leader (a value that Vander instilled in her). These things are at the core of who they are, or whom they perceive themselves to be, during most of the story; it’s what shapes their actions, it’s the starting point of their development. Thinking that Vi shouldn't have done one of the inciting incidents of their character arcs is a shallow critique in my opinion, because it's essentially wishing for the story not to exist.

The mind-boggling thing, however, is how many of the Vi haters resent the fact that Vi is a fully fleshed-out character with feelings and emotions of her own, instead of a mindless drone that exists for nothing else but to love and care for Jinx.

Vi was fifteen.

Vi had just seen her brothers and father die from an unforeseen explosion that went off right when they were about to succeed in freeing Vander and escaping.

Vi had just found out her little sister, whom she had told to stay out of the mission for her safety, was the one who made and set off the bomb.

Her reaction, realistically, could be nothing but grief-stricken anger. Maybe one could conceive of a character whose immediate reaction to something like this is truly compassion and comfort for the one who caused it — but that’s not Vi. That couldn’t be the child who’d already lost her parents before, who had spent her entire childhood scraping by and placing her self-value on her ability to protect her family, who was impulsive and brash and afraid of losing anyone ever again and thought her best bet at everyone surviving was putting her own body on the line. And even so, she loved Powder deeply, which is why, right after she hit her and called her a jinx, her mind cleared; she stared at her own hand in horror, wondering what the fuck she was doing, and then walked off to fully process and calm down so that she could later go back to Powder and be the older sister that she needed her to be. (Although she got kidnapped before she could do any of that.) But the point is that even while wrecked by grief and anger, her love for Powder cut through — just after her first reaction.

No, Vi hitting Powder wasn’t right, but it was a normal and (I’d go as far as to argue) understandable reaction. It was emotional, not logical. Even if she knew that it had been unintentional — and she did know it, although I don’t think it fully registered in her mind at the moment of the punch, because she was too caught up on “Powder did this, Powder killed Mylo and Claggor” — her emotions overwhelmed her and she moved before she could even think. This is honestly such an extreme situation that I don’t think judging it on the morality of the characters’ actions is a productive analysis — it’s kind of Kantian, in a way, in the sense that Vi is a bad sister for doing this if we take morality to be absolute, universal, and detached of context.

Interestingly, the discourse against Vi never considers: what if Powder hadn’t let her impatience and need to prove herself by saving her family override Vi’s orders? What if she had stayed home? (Which would also be an extraordinarily boring take that seeks to rob a character of their personality and motivations, by the way.)

No, rather, the quid is always: Vi should be devoid of emotion because Powder/Jinx’s trauma about this situation is more important than anyone else’s and therefore it needs more tending to.

At the end of the day, the Vi hate on this issue is just the classic “my blorbo was hurt by this other character’s actions, which means that they’re evil incarnate.” But it’s frustrating to see it posited as genuine, serious analysis on the show.

[lopsicle]

••The Only Time I Ever See Him••

AN: Surprise @fictitious-fluff , I’m getting a bit of deja vu here!! Apologies, I had to sub in since your original Squealing Santa had to drop out, so I’m sorry this is later than normal! The prompts you left behind were super cute and I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Characters: Lee! Hunter, Ler! Willow.

Summary: After hallucinating in the Noceda family bathroom, Hunter ends up in a bit of a panicking tiff. Luckily, Willow is there to help him.

Warnings: SFW tickle fic, hallucinations, hurt/comfort.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He was there. Hunter had seen him, saw them actually, two people. Awoken by some branches scraping at the walls of the Noceda residence, Hunter was already on edge as he creaked his way upstairs to investigate the low, scratching noise. Every step he took felt like he was about to trod on a rattlesnake, the house felt like one big bear trap like this, alone and isolated in the cover of night. It reminded him of how he used to sneak out of the castle with Flapjack; he found it difficult to get out of the mindset that one wrong step, incorrect turn or loud noise would result in the loss of his best friend. Hunter took in a deep breath as he scoured through the house, occasionally lingering in the doorway of his friend’s bedrooms just to make sure they were okay. He considered checking on Miss Camila too, but something about bothering her rubbed him the wrong way, nerves clamming up as he reached towards her door handle.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t bother her. Though, his nerves were still jittery, like there was some monster under her skin waiting to burst out at any second. Water. He needed some water. Flicking on the light to the bathroom, Hunter immediately made his way over the sink, spinning the faucet until a geyser of cool water began spilling out. He wetted his hands before leaning down and splashing them against his face. Then, Hunter barely opened his eyes and looked in the mirror, as if to check that he was was still here. And that’s when he saw him. Them, in fact, two of them.

Belos came first, not the horrific monster that resembled something of a Lovecraft book, but the kind, gentle uncle he had once knew. The one with an injured streak of green magic scarring his face, and silver hair that had been aged with wisdom and a necessity to survive. Hunter barely recalled Belos talking about his injury, the one supposedly caused by wild magic, though Hunter had no way of deciphering truth and deceit from his mouth anymore.

“We are kin, Hunter, our scars are a permanent reminder of our failures. They’ll remind us to keep pushing forward, but also that we will always be united.”

What was once a comforting speech about how Hunter could always rely on his uncle now just served to remind him that his blood was running through his veins. If that even was how Grimwalkers worked, who knew what other vile things Belos had to do to make his body. The memory flashed through his mind like an icicle had crashed through his spine, just the thought of how willingly and stupidly he helped his uncle in the past was enough to send him stumbling away from Belos’ cold, sadistic gaze. His hand struck upwards to his face as his fingers involuntarily traced the scar on his chin, the fingerprint of Belos.

The next face was his own, the mask that had been sewn onto him since birth. A man who he never knew existed until just a month or so ago, yet had dictated his entire life. Caleb. He seemed tired, exhausted and if Hunter squinted, he could’ve sworn that Caleb looked disappointed in him. How could he not be? The last of the Grimwalkers, all of those people, all of those murdered and it all lead up to just him. Sure, Belos was dead but it wasn’t like Hunter believed that, that monster would find a way to cling to life for even a few more seconds no matter the depraved cost. He hadn’t won or defeated Belos, he was trapped in another world, although the human world somehow felt comfortable. Maybe he just didn’t have anything for him back in the Isles, except for Darius, or maybe it was the Caleb in him talking, happy to finally be back home.

Hunter yelped pathetically, barely finding his voice as he tucked his head to the side, staring away from the mirror. Clutching the sides of his hair while his torso shook and jittered slightly, Hunter took in deep breaths as well as he could, trying to copy it how Luz taught him. They were far from perfect but they calmed him down just enough to barely able to just barely open one of his eyes and look back in the mirror.

It was just him, a few feet away from the mirror from jumping back, hunched over with his hands on the sides of his head. Hunter grimaced, really missing that masked confidence right about now. He blinked a few times, making sure that it was really him and not Caleb. Satisfied that he was no longer seeing things, Hunter slowly rose back to his normal stature and got ready to le-

“Hunter?” A soft voice called from the doorway, though it felt like a shock to his heart. Hunter jumped back once more, startled like a deer, and turned to face where the voice had came from. There stood Willow, who was just rubbing her eyes groggily but had flinched back at Hunter’s reaction, a little stunned herself. A few moments passed in silence as Hunter felt like his tongue was stolen, not exactly sure what to say. Eventually though, Willow stepped into the room, a look of confused sympathy in her eyes.

“What are you doing up still? Are you alright?” She asked, her voice was quiet, not just to ensure that she wouldn’t wake the others.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hunter decided, avoiding that last question. Willow didn’t seem to mind but she could feel more conceal bubble in her gut.

“I saw that my bedroom door was left open, and then I heard someone scream in here,” she explained, each of her words clear and slow. Hunter nodded in a grimace recollection.

“Oh, right, that was me-both of those things were..” he then turned his face away, finding the floor more interesting. Willow stepped forward with a soft smile, lightly leaning against the wall.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she then slid down the wall and repositioned herself to have her back pressed up against it, with her legs crossed. She patted the spot next to her and after a moment of thinking, Hunter steadily sat beside her, hugging her legs to his chest. He remained silent though, chin resting atop his knees as he stared idly forward, though Willow kept her attention on him.

“Did something happen?” She asked, easily slipping into the role of being a comforter. Hunter only managed a small hum of agreement to that question.

“Wanna talk about it?” Willow then followed up with, a light question, one which Hunter could easily back out of or lean into though. He choose the former though, just shaking his head. Willow felt her face soften, a strong sense of empathy running through her as she could only imagine what was going on with Hunter. Luckily, she knew a full proof fix to any emotional problem!

“Want a hug?” She offered, opening her arms just a little as she scooted a little to face him. It took a Hunter a moment of consideration, fear filling him like bile until he delicately allows himself to be taken into Willow’s arms. His arms found themselves clinging to the back of her neck, while hers secured his lower back. Hunter’s body was mostly draped over Willow’s warm legs, her whole body was warm actually, like a blanket on a winter day. Hunter breathed in, finally remembering what Luz told him, in for four seconds, out for four seconds and repeat. Willow took note of what he was doing and copied him, not wanting him to do it alone.

“Thanks, captain,” Hunter mumbled quietly once he was finally level headed again. Willow’s smile appeared a little brighter as Hunter looked up to stare at her. She began rubbing circles onto his back, and Hunter immediately returned the smile.

“Don’t thank me yet, you know, there is a price to these hugs,” Willow grinned, something sly appear in her eyes, the same look she’d house whenever she was scheming with Gus. Hunter’s brow furrowed in confusion, though he enjoyed the more playful tone the conversation was now shifting towards.

“Oh, and what would that be?” He asked, trying his best to play into whatever game Willow was playing right now. Suddenly, her grip on him tightened, practically scooping him closer to her from her hold on his back. Hunter squeaked as he stumbled over, ending up sitting on Willow’s lap, hands still messily clinging to her neck.

“Your laughter!” Willow exclaimed before her fingers greedily shot into Hunter’s sides, scraping about against his torso through the fragile fabric of his shirt. Hunter’s grip onto Willow immediately tightened, it probably wasn’t the best idea to cling onto the person tickling him, but something about it felt natural, like the right thing to do. Eyes widening, small laughter began to crackle out of his mouth, it came out in a disjointed manner, as if this was the first time he had ever laughed.

“Pffha-Wi-Wihihillow!!” He squeaked out, rooting his feet into the floor as his body became more rigid, doing her best not to make a fool of himself by squirming around. Willow grinned, spidering and skittering her nails across the lengths of his tummy, jabbing her nails into the pudgy skin every now and then.

“Aww, that is the cutest laughter I’ve ever heard!” Willow teased him, though she felt a bit of a blush form on her face, she was just glad Hunter didn’t notice as his entire face reddened at the praise, even getting a bit louder because of that.

“Aha-hahaha, I-I dohohohn’t-!!” Hunter couldn’t even got a full sentence out before squealing, his legs bucking as their placement became more wobbly. He fell forward, leaning against Willow with his cheek pressed against her chest. Seizing the opportunity, Willow reached both of her hands over to Hunter’s exposed right side before squeezing them playfully, prompting a few yelps from Hunter as he flailed about against her.

“Careful, Hunter,” Willow spoke in a chastising tone, “you don’t wanna wake up anyone else by being too loud, do you?” Somehow, Hunter’s face felt even more hot as he his heart thumped out of his chest. Taking her advice, he buried his face in her shoulder, trying to stifle all his squeals and laughter. Willow then crawled her fingers down to his hips, lightly tapping and pinching against them, causing Hunter to buck about in her arms.

“Thihihis is-cruhuhuel!” Hunter called out playfully, jerking about from side to side at the touch of Willow’s hands. The poor boy couldn’t even show his scarlet face, all he could really do was keep on laughing away in Willow’s arms. Willow just stared down at him adoringly, watching Hunter just melt away into giggles as he clung onto her. She began pressing her thumbs into his hips with more force, squishing her fingers down against her body, earning a few loud shrieks and cackles into her shoulder.

“Oh come on, you know you love it!” Willow smirked down at him, to which Hunter was only, barely able to meet her gaze, losing the will to speak. His eyes appeared weakly opened, sparkling with joy normally only seen in childhood, as if all of his problems were forced out with his laughter. Hunter could barely keep a hold on Willow, though he wasn’t squirming that much now, half because he didn’t want to get away and half because the poor boy was just too tired for it. As much as Willow adored this side of Hunter, one of the rare, fleeting moments that he wasn’t troubled by a need to survive, she could also recognise just how winded he was getting already. Rasping and gasping for breath, going red in the face, laying against her like a rock ready to sink down in a river, that was all it took for Willow’s fingers to begin lightening their assault, delivering a few more pinches to his sides to keep him all giggly.

Willow held Hunter as he remained in her arms, lightly rocking with each deep inhale he took. When his face returned to a lighter shade, he managed to face Willow, a little unsure of himself. Willow noticed and figured to lead.

“You feeling okay? Want some water?” She offered, to which he shook his head, already feeling more than satisfied.

“No-no, it’s okay-thanks Captain…for all of that,” Hunter added that last bit in an embarrassed mumble, barely able to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. Willow just giggled adoringly at his behaviour.

“You wanna go back to bed?” Willow prompted him, but surprisingly, his grip on her didn’t loosen. He shook his head against her shoulder.

“Actually…would you mind if we-stayed like this..for a bit?” Hunter asked, though his tone wasn’t dripping with sadness, Willow had done a thorough job at tickling that out of him. He sounded more…comfortable, a similar feeling as to earning the trust of a stray cat. Willow’s smile remained bright on her first as she kept a tight hold on Hunter, like a teddy.

“Of course we can.”

[s1i9d]

Just Finished Arcane Season 2, Act 1. [Spoilers]

Episode 1 - Heavy is the Crown

A fallout episode. As in like here’s all the repercussions from “The Monster You Created”.

Only four people really died. I mean, I’m counting Viktor as a death here cause he canonically died and Jayce stirring the Hexcore pot was really the only thing that “saved” him.

I think Cait’s mom’s survival was a Schrödinger’s Cat for me. I had a big feeling she was gonna be dead, but I wasn’t 100% sure. But those other two guys dying makes total sense.

The funeral sequence for Cait’s mom was gorgeous, and the fact that it was done all in charcoal (well except for the colour assets) was so good.

Saylo needs to close his mouth. I love how Medarda is just such a classy manipulator.

Vi not wanting to be an enforcer makes sense but also Cait wanting her to be makes sense too. There’s just so much mess here.

The ambush was incredible. Jayce and Vi are the first and only butch lesbian and bisexual man to be absolute failure combo and I love it.

When they said “they must have had help” I was initially like “oh yeah, Ambessa Medarda for sure.”

also, vi when we said “fuck the police” we didn’t mean-

Episode 2 - Watch It All Burn

I do like how this parallels Season 1’s first two episodes. In Season 1, the first episode was about the Undercity with very little focus on Piltover. The second episode was a focus on Piltover with some cuts to the Undercity. In Season 2, the first episode was all about Piltover and the second episode was looking at the Undercity with cuts to Piltover.

Jinx and Silco in the water was so gorgeous. Love how they make it clear that Jinx is still processing killing him.

Undercity in disarray in an attempt to take over power.

Sevika and Jinx having a genuine discussion about their roles and identities without Silco was really unexpected. I thought they would lose control themselves.

Viktor is ✨skinnyyyyy✨

Heimerdinger/Ekko/Jayce meet up was the last group of characters I would have expected to meet up at all.

This horror sequence in the training room was wild. You can really see it from Jinx perspective, now that she’s doesn’t have much mental control over Vi, she can’t escape when she’s breathing in The Grey and trying to sneak around.

Immediately going into the fight with Sevika. Loved the slot machine effects, even if Sevika clearly was annoyed by it which makes it funnier.

Can’t believe Viktor is Jesus Christ now.

Episode 3 - Finally Got the Name Right

We got the CaitVi kiss! And then everything went wrong!!! Yay!!!

Mel got body snatched lol. (I mean… she was snatched anyways.)

The fuck is up with Jayce being an idiot and intelligent and the same time.

I called Ambessa being in charge of the ambush in 201.

I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.

[sweetcici11]

smoke signals

the future’s unwritten, the past is a corridor

i’m at the exit, looking back through the hall

you are anonymous, i am a concrete wall

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

ellie williams x abby anderson

small trigger warnings- blood, suicidal thoughts, losts of angst

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

ellie williams was a disappointment to everyone and everything she ever knew. she’s failed everyone that’s ever mattered to her in too many ways to fix. there’s a certain point in your life where you need to stop and force yourself to ask what youre doing.

and when that moment comes, the world goes quiet. not a single sound can be heard. not the heavy and ragged breathing of the blood covered girl. not the desperate thrashing of someone trying to survive. not the splashing of water. her ears fail her, and apparently so does her heart.

if you asked her why she let abby anderson go that day, she wouldn’t be able to give you a clear answer. she might give a shrug or a mumble, or she might pull a gun on you. she was so unpredictable, it was impossible to tell.

there was so much resentment in her body, but she was also tired. when abby crawled away from her, choking and gasping for air she thought she might never breathe again, ellie couldnt bring herself to even glance over at her, to see the damage she kept causing everywhere she went. it was taxing, and it cost her everything.

her mother. riley. sam. joel. jesse. dina.

when did loss break you? when did it finally catch up to you and make you give up? ellie was strong. stronger than anyone she’d ever crossed paths with. and yet, as she sat in the shallow water, the salt burning every scratch on her small body, sobbing breathlessly and cradling her seemingly endlessly bleeding hand, she knew it was over. the pain was too much. she wouldnt survive it. not this time.

“just go,” the auburn hair girl sobbed, her eyes shut tight. she held her hand, though not trying to make the blood stop. there was no point. “just take him.”

when abby heard those words, her mind immediately shot to the unconscious teenage boy in the boat, and her heart ached. though in ellie’s mind, she had forgotten of the boy completely. the only thing consuming her mind was yet again, joel. she knew damn well that the moment abby drove the boat away, he was gone. for good.

and she would be too.

maybe in some other world everything wouldve been worth it. maybe in another world, she wouldve had the gut to kill abby. maybe in another world, she couldve just fucking forgiven joel and the guilt wouldnt consume her every second of every day.

maybe. maybe not.

“get up,” rang a voice form behind her, momentarily snapping her out of her thoughts. she slowly turned her head and looked at abby; broken and bleeding, but still looking at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen.

it scared her.

abby wasn’t supposed to be real. she wasn’t supposed to be human, she was supposed to be a monster. she was supposed to be someone ellie could blame. someone she could hate. someone she could kill. not someone she could see herself in. not someone she was supposed to empathize with.

“what?” ellie asked, and her voice rang so broken in her own ears.

“i said get up,” abby repeated, and ellie despised how gentle her voice was. she needed her to yell. to hate her too. ellie didnt understand what abby meant, so she ignored her. it wasnt hard as she was losing blood and her eyes felt heavy. the stab wound in her stomach had reopened but ellie had no intention of trying to stop it.

her body hurt. she was tired. the water seemed to be getting rougher by the second and it was drowning her. she was suffocating in her own mind and she wanted nothing more than to be put out of her misery.

“you need to get up,” abby pleaded, starting to feel drops of rain falling from the sky, washing away the blood on her body just to be replace by more. “get in the boat, come on. the ra-rattlers will kill you.”

ellie ignored her, abby’s shaky voice foreign in her ears. ellie hated abby more than her mind let her know. the last thing she wanted was for her to get in a boat with her.

abby was getting frustrated. she was trying to help her despite not deserving any of it. the girl sitting in the water had single handedly ruined her life, and abby wanted to leave her there, bleeding out and to die, but for some reason, abby couldn’t help the tug in her heart. this girl was hurt and broken, but there was something inside of abby that needed to save her. to help her.

and she hated herself for it.

ellie on the other hand was losing consciousness. and quickly. her eyes were getting too heavy to keep open, and her head was light and spinning from the blood loss. if the bleeding wasn’t stopped soon, then ellie wouldn’t make it. ellie couldn’t find it in herself to care.

abby was conflicted. it was raining hard now, and the wind was picking up. it was only a matter of time before the water got unsafe to travel in. she had to decide quickly. should she try to physically force ellie into the boat and take her? it could be the only way she survives. but it could also kill them all if she tries fighting back. did she have enough energy? what if abby gets her in the boat, but ellie starts fighting after she’s in? the boat could tip over, and the current and wind was too strong. they were all too weak.

abby could just leave her there, but abby could already feel the guilt it would bring her. maybe, in order to heal herself, she had to help ellie heal too.

abby’s blue eyes were watching ellie carefully, studying every shoulder heaving sob and every shallow breath. abby was good in noticing the small things, and the obviousness that ellie was on the verge of passing out was clear.

abby caught it in the blink of an eye; the way ellie’s sobs fell short and the way her body started leaning too much to one side. despite her potentially fatally injured state, abby swiftly knelt down and caught ellie before she was submerged completely. she had to act fast. her eyes landed on her openly bleeding hand, blood gushing out of the stubs where ellie’s pinky and ring finger used to be. while that was a problem, what worried abby the most was the fact that what used to be ellie’s white tank top was now almost completely soaked in red, and the water around them was crimson as well. abby took in a deep and shaky breath as she stood up, ellie in her arms. the girl was completely unconscious, so abby didn’t worry about her fighting back. abby grunted as she forced herself and ellie to the boat. it was rough and painful, but abby still had a will to live. she needed to survive this, not just for her, but for lev.

lev who lay in the boat, now next to ellie, starved to the bone and even in sleep, his face looked so sad and pale. she needed to help him even if it killed her.

and so, with little time to spare, abby ripped a good part of her own tank top off and lifted ellie’s stained crimson shirt, and she fought the urge to gag at the sight. the wound looked bad. she took the piece of cloth and submerged it in the water below, trying to clean it at least a tiny bit. she wrung it out and quickly press it to ellie’s wound, and even in sleep, ellie seemed to wince softly. she shifted and abby paused, praying she didn’t wake up. when she didn’t, she tied it securely to her lower abdomen and quickly set off the untie the ropes, keeping the three of them there.

abby hadn’t driven a boat like it’s in a while, and this one was old, so it took a moment to get the engine to start, but when it did, abby could feel a spark of hope ignite in her chest; something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

⭒

catalina island was, thankfully, not too far. the fact abby was even still conscious was nothing short of a miracle. she felt awful and she wanted so badly to just let go and let sleep steal her away, but ellie’s, lev’s, and her own life depended on her fighting.

when the domed building came into view even through the heavy rain, abby felt a wave of relief wash over her sore chest.

she was so weak and tired that she almost crashed into the beach trying to park the boat. but she didn’t care; they had made it. she stumbled out of the boat, and immediately reached for lev before pausing slightly. ellie was still lying there, her breathing ragged and shallow. abby took a deep breath before picking up lev and getting away from the boat. she aimlessly heads for the domed building, trying to get help for all three of them. abby was half hoping ellie might just bleed out in the boat on her own.

abby’s whole body froze when she heard the clicking of guns and a loud voice.

“dont you fuckin’ move!” the male voice shouted, making abby slowly turn her head to the sound. this man had shaggy orange hair and minimal facial hair, and the darkest eyes shed ever seen.

“please,” she panted, her voice just as weak as she felt. “i-im abby, i radioed in a while ago. i was told to come here. we need help, please.”

the man didnt lower his gun, but he seemed to consider her for a second.

“put the boy down, just set him on the ground,” he told her, keeping his voice just as stern. abby reluctantly did as she was told, and silently thanked him for the excuse to rest her burning arms. “there any more a’ ya?”

abby nodded slowly, noticing how her head started spinning the moment she stood back up. “one more in the boat,” she mumbled. “shes unconscious. and bleeding.”

the man with the gun nodded in acknowledgment. he said something, but abby couldn’t make it out as everyting went black.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

hi y’all! this is my first time trying to write something here so please be patient

lemme know if you guys like this, i have more chapters written and stuff planned!! feedback is encouraged!!

yours truly, ci

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Climb

Summary: You're a scientist, an engineer to be exact. Called to a meeting you had no real right to be at, Optimus Prime takes an exclusive interest in you, but you can't help but ask yourself at every turn, Why?

Rating: 18+ 🌹🩸🍆

Story Masterlist

Chapter 14

‘Optimus, I cannot recommend this.’ Ratchet shook his head. ‘You have not even repaired your own injuries and we have no idea what this will do to an organic.’

     ‘I am willing to take the risk.’ Optimus sat back defiantly.

     ‘Woah, hold on.’ Lennox caught their attention. ‘What are you talking about? What is Spark-sharing?’

     Ratchet and Optimus looked to each other. Ratchet folded his arms, unhappy with the situation.

     ‘I would give up a piece of my Spark to allow her to live.’ Optimus said to Lennox.

     ‘Wait, you could save her?’

     ‘Yes.’

     ‘We don’t know.’ Ratchet interrupted. ‘Major Lennox, this procedure is dangerous for healthy Autobots, but to transfer into a human… we have no idea if it will work or if Optimus would survive. We could lose both of them.’

     Lennox nodded, looking up at the Autobot leader. He had a look of realisation in his eye. ‘How does it work?’

     ‘A small piece of my Spark would be removed,’ Optimus explained. ‘And placed inside Jane’s body.’

     ‘It could destroy her.’ Ratchet again cut in.

     ‘If the piece is small enough and started with their machines, it will adapt and learn how to help her.’ Optimus growled. Ratchet seemed to still for a moment.

     ‘Wait, could that work?’ Ironhide stepped forward, realising that Ratchet’s arguments may have been flawed.

     Ratchet thought for a moment, before sighing, deflated.

     ‘The theory is solid.’ He admitted. ‘Once the Spark is removed, it would die, but it could be restarted again with a small amount of charge. Your machines are calibrated to the exact requirements of a human heart, it would be enough to revive the Spark and teach it to only give what is needed. But this is still dangerous, Optimus.’

     ‘I have already said, I am willing to take the risk.’

     Everyone turned to Ratchet, it technically wasn’t his choice, but he was the only one who could pull it off.

     He sighed once again. ‘Fine.’

     Ironhide immediately transformed and Lennox, along with the doctors, loaded up Jane’s body carefully. Ratchet helped Optimus to his feet, and they made their way back to the nearest base. Time wouldn’t be on their side, the longer she was gone, the less likely she was to come back.

     Ratchet did what he could to prepare Optimus for the procedure, opening his chest and getting the doctors to measure out the size of Jane’s chest cavity. The piece taken from Optimus would be tiny and he worried that it would be far too small to actually help her.

     They made it to the base and the operating room had already been prepared by the medical staff there. Jane was being loaded inside and Optimus was being brought close to her.

     ‘I will need help restraining you.’ Ratchet said, preparing his own equipment. ‘This will not be pleasant.’

     Ironhide, Hound, Drift and Bumblebee all held their leader down as Ratchet brought out his tools to cut away the piece of Spark needed for Jane.

     Optimus did his best, but he had never felt agony like this before. His friends held his strong body as best they could, he almost broke free, but some of the remaining Autobots jumped on to help keep him as still as possible. Death would have been kinder but at no point did he regret his actions, if it saved Jane then it would be worth it. But his whole body felt like it was melting and burning, like a hole was being slowly created inside him.

     Ratchet finally managed to pull put the tiniest piece of his Spark, he couldn’t believe such a tiny thing had caused him so much agony.

     Optimus turned his head to see Ratchet reaching inside the operating room, handing the Spark to the doctors who had already removed Jane’s own organic heart. If this didn’t work, she truly would be gone.

     It was too much for him to think about, Optimus leaned back and allowed his body to rest, he needed to repair, and he hoped that when his eyes opened, Jane would be with him.

---

Lennox had never heard anything like it, Optimus Prime screaming for his life. It almost made him want to step forward to stop the procedure, tell them that Jane wouldn’t want this if it caused him such pain. But it wasn’t his choice.

     Ratchet had guided the medical staff through what would normally happen when transferring the Spark to another Autobot, they were able to figure out how to place it inside Jane and encourage it to join with her organic form.

     In truth, Lennox didn’t believe anyone had any idea of what the consequences of this decision would be. He didn’t even know how confident Ratchet was that this would work, but if there was a chance that Harding could survive, it was worth taking.

     The doctors did what they could and restarted the Spark with the defibrillator, calibrated specifically to the exact charge needed to sustain human life. He wasn’t sure what else could be done.

     Finally, the procedure was over. Optimus was resting and repairing, and Jane was being monitored heavily by almost every doctor on base. Everything was telling them that her body was functioning, blood was pumping, she was breathing again, but there was no heartbeat as such. Rather there was a small, soft pulsing that came from the Spark itself.

     Ratchet was happy enough that it worked, but Jane had yet to wake up. After two days, her condition hadn’t changed.

     ‘Her mission was successful.’ Colonel Morshower said over the video feed. ‘The alien ship is gone, and we’ve been informed it is leaving our solar system.’

     ‘Yes, sir.’ Lennox nodded, still slightly distracted.

     ‘Something you wanna say, son?’

     Lennox gave a brief smile. ‘Not really, sir.’ He admitted, making the Colonel chuckle. ‘What happens if Smith finds out about the Spark-sharing?’

     ‘I don’t think that’s a question of if, but when.’ Morshower leaned forward. ‘The argument will be that the Autobots have shared their technology. Now I know that these were exceptional circumstances, but that is how it will be viewed. You need to be prepared for that, so does Harding and Optimus.’

     Lennox nodded in understanding.

    ‘While I have no idea what will actually happen when Smith finds out, I’m sure you can make an educated guess.’ Morshower warned, much more seriously. ‘I’ll admit, part of me hopes Harding doesn’t wake up. If she does, nothing will be easy.’

     ‘Yes, sir.’ Lennox agreed and finished giving his report on everything that happened.

     In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but remember the way Optimus had looked at Harding when her body was given over to the doctors. He cared for her a lot. Maybe too much.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[violetlunette]

Runaway_Chapter 1: Runaway

Summary: After the realization Silver is the cause of his family’s pain, Silver runs away, leaving all he knows and loves.

Master List

Ao3

Notes:

*Twst spoilers for Chapter/Book 7

*Fairly long, around 2,500 words

Story Notes:

*In this work, Leah was the one who needed Malenore’s glow to survive and, at the time, she was in the early stages of pregnancy. Why? Because it fits better dramatically and story wise.

*The metaphorical “want for a nail” that leads to this tale is that Sebek and Silver never got a chance to talk about what Silver was going through. Silver pulled himself out of the dark by telling himself he owed it to Malleus and Lilia to save them, but after that...

~Start~

It was over.

Malleus was back to normal, everyone was awake, Lilia and Sebek were safe—it was all over.

Wasn’t it?

~*~

Silver groaned behind clenched teeth. His head was throbbing, and every pulse of blood was shooting pain through his brain. It took effort to open his eyes, which stung from exhaustion, and even then, the world was spotty with colors. Thankfully, the lights were low. Slowly, he attempted to push himself up, but his limbs were shaky. It was as if he were a baby deer.

‘What happened?’ Silver’s expression pinched as he tried to recall. And then he did.

He whipped his head up, a gap escaping his lips. His eyes darted about the Diasomnia hall, decorated with banners and streamers for Lilia’s farewell, looking for--

“Malleus!”

“Lord Malleus!!”

He saw his father immediately hurry to Malleus, with Sebek at his side. Silver felt a warm flow through him at the sight of those he loved most.

When he last saw them, it was in the dream world. Lilia had stayed behind in his dream to allow them to escape and save Malleus from himself. Then later, Sebek was injured while defending him. And Malleus…

Poor Malleus had been overblotted, falling into despair over the thought of losing Lilia and turning into a powerful foe that Silver and the others were barely able to defeat.

But it was over now. Everyone was safe, and Malleus was back to his usual self.

Heart swelling, Silver made to join them as the prince began to stir, tears of relief starting to appear--

Then he stopped, paralyzed by a chill that went through him.

‘Wait…I…’ Memories of his father’s dream swirled to the surface, like a beast from the gloom.

Humans invading Briar Valley, raping the land, and leaving mountains hollow. Destroying the homes of innocent Fae folk. The soldiers attacking the castle where a baby Malleus was sleeping, unhatched in his egg, as his mother sang to him one last time before the Knight of the Dawn arrived and slayed her.

The Knight of the Dawn. His…

Silver went cold, ice filling his veins as he replayed the words he had overheard in the dream.

“My sister, your WIFE, Princess Leah, is suffering from the child YOU placed in her. Every night, my father prays for their health, but it’s not enough! With the princess’ glow, we might be able to save them.”

Silver’s body quivered. It was his fault. It was because of HIM that the humans invaded Brair Valley, the place Silver had the gall to call his home for seventeen years. It was because of Silver that the Knight of the Dawn killed Malenore. The Princess, who fought for her country and her unborn child, a child she never even got to see.

Because of him.

‘Father—no, General Vanrouge—no—who...who...how... Lord Malleus, I--I--’ Silver couldn’t think. It was all he could do to breathe, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him and threatening to crush him to the ground. He looked at his hand, which was digging into the dark stone floor through the leather gloves. It was shaking as the skin turned gray.

Nausea filled him as the world began to spin. He thought he was going to throw up.

It was too much. Silver couldn’t stay. He had to leave. He had to get out of there.

He cast a momentary glance at Lilia and the others, Sebek weeping as Lilia comforted a distressed Malleus. Just as he had done with Silver as a child.

Body tense, the human stood quietly, not wanting to draw their attention as he left.

~*~

As he wandered down the winding steps, which were bathed in shadows, Silver attempted to process all that had happened.

He still felt ill, and quickly his attempts to hold back failed. As he found himself vomiting out the window, a dawning realization burned him like fire, even as the cold wind from outside blew against his face.

‘It was all because of me,’ he thought. ‘I was the cause of everything wrong in their lives.’

The Fae lost their land and their homes. Lilia lost a beloved friend, whom he grew up with and suffered undeserved scorn from others. Malleus never got a chance to know his mother or how much she loved him.

All because Silver had been conceived and made his mother ill. If not for him, then the Fae would all be living peacefully.

Princess Malenore would have lived and gotten to raise her child. On top of all that, Lilia would have been praised as the general he deserved, with medals, all the honors he deserved, and more. More than that, he would have been with his friends.

However, because of Silver’s existence, none of that happened. Instead, everyone suffered.

‘And father knows it.’ Silver could still recall the look of pure loathing in Lilia’s eyes, masking centuries of pain, when he realized Silver’s true identity as a baby. How Lilia had longed to reach out, to rip out the babe's throat. And he would have too—if not for Lilia’s love for Malleus and possibly his own soft heart.

A heart too kind for someone like Silver.

Hick...

Sliver’s lips pressed, holding back a sob.

“Hick… Father… I… Hick...” ‘I can’t only imagine how you’ve suffered all these years.’ To look at Silver, every day, knowing who he was and that he was responsible for everything wrong in Lilia and Malleus’ lives, must have been agony beyond any wound a sword could inflict. Especially now that Silver had the exact same face as him. The exact same.

It must have been agony to hold Silver at night when he cried, to force a smile for him.

And Malleus…

“YOU were the cause of my pain! You and your father! On top of that, you’re the proof of Lilia’s betrayal of my family and myself! I hate you!"

Silver flinched and fell against the wall, sliding to the floor. The look of pure loathing and pain on Malles' face burned into his memory and slashed his soul apart like a dark blade.

He was right. Malleus was right. How--

How could Malleus ever look at him again?

Sebek certainly wouldn’t.

‘Sebek…’ He would hate Silver when he figured it all out.

So much had been going on as they traveled, but once Sebek put the pieces together, he would look at Silver with scorn. Sebek loved Malleus, Lilia, and his grandfather, Baul, more than anything. Silver could already see the other’s hatred and fury, glowing in his eyes, words of disdain spilling from his lips.

“Lord Malleus and Master Lilia raised you, and for what?! If it wasn’t for you, then they—and grandfather—wouldn’t have suffered as they did! As far as I’m concerned, you’re no different than the humans who invaded our land!"

Silver’s head fell forward, his palms pressing hard against his eyes, which turned red due to the sting of tears.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...’ It was all his fault. It was all his fault. Even tonight was all his fault.

Had Silver not wept, like he was now, then Malleus wouldn’t have blotted over. But because he had, Malleus fell into despair, and everyone on Sage Island suffered.

But that was his existence, wasn’t it? One that brought pain and suffering to all. And Silver couldn’t do a thing about it. 

There was nothing he could do to make up for the past. To give back what was lost or heal the scars inflicted upon everyone he loved.

Nothing--

“Silver!”

Above him, from the floors above, Silver heard his name being called by multiple people. One louder than the rest;

“Silver!” Lilia’s voice cracked as it carried loudly over the others. “Where are you? Answer me!”

The frantic tone pierced Silver’s heart like a dagger.

He shoved himself to his feet, his breath ragged with sobs. This morning, he would have hurried to the man to assure Lilia that he was alright and everything was fine.

Now, however, Silver ran down the steps and to the exit, bursting out the large doors to the outside.

He didn’t have a destination in mind as he ran. He just knew that he had to run to get away from Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek—everyone.

Silver’s legs carried him down the pathway, surrounded by thorns--just like the ones around the stolen castle--and to the mirror. As soon as the glass was in sight, he charged it like a bull. The action flung him through the portal and to the marbled floor, where his knees slammed painfully. Taking in haggard breaths, one thought blossomed in his mind:

‘I can’t let them take me back.’

They would. He knew they would, or at least Lilia would. Being as kind as he was, Silver knew Lilia would tell him that the past wasn’t his fault and that he loved him. But that would be a lie.

How could anyone love the son of their enemy? Especially when he was the cause of everything?

Knees throbbing, Silver staggered to his feet, the ring around his neck swaying as the stones glittered in the faint light. Once he gained his footing, Silver set out of the school at a run.

Blackthorns still covered the area, though he could see the dome above slowly retreating, revealing the dawn peeking over the college. As Silver made his exit from the building, he prayed that it was a symbol of a better beginning for Lilia and the others.

‘Did Lord Malleus do all of this?’ Silver wondered as he looked at the vines. ‘Is the entire island covered in them?’ Despite the current situation, he was in awe of his Lord’s power. Only the Witch of Thorns herself had managed such a feat in the past. Truly, Malleus…

Silver shook his head to bring him to the present. He had no time for such thoughts. Right now, he had to get off the island.

‘But how?’ The mirror was controlled by Crowley; a boat would be far too slow, and staying was out of the question as he knew Lilia would find him. He was always good at finding Silver whenever the boy got upset, hid somewhere, or ran. That used to be a comfort to him. Now...

The thudding sound of heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and Silver instinctively hid behind a thick apple tree before peeping out.

‘Those uniforms…’ Running past him toward the school was a group of Styx soldiers, along with a squad of guards from Briar Valley.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Malleus not only overblotted, but his phantom created a dark spell that enveloped the island. It was natural that they would be called and forced to work together.

‘I hope they don’t blame Malleus or his father.’ Guilt filled Silver as he realized that, once again, Malleus and Lilia would be punished because of him. Sebek would be as well if they accused him of not doing his job correctly. (An accusation that would wound the boy to his core.) However, the blame didn’t lie with any of them.

Had Silver been strong and not broken in front of Malleus and burdened him with his feelings then his prince would never have felt the need to “bless” everyone and blotted.

Silver’s fingers gripped the bark so tight that he tore some off.

“Dammit,” he muttered through his teeth, disdainful of himself. He just kept making things worse and worse, didn’t he? Not just for Malleus, Lilia, and Sebek, but for everybody.

This thought strengthened his resolve, and Silver knew he had to leave before he was discovered. Jaw-clenched, he pushed himself off the tree and set off. But then--

“Silver?” Silver’s voice caught in his throat.

‘That voice--’ He turned and met the multicolored eyes of Baul, Sebek’s grandfather.

When Silver and Sebek were young, Baul would stop by to check on Sebek’s progress. As such, the two knew each other well enough.

The old man still looked like he had 400 years ago in Lilia’s as if time didn’t dare touch him. If not for the scales on his face and his sharper features, he would look just like his youngest grandson.

The realization hurt Silver, and many emotions flooded Silver as he recalled the warrior fighting tirelessly to protect his home and kingdom. It was easy to imagine Sebek battling the human invaders.

Invaders who were only there because of Silver.

Silver tensed as the older fae approached, eyes glowing against the dark.

“What are you doing here?” he inquired, his gruff voice hiding his concern as he looked Silver over. “Where're Sebek and General Vanrouge?”

Silver swallowed. He couldn’t tell the truth. Baul would drag him back to Lilia and the others if he did.

“They’re fine. They’re helping Lord Malleus and the others right now at the Diasomnia dorm,” he explained. His gaze dropped as he added, "I was sent on Fa...Lilia’s orders were to check out the island and make sure everything was alright. That way, I could put Malleus’ mind at ease.” The words felt like bile burning his throat but between this and the truth...

Baul frowned; however, as this was Silver, he had no reason not to believe him.

“And Prince Malleus?”

“He’s fine,” Silver said quickly, hoping that wasn’t a lie. “Everyone’s a bit out of it, but no one’s hurt.” Baul sighed in visible relief, his shoulders sagging.

“Everyone on the island is okay as well. Briar Valley and STYX have been working together since the barrier appeared to monitor them,” the other explained.

“Even so, I should see for myself,” Silver insisted. “Orders and all.” Baul numbly nodded, his relief and worry clouding his judgment at the moment. It was clear that he was desperate enough to get to his grandchild that he would let Silver do whatever he wanted at the moment.

“You shouldn’t be alone, orders or not,” he said after a moment, opening his eyes to look at the pale teen. “We have no idea if there’s still any danger from the overblotting.”

“I understand,” Silver said quickly, worried that every wasted moment was giving Lilia more time to find him. “I’ll go to the Brair Valley soldiers and ask one to assist me.

“In the meantime, please go to my father and Sebek. I’m worried that they might be suffering as well and would feel better if you were there to support them.” While this was to get the man away, it wasn’t a lie, as Silver would feel better with the other on his family’s side. Baul nodded, his mind evidently filled with worry for Malleus, his old general, and his beloved grandson.

“Go to a STYX soldier instead so they can look you over,” he ordered. Usually, he would insist on escorting the other; however, his desire to check on Sebek trumped this action. “If any of the Briar Valley soldiers give you trouble, use my name and collect theirs. I’ll deal with them later.” With his position as a royal guard and his fearsome reputation, Baul carried a substantial amount of weight and power.

Silver nodded, guilt settling heavily on his stomach.

“I will,” he said, hoping Baul wouldn’t notice how thick Silver’s voice was. Baul returned the nod and then took off in the direction Silver pointed.

Once he was gone, Silver took off running, knowing that his time would be extremely limited.

Though the thought would sadden him later, he would admit that Lilia taught him well. By using the skills the fae gave him, Silver alluded to the guards, fae and human, alike. Once in a while, he worried that he had been caught again, but it didn’t appear to be the case.

Despite the risk the soldiers placed him in, he was glad he saw them. Their appearance made him recall Ortho’s tale of how Rook and Epel invaded STYX Headquarters by broom. The boy had been amazed and amused by the audacity (and stupidity).

Silver wasn’t sure how far a broom would take him, but he was sure it would take him far enough, for now, at least.

The gym yard was thankfully empty, and the biggest obstacle he had to face was tearing away the vines that covered the door. He winced and hissed as the large thorns stabbed into his palms. Yet he continued to yank until the doorway was freed. Not having a key, Sliver kicked down the door with a powerful kick, fueled by desperation.

As the door fell, Silver rushed in, grabbed the first broom in sight, and ran out into the field.

“Hey? Who’s that kid?”

"Isn't that Vanrouge's human?

“Oi! Stop right there!”

Crap! He had been spotted. But he wouldn’t be stopped! Not when he was so close!

‘This is it!’ No turning back now, he thought. Silver focused his magic on the broom and took off before the guards could reach him. Their cries followed him into the skies as Silver flew into the rising sun, leaving all he knew behind.

~End for Now~

Next Chapter ->

[separatist-apologist]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Summary: After a disaster on Earth sends humans to live on colonies on different planets, Feyre Archeron's life has become impossibly difficult. The Federation meant to protect and provide for human refugees has abandoned them on a hostile planet that forbids them from hunting and has segregated them from the rest of the population.

When her older sister starts an accidental fire in an attempt to revitalize the barren land, Feyre comes face to face with one of the infamous, dreaded Horde Kings. They strike a bargain- her servitude for her sisters life. Now, trapped in his horde, Feyre has to acclimate to a new life and the demands of the man who took her- and hope she can survive him.

Based on the book Captive of the Horde King.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3

Rhys stepped into the tent, dragging in the cold air with him. Feyre was waiting, standing in the middle of the tent in the nightdress that she hated. She’d had a whole speech planned for this moment (mostly yelling) that immediately evaporated from her mind when he entered their shared tent. She’d forgotten, for one, just how large he was. 

He was also covered in an inky black substance that looked suspiciously like congealed blood. Feyre wanted to face him down, but…she turned her head, unable to stomach the sight of it.

Behind her, Rhys barked out an order, causing two males to drag the large bathing tub in a moment later. 

Steaming buckets of water filled it nearly to top, the heat warming even Feyre’s bones from where she stood. She didn’t look when he undressed with a grunt, his heavy belt hitting the floor with a loud clank of metal and tinkling of gems. His boots went a moment later before she heard the soft splash of water and a louder groan.

“You left.”

She turned, then, hands on her hips. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes, nostrils flared with what appeared to be indignation. Rhys only jerked his chin upward, his silence frustrating. It was tempting to start yelling again, but Mor’s words filled her head and instead, Feyre marched to the tub despite her roiling stomach, took the clean rag, and poured a small amount of soap into it. It wasn’t lost on her that he tracked her every moment with a wariness that felt, frankly, unwarranted. 

Dipping the cloth in the water, Feyre began wiping at the blood on his bare chest. Rhys’s clawed fingers curled around her wrist, highlighting the difference in size between them. “You don’t need to do this,” he murmured, eyes searching her face.

“I want to,” she lied. In truth, Feyre wanted to be nowhere close to all that blood. The color was helping a little, though beneath all the black was his own blood from a deep gouge across his chest. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

Feyre bristled. That was none of his business and yet when she tried to jerk away, he only tightened his grip. “Tell me.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “There are…other creatures who live on your planet. People, I guess? I don’t know what they are, but we fear them because if they capture us, they…” She didn’t want to say that, either. Their eyes met and Feyre knew Rhys was aware of the kind she spoke of, just as he knew what they did. 

“Gerutan,” he murmured. “What did they do?”

“We keep our gate locked but sometimes…anyway three people were outside the gate and dragged away. A woman, her brother and her mother. They…” Feyre swallowed. She didn’t want to remember it, didn’t want to picture the wounds all over their bodies. The rape of the women that had left them wide-eyed and mute. 

“I am familiar with their ways, kalles. Were you harmed?”

Feyre hadn’t realized she wasn’t really looking at him anymore, but right then, she saw the promise of violence in his gaze.

“No,” she breathed. “It wasn’t my family. I was just…the only one who was willing to end their suffering.”

His lips formed an oh as he realized what she’d done. “That was brave.”

“It wasn’t,” she disagreed, forgetting he was still holding her wrist. He released her so she could continue wiping away the blood sticking to his chest. “I prolonged their suffering because I didn’t know how to give them a merciful death.”

“It haunts you.”

“Wouldn’t it haunt you?” she snapped. Rhys only watched, nostrils flaring.

“I will teach you, then.”

“You’ll what?”

“Teach you,” he repeated, clearly cemented in his decision. “So next time you hold a knife to my throat, you are not so afraid.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe him for a moment. “You’re going to show me how to kill you?”

A dark laugh rumbled from his chest. “No, kalles. You cannot kill me. I will teach you to kill others.”

“You don’t think I could kill you?”

He reclined back in the tub, inclining his head as he closed his eyes. “I trust if you did manage to kill me, I would have deserved it.”

There would be no prying more out of him, at least on that front. Feyre would believe it when she saw it, though. She expected he’d put some rusty knife in her hand, show her a few maneuvers just to say he’d upheld his end of things and then send her on his way. Feyre dunked the rag back into the dark water to continue washing him. 

“Where did you go?”

He peeked open an eye to look at her before closing it again. “Reports of gerutan near the horde,” he murmured, chilling her blood. Here, too? “We hunted them down.”

That explained the gash on his chest. Feyre was careful as she removed his own blood, too, breathing through her nose to keep the revulsion down. Was it his blood that disturbed her, or the fact that he was injured? Feyre didn’t know and didn’t want to examine it too closely 

“Are they dead?”

His smile was savage. “They are.”

“Good.”

He peeked open that same eye, watching her as she slid lower. Feyre was intentionally ignoring his cock which was easier in the dirty water. She didn’t have to see it, at least. Rhys, though, wasn’t having it. Dipping his hand in the water, he grabbed her wrist again and cleaned himself using her. 

At least he wasn’t erect, she reasoned. Why did it disappoint her?

It didn’t.

It didn’t. 

“I told you I would not touch you until tomorrow night,” he reminded her, as if that was supposed to make her feel better. Feyre sighed, rising to her feet so she could wash his hair. They both had to wait for the water to be dumped and fresh water brought in. It was never going to stun her how wasteful it all was.

She didn’t make eye contact with the very naked Rhys as they waited, gaze pinned to the fire crackling at the back of the tent. It didn’t seem to bother him. Perhaps because he knew she was about to wash his hair, too. When he got back in the tub, too smug for her liking, Feyre dunked him as he spluttered out a kasikkari why? 

Feyre laughed, causing the very wet Vorakkar to turn, face slack. “Again,” he murmured as the smile faded from her face. “I want to hear you laugh again.”

Feyre immediately scowled. “You can’t demand that.”

He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “What about a bargain?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but Feyre was curious what he intended to give up in order to see her smile again. Last time he’d handed over her name in exchange for a bowl of broth, and that was apparently sacred to him.

“What kind of bargain?” she questioned, squirting soap into his thick, dark hair. Rhys groaned softly when her nails scraped over his scalp. 

“I will send three beveri to your village each month. If they skin it well and dry the meat, that’s enough to survive on without having to ration it out.”

Feyre’s heart galloped in her chest. “They won’t know how to skin it.” She’d tried to show her sisters, but Feyre still didn’t know how much they’d absorbed. She could see Elain and Nesta hacking away, frustrated with the gross process of removing skin from meat. 

“I’ll send a warrior to teach them,” he murmured, “but you will give me two things.”

“What do you want?”

Craning his neck, Feyre saw exactly what he wanted. “This is your home, now. I would like you to make yourself part of my horde as my Morakkari.”

Feyre almost told him she had no say in the matter, but it was clear that Rhys wanted more than just forcing her into being his wife. He wanted her agreement, her participation. 

“And what else?”

“You will eat,” he informed her with a relish, backing her into a corner. “Not just broth, but meat too.”

He had her. If Feyre declined, she was actively participating in the starvation of her sisters. She also proved to him that it was never about her family—it was always about thwarting him. In truth, it had always been about both. He held her gaze without blinking, mouth pinched as if he expected her to decline.

“Deal,” she whispered. 

He exhaled softly through his nose, his disbelief plain even as he turned back. “Good.”

Feyre continued washing his hair, and then his body again because she knew he wanted her to, and this time when her fingers dipped beneath the water, she saw his cock was semi-hard, though mostly unthreatening. He’d promised to wait until tomorrow, and in some ways, it felt like the best she could have hoped for. He’d brought her to be his wife, and…

And why?

She could have picked a better moment to ask than when he was drying the water from his naked body, but Feyre simply blurted out her thoughts without thinking that he’d turn that massive, muscular body toward her and she’d look at him.

Really look at him. 

“You want to know why you?” he asked, incredulity seeping into his tone. 

“Yes,” Feyre replied breathlessly, eyes stuck on his muscular torso. “There were others…right?”

“No,” he replied flatly. 

“Lovers, surely,” she prodded. His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, lovers,” he agreed. “No one who ever made me want a wife.”

“Until me.”

He nodded his head, sliding his hand down the same torso she was struggling to drag her eyes away from. He’d realized she was staring, which meant Feyre had to physically turn to not look at him, even though she wanted to. 

She’d forgotten he didn’t sleep in clothes. Rhys merely walked into her field of vision, flopping himself into the bed so he could lay on his back, one hand behind his head. 

“Until you,” he agreed, tail resting against his powerful thigh.

“Why?”

He shrugged powerful shoulders. “You were not afraid of me or my warriors, though you should have been. You were brave—no one else would have faced down a Vorakkar, especially knowing I might have decided to take blood as repayment. And you were loyal, not telling me who started the fire despite your fear.

“I wasn’t afraid of you,” she lied.

He smiled.

“Of course not,” he replied. Feyre remembered that first day, though, and how he’d called her brave. He’d already been decided by then, had known he wanted her simply from all that? Feyre’s heart thudded all over again, her own thoughts betraying her.

No one had ever looked at her and found her special. Strange, perhaps. Slightly off-putting for sure. But special? 

“Lay with me,” he murmured, interrupting her thoughts. “I have missed your warmth.”

“Will you tell me about your hunt?” she questioned, curious about this part of his life.

“Are you bargaining with me?” he replied, eyes bright with unmistakable hope. 

“No. Just asking,” she replied, laying beside him so their arms touched. She suspected he would have preferred if she laid against him—would have likely given her something for it—but Feyre was content just to talk to him. “I met Morrigan.”

He chuckled. “Tell me everything.”

Feyre did, thinking that just as soon as she finished talking, Rhys would reciprocate. However when Feyre turned, out of breath and things to say, she found his eyes were closed and he’d put himself to sleep. She was tempted to poke him in the ribs and ask why he’d bothered when he wasn’t going to listen anyway.

She had the sneaking suspicion hearing her talk had been the whole point. She’d accidentally lulled him to sleep. Feyre hadn’t realized she was staring at him so intently it pulled him from whatever dreams he’d been happening. Rhys didn’t open an eye as he murmured, “thinking of stabbing me again?”

“No,” she admitted. She’d been thinking about the curve of his mouth and how soft he seemed when he slept.

“Then lay with me,” he grumbled, turning to his side to drape a heavy arm around her. “I’ll find you in my dreams.”

What did that mean? Feyre was antsy, afraid to sleep and wake up for her wedding—the tassimara—that would be happening tomorrow. There were too many unknowns along with too many things she was afraid of.

Like sleeping with him. Reaching between her legs, Feyre was frustrated to find that even without the salve, her skin was mending itself quite nicely. It was still sore, still delicate, but not as bad as it had been that first day.

Wiggling from beneath Rhys’s grasp, Feyre gave up fighting him and slathered in on her thighs. Something told her she was going to need it tomorrow, if only to make fitting him comfortable. She’d seen the size of him, and in her mind Feyre couldn’t help but compare him to Isaac in her mind. 

Which was unfair, given the girth and length of the Drakkari male sleeping soundly in the bed that belonged to them both. Still, she did, because she’d enjoyed her time with Isaac and it was the only frame of reference she had. He’d been…well at the time he’d seemed quite prominent to her. Now, though…

“Why must you torment me,” Rhys grumbled as she stood there, mind consumed with what it would be like to lay beneath him. “Get in bed, kalles.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she retorted. One of his eyes opened, narrowed to a slit as he watched her march back to the bed like it had been her idea anyway. He grabbed her around the waist, dragging her against him. 

“I am,” he replied, burying his face in the nape of her neck. 

“If you’re hoping for obedience, you’re going to be disappointed,” Feyre informed him, her words interrupted by a yawn.

“Sleep,” he mumbled. Feyre wanted to argue, but since he’d been gone she’d barely slept at all. Every noise woke her up if the cold didn’t pull her from her dreams. Even with the heavy furs, there was something about having his solid form beside her. 

Feyre slipped into dreams easily, tumbling deeply and when she woke, it was to bright sunlight and her piki quietly trying to rouse her. It might have been pleasant had Mor not sauntered in, eyes painted gold and her lovely body on display, to announce, “WAKE UP MORAKKARI!”

“I hate you,” Feyre grumbled, tossing a pillow in Mor’s direction. In response, Mor gripped her by the ankle and pulled her out of bed.

“You don’t,” Mor replied cheerfully. “The Vorakkar has informed us that you agreed to eat everything he sent over. How did he convince you?”

Feyre pushed herself up only to plop back down on the cushions at the table. “We made a bargain.”

“What did he give up this time?” Mor asked, glancing at the piki with a knowing smile. Were they conspiring? All three watched, prepared to tell Rhys if she didn’t uphold her end of things. Her defiance was at an end—Feyre knew if he said he’d send food to her village, he’d do it. She wondered if he’d ever let them join the horde, too. 

It was worth asking once they were married, she decided. Nesta would hate it, but Elain…Feyre thought Elain would love how open everything was. She’d be able to plant things, could possibly work in the kitchen if she wanted. Elain would like the simplicity of horde life, Feyre thought. And Nesta would get used to it. 

She took at first bite of fresh meat and had to bite back a moan with the flavor burst against her tongue. She’d never had fresh meat like this—dried meat, yes, but actual fresh meat? Sometimes she’d gobble down half raw, unseasoned meat simply because she was starving and food was food.

This was something else.

Mor looked immensely smug, crossing her arms over her chest. “Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” Feyre admitted, deciding she would never tell them what Rhys had given in return. She didn’t know if they’d approve, besides. She often felt the expectation was that she assimilated completely while Rhys simply continued on as he was.

If he wanted to be her husband, then Feyre wanted to see him adhere to some of the human customs and ways, few as they were. Wasn’t that fair? Why did she have to do all the giving while no one else did? It was just another thing to talk to Rhys about when everything was said and done.

Feyre ate until Mor physically made her stop, brown eyes wary. “I don’t want you to throw up.”

Feyre didn’t think that was the worst prospect. If she threw up, would he still want her? Probably, actually. He’d tell her it was a cultural show of love or something stupid and she’d never know if it was true, or he just wanted to get her naked and beneath him.

Feyre sat still and let the piki work, grateful that Mor produced a longer dress for her to wear. It was still a little too sheer for her liking, though Mor was quick to remind her that it would be dark out, and no one would notice too much.

No one cares, was the tone, though. Feyre wanted to not care, too, but something about everyone seeing her body felt deeply violating. She wanted to tell this to the people around her, but they didn’t understand. Nudity was just another normal part of their life here. 

Before the dress was slid over her body, Feyre was made to stand totally bare while Nuala and Cerridwen painted her body in the same golden swirls Rhys was covered in. The markings of his family line and his horde, Mor explained solemnly. She had enough grace to only look when she needed to, helping them with their lines when they were confused about the order.

And to tell Feyre to stop moving when her piki took that animal hair brush and unceremoniously began painting her nipples gold. Feyre had protested, and Mor, cheeks flaming, had explained it was simply part of the ceremony. When he took her to bed, he would lick the gold paint off. Custom this, tradition that—it sounded like he wanted to taste her and needed an excuse to do so.

By the time they finished painting her face and weaving beads into her hair, night had fallen and Feyre was hungry again.

And nervous.

But mostly hungry. 

Rhys came in a moment later, eyes sweeping over the scene before they fell on Feyre. Mor rolled her eyes, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she barked what sounded suspiciously like an order in the Drakkari language. Rhys’s upper lip curled, but he otherwise remained silent.

For a king who didn’t accept feedback, she sure did let the people around him tell him what to do. 

“Am I satisfactory?” Feyre heard herself asking. She tried to sound defiant, proving that she didn’t care if he liked how she looked, but she knew he caught her insecurity. Rhys took a step toward her before clenching his fists at his sides.

“You look like a Morakkari,” he finally said, a tendon straining in his neck. “Come.”

Feyre could see firelight in the distance, mere pinpricks in the rolling hills beyond the camp. It was clear no one but the pair of them were there. Feyre took just a moment to admire him in the glowing light from their tent. He’d painted over his markings with the same gold and beside the two weapons he had strapped criss-crossed over his back, he wore only a pair of well-made pants with the same beading clinking over the seams. 

He looked like a king to her. Granted, Feyre didn’t know what kinds were supposed to look like, technically, but she assumed they must have carried themselves the way he did. There was a confidence to him that she found herself drawn to, even when it would have been to feel nothing for him at all.

The air was too cold for her liking. She half turned to see if she could find a cloak, but Rhys caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. “No running, kalles. Not anymore.” “I wasn’t…” she started, her voice embarrassingly breathless. He arched a brow, catching her tone, but otherwise didn’t comment on it. They simply walked beneath bright stars, their only point of contact his fingers wrapped around her wirst.

He took her to his pyroki. Feyre balked, digging her sandaled feet into the ground. “Please,” she whispered when the beast turned its blood-red eyes on her.

“Bryaxis won’t hurt you,” he murmured, releasing her arm to hoist her up onto the creature by her waist. “He is loyal to you as he is to me.”

Feyre didn’t bother to ask him how he knew that. Rhys swung up on the beast after her, one arm wrapped around her middle to hold her firmly between his thighs. There was no point in wondering if he was erect—he was, just like always. Feyre might have squirmed away had it been possible, first of all, but Rhys’s body radiated heat and she was cold. The horde king wrapped his arms around her.

“No fear,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Just as a Morakkari should be.”

She’d take his word on that given she was very afraid, personally. What did Feyre know about being a wife? A queen? Nothing. She knew nothing at all, truly, and in a few moments she’d be shoved center stage before people who expected something greater than she currently was.

Panic rose in her throat. Could Rhys feel it? His large hand spanned over her thigh and as she began to spiral, Rhys’s thumb began to rub reassuring circles over her skin. 

It helped a little. Feyre focused on breathing and keeping her limbs relaxed, hoping to avoid any more chafing. They weren’t going far, besides—the lit pyres that dotted the hillside came into view rather quickly, illuminating the gathered crowd of the curious horde.

They’d only seen glimpses of her. Only heard snippets of her voice, likely yelling at their leader. As their faces came into view, Feyre felt more than a little shame over the whole thing. There was a wariness to them as a whole as Rhys slid off Bryaxis before lowering her before them.

Reverence, too. This was Rhys’s choice, and even if it made them nervous, they would respect it. Feyre vowed she’d try harder, if only so they didn’t look at her with such careful expressions. It felt reminiscent of the human village and how everyone found her strange and a little off-putting. It made friendships nearly impossible. 

She didn’t want to live the rest of her life just as lonely and isolated as she’d been before. Seeing Mor’s face in the crowd alleviated some of her fear. The Drakkari female flashed her a beautiful smile before offering a subtle thumbs up, which Feyre had taught her days before when they’d exchanged information between their two cultures.

She couldn’t help her own half laugh, fear slipping as her face split with a smile. People were watching—Rhys was watching, too, and when she glanced up at him, she saw what looked almost like awe staring back at her. 

He’d told her he wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh. It was in her nature to do the opposite—to scowl up at him and suppress the small moment of joy she felt. But Feyre wanted to do something easy, something appreciative…so she smiled up at him, too.

His fingers curled over her shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to say thank you. Feyre exhaled, her breath clouding in front of her face, as the crowd bowed their heads in respect while parting so the pair of them could pass. Long tables laden with more food than Feyre had ever seen in her life was arranged in rows of three, all before an erected dais with a heavy chair seated atop it. That was clearly where Rhys was supposed to go, but there was nowhere for her. He made his way up while his horde took seats on comfortable pillows, still holding Feyre’s shoulder.

Did she sit at his feet, then? That felt strangely humiliating. She hovered for a moment, trying to decide if she’d just sit and endure or if she’d defy him before everyone and take a seat at one of the tables.

His arm snaked around her waist and with a definitive jerk, he ended the debate raging in her head to pull her into his lap. He chuckled, as if he knew what she’d been thinking, but said nothing at all. Sitting was the permission his horde needed to begin eating and talking while Rhys surveyed, lord of it all. 

“Did you eat this morning?” he questioned as food was brought to them on a tray? 

“Yes,” she agreed, watching as he took a piece of fresh meat from the golden platter. Rhys brought it to her lips and Feyre opened, noting how his fingers lingered on her lips for just a moment too long.

“I will have beveri sent in the morning. Five, to celebrate my new Morakkari. Your village will eat as we do.”

Feyre felt tears prick at her eyes. Twisting in his lap, she said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t,” he replied in that self-assured way of his. “But you would want me to.”

Feyre took a gulp of the heady wine rather than answer him, the golden goblet placed in her hand by the man she was supposed to marry. When did that happen, besides? As she drank and ate and watched, Feyre began to suspect that this was all that was necessary. A simple declaration letting everyone know she was claimed, a feast and then…

And then.

As she drained her goblet, it occurred to her that she could get so inebriated she was barely aware of what happened at all. He could do whatever he liked with her and she’d be blissfully unaware and half asleep.

He wouldn’t.

He could have taken her at any time, at any point, for any reason at all. And he hadn’t. He’d thought about her comfort, her enjoyment, and to Feyre, she assumed that meant he wanted her to enjoy it. If she lost herself to oblivion, he’d simply wait.

And maybe, deep, deep down, Feyre was curious. Her mind wandered once she said her goblet down, pleasantly warm and overall relaxed. Eating turned to dancing as musicians struck up a tune that was familiar enough that people cheered when they heard it. Someone began singing, deep and throaty, in the Drakkari language she was coming to appreciate while the drums picked up, holding a beat lively enough for people to dance to.

Behind her, Rhys smiled in her hair as a child tripped over their own tail in a clumsy attempt at dancing. Feyre, too, couldn’t hide her giggle as she turned to bury her face in his bare chest. Touching him felt easier, felt safe, even. 

She didn’t know how long they watched in silence like that. Only that with each passing moment, Feyre’s regrets began to melt away. Reclined against his body, she didn’t notice he’d begun to get agitated as the night deepened and the drums began to pick up. His fingers, once passive on her knee, began sliding further and further up her thigh while his mouth remained pressed to her neck, inhaling the smell of her softly. 

Feyre didn’t try to stop him, though she didn’t encourage him either. She simply allowed him to move that hand over her cold skin, higher and higher with each pass until the clawed tips were in danger of ripping a hole through the thin fabric. 

Feyre squirmed backward when he began ruching the material up over her legs only to find his rigid erection pressed against her spine. Rhys groaned in a huf before his teeth tugged at her ear.

“It’s time, Morakkari. I will wait no longer.”

“Time?” she asked as he swept her up into his arms. His horde watched the way they had been all night, but no one tried to stop him. No one was going to interfere. 

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve waited long enough. No longer.”

Feyre took a breath. Was she afraid?

No.

Excited.

[scotianostra]

December 30th 1915 saw the Cruiser Natal explode in Cromarty harbour, killing over 400 people.

HMS Natal on that fateful day was at anchor in the Cromarty Firth. Her Captain, Eric Percy Coventry Back, had allowed a number of the ship’s crew to take shore leave – many of them to watch, and play, in an inter-ship football match. For some of his officers however, Captain Back had invited them and their wives to a film show on board. He had also invited a family friend, John Henry Dods – a former Scottish International rugby player – his wife Annie and their children Dorothy, Marcus and John. Captain Back’s wife (their own children were ill) and three nurses from the nearby hospital ship HMS Drina.

At around 3.20 pm the Natal was rocked by an explosion, followed by a further three blasts in short succession. Flames shot throughout the ship but the true seriousness of the situation wasn’t fully appreciated, with injured seaman were being sent to sickbay to have their burns dressed. Orders to flood the magazines couldn’t be carried out and although hoses were rigged no water was obtainable through the fire main system. Within three minutes of the first explosion the ship started to list heavily to port and after another two minutes, she had completely settled down with the forward end of the starboard bilge keel clear of the water. 421 men, women and children lost their lives in this disaster.

The loss of the ship was soon announced to the press. Various photographs of the Natal, her crew and the ship’s cat (with the caption “Rudolph, it is feared, was on board at the time”) appeared on the front page of the Daily Sketch two days running. And although they attempted to notify next of kin as quickly as possible, the Admiralty was inundated with letters from family members of the crew.

Although not immediately ruled out, the idea of a submarine attack was soon dismissed. In order to carry out a torpedo attack, a U-boat would have needed to have passed two other ships: another cruiser and an even more tempting target – the battleship Emperor of India. Having talked to survivors personally, and from divers reports, Vice-Admiral Jellicoe was of the opinion that the foundering of the Natal was due to an internal explosion.

As was traditional in the loss of a Royal Navy ship, a Court Martial into the loss of the Natal was held at Chatham between 18th and 20th January 1916. As the highest surviving officer, Lieutenant Commander John Spencer Tyndall was the first to give evidence. He was in the Mail Office and in the immediate aftermath directed the crew to rig fire hoses. His testimony, along with that of others, in particular the divers William Russell and Charles Lambert, confirmed the opinion that the loss of Natal was due to an internal explosion caused by faulty ammunition. (The divers reported that the explosion had blown both sides of the ship bodily outwards)

Today, a buoy marks the spot where Natal sank – the remains of the wreck designated under the Protection of Military Remains Act 1986. Many of those who died are remembered on the naval memorials at Chatham, Portsmouth and Plymouth. Of the bodies recovered only 17 were identified and were buried in the local cemeteries of Cromarty and Rosskeen.

More than 100 years later their memory lives on in the local community, with a garden created in her honour at Invergordon, and museums in Cromarty and Invergordon remembering the sinking, a memorial in Durban was erected in 1927