#he will never be worthy to kneel for her again. he doesn’t even know that he’ll want to. terrifying to forget how to pray.

[quietwingsinthesky]

i don’t know man, if i remade my entire self in a shape that my god could love and then i lost her, i’d be a lot worse. ten could have been far more batshit and i would have forgiven him completely.

[faerievampling]

A Sweet Heart

Summary: Astarion follows the sweet scent of Tav's arousal to her tent, unable to help himself. Set in Act 1, after the clearing scene.

Word Count: 1.2k

Here's the link to AO3!

Pairing: Act 1 Astarion x Female Tav

Warnings: 18+, Explicit. PiV. Blood kink. Blood drinking. Biting. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex. A little bit of angst and sweetness.

A/N: I wrote most of this in a horny delirium last night. hope you enjoy!! 

Astarion could smell your sweet yearning from across camp. The two of you had thus far only shared a night; but the scent of your juices, your sweat, your blood…Astarion hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Hadn’t stopped thinking about how you had let him feed on you in your most vulnerable state.

And now, he could smell the rise of your swelling desire as you lie in your bedroll; he wonders if you’re touching yourself, or maybe having a naughty dream.

Astarion had been happy to choose you as his next ‘victim’. You were strong, competent, and beautiful. 

You were sweet to him. Your blood was sweet; even your cunt, which Astarion thought was rather pretty, was sweet. 

And you were still standing. Cazador never came and took you away, despite Astarion staying up all night, anxiously awaiting for you to disappear from where you slept beside him.

But you didn’t. You were here. And you were a naive, generous, and sweet little thing with a pretty cunt who could protect him.

Astarion begins to walk to your tent. Once he picks up on the beat of your heart, he knows you aren’t sleeping. He decides to utilize the tadpole rather than startling you by other means.

Which he could totally do uninvited, by the way.

“Darling, I’d like another taste of you,” He edges into your mind, offering an invitation. 

Astarion is excited when you accept. His fangs and his cock are aching for you. 

When he enters your tent, you are already in your underclothes, and Astarion can smell the evidence of your arousal; he doesn’t waste any time with words before he kneels beside you and embraces you in a kiss, hands trailing over your body as he listens to the quickening pace of that sweet heart of yours.

My sweetheart. Astarion pushes the thought away as he frees your breasts, taking you in hungrily before latching his lips to your nipple, remembering how much you liked it last time. 

Astarion trails his hand down your other breast until he is tugging at your underclothes, freeing you of them before he begins to take his own clothes off, coming back to your breast after each motion.

He really wants to bite you here, just above your pert nipple. But instead, he decides to kiss you, using his tongue to part your lips. He's decided that you aren’t a great kisser, and so he would have to teach you. 

Practice does make perfect, Astarion thinks, and it seems like a worthy investment on his part. You are rather gorgeous and you wouldn’t be taken from him come morning. 

As his fingers slip between your slick folds, Astarion hums against your lips, the evidence of his pleasure making you quiver.

The pads of his fingers find your swollen clit and begin to make slow, circular motions; the pressure of his fingers is so perfect, it sends waves of delectation throughout your body.

Astarion moves to your entrance, pushing a finger inside of you with little resistance. 

“So eager, darling,” He purrs before brushing his lips to yours again, this time trailing down to your jaw and your neck. As he eases another finger inside you, his thumb circles your clit, causing you to clench around his fingers. 

Astarion begins to feel his own underclothes wet with his precum; his cock was begging to be freed of its restraints. 

He has you unraveling beneath him in minutes. With each kiss, each roll of the hips, Astarion grows increasingly frustrated until he eventually frees his cock, eyeing you hungrily before placing himself between your thighs. 

When he removes his hand from your cunt, a string of your juices follows, and it is so lewd that he thinks about just ramming his cock and his fangs into you right then and there; using you like a toy, to be discarded after use.

“Oh, you naughty little thing,” He says under his breath. 

But another part of him thinks that he just wants another taste of you. 

Astarion wraps his hand around his cock as he uses his fingers to spread your folds. He eyes your sex with anticipation before tenderly placing his lips around your swollen clit. 

Astarion's lips look lovely on your mound, and you can't help but run your hand through his beautiful curls as he consumes you.

His tongue is soft, almost feather light at first, before he begins to lap and suck at you. Astarion thinks that you taste even better than before. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re trembling beneath him, the shocks of your orgasm reverberating throughout your body as you come on Astarion's tongue.

The smell of your juices and sweat invigorate him, and he wastes no time: once Astarion has lined himself up with your entrance, you feel the weight of his cock slowly pressing into you until he is balls deep.

You squirm around his length as he takes a nipple between his fingers and squeezes, giving you a smirk before bending over and planting his lips on yours again.

He lowers his head to your neck, breathing against the spot he liked to feed from. 

“Yes,” is all you manage to say before you feel the sharp pain as Astarion pulls you into a sanguine embrace.

Astarion moans against you, fully pressing into you as he drinks you in, his swollen cock immediately knocking into that sweet spot deep inside you.

You moan, gripping at his hair and trailing a hand down his neck, his back. You feel your blood trailing down your collarbone as Astarion begins to stroke you; his pace is slow, deep, and it follows the pull of your blood by his pretty lips.

You swear you feel his cock harden even from within you, and when he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed with your crimson.

You feel woozy as he continues to fuck you; Astarion is lapping up the spilled blood, one hand on your waist and the other on your breast as his pace quickens, causing you to moan with each thrust.

Suddenly, Astarion pulls out of you fully before sheathing himself inside you once more. The noise your cunt is making is obscene as the clap of him against you sends you into oblivion. 

You clench around him, moaning his name in his ear as he continues to slide his cock against your walls: but he is about to lose control, and once he does, you feel his thick spurts of come deep inside you as his tip bangs against your cervix. 

After you’ve recovered, Astarion lies next to you, putting his arm around you as he did the first night. You’ve fallen asleep next to him, and he watches as your chest rises and falls. 

He closes his eyes and focuses on your beating heart. It is steady, strong, and for some reason, open for him to explore. 

Astarion curses at himself for even thinking of doing such a thing. Yet here you were, in his arms, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. 

Gods above. It could never be that simple, could it?

Masterlist

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 ao3

Dustin gives Eddie ownership of the walkie. At some point, an agreement must have been made for Lucas and Max to stop talking on their channel, but Eddie isn’t aware of any such conversation having taken place. It feels like he has tunnel vision, the whole world narrowing down to the room, to the bed in the centre of it. To Steve. 

He changes frequencies constantly on the walkie, gritting his teeth against the static. Steve’s voice never comes through again, and his face is back to being eerily still, no expression. Blank. It’s an unwelcome reminder of Dustin’s past words: He looks... gone. 

Dustin leaves him alone late afternoon, saying he’ll ask Nancy to get in touch with Mike again, get an update on whoever this El is, her whereabouts. Eddie nods distractedly as he goes. 

He tries to keep playing the song, but the harshness of the static sets him on edge. His fingers can only push weakly against the guitar strings, the shittiest attempt at a chord position that he’s ever seen; and soon his hands are shaking too badly to even press the button on the casette player. Fucking pathetic. 

All at once, the static disappears. Eddie looks up at the absence of it, to find that Robin has turned the walkie off. 

She stares at him.

“What?” Eddie says, voice hoarse.

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she kneels down in front of him, a mirror image of Dustin. Painstakingly slow, she reaches out with one hand, as if expecting him to flinch; and Eddie thinks of himself in the boathouse, clutching onto that damned glass bottle like a lifeline, how he felt one touch away from losing it completely. 

This time, he’s able to catch his breath. Holds it. Breathes out. When Robin begins to uncurl his fingers from the neck of the guitar, he lets her without resistance. Then she carefully takes the full weight of the guitar from him, sets it aside.

“Look,” she says and nods at the heart monitor. Eddie follows her direction. He watches for a moment, then closes his eyes, listens to the slow, steady record of Steve’s pulse; and his breathing gradually follows the rhythm of each heartbeat. 

When he opens his eyes, Robin is smiling at him. 

“He’s still there,” she says. “He’s not gonna disappear if you take a break.”

A part of him wants to argue, wants to grab the guitar back and scream at her, no matter how cruel that might be. Chrissy, Patrick, Steve—they all died right in front of me, and I did nothing. Now I’ve got the chance to do something, save someone, and I can’t because, what, I’m fucking tired? I need to get a grip. But a larger part of him knows that he’s useless to Steve like this.

So he blows out a long, slow breath. Raises his eyes to the ceiling. Gives a tiny, reluctant nod.

Robin pulls up a chair next to him in response, then says, apropos of nothing, “I haven’t filled you in on the full Starcourt Experience.” 

Eddie tears his gaze away from Steve to blink at her in confusion. “Uh, no? Pretty sure you have, Buckley.”

She’d told Eddie about her summer at the mall while they were all travelling to the War Zone, a jaw-dropping tale that had Eddie looking around at the crew anew, with a far from infrequent thought: Oh, great, I’m the only normal one here.

Robin shifts so that she’s sitting side-on, leans back and hooks her feet over Eddie’s knees. There’s something both casual and sincere in the gesture, like they’ve been friends for years; Eddie doesn’t know if he’s worthy of it, yet Robin keeps smiling like he is. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you the really important stuff,” she says, tilting her head forward like they’re gossiping in class.

And… she talks. 

She talks and talks and talks, gesturing wildly with her hands, and gives Eddie a rundown of what can only be described as ‘Steve’s greatest hits at Scoops Ahoy.’

There’s the time when, near delirious after a long weekend shift, Steve had started singing along to Material Girl as it blared over the mall speakers—and, when Robin made a show of announcing her presence, sure that he’d stop and pretend it never happened, he’d just kept going, adding stupid choreography as he mopped. 

All the times when he would give customers the bitchiest dead-eyed stare if they tried to enter the store before it had opened; when Robin would have to duck into the back so no-one saw her laughing.

Robin barely pauses to draw breath, so that the countless stories crowd Eddie’s head, leaving, for once, little room for worrying; and she must see that something within him has settled, if only for now, because she doesn’t stop him when he eventually picks up the guitar again. 

He doesn’t sing, just plays the melody as Robin keeps talking. She paints such a vivid picture that Eddie doesn’t want to interrupt, almost feels like he can see the ice-cream parlour despite never having set foot inside it—this unexpected haven within a neon monstrosity. Sees Robin catching Steve singing, sees her dubiousness melt away as he dances, using the mop as a prop. 

Eddie keeps strumming as Robin goes on, laughing quietly as she mimes Steve’s idiosyncrasies: running his fingers through his hair, how he’d open the drawer of money at the register with a little drumbeat, the secret eye roll he’d give Robin before having to serve someone particularly difficult.

One such anecdote is being shared, where the punchline is Steve finally snapping that, “This is Scoops Ahoy, ma’am, we can’t work miracles,” and both Robin and Eddie are giggling, despite—or perhaps because of everything; and Eddie looks up at just the right moment, because he—he sees—

Steve’s finger twitching.

It’s the first sign of life in hours.

Robin beams, gingerly prods the finger back. “’Bout time you showed up, dingus.”

Eddie feels a sudden sting in his eyes. He has to bite his lip to keep it together, to move on to the chorus without stopping.

Still, something must show on his face, because when Robin glances at him, she says, “Oh, Eddie,” with a gentle kindness he can’t help but feel he doesn’t deserve. But you’ve known him longer. I’ve got no right to…

When the song is over, Robin carefully pries the guitar from him again, and somewhere along the way, Eddie finds that they’re holding hands. They don’t let go for a long time.

-

Eddie tries to return the walkie to Dustin, but he doesn’t tune back in to his usual channel, doesn’t even turn it on. Instead he takes the seat that had been Robin’s, tilts his head back, eyes ever so slightly unfocused. Eddie recognises the look from Hellfire, whenever Dustin needed to think deeply about his character’s next move—and it feels like such a strange thing to remember now, as if from another world entirely. Eddie supposes that’s true.

“I’m still mad at you,” Dustin says suddenly. 

Eddie nods, half to himself—Dustin looks away. Guilt sits sour in his stomach; the sound of Dustin’s desperate screams as he drove away has never once left him.

“That’s… that’s fair,” he says, quiet. He moves forward a little in his seat, knocking his foot gently against Dustin’s. “I’m… shit, Dustin, I know I keep saying it, but I’m so sorry.” 

It still feels like it’s useless to say, but it’s honest, at least. There are a number of times where Wayne has decided to shield him from certain things over the years; and though Eddie had understood why, that had never stopped him from feeling bitter about it. Cheated.

“I’m mad at both of you,” Dustin clarifies. His eyes dart over to Steve then away again, as if he’s already beating himself up for even thinking it. He pushes back against Eddie’s foot until the sole of his sneaker is pressing against Eddie’s, then draws his own foot back, as if suddenly out of energy.

When Dustin finally looks at him, Eddie offers an apologetic smile. “He…” He glances over at Steve before meeting Dustin’s gaze again. “He made me promise,” he says weakly.

Dustin sighs; it’s resigned, world-weary. “Yeah, I figured.” When he speaks again, his voice sounds strained, rising almost like he’s asking a question. “I think I knew? Like, before all of…” This time, he knocks Eddie’s foot first. “It’s not exactly… he has a sorta… track record, I mean.” 

Eddie sighs, too. “Yeah man, I figured,” he echoes. 

“He made everything… God, I don’t know. He made it,” and Dustin gestures vaguely with his hands, “he made it easy. Easy to, like, laugh about or… Not forget the danger, that’s… I just… It was weird, after the mall, the rest of the summer…” 

Dustin trails off again, and Eddie tries to fill in the blanks as best he can. 

“We didn’t really talk about it,” Dustin continues. “He came to pick me up from Mike’s one day, and his face was still, uh, not great, but he just made this super corny joke about—ugh, I can’t even remember but, Eddie, it was so embarrassing, I know that for sure—”

But the wobble in Dustin’s voice tells a different story. 

“And he… he was singing along to the radio, and I—I just thought that I didn’t want him to—to save us, or be badass or cool or whatever the fuck he’s still hung up about from high school, I just—wanted him to be there.”

I know, Eddie thinks, because he does; because it’s so clear now, how much of a big deal Steve is to Dustin, and Eddie kind of wants to smack his past self who sneered when Steve graduated and he didn’t, and thought bet King Steve still thinks he’s hot shit. 

He reaches forward and squeezes Dustin’s knee. “We’ll get him back.” 

Dustin nods and scrubs briefly at his eyes. “I think I thought I could stop it,” he says. “If I just—if I stayed with…”

Eddie shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have let you,” he finds himself saying again. It’s obvious that Steve would have rather died than let anything happen to Dustin. Eddie can hardly fault him for that.  

“Yeah,” Dustin says, and he laughs a little. He sounds tired. “I know.” 

-

It’s about 9pm when Dustin says it, watching from the window for a sight of his mom’s car turning into the hospital parking lot. “Um, Eddie? I need you to just—check I’m not hallucinating or something.”

Eddie’s heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Shit.” Dustin waves his arms frantically, shaking his head. “Not like that! Just—” He taps at the window. “This guy looked really like Hopper.” 

Like, died in the ‘mall fire’ Chief Hopper? Eddie thinks, still not quite recovered from the scare. He goes to the window, follows the direction in which Dustin is pointing. “What the fuck.”

-

The girl looks about Dustin’s age. Her hair is cut very short, and when they are left alone in Steve’s hospital room, she looks at Eddie intensely. 

“You are Eddie Munson,” she says with a calming certainty.

Eddie nods, but he thinks he would have gone along with it no matter what she had said; she could have told him he was Jack the Ripper reincarnated with the same confidence and he would’ve said, Well, shit, if you say so.

“My name is El,” she adds simply. “I’m here to help.” 

Eddie stares at her. Some of Steve’s words come back to him, when he was eating fucking cereal and trying to pretend like he had even a bit of control over whatever his life even was now. 

“What, like a superhero?”

And the kid beams. “Exactly.”

-

Dustin has left Eddie the walkie again, and El turns it on so the static is loud. 

“You think you can… find him?” Eddie says.

“Yes,” El says. Again, it sounds like it’s a breeze the way she says it, like it’s nothing. “Henry is dead. I tried to…” She bites her lip; it’s only now that she appears to falter. “ I tried to bring Steve back but I—I’m sorry. I was… tired.”

Eddie privately thinks she’s gone to the Steve Harrington School of Downplaying.

“Jesus, his pulse,” he whispers. “That was you?”

El nods. “I tried to—it was all I could—”

“Fucking Christ—sorry,” Eddie says, bites back more curses, more prayers. “Thank you.”

She smiles—and God, she’s just a girl, Eddie thinks, why was this—why was any of it—thrust upon her?

El places a scarf over her eyes like a blindfold without explanation. The static from the radio gets even louder.

And they wait.

“He’s not in The Upside Down,” El says. “It’s like…” She stretches out both arms, lays one hand flat. Then, she puts her other hand slightly underneath the first. “The Upside Down is the floor. We’re here.” She wiggles the fingers of the highest hand. “And Steve is here.” She wiggles the hand that’s slightly below the other. “He’s stuck.” El’s nose scrunches. “Like going halfway through a Gate.”

Eddie plays My Little Town via the tape while they keep waiting. The song competes with the noise from the walkie.

The Gate comparison leads to El telling him that The Upside Down is slowly becoming sealed off from Hawkins after Henry’s death. Eddie thinks of Wayne seemingly not noticing the gaping split in the world at the trailer, thinks suddenly of an English class, of ‘Not with a bang but a whimper,’—and wonders if that is how the world is saved, too.  

Then El stiffens. “Steve?”

Eddie holds his breath. An explosion of static, but it somehow, just for a second, sounds joyful.

El smiles. “Hi. I’m okay. Are you…?”

She goes quiet for a long moment. Her smile fades, but Eddie is relieved to find not a trace of fear on her face.

“He says that he’s… sorry,” she says slowly. “For being… slow?”

“Oh my god, Steve, shut the fuck up with your fucking apologies,” Eddie says without thinking.

El giggles. “I don’t think I should tell him that.” There’s a pause, and she giggles again. “He says that he can guess what you said.”

The tape has moved on to the next song, so Eddie hurriedly makes to wind it back. El stops him.

“Steve says that this is better,” she says. She briefly mimes strumming a guitar. “He can tell that it’s you. It makes a… clearer path for him to follow.”

In his haste to play the guitar, Eddie fumbles the opening notes completely; he swears that he can hear the static shift into something that resembles a far-off laugh.

-

“He’s saying sorry again,” El says, once Eddie has finished singing. “He’s tired.”

“That’s…” Eddie swallows. “Tell him that’s okay. Please.”

She does. Then she asks for the time.

Eddie glances at the clock on the wall. “Nearly ten.” 

“Steve’s asking if you can try again,” El says, “in an hour.” 

“Yeah, ’course I will,” Eddie says, and his heart twists a bit at the thought that Steve must have phrased it like a question rather than a certainty.

“Goodbye, Steve,” El says softly. “You’re almost home.”

As she removes the scarf, Eddie is alarmed to discover that her nose is bleeding.

“Shit, kid, you okay? Should I call for—?”

But she shakes her head. “It just happens, it’s all right.” She rubs at her temples for a bit, and says, “Sorry, I had to stop. I was getting tired, too.”

“You’re good, just—take it easy,” Eddie insists, still watching with concern as she wipes her nose with her scarf.

“I’m really okay,” El says. “Compared to everything else, finding Steve was…” She pauses, then enunciates carefully: “Easy as shit.”

She says it like she’s only ever heard it in a movie, like she’s trying it on for size.

Eddie decides right then and there that he adores her.

-

“I like your hair,” El says suddenly. Eddie had got her a drink from the vending machine, worried that she’d keel over or something as soon as he looked away. “It’s very pretty.”

Eddie smiles. “Thanks.”

“My hair used to be long.” There’s a melancholy tinge to her words that has Eddie listening intently. “I think longer than yours? But I don’t know.” And she grins, small but genuine. “Maybe I would have won.”

“This took me years,” Eddie says and he goes ham on the delivery to make her laugh, tosses back his head dramatically. “I bet you could beat me again, in a few months.”

El beams. Then she pauses, grows serious. “I recognised you,” she says slowly, “from Steve’s… when he was running. He had to—to hide in memories, and—”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Eddie says quickly, but he keeps his voice gentle. Because no matter how much he’s burning to know, he can only think of what he’d want if the situation were reversed and…

“That’s in Steve’s head, okay? That… that should be just for him.”

El nods with a heaviness that suggests she more than understands.

-

Eddie is pushing his luck, he knows it. It’s already past 11, and he’s sung through the song twice, with hardly a break; this time there was minimal change on Steve’s heart monitor.

Now he’s playing the guitar as quietly as possible to avoid reproach.

“Hey, Harrington,” he says mid-strum, makes his voice go low and teasing like they’re still at school together, like they’ve just caught each other’s eyes in the cafeteria. “Wanna know a secret?”

For a moment, he tries to imagine Steve smirking back, rolling his eyes maybe… but then he realises that he doesn’t know how Steve would react, not really. He didn’t even get the chance to process Steve’s response to “Harrington’s got her, dontcha big boy?”—a stupid aside, but at the time he couldn’t help himself; he felt giddy, still almost certain that they were careening towards disaster, but that they might as well have some fun along the way.

I want more time. I want to know you more, Steve Harrington.

“I saw you once, after Hellfire,” Eddie murmurs. “Never said. I was in my van. You were picking up Henderson, and…” He sighs, leans closer, watches the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. “I was waiting for it, you know? Waiting for you to roll your eyes and act all put upon. I’ve seen what it’s like when folks are… tolerated, right?” He goes quiet for a few bars of music, thoughtful. “But that never happened. Couldn’t hear whatever the hell it was you were saying, but Henderson was talking your ear off and you were smiling, and—Christ, man, all I could think was he must really love this kid.” Eddie laughs in self-deprecation. “Didn’t really know what to do with it, honestly. Kinda pretended to forget about it. Didn’t want the fucking ‘Munson Doctrine’ to be bullshit just yet, I guess.”

He finishes the song without saying anything more; his hand falls on the bed and he stifles a yawn, then starts when he feels…

Steve’s finger tapping on the back of his hand. Slow, deliberate. Almost as if he’d be drumming his fingers if he could. Eddie searches, but Steve’s face is placid.

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, huh, Harrington?”

He doesn’t want to pull away from Steve’s touch, so he puts the guitar down and sings without it. Keeps his voice quiet but steady. Just for Steve.

And just as he reaches, “In my little town, I never meant nothing, I was just my father’s son,” he hears it.

Steve’s heart rate is picking up.

“Oh, God,” Eddie says, torn between gripping Steve’s hand and calling for help. “Steve, it’s okay, you’re—”

And then he stops.

Because Steve’s eyes are opening, fatigued but lucid; and Eddie can catch a tiny smile beneath his mask.

And Eddie feels Steve’s finger move, tracing a pattern across his palm. He laughs through an abrupt sob when he realises what it is.

Letters.

Hi.

[erictmason]

“BOUND FOR FREEDOM, YEAR SIX, DAY FIVE: “Mind”

“The Mind's Eye”

Sally’s mind was a storm.

Sonic had known that risk going in, but that didn’t make it any easier to navigate the torrent of shades and echoes swirling all around him.  Faces he could almost recognize, words he could almost hear, all of it cutting against him like a thousand biting fangs.

So he cut right back.

“SAL!” the hedgehog shouted.  “I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME, SAL!  JUST TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE!”

There was no answer at first, even as Sonic strained to make out anything out over the din of accusatory voices all around him.  But then…faint, like distant rain drops, yet unmistakable…he heard it.  He heard her.   So Sonic pushed ahead, through the storm.  As he went deeper, the shades and echoes began to become clearer.  King Acorn, Geoffrey, Monkey Khan…each one looking out  with cold eyes. 

“You were never worthy.  Of your title, of my love, of your life.”

“Frail little thing…fit to be used and thrown away.  Nothing more.”

“So afraid, even of your own heart, and so you break everything you touch.”

And then Sonic found himself at Sally’s side.  She looked so…small, trembling and curled up into herself, tears running along her cheeks.  In all the years he had known the princess, Sonic had never seen her quite like this.  “Sal…” he whispered softly, kneeling down next to her.

“They’re looking at me,” she said, her voice choked and frail.  “They’re all looking at me.”

Those shades from before loomed over them both like storm clouds.  “We’re gonna wake you up, Sal, I promise,” Sonic said, “and once you’re out of here, they won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

He reached out gently to her, but the squirrel curled in tighter to avoid his touch.  “Out there…in here…it’s all the same,” she hissed.  “It doesn’t change anything.”

“So small…so weak….”

“Broken beyond repair….”

“Hurting…hurtful…inescapable….”

The echoes were growing louder.  The shades were growing darker.  Sonic could practically feel a hand closing in around them.  Sally seemed to feel it too, holding her head…squeezing it.  Behind it all, something…else…became clearer to the hedgehog.  A cage, made in Sally’s image but forged in metal.  It was terrifying…but it also reminded Sonic exactly why he was here.  “Forget them,” he told Sally, his voice far bolder now.  “Forget all of them.”

He reached out again, and again she drew back, but this time he did not stop.  He took her wrist in his hands, his grip firm but not harsh.  “I can’t…” Sally whispered shakily.  “I can’t…!”

“Yes you can,” Sonic answered, putting another hand to her shoulder.  “I know you can, because you can do anything.”

The unseen hand seemed to close in tighter.  Thunder rumbled all around, the shadows grew darker and darker.  Yet Sonic would not let go.  He gently pulled the squirrel close.  And then, slowly but surely…she turned her head to him.  She let her tear-soaked eyes meet his.  “Sonic…?”

“I see you,” he told her.  “Do you understand me?  No matter what they all say…in here or out there…I always see you.”

Sally let out a shuddering breath, leaning in just a little bit closer to him.  Her hands found their way to the sides of his face, embracing him.  Even amidst the darkness and din, she kept her gaze fixed squarely on his, gently rising up so that they could be face to face.   With a weak yet sincere smile, she nodded to him.

And then they woke up. 

[pterodactylterrace]

Oi Oi, it’s your girl sliding in with another crackpot theory! Today, I’m here to ramble on about Maegor!

As I mentioned in a previous post Maegor was likely conceived through the use of magic.

“Even those who loved her best found Visenya stern, serious, and unforgiving; some said that she played with poisons and dabbled in dark sorceries.”

“Visenya childless and perhaps barren.”

“All such speculation ended in 11 AC, when Queen Visenya suddenly announced that she was carrying the king’s child.”

So at 40, after more than a decade of marriage, Visenya ‘suddenly’ falls pregnant. Only after her sister dies in Dorne and the heir (Aenys) refusing to eat and regressing to crawling. I believe Visenya was just fine not having a child of her own, but with Aenys taking the death of his mother so hard, there was a chance he may not recover. The king was being pressured to take another wife, so Visenya did what she had to do.

Somewhat noteworthy that she boasted she would birth a son. Only somewhat because in reality, she had a 50/50 of being right. Still worth mentioning because she doesn’t seem the type to boast about something unless she knew it to be true, though. If she conceived through magic, she may have specifically conceived a son to ensure the line wouldn’t end if Aenys did not recover.

Knowing what we know of Aenys, that would make Maegor the last true born Targaryen.

It is noted that he killed a cat first thing when his mother gave him a sword, but keep in mind, this was written after the fact.

Maegor’s first wife was ten years his senior. He, like his mother, brags that he made a son the day after his wedding. Unlike his mother, this proved to be false.

In fact, years went by, and she never became pregnant. Perhaps because she was older than him (though still very much in her fertile prime, mind you) she was thought of to be the problem. I challenge that, however. I believe Maegor was the one with the issue, but not ‘worms in his privy parts’ or however they put it. Rather, I theorize that Aegon was infertile, and Aenys was a bastard from one of Rhaenys’s paramours. If Visenya managed to conceive Aegon’s child through magic, then it would make sense for any child born of that union to also be sterile.

Maegor was a badass though. He defeated 3 members of the kingsguard in back to back tilts in a tourney. He was knighted at 16. The youngest knight in the seven kingdoms. He is what you would expect of a Targaryen.

What he wasn’t, however, was as a dragon rider. Lady Alyssa (his sister in law) teased him about it one day, asking if he was afraid of dragons. Maegor coolly replies that only one dragon is worthy of him. He has some beef with her. Every child she has, pushes him further down the succession. And she just called him out in open court. That was an awfully tame response from someone who would later be known as “The Cruel”.

He later retrieves his father’s sword from his funeral pyre. When his brother is crowned, Aenys pulls him to his feet when he kneels, tells him he need never kneel to him again, and gives him back Blackfyre. Which means after Maegor retrieved it from his father’s funeral pyre, he gave it to his brother.

When the Eryie had problems with a Kinslaying usurper, Maegor was sent to deal with it. We can see how he feels about Kinslaying and usurpation when he doesn’t spare anyone involved in the revolt.

He is noted to have his mother’s disposition. Stern, strict, unyielding. Yet, not yet described as cruel.

When Maegor takes another wife, thinking his to be barren, Aenys denounces the marriage and calls his new wife a whore. Awful big words for the son of a second wife, but ok. Also, uncalled for. Multiple wives was a Valaryian tradition, and all this girl did was get married. Alyssa openly mocked Maegor in court and he just said only one dragon was worthy of him. Maegor gets married and suddenly the woman is a whore. For… getting married… That makes absolutely no sense to me. Normally a woman wanting to be married is seen as virtuous.

Maegor points out that their dad had two wives, and he had done nothing wrong. Aenys demands he put aside his wife or face exile. Pretty harsh for not doing anything wrong or even out of the ordinary for Targaryen men.

I fully believe Visenya poisoned Aenys at this point. He died slow of tummy troubles that would get better for a while, then come right back. Like an hour after he died, Visenya was going to fetch Maegor from exile. Maegor just came and grabbed the conquerer’s crown for his coronation. The succession had no precedent to follow. Some believed it should go to Aenys’s eldest son. Some to Maegor. There was no clear heir, and Maegor took the crown. It belongs to the man with the strength to seize it.

Then he went to squash an uprising in Kings Landing. This is where his head injury occurs. They didn’t think he would recover. Tyanna of the Tower arrived and THE NEXT DAY he awoke.

The first thing he did when he woke up was get on Balerion and kill his nephew and his dragon. That doesn’t track at all to me. He slew everyone involved in the Eyrie uprising for Kinslaying, and he is suddenly cool with it?

Something doesn’t add up. Every cruel deed followed his recovery.

Good folks of Tumblr, I submit to you this theory:

Maegor the Cruel was not cruel, but had severe brain damage.

We also see that when all his children are born deformed, that Tyanna admits to having a hand in it. She also tells him that his unborn child will also not survive.

Perhaps because the magic she used made him unable to sire a viable child? We don’t know what magic she used, but she used some sort of magic to heal Maegor, and he never had any children before then, and all born after were deformed. She also knew that his unborn child would be the same. Did she know that because she had already gotten to the mother and done something to her, or because she knew Maegor was unable to have viable children?

Tyanna tricked him into killing Alys Harroway. The deformed child was likely his, considering all children aired by him are similarly monstrous. It was just a ‘happy’ accident that of all her paramours, Maegor was the winner. OR all eighteen men that confessed did so under duress (torture) and you can’t really take what they say as truth. They would do anything to make it stop.

He had his nephew tortured to death. He killed everyone involved in building the red keep. He slaughters people in droves, but the question still remains:

Was Maegor always cruel, or did the blow that almost killed him alter his personality completely?

[winterspiderpurrs]

Just gimme a stalker Bucky story for Peter. He’s too innocent and doesn’t notice. Just gimme it please. Saw last prompt someone wrote and it hit me like a truck and now I’m asking for me

God was he beautiful.

Bucky was currently kneeling on the fire escape, peering into the window.

His precious Peter was right there. It's been a year since he first met him. By pure chance even.

He was online , finally deciding on getting a pet cat. He found one he just knew he had to get. But he had to make the trek to Queens.

He was in the shelter finishing up his paper work for his adoption of Alpine when he walked in. He was covered in scratches and was holding a very upset cat who was currently wrapped up ina sweater.

Handing over the kitty to the older woman behind the desk.

" I found 'em in an alley. Pour thing looks starved. Our apartment doesn't allow pets, but I knew you were one of the few non kill shelters around."

The guy was just to precious. Bucky glanced down at the paperwork the guy was filling out to turn the cat over.

Peter Parker huh.

Thankfull for his photographic memory, he filed it away for later.

Once he was home, he still couldn't get the thoughts of Peter out of his head. He was able to do a quick search. He shook his head, didn't he know how to set his privacy settings on his social media apps?

His fingers hover over his instagram. The photos there were artist. Less selfy. Occasionally, some photos of friends, food, and even less of Selfies. But the ones there? The image of Peter out in a pool.

That was quite a view, but after some digging, it appears his little animal lover was smart. Talking king of nerds smart. Graduated from MIT with a doctorate this past year, currently working at Stark Industries. Photo was from when he was out at a conference.

From there, Bucky decided to start hanging around Queens a little. And if he happens to run into Peter? Who was he to say it wasn't fate.

He started showing up to different food places that have frequently showed up in the instagram photos. He created a fake page business page to be an active follower.

Spotting Peter often, never actively interacting with him. Though it was a chance that he decided to bring Alpine with him. She had too much energy sometimes, so he started taking her on long walks.

He decided to walk her in Queens. He frozen for a moment when he heard a gasp.

" Oh! Sir! Look at this pretty girl! May I pet her?"

Bucky turns to find Peter smiling brightly up at him, he nods briefly. Peter quickly kneels down and offers his hand to Alpine to sniff. Alpine then starts rubbing her head again his hand, giving a soft purr.

Peter giggles, and Bucky smiles. See? Even Alpine approved.

They started talkin about cats, how Bucky adopted Alpine and such. Then it happened.

" I wish I could get a cat. Our apartment doesn't allow pets. I tried to convince Quentin to get one and I would take care of it since I'm basically at his place all the time. But he said no "

Who the fuck was Quentin. " Quentin?"

"Oh! Thats my boyfriend" the same that was on Bucky's face fell. He didn't see an relationship status anywhere on what he found. And there weren't any typical relationship romantic photos anywhere.

They part ways not long after, but the burning heat of jealously was growing.

He still made sure to start showing up more to a local park Peter goes to. It didn't take much to convince Peter to exchange numbers. Through that he was able to do more digging online he found Quentins profile.

What a douche.

From the posts he makes to the the sleezing comments, he leaves on people's profile. He even found the guys profile on several dating apps, too.

This guy wasn't worthy of his Peter. Peter who helps old ladies who cross the street. Peter who is loving and kind to animals. Peter who helps tutor kids at the homeless shelter he volunteers at. Peter, who gives more then he takes.

Bucky feels bad as he watches Peter cry himself to sleep in his apartment. Quentin isn't worthy of the tears Peter were crying. But its for the best.

Not even 24hours ago, Bucky had followed Quentin to a club, it wasn't hard to find the guy. Currently trying to talk to a girl, who looked way to young to even be here. He made an offer of drugs, and was able to get Quentin into a dark corner of the club. He made swift jabs to the mans side. The knife glittering under the lights, it was a short blade, mainly to hurt and not kill.

He made some threats that if he didn't break up with Peter, well he would be better prepared for next time. And no one would be able to find him. He was quiet pleased with himself, as much as it hurt him, knowing he hurt Peter. It's better this way.

That way, within the next several months, he could really make Quentins life more miserable. Like how his boss will find out that Quentin was stealing work and selling it to the competition. Insider trading. Stealing ideas claiming them as his own. If he doesn't end up in prison well, Bucky is good at making problems disappear.

He pulled out his phone, making sure it was on silent before he started typing. He was avidly watching Peter as he does. He smiles as he sees Peter sit up to wipe the tears from his eyes as he responds. His heart warms as he sees the small smile that appears.

Just a few more months, the long game is how he is going to be able to win Peter over. He already purchased a property upstate, a cabin that he has started renovating, perfect for them. Would get a satellite if he needs to, to make sure Peter would work remote.

So he would never have to leave.

[haru-sen]

His Oath Renewed

A Through The Gates of Horn and Oak Act II Zevlor Ficlet

He clenches his fists, feeling that familiar power pour through him, anchoring him to his body once more. He missed this, the tight bonds of his oath keeping him upright, giving him clarity and purpose. But he has it once more, now that his god saw fit to grant him mercy, to give him the salvation he yearned for. With his faith restored, he can hold his head up high once more. He needs no reminder that he is a Hellrider for life.

The armor is different, the insignia unfamiliar. His gauntlets are gone...in your care now. He sighs, a feeling of warmth bubbling up in his chest. The gauntlets were merely a token, a remnant of his fallen pride. At the time, it seemed right to pass them on to you, and with his oath reinstated, they are of little concern. You will have him at your side, a paladin once more.

And both he and Halsin are now free to put down their mantles. Neither man wished for leadership, it was a burden thrust onto their shoulders by bitter circumstance. But that is done now and there will be more time for personal pursuits.

Tell us about the Archdruid. Tell us about her.

The voice is soft, feminine, yours. He relaxes. Of course. You have this way of getting past his guard, under his skin, into his head-

And yet, something is not right.

Tell us, Hellrider.

He kneels before you, resting his cheek in your palm, the warmth of your skin soothes the ache inside him. He deserved none of this before, but now...

Show us that you are worthy.

Is he worthy though? His jaw twitches, and for a moment, he recalls the shadows. He remembers telling them to lay down their weapons. The Absolute is going to save them. The Absolute gifted them this chance. They just had to trust him-

It was your voice, but those words, that intent-

Zevlor remembers. And he instantly wishes that he did not. A sickness blooms in his heart, the visions appear clearly once more. The blood on the road, the screaming, the slaughter of his people, even as some laid down their arms, as they trusted his command. He led them astray. He bartered their lives for his own hollow dreams. What else could they expect from an oathbreaker? It is his weakness that ruined them all, his feeble heart, rotten from the inside. It is no different than if he put them to the sword himself. He paid for his torment with their blood and now he is reaping his rewards.

No oath can mend this.

If he screams here in the blackness, no one hears him.

Tell us, Zevlor.

That is not you. You are not here. You were never here. And if Ilmater has any mercy left in his broken body, you will never come here, you will never find out what happened to him.

Zevlor, it doesn’t have to be this difficult. It sounds so regretful, and even though he knows it is not truly you, hearing that wounded disappointment in your voice cuts him to the core. We will reveal the truth of your soul yet. We will break you down. We will build you anew.

And then it begins again. He stands in the streets of Elturel, watching as his home falls into Avernus, knowing that there is nothing he can do to save himself, let alone his people. He tastes bitter ashes and smells the blood on the wind. It is already too late. There is no escape.

The sky is burning.

[startanewdream]

#11 - kneel, for @jilymicrofics. Inspired by The Accolade, by Edmund Leighton

(my first entry, hope I did everything right!)

James' polished armour shines as he walks down the red velvet carpet; when he reaches her, Lily’s crown reflects the light on his eyes, but he holds her gaze a second longer than proper before bowing his head.

"Princess," he calls, voice smooth. Lily's quick-fluttering heart jumps even faster when he raises his head to meet her gaze; the gold stripes of his cloak match the hazel of his eyes.

"James Potter," she answers, his name rolling softly over her tongue. "My country owes you a great debt.”

“I was just doing my duty, princess.” He gives her a lopsided grin that does nothing to calm her racing heart. “It was just one dragon.”

“I owe you even more. You saved my life.”

“I—”

“Just doing your duty, I suppose.”

Something softens in his face. “There was duty, but also—I could never let anything happen to you.”

Her breath catches. “I owe you a gift. Ask me for anything and I shall be—and it shall be yours.”

“My heart’s desire?” He asks hopefully. Lily is shivering as she nods, and for a moment, she sees James sweeping her off in his arms, holding her to share a kiss worthy of the end of this story as he claims her for him—

But James just bows his head once again and kneels in front of her. “I humbly ask to be your knight, princess.”

There is a sword in her hand that Lily can’t recall taking in the first place, but she just accepts. She walks down the one step that separates them, pushes aside the long sleeve of her white-cream dress, and raises the sword, letting the blade brush his shoulders in turn.

“Raise, Sir James Potter.” When their eyes meet again, she adds softly, “my knight.”

“Princess,” he answers, and then are at the same level, just a few inches separating them. His eyes bore into hers before James lets his gaze fall to her lips. “My princess.”

And then his arm wraps her waist, pulling her closer as his mouth captures her, his tongue coaching moans from her—

“Lily?”

She opens her eyes, confused. Everything around her looks the same; she is in a room with tapestries, red velvet carpet, a huge fireplace, and swords decorating the wall. James is there as well, a few feet more apart than he had been a few seconds ago, only he’s wearing his usual red sweater with gold stripes, and Lily realises she’s wearing trousers instead of her gorgeous long-sleeved princess dress—

Of course. She is not a princess, James is not a knight. They are in the Gryffindor Common Room, not in her castle.

Lily blinks again, sitting up straight. James' face comes into focus and he looks concerned, not madly in love with her. “Hey,” she says, voice still groggy.

“Sorry to awake you—I thought you wouldn’t want to sleep here all night.”

“Ah?” She doesn’t remember what she was doing before. “Thank you?”

He chuckles. “Just doing my duty as a Head Boy.” James bends down to pick up a book on the floor. “Reading was boring you that much?”

He turns the book around to take a look at the cover. Lily knows what he will see—the picture of a red-haired woman dubbing a knight with a sword; she jumps to her feet, suddenly awake, but it’s too late.

“The kneeling knight,” James reads out loud. “What is it about?”

She grabs the book out of his hand before James manages to flip through the pages. There are some scenes there that will take Lily to an early grave if James reads them.

“Muggle kids’ tales,” she lies quickly. “You know, princesses and princes and knights. Dragons. Swords. Towers.” And a scorching romance that is not historically accurate at all, but who cares.

His eyes sparkle. “Oh, that seems nice! I’ve never read muggle tales before—can you lend me later?”

Never. “Sure, sure.”

James glances at the cover. “Is that a princess?” Lily nods, rushing to gather her things and hoping by the next morning James will have forgotten about this novel. “She looks a bit like you.” Her face is in flames now; she thought the same, and that's why it had been so easy to drift off to sleep, pretend she was the prince and that James was the knight... “How should I call you if you were a princess? I don’t know the titles.”

She avoids his eyes just in case James has any Legiliment talent she is unaware of, but she can’t control her tongue. “You could just call me your princess.”

“Hum. My princess. I like it.” James tilts his head, curious. “Which character would I be? I don’t see myself as a prince.”

Again, she can’t control her voice any more than she can control her dreams when it comes to him. “No, I think you would be a knight. Sir James Potter.”

James grins; it’s that same lopsided grin that has been driving her crazy all term. “Sir,” he agrees gladly. “It has a nice ring to it.” Then he bows. “Good night, my princess.”

She pictures herself as Sleeping Beauty, waiting in her tower for a kiss from her knight—even if James is only her friend now. “Sweet dreams, my knight.”

She knows she will have.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

"No Love Lost" aka "Ailani Meets The Emperor Again"

A short scene in which Ailani, the recently returned Second Primarch, meets what's left of the Emperor for the first time in 10,000 years to declare her intentions. And finally get a lot of crap off her chest.

Gonna be honest, this is basically Daddy Issues: The Fanfic.

Ailani had made it before the Emperor at long last. She barely remembered what he’d looked like, if she’d ever known even a fraction of the truth of his appearance at all, for all his psychic posturing. But what sat on the Golden Throne was barely the man who was barely her father. A massive, decrepit corpse, more skeleton than man, more deceased than deity. Yet the pressure in her brain told her that something connected to that body was still VERY much alive… and it was at least somewhat aware of her.

The Emperor’s Daughter failed to bow or kneel, and this did not go unnoticed by the attendant Custodes. She stood there, sizing up this undead monument to a single man’s arrogance, ego, and mistakes. Her green-stained eyes looked him over. Her ears heard the whirring and clicking of the ancient machinery of the Golden Throne.

There was much silence for a long while. It had been ten thousand years, and their last exchange had almost come to blows much as their first had. Her last act in his Imperium was to fire on his soldiers and betray his trust by favoring her people above his orders. What was there she could possibly say? Would it even do her any good at all? Was whatever was left of the Emperor even cognizant enough to answer in any way? There was only one way to find out.

“I've returned.” Ailani said, breaking the silence.

Her head filled with unfiltered thoughts that were not hers.

TRAITOR

DISGUSTING

DISAPPOINTMENT

ABERRANCE

The Second Primarch laughed darkly. 

“Yeah. It’s nice to see you too, Dad. I suppose we both are just going to have to accept that we’ll always be a disappointment to each other. I for not being who or what you wanted me to be, and you for being an irredeemably arrogant bastard. I mean, I admire your ability to consistently remain true to your character, even if that character has always been less than stellar. I'm not sure what was more impressive: your ability to remain consistently unpleasant around me or your knack for making enemies you didn’t have to have.”

ABOMINATION

MISCREANT

APOSTATE

REPUGNANT

“You know, I never liked you much either. But the ideals you sold me? Those were maybe the only good you ever put in my life. I never really believed in your Imperium or your Crusade. I certainly never believed in you – how could I when the first thing you ever did around me was express your revulsion for my identity and then try to kill my parents?”

FALSE

KIDNAPPERS

CORRUPTORS

HYPOCRITE 

“Still refusing to admit you’re wrong. 10,000 years and how many wars to end all wars and you still haven’t changed. Well, you may not have believed a damn word you said when you poured honey in my ears to get me to come to Terra the first time, but they were words worth believing in. And as far as I’m concerned, you already got what you deserved.”

The Custodes reached for their weapons, but did not draw. Not yet.

SANCTIMONIOUS

UNGRATEFUL

UNNATURAL

BROKEN

Ailani let out a judging laugh.

“Ungrateful? Ungrateful?! My legion and I did good work. We did what we were told to do. What we were MADE to do. Made, BY YOU, to do. And we did it well. Our lives were dedicated to your mandates, your purpose. But because I wasn’t the child you WANTED, you never trusted us. You took my family, my community, my whole WORLD hostage to ensure my loyalty. But I did the work. ‘Maybe,’ I told myself, ‘maybe if I work hard enough, if I prove my usefulness, he might ease off. He might see that I’m just as worthy as my brothers. He might realize that he doesn’t need to hold a sword over my family’s necks to make me keep my promise.’ But you never did. Nothing I did was EVER enough for you! I will ALWAYS be a deviant in your eyes. A freak. A mistake. But I’ve finally realized, that’s not MY problem. It’s yours. And I’m done letting the people of this Imperium suffer for this grudge. I’m back, and you’re not. You can just sit there and simmer. I’m done with you, and I don’t expect I’ll speak with you again. I’m a healer. I learned triage a long time ago. I know better than to waste energy and resources on a lost cause when there’s ways to use them to do more good elsewhere. So that’s what I’ll do. The Imperium is wounded. It’s sick. It’s in pain. Untold teeming billions upon billions are crying out. They need help.  So I’m going to help them however I can. They didn’t ask for any of this. Yes, they’ve done SO MUCH WRONG. They are so afraid and hateful, but that isn’t their fault. They’ve never known another way. It’s just another way they’ve been injured. And for all your faults, I know neither one of us ever wanted this for them. We both believe in a better tomorrow, and a better mankind to live in it, after all. On the oath I swore ten thousand years ago, I swear I will keep trying to make the Imperial Ideal the Imperial Reality. You can trust me, just like you always could and should have.”

The Custodes relaxed as Ailani turned to leave. She stopped at the door to the Throne Room. She had a feeling she needed to.

REMISS

THANK

YOU

̲D̲A̲U̲G̲H̲T̲E̲R̲

Ailani smiled. 

“Maybe I will see you again, actually.”

[xivu-arath]

part one of a second chapter to my idea of the sith warrior ending up in zakuul Very Early

There are a thousand myriad differences between this empire and her own, and Rkorya reaches for what is still familiar as she’s escorted into the vast, glittering throne room. Force-users line the path towards the throne, and there, inexorably, is the Emperor, like a star pulling this strange court into orbit. It’s difficult to not focus immediately on him, but she deliberately looks past, pausing at the sight of three well out of the way of both the throne and guards. All human, and all strong in the Force, but what matters is that they watch her approach with flat eyes. What she can sense of them – difficult, with so many here, and with the Emperor blotting them all out if she doesn’t put effort into focusing – is tinged with surprise, unease, anger.

The Emperor may have requested – invited, demanded, she’s not quite sure yet – her presence but her arrival is an unpleasant shock for them, and they resent it.

That, at the very least, is familiar ground. Infighting and bitter politics she knows well enough, and the Emperor may be overwhelming, untouchable, but those around him aren’t.

She can carve a place out here, if she tries.

This time when she kneels it is practised and smooth, as if she hasn’t been calmly escorted into an empire she’d never even heard a whisper of until now, as if for once she isn’t fairly sure she has no chance of fighting her way out of this.

“Rise,” the Emperor says, and watches her get back to her feet with a cool smile. Already, this body seems more animated, more worn than that of the Voice, and she’s jarred by the idea that he is far more of a person here. “And welcome, outlander, to my true empire – the Eternal Empire, Zakuul.” How eternal, she wants to ask, why abandon the Sith, and what am I doing here but she bites her tongue. This is not an audience, for all that it looks like one. This is a performance, a declaration, the ushering in of a new unknown factor into Zakuul’s schemes.

Her time with Baras has taught her some things, it seems.

“You honour me, my emperor,” she says, and catches the narrowed eyes and focused scrutiny of the others, wary resentment coiling in the Force like smoke, and his own flicker of something very much like satisfaction. “I came at your request, but I did not come alone. Are my people welcome in your... empire as well?” Rkorya doesn’t know what her options are if they’re not, or if she even has any. The thought of leading her crew here to be executed is a chilling one, and she can imagine it all too easily. At the very least, it keeps her awe in check.

“But of course. Everything that you have earned thus far, you may keep,” he says. It is almost kind. “You have fought well for your empire, but it would have wasted you in the end. You will find a different fate in Zakuul.”

With anyone else, she would have protested fiercely – after all, she was raised for the Sith Empire, had sworn her life to it as soon as she was old enough for the vow to have meaning – but here the reflexive anger is cut off by the unease of hearing the Emperor say it. She compromises by staying silent and stifles her confusion as best as she can. Surely she’ll have a moment to try to make sense of this, and now is not the time to seem weak. “You will know true power, far beyond what your master would have trusted you with. He would have turned upon you in the end, out of fear of what you would become.”

That cold smile again, reminding her of distant stars – brilliant and untouchable. “It has been centuries since I have been capable of fear.”

It is a chilling reassurance, but the awe runs beneath it still because here she stands, found worthy, chosen above all others. If only she knew just what she had been chosen for.

“You have questions. They will be answered, in due course. You require time to adjust – my children will aid you in this.”

“Your – children,” she repeats before she can think better of it, not sure if she’s heard correctly. He doesn’t seem to take offence at the interruption, but then, the restraint he’s shown so far is beyond anything she’d expect from a Sith.

“Surprised, outlander?” one of the men nearby says, voice jarringly scornful, and she wheels around to glower at him, head held high. Now that she has an opportunity to study them openly, she can see it – all three of them, men and woman, have something of the Emperor’s features.

Clearly they’ve inherited something of his strength in the Force as well. She can’t be sure, but the men feel like they could hold their own against her, and the woman would have been one of the strongest she’s ever met, if they were anywhere else. Here, though, she’s merely a small moon held in orbit.

“My sons, Arcann and Thexan, and my daughter, Vaylin,” he continues, ignoring the tension between them. “They are my legacy of my time in Zakuul, after I grew tired of the Sith.” It was her loyalty which brought her here, and though she reflexively wants to bristle, to snap questions, to demand explanation for what all of this means, she holds back once more. This might well be a test, and Rkorya doubts that time has made him more lenient towards failure.

It makes bearing up against the arrogance of his children no less difficult. One of them – either Arcann or Thexan, though she’s hardly inclined to try to tell them apart at the moment – is all but sneering, with the other looking merely tense, and Vaylin bored.

She had earned her place within the Empire, and she can do the same here. The Emperor – their father – has acknowledged her. One day, they will have to do the same.

Such an assurance does little to help with the urge to fight all three of them, but for once she doesn’t have to struggle against her own temper. There is too much at stake here to lash out wildly, no matter how tempting it is. In a way, that indignant anger is a comfort, something familiar to focus on even as everything else continues to tilt dizzyingly away from what she thought she knew. That the Emperor has children, has lived and cared enough to bother with some kind of lineage, is just another strange, unavoidable truth to add to the pile.

Another unavoidable truth – he had been silent in the Empire, her Empire, for years, hadn’t lived openly or had a family for centuries if not longer.

She can’t avoid letting that thought come to its natural conclusion, reaffirming his every dismissive word. It comes over her slowly, not like the easy flare of anger that she had learned to kindle as a child, but a feeling both cold and heavy. She imagines both her hearts slowing, just for a moment, beneath its weight, and then pushes it down and away.

Perhaps he senses something of her thoughts. “They have proven themselves worthy of my attention. Worthy of this empire I have built... but you have the potential to join their number.” They all stir at that, Vaylin crossing her arms, the twins frowning. “Out of all the Sith in the galaxy, you have both the power and will to become something more. That is why I have chosen you, and brought you here.”

“I am honoured, my emperor.” Sincerity so raw that it scrapes her throat as she says it.

He looks down on her, and Rkorya feels suddenly how pretty and meaningless all of this is – the glittering throne room, the countless guards and droids who marched her in, the towering spires her ship docked at. She doesn’t care about this empire, and whatever power it could offer her is a distraction at best. Perhaps, in a saner and pragmatic moment, she will appreciate its armies and fleets, the protection that Zakuul can offer, but right now, the Emperor is all that matters, and that for all his power, all his knowledge, here she stands, somehow deserving.

“I look forward to seeing what can be made of you.”

[iamthemain-character]

See Me

Anthony expects his best friend to always be by his side, even as he tries to find the perfect wife; what he doesn’t expect is for Y/n to be harboring feelings for him.

anthony bridgerton x best friend! reader, edwina sharma x anthony bridgerton

she/her pronouns

TW: angst

i have an idea for a second part, should i do it?

bridgerton masterlist | part two

It was finally the time no one thought they would see: the season Viscount Bridgerton found a wife. At least Y/n certainly never thought they would see it.

Clutching the delicate paper Anthony had written his “requirements” for a wife on, Y/n tightened her jaw. Across from her, sitting on the chair behind the desk, Y/n’s lifelong friend sat back, trying to evaluate her reaction.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I assure you I am.”

Exasperated, Y/n looked at the viscount. “This is ridiculous.”

Leaning his elbows on the desk, Anthony matched her gaze. “I don’t think there’s anything ridiculous about trying to find an appropriate wife.”

“Of course not, but this list is ridiculous. Women are not like stock, to be judged and evaluated to ensure that you can get a good price.” Y/n got out of her chair, coming around to Anthony as she looked at the list again. “What happened to love? Your parents set such a fine example, yet affection is nowhere to be found amongst your numerous expectations.”

“Love will not be necessary for my relationship Y/n. I simply need a woman worthy of being my viscountess, someone who can perform all the duties required of being my wife.” Taking the list back from Y/n, Anthony set it in his drawer and pulled out a ledger.

Kneeling next to the chair, Y/n set her hand on Anthony’s arm. His head turned toward her, eyes flicking from the hand up to her face. “Just because you have responsibilities doesn’t mean you can’t be happy Anthony. You deserve to be happy, and to feel love.”

For a moment Anthony’s face softened, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something. He looked at Y/n so intently, that for the moment she was frozen in place, not wanting to break this precious moment.

Then just as quickly as the moment had come it passed, and Anthony’s features hardened once again. “Love is merely a distraction, I will not let it interfere with my duties. Not again.”

The last two words were spoken so softly that Y/n wondered if she even heard them. Her heart fell as she realized he must be talking about Sienna, the charming soprano who broke his heart last season. Y/n had known the relationship was doomed from the beginning, but Anthony had been infatuated and as his best friend Y/n tried to be supportive.

Letting out a sigh, Y/n got up off of the ground, smoothing out her skirts. Placing a hand on Anthony’s shoulder, she offered him a small smile. “While I cannot condone your actions, I wish you the best of luck my Lord.”

With that she walked out, leaving the Viscount alone in his study. Once the sound of the door clicking in place reached his ears, Anthony threw down his quill and leaned back, releasing a frustrated sigh. Running his hands over his face, Anthony remembered the feeling of Y/n’s hand on his arm, and how positively beautiful she had looked smiling at him. She was so gentle, so ready to be there for him, and he had wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her. But that would mean acknowledging his feelings he had been trying to stuff down for years, and Anthony wouldn’t risk letting love into his life.

———————————————————————

The week that the Sharma’s spent at the country estate with the Bridgerton’s was the longest week of Y/n’s life. While both Kate and Edwina were perfectly lovely people, Anthony and Kate were constantly at each other’s throats and it became difficult to be around both. Then there was the matter of Edwina; it physically pained Y/n to see her with Anthony, knowing that she would one day have all that Y/n would not. So instead Y/n devoted most of her time to the other Bridgerton’s, running around with Eloise or chatting with Daphne.

Soon enough, however, the summer festivities came to a close, and it was time for everyone to head home. Y/n had been convinced by Violet to stay longer, as was tradition due to the closeness of their families. After Anthony proposed to Edwina, however, Y/n soon found herself regretting that decision. Watching the happy couple plan their impending nuptials was slowly chipping away at Y/n’s heart, and so she tried her best to avoid the soon-to-be newlyweds.

It was during one such occasion that Y/n’s plan backfired on her; late one night she had made her way to the library, desperate to find a book to make take her mind off of things. Letting her fingers brush over the covers, Y/n closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the peace of the moment.

That peace was almost immediately disturbed, however, as she heard the door open behind her. Turning to see who it was, Y/n saw a slightly disheveled Anthony walking through the door. He started for a second, but smiled as he saw it was his friend.

“I see you haven’t lost your affinity for my father’s library.” Anthony stepped forward, offering his hand out as Y/n got down from the ladder.

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Y/n walked towards the door. “Just needed a book, I’ll be going now my Lord.” Y/n’s reply was stiff, but she couldn’t be any warmer for fear she’d say—or heaven forbid do— something she would regret.

“Have I offended you?”

Y/n’s hand on the doorknob froze as she heard Anthony’s voice, so soft, almost sad. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she didn’t dare turn around. “Not at all my Lord, I’m simply returning to my bedroom.”

Anthony’s footsteps came closer, and Y/n could feel him hovering around her shoulder. “You have ignored me for a while, and I cannot fathom why.”

“You have been busy.”

“Busy?”

“With your soon-to-be bride, my Lord.” It took everything in Y/n not to spit those words out. She knew she had no right being angry, Edwina was a lovely girl and would make a wonderful wife, but Y/n couldn’t help but feel envious that it would be her by Anthony’s side for the rest of his life.

Anthony laughed and placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “Y/n, you are my dearest friend, I want nothing more than my future wife and you to get to know one another. After all, you will be seeing each other more often.”

Whipping around, Y/n stared at Anthony perplexed. “And why is that?”

“Well, once Edwina and I are married she will be at the house all the time, so you both will see each other quite often I imagine.”

“And what makes you think I will also be at the house?”

“Y/n, you’ve always spent more time at our houses than your own, I-“

“Yes, because I was your best friend Anthony, because I helped you get through one of the darkest times, because I loved your family more than I ever loved mine, because I could not live a moment without you!“ Y/n’s chest rose and fell as she tried to calm her breathing. She turned her head away, mentally cursing herself for letting that slip.

Anthony looked taken aback, unsure of what to say or do. “Me being married will change none of that, Y/n our friendship-“

“I cannot! I-I cannot continue to be your friend. I will always be a friend to your family, and therefore a friend to you, but I cannot be your especial friend anymore. To be a confidant, an advisor, a companion, those are qualities of a wife. And I…” Y/n blinked back tears as she looked at Anthony again, holding up her chin. “I am not your wife. You have chosen Edwina, and she will be perfect, but I will not play third wheel to you both. This is our future Anthony, and now we must live with it.”

Anthony stepped closer, hands hovering over Y/n’s arms, unsure if he should touch her. “Please, do not leave me. You mean the world to me, surely Edwina will understand that I have a lifelong friend-“

“But I will not understand!” Y/n pushed Anthony away, slamming the book she had taken on the desk. “I am tired, tired of polite conversation, hearing your qualifications for a woman, and watching you waste your life! I am tired of pretending that I didn’t want to be the woman you chose, even though I could never be who you wanted me to be, not in a million years. But so help me Anthony I would’ve loved you like no other, I have loved you, but you are so blind and stupid that you cannot see what is in front of you. So forgive me, Viscount Bridgerton, if I do not want to spend the rest of my life watching the man I love with a woman he does not love.”

Eyes glistening with tears, Anthony stood frozen in place. “Y/n….” It was so soft, almost like a plea, and for a moment Y/n saw the young boy who had just lost his father, the boy who she had held in her arms and sworn to never leave.

Coming closer, almost chest to chest, Y/n looked up into Anthony’s eyes. “Tell me you love her, and I will be the perfect friend. Just tell me you love her Anthony, tell me that is why you’re marrying her.”

Anthony’s eyes flicked across Y/n’s face, and time seemed to slow down as she awaited his answer. “I-I…” Y/n’s lips were so close, and he wanted nothing more than to close the distance and feel them against his own. “Love is not in the cards for me.”

Stepping away, Y/n shook her head, and as she looked at Anthony again the young boy she had known was gone, instead replaced by the Viscount. “Then I wish you and Miss Edwina the best. I bid you good night my Lord.” With that Y/n curtsied and left the room, determined not to look back until she made it to the safety of her bedroom.

Back in the library, Anthony leaned against the chair as he contemplated all that had occurred. Tears ran down his cheeks, knowing now that Y/n loved him as he loved her. But he couldn’t tell her that, it was better she thought badly of him then to be forced to feel the pain he was now feeling. No, Anthony would marry Edwina, she would be his viscountess, and he would be the perfect picture of leadership in his family. He had a duty to fulfill, even if it meant breaking his own heart.

[gotnofucks]

(updated 26 October 2021)

MARVEL 

+++++

Steve Rogers

One-Shots

Choose :  Steve realizes he can’t let you go when you’re stuck in a safe house with him (dark!steve x reader)

Ball's In Your Court : Steve and Y/n have been playing games for years. But now that Rogers is acting like a little bitch, Y/n throws him a curve ball that will either make them or break them.

Pot of Gold : You went broke and bet your pussy.

Special Training : Steve takes special interest in your training (dark!Steve x Reader)

Nectar: Steve's waited a long time to have you again after the birth of your daughter. (soft!dark King Steve x Reader)

Their Poison : A billionaire, a sorcerer and a soldier walk into a bar. Their only poison of choice is you. (Dark!Steve x dark!Tony x dark!Stephen x reader)

The Airport Cliché : You make sure your love story has the necessary cliché to make it legit.

No One's Bitch: If Steve thought you'll bend to his will, he was dead wrong. This kitty has some claws (dark!Steve x Reader)

Bartered: You were his, despite wearing another man's ring on your hand. (Dark!Steve x Reader)

Renewing Vows: Steve reminds you of your promises as his wife. (Dark!Steve x Reader)

Colour Me Red: Your boss is chasing you like the proverbial hound of hell, and one vibrant shade of red is going to be his undoing, and yours.

Midnight Adventures: He thinks you’re trying to escape him, even though he’d made it clear who you belong to. Though the truth is far more innocuous than that. (soft!dark Steve x Reader)

Lover's Quarrel: You have the powers to resurrect if you’ve been murdered, and a jealous Steve Rogers indulges heavily in your abilities. He would not let you steal his best friend, that was for sure. So what, if your rivalry regularly caused fire and harm to public property? You just couldn’t let the other win.

The Journey to Daddy: Five times you call Steve 'daddy', and one time he asks you to.

In Mind and Heart : When your former supersoldier lover shows up at your door a year later, the last thing you expect him to do is ask for another fuck. You let in him because of friendship, and he refused to let you go because of love. This was not how it was supposed to go. (Soft!dark Steve x Reader)

Murder at the Whorehouse : When Sergeant Barnes assigns you a murder case at the brothel, you didn’t know you’d cross paths with Steve Rogers who was a bigger mystery than the case itself. (Ft. Stucky x Reader)

Series

At His Alter: You fall in love with a man already belonging to someone else. (Priest!Steve)

Condemned To Him: It’s hard to love someone you were meant to hate. But Steve doesn’t care, and he will have your love no matter how much you deny it. (soft!dark!Steve x Reader)

Happily Ever After : Steve won't take no for an answer (dark!Steve x Reader)

Happily Ever After-2 : You are welcomed in your new life, as the bride of Steve Rogers (dark!Steve x Reader)

Drabbles/Blurbs/Headcanons

Post Traumatic Fuck Fest (Steve Rogers)

Please Hurt me (Mob!Steve Rogers)

Peeping Tom (Steve Rogers)

+++++

Bucky Barnes

One-Shots

Madness, Thy name is Barnes: You and Bucky put on a show for the team

Night Ritual : You and Bucky have a night time ritual

Lovely Shade of Green : Jealousy is a very good look on your boyfriend

Fallen Together : Bucky and you spend a winter morning in each other's arms

Hide-And-Eat : Nothing stops Bucky when he's hungry for you.

Gluttony is a Sin : You and Bucky put a little something extra in your food and Sam learns Gluttony is a sin for a reason

Promised to Him : You return back to your town after years, hoping to start anew. But faces of the past reappear, set to fulfill promises you had made years ago. (dark!Biker!Bucky x Reader)

To the beat of sin : In the heat of music, you do something that makes Bucky mad. He reminds you of who you belong you, but you have a lesson for him too. (rockstar!Bucky x rockstar!reader)

The Second Coming: You were about to marry the love of your life. You were ready to be happy and determined to be a good wife. But then he returned. Your past came into your life to remind you that he would never let you go, and there is little you could do to stop him. (Royal AU) (dark!Bucky x Reader, ft. Peter Parker)

A Sack of Skin: You had thought burying him would have rid you of him. But he came back to haunt you in the worst way possible. (Dark! Ghost!Bucky x Reader, Possessed!Steve x Reader)

Drabbles/Blurbs/Headcanons

A love there is no cure for (WS Bucky)

+++++

Steve x Reader x Bucky

One-Shots

Going Against Nature : Steve and Bucky would change the laws of nature if that’s what would take to make you theirs. or: Steve and Bucky don’t like it when you smell like Peter Parker. (dark!alpha!Steve x reader, dark!alpha!Bucky x reader) A/B/O

Meet the Parents : You're daddies little girl and Peter wants to take you out (featuring Peter Parker)

Murder at the Whorehouse : When Sergeant Barnes assigns you a murder case at the brothel, you didn’t know you’d cross paths with Steve Rogers who was a bigger mystery than the case itself.

Series

•Master of His Own Fate: As far as Bucky knew, fate would not decide who you belong to. Very twisted dark soulmate AU.  (dark!Bucky x Reader, dark!Steve x Reader)

Master of His Own Fate-2

•Their Surrogate : When Steve and Bucky ask you to be the surrogate mother for their child, you couldn’t say no. (dark!Steve x Reader, dark!Bucky x Reader)

Their Surrogate - 2 Their Surrogate-3 (completed)

Drabbles/Blurbs/Headcanons

Bound and Blindfolded (Stucky x Reader)

+++++

Stephen Strange

Congruence :  Stephen and Loki want you. You are confused. Wong is an angsty person. (featuring Loki)

Their Poison : A billionaire, a sorcerer and a soldier walk into a bar. Their only poison of choice is you. (Dark!Steve x dark!Tony x dark!Stephen x reader)

+++++

Loki

Congruence :  Stephen and Loki want you. You are confused. Wong is an angsty person. (featuring Stephen Strange)

+++++

Tony Stark

Series

•My Little Girl:  Prince Tony hunts you on the royal hunting trip (dark!Tony Stark x reader)

My Little Girl - 2:  Prince Tony has taken you, but keeping you proves more difficult that he imagined. (dark!Tony Stark x reader, slight dark!Steve x reader)

My Little Girl-3

One-Shots

Their Poison : A billionaire, a sorcerer and a soldier walk into a bar. Their only poison of choice is you. (Dark!Steve x dark!Tony x dark!Stephen x reader)

+++++

Peter Parker

Protected : How were you to know who's a monster, who's a savior when they all hide behind a mask (dark!Peter x reader)

Meet the Parents : You're daddies little girl and Peter wants to take you out (featuring Stucky)

+++++

SamBucky

Parts of Whole: Steve would see his OTP's ship sail, even from across the grave (ft. Steve Rogers)

Sam Wilson

To Sin in Love: You're forced to choose between the man who owns your heart and the one who owns your soul. (Ft. Lucifer)

RANSOM DRYSDALE

One-Shots

One Day :  Ransom meets sub!reader but she won’t kneel for him

Thirty One Days : Ransom and you are on a month-long challenge. Who will win and what are the stakes?

The Unreformed Rake: Ransom Drysdale is a notorious rake, but he seems to have taken a shine to you. When he plans to make you his, nothing would stand in his way. No is not a word he understands. (Soft!dark Ransom x Reader)

The Fated Mate: Ransom always knew he’d be your alpha. Despite you not presenting yet, he just knew you were meant to be his. No matter how much you ran, you always found him waiting for you at the end of the line. They said it was fated, and sometimes fate was a bitch. (A/B/O)

Sleeping Beauty: He waits for sleep to claim you, so that he can do the same later (dark!Ransom Drysdale x Reader) Kinktober Day 1

Drabbles/Blurbs/Headcanons

Breeding Kink + Housewife Kink w/Ransom

ANDY BARBER

One-Shots

Golden Cage :  You asked Andy to take your case and he asked for you to give yourself to him as payment.  (soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader)

Trespassing : You trespass on forbidden land, catching the eye of the creature that dwells within. (dark!demon!Andy Barber x Reader)

No Judgements: An Omega in heat is never fit to make a fair judgement, especially not when her delicious meat of an Alpha is concerned. (A/B/O)

His Responsibility : When you're pregnant and scared, Andy decides he will take the responsibility, whether you want it or not. (dark!Andy x reader)

A Man's World: To advance in a man’s world, you must allow one to own you. He promises you success, as long as you give yourself to him. (soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader)

LEE BODECKER

One-Shots

Sweet Tooth : Sheriff, you and his sweet tooth

The Claiming of the Sheriff: You wanted him, he wanted you. But he was too honourable and you were too greedy. So you made the choice for both of you. (dadsbestfriend!Lee x soft!dark Reader)

Series

•Sell My Soul :  You cut a deal with the Sheriff to save your brother (dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader)

Sell My Soul -2 :  Your husbands finds a secret you’ve been keeping and he is not happy.  (dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader)

Sell My Soul - 3 : Last part to the series (soft!dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader)

Drabbles Masterlist

SHERLOCK HOLMES

One-Shots

What's Your Escape : Sherlock could never resist a mystery, especially not one as deliciously wrapped as you (dark!Sherlock Holmes x reader)

Death by Pleasure : Death by Pleasure isn't a thing. Is it? (Dark!Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

Drabbles/Blurbs/Headcanons

A worthy throne (Sherlock Holmes)

CHRIS EVANS

One-Shots

Loving Dodger : Your journey of overcoming your fear of dogs to loving Dodger.

Muse Music : Chris plays for you

Chemical Romance: Chris won't have you running away from him. You're his. He owns your heart, and now he'll own all of you.

AUGUST WALKER

One-Shots

Compromise: Your surrender to him would ensure the safety of the world (dark!August Walker x Reader)

Prometheus: You disappoint August and must make up for it

Drabbles/Blurbs/Headcanons

Pluto is not a Planet (Hades! August Walker)

LUCIFER

To Sin in Love: You're forced to choose between the man who owns your heart and the one who owns your soul. (Ft. Sam Wilson)

JAKE JENSEN

At the Dinner Table: Request: How about Jake Jensen meeting the reader's parents for the first time and since he's an adorkable idiot, chaos ensues?

Drabbles/Headcanons/Blurbs (Miscellaneous/Multi-characters and fandoms)

When you feel ugly and the boys won't have it (BB, SR, LB, TS, RD, LL, SH)

When Reader is tall and slim and not curvy (SR, BB, RD, LB, AB)

Dick Fingers (very weird ask)

Detention (Severus Snape hc)

Remedial Potions (dark! Severus Snape)

Does your mother know (Hook)

When Reader has anorexia and body image issues (BB, LB, LL)

BODY POSITIVITY CHALLENGE

[tu-sugar-mami]

Warnings and uh tags?: reader death, unsolicited angst. Don't read honestly, it's crappy, im feeling angsty today don't read, this doesn't make sense at all but meh bc i always hurry i have no patience. Happy ending if course but still

###

Alcina can't understand it.

You're just another maiden of the bunch. Why are her eyes tearing up?

You're nothing more than a simple servant, as disposable as any other, just a toy kept around for her amusement only. Sure, she might have gotten a liking to you, an uncommon fixation but nothing else. So why? Why is her stomach churning with worry and why is her her mouth dry at the sight of your limp body trapped under the fallen bookshelf? Why are her eyes watering and her heart beating uncontrollably when she can't hear yours even if she's straining her ears.

When she heard the thunderous roar of something clashing to the ground she was ready to lecture you, wasting no time in climbing up the stairs with hurried steps in search of you, but her feet stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted her: Half of your body buried under the heavy wood, books littered all around you and blood spilling out of your mouth.

It takes a moment before she spins into action, pushing the bookshelf away and kneeling beside you. She doesn't know what to do, she's afraid of touching you and risk hurting you even more but she can't bring herself to call for help.

She's angry at you, at herself. At you because why did you have to be so reckless? You're fragile, human, mortal, and yet you're stubborn in doing things your way. At herself because she should have known better than to leave you alone.

With gloved fingers on your neck she checks for a pulse. You can't be de— No, she won't finish that thought, she won't accept it. There isn't a pulse but she is not letting you go.

Careful to control her strength Alcina picks you up, cradling you in her arms and close to her chest. You've always been soft and squishy, great for cuddles and hugs, but the way you feel in her hands as she carry you downstairs is way too wrong, like a pouch of glass marbles. Your face is pale and your limbs sway like those of a rag doll. At this point even Donna's dolls and puppets seem more alive than you do.

Alcina orders a carriage to the first maid that crosses her way. Her cracking voice harsh to the maid's ears while she scurries to bide the order she's given.

The daughters somehow hear the fuss and go to investigate. They find their mother trying to hold back tears, though unsuccessfully, since some of her makeup is already smudged.

"Don't." Is all she say when one of the girls try to touch you. They're worried at the dull, lifeless tone in her voice, but they obey nonetheless.

Alcina doesn't know why she's acting like this. She doesn't know why suddenly you're worthy of her wasting precious time to try and save you.

She remembers how you had never been afraid of anything, not even when you were sold to her by your parents. She wonders if you are afraid of never waking up again.

During the whole journey to Moreau's —the only one that appears in her mind when it comes to someone able to help— she never lets go of your frame, cradling your pale cheek in her hand, her thumb caressing your now cold skin.

Why is her heart hammering in her chest? Why does she feel like grieving the loss of something precious? Why is she suddenly overwhelmed by all these emotions? It doesn't make sense, not at all.

Moreau is curious as to why Lady Dimitrescu's carriage is pulling up at his door, and at such hour at that. He's not expecting a teary Alcina carrying a young maiden in her arms, ordering him to save you, and when he states what she already knows she begs for everything that is holy that he still try because you can't leave her, not like this.

Alcina didn't know how important you had become to her until she realized your smile was gone, until she realized you were not going to sit on her lap and giggle when she corrected historical events on modern textbooks again. It hit her like a bucket of cold water that you were not going indulge in playful banters whenever she's stressed again, and of course you would not braid Bela's hair while retelling stories of old books by the fireplace anymore.

It hit her that you were, in fact, not just another one of the bunch, no.

But it hit her even harder that she was the only one at fault for this.

She had been the one to send you away with a wave of her hand, annoyed. "If you want to be useful go and do something, but don't stand there like a nuisance." She had said. She was bitter. She had heard you talking with another maid, a friend of yours, about how you wanted to leave and explore the world and everything it had to offer. She thought you weren't happy with her and that hurt her, so she did what she always did when hurt: hide behind a cold mask.

She hadn't meant for you to go to the library. She hadn't meant for you to die. And now she was praying to every god she knew to get you back.

The only option left when Moreau can't wake you is to go with the only other person capable of beating death. Miranda.

And so Alcina does, and by a miracle mother Miranda agrees to try, but her motives as always are twisted. You do wake up, but you're not you anymore. A soulless beast has replaced the sweet, flirty maiden that was before. Alcina thinks she can handle it as long as you're back with her, but she's proven wrong when you get out of control.

No one admits it, but they pity her.

No one was to say it, but it's clear they have to put you down, out of your misery.

Alcina pulls out her claws and with a single tear rolling down her left cheek, she strikes...

...

...

...Alcina wakes up with pained yell. She's drenched in cold sweat. Her heart is beating a mile per hour. She touches her face and feels her cheeks sticky, wet with tears.

At her side you wake up too, startled, looking your surroundings for a sense of orientation. Next to you is your beautiful wife, sitting, crying her eyes out, covering her mouth with a hand in an attempt to quiet her whimpers. The grasp of sleep abandon you in a blink and in a second your arms are surrounding her.

"My love, it's okay. You're okay, it was a dream, everything is alright." You say while swaying side to side trying to calm her down. You cup her face, kissing her tears away while caressing her tear stained cheek.

"You died... I killed you." She whispers desperately. You shush her and hold her close to you.

"That will never happen. It was just a nightmare." You say. After a kiss is properly placed on her forehead you manage to lay side by side, and even though Alcina is much bigger than you she's hiding her face on the crook of your neck.

She won't say a word, but you know she won be able to sleep again. In the darkness and quiet of the large room your voice starts to sing a sweet, soothing lullaby while you fingers tangle in your lover's hair and start to play with it. "I love you, Alcina." You say out loud when you feel Alcina's heartbeat lower to a tranquil pace and you're sure she's drifting back to her slumber. "I'll be here for you, always."

------

If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

[foli-vora]

more than words, pt.3

A/N: Thank you for all the love! 🥺🥰 overwhelmed by the reaction I’ve had to this story! Super excited that so many of you are coming along for the ride! There is a tag list for this—let me know if you’d like to be added! (I apologise if I’ve missed anyone!) I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, general first date nerves that trigger my anxiety x10

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.4 / pt.5 / pt.6

+

He was trying to listen. He really was, but God, how many times can you hear the same thing over and over and over again before you start to drift away from the conversation? He knew the answer. He had a very short attention span when it came to certain subjects – he’ll admit that freely – so when you continued to gush about his best friend, his main man, naturally his attention fell to the couple seemingly having an argument by their truck in the parking lot. Hmm… wonder what they’re fighting about? He purses his lips, watching the girl deliver one hell of a slap across her boyfriend’s face and strut away, tears streaking mascara down her face. Cheater. Definitely a cheater.

“Benny? Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes roll back to you, taking in your narrowed eyes and angry chewing as a slice of pizza dangles from your hand. Was he listening? Well, he did for the first few minutes… does that still count?

He finally answers, tone flat and uninterested. “No.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs, gesturing to the scene outside the window with a flick of his head. “Malibu barbie just smacked the shit out of her beau.”

Your head snaps to where he was looking, shamelessly curious. “Cheater?”

“That’s my bet.”

You both fall quiet, watching the strangers play out a scene that really should belong in a cringe-worthy daytime reality show while you chew. It’s almost depressing, how eagerly you both watch someone else’s life seemingly crumble in public. But the longer they scream and cry, the longer they yell and fight, the harder it is to tear your eyes away.

“Shit.” Benny sighs, reclining in the booth and stretching his arms up and behind him once the couple in conflict goes their separate ways. “That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week.”

“Not me,” you sing with a smile, fondly remembering the phone calls and texts you had been sharing with Frankie the past few days. Benny sighs in irritation, neck cracking as he rolls his head on his shoulders.

“I swear, if you talk any more about Fish, I’m gonna throw myself out of this fuckin’ window.” He levels you with a challenging stare, lips twitching as you eye the glass critically. “I’ll do it, too. Try me.”

Deflating, you sag in your seat and fiddle with the peeling label on your beer bottle, realising with a wave of slight shame that you had been talking about Frankie ever since you sat down at the table. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just excited. He seems really cool, and nice, and –”

“Alright then.” He stands abruptly, kneeling on the worn leather to brace a shoulder against the glass panel with a look of severe concentration.

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry – sit down, you idiot!” Laughing loudly, you tug at his shirt until he sits with a lazy grin and you shake your head. “God, you are such a child, Benjamin.”

He snorts, pinching a cold fry from the basket in the middle of the table and waving it at you. “You love me.”

Grinning, you snatch it from his fingers, and chew it loudly, grinning at his pout. “I sure do, especially when you set me up with your gorgeous fri–”

He groans loudly, “Enough, woman. I’ll throw you out of this fuckin’ window in a minute. Get me another beer.”

-

“You’re callin’ the wrong friend, angel.” Benny drawls lazily, “I’m no good with these kinds of pep talks.”

“Benny, I’m freaking out, please –”

The car feels small, cramped. The open windows letting in the cool evening air does nothing for you trying to suck in a lungful of oxygen as you pull nervously at your jacket. Have you overdressed? Underdressed? What would he be wearing? You hadn’t been on a first date in months.

“Look, I can almost guarantee you he’s somewhere having this exact conversation with another friend of mine. You’re both stress heads. Just relax – he’s gonna love you.”

You stare vacantly at your steering wheel, swallowing around the lump of anxiety stuck in your throat. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snorts in amusement, “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – puking on the poor guy isn’t a first date thing. And don’t forget to rinse your mouth out.”

Leave it to the younger Miller to make you feel ten times worse. “Oh God. Ben –”

“You’ll be fine. Now get out of your car.”

“But –”

“Get. Out. of your car.” He waits, listening intently to the mechanical whirr of your windows as they close, smiling when he hears the loud thump of your car door shutting. “There we go. Now breathe, and get marchin’ – you got this. And don’t call me again – I’m watching a fight. Pay per view isn’t cheap.”

“Right. Sorry. Thanks Benny.”

“Anytime, angel. Have fun.”

You ring your hands as you start walking the short distance to the bar, running through a last-minute check of your appearance. Nothing in your teeth. No stains on your clothes. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, brushing the non-existent dirt from the fabric and making sure it’s not horrifically tucked in to your underwear at the back.

Oh God, your palms are so sweaty. What if he shakes your hand? His hand will slide right off. He’d be mortified. Who even goes for a handshake on a first date anyways? You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. You look great. Did you put deodorant on?

The twisting of your stomach and panicked rush of thoughts thankfully pause when your eyes catch Frankie standing outside the bar, hands buried deep in his pockets and dark eyes flickering around at the passers-by somewhat nervously. When they land on you, the apprehension seems to melt from his shoulders and he grins. Unable to stop the smile creeping on your face in response, you now walk without the sick feeling of anxiety creeping up your throat.

He strides forward to greet you, and for a brief second, you wonder how you should greet him. It’s not like you were strangers, per se, you had been talking on the phone all week, but where did you stand in the physical sense? Certainly not a handshake.

Throwing caution to the wind, you bounce forward and greet him with a hug, hoping to high heaven he doesn’t push you away and call the whole thing off.

He doesn’t.

Inwardly screaming, you melt at the feeling of a pair of strong arms winding around your waist, a small quiet chuckle brushing past your ear. Oh shit, oh fuck… he smells divine.

“Hi,” you mutter shyly when you pull away, a flush of warmth flooding through you from top to toe when he smiles kindly and hovers only a step away.

“Hi,”

You can’t help but admire his features up close; the ones that were lost on the photo Ben had shown you when first trying to convince you into this arrangement. His eyes were a lot darker, tousled curls longer than they had looked when they were hidden under a well-loved hat. A light flush of pink sweeps up his neck and along his cheeks, and you watch it fondly with a wild flutter of your heart.

Okay, you could just stand here all night and stare at him, but that might freak him out a little… maybe try speaking. Talk. Just talk. Say something smart – something stimulating. First date impressions and all that.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

What? No. You did not just say that. Seriously? That’s what had to bubble from your mouth? Are you kidding?

You want to face palm, want to just turn around and march right back to your car with a text to Benny saying ‘thanks, but we can’t be friends anymore’ and just disappear from the face of the Earth. God, he’s going to give you so much shit for this.

Thankfully though, Frankie doesn’t seem bothered by your blurted out statement in the slightest, and even grins, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is.” He watches you shift on your feet, smile widening just a little more at the look of complete horror that had just washed your features before he had spoken, and then half turns, “Shall we?” Oh God, what was that? Pope’s gonna kill him. You’ve got his head in a complete spin and now he’s forgotten Pope’s whole pep talk. Shit. Shit. Be cool. Be cool... what the fuck does ‘be cool’ even mean?

The bar’s warm when you both walk in side by side, Frankie’s hand placed softly on your lower back as he leads you to the bar, and then through to a spare table, nestled out of the way and tucked into the farthest corner after he buys your drinks. He lets you sit first, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he stays close and, instead of sitting opposite you, he sits to your right, knees bumping yours softly under the table.

It’s not until you both sit, quiet and fiddling with your beers while sharing nervous smiles, that you remember something you had been meaning to ask all day.

“Oh. How did Mena’s appointment go?” You ask immediately, recalling his slight worry the day before over her slightly warmer than normal forehead and uncharacteristic crankiness. Your stomach plummets when he shoots you a startled look.

Oh no… have you blown it? Were you not meant to ask about kids on the first date or something? What were the rules for this kind of thing? You’d never dated someone with a baby, you had no idea what was okay to ask and what wasn’t. You guys had literally only just sat down, and here you were, ruining it already. That’s got to be the quickest end to a date, well… ever.

Panic creases your features and you frown in worry, “Sorry, should I – should I not have said anything? I’m sorry, I’ve never –”

“No, no – you’re fine! I just… I didn’t expect you to remember.” And then he smiles. Blindingly. The dread crushing your chest quickly morphs into something sweeter, something that has your heart quickening. “She’s okay – she’s getting her molars. Thank you for asking.”

You smile, turning bashful under the pure admiration shining in his eyes, and shrug lightly.

“It’s alright. I was worried for you.” You’re quiet when you admit it, unsure if that’s something you should be upfront about with only knowing him for such a short period, but he seems to take it in stride, smiling fondly at you and reaching a hand to cover yours softly. The immediate heat from his skin encompasses yours, shooting wave after wave of electric tingles up your arm and straight to your chest.

If your pulse was racing before, it’s downright wild now.

He flushes when your fingers part ever so slightly, letting his nestle in between yours, and then you’re smiling at each other, laughing quietly as the awkwardness all but evaporates.

You talk about everything. Growing up, moving around, Frankie’s time in the military being a pilot. You have so many questions, but pick up on the wave of tension that rolls through him at the mention of flying. For a short moment, you wonder why he didn’t want to talk about such an achievement – being a pilot was incredible, but not wanting to ruin the easy-going atmosphere that had fallen over you both, you leave the topic of flying instantly, and switch for talking about Mena, thankful to see the light return immediately to his eyes as he gushes about his little girl.

“Can I ask a question?” You ask sometime later in the evening, now comfortably closer to Frankie as your legs tangle under the table.

He hums, sipping on his third beer and nodding, “Of course.”

You watch your fingers play with his on the table, before grinning up at him slyly, “Why ‘Catfish’?”

He groans, throwing his head back with a chuckle, and wipes a hand across his face.

“My whiskers.” He finally admits with a playfully defeated sigh. When you frown in confusion, his grin widens, and he scratches his fingers along his jaw and through the patch of facial hair. “The guys used to give me shit because I can’t grow much more than this.” He gestures to his face, rolling his eyes. “Used to say I had whiskers – like a catfish, apparently.” He chuckles, shrugging light heartedly. “It just seemed to stick after a while.”

You’re laughing, and it keeps the smile planted firmly on his face. What a sound.

“Well, it’s an interesting nickname, but I think I prefer Frankie.”

He softens, unable to resist melting closer to you, and nods, “Me too.”

He likes the way you say it… sweetly, softly. He’s desperate to hear it fall from your lips more, in all sorts of ways.

Disappointment floods you both when you notice the late hour, Frankie explaining dejectedly that he should probably go and relieve his babysitter before said babysitter gets too comfortable with his refrigerator and the beer in there. You can hear the fondness in his voice when he tells you about his sitter for the evening, Mena’s tío – another close friend of Benny’s apparently – as you leave the bar, his hand automatically falling to tangle with yours.

“I’m this way,” you point a thumb over your shoulder, fully expecting to say your goodbyes outside the brightly lit bar, but frowning in slight confusion when he merely nods and starts to walk the way to your car.

“Oh – are you parked over here, too?”

He shakes his head, pointing to the complete opposite direction. “No, I’m over there. I don’t want you to walk to your car alone.”

Your insides turn to jelly, smiling to yourself as you grip his hand a little tighter. Thoughtful. He returns your smile, but hates that you seem so surprised by the notion of being walked to your car in the dark. What kind of losers had you dated previously that either didn’t walk you safely to your car?

“Thank you for tonight, Frankie.”

He grins, thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. “Thank you – I had a great time.”

“Next time, it’s my treat.” You say, hoping you weren’t thinking too much of something that wasn’t there. Would he even want a second date? Was he just being polite saying he had a good time? Is that what people said before never calling them again?

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie was having a hard time reigning in the enthusiastic excitement that had flooded through him the second you had spoken. You wanted another date? With him? He had to mash his teeth together to stop the eager grin threatening to break his face completely in half. Thank God he hadn’t blown it. You were… God. You were fucking incredible. He owed Benny – big time.

“I can deal with that,” he eventually agrees, face warm and giddy at the prospect of taking you out again.

You turn and envelope him in a hug when you reach your car, breathing in one final lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he had used, and smile to yourself against his shirt when he folds his arms around you, a hand cupping the back of your head to keep you pressed tightly against him.

Pulling back to say one final goodbye, you’re struck by how close his face seems, eyes flicking across his face before meeting his dark ones.

Suddenly trapped in a gaze that had a fire licking up your spine, your breath goes in a stuttered exhale. Rough fingertips trace your jaw, and then you’re holding your breath entirely as he leans in closer. Anticipation kicks in, heart thumping through your chest as he closes the distance much slower than you would like, and you fight away the wave of impatience that screams at you to just push forward and kiss him.

You don’t expect him to stop however, only a breath away from your lips, and you panic for a small second, wondering if you’re doing something wrong, but when he murmurs a quiet question, it takes all the strength in your legs to not fall to the fucking ground in a lump of melted goo.

“Can I kiss you?”

God yes. Please.

Unable to stop the shy smile that tugs at your lips, you try not to nod too eagerly and definitely fail miserably. You want this, more than what you’ve ever felt with anyone else. Frankie had you feeling like a giddy teenager with a huge crush and you were desperate to feel more of it, to see where it goes and what it could develop into.

At your nod of approval, he moves in the rest of the way, hand moving to cup the side of your neck below your ear, and he sighs lightly when your soft lips finally meet his. The kiss is tender, warm, and does nothing to soothe your raging pulse. He can’t hear your heartbeat, can he? God, can you hear his? He briefly worries, but when your lips move against his, his mind blanks.

His moustache tickles your lip, nose bumps gently with yours. Your hands find his chest, fingers gripping at the soft material, and for a moment it feels like you two are the only ones in existence, floating in a hazy whirl of space.

You take a minute to open your eyes when he eventually pulls away, and when you do, you find him gazing at you with a shy smile and a rosy flush across his cheeks. Lashes fluttering as you blink, you try to get a hold of your heart beating heavily against your ribs while your lips tingle from the aftershocks of his kiss.

Holy shit.

Before you can even think it through, his shirt tangles in your scrunched fist and you pull him back to you, replanting your lips against his with a desperate urgency he meets head on and returns eagerly. His hands, previously gentle, now grip at your waist, squeezing the flesh greedily as you let him walk you back into the side of your car. The metal is cold, even through your jacket, and you arch into him, moaning softly when his tongue traces your lip.

Your knees buckle when his tongue tangles with yours, and he presses you harder into the car to stop you dropping.

“Holy shit.” He breathes huskily after separating, lips widening into a grin when he sees you mirroring his breathlessness. You giggle softly, the fire roaring in your stomach turning into an affectionate warmth that floods your system when he brushes his nose along yours tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.” Your smile turns shy, teeth digging into your lips as he chuckles again, dark eyes shining. He watches you wrangle your breathing into something semi normal, glad he wasn’t the only one that got swept up and carried away with the moment. 

He traces your cheek, planting one more, less hungry and more affectionate, kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight, mystery girl.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

He backs away, face split as he smiles, eyes admiring you before he turns and starts to meander away to wherever he was parked, turning to look at you over his shoulder every few steps. You climb into your car, grinning at the final wave he sends you before disappearing around the corner.

Finally alone in your car, you let out the disbelieving chuckle you’ve been keeping in all night, face feeling hot as the aftereffects of such a great date rests pleasantly in your stomach, mind running through every little moment of the night. Starting your car, you start the drive home, unable to stop touching your lips every so often, insides clenching at the memory of his lips moving against yours.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors​ @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie​ @layniapetrovnaaa @alberta-sunrise @goldielocks2004 @betterthanbucky​ @linkpk88​ @afootnoteofhappiness​ @livilottie​

[tacticaldiary]

Panic Attack

Pairing: Reader x Kija 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Even the strongest break sometimes. It’s hard to stay upright when you expect the weight of the world on your shoulders. Kija learns he has people to rely on.

Masterlist

“Kija, it’s alright!” She kneels down next to him quickly, nodding when the others slip out of the room quietly, giving the both of them some space. 

“You’re safe, it’s okay.” Y/N says, gently prying one of his arms from his face and intertwining their fingers together. His dragon hand remains at his side, as though bolted onto the floor

Kija feels sick, he can still feel those drunkards clutching onto his arm, turning it over and picking at it, wanting to get a feel of the scales of the legendary white dragon. It sickens him, reminds him of the time he was sapped of strength and helpless.

It reminds him of the time there was a noose around his neck, the time he was trying to be contained, like he was some sort of possession. The gawking had been the same kind as a few minutes ago, but the intentions were different. 

Now he sits slumped over, not quite able to catch his breath. He can almost feel the rope around his neck ,the lingering sensation of the utter panic he felt, not at the possibility of being killed or used, no, but instead of how useless and weak he felt. How he was unable to protect or keep the people he loved safe. 

He’s drifting around, Y/N’s word being heard but not processed and he doesn’t quite feel there, until a hand cards itself through his hair. 

As if on command, he takes a deep breath of air, the feeling of her palm grounding and stabilising. 

“There you go. Keep breathing. You’re doing so well.” She says in a soothing voice and a few moments later, her voice starts to register. 

He’s always loved her voice. 

“This is...quite unsightly. I’m sorry.” He says, voice a little hoarse. He can see Y/N shake her head from the corner of his eye. The hand stops in his hair and he holds back a noise of protest. 

She shifts and settles next to him, squeezing his hand in comfort. 

“Not at all. it must be tiring being strong all the time.” As one of the youngest of the dragons, she can only imagine how he feels the need to appear just as confident and worthy as the others. It must be exhausting, scary, even. 

“It’s my job. I’m supposed to-”

“You can take breaks.” She cuts him off. “All of you deserve to take breaks but you, Kija-...” Y/N turns so they’re facing each other and tilts his head down so their foreheads touch.

“I may be biased but you deserve the world.”

She can tell he has a moment of internal conflict, before he decides to throw his arms around her hesitantly, bringing her close. He buries his face in her hair and stays there, letting himself relax for a second. 

“I never want any of you to get hurt.” He whispers after a while and Y/N knows that’s the crux of his dilemma.  

“You won’t let anybody down.” She assures him, bringing a hand up to run through his hair again, smiling when he shivers at her touch. 

“I promise I won’t.”

Requests Are Open!

(12/10/2021)

[purrincesskittens]

Some pure indulgent fluff in my dragons atla universe slightly inspired by @muffinlance Scaled Over writing out how Bato comes into the possession of a little scaly Zuko still but I just had to get this fluff out first. Sorry for tagging you so often muffin you have inspired me to write again and actually finish something for once.

Zuko's scar isn't as bad over his eye it's larger though it covers more of the left side of his face and down his neck and across his shoulder. It's not as bad though it's second to third degree and will scar but not nearly as bad as it looks in canon like this but on a small child

......................................................................

Bato was drifting between wakefulness and sleep wanting to go back to sleep unsure as to what woke him. His hammock rocked with the ship he was comfortable under his furs and blankets. They were almost home and just in time to beat the late season storm coming their way. He was almost asleep again when the baby in his arms sat up on his chest. After a moment of squirming little hands patted his face gently and cautiously to wake him. Giving a yawn and stretch Bato opened his eyes to look at the little one he held.

"Sorry." The 3 year old little boy whispers so softly Bato wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been holding the little one so close. "What's wrong buddy?" Bato asks as the kid squirmed again. "Umm." The little one grabbed at his front as he squirms in a matter Bato recognizes from Sokka who had just started potty training. "Need to go?" Bato sat up holding the boy to his chest as he did before unburrying them so he could swing his legs out of the hammock and set the boy down.

He knew what woke him now. The boy had been squirming for a while before waking Bato. The child was still very cautious about everything he did which angered Bato. The boy was barely 3 and was surprisingly very good about potty breaks although he did have accidents that caused him to break down in tears. Bato would love to murder the child's father. Not only was the man responsible for the large burn that covered the left side of the child's face and down his neck and shoulder but the man didn't seem to understand children. Didn't want the child to make loud noises and apparently yelled at every little thing the boy did.

Bato wasn't even a father but he was a damn proud uncle to Hakoda's kids and understood children were noisy and messy. He didn't have a high opinion of any servants hired to care for the boy either. None seemed to have had the patience for a young child struggling to be more mature then their age while still being a toddler. Standing up he guided the kid to use the bathroom yawning as he did. The boy finished with only a slight mishap at first not a big deal, he watched Sokka for Hakoda and Kya before he knew this could happen.

The boy looked at him like he expected to be hit or yelled at. "I missed." The boy whispered looking down at his bare feet. "Sorry." Bato had to close his eyes and count to ten silently so as not to show he was upset. Not at the little one but at the man the boy calls father. Kneeling he hugs the tiny thing to him before murmuring reassuringly. "It's okay accidents happen. You'll get better with time." He stood cleaning up the mess and then cleaned the child and himself up, using a clean wet cloth to whipe the boys face after to remove snot and tears.

Scooping him up he nuzzled the child's soft black hair with his nose. "Let's get a snack and then back to bed okay?" He got a nod in response as the little one tucked his head against his neck. Hakoda intercepted them after they had grabbed a few sea prunes yawning as he ruffled the child's hair causing the boy to squeak and hide his face against Bato's skin. "Midnight snack?" He questions his friend nodding to the half eaten prune in the toddlers hand. "Bathrrom visit first then snack as a reward for doing so good now back to bed." Bato explains bouncing the child in his arms gently to reassure him.

"I missed." Came the response from the half asleep bundle in the tribesman's arms. "That's okay Sokka, my son, misses alot too. It happens." The chief reassures the tiny thing who peaks at him with sleepy gold eyes. They eventually got back to bed with Bato settling the toddler in his arms under the furs and blankets.

The next day brought them into colder waters and icebergs appeared. The child stared with wide eyes from his place at the railing of the ship under the watchful eyes of the crew. As they traveled further south the more the ice grew bigger. It was early spring so the waters were barely safe enough to traverse meaning they had to slow down and take it easy. This also meant the icebergs appeared to be closer to the ship. Almost within touching distance it would seem. Or at least it seemed so to a tiny tot who had never seen icebergs before. One second he was standing by the railing, the next he's climbed up on the railing, and the second after that a little black dragon is launching himself across the distance little wings incapable of true flight, beating the air in an attempt at keeping him alight.

The ship lurched and a large blue dragon is grabbing the baby dragon in his teeth scuffing them and hauling them back on board the ship ignoring their whines of protest despite being a limp noodle hanging from Bato's jaws as he settles back in the middle of the deck depositing the little creature in front of them caging him with his claws so the little one can't scamper off.

The rest of the day is spent with a shaky noodle hiding in Bato's parka half because he got scolded for trying to jump off the ship to touch an iceberg half because he was cold. Aake's mutter suggestion about wing breaking had been overheard and the little one was terrified of him now. Bato hadn't liked that suggestion even if Aake wasn't completely serious.

"You need a name boy." Kustaa informs the child as he changes the bandages that cover half the boys face, neck and shoulder. "He has a name." Bato comments as he holds the boy still. "But he hasn't said what it is yet now has he? If he is staying he needs a name. We can't keep calling him boy now can we?" Cool salve is applied to the burn with gentle steady hands. Bato hums in response but thinks on what the healer said.

"If you don't want to tell me your name that's fine but since your starting a new life with us how about a proper water tribe name?" Bato asks the child as he carefully runs a brush through the boys hair. The little one practically purred in his lap as he pulled the brush through his thick black hair. "What do you think of Kanut? It means white polar bear goose." The boy scrunched up his nose and shook his head. "Yeah polar bear goose doesn’t suit you does it? Hmm how about Nanook?"

A little sneeze greeted this suggestion drawing a chuckle from the man. "No? Let's see then something that would suit you." Bato ran the brush once more through the toddlers hair before tying it up in a warriors wolf tail. "I know how about Tulugaq? For your raven hair." This last name earned a bright eye look. "Tulugaq it is then." Bato chuckles wrapping his arms around the newly dubbed Tulugaq giving him a hug.

Kustaa held Tulugaq in his arms as the crew ran around getting the ship ready as they drew closer to the South Pole and their village. Once they docked the ships would be unloaded and sleds packed up with supplies to be distributed among the various tribes and villages that made up the Southern Water Tribe enough to last the tribes to the summer when the traders came. Tulugaq only liked Kustaa and Bato primarily although he was growing used to the chief. Hakoda had been spending time with Bato while the little one hide under Bato's clothes or clung to him.

Bato had been named the boys guardian and new dad in everything but name. It had been agreed upon that if his mother came looking for him and proved to be trust worthy she would be welcomed by the tribe or allowed to take her son, the boys father would never get him back and would never lay another hand on the boy. Finally Bato came over scooping his new son up into his arms. "Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe, Tulugaq."