#he can pillage me any day of the week

[getinthehandbasket]

Book Eric is physically older than Show Eric, yes? We are all agreed?

And Eric was a broad virile Viking warrior.

So. Behold: Eric Northman.

[heat---lightning]

Day dreaming about being an innocent passenger in a caravan that gets ambushed by Orcs on the road. All the guards have been taken out and the Orcs have begun pillaging and taking what they want, they leave those who run, but your clothes got snagged and stuck on debris during the scuffle and you know you don't have a chance at fighting back. The only thing you can think of is offering yourself up for surrender, you know sometimes the less scrupulous Orcs will trade prisoners to slavers, there you'll make contact with your friends in the capital and be safe.

That's what you assumed, you didn't know that these Orcs had been cut off from their clan for weeks after a devastating battle. Hard, angry, pent up Orcs surffering the lose of their clan and were looking to take that out on any human they came across.

There you are cowering in fear as they finally get to you, you immediately beg for surrender. They don't immediately kill you, so that's a good sign so you think. They grunt and bark orders at you to get up, you can't because you're trapped. One particularly short and stocky Orc lifts the debris with one arm and yanks at you with the other, tearing your trouser in the process. The few Orcs that were around saw this and erupted into laughter at the sight of your exposed human backside. This drew the attention of the rest and soon enough a larger crowd was gathered.

You begin shaking as you see the lecherous look in the eyes of the gathering crowd, teeth bared and droll spilling from some, you begin to fear they might eat you instead. Until one Orc pushes through the crowd and knocks over the orc that pulled you from the rubble. This Orc was older, sharp and attentive, had a big gut with a trail of pubic hair running from well above his belly button down to the thicket that was barely covered by his patches together hide trousers.

He lifted you with one arm and proclaimed "This human is mine now! Find your own to keep! Challenge me if you want or bare me tribute if you wish to spend a moment with them! Now go! Back to work before the rangers find this wreck!"

You, there dangling by his arm, backside exposed to the horde, never felt more vulnerable but secure in knowing there won't be a fight over you. Your mind was briefly set at ease until he threw you over his shoulder, your ass near his face, when you felt a long, wet tongue, hotter and more coarse than a human tongue, licking your bare ass cheek. He never said a word to you. Just loaded you face down onto the back of his draft horse, tied you down firmly and before mounting his horse, spread your cheeks wide and slid his tongue across the entirety of you back side before letting out a terrifying growl and yell of celebration. A taste of his new prize. You shamefully couldn't help but feel arousal in the moment, something in the air, perhaps the pheromones of an Orc, something had gotten to you. You feel a small wetness begin forming from within. The revelation terrified you. As the horde begins leaving you see the sun setting on the wreckage of the caravan, you wonder where you'll end up next. You wonder what is to become of you now that you seemingly belong to this Orc.

Your adrenaline fades, exhaustion hits you and you fade off under the rhythmic hoof beats. You know when you awake, the real ordeal begins.

[please tell me if you want more to this story, I'm also very open to criticism and corrections in formatting or pacing]

[aegon-targaryen]

Zelink Week Day 5 - By a Thread

read on AO3 | read on FF.net | @zelinkcommunity

The violent crash of thunder shakes Zelda from a dream. Only a moment ago she was standing on the rolling deck of a pirate ship, cutlass in hand, a fearless girl astride the raging sea.

How cruel it is to imagine power and wake up with none. She slips out of bed to lean her forehead against the cold windowpane, watching rain ripple down the glass, until she hears something else: the creak of the drawbridge.

Earlier tonight, a young farmer boy stumbled into Castle Town on a half-dead horse to tell a gruesome story: monsters were pillaging Mabe Village, a small settlement just to the south. The king deployed a company of the royal guard minutes later, and the brilliant sight of Link’s blue tunic among them came as no surprise.

Zelda went to sleep terrified—not for her knight, not really, for she’s never seen him face a foe that even stands a chance. But monsters attacking in such great numbers, so close to the castle, can only mean one thing: she is running out of time to do what she was born to do.

The company must be back if the drawbridge is lowering this late at night. Let him be safe, Goddess, Zelda pleads, let them all have come home safe. But she reaches for her boots and cloak anyway, because prayer is as fruitless as ever; she has to see for herself.

She plunges down her tower’s pitch-black staircase before she can consider what her father would say. The storm swallows the familiar shapes of the castle and spits out a frightening, featureless place of imposing shadows. She’s half-blind and soaked to the bone by the time she reaches the ground, thinking, If I had my power, I could navigate any darkness. If I had my power, nothing would ever touch me.

Zelda finds herself running the rest of the way to the first gatehouse.

By the time she ducks breathlessly into the orange light, the guards are arriving through the opposite entrance, trudging in with heads bowed and exhausted horses trailing behind. Zelda sees a man with his arm in a makeshift sling, another getting sick against the wall, a third half-carried by a companion who’s staggering as much as he is.

“Move, girl,” growls an irritated voice from behind, and she scrambles out of the doorway to admit a cluster of bedraggled nurses clad in white. No one is expecting the princess to be here, and no one has time for a cloaked teenager shaking in her nightdress, not when the room has devolved into a loud flurry of stretchers and bandages and bloody wounds.

This is only the beginning, Zelda thinks, and only the cold stone wall at her back keeps her upright.

As the drawbridge squeals shut, he is the last to ride in. A dark hood shields his face from the rain, but she’d never miss the blue tunic she stitched with her own hands, even though it’s smeared with crimson. A nurse shoots to her feet, but a guard catches her arm, and Zelda is close enough to hear him mutter in her ear, “No way that’s his blood. Nothing ever touches him. Focus on those who need you.”

The crowd parts for Link and his drenched horse. Whispers and sidelong glances trail behind him. He doesn’t notice Zelda when he passes her, because under the hood his chin is raised and his eyes are nowhere at all. She has watched people give him their awe, their hope, their envy—has felt all those things herself—but what slithers through the gatehouse now feels more like fear.

He halts his mare at the far wall and slides from the saddle stiffly. The ground feels unsteady beneath Zelda’s feet, but she’s hurrying towards him anyway, unable to believe that in this entire room of people, she is the only one worried for him.

When she says his name, one end of Epona’s girth jerks from his hand, swinging wildly towards the floor as he whirls. Link’s gaze travels up and down Zelda’s body, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You’re covered in blood,” she blurts out.

He doesn’t spare a glance for his tunic, just stares back at her with an expression she cannot read, as smooth and blank as the screen of the Sheikah Slate. I thought we were past this, she thinks plaintively.

“Link,” she says instead, “Are you all right?”

They stand there in the chaos of the gatehouse, waiting helplessly for words he doesn’t have, until he breaks away to circle Epona. Zelda swallows down a jagged stone of grief, trying to decide whether to follow or flee, when another guard approaches him.

“Everyone’s accounted for,” the stranger says. “I…that was masterfully done, Link.”

Interesting, Zelda thinks. Most people only call him hero or swordsman or appointed knight of the Princess.

“I know it wasn’t easy,” the other guard continues gruffly. “But—Link? Won’t you say something?”

The ensuing silence brings Zelda around to Epona’s other side. The older man, whose uniform marks him as the company’s knighted lieutenant, snaps to attention instantly. “Princess,” he greets. “I hope my son has done well as your bodyguard.”

She has gotten Link to talk about food, horses, swordplay—all in tiny and manageable increments. But if she asks about his family it’s only fair to discuss hers in return, and that is something she feels wholly unprepared to do with the boy whose eyes seem to travel straight to her soul every time he looks at her.  

Still, this is a surprise. Surely Zelda’s own father would have mentioned it when he appointed Link, if he knew. There is a resemblance in the two men’s wheat-colored hair, but where the lieutenant is broad and rugged, Link has a slight figure, and those long-lashed blue eyes, and such delicate features that one could even call him ­­­­pretty.

Pretty? she repeats to herself incredulously. Where did that come from? Focus, Zelda! “Yes,” she confirms aloud, regaining her composure. “He saved my life, you know.”

“And saved many more today,” the lieutenant replies. His subordinates, many of whom are goggling at the scene, jump to make themselves look useful at his sharp glare. “Please know that to be true, Princess, whatever else you might hear.”

The words are directed more at Link, who’s ignoring them both to unbuckle the other end of Epona’s girth, using one hand for a task better suited for two. Feeling oddly protective, Zelda watches the lieutenant’s frown carefully—and then he steps closer all at once, lifting the folds of Link’s cloak to reveal the half-broken arrow buried between his collarbone and shoulder.

Zelda’s stomach plummets to the bottom of Tangar Canyon.

“When—” the lieutenant chokes out.

Link, glassy-eyed, blinks up at his father twice before stepping back. Someone across the gatehouse calls for the lieutenant; he half-turns towards the voice, torn between his battered forces and his bleeding son.

And Zelda sees everything in that moment. She sees that Link is hanging on by a thread in more ways than one. She sees his father’s terror. She sees all the world’s whispers wedged between them—favoritism, distraction, the weakness that stems from love—because her own father has allowed those same forces to push them both into a barren place.

“I’ll take care of him,” she offers quietly.

The lieutenant’s shoulders drop in shame, or relief, or both. “Thank you, Princess,” he murmurs. Touching Link’s uninjured shoulder briefly, onlookers be damned, he adds with surprising kindness, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Can you make it to the infirmary?” Zelda asks Link as his father walks away.

He nods at her, upright and unfaltering. She hands Epona off to a stablehand and leads Link into the downpour. The night shrouds them both, but she can feel him following her as doggedly as ever, and something about it breaks her heart a little.

Inside the infirmary, Zelda gets them behind a privacy screen, where a stern-faced surgeon takes one glance at Link and begins lining up a row of intimidating tools on the side table. Only when the surgeon begins cutting the Champion’s tunic away from Link’s wound, sending Zelda’s handiwork to the floor in wet pieces, does he press his lips together in the first sign of alarm.

“I can make another,” she promises.

The surgeon hands Link an elixir, and he closes a white-knuckled grip around it without drinking. Stripped of his layers, he’s pale and lean and scarred, and Zelda can’t look at the arrow jutting out of him, can’t look anywhere but his eyes, which have fixed on her like the shivering flame of a candle. She’s struck all at once by how small he looks, how human.

Does anyone actually see him that way? Maybe his father and Mipha and Daruk, but no one in that gatehouse did. And Zelda didn’t recognize it herself until that moment in the desert last month—not when he put himself between her and that Yiga without a thought for his own life, but after, when he turned around to ask if she was all right, even as his hand trembled on the bloodstained sword.

The moment breaks when the surgeon faces her. “Princess, I hate to ask, but we’re stretched so thin. Can you hold him down?”

“Yes,” she says in a small voice. “Whatever you need.”

“There are cloths over there—give him one so he doesn’t bite his tongue when he screams.”

Reading the refusal in Link’s face, Zelda says, “He won’t scream.” The surgeon chortles out a disbelieving laugh—one of exhausted stress, not malice—but Zelda silences her with a glare anyway.

The rest is unspeakable. Zelda doesn’t watch, and Link doesn’t scream. He only turns to rigid ice under her hands and holds himself that way for long, suffocating minutes, eyes squeezed shut, until the surgeon’s tool grabs hold of the arrowhead.

He faints the moment she starts to draw it out. For five seconds Zelda feels herself paralyzed in the freezing water of the sacred springs, hopeless and unmoving, until the world returns in vivid violence: Link is awake and confused, twisting instinctively away from the source of pain.

Her arms tremble with the strain of keeping him still. Even now, he’s strong enough to break her hold if he panics badly enough to try. She’s never imagined her levelheaded knight capable of panic, but the way his chest shudders with jagged gasps—so quiet and so horrible—frightens her beyond belief.

Zelda remembers their trip to Eldin last week: a small army of dead monsters at Link’s feet, a long red scratch on his arm, another on his forehead. He only noticed them when Zelda did. He indulged her concern without expressing any of his own.

She’s long past thinking that arrogance fuels his silence, but she can’t understand why he hid the arrow, why he didn’t ask for help. He even recoiled from his father, there in the gatehouse with the watchful eyes and fearful murmurs of their comrades. Nothing ever touches him, one of the guards said scornfully, and not so long ago, Zelda would have agreed.

But the proof of her ignorance is everywhere, no matter that Link has locked his face up tight as a vault. He’s all over blood and scars. He’s so cold, she can feel it under her palms, just like she can feel the frantic hammering of his heart as the surgeon continues her grisly work. And his gasps are getting faster and thinner, nearing hyperventilation; maybe it’s better than screaming, but it’s still the worst thing Zelda has ever heard.

“Link,” she says helplessly. “Please breathe. I’m sorry it hurts, but try to breathe.”

His hand scrabbles for purchase along the edge of the cot. Taking a risk, she shifts to catch it in her own, and he turns his bone-white face towards her slightly.

“You’re going to be just fine,” she manages through her aching throat.

Gripping her fingers tightly, Link drags in his first full breath and opens his eyes to find her. Zelda sinks to her knees beside the cot. The world falls away. Everything is right here: his small, calloused hand, his heartbeat, his gaze telling her everything he can’t say.

She stays long after he falls asleep. Despite the moans of the other wounded and the reek of blood, something inside her settles to the steady sound of Link’s breathing.

Maybe she sleeps, maybe not; either way, some indeterminable time passes before she raises her head at the lieutenant’s footsteps. He pulls off his helmet to reveal a shaggy, tired face and sits down on the other side of the cot, watching Link’s chest rise and fall.

“The surgeon expects him to make a full recovery,” Zelda assures him. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“The monsters baited us into a trap,” the lieutenant says wearily. “Most of the villagers were dead by the time we arrived.”

Zelda presses a hand to her mouth at the image of enemies flooding Mabe Village’s single tiny avenue, boxing the guards in, raining arrows down from above. If the monsters have grown this intelligent—she can practically feel the fangs of their master closing around her.

“I had us behind a shield wall, waiting them out,” the lieutenant continues in a hollow voice. “Link disobeyed orders and broke through the monsters’ line. Turned the entire tide by himself.”

That’s a good way to describe it. Zelda has seen the force of nature Link becomes with the Master Sword in hand. She imagines how he must have looked—fierce and blood-soaked and silent, parting the world before him—and almost doesn’t blame the other guards for their fear. Then he curls in on himself, making a small sound of pain in his sleep, and she thinks furiously, Almost.

His father clutches the helmet between his broad hands and says, “Princess, may I speak freely?”

“We’re both too tired for anything else,” Zelda replies, trying to make her tone far lighter than she feels.

The lieutenant’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m only here filling a vacancy for the month,” he says slowly, watching Link’s sleeping face. “Then I return to my permanent station at Akkala Citadel. Princess, did you know they deploy him on every out-of-town mission, even if he’s just been on guard duty for eight hours or returned from traveling with you?”

“No.” Her voice sounds weak to her ears. “I—why would they do that? We’ve no shortage of guards.”

“Because if he’s there, no one dies. No one gets hurt either, unless it’s as bad as tonight.” The lieutenant shakes his head at her horrified expression. “It’s not you, Princess. It’s this castle—these people—that godsforsaken sword. I think you know of what I speak better than anyone, and tonight proves that I’ve failed to protect Link from it.”

She realizes what’s in front of her: a father who regrets his shortcomings. A father willing to breach protocol for his son’s sake. Maybe he fails sometimes, but at least he tries. “It was chaos,” Zelda points out. “You had twenty people to command.”

“Only one of whom was my son. And I let him—” the lieutenant stops, shaking his head. “Apologies, Princess. You’re only being kind. He said you were.”

“Link said that?” she splutters. “But I was awful to him. For months.”

“I think he’d disagree,” the lieutenant says sadly. “When I can get him to talk, Princess, it’s mostly about you.”

Zelda’s breath catches in her throat. Link following five paces behind, listening diligently, accepting her ire like rain rolling down stone. Link unflinching before the Yiga, the Master Sword bright and red, every line of his body honed into a threat.

“Yes,” she answers his father’s unspoken question. “I’ll be here for him. As he has been for me.”

.

.

.

Link wakes to pain, morning sunlight, and a nurse changing his bandage. She’s gentle and efficient and it still takes everything he has not to pull away. He searches the room, finding the Master Sword leaning against his cot and his father asleep in a chair, stripped of his armor but still wearing his muddy uniform.

The nurse sweeps away, leaving an elixir behind on the nightstand, and Link closes his aching eyes when his father starts to stir. Three minutes pass before a cork pops and he says, “You’re a bit old to be faking sleep. Drink the elixir.”

Link opens his eyes. The contents of the bottle are crimson and thick. His stomach churns: the rain, the screams, the sword carving through flesh.

“The princess was going to stay. She only relented when I told her you’d want her to rest.”

That’s exactly what Link would want. Zelda doesn’t get enough sleep. He hears her tossing and turning when he guards her door on the nights they spend at inns or garrisons on the road. She cried once too, on their way to Gerudo Town, while he stood uselessly outside.

Wait: the princess. Her green eyes holding him fast. Her long golden hair spilling around her face. Her—her hands on his bare skin. Link’s face floods with heat.

Things have been so good between them, better than good, ever since she gave him the apology he never needed. Zelda wants him to talk to her, and she’s so patient and interested that he actually can most of the time, and when he makes her laugh he feels as strong as people claim he is. He feels like he could vanquish the Calamity here and now.

But now she’s seen the truth. She’s seen her appointed knight bleeding and whimpering like a pathetic child, and in one fell swoop, Link has knocked over everything they were building. She’ll never lean on someone who can’t even hold himself together.

“Oh,” his father remembers. “She asked to be notified when you woke up. I’ll have someone—”

“No!” Link’s voice cracks horribly with disuse. He covers his mouth.

His father’s brows snap down over his tired eyes, and he draws Link’s hand away and presses the bottle of elixir into it. “Drink,” he orders, not letting go until Link closes his fingers around the cool glass and sits up to obey.

“Now lie back down and listen,” his father says firmly. “Milo told me how you came back and took an arrow meant for him. I would give anything for that bastard—that fucking bastard who I’ve seen jeering behind your back—to be in this bed instead of you. But he’s not, because you’re a better person than him or me. If you believe for a second that your princess isn’t sharp enough to see the truth, then you’re doing her a disservice. Understand?”

Link nods meekly.

“Good. Hylia knows I haven’t given you the life you deserve, but I won’t let you deny yourself a friend who needs you as much as you need her. Now—the king must want a report.” He stands briskly, then adds in a softer tone, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you.”

By the time Link realized Milo was missing, the rest of the company was five hundred feet away. In that rainy night, with half their people seriously wounded, he was the only one who could’ve gone back. The same injury that he’s already healing from might have killed someone else.

But there’s anguish in his father’s eyes—his father, who tried to keep him from the Master Sword, who threw everything away to train him after it became inevitable. Soon enough Link will lose him to Akkala, and then he might lose himself to the Calamity. So he finds the words, hoarse and halting: “I was okay, Dad.”

Shaking his head, his father steps forward to cup Link’s face briefly. “I love you, son.”

He’s gone before Link manages to say it back, but it’s enough. It’s courage for what comes next. After he leaves, Link finger-combs his hair into a neater ponytail and winces his way into the plain cream-colored shirt the nurse brought him. It’s several sizes too big, but better than the princess seeing his scars again. He tries not to think of the ruin he made of the Champion’s tunic—tries not to think of anything as he waits.

Zelda arrives with a tray of tantalizing breakfast. She’s changed into a simple green dress that matches her eyes—he tries not to blush at the memory of how that wet nightgown had clung to her—but her hair is loose and unbraided, her face shadowed.

“Can you eat?” she asks, smiling a little at Link’s answering nod. “You can always eat, can’t you?”

She’s brought cheesy scrambled eggs, wildberry crepes slathered with whipped cream, and potatoes sliced and crisped just the way he likes them. Two plates, but the one Zelda hands him is piled much higher. He’s inhaled half his food by the time she starts on hers.

“How do you feel?” she asks, noticing that he’s eating one-handed.

Link makes a reassuring noise around a mouthful of potatoes. Zelda chews her own meal, taking on that analytical look she gets when she’s interpreting his meaning. Link remembers what his father said, and he remembers what she did for him when he was fraying beneath the pain, the dreamlike feeling of her hand gripping his.

He’s not going to make her guess anymore.

“I wanted—” Link starts. Zelda’s golden head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and he almost breaks, but somehow he gets the rest out. “To thank you. For yesterday. And to say sorry.”

“Sorry?” She looks at his wounded shoulder incredulously. “Whatever for?”

For your sleepless nights, he thinks. For the way you look at the Master Sword. For the bruises on your knees when you pray for too long and I don’t know how to make you stop. For letting your father treat you the way he does. For being such a coward.

Link swallows again and says, “For not talking.”

“Oh. There’s no need for that. You’ve been trying, and I know by now not to take it personally.”

“But I,” he stammers as a vice squeezes the air from his lungs, “I—” And he can’t finish the sentence. It was a mistake to try. His jaw clamps shut in mortification, shame flooding his face with heat, the one reaction he can’t control.

“Link,” Zelda says in the same clear voice that brought him back to himself last night. Her hand slips into his peripheral vision as it transfers one of her crepes to his empty plate. “Eat that, and try to remember that you never once judged me. I intend to return the favor. If you’d like to tell me what makes you stay so quiet all the time, I’ll gladly listen.”

I want to be better, is what he was trying to say, and he repeats the mantra silently, over and over, as he eats the crepe more slowly and absently than he’s ever eaten anything. Link is a walking reminder of everything fate has denied Zelda, and now she’s seen his weakness twice in less than twenty-four hours—but she’s still here, patiently occupying herself with the Sheikah Slate while he regains his composure.

If you believe for a second that your princess isn’t sharp enough to see the truth, then you’re doing her a disservice.

Inside himself, Link circles the mountain that has been growing up through his core every day since he found the Master Sword, displacing everything else with its sheer size. He can’t see the peak anymore. He doesn’t know if he can make the climb. But he knows it’s keeping him from Zelda, so he has to try.

“If I…falter,” he says haltingly, and she looks up at him instantly. “Like—if people in the gatehouse had seen this.” He touches his wounded shoulder. “What would happen?”

“They would help you, like your father and the surgeon did,” Zelda answers. But she reads his reaction and shakes her head. “No—you’re asking what they would think and feel and say, not what they would do.”

Link nods.

“Well, we’re supposed to smite the Calamity when it comes,” she muses. “Unlike me, you’ve already acquired the means to do so. That raises people’s expectations. So if you falter…if you give them a reason to doubt that you can deliver…they’ll lose hope.”

He looks down at his hands, because Hylia, she understands. She’s defined the mountain better than he ever could. Better than anyone could, because the way people watch her—like she’s a vessel to be filled—is not so different from the way they watch him.

“Lose hope, lose the fight,” Link says very quietly. His father had taught him that.

“Oh,” Zelda whispers. A long, frightening minute passes before she takes a shaky breath and asks, “Do you keep any hope for yourself?”

That question burrows into his viscera like the arrow did yesterday. He turns his face away.

She must see something in it even so, because she stumbles to say, “I’m sorry, I just meant—it seems an unfair way to live. Thank you for telling me, all the same.” Another pause. “Link…will you look at me?”

When he does, her brows are knitted together, her lips forming a thin line. Sadness? Because of him? Or—for him?

“I guess we’re the same, you and I,” Zelda murmurs. “I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous, but when you came into the gatehouse last night, I just thought—you’re so alone, Link, and I am too. Except that we’re stuck with each other. And maybe we don’t always have to hide. Wouldn’t it be better if we were friends?”

Link stares at this person with her tired eyes and her white-knuckled grip on the Sheikah Slate, understanding what she’s offering, understanding that she’s as terrified to step out onto the ice as he is. Getting stuck with her, as she puts it, is the best thing that’s happened to Link in years. But he never expected more. He never expected her to draw out the tangled truth, thread by gentle thread, without turning away.

“I’d—really like that,” he answers, surprised by the clarity of his voice.

“Good.” Zelda wears the beginnings of another smile. “And for whatever it’s worth—I think your father would like to hear you speak, too. So would the other Champions.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Even Revali?”

That makes her laugh, and Link might as well be free in the wide-open wild with the sun shining down upon him.

He does have hope, he realizes, but it doesn’t come from him. It comes from Zelda’s radiant smile, from how hard she works at the research she loves and the prayer she hates, from the way she held his hand through the dark night. You’re going to be just fine, she promised, and now he is, because she stayed with him.

Someday—someday soon, Link hopes—he’ll have the voice to thank her.

.

.

.  

[voidindividual]

Here, have another bit of my as of yet unnamed Victory of Eagles fic. (also this isn't going to be a weekly thing, it just so happens to have been a week since I posted the last bit)

It had been a long and normal day for Leonard. He had gotten up early to ensure proper feed for the dragons at the breeding grounds, as it hadn’t been easy to find enough cattle since the start of the invasion.

Eventually he had managed it, but of course the dragons all complained that he had kept them waiting longer than they liked. He didn’t even try to explain the situation to them, he had given that up weeks ago, at one point he had done so, but the dragons weren’t very understanding. 

In the afternoon a Winchester came to the grounds. In itself that wasn’t very unusual. Ferals sometimes came and went and he had assumed that this was the case with this one as well.

Contrary to his expectations however, the dragon didn’t go to get food or to talk or mate with any of the other dragons at the grounds. No, the Winchester wanted to talk to him. 

This he wasn’t as used to. Unless it was due to an oversight or other fault of his, he was usually the one to initiate the conversations. 

But this “Moncey” fellow, he wasn’t quite sure what he said because he talked so fast and excited, seemed to not be here to stay, but apparently to “recruit them for the war effort”, whatever that meant.

Still a bit confused he asked “Mind slowin’ down a bit? I hardly understand a thing you’re saying.” The dragon looked annoyed, but he complied. 

“I was sent by the commander to bring more dragons from the breeding grounds into the militia. You are to follow them with the cattle to ensure our supply.” 

The confusion on Leonard’s face shifted to worry “You’re mad! How am I supposed to manage that? And, back up a bit. You want the ferals to go into combat? How do you expect that to work? They haven’t got crews or control, ignoring the lack of investment for the war. After all, they’ve got everything they need right here.” 

The Beast now looked down on him, as if talking to a stubborn child, and with an appropriate tone said “Well, you bring the food to them anyways, so what difference does it make where they get it. And as for the dragons, let me worry about them. They will come. Now will you do it, or not?” 

"Oh no, I won’t! Do you have any Idea what chaos that would cause? You can be sure that every one of those dragons will be recaptured and executed alongside me for permitting this to happen.” 

“Quite the contrary,” Moncey said, to Leonard’s growing horror, “You’ll be a war hero for having brought essential help to the commander when it was most needed. Oh, and I am afraid it isn’t really a choice. The dragons will go and either you bring them their supply, or they will pillage it from the countryside and you will have abandoned your duty.” 

“You bast- Oh, what am I even doing? It doesn’t matter what I do, I’ll be hanged anyway.” The Winchester, taking the last part as an acceptance of the circumstances and an agreement to care for the supply, flew deeper into the grounds, presumably to rally the dragons for this “Militia”.

[writercole]

My dog woke me up and yes, it's not quite 2 AM as I start typing this, but I have several thoughts weighing down my mind and I need to get them out.

My oldest child had high school orientation this week. They opened with the pledge and a prayer. We did not stand.

No one confronted us. No one asked why. Which, frankly, surprised me as I'm in South Louisiana. But I'm still crafting an answer to the question that never came.

I didn't stand for the pledge of allegiance because the tenants of that decree are no longer being upheld. Liberty and justice for all have become words that are just recited.

The neighborhood that I live in, the Northside, is socioeconomically low. It's a neighborhood full of blacks and other POC. I love my neighborhood.

More than once, I've had to school my own mother on the way she talks about my neighbors and my community. Because it is a community. But this community is more policed and has less tax revenue because of its makeup. Is that liberty and justice for all?

The high schools in our district are installing weapon detectors. Our politicians are more worried about policing genitals. Is that liberty and justice for all?

Our most vulnerable citizens, our children, go to school every day and we never know if they're going to come home. They go home not knowing if they're going to eat or have lights on. Our government is trying to cut funding for school meals while letting gun lobbies do anything they want. Is that liberty and justice for all?

We spend more on healthcare than any other nation in the world but have some of the worst maternal mortality rates, infant mortality rates, and rates of preventable and treatable diseases. Because we cannot get doctors to accept state-funded medical insurance, the private insurances have priced themselves out of the middle class, and the amount that it costs for the uninsured to have treatment is unattainable for most people. Is that liberty and justice for all?

People go to church and praise and worship their gods, and that is their right. But on Monday mornings, these same people are decrying the 'woke left' for trying to teach things like...tolerance and history. They say that other religions are heathens and terrorists and do everything they can to stop them from holding positions of power. Is that liberty and justice for all?

Police corruption is higher than it was in the 1940s and the mob didn't have to lift a finger. It's filled with hatred and bigotry, racism and misogyny, power trips and harmful ideology. These departments are left unchecked, free to rape and pillage all they want under the guise of law enforcement. Is that liberty and justice for all?

Our lawmakers are collectively trying to enact laws that will hamstring our children and keep them from knowing what actually goes on in the world, will keep adults in this country from knowing what goes on in the world. While we have the highest standards perceived for our education, when ranked based on actual data and not an opinion survey, we don't even crack the top ten.

I wrote to our senator about this KOSA bill and he basically said 'fuck you I'm doing it.' Our congressman didn't even deign to give me an actual response, just an automated message to let me know that they received my email.

That is definitely not liberty and justice for all. Not to mention, porn is restricted by government ID here in Louisiana. Yet, my 14 year old still has access to it. It's all over twitter, discord, tumblr, and dozens of other sites that would have exemptions to the bills aimed at protecting kids from that kind of material.

Instead of sheltering, we need to educate. We need to teach kids bodily autonomy and not force them to hug their family. They need to know the proper terms for their body parts to be able to report sexual assault and molestation. They need to know that there are things that adults should not be doing.

We need to enforce the laws already on the books protecting children from rapists and child molesters and sex trafficking before we try to keep them off of the internet. Because the whole world has access to the internet. It's either all children, or just our children. The latter seems most likely.

In IT, when there's an issue for one user, the error is identified to being a single user error. Not an error with the entire network.

In order for me to want to participate in pledging my allegiance to a country - which, by the way, is something communist nations do, indoctrination at the kindergarten level - you have to make me believe in the words that I'm reciting.

"One Nation" if you're cishet and white.

"With Liberty and Justice for All." If you're not a minority group or female.

And don't get me started on the 'under god' portion.

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

and now it's time to play that ancient game of mine -- moments in my fanfic scribblings that wound up kinda mirroring canon!!

(this is totally just for my own amusement. don't mind me!)

ofmd 204 & 205 spoilers!

this was my fix-it fic that i wrote in a deranged haze the day after 1.09 & 1.10 aired, and then never posted because there were a few small transition scenes in between all the meaty emotional stuff that i was just too lazy to ever finish up. upon rereading, i actually kinda like it and wish i'd finished it though!!! maybe i will one day, and just post it as a historical relic from march '22.

*****

(Ed and Stede meet at last!)

“What’ve you been up to?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“I’ve heard a bit. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Oh, you know. Plundering, pillaging, being the punishment this sorry world deserves. That sort of thing.”

“Very neat. And what’s with the–” Stede gestures awkwardly to his own chin.

Ed touches his kohl-painted face. “Wasn’t going to wait for it to grow back in before I got back out there. I’d wasted enough time.”

“Right, yes.” Stede lets out a wistful, slight laugh. “I was starting to get used to your bare face.”

“Really? That’s not what scared you away?”

“I wasn’t scared away.”

“Oh, so you just decided to abandon me for some other reason. That’s great. It feels great, knowing that. Life’s so much better now than it was ten seconds ago. Wait. Fuck.” Ed stands abruptly, shaking the table. “I swore I wasn’t going to do this. I’m fucking Blackbeard, I’m the kraken, I’m hell on waves, I eat babies for breakfast.”

“Oh, Edward.” Stede stares up at him, aghast. “Please tell me you haven’t had a breakfast baby.”

“Obviously I didn’t really,” Ed says impatiently. “It’s just an alliteration thing. It’s the vibes.”

Stede puts a hand to his heart and exhales. “Thank God.”

(okay, with this one i mostly just wanted the breakfast baby joke to finally see the light of day. but there's a slight overlap!)

*****

(Ed and Stede make up very quickly, and then try to make the crew feel cool about that!)

“Hey, Blackbeard.”

“Hey, Black Pete.”

“Oh, it’s just Pete now.”

“Cool, cool. I guess it’s just Ed now, too.”

“Welcome back, Ed. If I could just, uh, say one thing?”

“Sure, mate, what’s up?”

“VENGEANCE!!!” Pete screams, and pushes Ed overboard.

The crew bursts into cheers.

Stede can’t really fault them, all things considered.

“That was just a bit of vengeance for you, babe,” Pete tells Lucius.

“Thanks, babe.”

*****

Once a sopping-wet Ed’s been recovered, there’s the general consensus from all non-Stede crew members that he’s going in the brig.

“We’re really happy for you, Captain,” says Frenchie, “but he’s been a menace.”

“Obviously acting out of deep-rooted pain and some unprocessed childhood trauma,” says Lucius magnanimously. “But all the same, he’s been a massive bitch.”

“I think everyone should get a turn punching him in the face,” says Jim.

“Nobody’s punching anybody!” Stede says, in his clipped captain’s orders! tone. “But you’re right. I’m sorry, Ed; the people have spoken, and the brig it is.”

“No, I get it.” Ed holds up his hands in surrender. “Super fair. And hey, Jim, you can go ahead and punch me if you like.”

“They won’t punch you, they’ve just got hurt feelings–”

Stede is cut off by Jim punching Ed right in the stomach.

Wow. They really don’t waste any time.

“Sucker punch,” breathes Ed through what must be a dizzying amount of pain. “See, I was expecting the face, ‘cause you said the face–”

“Surprise,” says Jim.

****

and this is from a fic i actually posted! [x]

Stede decides to risk getting shot, and puts a hand on his arm. They stand still together. “I wish I’d gotten it right the first time. But this, right now, it’s the next best thing we’ve got. I’ll keep fighting if you want to fight, and I’m pretty sure my crew and I will win our ship back from you and your sorry lot within the week–”

“Pfft.”

“--but while we’re fighting, Ed, just know that I lo–”

But before he can say the words, Ed interrupts. “Nope. Don’t.”

“But I–”

“No.” Ed meets his eyes. “I mean it, mate.”

Stede listens. He lifts his hand from Ed’s arm. “That’s all right. You must know what I mean, if you don’t want me to say it that badly.”

“Of course I want you to say it,” Ed mutters. “That’s the problem.”

“Ah, right. Terrible.”

[dramamelon]

Closest of Friends

Day 5: vulnerability Rating: M (overall) Chararcters: Drift, Ratchet, Rodimus, Thunderclash Tags: Minimal Editing, Fluff and Humor, Old Married Couple, Polyamory, Old Loves Rekindled, Drunken Shenanigans, Making Out, Light Petting Fic Summary: Drift and Ratchet are living their soft and cozy lives together way out in the quiet serenity of rural lands that sit on the edge of the wild. They're good with this, couldn't ask for more. Then more comes anyway by way of the past, as it always does.

Note: Just a heads up! This week is focused on Dratchet emotionally, but it is working toward a polycule! (Which will be explored in April during Polyship Week.)

Written for Dratchet Party March 2023! 🥳 AO3 link in reblog!

Ratchet quirked an orbital ridge upward, his smirk stretching into a heated grin that never failed to do things to Drift that left him wet behind the panels. If the wandering interest of Rodimus' ever-curious hands around his hips, thumbs pressing between the plating where his thighs joined to the more sensitive pelvic protoform, were any indication, Rodimus was just as aware of it. When Ratchet slid his hand in to rest over one of Rodimus', Drift narrowed his optics and gave Ratchet a suspicious look.

"Ratty, what are you doing?" he asked. As Ratchet's hand shifted into a smooth curl along the heated surface of Drift's modesty panels, Drift squirmed and felt his cooling fans click on. He shot another glance toward Thunderclash, the only one of the group without prior knowledge of the sound. The big mech hadn't moved from his spot on the other end of the bench he shared with Rodimus, but tendrils of his field were stretching out, curious and full of carefully banked carnality. A kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth dragged his dizzy attention back to Ratchet. "Ratty?"

"I want you to watch this," Ratchet murmured, a low and lusty growl in his tone. "If it's not what you want, you stop me and you and I take this to a separate room. Thunders and the hotshot can figure themselves out in that case."

That gave Drift only the vaguest notion of what his conjunx had planned. Before he could raise any questions, though, Ratchet leaned in between Drift and Rodimus. The hand not rubbing soft circles between Drift's thighs lifted to catch Rodimus' chin and pulled the other speedster's face toward Ratchet's. And then it was Drift's turn to have a moment of "holy slag."

He wasn't quite sure how to take the way Rodimus so easily fell into allowing Ratchet to absolutely plunder his mouth in the way Drift was so very familiar with. The slow, thoughtful pillaging of Rodimus' mouth with a glossa as wonderfully skilled as Ratchet's medic's hands. Not with Thunderclash settled so very close by. His jaw snapping shut, Drift wobbled in his spot in Rodimus' lap as he whirled back around to give the big mech a look he knew pleaded for forgiveness of the act he wasn't even attempting to stop. Soft murmurs and wet sounds filling one audial, Drift found himself caught by the depth of the hunger emoted on those dashingly handsome features of Thunderclash's.

Then the universe tilted even more as Thunderclash shifted his crooked leg under himself and moved closer. Those crimson optics never slipped away from him, not until Thunderclash nuzzled against Rodimus' audial and murmured words that Drift couldn't make out even from his close vantage. Whatever he said had Rodimus pulling from the kiss with Ratchet and grinning. He leaned back against the bench as Ratchet and Thunderclash came together between them, hidden from Drift's view by the two bigger mechs. The look Ratchet gave Drift burned even hotter than the look from Thunderclash, sending a wobble through his spark with the obvious searching for permission reflected in his optics. In his drunken state, Drift discovered working his glossa through actual words more difficult than anticipated.

"Oh yeah," Rodimus said, his engine revving hard and fans spinning harder. He pushed his hips up against Drift and gripped his hips a little harder. He nudged his face between Ratchet and Thunderclash, leaning in to bump the tip of his nose against Drift's. "It's all on you, babe," Rodimus informed Drift, low purr in his voice. "Do we let them kiss while we watch or do you take Ratchet up on everyone finding their own room? I'm game for whatever as long as I get something tonight."

Drift tossed a glance first at Ratchet, then another toward Thunderclash. The look Thunderclash was giving Ratchet reminded him immediately of the look he'd seen come his own way from Rodimus. Still saw on Rodimus if he happened to catch his fellow speedster unawares. He returned his gaze to Ratchet, meeting those beloved blue optics as a hard flicker touched his spark. What he saw looking back at him was a questioning softness, silent asking for permission. He scratched his fingers against the extravagantly painted flames on Rodimus' chest. Then, he lifted his hand, pressed it to Rodimus' face, and shoved him out of the way. He ignored the noisy fuss that Rodimus wetly sputtered against his palm. Mouth curving upward to give a saucy flash of fang, Drift shot another look between his conjunx and his conjunx's best friend.

"Kiss him, Ratty," he instructed, warmth reigniting in bubbles that bounced around his internals and made him dizzier than just the engex alone could accomplish. It felt good and he was certainly in the mood for some more of that, whatever strange shape it seemed to be coming in. He stroked the fingers of his other hand over the curve of Ratchet's face, dragging them slowly forward along his jaw until they kept up his chin just the slightest bit. Ratchet's engine gave a hard roar as Drift leaned back a bit to give his conjunx room to pass between himself and Rodimus again, but not allowing it just yet.

"Drift…," Ratchet murmured in a tone that wasn't quite remonstrance. He quieted quickly enough when the sharp tip of one talon extended just enough to threaten a small hole in his neck cables.

Curling his fingers down one at a time so they acted as a form of countdown, Drift turned his gaze back to Thunderclash. With the last fingertip snagged against the block of Ratchet's chin, the partially extended talon likely the only thing holding Ratchet in place, Drift said, "None of that. Didn't you tell me it was my decision?"

Ratchet's hand cupped deeper between his thighs, his two central fingers tapping along the Drift's modesty panels in a way that vibrated sensation into the hidden sensors. Squirming under the assault, further ignoring Rodimus' fondling, Drift glared at Ratchet. "What's wrong, Drift?" Ratchet asked, smirking. "Thought you were the one making decisions here."

Catching Ratchet's chin in his hand again, Drift moved his other to catch hold of Thunderclash in the same fashion. He turned his glare at the amused Thunderclash, then gave them both a tight squeeze. He could feel the sparkle of engex behind his optics, the burble of it across his brain module, as he spoke. "I am. So, bearing that in mind, I think it's time the two of you stopped being smarmy assholes and started sucking face so I can watch."

"You're right, Ratch," Thunderclash said with a crooked grin, finally deciding to speak up. He tilted his helm just a bit, as far as Drift's grasp would let him, giving Drift a saucy onceover. "He does get feisty."

Turning on Ratchet with another glare, this one rather annoyed, Drift demanded, "You talk about me with him?"

"We talk about Rodimus, too, if it makes you feel better," Ratchet replied. His grin turned sly and he gave a little waggle of his orbital ridges. "You know, just the sort of thing best friends do with each other. You want to tell me you don't gossip with Rodimus?"

Drift glanced toward Rodimus without turning his helm and found his best friend struggling not to laugh. Those golden spoiler wings bumped and clattered in the little space they had crept against the back of the bench—the surest sign he was going to be no help. With a smiling sigh and a bubble of humor filling his chassis, Drift dropped his hands to wrap them around Rodimus' where they still rested at Drift's hips. He yipped as agile medic's fingers teased the manual release of his modesty panels and turned sour look on Ratchet. "Not fair, Ratty."

He quickly gave up the pretense of anger, though, when Ratchet nuzzled into the side of his neck. "So what's it gonna be, Drift?" A kiss was pressed to the corner of his jaw, leading to Drift tilting his helm to give him more room. "Love of my life…." The wet tip of Ratchet's glossa flicked through the hollow just below that spot and Drift bit his lip on a soft gasp. "Owner of my spark…."

Laughing, Drift pushed him away before catching both him and Thunderclash around the back of the neck. He looked from one to the other, glanced across at Rodimus and saw the agreement in those Matrix blue optics. "Why don't you shut the frag up and show me how you kiss your best friend, hm?"

Ratchet turned his helm and laid a kiss to the white armor along Drift's inner wrist. With his usual confident swagger and the cocky grin that did things to Drift's internals, he said, "Don't get your gears out of line, sweetspark. Let me show you how it's done."

[the-haunted-office]

( @tanfourism - Continued from here!)

Context clues. Oh he wants context clues. Ghostday is about to give him some context clues herself, but is caught ahead of time by Thursday, who turns to look at Ghostday. That’s all it takes - just the one look - to get her stand down, although she does so grumpily.

The living Day returns her attention back to Kevin, her smile having never wavered the entire time. He’s armed and could probably very easily kill her and pillage their entire office and do whatever else he came here to do before anybody could really do anything about it. But considering he came from outside, from where she has seen no other humans (up until now), she’s banking on this being more of an act of desperation than him seeking out violence for the sake of violence.

“Warden,” she echoes a little bit in confusion. “Warden? Who’s th- Ohhh, you mean Cyrus? The grumpy, stuffy old British guy who was berating you for breaking the window a few minutes ago? Ahahaha, that’s interesting! I’ve never heard anybody call him a warden before. Around here he’s called a Narrator - as am I. He’s just the one manning the control booth today.”

Her lips then quirk to the side a bit. This person thinks Cyrus is the one in charge. She takes great satisfaction in knowing that, when it comes down to it, she’s the one who calls the shots around here.

Ghostday lets out a cackle too, for her thoughts on the same page.

“Ghostday,” says Thursday, gesturing back to the ghost while still addressing Tanfour, “and I appreciate the concern, but we’re actually quite all right for the moment! I don’t feel there is any cause for concern here. Seems like a misunderstanding to me.”

“The misunderstanding here,” Cyrus’ voice drones through the office again, “is that this young person feels it acceptable to go around breaking people’s windows and then insulting the property owner over their rightful displeasure over it.”

“AS I WAS SAYING,” Thursday says, raising her voice and shaking her head, “a simple misunderstanding. What’d you break the window for, my friend? Is there something in here you need? Shelter? Food? Supplies? I’ve seen the world outside of this office and it doesn’t look the least bit friendly. Fascinating, exciting, but not friendly. I mean, shoot, there were swarms of zombies holding knives when we first walked out there a few weeks ago. And then my friends from the Lobster Mafia came in and got rid of them all for us. Don’t ask how they did it because I honestly don’t know, the point is the zombies are gone here, now, but who the hell knows what all else is out there? You surely must, because you’re from the outside! So you’re here for something presumably for your survival. What do you need? We might have it and if it’s something not entirely vital to us, you can have it. And then maybe you can tell us about all that’s out there!”

[elxgantcaptain]

@grandvizier meta time: what do you think would hook's long-term reaction be after he killed pan? do you think he would fall into some sort of limbo? do you think he would be nostalgic about pan in any way? maybe depressive? would he feel useless, not knowing what to do with his life anymore?

/ I think you're right in thinking that he'd be a little bit in limbo.

Don't get me wrong, at first, if he found he had completely and utterly SUCCEEDED in killing Pan, he would be overjoyed, he'd be ecstatic! The party would last for a week! But then when that died down and the realisation sets in...

Hook has nowhere else to go? The world he left is no longer his own if he left Neverland, everyone he knew is dead and he's so stuck in the past and his own time, would he even be able to fit into modern day? Would his CREW? Would he be able to turn around and tell them that they can no longer plunder and pillage as they had done all those years before being trapped??? Would they mutiny against him?

And if he stayed in Neverland, what purpose would be for him there now? Its an empty island merely filled with fairy magic and danger. Would he attempt to perhaps kill all the fairies? Stop any other children being taken for play and to become changelings? Maybe?

He'd feel useless, yes, he won't know where to turn and what to do. His life would have no meaning, but he doesn't even think about this during the chase and the hunt for Pan. He never stops to wonder what he'd do AFTERWARDS.

He merely thinks about how he would be free from torment again. That he'd be FREE again. Sadly, it is not quite so easy.

[anotherneworld]

Can't talk about this anywhere else because people get weird about it, so I'm gonna write it down here so it's out of my brain.

C/W my twenty-year battle with suicidal depression and it's current iteration

I'm 22 discs in to the 32 disc audiobook of Stephen Markley's epic The Deluge. It's a climate crisis novel that is clearly his magnum opus, and it took 20 discs, but now I'm filled with existential dread every hour of every day, because I think his predictions are 100% correct and will likely happen within his proposed timeline (10 years, give or take). Everything he writes feels not only possible, but super-probable, especially when faced with the looming spectre of next year's election cycle. Anyway, blah blah blah, planet uninhabitable by 2040, food shortages and fires and famine and floods and the full dissolution of the arctic ice caps.

I maintain that you can understand that this is where we're heading (i.e. live in a state of climate despair) while actively doing what you can to make choices that benefit the planet. I fully understand that we are completely doomed and that there's nothing we can do to fix it at this point; that bed is made, and we're all going to have to sleep in it sooner rather than later.

I'm very grateful to not have children and to know that once my folks are gone, I don't have to stick around to see what happens. I said that on another platform and a well meaning friend was like, "don't talk like that!" Okay, but why not. It's absolutely true. My folks are the only people who will be truly and lastingly hurt by my checking out early; a few other people may be momentarily inconvenienced or sad, but they'll get over it in a month and life will go on.

At this point, I firmly believe that the push towards suicide-prevention is a tool of capitalism to keep people feeding into said system of inequality and greed. Society doesn't want you to kill yourself because you are a creature unique to this planet and your hopes, dreams, and potential will be lost if you leave. Yes, potential will be lost, but it's the potential to be a cog in the machine that funnels as much money as possible to old, primarily white, men at the top of society's food chain, and if everyone started jumping off buildings, who would work for long hours with little pay so that said old, primarily white men could fly around on rockets in space?

This is why I can't go to therapy because I'm not paying $120 out of pocket once a week to have an agent of capitalism try to convince me that it's necessarily and preferable to stick around on a dying planet to make a rich man more money than it is to peace out of this awful system. I don't buy it; the entire profession is a scam dreamed up, once again, by capitalism.

Killing myself would be better for the planet as a whole (as dead people use fewer resources, and honestly fuck capitalism) and as soon as I figure out a way to do it where I, personally, do not feel pain, then I'm gonna do it. I don't think it's fair to insist that people who had very little to do with pillaging the planet and setting up a system where only the very wealthy are guaranteed any sort of survival stay alive to experience untold pain and suffering during our upcoming climate disaster.

Anyway, tldr; I wish I could find a way to peacefully end my life.

[otter1962crystalball]

What's Behind Door #1?

I’m sure that we all agree that it is fun to dream sometimes. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks. Some of these dreams are a little out there, but hey, that’s why we call them dreams…

I’ve been dreaming of a time when money wouldn’t be an issue for me. Everyone is struggling right now. There are people out there who can’t pay their bills or get enough food on the table. There are others who have had to sell everything to just survive. I have this recurring dream that I will wake up and the lottery ticket that I bought will be lucky and have me hit the jackpot. I’m dreaming here, really I am. I realize the probability of winning the LotoMax or Lotto 649 here in Canada. I checked and the odds of winning LotoMax is a staggering 33,294,800 to 1 and lotto 649 is 1 in 13.9 million… So, it’s a dream. So why do I keep buying tickets? I do so because my money is tight too. I live in a home that was meant for two people’s wages. I’ve hung on to it and will continue. My poor old truck died two years ago and I had to buy a new (used) car… There are always a bunch of expenses…

I dream about travelling the world. I think that I stand a better chance with this one. If I can manage to retire comfortably, then I can probably travel on a regular basis. I dream about going to Australia, New Zealand, South America, Japan and Norway. I’d love to explore the UK and follow the path of my ancestors, the Vikings. By the way, they have the bad rap of being pillagers and rapists and murderers. Not that different from any cultures. There were a lot of bloody situations. I digress though. The Vikings were actually excellent farmers and once they settled in England, they calmed down. There are a ton of references to the Vikings in English history, so I’d love to pursue it.

I’ve had several long term relationships with me. Some of them were actually very fulfilling and non dysfunctional. I’ve written about my former marriage to a raging narcissist so I won’t go into that, the one that followed my ex husband, who turned out to be more of a narcissist than my ex husband.  Live and learn they say. It brings up the question of what would I want in a relationship?

We all dream of our white knight on a horse. There were times when I settled on someone who was breathing… All humour aside, I felt that any attention was attention at least. I allowed a lot of nonsense to go on in some of my relationships, in which I played a part. Nonetheless, I have this little dream about meeting a man at my age. So, what would he be like?

Above all, he would have a good head on his shoulders and he would able to realize what I’ve spent years learning - to take care of oneself first in order to allow someone into your life. Secondly, he would be happy to receive me the way that I am - my quirks, my injuries, my snoring and loud disco music sessions as I make dinner. Ultimately, I want a man who will not want to change me. I would honour him in the same way: accept him for who he is. I don’t think it is too much to want to find a man who loves to smile, loves to have fun and isn’t afraid to show his emotions. I do cry at certain times at the movies and on Netflix. I don’t often get the change for someone to see that though. So, if he cries at sad and moving movies, great. Maybe it’ll loosen me up enough to do the same. I’d like someone who wants to experiment with life and get out and do things that are just wishes - like skydiving or climbing Kilimanjaro. They don’t even have to be that grandiose. I’d be happy to get up at a karaoke and actually sing in front of people or learn to dance like no one is watching. Someone who has the desire to seek these things out would make me very happy. By the way, if he were to like to sit on the couch and watch science fiction or whatever would be nice too.

My good friend, Maddox, who has a podcast called “The Authentic Gay Man Podcast,” told me that if we believe that it is possible then one day it will happen. He says that if we emit high positive energy, we are more likely to meet people the same as me. So, I have worked on my energetic attraction and learned a lot about myself. I think that it has enabled me to see that there will be someone out there for me and that it could happen at anytime. Tell you what, if it does happen, I will write a blog entry about it. I think I will title it, “Door 1, Door 2, or Door 3? He’ll be behind Door 1! 

Carpe diem!

[apphiarothowrites]

In the aftermath, well after the parties and after everyone's parted ways, Marco decides he wants to return to Sphinx.

Ace goes with him.

Shanks gives them a lift and Ace learns a lot from the man in that short time. He learns about his father, about Shanks (holy fuck, the man's a celestial dragon??), and about what might be waiting for Luffy at the end of the Grand Line.

He does not learn why Marco and Luffy were talking the way they were at the end of Wano.

They get back to Sphinx and learn that Edward Weevil defended the island in their stead. They rescue the dumb bastard and kick him and his mom both off the island (after saying polite thank yous for defending the place for them). They settle back down.

He still doesn't learn what's going on with Marco and his little brother.

It bothers him for some but he never pushes nor asks. It's obvious Marco's still mulling over things, still chewing on whatever about "Joyboy" is stuck in his craw. He keeps getting distant looks on his face, thoughtful and sad.

Then the final battle comes and they come to Luffy's aid just like everyone else who can. In the quiet before the storm, when everyone's watching the coming Marines and their Pretender on the Empty Throne start to line up for the coming fight, Marco pulls Ace aside to a private little alcove.

"I should have told you all this before now-yoi." Marco starts. He's frowning, regretful. "But you deserve to know."

"This is about what happened on Wano." Ace guesses, correctly.

Marco nods once. "I'm old, Ace. Old as Zunesha. Older, maybe, I've kind of lost track-yoi."

He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. "800 years ago, when the Alliance of 20 turned on us, Joyboy and I were. Brothers-the same way you and Luffy are brothers. We raided and pillaged and fought this Alliance against our people with everything we had. Then one day-yoi..."

He swallows thickly. "One day we found a cache, a hidden chest full of fruit. Each one was different, each one was strange, and we could tell there was something weird about them. But we'd been on the run for weeks and starving after our last fight, so we figured we'd keep the thing and eat on the run-yoi. He ate this round, purple fruit with swirls on it..."

Ace blinks, remembering the sight of Luffy's fruit.

"I ate what I thought was a really nice looking pineapple." He grins, mirthlessly. "They tasted horrible but we pushed through. It was like something came alive inside me. Something settled and took hold and it was like a part of me I didn't know was missing was suddenly back where it belonged."

Ace remembers the foul taste of the mera-mera. How fire came alive inside him, burning him up from the core out, and how natural it felt to be the fuel and then become the thing eating the fuel. An unknown missing piece coming home.

"When the enemy caught up to us and we fought back again, everything changed. We thought we could turn the tide of the war-yoi. We gave our allies the fruit in the chest, we all became different, and Joyboy hatched a plan. I stayed with the army and our allies, he left to go set things up. We waited, and fought back, and waited and fought. He never came. His plan never happened. They used our own weapon against us, brought fire and death from the heavens, and still Joyboy never returned-yoi."

Marco looks down. "I spent decades searching for clues after we-the other survivors and I-split up. Everything in the world was wrong, no navigational equipment worked right any more and maps were useless because the world was islands where it used to be continents. I found a place, at the end of the world, where Joyboy left his last words. He knew, you see-yoi."

"He knew what the fruit we ate were. Knew from the start-he was driving us to find them for our allies. He pointed out the pineapple to me because he knew exactly what it was. He ate the purple fruit because he knew. Our enemy-that pretender on the throne-found a way to contain things inside fruit. Concepts, elements, mythical creatures, gods-all into an edible form that mortals could possess. Joyboy made me what I am today-yoi." Marco says, voice going bitter at the end.

"And then he fucking abandoned us. His last words have no explanation for what he did after writing them. Nothing to imply he was being hunted, nothing that said he was sorry-yoi. Just a lousy fucking explanation with no justification or satisfaction."

Marco's eyes meet his and Ace wants to cry. He wants to hug Marco close and never let him go. "But why were you afraid? Why were you angry at Luffy?"

Marco huffs and looks away. "The same reason you were angry at Sabo, the same reason you were sad about Sabo. He was my brother-the idea that he was back, randomly and seemingly out of nowhere-and the idea that I had to face him after all he's done. What if he was the angry one? What if he hated me in the end and he was back to finish what our enemy started-yoi?"

Marco shakes his head. "But the fruit isn't him. The Drums of Liberation are all the fruit-the visage and the changes in Luffy when he's in Gear 5 are only from Nika. He isn't Joyboy, he just has the same things, the same tools, that Joyboy had back then. He isn't my brother. My brother's been dead for a very long time-yoi."

"But, the way you two talked..." Ace says and frowns.

"Yeah. That was Nika too." He tells Ace. After a pause, he says "Nika knew Joyboy just as well as the phoenix knows me and the fire knows you-yoi. He just...told me through Luffy, the things Joyboy wished he could have said before he was gone."

Ace does hug him then, wraps him tightly in his arms. It takes Marco a minute to hug him back. He ignores how Marco shakes, the sizzle of tears dripping and evaporating off his shoulders and chest, and ignores how the man breaks down. He only focuses on how he can keep him together.

A timeless fear

(sort of, kind of, continuation of A Timeless Feeling but focusing on something else)

Ace doesn't notice it until after Marineford. Until after Marco freaks the fuck out and, in the process, freaks out the World Government.

Marco saves him, rebuilds his ruined body nearly from the ground up, and then rips Akainu to shreds in the way only Haki can inflict on a logia user. He doesn't remember that part, only a distant warmth like waking up under a nice blanket, but he's heard all about it from literally everyone. Even a quote from Crocodile ended up in the papers, "I always knew he was hiding some kind of beast inside him, no one eats a Mythical Zoan and doesn't end up less than human after."

But it isn't Marco's edge of restless animal energy that seeps into his grins and flares feathers on his shoulders when he's hiding that he's angry about something. It isn't Marco's eyes glowing at night, just a little (so subtly that it disappears in the daytime unless he's in a dark room). It isn't even his increased propensity to stalk the deck like a predator that sets off Ace's sense that there's something deeply strange going on.

It's Luffy's wanted poster.

When the crew disbands after the payback war (a hard stalemate that left Marco almost literally licking everyone's wounds and Teach with a new scar on his belly), Marco retreats to Sphinx and Ace follows. He could go hop islands until he meets up with Luffy and train with him, but the idea of hanging around Silvers Rayleigh makes his hair stand up on end. He's not ready to face someone so close to his father. So he goes with Marco instead.

Things settle down for the two of them. Ace might even call them happy-the villagers adore them both, he thinks he's about to adopt literally every child on the island, and the little house they built together is perfectly positioned to guard against anyone coming through the waterfall entrance while still having an overlooking view of the valley. It's not as exciting as the sea, and Ace sometimes itches to go fight waves and sea kings again, but two years after Marineford he can say that Marco finally means it when he smiles.

Then Luffy does something on Punk Hazard and Dressrosa and his first new wanted poster is dropped off with the mail and newspapers. His whole crew, actually, has new posters and he rushes to slap them on the wall he and Marco keep of everyone's activities. He plasters it over the top of Luffy's first poster and steps back, admiring how far his little brother has come.

When Marco comes home, he doesn't notice at first. But Ace definitely notices when Marco does finally see the new poster. He freezes, predator still, in the main room of their home with his head turned and tilted just slightly. His eyes are glowing, like always, but it's brighter than usual. More intense.

Ace calls his name and it seems to startle him.

"You alright there, blue bird?"

Marco, literally, shakes his off. Shoulders rolling, he nods and says "Yeah, just reminded me of something is all. When did the new posters come in?"

[healinghyunjin]

Wolfsbane

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (fem)

Genre: romance, angst, fluff, smut; historical!AU, arranged marriage!AU, strangers-to-lovers, 18+

Word Count: 16.7k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of warfare/violence, mentions of blood, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, outdated sexual norms/attitudes

Author’s Note: Feedback and reblogs are what keep me going - so any and all thoughts are greatly appreciated!! This is unedited because I just wanted to get it out lol; I will be doing a read-through tomorrow for errors, but if you guys find any in the meantime, please let me know!!

Summary: You took a deep breath before lifting your head, staring right at Chan. “I can be your collateral – as your wife.”

As you trudged up the stone stairway, heavy buckets of water swinging from your arms, you stopped to wipe the sweat off your forehead – and curse the day your father had ever been born. 

One of the captains, a tall, built archer overseeing the supply stockpile, caught sight of you, and, aghast, rushed down to help. 

“Milady, you shouldn’t be carrying loads like that all this way by yourself!” 

“I appreciate the sentiment, Captain Jeong, but – if I don’t, who’s going to?”

You’d been under siege now for weeks, and morale inside was wearing very, very thin. Everyone knew that you were fighting a losing battle. 

Once the two of you had lugged the water buckets up to the ramparts, you quickly got to work distributing water to the hot, tired archers and pulling aside those that needed medical attention. There were only a few, luckily, with mild injuries, but you couldn’t take care of them until Jeongin came up with your bandages and salves and more water.

As the two of you herded the injured men into some shade, you turned to the captain, wanting to assuage your guilt in some way. 

“I know words don’t mean much right now, but I’m sorry that you all are having to go through all of this…” you trailed off, not knowing what else you could say. 

He leaned against the parapet, looking down at you with a wry half-smile. “Yunho. You can call me Yunho, milady…It’s really not that bad, compared to things we’ve gone through before…the boys down there seem like they want to wait us out more than anything. We haven’t lost any men since the first day they showed up.”

“Thankfully,” you said grimly. “If they threw everything they had at us, we wouldn’t last a day.”

For you had no ordinary enemy waiting outside your gates right now. The Bangs were only spoken of in hushed whispers in these parts, the collective memory of their ruthless might and devastating tactics stretching back for centuries. While your grandfather had painstakingly managed to wrangle together a careful peace, allowing an entire generation to grow up without the fear of war looming over their heads, your father – with his heavy-handedness, his hubris and sheer stupidity – had torn it all apart in  a few simple, greedy strokes. Then, when the Bangs rightfully demanded their fair due, he’d turned tail and fled in the middle of the night, leaving you and Jeongin behind to clean up his mess. 

And now, you had the scion of that nefarious family camped out just a stone’s throw away from you: Bang Chan. There wasn’t a child in the eight realms who hadn’t heard of his name, his frightening skill as a warrior, or his fiery hair - dyed in the blood of his enemies, as the rumors had it. You knew they were ridiculous - but you still couldn’t help the slight shiver that ran down your spine. 

Given the events of the past weeks however, you were more skeptical of the man’s reputation. Bang Chan was clearly formidable, an impressive combination of intelligence and might and masterful leadership. But if he was truly the bloodthirsty monster the stories made him out to be, he would have just smashed his way through your small kingdom in days, enslaving and pillaging your people for all their worth. This careful siege was the sign of a man with great restraint – and enough forethought to realize this was a war nobody here wanted to fight. 

At the sound of a shout behind you, you shook off your somber thoughts, turning to see Jeongin running at you like a madman, frantically waving a letter. 

“Innie, where have you been? And did you not bring any wa-”

“No, stop, this is important! It’s a message from the southern borders – and the messenger said that it’s urgent.”

The southern borders? That was the direction your father and his men had headed in when they’d left, and you hadn’t had any word from him since. 

You hastily took the scroll from him, breaking the seal and unrolling it so that both you and Jeongin, peering over your shoulder, could read it. 

And what you found there took your breath away. 

My lord and lady…

I write with somber tidings. At your command, we were scouting in search of His Majesty, The King’s party at our southern borderlands this morning when we found the remains of five men. Their clothing, height and weight all corresponds with them being His Majesty, The King along with his four knights, and I myself, along with three other men, were able to positively identify each of their identities. 

We are currently en route to the castle with the remains, which we have done our best to preserve. I am writing you this missive in strict confidence so that you may take the necessary actions in the meantime. 

“The king is dead, long live the King…” you whispered, turning to look at your brother with wide, shocked eyes. Jeongin was pale, swallowing nervously as the weight of what had just happened truly hit him. 

“The king is dead, long live the King!” The two of you turned to see Yunho, new fire blazing in his eyes, bending a knee to Jeongin and bellowing out the proclamation. 

Across the ramparts, men stopped what they were doing in shock, dropped their weapons and took a knee as the chant spread like wildfire. In a matter of seconds, you and Jeongin were the only people left standing amid the din; fierce pride and love in your heart, you reached up to cup his face, pressing a stately kiss to his forehead. 

There was hope. 

It had to end – now. Jeongin and you both agreed that the first and most immediate course of action needed to be ending the siege; you had no interest prolonging a war neither of you had wanted to fight in the first place. 

The very next morning, Jeongin ordered your defenders to stand down, leaving a single company of archers on the ramparts. A conspicuously blunted arrow, a thick scroll wrapped around its shaft, was expertly shot to land right in from of the enemy standard. 

Observing from the walls, you saw Bang Chan himself, the red glint of his hair unmistakeable, step out of his tent. As one of his men untied the message, Chan looked thoughtfully up at your defenses, clearly lost in thought. 

Somehow, some way, almost as if it was meant to be, you watched as Chan’s eyes slowly came to land on you. Even from so far away, the intensity of his gaze seared through you. Within the blink of an eye however, Chan’s attention was drawn away to the scroll, leaving you wondering if you’d just imagined the moment. 

While a lesser man would have gloated, reveled in his victory, Chan was made of better stuff. As he read through the letter, you saw his features slightly relax; he granted himself a moment to briefly close his eyes before turning back to his commanders. Before he disappeared into his tent however, he looked up your way yet again; when his eyes finally found yours, he gave you a gentle, but regal nod.

The reply came back quickly. Chan agreed to a cease-fire and convene a council in the castle with your advisors and his to negotiate terms. For his own safety, he would additionally bring his personal guard in with him; he didn’t need to spell out what the consequences of any betrayal would be.

For the first time in weeks, the great drawbridge was lowered. As the church bells tolled in sonorous joy, you watched your sweet Jeongin, the royal diadem awkwardly perched on his head, ride out with your knights to welcome Chan – your new overlord, you realized suddenly with a pang in your heart – and his party. The two men formally clasped hands, exchanging the customary greetings; as they turned to head inside the castle, you hastily jumped down from your perch. You were already an unwanted invitee for this council meeting – you shouldn’t make it worse by being late. 

While your father had been a stickler for traditional norms, it was Jeongin who called the shots now. He’d made it very clear that it was your choice to come to the council or not, and if you did, he would make sure that your opinion was respected. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

You arrived just in time, running up to Jeongin’s side just as everyone was about to enter the chamber. Your brother flashed you a quick, heartfelt smile before discreetly squeezing your hand, giving - and receiving - strength before this first, perhaps biggest, test of his kingship. 

“Your sister, I presume?” You turned to see the man, the legend – Bang Chan himself – walking up to the two of you, studying you with intelligent, thoughtful eyes. 

While you’d caught glimpses of him here and there from the ramparts, you were not prepared for the sight of the man that stood in front of you now – Chan was handsome. While he may not have been tall, he was still physically imposing, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a strong, masculine jaw. For someone who spent so much time on campaign, his skin was still somehow milky pale, a trait that only set off his dark, almond eyes and full, pouty lips to full effect. 

You realized that you should probably be scared of him; after all, this was a man whose supposed bloodlust was the stuff of scary bedtime stories. But - as you watched the way he carried himself, the way he looked at your and Jeongin’s still entwined hands with gentle understanding in his eyes - something told you that Bang Chan was a man you could trust. 

At the sound of his voice for a second time, you snapped your gaze back down to the ground, flushing slightly as you realized you’d ended up staring at him. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Princess – about your intelligence and bravery and skill as a healer. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You were taken aback a little by the sincerity of his praise, the warmth in his gaze as he gave you a small bow, let alone the fact that he even acknowledged your presence, something that – judging by the disapproving glances of his advisors – was a courtesy that you, a princess of a defeated nation, didn’t deserve. 

 Not really knowing how to respond, you merely murmured your thanks, sinking into a deep curtsy in front of him. 

There was just something about him – something magnetic – that sucked you in, rendered you almost mute in front of him – and you needed your wits about you for what was about to go down. Therefore, you quickly made your excuses and slunk back to hide behind Jeongin. So much for your so-called bravery. 

As the heralds announced the formalities necessary to begin the meeting, the disappointed advisors from before now looked outright shocked as you took the seat right next to Jeongin. For Chan’s part, he kept his expression carefully neutral – though you could swear that you saw an amused smile flash across his face when you raised a challenging eyebrow at a particularly belligerent-looking general of his. 

As both sides presented their initial terms, the tension in the air was almost suffocating. It was clear that Chan and his advisors were engaged in a tug-of-war of their own to decide how to deal with your little nation. In characteristic fashion, Chan had championed diplomacy – a peaceful, bloodless annexation of your city that would keep most of its existing power structures and rules intact. 

The advisors, however, were baying for blood. Chan’s penchant for even-handedness had become a major point of contention with his generals, who didn’t take too kindly to having their influence and power snatched away from them. It was obvious that they didn’t want to be having these negotiations in the first place – they would have preferred to just crush you in battle and conquer you completely – but, since talks were happening, they were now pushing for punitive, harsh terms. 

What to do with Jeongin – and by extension, you – was another major point of contention. Chan typically allowed rulers who negotiated with him in his initial overtures to remain in power, treating them as loyal vassals but keeping a watchful eye on them. Those who fought him, however – if they weren’t killed in the fighting, they were typically relieved of their titles and estates, sent away to be a governor of another province far, far away from their own. 

Jeongin, however, was in the awkward position of having surrendered after fighting a war started by his father. Given the strength of his ties to the land and general popularity amongst the people – which greatly outweighed your father’s – the logistically simplest choice would be to leave him as King. But – could he be trusted?

It was this point that the generals zeroed in on to launch their attacks. 

“Your Majesty, you cannot rely on these people and their loyalty. The Yangs have shown again and again that they are backstabbers and cowards – they have no honor.”

Next to you, you felt Jeongin bristle, tensing at the blatant insult. Tamping your own emotions down, you laid a calming hand on Jeongin’s arm; pride was a luxury the defeated didn’t have. And, more to the point – your father’s actions had only proved what the man was saying.

Seeing the lack of resistance from your camp, the man pushed forward. “And not just them - this entire court must be rounded up and forced to pay for their actions. I would suggest, Your Majesty, that the deposed Yangs are removed to a place far, far away,” the smug, greasy lord turned to address Chan directly, a serpentine smile on his face, “and that one of us be placed in charge of overseeing this integration process.”

So you can raid and fill your own coffers at the expense of my people, you thought to yourself, lip curling in disgust at his cruel greed. 

“Lord Cho.” Chan’s voice rang out loud and clear, cutting the man off. “Your…enthusiasm for our cause is appreciated, but such flagrant disrespect will not be tolerated.” With a wave of Chan’s hand, the man had no choice but to sit down, still spluttering; your lips couldn’t help but quirk slightly at the sharp dismissal. 

What he said next though took your breath away.

“The lord general does raise a valid point.” You and Jeongin both sucked in a sharp breath; your hand immediately clutched at Jeongin’s thigh. 

“I still insist on a peaceful annexation,” Chan gave his advisors a meaningful look; they had no option but to duck their heads, simmering in resentment. 

“I am also still heavily inclined towards leaving my lord Yang here as my lieutenant and the governor in charge. But…” he trailed off for a second; you held your breath, knowing your future would hang on whatever came out of his mouth next. 

Chan lifted his head, surveying your side of the room before locking eyes with you; they were still the warm, inviting brown they’d been before – just with a harder edge to them. 

“I would need collateral.” You bit your lower lip in thought – and you could almost swear that Chan’s gaze strayed down to your lips for just a second before flitting back to your eyes. “I need something to convince me that you won’t just turn around and start plotting against me the second we leave your lands.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. What in God’s name did you have left to give? Your men, your lands, your treasury was all forfeit; all Chan’s to do what he wanted with. And anyways, the best collateral was always human. Your parents were both dead now, and there was no second or third-born son to give up as a hostage. It was just Jeongin…and you.

“Me.” 

You didn’t even consciously mean to speak up. Before you knew it though, all eyes in the room were boring into you, including Chan’s. As you looked back at him – you knew that this was what you had to do. 

“What do you mean, Princess?” Chan was still staring at you, a curious, contemplative look on his face. Moving to face Jeongin, who was staring at you with a horrified expression, you gave him a reassuring glance. As you turned back to address the full room, you reached under the table to discreetly squeeze Jeongin’s hand, trying to show him that you were confident with this decision. 

You took a deep breath before lifting your head, staring right at Chan. “I can be your collateral – as your wife.”

It was almost as if you launched fireworks in the room. Voices exploded from everywhere: muttering about your audacity, begging you to reconsider, exhorting Chan to shut you down and throw you out for your insolence – and whispering about how, in reality, it might just work as a solution. 

Once Chan’s aides had got a handle on the volume, you let Jeongin take over the talking – it was crucial for him to project a strong presence, especially given your earlier outburst. As the two of you had hurriedly discussed during the hubbub, he proposed a marriage between your two families, formally ending your enmity. Your state would come under the hegemony of the Bangs; you would be human collateral to ensure Jeongin’s loyalty, and your dowry would serve as material recompense for the fighting and damages that had been incurred. 

In the ensuing rumble of murmurs as both sides mulled over the proposition, your eyes found Chan, who was studying you with an unreadable expression on his face. This time, you openly held his gaze, trying to project more confidence than you actually had. You thought you saw Chan’s expression soften – just a little bit – before he closed his eyes, seeming to take a moment to think for himself. When he opened them again, they were looking straight at you, warm and clear. 

“I accept.”

The wedding was a quick, rushed affair. No one had any pretenses about what it represented – a hasty, expedient marriage of convenience – and Chan was eager to get back to his capital after weeks of being away. Ultimately, all you ended up taking away from the ceremony was the warm strength of Chan’s hand as he held yours in front of the altar, and the delicate brush of his soft lips against yours to seal the deal. 

The feast afterwards was also shorter and more subdued than typical. Chan’s reputation preceded him, and a good number of your people were still scared stiff just at the sight of him - the flashes of his blood-red hair in the firelight serving as a reminder of just who he was in case someone managed to forget. Despite Chan’s efforts to be as kindly and welcoming as possible, the only person who really talked to him was Jeongin, who, to your surprise, had seemed to warm up to his new brother-in-law considerably. As for you…not knowing where you stood, you just chose to stay quiet, answering Jeongin’s worried glances with hopefully reassuring smiles – and avoiding your husband’s curious eyes. 

Before you knew it, you were posed in the royal chambers, ripe for the taking. Shivering in your thin nightgown, you curled up on the carpet in front of the fire, hugging your knees to your chest as you stared off into the flames. The heat, while soothing, did nothing to quell the thoughts within you. 

You weren’t nervous about what was expected of you tonight, you told yourself. As a healer, you had ample experience with both the good and bad of what could happen – you’d made up sachets of moon tea for blushing girls who were only too excited to share stories with you, and you’d made up salves and poultices to heal women cursed with cruel, selfish husbands. 

As for your husband…despite what the rumors said, despite what everyone else thought, you knew somehow, deep down, that you didn’t need to be worried. Chan had only treated you with respect and kindness until now, even when he didn’t need to. Even if your night wouldn’t be spectacular, you figured that it wouldn’t be dreadful - hopefully. 

What you were thinking about was what came after. What would happen when you went to Chan’s court – when you arrived as his wife, as his consort. Here, you were used to a simple life – you spent your days growing herbs, making medicine, and saving Jeongin from whatever scrapes he got himself into. You barely had any official, royal duties to carry out. Now…you had no idea what you were signing up for.

At the sound of a knock behind you, you shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts out of your head, before getting up to go face your husband. 

When Chan walked in, still clad in his wedding finery, you were struck again by just how gorgeous your new husband was. You’d never seen him from this close before, in this intimate of a setting, and, as he softly smiled at you, all you could see were his dimples, the glow of his creamy skin in the candlelight, and the warm pools of his brown eyes. 

“W-Welcome, my lord,” you opened lamely. What was it about this man that made you so tongue-tied every time? You self-consciously walked over to him, aware that your nightgown, long and high-necked though it might be, clung to your skin – a fact that Chan, judging from the slight flush to his cheeks, seemed to be trying his best not to appreciate. 

“They really didn’t dress you with practicality in mind, did they?” He gestured to your nightgown disapprovingly, keeping his eyes fixed carefully on yours. “Here – take this, at least until you’re under the covers.” 

Before you could reach out to stop him, he unclasped his heavy cloak and draped it over your shoulders. As he leaned in to fasten it around your neck, the slight passes of his fingers over your sensitive skin and the faint whiffs of his heady, intoxicating perfume sent shivers down your back. 

Not knowing what to do now – and desperately needing to clear your head – you stood awkwardly in front of him, watching him move to take a seat on the settee and lean down to unlace his boots. 

“I can hel-”

“No,” he stopped you with a laugh. “I’ve been dressing and undressing myself for years. I’ll be fine; you should go try to warm up.”

Not knowing what else to do, you perched yourself gingerly on the mattress, clutching his cloak tightly around you. As you realized that Chan was slowly starting to peel off more and more layers, now tugging at the ties of his overcoat, you couldn’t help but still, pulling yourself to sit up ramrod straight. You weren’t scared, you repeated to yourself. You refused to be scared. 

“You look like a lamb going to the slaughter,” Chan remarked with a chuckle tinged with – regret? sadness? You weren’t sure – you just kept your eyes trained on your feet as he continued disrobing. “A proud, brave lamb, but a lamb nonetheless,” he murmured, seemingly to himself. 

You soon felt the mattress sinking under his weight as he sat next to you, soft fingers under your chin tilting your head up. “Look at me, wife,” Chan asked in a gentler tone than before. You slowly raised your eyes to his, unsure of what you would find there. As always, the man was hard to read – you could tell he buried his true self behind thick, heavy walls. Still, you thought you saw a gleam of tenderness peeking through. 

“I give you my word that I will not take your virtue until it is freely, willingly offered.” His sincerity shone through in his eyes, just as his words sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t be scared, please – I respect you too much to let any harm come to you.” 

He turned away from you abruptly, as if he’d accidentally said more than he’d intended to. 

“We should, however, pretend like I did bed you tonight – we don’t want anyone questioning the validity of this marriage.” The two of you knew very well that Chan’s generals were itching for an excuse to resume hostilities – and there would be nothing better than an unconsummated marriage for them to force Chan to put you aside and thus destroy the treaty you’d sacrificed yourself for. 

“What will we do about the blood then, my lord?” Being a healer yourself, you of course knew that not all women bled their first time. However, antiquated norms still dictated that, the morning after the wedding, courtiers would barge into the royal bedroom, both to tease the newlyweds and check the bedsheets for blood, “proof” that the marriage had been consummated. You’d basically created a secret, anonymous business dealing vials of fresh animal blood to noblewomen who couldn’t procure their own before their wedding night – but, with the chaos of the preceding days, you hadn’t been able to get one for yourself. 

Chan gave you a wry smile. “Well, it doesn’t matter whose blood it is, does it?” Within the blink of an eye, he’d pulled a small dagger out of his waistband, slashed a cut across his palm, and smeared his blood onto the sheets – irrefutable evidence. 

You stared up at him in disbelief, frozen as he simply cleaned the blade off, ignoring his wound. The sound of the dagger sliding home into its scabbard, however, startled you out of your daze. 

As Chan looked at you in surprise, you snatched the dagger from his hand, deftly cutting off a strip of your nightgown to serve as a clean bandage. Hastily rising from your position on the bed, you sought out a small cubbyhole hidden in the corner of the room. You had made it your responsibility to keep all of your family members well-stocked with healing salves, and there should still be some left in this room. Seizing upon the jar you were looking for with a small cry of satisfaction, you turned back to your bemused husband, who had been following your movements with intrigued eyes. 

Taking him by the uninjured hand, you led him to sit by the washbasin, immediately setting yourself to the task of cleaning and dressing the cut. While you could feel your husband’s gaze intently studying you, you shied away from looking at him, choosing to focus on your task instead. Wrapping the cloth securely around his hand, you dripped candle wax to secure the bandage, taking care to not burn him or yourself. 

You were just checking to make sure the bandage was firmly bound when you heard Chan’s voice softly addressing you. 

“Did you make that salve yourself?” 

Now that your initial wave of adrenaline had worn off, you felt yourself becoming a little hesitant again. What would Chan think of you, of your skills? So, you nodded timidly, fiddling with the edges of the bandage to avoid looking into his eyes. 

“Wow.” You looked up to find Chan with a warm smile on his face, eyes looking at you with admiration. “Where did you learn to do all of this, pet?”

Tendrils of warmth shot through you. Chan was clearly impressed with your skills - and for some reason, his approval made you feel really good. Also…you didn’t know why, but him addressing you like that – affectionately, almost…lovingly – made you feel good inside, made you want to open up to him. 

“I-I’ve always really liked flowers and plants, even when I was a child. I got in the habit of collecting herbs for our castle physician; as I got older, I went from watching him make salves and poultices to learning how to make them myself. I got myself a formal apprenticeship with him, and it just grew naturally from there, I guess.” You shrugged it off with a sheepish, but proud grin. 

 “Ah yes, without any hard work or discipline or talent on your part, I imagine?” You could hear the laughter, the teasing note in his voice, and you couldn’t help but giggle yourself, letting yourself look back into Chan’s face - only to find him already staring at you, a hint of something like…longing in his expression. 

Chan gazed into your eyes for an extra beat before breaking away, standing up and clearing his throat. “For tonight at least, I’ll need to sleep in this room with you. I’ll be taking the floor, so don’t w-”

“No,” you blurt out, flushing as Chan quirked an eyebrow at you. “We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow, my lord, and you need your rest too…I really don’t mind if you want to sleep here with me.”

Without waiting for a response, you tossed his cloak off and jumped into bed, burrowing yourself into your half of the sheets. After a brief pause, you heard Chan stand up and walk around to the other side of the bed. Stealthily peeking out from the covers, you felt heat burn through you as your husband took his undershirt off, exposing the creamy, muscular expanse of his back to your suddenly hungry eyes. Mercifully (or not – you couldn’t decide), he chose to leave his pants on before blowing out the candles and climbing into bed. Leaving a good amount of space between the two of you, Chan sank into his side of the mattress with a tired groan – you’d clearly made the right choice by letting him get quality sleep. 

You dithered on whether you should say anything - whether you’d make it feel awkward or weird or anything. But after a moment of hesitation…

“Sleep well, my lord.”

You heard a muffled, but mournful chuckle in response. “Sleep has never been my friend, unfortunately.” Chan paused, seeming to weigh his words for a second before continuing. “Now that you’re here though…maybe that will change.”

After a second or two of silence in the dark, you felt the sheets rustling with motion – followed by the weight of a warm hand on your shoulder. 

“Good night – and thank you for taking care of me.” Warmth blooming through you, you reached up to squeeze his hand back, unexpectedly savoring the feeling of his skin under your fingertips. 

“Good night,” you whispered back. You went off into dreamland with a smile on your face, the heat of his touch still radiating through your skin. 

It seemed that your unconscious self lacked the inhibitions you normally did - for when you woke up, roused by the soft rays of morning light streaming into the room, you found that your body had clearly decided its feelings about your husband. 

Over the course of the night, you’d somehow plastered yourself to Chan’s bare back, throwing an arm around his waist and wedging your calf between his. You were dwarfed by his shoulders, but one of your arms had wound itself around his trim waist, placed securely on his tight abdominal muscles. 

You gulped. 

Just one feel wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Listening carefully to the sound of his breathing, making sure it was steady and even, you let your hand trace over your husband’s toned torso before carefully bringing it back…and letting it trail down to his bottom. As you snuck in a light, barely-there squeeze, you couldn’t help but frown – how was it fair that your husband had a perkier ass than you did?

Little did you know that Chan had already been awake for a while, unable to force himself to leave the warmth of your embrace, and was now desperately trying to stay quiet, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or moan at your wandering hands. 

Chan was nothing if not a pragmatic man. He’d been looking to take a wife for a while, and while his ministers back home might chew his head off for not finding a foreign princess with a massive dowry or trade deal to back her up, he had successfully managed with this marriage to end a war without significant bloodshed – always, always a win for him. 

However, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that you were the real reason he’d agreed to the marriage. You’d caught his eye from the very moment he’d seen you, standing so proudly, bravely on your castle defenses, then again in the council meeting. 

The final twist of the knife in his heart, however, came last night. As you were prettily bent over his hand in your torn gown, the candlelight illuminating your face, carefully bandaging his cut – he knew that he was starting to fall for you. 

Now, all he had to do was convince you to believe him and trust him, and hope that, in the process, your heart would begin warming to him as his had done to you – easy, right?

Muffling a sigh, Chan decided that he had let himself indulge in your arms for too long. 

“I can feel you blinking against my back, you know,” your eyes widened as you heard your husband’s lazy drawl. Snatching yourself away from him, you watched as Chan rolled over to face you, propping his head on his arm. When did he wake up? You flushed at the knowing smirk on his face. 

“I trust you slept well, pet?”  

You just nodded, still embarrassed at getting caught. “And you, my lord?”

“Yes – better than I have in a long time.” Chan sat up, lazily stretching; the satisfied groan he let out in response – combined with the sinful view of his back and arm muscles flexing – traveled right to places it didn’t need to go. 

You swallowed hard, averting your eyes quickly so Chan wouldn’t pick up on your staring. You normally considered yourself to have good self-control, but…when it came to your husband, you just fell apart. 

You needed to extricate yourself from the situation before you positively imploded from desire. “Uh, my lord – should we get up? It seems like it’s already getting late, and we probably really need to get on the road an-”

But your husband, perceptive almost to a fault, had missed nothing. As you scrambled off the bed, Chan merely leaned back against the headboard, eyeing you slyly. Arms crossed behind his head and sheets pooled around his waist, he looked like some sort of Greek god, tempting you into sin. 

Watching you with a dark, almost wild glint in his eyes, Chan just laughed. “Sweetheart, if I let you get up now, looking like that, no one will believe that I made you mine last night.” 

Your breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is – you still look too pure, too innocent. Untouched. Unmarked.” He reached an arm out, taking your hand in his. He gently but smoothly tugged you back down to kneel next to him, his grip loose enough for you to pull away if you wanted to. 

He brought his other hand up to your face, softly tracing your cheek with the back of his fingers. 

“If we want to make this charade convincing, there’s other evidence we need to fake, right? Your hair, your skin, your dress.” He trailed his fingers over each as he named it, goosebumps following in their wake.

“What I said last night still stands – and will stand.” And looking into those warm brown eyes - you had no doubt about it. “But, just for this morning… can I mess you up a little bit, pet?”

Yes, please. Your body knew its answer immediately, and the vehemence of your nod made Chan chuckle as he lifted you into his lap, settling you over his legs to protect his sanity – and your own. 

He started off tame, much to your relief. Reaching around you, he grabbed the end of your plait, which you’d dutifully done up as was your routine last night, and pulled off the tie in one smooth motion. He carefully worked his way through separating the strands of hair, tenderly shushing your whimpers when his fingers accidentally caught on a snag. When he finally reached the top of your head, he worked his fingers into your scalp, softly tugging and pulling and running his hands through until your hair was wild, forming a sinful halo around your head. 

You found yourself feeling almost lightheaded, falling into a trance like none that you’d ever experienced. The feeling of Chan’s strong, calloused fingers suffused warmth through your whole body, and you could feel yourself starting to go limp against him – fully submitting yourself to him, to do with as he pleased.  

“Don’t you think you’re enjoying this a little too much, sweetheart?” The sound of Chan’s amused voice roused you from your stupor, and you looked up at him with hazy eyes. His expression showcased so many different emotions – protectiveness, awe, enjoyment, desire – and you were entranced. The two of you just gazed into each other’s eyes, locked in a charged moment, before Chan cupped your face, tilting your face down so he could give you a sweet forehead kiss. Sparks, warmth blossomed in you at his duality: his teasingly careful, tender treatment of you – and the dark, powerful desires clearly lurking beneath.

“So…what do I get in return, hmm?” He gently teased you, softly chucking your chin on his way to the neckline of your nightgown, thoroughly searching your eyes for any hint of reluctance. When he found none, his fingers sought out the laces holding your gown closed, carefully starting to unravel them. 

“I’m just going to undo enough that it starts hanging off you, okay?” You agreed quietly, mind still lingering on his question from before. How could you reward your husband? As you studied his face, you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his beauty – his expressive, dark brown eyes; his oversized, masculine nose that you just wanted to tug at; and those sinfully pillowy lips. The soft brushes of his fingertips against the sensitive skin of your chest were slowly starting to kindle a fire within you – and you suddenly realized that there was only one thing you wanted to do. 

“Alright – this should be go-” 

You cut him off by softly, sweetly pressing your lips to his. 

Chan froze under you for a split second, mouth tense with surprise. Before you could pull away however, afraid that you’d read his body language wrong – he relaxed into you, opening his mouth under yours and allowing your tongue to tentatively delve in. 

While his lips were just as soft, just as plush as you remembered, this kiss was nothing like the perfunctory one from yesterday. Chan – his taste, his heat, his essence – washed over you like a heady wave of warmth, casting you out into a sea of passion and sensation as your lips worshipped each other. 

Ever so slowly, Chan started to dominate the kiss, swallowing your moans and claiming your mouth with intense fervor. His fingers, still tangled in the ties of your gown, pulled you closer as he leaned back, bringing your chest flush against his – and your core into the cradle of his hips. As he suckled at your lips, the sound of your soft, muffled whimpers, and the sensation of your hands shyly inching over the hard planes of his chest and shoulders all seemed to infuriate him. Abruptly breaking the kiss, he dived headfirst into your neck, licking and sucking and physically marking his lust onto your skin. The little pinpricks of exquisite pain, dancing on that ever-thinning line with pleasure, sent sparks shooting down your spine, traveling straight to the place that was aching for him most. 

You jumped as you felt strong arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer. As he ground you down onto him with seductive, enticing strength, fingers bruising the skin of your hips, Chan ghosted his mouth over the delicate shell of your ear. “Naughty, naughty girl.” At the powerful thrust of his hips into yours, you threw your head back, gasping in shock as pure heat flooded your body. 

However, the sound was enough to break through the lusty daze Chan was trapped in; pulling away from you and breathing heavily, his eyes roved over you: taking in your wide, blown-out pupils, hazily staring down at him; your swollen and puffy lips; your bruised and marked neck and chest.

“Fuck, babygirl…” you flushed harder – if that was even possible – at his dark, appraising eyes, at the barely suppressed hunger in his voice. “I really messed you up, didn’t I?” 

You just nodded mutely, hanging your head, still speechless and utterly out of it.

There was a beat of silence, and Chan hesitated. You realized too late that your lack of response, your whimpers, your silence could all have been easily misinterpreted as you watched the desire clouding his eyes give way to hints of concern, confusion. 

“Did I…I hope I didn’t go too fa-”

The rest of what he had to say was interrupted, in dramatic fashion, by the blasts of a trumpet from down the hall. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Chan swore under his breath, hands unconsciously tightening on your sides. As his fingers unwittingly clawed into the sensitive skin of your waist, you couldn’t help but flinch away from him, letting out a sharp whimper of pain. 

Chan went stiff, hands startling away from your body. “I-I’m so sorry…” he whispered, his eyes wide in shock. “I didn’t realiz- I didn’t mean to force my-”

What? Force himself? Oh no, no…Chan had drastically misunderstood what was going on, and you rushed to cut him off. “No, no, not all - you weren’t do-”

It wasn’t meant to be. At that moment, the doors to your bedchamber were flung open, and the courtiers and servants all flooded in, ready to heckle the newlyweds out of bed. At the sight of you still perched on Chan’s lap, the hubbub only increased. Your maids rushed in to haul you away, aiming to bundle you up before half of Chan’s court got an eyeful of you. Chan didn’t resist as they pulled you away from him, his arms dropping loosely to his sides, almost as if in defeat. 

You stumbled as they stood you up, thighs sore from being spread over Chan’s legs for so long. “Milady!” One of your more innocent maids gasped, eyes riveted to your exposed skin. “Y-your neck…it’s ruined,” she blurted out, tracing her fingers over your mottled chest and neck in horror. Comforting arms wrapped around you, supporting your weight as you were tucked into a warm blanket; but you could see the hostile glares your maids were directing at your husband, hear the barely muffled whispers of “violent” and “vicious” and “monster” that were being throwing around. 

You saw red. How dare they play on those rumors, say such awful things about Chan when he hadn’t done anything wrong? You angrily commanded them to hush, visibly upset enough that they quieted down immediately.  

But the damage was done. Looking over your shoulder for one last glimpse of Chan, you found him staring after you, pain, hurt and sorrow radiating out from his eyes. As your maids almost frogmarched you back to your rooms, you told yourself that you could just talk things through with Chan the first opportunity you got - tell him that he hadn’t forced his affections onto you in any way; that you knew he hadn’t meant to hurt you. You could fix this, and you could fix this soon. 

As you settled into your new life however, you came to realize just how wrong you had been. 

For not just days, but several weeks had passed by – and your husband was doing his very best to avoid you as much as possible. 

Upon your arrival, Chan had taken good care to set you up well. To your absolute delight, one of the very first things that he’d done was to have you introduced to Gaius, the castle healer and herbalist, and have you installed as an informal apprentice. You were given a lavish suite of rooms for yourself, directly adjoining Chan’s, along with a small retinue of attendants – all chosen with care to be familiar with your habits and tastes from home. Chan had also appointed a tall, clever man named Seungmin to be your chief aide, giving the two of you free rein to try your hand at whatever problems you saw fit to tackle. With Seungmin’s help, you’d already been able to start a few projects to improve the running of the household as well as to expand the castle infirmary, and in the time you had left over, you made your way down to Gaius, helping him prepare his concoctions and arguing with him about new formulations. You were busy, and you were mentally, intellectually satisfied with everything you were accomplishing. 

Emotionally, however? You were lonely. Yes, you had Seungmin at your side everyday, and he was masterful at keeping you on your toes. You’d also become fairly close to Chan’s younger brother, Felix, who’d made it a point to bring you treats from the kitchen and help you with your gardening whenever he could. But…there was only one man you truly wanted to see – and of him, all you had were glimpses. 

Most often, you ran into your husband in the halls or in the courtyard, in the few moments where he wasn’t parked behind his desk or training or caught up in meetings and audiences - it hadn’t taken you long to realize that your husband was an absolute workaholic. In those settings, he was always serious and professional, even down to the dark colors he wore, his heat-ironed, straight hair and the light kohl that was the only makeup he permitted. While he always, always had a small, but kindly smile for you when you saw him in public, he never pushed any further – though you could always feel the heat of his dark gaze on you, following you in and out of his sight. 

There were a few instances, however, where you’d gotten hints at what lay beneath that hard exterior – and what you’d seen had taken your breath away. The way his eyes crinkled, his dimples on prominent display as he tussled with his dogs, his creamy skin glowing in the sunlight. The soft pout of his plush lips, the wild tussle to his curls when he had to drag himself out of bed far too early– a heavenly vision you’d only gotten to see by chance one morning, but one that you would pay dearly to see again.  

You wondered what you and Chan would have been like – if you had been a wife he’d loved, rather than a wife he’d been handed.

Your thoughts often drifted back to that one night, that one morning where you did have him in your arms. To your surprise – and shame – those thoughts typically found you most often at night, leaving you tangled up in the sheets, a desperate ache between your thighs – one that you knew only he could truly relieve. 

You’d tried, in one of the rare moments you’d gotten him alone, to talk to him, to tell him firmly that he didn’t do anything wrong that morning. Chan had just looked at you with another gentle smile that didn’t reach his eyes, telling you that he understood before making his excuses to walk away, leaving you behind knowing that - no, he didn’t understand.

And the one door separating you from the object of your desires, your own husband – it stayed locked. 

It was your fault. At the end of the day, yours was an arranged marriage – one contracted for politics and practicality, not for love and partnership. Yes, from the way Chan had looked at you the day of the treaty, from the way he’d treated you in bed – you’d thought that there might be something there, the tenuous glimmers of a connection starting to build between the two of you.

But maybe you’d mistook mere interest, casual lust for something more.

You should have known better, you scolded yourself. Chan had no obligations to you emotionally or romantically. You were just the fool who wanted too much. 

And that was that. 

Until…

One serendipitous session of eavesdropping changed everything.

You’d set the afternoon aside to head down to the infirmary, itching to put your hands to good work. To your delight, Gaius didn’t disappoint, giving you a list of herbs to prepare for him. 

“Belladonna, Gaius? And foxglove? Who are you trying to poison now, huh?” You joked, nudging the old man as you passed behind him. 

Rather than taking the bait however, Gaius merely waved you off with a short laugh – and a smile that seemed just a touch tighter than it should be. You shook your head, cringing at yourself as you headed back out into the warm sunlight; you were the lady of the house, and new at that - you couldn’t just go around joking with people like that just yet. 

But soon, all thoughts were pushed out of mind as you knelt down in the dirt, slipping your gloves on before starting the routine you knew like the back of your hand - checking that the plants were healthy, brushing through the leaves to find the darkest, healthiest ones to snip off, and dousing them with spirits to let them sit before you took them back to your workroom. The methodical nature of the work; the ability to do something hands-on, to get your hands dirty - you never felt more at peace than when you were practicing your craft. 

Just as you were finishing up, about to head back to your the workshop, you were startled by the sound of footsteps - a rarity in this part of the garden. Without even thinking about it, you quickly ducked behind a bush, wanting to get a peek at who was invading your territory like this. 

To your surprise, it was Chan and Felix, engrossed in a seemingly heated conversation as they walked out into the courtyard. Chan was dressed simply in a loose dark robe and pants, his hair mussed from his fingers running through it all morning, but you could feel your heart beat just a little faster, as it always did, at the first sight of your husband.

You debated whether you should go say hello. Chan would probably run away as soon as he saw you - you sighed to yourself yet again at the thought - but Felix would make for good company as you went about your tasks. 

Your decision was made for you, however, when you realized that the topic of their conversation was you. 

“I’m your brother, so I’m going to say this plainly. You need to stop being an idiot, hyung.” 

Your eyebrows shot up almost on their own; Lixie was always the peacemaker - you’d never heard him be so forceful before. 

You listened in as he continued, voice only increasing in pitch. “You aren’t doing any favors for yourself or your wife if you keep ignoring her!”

Chan, the most agitated you’d seen him yet, scoffed at Felix’s words. “Don’t oversell it, Lix. She’s definitely happier not having me around.”

“And how could you possibly know that if you don’t spend any time with her?”

Chan exploded. “Because the first time I had her alone, I hurt her, Felix! You didn’t see what I did to her neck, her waist...” He turned away, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. “Her maids looked at me like…like I was the monster everyone thinks I am.”

Pain coursed through you at his words. You should have anticipated that Chan would know of the rumors about him…that he could easily be hurt by the rumors about him. And you had just played into letting him internalize them all again. 

Your head sank down to your chest with feelings of self-reproach, with guilt. Yes, Chan’s insecurities weren’t your responsibility to fight for him; but at the same time, you could have done more to help him open up - to show him the way you truly felt about him, to help him feel comfortable enough with you to actually talk about what happened. 

By the time you looked back up, Felix had walked up closer to Chan and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. When Felix spoke again, his voice was much softer. “Did she say you hurt her?”

“No…”

“Has she tried to talk to you about it?”

“Yeah-” 

“And what did she say?”

“I-I didn’t really give her a chance to talk about it fully but…she said something about how I didn’t do anything wrong, but…”

“But what?” 

“I’m her husband, Felix…she probably feels obligated to give herself to me, whether she truly wants to or not.” 

“But you won’t know what she wants unless you ask her right?”

And at that, Chan had nothing to say. Felix went in for the kill. 

 “I’ve seen the way she looks at you – the way she lights up when you walk into a room, the way her eyes follow you around wherever you go.” 

At Chan’s disbelieving gaze, Felix merely raised an eyebrow, standing his ground. “It’s obvious to me that she likes you – a lot. So, please…” You watched as Felix’s fingers tightened on Chan’s shoulders, showing just how important he thought this was. “Don’t cheat yourself out of your happiness, hyung - you deserve to be loved.”

And there was nothing you agreed with more, you realized as you watched them walk off together, Felix’s arms wrapped around his brother. 

Chan deserved your love, and you deserved his - and you weren’t going to back off any longer. This was your chance, your opportunity to show Chan that his fears were unfounded – that you cared for him, that you wanted him around – that you wanted him to be yours and you to be his. If there was ever a time for you to sit up and take some initiative – it was now. 

You set your plan in motion for the very next morning. Chan was a creature of habit, and you knew that he typically took breakfast by himself in his solar before his meetings for the day. It was the perfect opportunity to get uninterrupted time with him, time where you could finally sit down and have it out with him.

Of course, that was much easier said than done. You spent most of the night tossing and turning and woke up a full two hours in advance of breakfast, spending the entire time agonizing over what to say, how to say it, what to wear, what to do when you finally saw him. 

All the fretting was helpful in a way. By the time you were outside the room, ready to knock on the door, you’d spent up your nervous energy, and you felt your mind clearing. You could do this. And you were going to do this. For Chan.

Chan was already at the table when you walked in, swallowed up in a cozy couch while working through his daily reports. Giving him a quick once-over before he caught sight of you, you smiled to yourself – Chan had clearly rolled out of bed mere minutes ago. He’d tucked his nightshirt, clearly wrinkled from a night of tossing and turning of his own, into a random pair of pants, and he kept having to brush his unruly curls out of his eyes as he bent over the parchment. 

“You’re very early today, Seung-” Lifting his head to see, Chan froze at the sight of you in the doorway, hastily scrambling to his feet. 

“My lady…” he trailed off, momentarily at a loss for what to do. But Felix’s words had clearly left their mark on him, and you watched as newfound resolve washed over him, straightening his shoulders out and lifting his gaze to yours. “Welcome,” he matched your smile with a careful, hopeful one of his own, before gesturing to the chair next to him.

As you both sat down at the table, Chan guiltily raked his fingers through his messy hair. “I’m sorry that I look like such a mess,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’m terrible at waking up in the morning, so I never get ready in time for breakfast.”

“I see you dressed up all the time,” you blurted out. “So actually…it’s really n-nice to see you like this.” Your cheeks were burning in self-consciousness - but the look of surprised happiness, of renewed confidence on Chan’s face was reward enough for you to be even more bold. 

“My lord, I - I’m here because I overheard your conversation with Felix yesterday.” 

You watched apprehensively as Chan stiffened the slightest bit at your words - but you knew you needed to do this.

“I can see why you might have thought the way that you did, but…everything you did that day, I wanted. You didn’t force yourself on me, you didn’t misuse me, and-” You seized his hands in one of yours and let the other smooth over his fiery curls, looking deep into his eyes. “You’re not a monster. The way you handled the war, the way you treated Jeongin, the way you look after everyone here…everything that you’ve done for me…” You ended in a near whisper, pausing to keep your voice from quavering. “I’d never thought that I’d have a husband who’d treat me as kindly as you have, with as much respect, as much care - I didn’t even let myself dream of a husband who’d let me work with my herbs. My lord, you…you’re everything I could have ever wanted.”

By the end of your little speech, Chan’s eyes were shining, brimming with barely controlled emotion. Slowly, hesitantly, almost as if he were handling a forbidden treasure, he lifted his hand to your face, thumb tracing gentle circles over the soft skin of your cheek. You leaned into his palm, reveling in the touch that you’d longed for for so long, and words spilled past your lips unbidden.

“I’m sorry - I should have cleared this up a long time ago, but I convinced myself that you didn’t want me…that you didn’t care for me the way I’d started to care for you.”

His fingers stilled. Chan’s head snapped up abruptly, eyes wide in surprise.

“What?” His voice came out in a whisper, in disbelief. Now that it was out in the open, you met him straight on, lips upturned in a gentle smile. 

“Yes,” you confirmed. “I don’t know exactly when or how it happened, but I - I like you. I like you a lot,” you said with a little, embarrassed giggle. You might even love him a little, you thought to yourself - but there were some things you still wanted to keep close to your heart for now. 

Chan was utterly still for a second, just looking at you with those warm, brown pools of light that were his eyes. You let yourself just look back, staying calm and confident, just wanting to show him how serious, how sincere you were. 

When he spoke again, his voice was gruff, husky with emotion. “Come here, pet,” he murmured, reaching an arm out for you. Your heart soared as you let him tug you out of your chair, easily pulling you over to his couch. You squeezed in next to him - and immediately took a deep breath. While the couch was roomy for one, it was definitely a bit tight for two - you were fully pushed up into Chan, half on his lap; his hard, muscular form pressing into you delightfully as he held you against him; the pale V of skin exposed by his nightshirt mere inches away from your lips. 

Chan took a moment to just take you in, running his palms over your arms, your back with a featherlight touch, as if he were just confirming that you were real, that you were indeed here. His touch lulled you into a pleasant haze, eyes half-closed, when he softly started speaking. 

“Did you know, love, that I wanted you even before I first saw you?” Now, it was your turn to be surprised, but Chan laughed off your look of confusion. “I first heard the rumors about you when we started out on our campaign – the fiercely intelligent, bold princess of the East, who could set bones and run a kingdom, all in one breath. And I just remember thinking to myself – a woman like that, a woman exactly like that is who I want to be my Lady. And then, when I saw you running around on those ramparts, working day and night to take care of your men…” He trailed off, sliding his hand up to cup, caress your cheek. “That might have been the first time I realized I never wanted to take my eyes off you.”

You felt your cheeks starting to burn, that shyness you always felt around him rearing its head. 

“I know I messed things up-” he laid a hand on your arm even before you opened your mouth, anticipating your protest. “I might not have hurt you, pet, but I did mess things up by making the assumptions I did and not talking to you about it. Felix showed me that yesterday, and what you’ve told me today just confirms it - I should have taken better care of you, and I shouldn’t have left you to be so alone these past weeks. I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry too.” 

And, watching you carefully, making sure you were okay with what he was doing, he slowly leaned in to seal his apology with a gentle, tender kiss, one that sent warmth spiraling through your body - that made you feel whole, complete in the ways you’d been lacking since you first experienced what it was like to be in your husband’s arms. 

But the two of you were clearly hungry for more, having been starved of contact for so long. The kiss soon started to devolve, quickly morphing from something purely affectionate to something more…charged. You moaned as Chan’s lips started nibbling at yours, demanding entrance that you were all too happy to grant. His hands had just started to migrate south, inching towards the source of your pain and pleasure and ache, when…

“Breakfast, sire!” A heavy knock sounded from outside the door, followed by the low murmur of voices gathering. You let out an involuntary whine as you realized your alone time was up, Chan’s entourage of servants waiting outside to serve him. 

“We never have good timing, do we?” In contrast to you, Chan looked rather amused, the barest hint of a smirk on his face as he took in the sight of your swollen lips, of your thighs clenching together hopelessly in search of relief. 

“Just a second!” He called out, before turning his attention back to you. “Tonight,” he whispered, the intensity of his gaze only worsening the ache between your legs, before softly pressing his lips in a placating kiss to your forehead. “You’ll be mine tonight.”

And with that, he gracefully deposited you back in your chair and called for the servants, forcing you to snap out of your daze. 

Tonight. You couldn’t wait. 

The two of you spent the rest of the morning together, working side-by-side in amiable, affectionate companionship. Ignoring the curious glances from his staff, Chan had settled you in with a massive plate of food and a small stack of papers of your own, saying that he wanted your advice on requests related to medical supplies and budgets. You smiled inwardly as you bent over your work, surreptitiously inching your chair closer and closer to Chan’s; you could see yourself starting every day like this - you and your husband, side by side. 

“Mhmm, just what I need…” 

You’d just gotten up to snag seconds from the sideboard - after all, keeping your hands off your husband was hard work - and glanced back over to see a servant bringing Chan tea. At first, you didn’t think too much of it - it seemed like the poor man was just sick, sweaty maybe from a light fever. However, something, some odd feeling that something was off about the situation, made you take a second look at him. 

That was when you noticed it. The red rash speckling across his hands, marring his right hand especially. His fingers were starting to blanch white, and he was clenching and unclenching them sluggishly - as if they were falling asleep, starting to loose all sensation.   

Your worst fears were confirmed when you saw, just barely clinging to the back of his tunic, a stray flower petal, colored that beautiful, distinctive shade of vivid blue-purple – wolfsbane.

Your blood turned to ice. 

Someone was trying to poison your husband. 

A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, your heart starting to race with adrenaline. Seeing that Chan was engrossed in his reading and not reaching for the tea just yet, you urgently took stock of everyone in the room. You knew you could trust Changbin and Seungmin, but there was no way you could inform them in time without potentially tipping off the conspirators. There were half a dozen servants milling around the room, and you had absolutely no idea who was in on the plot or not. 

You had to act, and you had to act quickly. 

Chan started to blindly grope around for the teacup, still immersed in his reading. Trying to be as nonchalant, as natural as possible, you slowly ran your fingers over his outreached hand. As his eyes snapped to you in surprise, you leaned in, stage-whispering breathily into his ear. 

“Let me serve you your tea, my lord.”

Snatching the cup out of his reach, you tried to unobtrusively pinch him, trying your best to signal with your eyes that something was up. After blinking for a second in confusion, Chan seemed to understand that you were up to something; he relaxed into his role, painting a lascivious smirk on his face and lounging back in his chair as he watched you sashay over to him.

Taking a deep breath, you draped yourself over his lap. Swirling the cup of tea in your left hand carefully – you were determined to keep Chan from touching even a drop of the poison – you leaned into his chest. As you brought your lips to his ear, Chan wrapped an arm around you to pull you close, hand smoothing along your side, temptingly close to your breast. In any other circumstance, you were sure you would have been putty in his hands. With the gravity of the current situation however – you were only focused on one thing. 

“My lord,” you whispered. “Can you look over my shoulder and watch the servants carefully for a second? See if any of them react to what I do next.”

Confusion swirling in his eyes, Chan softly nodded his agreement – and if your blood wasn’t already starting to run cold from what you were about to do, you would have found his trust in you heartwarming. 

Indulging in the sight of your husband for just a second longer, you forced yourself to turn away from him, steeling yourself to your task. 

Bringing the cup of tea to your lips, you downed its contents in one, dramatic gulp. 

At the sound of gasps behind you, Chan’s eyes widened. As he put everything together, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the servants, you watched the blood drain out of his face. 

“What have you done?” Chan’s fingers dug into your flesh, almost to the point of breaking skin; horror and anger and desperate fear all warring in his eyes as he shook you. “What the fuck have you done?” 

Without even waiting for a response, Chan sprung into action. Sweeping you up into his arms, he roared at Changbin and the other guards to seize the guilty servants – “Throw them into the dungeons; I’ll deal with them later myself” – before rushing out the door, breaking into a near run as he beelined for Gaius’ chambers. 

“Why…why would you do that?” Chan couldn’t meet your eyes, staring fixedly, almost blankly ahead as he rushed through the hallways. The slight tremble to his lip, however, and the haunted, stricken look in his eyes gave him away. “I’m a goddamn fool – I robbed us of so much time – and now…” he trailed off, unable and unwilling to finish the thought. 

You needed to conserve your strength – you knew that was imperative, if you wanted any chance of surviving the struggle you were about to be facing. But you desperately wanted to reassure your husband, to take away his pain in some way. Your arms were beginning to feel weak, but you had the energy to loop them loosely around Chan’s neck, surprising him into staring down at you. 

“I’ll be okay, my lord…” you eked out as you buried your head into his neck, lips and tongue ever so slowly starting to go numb. 

“You will.” The heat in Chan’s voice startled you into looking up at him, a newfound fire blazing in his eyes. “I refuse to let anything happen to you, love – I promise.”

You arrived at the workshop to find Gaius strangely, conspicuously absent – but he had left you a miraculous present in his place. When Chan set you down at your bench, you were stunned to find everything you could have needed – charcoal powder, the belladonna and foxglove he’d had you prepare, magnesium salts, even fresh water – all readily laid out for you. While Gaius himself was gone, he’d somehow anticipated exactly what would happen…but you didn’t have time to dwell on that now. 

Grabbing an empty bucket, you forced your fingers down your throat, trying to make yourself gag. When you finally succeeded, the reaction was violent; you fell to your knees as you retched up everything that you’d had to eat that day and more. 

Warm fingers brushed through your hair, holding it back out of your face. Chan. With soft murmurs of apology and concern, he bodily supported you until the spasms had passed and watched on intently as, with all the energy you could muster, you rushed to mix some charcoal powder with water and down it as fast as you could. 

Once you were done, you sighed in relief. “That…will help.” Talking was becoming more and more difficult as time passed, and you could feel yourself getting weaker and weaker. While you had everything that could help you in front of you, you couldn’t do it on your own; you needed someone to nurse you, watch over like a baby for the next several hours – if you even made it that long. 

“I’m glad.” You felt Chan’s warm, strong arms surrounding you from behind, willingly supporting your weight as you sank into him. “Here,” Chan closed your hands around two objects: a piece of parchment and a quill. “Write down what I need to do to take care of you – I’ll be here for as long as you need, love.” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head, and your heart still fluttered, weakly, at the casual, loving affection you’d craved for so long. 

With increasingly shaky handwriting, you wrote down basic instructions for him: keep you regularly drinking water; for every few glasses of regular water, give you a glass of magnesium water; every hour, give you a glass of charcoal water; check your three pulse points regularly, and if they were weak or slow, give you a little belladonna; and, if your heart started beating erratically – give you the foxglove and pray. 

It was a lot, especially for someone who’d only ever been in an infirmary as a patient before. But – this was Chan. 

With the intensity and energy blazing in his eyes as you did your best to teach him – you knew there was no one else who you could trust more to save you. 

The next several hours were a daze of pain, discomfort and exhaustion, your mind slipping in and out of awareness. The one constant, the one presence that you felt with you the whole time, however – was Chan. 

Wiping away your sweat and tears with soft, cool cloths. Carrying you back and forth without complaint to the garderobe. Religiously taking your pulses and listening to your heart, just how you’d showed him. Coaxing you so gently, so patiently to drink your water and take your medicine. Cuddling you in his arms, rocking you back and forth and rubbing soothing circles into your back. 

Through your delirium, you thought you picked up on snatches of different voices conversing with Chan: Felix’s slow, low tones; Changbin’s raspy, quick bursts; and Seungmin’s measured, steady words. It seemed that Chan had been running his investigation of the incident from the infirmary, resting in a cot with you held tightly against his chest. 

It was during one such conversation that you woke up, feeling the most lucid that you had until now. Still, you kept your eyes closed and squirmed back into Chan, not wanting to lose the peace of resting in his arms. 

“How is she doing?” It was Felix this time, his voice pitched low to keep from potentially disturbing you. 

Chan brought his hand up to your head, softly smoothing his fingers over your tangled hair. “I think she’s doing a lot better. She hasn’t thrown up in a long while now, and her heartbeat seems a lot steadier.” 

He leaned his head down on yours, taking a deep breath. When he finally spoke, undercurrents of barely suppressed emotions swirled plainly in his voice. “I was really worried there for a while, Lix. In the beginning, she was having such an awful time that…I seriously thought I was going to lose her.”

You heard Felix shuffle closer to the cot, a dip in the mattress suggesting he’d sat down next to Chan. “Well, looks like we thankfully don’t have to worry about that anymore…” Felix trailed off with a humph, shoving himself off the bed. “And you don’t need to worry about your bullshit idea that she hates you anymore.”

Chan let out a rueful chuckle. “You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“No, and for good reason.” You heard the sound of footsteps as Felix started walking away, but he soon came to a stop again. 

“Take good care of her, hyung – and of yourself.” 

As the sound of Felix’s steps grew fainter and fainter, you felt your husband’s arms wrap around your shoulders in a solid hug. “I know you’re up, love,” Chan pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, letting out a soft, fond laugh. “I’ve been watching over you for so long, I feel like I can do a better job of telling when you’re awake than you can right now.” 

You reluctantly cracked an eye open, peeved at being caught. Scrunching your face and fists up in a massive yawn, you didn’t see how Chan was looking down at you, like you were the most adorable little thing in the world. 

“How are you feeling, babygirl?” 

“A lot better.” You smiled up at him with soft eyes, enjoying the view of your husband from up close like this. 

Chan looked down at you hopefully. “Do you think it’s over then?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, grinning at the bright smile on Chan’s face, his dimples out in full force. “Feeling better means the poison’s out of my system now, thankfully. It’ll probably take me a while to get my full energy back, of course, but…” You heaved yourself up enough to bury your head into his neck, curling your fingers into his shirt; your husband was finally giving you cuddles and affection, and you were going to milk it for all its worth.

“You don’t have to worry about me dying on you anymore.” 

Chan said nothing in response to that, just choosing to pull you in tighter to his chest. 

As the blanket covering the two of you dropped to your waists, you noticed to your surprise that Chan was still wearing his night clothes, the same outfit he’d had on at breakfast. 

“Wait…how long was I out for?”

“It’s almost dark now, so…most of the day.”

“And you haven’t changed? You didn’t leave at all?” You’d been sure that you’d just dreamed up some of what you’d remembered up in your deliriousness, fixating on Chan’s scent and seeing him instead of someone else. But…

“Pretty much, yeah,” Chan admitted with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I got up a few times to use the bathroom, and Min brought me a bite to eat so I got out of bed for that, but otherwise…I was here the whole time.”

He loved you. The way he’d taken care of you; the way he was holding you against him; the way he looked at you, his heart laid bare in his eyes – you wondered how you could have been oblivious for so long. 

You startled him – and yourself – by snatching him up in a fierce hug, crushing yourself into him as powerfully as you can manage. 

“Thank you.” Your voice wobbled with effort. “For not giving up. For being so strong. For saving me. Without you, I don’t know if…”

“No.” Chan firmly cut you off, tilting your head up to look him straight in the eyes. 

“It was nothing, my love,” his voice cracked a little. “Nothing compared to what you were willing to give up for me.” He dropped his head forward onto your shoulder, burying his head into the curve of your neck – breathing your scent in and reminding himself that you were indeed still there. 

“I have so much I need to make up to you, pet.” You shivered at the promise in his voice, his breath dancing along your sensitive skin. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, and it still won’t be enough.” 

Cupping your face in his hands, Chan leaned his forehead against yours, just barely brushing his lips to your nose before straightening up. “But for now…get some more rest, okay? You need to recover your strength.” Overwhelmed by emotion – and tired from the talking and shifting around – you nodded, wanting nothing more than to curl up with your husband again. Chan helped slide you down to a comfortable position on his chest, strong hands holding you carefully against him. 

You drifted off to the image of warm, limpid brown eyes and a feeling of safety, stability like nothing you’d ever experienced before. 

It was only after several days that you found out what had actually happened. 

Your marriage had been the breaking point for Chan’s generals, already stretched to their limits with Chan’s penchant for diplomacy and reform, his repeated undermining of their authority and influence. So, they’d hatched a plot that could bring both of you down - murder their lord using poison taken from the herbs in his lady’s garden, setting you perfectly to take the fall for treason. You learned that Gaius had been blackmailed into extracting the poison for them; you realized that he’d known full well that they wouldn’t let him live to spill their secrets, and that was why he’d had you prepare the belladonna and foxglove - as a hint of what was coming, but also as antidotes for you to try and save Chan’s life with. You wept until you couldn’t weep anymore. 

You also learned that, for all the warmth and care he’d shown you, Chan had ice-cold metal running through his core. After that first night in the infirmary, Chan wasn’t the same. While the plot and its conspirators were slowly being unraveled, Chan always had a haunted, distracted look in his eyes - like he didn’t deserve to be in your presence, to take you in his arms until he’d avenged the wrong done to you. So when, almost a week after the incident, Chan entered your rooms with his shoulders thrown back, his gaze clear and calm and resolute once again - you knew that he’d exacted his justice, showing everyone exactly what would happen to those who mistook his kindness for weakness. That night, he finally let you pull him into your bed, let you settle against his chest and drift off to sleep, your limbs entwined, bodies curled around one another.

For the rest of your recovery, you never slept alone again. Of course, Chan insisted that the two of you would do nothing but just sleep until you were back in full health – he was Chan after all – but you were satisfied nonetheless. You finally knew what it was like to fall asleep and wake up in your husband’s warm, muscular arms every day – what it felt like to have his plush lips pressing sweet kisses into your sleep-warmed skin, what it felt like to run your fingers through his glorious crop of curls. You were happy. 

A few weeks after the incident, when your loving, only slightly overprotective husband was ready to let you go, you made your jubilant return to public life at the autumn harvest feast. While you hadn’t cared too much either way, your maids had insisted on dolling you up for the event; dressing you in a beautiful new gown that set off your eyes, your hair, all of your assets to great display. 

And as you walked down the grand staircase and caught sight of Chan, waiting for you by the door, you were incredibly, profoundly glad that you had listened to them. 

While a day didn’t go by where you weren’t mesmerized by your husband, you found that he looked absolutely lethal tonight: tight, molded leather pants, and a short black silk robe with gold detailing, tied just loosely enough to leave wide swathes of pale skin open for your perusal; his fiery hair parted to the side, smoothed up and off his forehead, smoky eyes regarding you with the lightest touch of fire in his gaze as you came up to his side, ready to enter the hall. 

“You look breathtaking,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before taking your arm in his. 

“I think that’s my line, my lord,” you giggled. “You’re lighting my very heart on fire,” you quipped, tugging at a lock of his hair with a sheepish grin on your face. But the flush on Chan’s cheeks, the wide curve of his lips as he beamed down at you - you didn’t mind a little humiliation if that was your reward.  

The feast was the most enjoyable evening you’d ever had in your life. The food, the music, the company - with Felix and Seungmin at your side, you laughed more than you’d laughed in years. But best of all was Chan’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, tucking you safely, warmly into his side. The heat suffusing your cheeks was basically permanent at this point. 

As the sips of honeyed wine you’d taken kicked in, you relaxed even more into Chan’s side, dropping your head onto his shoulder. You looked around, taking in the sights of all the laughing, smiling, merry faces around you. In a way, it almost felt as if this were your wedding feast. It fit perfectly - you as the giddy, blushing bride; Chan as the loving, doting groom; and everyone around you celebrating your union, making merry over the good fortune in front of them. And in that vein…maybe tonight would be the night that you would truly become a wife. 

Suddenly, the way your husband was pressed against your body - the feeling of Chan’s warm hand curled around your hip, his bulk pressing firmly into your side - took on a new meaning. Moisture began to pool between your thighs, and you began to shift uncomfortably in your seat as the barest hints of a desperate, profound ache settled in the pit of your belly. You wanted him - you wanted Chan more than anything you could imagine, and you had no idea how you were supposed to last for the rest of the evening in a state like this. 

However, you didn’t count on your husband’s observation skills. You jumped as the arm wrapped around your body tightened, and Chan himself leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

“You never can hide it, can you, pet?” It was all you could do to hold back a gasp at the heat of his breath against your ear, at the feeling of his fingers dancing teasingly over the sensitive flesh of your hip. “Sitting there worrying your lip, rubbing your legs together like that’s going to do anything,” he drawled, your mind going blank at the teasing lilt coloring his words. You turned your head to look at him and almost wished you hadn’t - the arch of his eyebrow, the slow, sinful curve of his lips only sent another wave of desire rippling through you. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Can we…can we please leave?”

Chan’s smile turned positively predatory. 

“Anything for you, my love.”

Smoothly, with effortless poise, Chan pulled you to your feet and made your excuses, giving the two of you the chance to escape with nary a soul the wiser. You’d barely shut the two of you into his rooms before he pounced. 

“Needy baby,” Chan murmured, backing you into the door until you could feel every inch of his warmth pressed up into your front. “You want me that bad, hmm?”

“So much,” you squeezed out, shivering as Chan’s lips brushed the softness of your earlobe, tongue darting out to trace the delicate shell of your ear, before moving to your cheek, your forehead. Ignoring the wood digging into your back, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him to you so tightly that you imagined the two of you could almost melt into one. It felt so right to be in his embrace like this - so warm, so loving - that you felt your shyness melting away. This man was yours - and you were his. 

“Chan,” you whispered, your husband’s gaze turning molten as he heard his name on your lips for the first time. “Please.” 

And with that, his lips crashed down onto yours. Heat exploded throughout your body, making your very toes curl with pleasure as Chan tasted his fill of you, hands sliding up your throat to hold your head still for him as his mouth ravaged yours. Your hands, finally granted the freedom to explore, roved wildly over his body, mapping out the dips and valleys of hard muscle and soft skin that you’d craved to touch for so long. As your fingernails dragged against the taut muscles of his abs, Chan groaned into your mouth, pulling his lips away with difficulty. 

“We didn’t wait this long just for me to fuck you against a door, pet,” he rasped out. “And that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you keep teasing me like that.” 

Sparks shot straight to your core - and you found yourself aching to see what would happen if you pushed him even more. So, keeping your eyes wide and innocent, gaze fixed on Chan’s, you let your hands wander further back, drifting lower until your fingers found the tempting swell of his ass - and squeezed. 

“Minx,” he hissed, eyes narrowing playfully. And suddenly, you felt the ground falling away from under your feet as Chan snatched you up in his arms, walking the few steps to the bed before tossing you on. You were still bouncing from the impact of the landing when he crawled onto the mattress, caging you under him as his lips descended on yours, fingers entangling themselves into the ties of your bodice. Eagerly, with soft kisses and moans and words of praise, the two of you worked each other out of your clothing, sending garments flying from the bed until your bodies finally met, skin-to-skin, flush against one another for the very first time. Your eyes fluttered shut, overcome by just how warm, how sinfully good Chan felt against your body.

Soft lips brushed your forehead, then your cheeks. “How are you feeling?” You opened your eyes to find Chan looking down at you, his hair tousled, cheeks ruddy with the first hints of a blush, and eyes glowing - clearly just as enraptured as you were.

“Blissful,” you murmured, lifting your hand up to thumb at Chan’s cheek - before arching an eyebrow at him. “And a little impatient.”

Chan blinked for a second, then threw his head back in a delighted laugh. “I should have known,” he mused, gaze sharpening as he let the toughened skin of his palms drag up your torso, goosebumps trailing in their wake. You gasped as he cupped your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh with just the right level of roughness. 

“I’m sorry I’m not doing enough for you, sweetheart,” he teased darkly, lips curving into a smirk as he watched you squirm under his hands, mewling as his fingers moved to tweak your nipples. “Let me make it up to you now, hmm?”

And in one easy, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, keeping you prone and flat against the bed as he positioned himself on top of you. “I want you to relax for me,” he whispered into your ear. “Just close your eyes and let me take care of you, okay?” With your head buried in the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, you let yourself embrace the darkness - for your senses were now purely reduced to him. The weight of his body pressing you down into the mattress. The scent of his musky perfume enveloping you, the sound of his voice murmuring into your ear. You were his - and he was all you knew. 

So, you nodded yes. 

Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, Chan twisted his hand into your hair, gathering it out of the way with delicious pressure on your scalp, before laving his tongue over the soft skin under your ear, grazing the tender flesh with just a hint of teeth. Your hands fisted into the sheets as you cried out in sensitivity, overwhelmed at the sensation. 

As he continued to suckle dark, tender bruises into your neck, his free hand roamed your body, mapping out all of the spots that made you shiver and whimper - the undersides of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the crease where your bottom meets your thigh. You moaned as he palmed the flesh of your ass, dancing dangerously close to your now leaking core. And when his fingers finally found your folds…

“Fuck, babygirl…you’re so wet,” he purred. “I could probably just slip right in like this, don’t you think?” 

You could feel the bulbous head of his cock teasing your entrance, and you clenched at the thought of how well it would fill you up, how good it would make you feel. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, he slowly started to grind his hips into yours, his hardening length catching on your folds in the most maddening way. 

“Chan,” you whispered. “P-please…,” you choked out, frantic for something. Some pressure, some friction, anything to take the edge off at least even a little.

“Hmm?” He leaned his head back into the crook of your necks, so close that you could feel his lips moving against the shell of your ear. “Did you need something, sweetheart?” 

You could feel him smirking against your skin, so pleased with himself. Smug bastard. But you were desperate – and you weren’t above begging at this point. 

“Fingers, Chan…please, I need something,” you moaned. 

Once again, you found yourself flipped over. But this time, your husband was looming over you, eyes dark and dangerous. “My angel just needs something to fill her up, doesn’t she?” And you let your head fall back, groaning in pleasure, as you felt not just one, but two fingers slotting into your entrance. 

You’d been ready for it to burn, hurt even - but you were so aroused, so desperate for relief that his fingers slid right into you, your walls sucking them in as Chan scissored you open. 

“Good girl,” Chan hissed. “Taking my fingers so well, like you were made for me.” 

“Because I was,” you whispered. “Because I’m yours, Chan…please, make me yours.” 

Chan’s fingers stilled, sliding out of you as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression. But then – in the span of a millisecond – he’d caught your lips up in a searing, toe-curling kiss, one that you knew you’d never forget as long as you lived. 

“There’s nothing else in the world that I want to do more, my love,” he breathed back, voice thick with emotion. And as he settled his hips in the cradle of yours; as he pressed into you, filling you up with one powerful, breathtaking push – you felt a sense of completeness, of rightness that settled in all the way down to your bones. 

You were already far gone from his previous ministrations, from the sensuality, the emotion of it all. So, with just a few well-placed thrusts, the weight of his pelvis grinding down with delicious friction onto your clit, you felt yourself climbing and climbing higher, could feel that cord twisting tighter, just about to snap – and when it did, you felt a veritable wave of pleasure crash over you, sending warmth furling through your body from head to toe. Slowing down to let you ride out your peak, Chan cursed, mouth dropping open in a moan as your walls clamped down on his length, their rhythmic pulsing driving him nearly to distraction. 

“I’m a goddamn fool,” he rasped out, watching with hungry eyes as you trembled at the touch of his fingertips, tracing softly over your oversensitive clit. “Imagine – I could have had you like this every night, every morning, every spare moment I could get my hands on you, love.” 

You groaned weakly, futilely trying to meet Chan’s thrusts - your sensitivity be damned - but he pinned your hips down. “It’s okay, babygirl,” he cooed. “Just let me do all the work, okay?”

And work he did - Chan drove into you with powerful, deep strokes, your breasts bouncing almost painfully from the force of his thrusts. You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your heart beating in your ears and the slap of skin on skin as your husband claimed your body, took you as his. In your hazy, fucked-out state, you couldn’t focus on anything but him - how gorgeous, how beautiful he looked above you: lips swollen, bruised from your kisses; sweat beading on his forehead; veins popping and muscles tense as he exerted himself. 

“Y-you’re doing so well for me,” he stuttered out, hands roughly dragging over your body. You could tell he was approaching his own high from the way he was biting at his lip, eyes screwed up in concentration. So, you dragged your nails over his skin again, feeling his abs contracting in response, and with the little strength you had left in you, clenched down on his length. 

That was enough to tip Chan over the edge. With one final, harsh thrust and the wildest moan you’d ever heard from him, he exploded - his dick throbbing in you as hot, thick cum flooded your pussy, your walls fluttering weakly in response. You cradled him into your neck as he collapsed onto you, drained but satiated.

Of course, Chan being Chan, he only let himself catch his breath for a few seconds. Shoving himself up out of your arms, he carefully pulled out of you before standing up, grabbing a discarded blanket to tie around himself as a makeshift sarong. Leaning back down over you, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Try to relax, love - I’ll be right back,” he murmured, brushing a few loose strands of hair off your forehead, before venturing out. 

You had absolutely no idea how he managed it so quickly at this odd of an hour, but Chan was soon back with a bowl of warm, fragrant water and a fresh towel. He swiftly cleaned you and himself up with careful hands and soft apologies every time he grazed an area that was a little too sensitive. But your winces of discomfort, the burgeoning soreness between your legs were all forgotten when he slid under the covers with you once again, body bare and warm against yours. The two of you laid there snug in each other’s arms, legs entangled, in a comfortable, cozy silence. You were almost about to drift off, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of Chan’s heart, when he suddenly spoke up. 

“I…I wasn’t too rough with you again, right?” While his voice remained calm, heartbeat still steady under your ear, you looked up to find hints of vulnerability flickering in his gaze. 

“I enjoyed every second of it,” you smiled up at him, letting your hand drift up to smooth over his head. “Besides, I like it when you…do all of that. Use me like that.” You felt yourself start to flush, heat rising to your cheeks. “It feels really good.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, relief and amusement shining from his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.” In one confident motion, his hand slid down the curve of your back, giving your ass an experimental, possessive smack; at your answering moan, the automatic thrust of your hips into his, he broke into a full on grin, laughing and pulling you even more tightly into his arms. For a second, he just held you against him. Then - 

“I love you.” His voice was quiet, but resolute. And this time, you could feel his heart pounding just a little faster. 

You wriggled up his body, planting yourself right at face level - eye to eye, lips to lips. You tenderly cupped his face in your hands, watching as his eyes fluttered shut for just a second before opening again, looking back at you with clear, unguarded eyes. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back, lips trembling the slightest bit with emotion. And this time, when your lips met his - you knew you were home. 

Fin. 

[iceprincessviviane]

Eyes in the darkness

Paring: Yandere!C!Technoblade x BookwormEnchanter!Female!Reader

Type: Romantic (Technoblade is yandere). Trilogy - part one. Next part.

Warnings: swearing, possessivness, yandere, angst, injury, sugestive content, threats, blood, silly jokes created by me.

Summary: Technoblade was watching Y/N for some time, trying to stay in the shadows. Unfortunately voices and thoughts won against the logic and he want her now on his side forever.

Author's note: Inspiration from a lot of things, but especially: Hades and Persephone, Beauty and the Beast. This used to be oneshot, but I changed my mind, ut will be trilogy. English isn't my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

Words in red colour are Technoblade's voices.

Words in blue colour are Y/N thoughts.

Y/N didn’t know when was the last time she ran for her life. Probably during one of the pillagers attack on the village or maybe in the Nether. But none of them was that type. Now she was being chased by something way much more dangerous than besties. At the moment, she’s being followed by the Blood God himself. Despite the aching and pain of her muscles and her throat feeling dry from gasping for air, Y/N was still asking herself how did on earth this happen?

~*~

Y/N always loved books and reading, she came to Smp two weeks after Foolish arrival. Actually her friendship with him leaded her here. They exchanged the letters and she was interested in staying somewhere for a while. After some time, she decided to come. Her divine friend already started to build his summer home and had few buildings done. She stayed there for few couple of days, they decided to build something for herself. She already have met most of Smp members including Dream Team, Bench Trio and rest, but owning home, place for stay was good idea. Sometimes Y/N liked to be alone. Eret allowed her to build something behind his castle, it was always nice to have someone close.

It took time before she ended house, it was cozy one with big field in front, farms, cellars and most important - library with enchanting place. It was huge, biggest part of the house with plenty of regals and reading spots. Y/N loved to spend there time and collectin more books or texts. Foolish had a lot of ancient scrolls or manuscripts and liked to share them with her. They could spend hours discussing about their favourite ones.

Books caused that Y/N met Phil, because he was the second person on the Smp, which had great collection from centauries. Shark god took her at trip to Tundra. Y/N was excited to meet such person and nervous too. Happily, everything went all right, Technoblade wasn't that time in home, so they had chilling conversation. Winged man was very curious about her skills and enchants. Of course during his travells and lifespan he met enchanters, but didn't paid much attention to them. Now, he could meet one in chill ocassion. Their three had a lot of talking, giggling and being wholesome. Phil promised to borrow more interesting books and Y/N said, that she can give some enchantments.

When Technoblade came back he immediately felt, that Foolish was there with... someone else... someone new. It smelled like pine and old paper, very nice. Phil told him about visitors and Y/N, he ignored it a little bit, but voices... voices liked this smell a lot.

'So strange.' 'Which woman can smell like that?' 'Where is she living?'

}*{

Y/N was peaceful person with no intention to harm anybody, staying in her place. She stayed in positive relations with almost everyone, providing needed enchantments and helping caused, that a lot of members were friendly to her. Y/N liked to hanging out with Bench Trio, although they were sometimes so chaotic. Usually she went mining with Ranboo, when it was needed, cutting trees with Tommy for his buildings and staying in Snowchester with Tubbo. That is why she came with almost everyone, when Tommy and Tubbo were in Dream bunkier fighting with him. Discs were just items, but... Dream's obsession, it was dangerous and teenagers were her friends. After that a lot of things changed. Putting him into Pandora's Vault was meant to protect them, but she was getting cold shivers each time she looked at black walls of prison. Knowing that everyone could be locked there...

After Egg's influence grew stronger she tried to find some infromations about it and how could ghe possible defeat it, but that took time. Foolish and Phil were so helpful handing their ancient texts, to make research. Suddenly with crimson vines everywhere, Smp became less safer, at least she felt it that way. More members were busy with their business and stuff, they finally could do them, when Dream was locked. For example Foolish agreed to build big mansion for Tubbo and Ranboo, which got platonical marriage and Tommy started his hotel. Meeting Michael was so wholesome and funny, little zombie piglin started to like her and at each visit she read him fairy tales and stories.

Y/N decided to not think about bad sides of Smp, just being busy and tried to help, if someone needed it. Before Doomsday wandering around could be dangerous, especially for La'Manburg citizens, because Dream and Technoblade were unpleasant for them. Now she enjoyed visiting almost everyone everywhere. After a few visits, she could tell that something was wrong, Y/N couldn't tell what, but it was almost like being watched, blaming Egg and vines was her answer for that, but actually why? Why did it do that? She would never joined their side. Never ever. Sometimes she spotted the Phil's corws, but that wasn't a s surprise, birds were telling him a lot of informations around the Smp. Easy way to know almost everything.

}*{

Y/N was heading to her house, stepping at Prime Path. In opposite direction she spotted Quackity, slowly walking by from prison direction, which was surprise. She smiled softly to him and he smiled back.

"What's up?" Big Q asked when got closer to her.

"It's good I am coming back home, need to eat and get some nap, and you?"

"I... ended some buisness." His face stiffened and his look became more serious.

Y/N nodded little unsure about his changed emotions. Suddenly she spotted that his sleeve is covered in fresh blood.

"Are you hurt?" She asked worried.

Quckity looked at his shirt as surprised as she and frowned, he checked axe which hanged down from his belt.

"I guess so then, but I don't know where did that come from."

"Let me take care of this." Y/N suggested with warm smile. "My home is closer than Las Nevadas."

After a few moments he nodded in agreement. They together headed to her place. Weather started to become stormy, dark cloud covered the sun, threating to start raining.

Then went inside, but when she was closing door, feeling of being watched hit her with dubled strength. House was in the spine forest, but fenced and had a gate. In filed were some farms, trees and small garden, but everything seemed to look normal. Big Q sat on the couch in living room and Y/N brought bandages, water in bowl and even healing potion. He rose sleeve, wound wasn't long, but deep, something cut his arm, probably weapon.

"It doesn't look good, but you will be okay." She said after looking at cut.

"Good." He sighed with relief.

"What did make it? Do you have an idea?"

Big Q looked dead in her eyes and remained silence. Of course he knew what, but he didn't even noticed the wound before leaving the prison. Well, someone will pay for this.

"Maybe working at Las Nevadas, you know... I am still building there." He spoke after a while.

"Oh... ye you have right, but be careful next time." Y/N suggested and started to work on cut carefuly. Starting on cleaning, then gently bandaged it.

"Thank you." Big Q said after seeing the results.

"No problem, just don't walk around with untreated wound." Y/N giggled softly.

He stood up and moved his eyes on windows. Black clouds didn't go away, even became worse.

"I will go now, weather is getting worse, I want to be in home before storm." Big Q said with soft smile.

"Of course, see you next time."

After he left, big storm came, darkness fell upon the Smp, rain and wind were too strong, for coming outside. Y/N decieded to take a chance and nap. She baked some cookies and sit down on a couch with another book, which Phil borrowed her. Only the torches gave light, sometimes thunderbolt stroke and filled room with unatural blue light. Drops hit hardly, making loud sounds, but Y/N was too much into a book. Two hours has passed and slowly night was coming. She moved eyes to meet clock, yep that was supper time, put the book away and up, Gods thr storm didn't let go. Y/N watched for a while outside, then go to kitched. She grabbed blanket and wrapped it around her posture, damn there were cold.

Again feeling of being watched kicked in. She was alone at home, that was sure thing. Outside was deep dark and behind the windows was the wall of the water. Y/N bite her lip and shook head, it was just her imagination, a feeling which stayed for no reason after putting Dream into Pandora's Vault. She took an kettle and suddenly was seeing something in the corner of the eye, something red and unusual in the spine forest. Her figure frozen when she moved back eyes. Deep in the dark, around sprouce trees in the line of forest, Y/N spotted pair of shinning, red eyes, high above the ground. They were locked at her figure.

'This has to be spider... or something else...'

Right after this thought, ceature turned back and disappeard in the darkness, cold shiver went down at Y/N spine. What was that? And why it was here? At least she was safe in home...

}*{

'More.' 'Training is boring, let's find someone to fight.' 'We demand blood.'

Technoblade sighed and stopped, voices today were very, very loud. That was why he decided to train, but during it, they became even worse. He hid sword and walked into home. Phil wasn't here today, he had to do something, but didn't bother to tell him what it was. Blade went back to home by his old path through the forest. His training place was near the cottage, but still hidden from common people. All members of Syndicate knew where it was. First of all he need to take shower. When cold water touched his skin, he felt like even his bloodlust became less, quiet hiss left his lips. He earned some chafings this week. Next, he changed his clothes to common and made a cup of tea, then sit in the kitchen. Immediately his thoughts went to Y/N.

Somehow voices were acting diffrent around her and he even found himself acting that way. They were focused around Y/N and he was more calm, like just her pressence was comforting him. Technoblade remembered their first meeting, it was common day, when someone knocked on the door. He opened it and rose his eyebrows in surprise, outside was standing fragile woman, without any armor and only with trident on her back. They shared awkward eye contact, when suddenly she introduced herself as Y/N. Of course he saw her couple of times, but it wasn't officialy. Y/N has known who was he for sure, she swallowed hard and looked down with shyness. Phil yelled across the room, that she could come in. Ah yes... she loved to read books and his old friend was borrowing her them a lot. Technoblade again felt the spine and old papers smell, for him, it could stay here forever. After short visit, Y/N took books, gave back book of enchantment and left.

Techno's curiosity has increased, when he heard about her more. She was peaceful, friendly soul, completly opposite of him, maybe that was, why he felt so... diffrent around her and voices too. Piglin hybrid enjoyed watching her from the distance, in the shadows, but lately... lately it wasn't enough. Now he wanted to breathe at Y/N scent, holding her close and pressed soft kisses at forehead. He was under voices pressure so long and now his salvation was so close. But what would he make it? As longer he has thought of that, a diffrent ideas came to his head. She was delicate creature, he had to get plan at all. Techno knew almost everything about her: hobbies, traditions, friends and fighting skills. Phil told him a lot about enchanters, they could make enchanting books after years of studying and had magic talent sometimes. As they knew, Y/N could enchant books at any spell, so she had to studied a lot. Technoblade sighed and grabbed his cloak, time to keep an eye on few things.

'Let's not go quietly!' 'Let's go quiet as grave...' 'Blood for the Blood God!'

}*{

That was busy week, Y/N could only one time saw Foolish and Phil, but whole Smp seemed a little bit diffrent... luckily she was able to go on mining trip with Ranboo and Eret visited her with a couple of books, which were about Smp. Now was afternoon and sun slowly started to set, she was heading to her house, where waited for her snow fox, which she found in Snowchester. Cute, little ball of fur stole Y/N heart immediately. When she finally stepped inside, Snowflake - that how she named it, ran into her squeaking high.

"What happend my little one?" She knelt down and pet it's head.

Fox looked at her with big brown eyes and squeaked once more, then jump into her arms.

"Oh oh oh... are you afraid of something?" Y/N hugged Snowflake and looked around. Everything in home seemed normal, door was closed, in a field same, animals were quite nervous, but everything was good. She frowned and stepped inside, then put fox into basket with small blanket.

"I will bring you some berries, you will like it for sure." Y/N smiled gently.

Unfortunately, she didn't have any at this moment in home, Snowflake was there only for three days, so she couldn't make berries farm so fast, because she had to set up a space. Luckily, she lived around coniferous forest, so didn't even hesiatate, Y/N just grabbed backpack and went outside. Sun was lower in the sky, but still it was warm and brightly. Birds were humming quietly and around was quite quiet. Berries bush weren't so far, she founed some, but in order to make supplies, decided to find more, then plant them around the house. It would spared the time and work.

"Y/N." She heard deep, lazy voice and immediately turned at it's direction.

The Blade was standing under big sprouce tree with satisfied grinn on his lips. Eyes locked on Y/N figure, which completly froze at the sight of him. She have never been with him alone, in tundra always Phil or Ranboo were around, now it felt... strange and risky, she still remembered what happend to La'Manburg citizens.

"Technoblade." Y/N spoke softly, being careful to not crack her voice, despite building feeling of fear. She noticed, that piglin hybrid under his royal, crimson cloak was wearing armor, probably not his best one, but still enough to win fight. Part of hair made into bun, rest were freely in his back and shoulders. From his belt was hanging netherite sword and netherite axe was sticking out from behind. She spotted, that his weapons were a little covered in blood, same as his sleeves and parts of shirt. He was killing monsters right? Or just hunting? Uncomfortable, awkward silence reminded between them, only forest noises distrubed it from time to time.

Voices were too loud today, too agressive, too greedy, killing monsters and pillagers wasn't enough, Quackity has already tasted his steel, well he deserved that after showing up in Y/N home. He had so much fun with him, but after that he needed some rest, comfort and calm. That is why without even thinking too much Technoblade went straight to Y/N house. He hoped, that everything will change, that he finally will has some break from voices, violence and killing. Of course he liked his way to be... but yes sometimes, you have to make a nap.

"Are you wounded?" Y/N asked quietly breaking the silence. After all, if he needed help, she would help him, without hesitation.

Technoblade's grinn became more sinister, he put hand on sword hilt and slowly tilted his head on right side.

"This isn't my blood." He said without caring at all.

"Oh, that's good then..." Y/N whispered, but he could hear that.

Piglin hybrid studied her posture, she had only trident at her back, backpack in left hand, no armor, no more weapons. Poor little girl, that's not how you are going outside your home, she was literally unarmed in his eyes.

"So... what are you doing here? Alone? In the forest?" Technoblade asked and moved closer to her.

The way he spoke these words, made Y/N shiver inside, outside, she grabbed her backpack harder. Surely there was nothing to worry about, she has never done something wrong to him or Philza, she wasn't dangerous or wanted to has any power. Techno is probably just passing by. Suddenly he was so close, now she could for real see the height diffrence, for the gods sake, her head reached around his breastbone. Y/N looked up only to meet piglin hybrid's burning gaze.

"I... I was collecting berries for my snow fox. Something scared her, so I thought that she will calm down after getting some and I ran out of them..." she suttered and swallow hard.

"How sweet." Technoblade commented and his smile widened.

"So... you are just passing by?"

"Not really."

Sudden grip on her chin caught Y/N off guard. Technoblade forced her to look straight into his eyes. His face stiffened a little bit, she hissed quietly, when claws touched harder gentle skin. Then she realised... Blade's eyes were red and she heard, that it could glow in darkness. Her skin became pale and pupils widened. It was him, that time during a storm, he was watching her...

"What are you doing?" Y/N asked quietly, without any clue, what was going on.

'She is so innocent.' 'We love her scent.' 'Let her know.'

"I have something to tell you." He leaned and immediately her scent hit him harder, resisting to take deep breath wasn't that easy.

"What excatly?"

"I was watching you for a while Y/N. Belive me or not I found that interesting, because your pressence is calming for me, I can fall asleep while listening your voice and push away my violence behaviour, when you are around." He stroked her cheek by his thumb and smiled haughty. "I am always getting , what I want and I want that so badly, you can't even imagine."

Y/N shook head and made few steps back, leaving his grip, couldn't belive what she just heard. That's impossible.

"I don't know what to say... I can admit, that I had strange feeling of being watching but... I blamed the Egg..." She looked deep into his eyes, trying to put everything together. "What do you mean, you are always getting, what are you want? How am I suppose to understand that?"

"Listen sweetheart, we can do this in two diffrent ways: good or bad. If you choose first one, fine politely you will go with me. Second way? Well I can be very convincing, when I want to." Technoblade frowned.

None of this options was good for her. Y/N sighed and her shoulders dropped. She couldn't do anything literally...

"Come on princess. I can take care of you, I promise, you will be happy." He gave her his hand, but gripped sword hilt harder.

Y/N always avoided the conflicts and argues, never has started any, that was easier and better way to live. She could take care of her interests, powers anf friends by being supportive or neutral. Technoblade's behaviour made her shiver and feel sick, there was no guarantee that he will keep his words, even if it were sweet and promising. Y/N knew that fighting him was pointlees, he were ten thousand better than her, she didn't even have armor or second weapon. But surrender just like that? Without any resistance? She always was determinated, miss 'you can always find a way, solution'. Not a chance.

"I think I have better option, which lay in the middle." Y/N smiled gently.

"Well, tell me then." Technoblade rose his eyebrows with curiosity.

With one smooth move, she put backpack on and immediately started to run. The Blade's pupils widened, he burst out laughing.

"It will be funny."

She has known, that she needed to lose him in forest. Going to home wouldn't help, because door or gate couldn't stop Blood God. Lost him and then ran away from Smp, at least her current living location. Y/N realized that she couldn't even ask for help anyone. Probably Technoblade would come after her friends, helpers, so that was it. Y/N versus The Blade, she was on her own.

'How did she dare to run away from us?!' 'Chase her, catch her.' 'Faster, faster, faster!'

It seemed like running away from Tommy for fun, came in handy and long trips with Ranboo caused her to move fast through forest. Y/N nimbly jumped over obstacles and avoid rocks or roots. Her pace wasn't the fastes, but she could hold it for pretty long time. She wasn't thinking a lot, just tried to run away as far as she could.

'Don't look back, don't look back, it will make you slower.'

Hiding could be good idea, but not now. As long as he was close, she couldn't stop at all. Breaking through the forest was only hearing noise, soon, she heard her heavy breathing. Heading to unknown direction wasn't so wisely, but Y/N had no choice. After a few minutes, she stopped to catch breath. Around was sudden so quiet, cold shiver went down at her spine. Too quiet.

"Already tired?" Technoblade's voice surprised her from left side.

She turned head, just to see him leaning against the tree. In his right hand he held sword, didn't even look like he was running.

"You can't outrun me little one. A lot of people tried, now they are dead." He aimed sword at her. "We can end this farce here. I am not mad, honestly, you made me smile a little bit."

"You will have to catch me, if you want me going with you." Y/N said and then continue to run away.

"Oh I will princess, that's what predator does to the prey."

Y/N started to feel really tired, muscles aching, throat dry from gasping for air, hair dispelled and cheeks red. She ran for a while, but now had to stop. Technoblade immediately appeared in her field of vision. He was walking carefuly, but still looked intimidating.

"Don't come closer!" She released a cry.

Piglin hybrid stopped about eight meters away. He leaned sword against the ground and looked at her with curious gaze.

'Here she is, our reward.' 'Let's finally take her with us.' 'We like that sound.'

"I think, I just caught you." A little grinn appeared on his lips.

She looked straight into his eyes. Her gaze full of fear met a calm and determination. Y/N didn't even want to think what would happend, if he fulfilled his desires. Gods sake, she was free human being, none could take her freedom, she didn't ask for this. In an act of desperation, with the last of her strength, she used her powers. Feeling of warm through fingers and energy drained from her veins, but then burning light. In Technoblade's towards direction flew literally fireball, but he was too skilled for this. He made a dodge and looked at Y/N with mix of proud and shock. She dropped to her knees, struggling to stay conscious, despite the pain at her whole body and tired mind and unclear vision. Technoblade immediately was with her, he knelt down and support her, by putting arm around her waist. Y/N leaned back against his chest, fatigue prevailed over reason.

"Enough for today princess. You run out, if you will keep resisting." He whispered calmly.

"Please, please... please I don't want this, I want to go home." Her voice was cracking, tears strimming down at her cheeks.

"Hush darling, everything will be all right."

Technoblade's body radiated warm, his tone suddenly was so calming and sleepy. She wanted to close eyes so badly, but still fear was too big.

"You are safe, nothing can hurt you I promise."

After this words Y/N gave up and lost consciousness. Sun went down and shadows became longer and darker.

}*{

Phil careful closed the doors, then walked quietly down. Technoblade sat in kitchen with cup of hot tea, he immediately looked at his old friend, his eyes were worrying.

"Y/N is good, she lost consciousness, because was too tired. You said that, she used her powers."

"It was literally fireball, but I dodge that easy."

"Well, now we know about her powers at least... interesting, what you are going to do, when she wake up?" Phil asked and sat in opposite site.

"I know, that you are not glad about this, but I will figure this out. She won't cause any troubles." Techno's voice became deeper.

Winged man sighed and looked at his friend. He knew what he was going through, when voices became louder and demanded blood, each moment of silence or when they were quiet, Technoblade cherished and tried to make it worth. Phil couldn't be angry or mad for his friend about that deed, but... he was torn.

"Come on spit it out. I can see that you want to tell something important." Piglin hybrid said slowly.

"We were through a lot of shit, we know each other for almost ages and we blew up the nation for gods sake, kidnapping isn't the worst thing you have done, but..." Phil started and looked at Techno. "I wish you best and everything good, but I don't know how will I act around. Y/N has come to me for books, we were talking about stuff, I gave her cookies and tea. How will I explain, that I am supporting your decision? And I am always on your side." Phil said aloud his worries.

"I will give her time to get used to. After certain amount of time Y/N will understand." The Blade was lost in his thoughts.

He was so greatful of his friend statement, but still a little bit unsure. This case shloudn't affect on their relationship or Phil's life. Honestly Technoblade belived that his pressence will comfort Y/N at least, as he said they were close and enjoyed each other company.

"Someone will notice her disappering. What then? And Ranboo is visiting us a lot." Phil sighed a little.

"I've got this, trust me."

"I trust you with my own life." Winged man nodded.

}*{

Sunlight kissed her skin gently, when it showed up on window. Y/N felt softness under herself and on her back. Quiet sigh left her lips, when she opened eyes. In the room was very bright, but for sure it wasn't her room. Immediately cold shiver went down at her spine. Still weak, she tried to lift herself, because she was lying on stomach. Bed was big, with good beddings and pillows.

"Don't move, you are still weak." Technoblade's voice was soft, but loud.

Y/N bite her lip and then lifted head. He was standing near the bed and observing curiously, looking completly diffrent. White, linen shirt and high waisted, leather trousers, hair braided tighly. In this version he was... more open and accessible, not so scary.

"Where am I?" She asked slowly and rolled at her back with quiet hiss. Muscles still hurt and throat was dry.

"In my house, in tundra safe and..." He cut off, while noticed that Y/N is trying to get up. "What did I say?" He stepped closer and sat on bed.

She sat unsure on mattress, just to met Technoblade here, he gripped again her chin, as in the forest and forced her to look at him. This time it was more gently.

"Darling please..."

"You can't take my freedom!"

His eyes darkened immediately and Y/N regreted her words. She swallowed hard, when Blade looked deep into her eyes.

"Of course I can and I will, if you don't behave good. If you didn't notice, you aren't chained or tied, but pretty comfy in my bed." He said slowly with threat in his voice. "Think about it."

Technoblade released her and got up. She looked down thinking about situation, yes he didn't tied her, but still it wasn't good case. Y/N just wanted to be free, do stuff which she want and meet friends. Maybe Smp wasn't perfect, but still now it was her home, there were a lot of wars or argues, but she still had house and persons which she cared about and this was mutual, now everything was unsure.

"I am just afraid... " Y/N whispered quietly.

"As I said earlier you are safe here, you are safe with me. Nothing can hurt you." Techno grabbed bowl with soup and came back. "Here, eat, you need to recover."

"Thanks." She smiled weakly to him, took bowl and started to eat slowly.

'Good girl.' 'She will behave for sure.' 'We can teach her a lesson.'

Y/N was napping for the rest of the day, Technoblade gave her one of their books, so she wasn't bored. Probably tomorrow or next day she will stand up.

The sound of closing doors, caused her to closed book and put it away. Piglin smiled gently and took off his shirt suddenly. Y/N eyes became big.

"Wait wait wait..."

"Calm down princess, I am just going to sleep, nothing else." Technoblade smirked for her panic.

"So... where shloud I move?" Y/N asked looking around the room.

"Nowhere. You are staying here with me."

Immediately her cheeks went slighty red. She looked at him curiously. His pink skin seemed gentle from the distance, a lot of scars marked his chest and arms. Some of them little, some of them large, the biggest one was through both sides of chest. Technoblade released his hair and came closer. Y/N moved to make him some space. He laid down, she followed his steps but remain distance.

"Goodnight." She said and turned back from him.

"Goodnight sweetheart."

He blow up torches near the bed and silence fell upon them. Not even a five minutes passed, when Y/N felt sudden grip on her waist. She froze, Technoblade hugged her and pressed kiss on her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Quiet whisper left her lips.

"Snuggling and cuddling." He whispered softly.

Y/N couldn't help, she giggled quietly. Techno took this as premission, her back touched his chest and second hand slowly stroked her hair.

[stellarcat52]

So, anyone else following @alsmp-headcanons probably knows about the Magic Dad AU, and the Hybrid Hunter AU. Entirely connected to those, have this snippet of something that’s probably going to be longer.

TW: mentions of kidnapping + violence

It had been a normal day, no new kids to save in weeks and no unexpected visits from the “aunts and uncles”. The sun had started to go down and Fwhip was outside watching over the two dozen or so kids that were currently with him.

Juno, a fox-like hybrid and one of the older kids under Fwhip’s care, tugged on his sleeve. “Dad? I Hear something.”

Fwhip asked the kids to be quiet for a minute, most of which realized something might not be right anymore and huddled around Fwhip as they all started listening.

“Horses.” Fwhip realized, there was far more than one, the chances of it being a friendly visit from his friends was… “Everyone, get into the copper room. Close it off as soon as you’re all inside.”

It was something most of the kids had practiced, a protocol for when bad people came around. Sure it did nothing to calm their nerves, but it would help keep them safe. The copper rooms, caves where Fwhip had once left piles of copper to age, were easily hidden in.

Fwhip watched Juno and the others disappear into the caves and block the entrance. Only then did he use magic to make himself invisible. He crept further away from where his kids were hidden, and closer to where the sound was coming from. 

Only a minute passed before he could see them, half a dozen humans and pillagers alike. All were riding a horse of their own except one, who drove a covered wagon that Fwhip could recognize the makings of. Under the canvas were cages, or maybe just one if their prey was large or dangerous enough.

Most of the caravan were wearing helmets, enchantments glimmering. One wasn’t, a pillager, gray-skinned but still emerald-eyed from when they were a villager. Fwhip grimaced as he recognized them, an old friend and ally from before Fwhip changed sides. Their name was Lure.

Any hope that they weren’t there for him or his kids was gone, Lure had once sworn to “bring Fwhip back home”. Fwhip took only a second to wonder if they still believed that he was being misled by the villagers who now accepted him.

“Search the area, tell me if you find anyone. The main target is mine to deal with, anyone else is game.” Lure had set the perimeters of Fwhip’s home wider than needed, but not out of ignorance. Fwhip knew they expected him to be like a pillager and highly territorial.

Still, he couldn’t risk them finding the kids. He dropped the invisibility and stood tall. “I’m right here, Lure.”

“So you are,” Lure sighed. “Keep looking, he wouldn’t give up this easily.”

A flash of silver appears above Fwhip’s head only to immediately shoot into the dirt in front of one of the pillagers following Lure’s orders. “Take one step onto my property and you die. You can ask your friends who never returned home if I’m lying.”

“We all know you’re not lying, Arrow, but they’re not going to worry about you. You’re my target, not theirs.” Lure was saying that more to their muscle than Fwhip.

Fwhip summoned and shot another arrow without drawing his bow, it wasn’t time for that yet. “Don’t use that name for me, I warned you.” He did draw his bow to shoot at the pillagers and humans who were now insistent on invading his fields.

“Still going by… what was it… Fwhip?” Lure pondered it for a moment. “Right?”

“Shut it, Lure. If you’re here for me, hunt me.”

They looked offended, “I’m not here to kill you, Fwhip. See? I’ll even respect your weird villager name. I’m here to take you home, I promised you I would, I’m just here to follow through.” They hummed “but. If you’d rather fight, I can show you how strong someone can get when they don’t betray their family.”

Lure always had a different weapon of choice than most pillagers, it was one of the reasons why they got along with Fwhip so much in their early years. Fwhip carried a bow for the most part, and Lure carried a sword. 

Fwhip glanced back at his home, and the pillagers that were getting closer to where the kids were. “Call your muscle back, give me five minutes. You can show me back home.” 

“What about the kids?” Fwhip couldn’t stop himself from stiffening. “I’ve heard the rumors, you’ve been busy recently.”

“They left, I let them go back home and none of them wanted to stay.” Fwhip did his best to make the lie seem honest, it wasn’t difficult to mimic the feeling of heartbreak he felt every time a kid did go back to their village or family. He loved being a Dad, taking care of people, but he’d never stop them from going home. “Helping them is  too difficult for me to keep doing anyways.”

“Sorry, but at least now you can come home.” Lure called back their muscle, and thankfully none of them came back with news of a hidden cave or the kids. 

The group didn’t have enough horses for everyone, but Fwhip kicked one of the pillagers off of theirs and left them to ride in the cart. No way was he ever getting in that, not with this company.

He prayed to Pearl that his kids, with or without him, would be fine.

[princesserii]

Hey Inazuma Eleven fandom! This might be a bit of a long shot but would anyone want to beta read a fanfic I’m currently working on?

It’s a fantasy pirate AU set in a world I’ve made up. There’s magic and fantasy races — merpeople, selkies and sylphs (sky spirits), as well as regular humans.

I’ll be using using the OG and GO characters (not Ares/Orion or VROH). The main ships are established, married Tatsumido/Hiromido and angst-ridden TakuRan (ngl TakuRan might not get a happy ending), with some background established Endou x Natsumi which doesn’t really factor into the story. I might also include background Fudou x Kazemaru but that isn’t decided yet. I’m very easygoing with ships and can write basically anything.

The fic is split between three main stories — Kariya, the Inazuma Pirates, and Shindou. All three plotlines interweave into one another and will eventually come together:

Kariya is a lonely boy who lives on the furthest outskirts of the town of Shaleworth. The son of a fisherman, his neglectful father up and left one night, never to be seen again. Ever since, Kariya has been alone, carving out a career for himself as a fisherman at the age of 14. By now, he’s accepted his fate. He’s used to it. He doesn’t care if people pity him or think he’s a nuisance. One day though, he has a chance encounter with two wayward pirates, Tatsuya and Midorikawa, who have lost their ship and their crew. The pirates start using Kariya’s home as a hideaway until they can regain enough strength and resources to return to their ship. Kariya ends up realising he doesn’t want them to leave, meanwhile Tatsuya and Midorikawa realise that this lonely boy doesn’t have to be so alone forever. Family bonding shenanigans ensue.

The crew of the Inazuma, led by captain Endou Mamoru, are among the most feared and respected pirates on the seven seas. Due to the mysterious and powerful Hand of God, wielded only by the strongest pirate on the ocean, the Inazuma Pirates have garnered a high reputation even among the navy and port governors. After losing two of their crew mates, Tatsuya and Midorikawa, during a storm, they’re desperately trying to find them. Captain Endou has faith that they aren’t dead. Members of the crew such as the young gunner Kirino Ranmaru, however, are less confident, especially because if Tatsuya and Midorikawa are still alive, they would have run ashore in one of the most anti-pirate areas of the whole archipelago — Shaleworth.

Shindou, a baron’s son, hates pirates with every ounce of his being. Four years before the present, pirates attacked his hometown and kidnapped his personal servant and best friend, Kirino, thinking Kirino was actually the baron’s son. It was later revealed that a different pirate crew, the Inazuma Pirates, had pillaged and destroyed the trafficking den where Kirino would have been taken. There were no survivors. Shindou now swears revenge for the ‘death’ of his best friend. Having been sent to the town of Shaleworth to study under Governor Kudou, he makes it his mission to capture and execute any pirates who come through the nearby waters. Even his new personal servant, Ibuki Munemasa, thinks he’s going a bit too far. But Shindou sees it as justified. If he can’t have his best friend back, then what’s the point in being merciful? (Little does he know that Kirino is very much still alive)

If anyone is interested, please let me know, either by replying to this post or dming me! I haven’t written much more than the first chapter yet but the chapters are quite long, in the range of 4000-5000 words per chapter. Chapter 1 is fully written already. I write pretty quickly too, so expect new chapters every week/two weeks.