#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?”

[caileeflavoured]

one heart broke, four hands bloody

tyler harrison x fem!reader, bjorn x fem!reader

© caileeflavoured 2024, do not repost, modify or translate!

synopsis: A secret revealed in a moment of danger does more than just save lives.

a/n: this took forever cause it's been forever since i last wrote but how could i pass up this opportunity of writing a love triangle kinda thing for one of my fave horror movie franchises (and two perfect hunks)? also, please appreciate that i rewatched the scene where kay is stuck like 100 times to get the dialogue accurate

warnings: ANGST, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion (your body your choice guys!), no one's chest got burst open and everyone survives, yay!, mentions of injuries

wc: 2.7k

MAIN MASTERLIST | ALIEN MASTERLIST

“Oh my God, oh my God, Andy, open the door!”You begged them standing on the other side of the door, feeling the presence of the alien behind you. “Open the door!”

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me, look at me!” Tyler tried to get you to focus on him from the other side. “It’s alright, we're gonna get you out.”

He turned to Andy, telling him repeatedly to open the door, as did Rain.

But she noticed first that Andy did not make a move to unlock the door. “What are you doing?”

Tyler kept his eyes on you. “Don’t look over there, look at me.”

You noticed something was going on. What, you had no idea. Fear was coursing through your veins as you sobbed. “Tyler, what’s wrong?”

“Andy,” Rain looked at her brother intently, her hands gripping his arms. “I need you to open that door right now, okay?”

“That’s what the creature is waiting for us to do,” he explained in an unusually calm voice.

“No! What the fuck, Andy, open the door!” Tyler shouted over to the synthetic, trying to somehow change his mind.

“If I opened that door, we would all die,” Andy concluded in an almost detached manner.

“Andy, please, please, I’m begging you,” Rain pleaded with him, her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. “She’s pregnant! Andy, come on!”

Tyler’s gaze immediately shot to the two siblings, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fuck!!” He screamed, his fists banging against the glass of the door before he walked over to Andy, getting on his knees as he held onto the synthetic’s hand, crying as he begged him to open the door. 

“Please, Andy, please,” Tyler sobbed. “Don’t let her die, man, please.”

And in a moment of sheer miracle, he didn’t.

The door slid open and you fell into the hallway, right into Tyler’s arms. Everyone pulled you away from the open door as it shut at the last moment, helping you narrowly escape the alien. 

However, there wasn’t much time for you to recover despite the many injuries you have suffered from falling down stairs and platforms, crashing into cold, hart metal. All four of you sprinted along the curved hallway towards the next best hiding place, eventually finding a small, empty office. Andy locked the door behind him while Rain helped you to the desk, shoving the clutter off of it.

“Fucking hell, Andy!” Tyler shoved the synthetic. “How could you risk letting her—“ 

“Tyler,” Rain warned him, looking over her shoulder as she tended to your injuries. 

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he paced through the office, visibly trying to calm himself down. His eyes landed on you, and yours found his, all the physical pain forgotten. All the emotional pain coming back. 

The dam you’ve been building so carefully now broken beyond repair, and all the water flooding back in. Nausea was rushing through your body when his voice turned to you

“When were you gonna tell me?” He echoed from the furthest corner of the office.

“I do not think this is the time to be having such a conversation,” Andy instantly stepped in, blocking him from your view. “Calm down, Tyler. And let her calm down, too.”

But with your throat constricted, you had no way of saying anything. Not even to Rain as she sent you a compassionate look that said ‘I am so sorry.’

“How bad is it?” You asked her to deflect from the commotion on the other side of the office.

“Pretty tough bruising, but I don’t see any broken bones,” she noted. “You think you can make it back to the Corbelan on foot?”

You swallowed hard, letting out a deep, compressed breath in an attempt to calm your nerves just enough to remain level-headed. At least for the moment. You gave her a nod, which she acknowledged with a small smile.

“You got this,” Rain said, though you didn’t know what exactly she meant. Only felt that she probably wasn’t referring to your bruises. 

⋆𖤓⋆ 

Back on the Corbelan, the rest of the crew all let out relieved sighs at the sight of their unscathed friends. “Oh, thank God you’re safe,” Kay let out a breath she'd seemingly been holding ever since you left the space ship. “We should get you to med bay just to be sure you’re all okay.���

It wasn’t more than a good amount of bruises for all of you, and trauma for the rest of your lives, but everyone made it out alive, and was ready to leave, which was the only thing that mattered right now.

“We’ll take care of everything at home, and then we’re out of there for good,” Tyler announced, and Rain nodded in agreement. 

“I’ll set course for Jackson’s Star,” Navarro said and left for the cockpit. 

“Come on guys, let’s get buckled in for the ride,” Rain said, pushing everyone else out of the exam room. Everyone except for you and Tyler. She gave you one last apologetic look before mouthing the word ‘talk’ and walking off.

With everyone gone to the cockpit, leaving you and Tyler in med bay, the room suddenly felt a lot less comfortable than it already did by default.

His stare was ice-cold, his arms crossed in front of his chest, moving up and down with each deep breath that filled his lungs and calmed his nerves. You knew this look, you’ve seen it enough times.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” his British accent bounced off the walls of the trailer.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. A beat. No reaction. “Tyler!?”

The silence sucked all the oxygen from the small mobile home, leaving you nearly gasping for air as the first wave of nausea engulfed you. The final telling sign that this is where it ends.

“This!” He spat, arms spread as he gestured around the room. “This whole me and you thing!”

But words failed you, and the silence gave him courage.

"This hasn’t been going well for months, and you know it. We keep pretending that everything’s fine, that somehow everything will magically get better once we do this, once we do that, but it won’t. I can’t fix this. I can’t fix us. I’m just trying to survive here, trying to make it through another day without losing my mind. And your expectations, your— your… plans and hopes and dreams, they’re just… exhausting. This is exhausting.”

⋆𖤓⋆

His arms had been the ones to hold you tight all night long as you broke down once and for all. His thumbs had been the ones to wipe away your tears despite them already having formed into an endless stream of salty liquid. His ears had been the ones to listen to your heartbroken attempts at understanding how he could so suddenly throw it all away when he’d been the one to promise you over and over again that he would rather die than live a life without you.

And his mouth had been the one to shut you up and make you forget about everything. Even if just for the night.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said as you got up into a sitting position, pulling your shirt back down and crossing your arms in front of your stomach as if hiding it from him. As if doing that will save you from having to deal with the implications of a small human being growing inside of you.

“How am I looking at you?” Tyler retorted in a hissy tone. 

“You know exactly how you’re looking.”

He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides in a dramatic gesture of annoyance as his eyes glanced around the room, then back at you.

“Well, care to have a conversation now?” He asked expectantly.

You huffed. “I don’t know why I should.”

“Uhm, well, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe because you’re pregnant and didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Tyler.”

“Oh, so you suddenly forgot how babies are made?”

“Haha, so funny,” you said with a stern look on your face, cocking your head to the side. “Patronising as ever.”

“So what?” He huffed in response. You were just gonna get rid of it? My child! Make that decision for both of us?”

“Who the hell said it’s yours, huh?” You snapped, the pain turning into anger and frustration.

“Yeah, cause there are plenty guys to choose from on the colony,” he scoffed, a pained grin on his lips.

That shut you up. You looked to the side as if avoiding his eyes would take the rising feeling of guilt away. As if it would undo what you did.

“You know what? You’ll never change,” he mumbled, turning around and storming off. 

On his way out of med bay, his shoulder bumped into that of his cousin. Annoyed at everything and everyone, he shoved him against the wall. “Get out of my fucking face, mate!”

You wanted to follow him, not giving him the satisfaction of blaming everything on you and then leaving you in silence. But upon rushing after him — or, attempting to — a sharp pain jolted through the side of your body, forcing you to stay behind after all.

“Fuck!” You hissed, then shouting after him before he disappeared into the hallway. “You’re one to talk, Tyler!”

It hadn’t been just one night.

It had become a habit. A nasty, disgraceful habit that left you ashamed of yourself, of what you’d become.

Of what he’d turned you into.

“We have to stop,” you said as you sat on the edge of the bed, turning your back to his laying frame on the other side. 

“What’cha mean?” He asked, his voice rough. 

“I mean exactly what I said,” you huffed. “This,” you gestured between him and yourself, “is not okay. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Come on, don’t— Let’s not have this conversation, alright? Don’t make this complicated when it doesn’t have to be,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“He’s your cousin!” You cried out. “And my ex! How is that not complicated?” 

You jumped up from the bed, hastily putting on your shorts and tee, ignoring your discarded underwear as you made for the door of his trailer, slipping on your shoes, and storming off without another word.

“You’ll come back anyways, luv. Just like you always do,” he shouted after you before you slammed the door to the trailer shut.

“You alright?” Bjorn held onto you before you stumbled. 

“Yes!” You hissed, aggressively pulling your arms back. “I’m fine. Just fine.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “God dammit, is everyone on this bloody ship on their period or what.”

“Just shut the fuck up, Bjorn!” You near-shouted. “Not everything’s a fucking joke.”

Despite the pain in your side, and the inability to storm off, you made for the door when, suddenly. his hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back forcefully. You landed in his arms, chest to chest, face to face, your eyes pulling each other in like they did that one fateful night.

“Kinda tragic you always end up in my arms when he fucks up,” Bjorn mentioned. “Always me who has to pick up the pieces.”

“Let me go, Bjorn,” you said, your voice calm despite.

“Only if you tell me what that was about,” he motioned towards the hallway where Tyler had just disappeared.

“Nothing,” you replied shortly. 

He tsked, shaking his head. “Still the avoidant type.” His grip on your arms loosened, yet he moved closer to you, his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“If only you were as open as your legs were two weeks ago,” his whispery voice echoed through your entire body.

“Oh, fuck off!” You hissed, shoving him back which did not amount to much because a) he was too strong for you and b) the sharp pain shooting through your side held you back. 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt you guys, but we wanna leave,” Kay timidly walked into med bay, letting the two of you know you needed to come to the cockpit.

⋆𖤓⋆

“Did something happen on the ship?” Kay asked, clearly having to force herself to bring up the topic that surely was on everyone’s mind at this moment. “I don’t know, there’s just this… this weird vibe ever since you guys came back.”

What followed was an even more awkward silence than before. Half of the crew didn’t know what to say, and the other half didn’t want to risk accidentally revealing one secret or the other. 

Tyler’s eyes landed on you, his gaze still dominated by that look of vexation and resentment. Bjorn looked from you to Tyler and back again, ultimately deciding to just stare at the ground. 

Like the rest of the crew.

“Great. Now you’re not even saying anything,” Kay tried again. “Which proves my point by the way.”

The oppressive silence was a clear admission of your guilt, and gave her trust to keep digging.

“Tyler? Care to explain what happened?” She turned to her brother. “Cause I know damn well something did happen on that ship.”

“Why don’t you start with the person who’s clearly the cause of it all,” he hissed, blaming you so aggressively you had trouble keeping your composure.

“Me?” You scoffed.

“Yeah, obviously,” he hissed.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

“You stop acting all high and mighty, alright?” He raised his voice, so you did too.

“What happened to the guy who fell to his knees begging Andy to save my life in there, huh? Where did he go? Why did he do such a 180?”

“You know exactly why,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“I know,” you retorted, “but I’m asking why you think that.”

He shrugged, and you kept shouting at each other, a constant stream of accusations and insults bouncing off the metal walls of the Corbelan.

“I’m my own person, I don’t need to fill you in about every single thing that happens in my life,” you fumed.

“Ah, yes, here we go again.”

“What?”

“Your whole ‘none of your business’ attitude,” he mocked. “Like no one’s involved in this, eh?”

“Yeah, because this has nothing to do with the mission!” You yelled, your tone gaining a desperate edge, just wanting him to drop it altogether.

“Course not,” he laughed. “Cause the mission’s not putting you in danger. Or the baby.”

But of course things always had dire consequences for you. The two lines looked up at you from beside the sink like the insides of a snake’s eye. Like they were a mirrored image of what you had become.

“You alright in there?” Rain’s voice sounded from outside the bathroom. 

“Uhh… Yeah, yeah, all good,” you reassured, and before she could say anything else, let alone do something, you stormed out of the room, bumping right into her.

“Oof— You had me scared there for a second,” she admitted with a tense chuckle, but you immediately played it down.

“You know how it is… Girl stuff. Such pain in the ass.”

A set of blue eyes immediately shot up from beside you. You could feel his stare on you, switching from your face to your stomach, burning into your skin.

“Tyler,” Rain said, her voice with an edge of disappointment. 

“What?” He exclaimed, gesturing with his arms held out in front of his body and his shoulders raised.

“Yeah, really not cool, mate,” Bjorn agreed. 

The fact that even Bjorn started defending you when he’d always been the shit stirrer of the group spoke volumes. And did not go unnoticed by Tyler.

“You,” he pointed at his cousin. “Don’t even start. None of your goddamn business!”

“Oh, really?” He accepted the challenge. “‘Cause you made it my business, mate.”

“Bjorn, don’t,” you warned, shooting him an alarming glare.

“No, no, no, he needs to hear this,” Bjorn stopped you. “You know what your girl did the night you dumped her like some piece of rubbish? You wanna know?”

“Bjorn!” You snapped, but he wouldn’t listen.

“You wanna know whose name she screamed that night?”

But Bjorn didn’t have to say more when Tyler already lunged at him.

[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.

[existentialfailure]

This new old body

Pairing: N/A (Possible Reader x Hawks in future)

Length: Oneshot, 2384

Description: The aftermath of war, Keigo is OK with it all. He is OK with how things have gone. He is OK with how things have changed. He knows if he keeps telling himself it's OK, then maybe it'll be OK.

He just needs to learn to keep walking.

Warnings: Past violence, blood and injury, injury recovery, permanent injury, quirkless hawks.

Notes: Post-war, may continue later

He doesn’t recall too much of the aftermath of his part of the war. The first few glimpses of the world are cloudy, unfocused; like watching an old movie through sandy goggles. 

He felt like a doll, stuffed full of cotton and weighed down with a belly full of rice; fat, heavy, and easily tipped over. There was only one thing that consistently felt out of place, one thought that kept nagging incessantly every time he found himself stumbling forward into a consciousness that was always too bright-

“Can… someone roll… off… back? Wings… ’ll cramp.”

Nobody would answer, or if they did, they were too busy talking slowly and with their mouths full of marbles. It was irrelevant anyway, Keigo was too tired to pay attention, and the heaviness of his eyes pulled him right back into the veil of quiet dreamless sleep.

He learned later that he was too banged up for any quirks to be used as an immediate fix all. Funnily enough to add insult to injury, nobody was really quite sure what exactly to do with Pro Hero Hawks- or rather, Former Pro Hero Hawks. As the triage team had moved in the aftermath of AFO’s grisly departure, he was tagged swiftly as an immediate evacuee- a civilian evacuee. ‘A high ranking civilian,’ he was told, as if to placate his offense. It did, and it didn’t, but he was too exhausted and fucked up on narcotics to care and muddle through his feelings. Besides, he was a reasonable man, and he knew they couldn’t send him to where the wounded Pros were going. He was a waste of resources; they were trying to get all possible weapons back on their feet to deploy right the fuck back out to fight. What could he do by that point? 

He’d have been a cute cheerleader if they gave him a shot, he thinks. Rah, rah, go team go.

The initial shock of waking up quirkless was easy to handle, in the way that he didn’t handle it. He was still blitzed out of his mind on what he was humorously calling ‘The Good Shit’, and it was easy to float in and out of the reality he was currently occupying. He had never been hospitalized to this degree - even when Dabi had tried to flame broil him- and it was apparent that the damage the villains caused had put a definitive strain on the healthcare system. The hospitals were stuck relying on hands-on techniques as quirk usage was being stretched thin and reserved for the critical patients who could survive their application, or couldn’t survive without it.

Keigo certainly wasn’t critical. The nurses and therapists visited him every so often each and every day, wrangling the flailing former hero out of his bed, disentangling him from all his lines and wires like a freshly caught fish. He was encouraged to walk to use the restroom, he was encouraged to walk to sit in a chair, he was encouraged to sit up and eat and talk and laugh and engage.

Walk, walk, walk.

Keigo certainly wasn’t critical. He doesn’t know who the hell his doctor is, the staff was stretched thin, and he really didn’t care, but he liked the practitioner who came in and congratulated him on his progress as time went on. The sound of her voice was nice, but he remembers fuck all she said, just that her voice warbled when she went over all the shit they did to him throughout the day.

Staff continued with their routine. Get up, walk, sit, stand up, move, sit, stand up, walk.

Walk, walk, walk.

Keigo certainly wasn’t critical. He was one of the lucky ones. He got out of the hospital with his face stitched from AFO trying to split his skull open like an egg, his body covered in miscellaneous bruises that looked like constellations if he stared hard and squinted. Furthermore, he felt like one giant exposed nerve, the surrounding air causing his skin to feel like it was electrified and ready to crawl off and leave him hanging there naked and wet. He probably would’ve felt better if it did.

But he was alive, which some others couldn’t say the same. He was supposed to be grateful, he knows. He is, he thinks, somewhere in the hollow of his chest. Nestled between the black of broken ribs, in the sick sinking in his gut, he is ok with the fact he is alive. He is ok with it, and he will repeat it until it's true, because it is, it has to be, or else… 

Keigo walks.

Keigo walks because he isn’t critical. Keigo walks because he is one of the lucky ones. Keigo walks because he is alive. He walks because he is ok with it.

Keigo walks because there is a thrumming emptiness in the hollow of his beating heart where something is supposed to be and there isn’t anymore. He walks because there is no longer a heaviness at his back pulling him up. He walks because there is no longer a heat in his spine, a pressure in his skull, a vibration in his mind, a purpose, a warmth-

He is caught off guard as flashing flames of blue take his vision from him, hands flying up to drive the heels of his palms rough, and harsh into his eyes. The phantom heat licks his cheeks, snapping at his nose like razor sharp teeth. He can feel it just as he had that day when he stood over Bubaigawara, fierce and unforgiving. Keigo bends, hands falling to brace himself at his knees as he is overwhelmed with the need to just breathe.

Eyes wild, and his brain lagging to catch up to the fact that there is no fire and there certainly is no cremation villain anymore, Keigo finally takes a look at where his feet have taken him. For the last several years, since earning his so-called freedom with the HPSC, he spent so much of his time seeing the city from a birds eye view. Now, he found himself feeling out of place; small and insignificant under the looming branches of blossoming trees and their bowing trunks. He doesn’t recall this particular park, or maybe he does, and his mind is just too fluffy with wool to piece together a name. Maybe he just doesn’t particularly care at the moment where he is.

The park is empty from what he can tell. Despite the haze of dusk beginning to fall, he can clearly see the rubble of what was left of benches and stone carved animals. They must’ve stood proud surrounded by well-placed flowers, if the squashed pedals and shattered colorful stones are anything to go by. Keigo takes his time meandering around the remnants of what had probably been one of the smaller parks in the city. A quiet spot for your average office worker to find respite during lunch hour, or a group of kids to sit and study.

Keigo rounds a few trees, bark scorched and bare wood carved- whether by knives or claws, he doesn’t care to investigate. He pointedly ignores the skulking shadows that follow in his peripherals, diving between bush, tree, and rock as they watch. Those piercing but empty bright yellow eyes that feel like weights on his shoulders. Bodies blackened, smokey, curled and twisted; broken in ways that made no sense but powerful in every move. Phantom muscles at his back twitch with need. He can see their talons now, glinting ebony and sharp, curling over every bit of debris ready to pierce, cut, shred, eviscerate-

“Hey, are you alright?”

For the second time today, Keigo is pulled back into reality feeling as though his chest has caved in on itself. Each rib has shattered itself free, and pierced through his lungs like daggers to fill them up with blood and drown him. His head jerks to the side, noticing now the benign shadows of the trees as they sway with the breeze that filters down to them. Yellow eyes have winked out of existence, there are no talons digging fresh lines into the damaged earth of the park, no great black beast looming around a tree ready to take on the wingless wonder.

Keigo takes his first deep breath and feels like he is going to vomit.

“Hey?” The voice cuts in again, and Keigo turns to give his frazzled attention to his current witness.

You’re not a Pro, is his first thought as his eyes sweep over you. You’re dressed rather plainly, if not smartly for what it looks like you’re doing. Keigo’s eyes flash down to the bucket in your hand, filled with an assortment of flora that you must’ve been pulling from around the shattered statue he notices just behind you. Keigo turns his mind onto investigating you, chest still heaving as he tries to get his body to remember it's supposed to breathe.

He notices you’re wearing an apron, bits of trash sticking out of pockets that you may have haphazardly stowed away as you worked. Your forearms are dusty, if not altogether filthy, and your pants are slick with dark earth.

“What’re you doing?” Keigo fires back, breathless, but jerking his head towards you almost accusingly.

Your eyebrows raise immediately, probably not expecting the minor hostility in his tone. You were a local in the area, trying to do your part in cleaning up the neighborhood after the antics of the war. This particular park had been special to you, and you had joined the neighborhood established cleanup crew trying to salvage as much of the original foliage as you could before the others came in to finish tearing down what the villains had already started. And maybe also swipe a couple of root balls of some of the flowers you’d been eyeballing since you were a kid.

You had just been coming up on one of the flower patches that used to surround the ugliest cement statue of a duck when you had noticed the blonde down near what had formerly been a fountain. Initially you were just going to ignore him, but his thousand yard stare, pale face, and accentuating ‘i’ve-had-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me’ look had drawn you over to investigate.

“Cleaning,” You answered breezily, “and are you OK?”

Keigo tilts his head slightly, bringing a hand up to rub uneasily at his chest. Of course, he is ok. He has to be ok. He is ok.

“Of course.” He answers smoothly, pulling a smile that's all teeth. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you raise a brow at it. The act causes his stitches to scrunch up at his cheek. You imagine he thinks he is charming, but the look falls flat. Keigo’s smile falters a little, and he sighs.

“Really, thanks. I’m alright. Just got a little winded from walking,” He winks, dropping his hand from his chest to stuff both into his pant pocket. He walks around you, swaying a little. You watch him, eyebrow still raised.

“You looked a little more than winded.” You mutter, slightly concerned. You’ve learned over the course of the last few weeks that a lot of people were dealing with the aftermath of the villain's act of war in different ways. While a small minority of people had managed to skate by unaffected, a large portion of the population ended up scarred in some way. Some people lost loved ones, family members, friends. Others who never got to make it into a shelter were left to defend themselves or hide from the roaming villains. Some managed to avoid encountering a villain altogether, while others… Well, they’re left with the scars of their encounter. Some physical, some mental. Some both.

You’re not sure where this guy fell on that spectrum. Studying him, you could tell he didn’t have an easy way of things during the war, if the sheer amount of visible bruising and freshly knitted gashes were anything to go by. His hair looked like it was shorn by someone inexperienced with clippers, uneven and lopsided in spots, what must’ve been bangs clipped impossibly short and laid back.

You watch him as he moves to stand in front of the desecrated cement statue of the duck, his head tilted and lips twisted as though he were lost in thought. His nostrils were flared, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d guess he was trying to hide the fact that he was still struggling to maintain his erratic breathing. You look between him and the remains of the park decor, before finally catching him watching you back.

For a moment you feel glued to the spot. His eyes look sharp and predatory, like there is something that should be there that isn’t. The gold feels molten as it's trained on you, and the deep black discoloration that tips his waterline makes them seem simply feral. He blinks, and the moment is cut, his eyes honey warm and mirthful. You aren’t sure what you feel.

“So, got a name?”

You give him your name, and he nods as he repeats it, as if committing it to memory. He lifts a hand from his pocket again, rubbing mindlessly at his chest. You sidle up beside him, staring down at the defeated duck. He returns his attention to it as well, though he tilts his head slightly acknowledging you beside him. Gently, you pry,

“And you?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, breathing shallow and calm. His chest still feels tight, and the phantom pain of something webs out from between his shoulder blades. He thinks he wants to cry, but his eyes feel dry and his mouth stays curled in a not-smile grin. His eyes rove over the ruined cement statue, how it had once clearly been a duck with wings spread, neck curled and feet outstretched. Left in a stasis of both flight and landing, neither airborne nor grounded, something in between. Now it was nothing but a crumbled up bit of dust and rock, shattered and broken, and probably not worth the effort to repair. Replaceable with something better, surely. It's just a silly statue, after all, a background piece. Decor.

“You can call me Kei.”

[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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[livsoulsecrets]

Tessa&Kit Fic - You were an angel in the shape of my mom

Written for @fandombingo Martian Bingo prompt: “The longer we wait, the worse it’s going to get.”

Fandom: The Shadowhunters Chronicles.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences.

Summary: In the day of Rosemary’s death anniversary, Tessa and Kit talk about loss, guilt and survival.

“I must be the worst son in the world,” he whispered. “Rosemary’s lucky she never had to deal with me.”

Tessa winced as if she had been slapped. The down tilt of her lips was such an unnatural sight he had to double check before he truly believed her distaste was being directed at him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.” Tessa told him.

Read on AO3.

The sun had already begun to set when Kit heard Tessa stepping into the porch of their backyard.

He spent most of the afternoon tucked into the recliner Jem bought as a gift for Tessa, lost in thought.

He had good memories of countless afternoons spent chasing Mina around the green expanse of their garden as Tessa settled in to watch them, a book in hand.

He also found it was as good a place as any for sulking.

His mom settled into the less comfortable wood chair by his side and turned her body to face him. He very deliberately avoided her gaze.

She seemed determined not to push him, if her quietness and smooth movements were any indicators. It reminded him of his first weeks living there.

Tessa and Jem had been painstakingly careful around him, mindful of their words and postures, easygoing and kind, trying their hardest not to scare him away. It made Kit feel like a ticking bomb about to go off half the time. The other half, it made him feel oddly wanted.

Kit wished she would just tell him what to do, only this once. He was good at following a parent’s orders, most of the time. He tended to Johnny Rook’s every whim for years, after all.

But Tessa wouldn’t. She always had good advice to offer and time to hear him out, should he ask for it, but no orders to be followed blindly ever came out of her lips.

If only Kit didn’t hate the idea of asking for help so badly, he would appreciate her patience some more.

“I’m fine,” he said, breaking the silence once it became clear Tessa wouldn’t.

“That’s good to hear,” she replied, unconvinced.

He tapped his feet against the floor impatiently. “It‘s just a bad day. Nothing to worry about.”

Tessa hummed noncommittally and nodded. “I see.”

Kit huffed an annoyed breath and immediately regretted it when his mom’s eyebrows knitted together in a pained expression.

He hated to be the one causing her so much distress. Still, the attentive way her eyes tracked his every movement made his skin crawl.

It reminded him of nights spent sneaking his way through the Shadow Market, his father’s eyes seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once, watching and waiting for his next mistake.

Tessa wasn’t looking for a reason to punish him, but he feared that his skin would always crawl at the feeling of being watched closely, regardless of whose eyes were laid on him.

“Do you need some time alone? I can leave,” she offered, even though the idea clearly displeased her.

Why couldn’t he stop screwing everything up?

He already had two dead parents and a whole lineage of tragedy to account for. Did he really need to make life harder for Tessa, too?

“No, that’s not it,” he hurried to say, pulling his legs up to tuck his knees under his chin.

Tessa went very still, intelligent gray eyes narrowed. Her silence spelled out the questions she wouldn’t ask out loud.

“What’s it, then?” He could almost make out in the curious glint of her eyes.

“Tell me,” The tense line of her jaw nearly let out.

“Let me help,” Her hands said as they drew patterns over her sweater.

“I think I liked it better when I didn’t know anything about Rosemary,” he muttered finally, rocking the chair back and forth.

Tessa hummed. If the statement surprised her, she didn’t show it at all.

“Now that I do know some things, as small as they are, it hurts more. I thought it would make everything better if I knew what she was like or why she left.”

Kit played with a loose strand of fabric on his shorts, pulling on it with more force than needed as he spoke.

“It doesn’t really help,” he confessed. “Now I know the exact day she died—and what for? So I can have one day every year for the rest of my life to feel miserable?”

He gestured broadly to himself, still avoiding his mom’s sharp gaze.

When it became clear he had nothing else to say, Tessa gently reached for his hand, stilling his attack on the worn-out fabric of his clothes. “I can understand why days like today can weigh you down. I’m afraid there’s not much to be done about that.”

Kit tensed immediately, realizing how pathetic it was for him to whine about Rosemary’s death anniversary in front of Tessa, of all people.

She had experienced more grief than almost anyone else he knew, except for Jem. They had lost everything but each other. The weight of so much loss became so heavy some days that Kit could almost touch it in the air of their home, tucked away in the corners of the house and hidden behind the echoing sound of Mina’s giggles.

Tessa sensed his regret and rushed to reassure him, “I’m not saying this because I want us to compare our losses. It’s a pointless game to play, believe me.”

She laid a hand on his knee, stopping his shaking leg. Kit hadn’t even realized it was moving that much.

“What I can tell you is that we honor those we lost by living.”

It was a beautiful sentiment, he could admit, but it felt too out of reach for himself.

“I didn’t lose her,” he mumbled in response. Tessa startled, titling her head in clear confusion. “I never had her in the first place.”

Tessa said nothing, just waited as he worked through the lump in his throat.

“Sometimes I feel so angry at her for leaving me behind,” he confessed. “For dying before I had a chance to really know her.”

He laughed a hollowed sound, devoid of any joy. Tessa’s eyebrows scrunched together in a painful twist of her serene expression.

“Isn’t that ridiculous?” He huffed. “Rosemary gave everything up to protect me. She died for me, and I’m still angry because… Because I didn’t have anyone to draw a Mother’s Day card for? Because she didn’t tuck me into bed and read me a story every night?”

To his horror, his breathing grew heavier alongside the tears dropping from his cheeks. He forcefully rubbed at his face to dry them.

“I must be the worst son in the world,” he whispered. “Rosemary’s lucky she never had to deal with me.”

Tessa winced as if she had been slapped. The downtilt of her lips was such an unnatural sight he had to take a double check before he truly believed her distaste was being directed at him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.” Tessa told him.

She had never spoken to him like that before—so hurt and fierce, like someone had reached inside her chest and broken her heart in two.

“Kit,” she whispered, propping his face up with two of her fingers against his chin. “Don’t you ever repeat that, do you understand? Never again.”

He nodded, still taken aback by her reaction. Then, Tessa softly ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him gently.

“It’s not stupid to feel angry at our parents for the choices they made that impacted our lives,” Tessa said, her own eyes watery. “I didn’t have a chance to know Rosemary, but I’m sure she wouldn’t blame you for what you feel now or for how you felt growing up.”

Had anyone ever held him the way Tessa did now? Had any other person in the world looked at him with so much sorrow in their eyes and managed not to make him squirm under their gaze?

“Being left behind leaves a scar. It doesn’t matter what the reasons were. As noble as they may be, they still hurt. It doesn’t make you a bad son to still carry this hurt with you. You must feel it. In fact, the longer you wait to feel it, the worse it gets.”

He shook his head in denial, the feel of Tessa’s hand against his nape like hot iron for a moment as Kit felt the familiar grief taking over.

“I was just a baby when she left. I can’t miss someone I didn’t know,” he countered.

Tessa smiled sadly, larger and older than life. “Oh, dear, I wish that was true.”

Kit suddenly felt very small and young, as Tessa’s voice became sadder and more ominous.

“Our hearts and bodies carry pain far past what our minds can see. All it takes is one moment for it to be brought forward. Yes, you were too young to remember what it was like to have Rosemary as a mother. It doesn’t change the fact you lost her. It doesn’t mean you can’t mourn what could have been.”

Kit wasn’t sure he believed in that completely. His father had taught him that it was stupid to dwell on the past, especially if it involved his mother.

Tessa was a far smarter and kinder person than Johnny, but Kit had learned that such deeply ingrained lessons were hard to unlearn.

“Any mother would be lucky to have you as a son, Kit,” Tessa said, holding his face delicately, her thumb caressing the slope of his cheek. “I know I am.”

Kit looked at his mom—really, properly looked at her. Her face, preserved by time. Her gray eyes, kinder than he deserved them to be. Her smile, small and sincere and heavy with loss.

He loved her so much more than his heart could bear. He loved her and trusted her and couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t love him too.

Kit wasn’t used to believing he had earned his place in anyone’s life, but Tessa made it feel so easy—like he didn’t need to earn anything in the first place.

“Do you mean that?” He asked, sounding like a scared boy searching for dry land in a revolting sea.

And Tessa threw him a lifeline as easily as she had undone each of his defenses. “I do. Of course I do.”

She laid a kiss on his temple. His eyes closed, and he instinctively leaned into the touch.

Kit felt far younger than he truly was as Tessa held him and pressed kisses to his forehead. He was certain, then, that the steadfastness of her love would never cease to amaze him.

When Tessa pulled back to look into his eyes again, he ruffled his hair before saying, “I’ll never try to replace her, Kit. She’s your mother too and will always be. You don’t need to be scared of talking about her.”

He nodded. His throat felt too tight for him to try and say anything at all.

“But since the day I laid my eyes on you, I’ve loved you. I knew that feeling, deep in my gut. I had felt it three times before, and I felt it again when I met you.”

His treacherous, already swollen, eyes watered once more against his will. Tessa’s gray ones mirrored his, if kinder and wiser.

“My sweet, brave boy,” she whispered, pulling him to her chest again. “I love you. So much more than you know.”

Kit laced his arms around her, slotting his face in the crook of Tessa’s neck.

For once, he didn’t doubt her.

[tapioca-puddingg]

Master Eraqus Ain't Shit

So I decided to wake up and choose violence today.

"Oh brother, this guy stinks!"

In Dark Road, we see that Eraqus has always had the same black and white mentality. He’s always believed that only light should exist, and that darkness should be destroyed. Even Xehanort, who was the same age as him, could understand that there needs to be a balance between light and darkness.

And even well into his old age, Eraqus never changed his mindset.

This line of thinking was so pervasive that it stopped him from making Terra a keyblade master. If Terra had never visibly manifested his darkness, it’s possible that both him and Aqua could’ve been made keyblade masters. Not that I’m blaming Terra or anything, I’m just sayin.

Xehanort told Terra in Radiant Garden that he could study under Eraqus for years, and yet he would never make him a master. I think he’s 100% right.

Both Terra and Aqua would end up internalizing this mindset in different ways:

Since he was on the receiving end of the darkness slander, Terra developed a deep insecurity. And some of the villains, especially Xehanort, were able to take advantage of him partially as a result of this insecurity and partially due to his own naivety. His journey was all about finding out how to control it, but bc he wasn’t properly mentored on how to do so, he failed.

Aqua took on this mentality along with Eraqus’s self-righteousness. She was about to prematurely attack or possibly even kill Lady Tremaine, Anastasia, and Drizella if she hadn’t been stopped by Fairy Godmother. And later on, I feel like this mentality contributed to her thinking differently of Terra. But then again, there was a lot of miscommunication between the three of them. And that miscommunication caused a rift in their friendship.

And with Ventus, when Eraqus learned that Xehanort was planning on using him to form the X-blade, his immediate response was to kill him. Albeit, with some remorse.

Like sir, that’s your friend. You decided to let him back into your life after he wrote that sorry ass apology letter to you. You invited him back into your home. That means he manipulated you too. If he’s the one that’s putting your kids in danger, you need to go after him, not Ventus.

Imagine for a second if Terra had arrived too late (or didn’t arrive at all) and Eraqus succeeded in killing Ventus. The amount of emotional damage that would’ve done to him and Aqua is unfathomable. He put both Ven and Terra in so much danger. Yes, in the end, he realized the atrocity that he almost committed, but it was too little too late. He was lucky that the best-case-scenario happened. Well, I guess the best-case-scenario would have been for all of them to survive and jump Xehanort, but it's better that the kids survived.

As a follow up to that, imagine if Terra lost the fight and was killed. Eraqus is a master keyblader after all, so he's no slouch in battle. He whooped my ass many times when I played it recently. But anyways, that could’ve been two bodies on Eraqus’ hands. He is so unfit to be a mentor to anyone.

SPOILERS for Dark Road: now given what Eraqus and Xehanort went thru in DR, it makes sense as to why he would have such an extreme response to darkness. The fact that darkness is what killed their classmates, and the fact that Xehanort had to put down Baldur himself when he got corrupted. That moment would change the both of them forever. And any child would be deeply traumatized in seeing their friends get murdered on by one. But it doesn’t excuse what he attempted to do. Again, he put the lives of two of his three students in danger.

As a rewrite for this scene, maybe he could’ve contacted Aqua and told her to come home immediately once he realized what was happening. Maybe go to Yen Sid’s tower and link up with Mickey, Donald and Goofy, and the six of them plan a coordinated jumping on Xehanort. Sometimes ppl need to be jumped, you know? Like “Hey, Xehanort has gone off the deep end. He nearly used Ven to try to form the X-blade. We need to stop him before he tries this again.”

EDIT: I did really enjoy the reunion scene in KH3. It was nice that the Wayfinder trio at least got to see him one last time.

And in his character file, Terra feels immense guilt and wants Eraqus's forgiveness. I can only imagine the amount of guilt one would feel after an experience like that. There was no way he could predict the consequence of being Xehanort's pawn for 10 years.

But as a childhood trauma survivor, I know as much as the next survivor that you don't owe your parents/parental figures forgiveness. They owe you. Eraqus should've been the one asking for Terra's forgiveness, not the other way around.

I think bc he's presented as one of the "good guys" some folks may have been quick to overlook some of his actions.

But then again, if he did everything perfectly, this wouldn’t be as interesting to talk about.

TDLR: Eraqus fucked around and found out

Thanks for coming to my TED talk

[theplotdemandsit]

Takes place at the end of 1x01 of The Umbrella Academy

Five isn’t used to being cared for.

The first time he suffered a serious injury was 46 days (back then, he was still counting by days) after he got stranded in the future. He doesn’t remember it as vividly as he used to, but the fear is still visceral.

That day, it only took one wrong move over the rubble of a gas station to send him crashing to the rocks. He immediately knew something was wrong when he saw the blood gush from under his forearm and the bloody rebar beneath it.

He was lucky it hadn’t nicked the radial artery, but the cut went deep enough it could have. Five doesn’t remember it vividly, but he remembers how his arms wouldn’t stop shaking as he grabbed the wound, instinctively trying to stop the bleeding. He remembers screaming and crying in that gas station for way too long before recalling that no one could hear him. No one would be coming to help.

Even after managing to patch himself up (poorly—he didn’t know how to do stitches on himself back then so the scar was incredible) the infection that came after left him delirious and practically immobile. Except he could move because he had to. He had to find antibiotics or that would be it. He would die like everyone else.

There was no one to console him anymore, no brothers to congratulate him on survival and idiocy, no mother to tell him which medications to take, no sisters to sneak him junk food in the infirmary. It was just him.

Five isn’t used to being cared for, so when Vanya stares at the minor cut on his arm that he’s already wrapped up—albeit crudely—he feels oddly disconnected. He came to talk, so why did she seem so distracted by the blood on his clothes?

Though…he hasn’t exactly talked to ordinary people he wasn’t planning to kill for a while now. A literal lifetime ago.

Because you’ll listen.

Vanya suddenly stands exiting the room without a word, and for a moment Five thinks that’s it. She’s done with him. But then she’s rounding the corner again, hands full of cheap medical supplies.

My arm, he realizes. She wants to bandage my arm.

His mind is working sluggishly, exhaustion worming its way into his bones and dimming his sense of fight and flight instincts. It would be easy to repeat himself, tell her he was fine and that she didn’t need to waste her first aid kit on him; but his body moves anyway, and he finds himself pulling back the sleeve of his bloodied uniform.

And while her eyes are fixed on his scratch, his are fixed on her.

She winces as she inspects his arm, using gauze to wipe away the blood. She focuses seriously as she works—so serious to the point where Five might have laughed if he’d had the energy. Man, he really wishes he could have gotten that cup of coffee.

While in the Commission, people had seen him bloodied and injured before. Civilians got a glimpse of a graze every now and then, the doctors back at Headquarters would fix him up on the rare occasion he hurt himself beyond his own doctoring capabilities, the Handler would wash her eyes over him every time they met.

But those eyes were different. Pitying eyes, sympathizing eyes, indifferent eyes, and whatever disturbing look the Handler always seemed to have in hers. Not like what he’s seeing now. Not…this.

There is a softness to her face as she cleaned the cut. A gentleness foreign to him. Pain has long since been forgotten. He can’t take his eyes off her.

But…then again. She had barely met him in the eyes at all every time they talked today. Maybe she was just using his injury to distract her from actually facing him.

Yeah, that was it. After all, how could anyone care for someone they hadn’t seen in 17 years?

Just me still dealing with S4. This is fine. Crossposted on Ao3 under the same handle. I'm thinking I'll do another 4 of these. Cause why not. I'm sure I'll still be obsessed with this fandom by the time I finish.

[nerdiel-has-no-braincells]

A Lifetime | Reunited

feat: Nanami Kento x fem!reader, Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

cw: mention of death, mention of child neglect, spoilers for jjk

summary: yaga informs you of the memorial service and your son comes home with you. a familiar face greets you after so long

a/n: this one is a bit shorter so hopefully it’s well enough! i wanted to get the feelings out there while trying to stay true to the lore, so some things may be wrong

↜ previous chapter ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ next chapter ↝ | masterlist

Yaga visited the next day to let you know when Kento’s memorial would be held. He was there for the cremation for you, but he wanted you to be there for the memorial, which you agreed.

The day of the memorial came and despite the heaviness of your body, you pushed yourself to bathe and dress. You looked at yourself in the mirror and you immediately felt shame, your cheeks were sunken in, your eyes were red and puffy and at the same time you had bags under your eyes. You barely even recognized yourself and you understood your mother and son’s worries for you.

Putting on makeup, you did the best you could do to hide how much you’ve let yourself get, which you were able to at least appear that you’ve been surviving while grieving when it’s not true in the slightest. You looked exhausted and anguished, which was to be expected seeing as how you lost your husband.

You had contacted your mother to let her know when the memorial service was so that Yu could attend as well. Your mother agreed to let Yu attend but he would still be going home with her as you were in no shape to take care of him. You couldn’t even deny it; you couldn’t take care of yourself much less your son, and the thought of how you’ve failed both Yu and Kento made your heart break. Kento would not want you to be like this, but you couldn’t help it. Your mind tells you that you need to get your shit together but your heart and body resisted what your mind was telling it. You lived at the bottom of that sea and the intense pressure kept you from swimming back up to the surface.

Yaga had picked you up so that you could go to the memorial together. You were silent in the car ride, unsure of what to say. You appreciated Yaga for everything he had done for you while you were grieving and a part of you believed he already knew of your appreciation.

As you arrived at the memorial site, you walked into the building behind Yaga with your head down, not wanting anyone to see you, trying your best to become small.

What you didn’t expect was for you and Yaga to be the first to arrive.

He led you into the room that was being used for the memorial service and led you to the front where he stopped and turned to you. Setting a hand on your head, he gently rubbed his thumb to comfort you.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there more for you.” Yaga spoke.

This caused you to look up at him with your brows upturned, and for the first time in your life, you witnessed him cry.

It makes sense — he was there throughout your entire relationship, he was the one who walked you down the aisle, the first one outside of you and Kento to hold your son; he was there for everything.

This caused you to tear up as well. You were so wrapped up with your feelings that you never noticed anyone else’s pain from losing Kento. It felt like the weight holding you down kept growing the more you thought about all of those who were grieving alongside you.

Pushing the feeling aside, you reached out to hold Yaga’s free hand—using physical touch as a way of comfort. Yaga wasn’t big on touching or anything really when it came to comfort, but he’d jump at the chance to comfort an old student.

“It’s understandable why you weren’t around often; you have a job to do and from what you’ve told me, the other sorcerers needed you, so don’t apologize, please.” You spoke softly as you looked up at Yaga, looking directly in his eyes, or in this case the dark sunglasses he wears.

Nodding, he gave your hand a squeeze before letting go.

“I want you to see what’s been done for Nanami.”

Yaga stepped aside to show the view of the memorial service. Your eyes widened slightly as you saw it; white flowers surrounded a photo of Nanami, the usual funeral ribbon set on the photo. Stepping forward, you saw that the photo that was used was Kento in his suit at your wedding, a smile on his face and it caused the tears to fall down your cheeks.

It was your favorite photo of him. He looked incredibly handsome, a slight blush on his face with a loving gaze as it was you he was staring at.

Closing your eyes, you remembered the moment; the photographer insisted on photos of the bride and groom separately and when it was Kento’s turn, he held his usual stoic expression, standing straight. The photographer had tried her hardest to get him to smile, and you decided to step in and help.

That was one of the things you loved about Kento. To others, he was stoic and expressionless, but to you and your son, he held the warmest gaze and had the biggest smile. He had even opened up to Yuji, who he would talk about.

Stepping into his view, you waved to get his attention and gave him the biggest smile while pointing your index fingers on either side. You could see Kento immediately relax and let out a chuckle as he stared at you with so much love and adoration.

The photographer immediately snapped some photos of him as the two of you stared at each other.

You gently touched the photo of Kento. It had been 8 years since the wedding, each year better than the last. When you were blessed with Yu, the two of you were ecstatic.

“I knew that was your favorite photo of him.” Yaga spoke as he watched you.

“It is. It’s so hard to believe he’s gone.” More silent tears fell down your cheeks. Yaga set his hand on your shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

“I know and I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It wasn’t expected. I’m just glad the student was safe.”

Lowering your hand from the photo, you looked at Yaga with a slight smile on your face.

“This is beautiful. Thank you Yaga.”

With a nod, he gave you a warm smile. Before he could open his mouth and speak, you felt a force run into your legs as tiny arms hugged you. You looked down to see Yu burying his face into your dress as he clung onto you for dear life.

Crouching down, you gently lifted Yu’s face so that he could look at you. His blonde hair had always naturally parted like Kento’s had once he cut his hair to the shorter length, his brown eyes were full of tears. The same tears that flowed down your cheeks.

“Yu.” You whispered, feeling yourself begin to choke up as you stared into your child’s eyes, before wrapping your arms around him to pull him to you. You hung your head down near his when you began to sob.

“I’m so sorry Yu. Mommy’s so sorry.” You cried.

“I ended up neglecting you and hurting you even more than you’re already hurt. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Yu let himself finally cry as hard as he wanted. You didn’t truly realize how much stress you were putting onto your son by holding back his feelings in order to comfort you.

“I miss daddy!” Yu cried, his voice muffled by your body.

“I miss him too, baby.” Your heart shattered hearing your son’s sob, yet you were so relieved that he was finally letting it all out.

“I don’t wanna go back to Nana’s! I wanna stay with you!”

You slightly tightened your hold before releasing him and holding his cheeks.

“You’ll come back home. I promise.”

“I missed you mommy.”

“I missed you too, Yu.” You said before kissing his forehead and the top of his head. “I’ll be here for you from now on. I promise.”

With a nod, Yu knew you were serious. You never broke your promises to him or Kento, so he was assured that you would keep that promise close as he continued crying into your shirt.

The memorial service went off without any problems. Because of the amount of sorcerers that died and were away, there weren’t many who attended. There wasn’t even enough as it was, your entire year in Tokyo being 3 people before Yu passed and before Kento dropped out.

Your mother and Kento’s friends and family attended. For those who weren’t associated or knew about the Jujutsu world, it was explained that he passed away in an accident.

Yu stuck close to your side, seated on your lap as he clung to you while he stared at Kento’s photo, tears still falling.

Once it ended, Yaga and your mother sent you home with your son in tow. He had fallen asleep after all of the crying he released, so you tucked him into his bed before making your way to your own.

As soon as the door shut, you wrapped your hands around your mouth to choke back a sob. You leaned against the door and slid down it, your cries muffled against your own hands.

The memorial service was a cruel reminder that your husband was dead. Your kind, funny, caring, handsome husband was no longer on this earth.

As a sorcerer, you knew better than to let someone become a curse. Your negative emotions could become a curse itself, so you did your best to not feel anything at all and all it did was hurt others. You know grieving someone was a part of life, but it was more dangerous for sorcerers.

Taking a few deep breaths like Kento taught you after Yu died, you managed to calm yourself down. You had to grieve in a new way.

And you’ll do it. You promised Kento when you were teens that if any of you were to die, you’d have to make sure not to let the other become a curse and create more curses.

You always kept your promises.

3 Years Later

“Let’s go mommy!” Yu yelled ahead of you before he turned and ran ahead.

You chuckled as you climbed the hill.

“I’m coming, darling. Don’t run off too far!” You yelled back, no longer seeing your son.

It was the 3rd anniversary of Kento’s death.

Once you received his ashes, you used them to plant a tree in his favorite spot the two of you discovered on your way home from a mission after taking a detour. It was at the top of a hill overlooking the city surrounded by trees. It was a peaceful area and often Kento would come here to think or you’d come for a date. He proposed to you at this spot, even. So it was only right that he would be planted there.

You often visited him when you weren’t busy. You went back to work as a sorcerer and helped train Yu with his cursed energy.

Yu ended up developing your curse, which made training him easier since you were familiar with it while at the same time you wished he inherited one more thing from his father.

After the battle against Sukuna, everything had quieted back down to normal. Well, normal for sorcerers at least.

You remember being sent out and Yu breaking down because he thought he was going to lose you too. You made sure to promise that you’d come home to him, and while you had been injured, you did come home alive.

That night, Yu clung to you as he cried his heart out. You understood his fears since he had already lost his father. Your mother explained the day you came home that he had been experiencing an increase of anxiety and it caused him to act out at home and school. Some days, he would just sit by the door while crying and asking for you.

Ever since he had opened his emotions, Yu had been more honest with his feelings and you made sure to comfort and assure him that he had every right to feel the way he did and you would always be there to comfort him.

It was more than you could ever ask for and you wished Kento was here to experience it with you.

Reaching the top, you see Yu sitting in front of the tree and talking to it which made you smile as your heart filled with happiness.

Yu knew Kento’s ashes had been mixed with the soil of the tree so he considered the tree as Kento himself. He would sit for hours talking to it while showing his drawings and work.

Someday, Yu wants to frame the drawings he’s made and hang it on the tree once it grew. He’s told you that he would take his kids to meet Kento and his grandkids so he could start a tradition.

The thought and consideration of wanting his father to be in his life forever caused you to tear up, which Yu wiped away your tears and comforted you even after you explained they were happy tears. Your heart was full of so much love for your son and his heart was full of love for you and Kento.

Sitting next to the tree, you listened as Yu talked about his day.

“Mommy also says I got her curse power! Between you and me daddy, I think she wanted me to get yours.” He loudly whispered halfway through while covering his mouth from the side with his hand. It caused you to giggle. You thought it was cute that he thought you couldn’t hear him, but you let him continue believing it.

You enjoyed your days like this. It felt like the three of you were together as a family again. While you missed his smile, his eyes, his touch, and his warmth, you settled with the next best thing; spending time with the tree whose life was growing from the ashes of your husband.

You still wore your wedding ring; never wanting to take it off. You weren’t ready for it and you didn’t believe you would ever be.

Around your neck lay Kento’s ring. Itadori Yuji was able to retrieve it for you—giving it to you at the memorial service. He stood in front of you with a sullen expression on his face. He felt that if he had fought harder then Kento would have lived. He felt responsible that you lost a husband and Yu lost a father.

Yuji’s eyes were full of tears as he apologized to you over and over again. Standing from where you sat, you wrapped your arms around Yuji, gently placing a hand on the back of his head to push his face into your shoulder.

The action made Yuji’s eyes widen until he cried, mourning the loss of one of his teachers.

You comforted Yuji that day and told him how much Kento enjoyed training and going on missions together with him.

You and Yuji were still in contact with each other. He would help around the house and play with Yu; it was his way to atone for his “failure”—as often as you’ve told him he wasn’t at fault.

It was confirmed that the man who had killed Kento was dead during what was known as the Shibuya Incident. And yet Yuji still believed he could have done more.

It was nice though—Yu loved Yuji and looked up to him like an older brother. It brought warmth and laughter back into your lives.

Occasionally Yuji would come with the two of you to spend time with the tree. He’s apologized many times to it but promised to always be there for you and your son as a reliable friend and older brother.

He was a nice kid and a positive influence for your son so you were grateful to have him around.

“-my. Mommy it’s getting dark.” Yu whined, tugging onto your shirt.

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at your son who was rubbing his eyes indicating he was tired. The two of you had just finished eating the picnic you packed and he had spent a lot of energy by running around.

Lifting your son to hold him in your arms, he quickly laid his head down and fell asleep, cuddling into your warmth. Saying goodbye to Kento, you made your way home.

Nearing your home, you glance down at Yu who was sound asleep, the sound of his breathing was steady. Pressing a light kiss to his head, you made sure to make no subtle movements that could wake him up.

“Y/N?” A voice sounded behind you.

You stopped and turned around to notice a one who called out to you. He stood tall and had white hair, his eyes hiding behind his sunglasses. Relief washes over you as you realized who it was. A smile formed on your lips as the figure continued walking towards you before stopping in front of you.

“Gojo.” You breathed. “You’re safe.”

tags: @mrsyixingunicorn10 @cinnaa-x @xamilarin @cloudsinthecosmos @rivaiken @vr00m-vr00m @shycreatorsandwich @aelynaneedsalottathing @phoenix666stuff

it’s finally here! it took me a while to update and I’m so so sorry!! I’ve been dealing with my foot since the glue holding it together is coming off so thank you space Jesus for bandaids to quite literally keep the glue together 😩 (i did not want stitches bleh)

i wanted to include yuji in this since he was there with nanamin so knowing his personality, he’d want to take care of the family of nananim as if he was doing it out of guilt until he became the big brother character

Jujutsu Kaisen belongs to Gege Akutami

©️nerdiel-has-no-braincells Please do not copy, translate, and post as your own. Reblogs, likes, and comments are ok with me!