#his face is slimmer than I expected too

[danzainosolitude]

Richter low key looks kind of ugly in the new show’s trailers

[neteyamssock]

🧸ྀི 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮, pt. 1

★ ˙🧷 ̟ pairing: amnesiac agedup! neteyam x fem!metkayina!hermit!reader

★ ˙🧷 ̟ summary: neteyam didn't die during the fight, but instead got swept away by the waves, until he lost consciousness near the shore of your island.

★ ˙🧷 ̟ word count: 5.6k

★ ˙🧷 ̟tags/cw: agedup!characters, younger neteyam (18 up), older reader (20 up), amnesia, temporary memory loss, near death experience, falling in love, cohabitation, tsawke (sun) x syulang (flower), affectionate neteyam, neteyam's love language: act of service, reclusive but not introverted reader. (please tell me if I left out something!!)

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! A/N: this will be a twoshot fic! a rough draft, so it's unedited. will come back to revise and edit after my exams!! mwah. any feedback from you guys will be very much appreciated 🥹. text dividers credits to @/enchanthings and @/cinetrix for adult neteyam

MASTERLIST

WATTPAD

★ ˙🧷 ̟ part i.

The waves of the ocean are restless, roaring in anger as the sky goes deeper into the eclipse. The sound of water hitting the shore is ticking you off, you can barely fall asleep because you would be shook awake by the thunderous roar of the water. Tonight is different. Something is different. You are used to storms and rough waves of the ocean, living alone on this small isolated island for almost half of your life. There has never been an instance that you couldn’t sleep during fierce weathers, in fact you find them comforting, reminding you of Eywa's presence in your solitude.

But tonight is not your normal night. Something is calling you to the beach, beckoning you, tempting you to step outside the comfort of your marui. You know it's dangerous, but the urge is like an itch you couldn’t scratch. Something perturbing is on the shore, and it must be Eywa pulling you to discover what’s on the other side.

So against your better judgment, you walked cautiously as the wind blew against you, messing your hair and pulling your beaded top up to your neck. You cursed as you tried to tighten the strings of your top, already regretting coming out of your warm and comforting marui. The raindrops were cold against your skin, making you hiss. Whatever is at the shore, it better be worth your time or else you’ll be having a word with great mother Eywa.

You clutched the spear in your right hand as you tried to cover your face with the other, keeping the water from clouding your vision as you walked near to the shore. Quickly, you noticed a figure lying on the sand, unmoving, as the waves cradled the figure’s body.

“Hey! Are you okay?” You spoke in na’vi, but the wind was too loud so you walked closer, watching the unmoving intruder cautiously. When it remained motionless, you cursed and walked closer.

Oh great mother. I thought you brought me gifts. I didn’t expect it to be a dying man!

The first thing you noticed was their skin color, a lot darker than yours, shade different too. Their tails were slimmer, arms a lot thinner. They couldn’t possibly be a metkayina. On their neck was a beaded necklace you often see in other clans’ warriors. You just weren't sure what clan he’s from. So he’s a warrior, that makes sense why he's wounded. But he's obviously not an aquatic na’vi. .

His breathing was faint, chest barely moving. He looks like he’s almost at Eywa’s embrace, and based on her multiple urging of you, it’s easy to understand that she definetly didn’t want this young warrior to die yet.

Searching for his wound, you saw a small hole near his chest, continously bleeding with debris of sand inside the wound. Grunting, you pulled him up and immediately checked whether there’s an exit wound. Seeing none, you finally let go of your breath. Okay. that’s good. I can work with that.

With all of your strength, you carried the dying warrior back to your marui, settling him on your bed as you quickly prepared all your tools and healing medicines. The first thing you did was to check if there’s any debris deep inside the wound. This is crucial, for a wound would never heal if there’s debris stuck inside. You worked quickly, and was surprised when your prodding tool bumped into something hard. The unconscious man groaned with pain, but his eyes remained closed.

“I’m sorry, mighty warrior, but this might hurt a lot. Unfortunately, i don’t have anything to stop the pain at the moment. Ready?” With quick movements, you retrieved the debris inside the wound, instantly perplexed when you saw it was a piece of metal with a weird shape. You almost forgot your patient until you felt him tremble.

You winced, “Sorry, I was just curious. Is this a new weapon from your clan? Looks odd, and definitely against Eywa’s rules.”

Of course no one replied. You set aside the odd-looking metal and refocused on the bleeding wound. You cleaned it up and started patching it up. It took you few hours to finish, and when you did, you were already sweating a lot.

With a sigh, you patted the young warrior’s pale cheek gently. “I’m done, mighty warrior. Now its your battle to fight. May Eywa be with you, brother.”

It's been three days since you took in this patient. He hasn't woken up yet, but his breathing has stabilized. He also stopped bleeding and regained some color in his cheeks and lips. He's just basically recuperating right now and will wake soon enough.

You took this time to observe his facial features and was surprised to see he’s actually very good looking. You were so focused on saving his life that you barely noticed his appearance. He was a lot taller than you, with wide shoulders and thin waist. His calloused hands undeniably belonged to a warrior that uses bow and arrow, long fingers that you often stare at, as you watch him sleep.

You weren't sure what happened to him, but you're happy he’s fighting to survive. You wouldn't want to have a corpse of a fallen warrior in your marui after all. Oftentimes you would imagine what had transpired, what and where that odd-looking metal came from, and how powerful it was to almost send him back to Eywa’s embrace.

You laughed at your own thoughts, musing to yourself. “You look good, mighty warrior. Are you perhaps mated? If not, then how about me?”

You paused, then laughed as if you found yourself funny. “Nevermind. You seem too young for me. Although it makes you much more interesting, as you seem to have passed your iknimaya already.”

You turned away from your patient and began sharpening your spear, not noticing the finger of your patient—the one you just touched a moment ago—began twitching before settling back to normal once again.

You continued speaking. “I have done half of my iknimaya as well, although it's not considered official? Since I wasn't on metkayina and there's no elders to perform the ceremony for me. Not that important though. The only thing that is important is that I already have my own tsurak. Her name is hona.”

Inspecting your new sharpened spear, you sighed with contentment. Although alone, you enjoy your life on this island. You don't mind the solitude, as if you were born to be alone.

You know your family still hopes you’d go back home, to awa’atlu, but you figured your presence will not affect anything anyways. So you left under your parents’ regretful gazes and lived all your life on this island, surviving on your own.

There will be a time where your past will come back to haunt you, mess with your peace, and forcefully take you away from this place you have considered your home.

But for now, you’d enjoy your freedom. You just didn't expect to pick up a wounded stranger with a lot of mysteries you cannot wait to uncover.

“You must recover well, mighty warrior. Your family must be worried sick about you right now. Perhaps they might even think you're dead. So get better soon and leave, alright?”

As much as he looks good, he’s a stranger. You have basically completed Eywa’s request, so it's no longer your problem once he has recovered. He might fly with an ikran, or swim with an ilu, you do not care. You just want him to regain his strength and let him go back to where he's supposed to be.

You stood up and took your spear, ready to hunt for food and probably pick some herbs for your patient. These remaining days are important for his recovery. If he gets sick midway, he might not survive.

You groaned, feeling the ache on your shoulders and back when you woke up in the morning. You have sacrificed yourself and laid on the flooring of your marui, while the sleeping warrior slept in your bed comfortably.

You couldn't help but to fume in anger. This man better appreciate your efforts because if not, then both of you will have a problem.

Stretching your neck and shoulder, you groaned again. “Oh my Eywa, is this a punishment? Why must I suffer like this? What have I done?” You knew Eywa wouldn't respond. She only makes a connection or communication with you when she deems it necessary. With a sigh, you stood up and prepared yourself to hunt once again, feeling the rumble of your stomach.

As you are fixing your beaded top, you looked at your sleeping patient and sat on the side of the bed. “Wake up, will you? I’m so tired of sleeping on the floor. You’ve been hogging my bed since you came here. Don’t you have any shame?”

When your stomach rumbled again, you turned your head and stood up as you took your spear and headed outside. It was already noon when you came back with a basket of fish, several edible fruits and herbal medicine. You didn't pay attention to the man inside your home as you quickly prepared your lunch, not seeing the man’s lips twitching to form a smile.

You didn't forget to thank Eywa for the food, offering your sincere prayers as you pay respect for the fishes you hunted. “May Eywa be with you, little fishes. For now, please help me fill my belly.”

As you were about to walk back inside the marui, you froze in shock to see the sleeping warrior now sitting on the bed, calmly observing you. His amber eyes were scanning you, as if determining your level of threat to him, of what your capabilities are. You didn't care about his mistrustful eyes as you walked briskly towards him.

Clutching your chest, you exclaimed. “Wiya! Thank Eywa you finally woke up! Oh Eywa! This is great!”

Your surprise and joy made the man finally put his attention to you. “Who are you?” He asked, voice laced with authority as he scrutinized you. His mistrustful eyes made you roll your eyes. Oh Eywa, he’s one of those guys, isn’t he? The ones with their nose taller than their foreheads.

With the tone of his voice, your enthusiasm waned. You crossed your arms as your ears flattened against your head. “What do you think, young warrior?”

Seeing him non-responsive, you pointed to your bed and said. “I’m the one who saved you from returning to your great mother’s embrace, brother. The bed you are sitting on is mine. This marui is mine. This island is mine.”

His eyes widened, before he settled into a confused silence. It seems that he’s finally having some recollection of what happened to him. You let him think to himself and went back to your lunch, thanking Eywa for hearing your prayers.

You can finally sleep in your bed, after several nights of sleeping on a cold hard floor.

“... Do you know me?” He asked after a few minutes of silence, looking at you searchingly, seemingly confused and anxious.

You see his ears twitch and his tail flicking around in anxiety. A sense of foreboding dominated you. Please don't tell me… “No, I do not. I just happen to see you wounded on the shore of my island, that's why I brought you here. D-Do you not remember who you are?”

“... It seems not.”

With a defeated groan, you kicked the basket in frustration. “Pxasik! Don’t tell me you do not remember where you came from either?”

The young warrior glanced at you before shaking his head. He also looked distraught, it's probably very scary for him, remembering nothing. Waking up in a very unfamiliar place, with an aching body and a stranger reef na’vi girl. One can only imagine the horror.

Suddenly feeling regretful with your reaction, you studied him and sighed. “It’s fine. It's a common occurrence when warriors get wounded heavily. You’ll remember it later. For now…”

Seeing your conflicted appearance, the young warrior said. “I’ll leave.”

Your eyes widened as you met his eyes. The young warrior looked at you resolutely, and you felt even worse.

“I don't want to burden you any longer, so I will leave and find my way back h—”

Walking towards him, you gently pushed him back to the bed. “Just stay. At least until you remember who you are. I’m sure it won't be long before you get your memories back. I’d hate to see you wander around not knowing where to go, not to mention you’re still recovering from a heavy wound.”

The handsome warrior seemed hesitant, looking at you with confused eyes. “B-But—”

Feeling a bit peeved, you kneeled, now face to face with him. “Listen, warrior. I would've let you go if you have your memories intact, because it means I have finished Eywa’s quest for me. But now that you lost your memories, it would be against my conscience to let you leave while still recovering from a fatal wound and don't know where to go.”

He looked at you and seeing your resolute eyes, he finally relented and nodded. In fact he also really didn't want to leave for now. He can barely move his body, his chest is aching, head pounding, and he also cannot remember who he is. He had no recollection of what had happened to him and just woke up to the scent of the ocean and the tang of herbal medicine in the air.

His only comfort is that he's still alive, that you managed to keep him alive. Just by the bandages in his chest and the weakness he felt, he knew he must've been close to surrendering into the great mother’s embrace. If you didn't show up at all, then he might have been dead by now.

“Irayo…”

“_______. My name is _______.”

“Irayo, ______. I owe you my life.” He savored your name in his lips, liking how it rolled off his tongue nicely. Your name suited you.

With a smile, you stood up and spoke. “Well you do, so better pay me up in the future once you get home. For now, we’re gonna live together for a few more days so I'd like to make some rules.”

The warrior nodded, he knows it's reasonable to have rules. “Tell me.”

Pointing the bed, you said. “Now that you are awake, I refuse to sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough for the two of us, so we can just share. Another thing is that when you can finally stand and move, I expect you to pull your own weight around here. Do not expect me to always hunt for you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, I understand.”

He seems a lot more obedient than you thought so you gave him a satisfied smile. “Well then, we have an agreement. For now I’ll hunt for you, since you are still recovering. And oh, btw. I’ll just call you warrior since both of us do not know your name. Will that be alright?”

Warrior didn't seem to mind as he nodded, observing your marui. It didn't escape your eyes as he appreciated your personal space, amazed and curious.

“This is called marui. Technically not a marui though because it's a bit farther away from the water compared to marui built above the water.”

The young warrior glanced at you, “We call them kelku.”

Throwing back your head, you laughed. The wounded warrior looked at you, perplexed why you suddenly laughed.

“Ah, it's so funny that you remember what’s the name of the place you sleep in, but not your name or your clan?”

Realization dawned on him. It seems that he also thought it was odd. It's clear that he actually didn't forget everything after all, and only needed some triggers to bring back his memories. Your ears twitch in approval. “It seems that it's gonna be easy to get back your memories. Way to go, warrior.”

He looked sheepish, and also a bit happy at your words. He also cannot wait to regain his memories, as there's a feeling of dread and worry in the back of his mind he cannot explain. You're probably right when you said that someone's worrying and waiting for him back home.

“The power must come from here, steady your hands and do not let your fingers tremble. Straighten your body, do not forget your breathing…”

You didn't know how it happened. When you realize what's going on, you already had a bow and arrow in your hand, and your wounded patient is now standing so close to you, looming over you like a shadow.

During these days, he abided by all your rules. He pulled his own weight, and he always managed to bring back food for the both of you. At first you want to refuse, you feel that it is not right to take a wounded man’s ration. However, he made it clear that he intentionally hunts and gathers food for two, so you do not have to hunt for yourself.

Such gestures are overwhelming to you, but you do not have the heart to refuse. So when he asked if you wanted to learn how to use bows and arrows, you only hesitated for a minute before you gave in to his warm and gentle amber eyes.

It's baffling how he managed to turn your life upside down in just a few days, and before you even knew it, he already had control over everything. It's infuriating, it’s making you feel something unfamiliar to you, but every time you want to complain, you find yourself mute under his patient and gentle gaze.

“______. You’re not paying attention, aren’t you?”

Waking up from your stupor, you blinked a few times and stuttered. “W-What?"

“You’re lost in your thoughts again.” The handsome warrior stepped away from you with a doting smile. “I think it's enough for today. You're probably tired.”

You wanted to say no, but his teasing smile stopped you. You had no choice but to go along with him and drop your arm that is holding the bow. Following him, you started to notice his wide shoulders, muscled biceps, and slim waist. The way the light of the tsawke makes his skin glisten, showcasing his rich and dark colors.

You thought you were discreet in your staring until he paused, making you bump into his back. Wincing, you hissed. “Hey, why did you stop? Your back is hard as rock…”

“Maybe if you weren't gawking at me, you wouldn't bump into me.”

“I wasn't gawking!” Feeling flustered when you got caught, your face heated. You looked at the trees to avoid his eyes. With your heart racing, you added. “How would you even know I'm looking at you, maybe I was looking at the scenery!”

The handsome warrior turned around, looking at you from above with his teasing smile. Both of you know the truth, but there's no way you’d accept defeat so easily.

Crossing his arms, he leaned on the nearby tree and said. “I’m the scenery.”

Your eyes bulged in shock. Everyday, your perception of the younger man just keeps getting refreshed as the day you spend with him increases. “Narcissist! So what if I’m looking at you?”

He looked at you, amusement clear in his eyes. You watch him straighten his body and begin walking back to your marui. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, y’know. I’ve heard you comment about my looks so many times already.”

What the hell is he talking about? With frantic steps, you caught up with him and demanded an answer. “Are you delirious? When did I even comment on your looks? Are you sure you are not imagining things with your narcissism?”

Picking up a fruit in the basket, he tossed it to you with quick hands. You have no choice but to catch the fruit with confused eyes. He looked you straight into the eyes and said. “You look good, mighty warrior. Are you perhaps mated? If not, how about me?”

With a powerful toss, you threw the fruit in his face. “Shut up, skxawng!!!”

“Stop. Stop. STOP! You’re doing it wrong!” With a huff, you took the spear from the warrior’s hand. He merely shrugged and motioned for you to show how exactly he is wrong.

Riding your ilu, you dived into the water and skillfully speared several fish and swam back into the surface in just a few seconds. On the spear was a large fish enough to feed the two of you for one whole day. It was on the verge of death as it flailed around. With your prayers to Eywa and quick hands, you ended the life of the poor fish.

The young warrior was staring at you with a smile, not at all ashamed of his lack of skill in spear hunting. You shook your head. “You’re definitely not an oceanic na’vi.”

“You speak as if the color of our skin does not prove enough that I'm not an aquatic na’vi,” He took the fish from you with a chuckle, not caring if his hands get blooded as long as yours does not.

“Well, I cannot guess the great mother’s thoughts when she created the na’vi. Who knows if there's oceanic people with skin colors similar to yours?”

The warrior paused. He waited for you to walk side by side with him before he responded. “Each na’vi from different habitats will develop physical attributes suited for their environment. Your skin allows your better integration with the water.”

You hummed. That, you knew. Although you never really have seen much of others na’vi. He was your first encounter with the na’vi with darker and bluer skin color.

“That makes it easier for you to find your clan, doesn't it? I mean we just have to think what place suits your skin color best.”

Both of you laughed as you reached your marui. He began preparing the fish while you sat inside the marui, watching his back. You knew he knew you're looking at him, but he clearly didn't mind. He seems to even enjoy the fact that you cannot deny his physical appeal.

“Have you ever wondered what got you almost killed?” You found yourself asking. You winced, regretting it already as you do not want to sound insensitive. He cannot even remember his name, what more about what happened to him?

“Whoever did it wanted me dead. They targeted my chest, which is where I am most vulnerable aside from my head. They even made sure I didn't get help by letting me sink in the ocean. They're ruthless and are clearly after my life, a blood feud.”

You shivered at the thought. A blood feud. You couldn't help but think. What if these killers are still searching for him? Who are they? Are they na’vi? “What about that small metal piece? Do other na’vi use metal despite it being against the Great Mother’s rules?”

The darker na’vi paused, trying to remember or even formulate ideas. He then walked towards you and sat beside you, face solemn as he took the odd metal piece from the satchel you have woven for him. “I cannot remember what it was, but it feels familiar to me. I must've encountered it before, and knew its effects.”

Both of you had turned silent, each occupied by your own complicated thoughts. His identity and what happened to him is now even a bigger mystery with the origins of this piece of metal at play.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, you leaned on his shoulders and closed your eyes. “Don’t worry too much, young warrior. At least on this island, you’re safe.”

“I know, syulang.”

Standing up straight, you looked at him with wide eyes. Did he just call you syulang?

Chuckling at your reaction, he tilted his head. “What? Can’t call you that?”

“No–yes, i-ah- Pxasìk! I mean, why? Why call me that?”

Suddenly he’s leaning into you, his warm amber gaze holding yours as a smile brightened his already handsome face, watching you as you stumbled on your words.

When his tempting lips hovered over your ears, scorching breath ghosting over your skin, he whispered. “You remind me of a flower. The one under the tsawke, all alone in a wide grassland, standing tall and mighty against the breeze.”

As days became a blur, you realized how your life had completely changed with the young warrior’s presence in your life. The once comforting chill of the night as you sleep alone has become rather uncomfortable in the absence of his warmth next to you. The once promising future of solitude and peace has become bleak; something to dread about as you hear his hearty laughter, his teasing voice, his steady breaths in the dead of eclipse.

You cannot pretend that something didn't change. You cannot act as if you actually didn't enjoy the freshness he had brought into your life. He changed your life forever, and for the better. He showed you a lot of things you have never seen before, and for a moment you thought this could go on forever.

You cannot fool yourself that it’ll stay forever that way.

He will regain his memories. Once he does, he’ll leave you and you’d be alone again. You knew how it would end, like a chasm that will devour you whole; a quagmire that is slowly pulling you in.

“It’s unlike you to be so quiet. What's going on?” he plopped next to you as you gazed at the gentle waves of the ocean. You shook your head as you chuckled.

“Can’t I appreciate the ocean in silence?”

“Of course you can, but I want to hear your voice. It's boring if you're not chattering nonstop.”

You snickered, trying to hide the pang of pain you felt inside. You know he's looking at you. He’s studying you, hoping to understand what's bothering you. But how can you say it's him that's bothering you? That it's him that's making you this miserable?

“I’m okay. I’m just thinking about life y’know? Eywa’s plans for me. ”

He hummed, turning towards the ocean. He knew you weren't telling the truth, but he doesn't know if he had the heart to ask for the truth anyway. So he just hummed, indulging in your presence.

“I also wonder what’s my future. But I don't even remember who I am, so what's the use?”

You turned to him, tracing his features with your gaze. He met your gaze, searching, hoping, expecting something. You didn't know what it was, so you offered what you thought would be the best answer. “You’re an excellent na’vi. Eywa’s plans for you will be grand, trust in her to guide you into the right path.”

“But will you be there, syulang?”

“I don't know. Will I?”

“I sure hope so. I cannot imagine a life without you constantly in my ear.”

“You skxawng, did you just call me loudmouth?”

“I don’t know. Did I?”

With a laugh, you smacked his shoulder. When you're about to pull your hand back, he reached for it and held it tightly. You watched him as he played with your fingers. You can feel the heat radiating from his palm, so warm and strangely comforting. You didn't say anything. He didn't either.

So you indulged. Indulged in the fantasy that this is a promise of forever. That he wanted you to be in his life, in his future. That there's more for the two of you, and not just a fleeting encounter that he will remember fondly as he talks about his past.

You remained like that for a long time, holding each other’s hand as you watched the ocean as the sky turned dark.

It was deep into the eclipse when you realized that the space next to you was empty. The first thing that came to mind was that he had regained his memories and left while you slept. As fear began to seize your heart, you noticed his makeshift bow and arrow beside the bed. Your once racing heart settled down, but as it did, another question popped into your mind.

Wait. Why am I so afraid that he had left?

“Did I wake you, syulang?”

You had no time to dwell in your thoughts when the warrior appeared in the entrance of your marui, holding your spear. It seems that he came from the outside, evident from the cold scent of water and foliage.

“Where have you been?” You asked groggily, trying to sit up from the bed, but the handsome warrior gently pushed you back by your shoulders.

“No, don't sit up, continue sleeping okay? I just went outside to check since I heard some animal noises.” He placated you.

Yawning with closed eyes, you said absent-mindedly. “Don’t do it next time, it's dangerous.”

“I know, syulang. Go back to sleep."

“M’kay…”

Unbeknownst to you, the warrior remained seated beside you, staring at your face as he traced your features with his eyes. He didn't know when it started, but his heart that seems so anxious to leave now has its enthusiasm waned.

You began occupying his mind, your silly little expressions and when you bicker with him over little things. Slowly, regaining his memories was no longer his first priority. You became his first priority.

He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know a lot of things. Heck, he didn't even know who he was. He should've been anxious, he should've been more enthusiastic to search for his origin, but your companionship made him forget that he’s a lost man. The thought of leaving can easily be erased by a silly little smile from you.

Syulang. Oh, syulang.

In fact, he wasn't simply just checking out any predators outside. He went inside because he remembered something. A whistle or cry for something. A muscle memory. He had tried to use it multiple times, hoping that someone that could lead to his origin would pop out. He had been doing it recently, every night, hoping for some result.

He succeeded tonight. After a few calls, a large winged creature descended upon the trees. He recognized it immediately. A mountain banshee. His ikran.

The ikran was green in color, with yellow and brown stripes in its body and wings. Petting the winged creature's chin, the young warrior sighed. “Oh Eywa, you’re magnificent. I expected nothing less. Are you my ikran? Am I part of the Tayrangi clan of the Eastern Sea?”

The creature nuzzled into his touch, eyes narrowing at him as if to communicate with his rider.

The two watched each other in silence. Despite his desire to do so, the young warrior refused to fly. He merely patted his ikran’s back, searching for some object that could help him remember. As he continued searching around, his eyes focused on the small string of beads on his ikran’s saddle.

This…?

The young warrior paused as his eyes narrowed, a sense of foreboding rose from his chest before a splitting headache assaulted his senses. He groaned and held his head as his knees buckled due to pain.

His knees hit the ground with a loud thump, but the pain paled in comparison to the headache he’s feeling.

Think about her. Think about syulang. Don't push yourself, think about her, she’s still waiting for you back at the marui…

He didn't know how long he had kneeled on the ground before the pain gradually weakened until it became non-existent. When he regained his senses, his ikran had disappeared. Who knows where it flew.

Wiping his sweat and dirty knees, he looked at the dark sky and began walking back to your shared marui. He was excited to tell you about the progress he had made. That's he’s almost there in figuring out his identity.

But he cannot shake off this voice telling him to not say anything, telling him that if he broke the stability between the two of you, everything would change. And he’s not yet ready for change.

“Think about it, warrior. How else would you get hurt so badly if not for a woman?” You held your chin as you watched him ground several fruits and collect the sap with a pottery jar.

“You’re asking me if I snatched a promised woman and now her intended mate wants me dead?” He sounded like that's the most absurd idea in the world, clearly disgusted with the idea. “You seem to have drunk a lot of fruit sap, coming up with these ridiculous ideas.”

You giggled to yourself, still persisting on purpose to piss him off. “I mean think about it, warrior! Why else would you have a blood feud if not for a woman?”

He looked at you, unimpressed. Closing the jar full of fruit sap, he stood up to pick more fruits from the basket. “Syulang, a blood feud could be for other reasons, aside from snatching a promised woman. Perhaps it is because of clan disagreements.”

Humming, you picked up a small fruit and popped it into your mouth. Your face contorted due to the bitter aftertaste it left in your tongue. “You don't look disagreeable to me. I have a feeling that everyone in your clan adores you. But still it could be because of a w—”

“No. Because if it is, trust me syulang, I’d know.”

You stared at his serious face, you cannot see any falseness in his words. Only confidence in himself. He seems so sure. “How would you know?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the net of your marui. “First, I don't go after promised women. I just knew I didn't and wouldn’t. The second reason why I knew it wasn't about me loving a promised woman was because if I already had my heart set on someone, then why would it beat for another?”

Your breath stuttered in your throat as the warrior took your hand into his, gazing at you deeply like you're the only one he sees. You couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't speak. You can only gaze back into him as he gently said to you.

“So syulang, stop worrying about some other woman okay? You're just making yourself unhappy. Here, have some fruit sap, it's good for your skin.”

You know you would be making a mistake by doing this, but you did anyway. You kissed him, pressing your lips against his in a chaste, almost reverent kiss. You know it's something you cannot turn back, but you didn't care. Not when he’s here with you, as warm as the tsawke shining down on you.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! A/N: this is it! hoped you liked part 1! Any feedback from you guys would be very much appreciated, it keeps me going. 🥹💜

Stay tuned for part 2 (end), everyone! Have a nice day!

[luveline]

Omg ok Jade my love can I request a princess soulmate au with Steve? Where reader is Prince Steve’s soulmate but maybe she’s not royal herself and is struggling a bit with being the future princess?

Almost like similar vibes to some of the loser gf with rockstar Sirius things you’ve done

thank you sm for your request! (sci-fi fairytale au) prince!steve

cw talk of losing weight to fit into a dress 

Prince Steven sits across from you with a bowl of grapes and a pair of embroidery scissors. He's going to stab me, you think morosely. I'm wretched and boring and he's going to stab me and then the stars will give him another soulmate and he'll forget this whole misfortune.

He seems lost for words as you are, or uninterested. You think he's going to talk and he eats another grape instead, hair fluttering in the breeze that filters in from the balcony, his eyes trained on the holoscreen. He's pretty —soft face, softer hair, almond shaped eyes that seem perpetually amused— but more alarmingly, he's fit. Physically fit from years of sports. Royals do all manner of olympiad competition, evident in his toned shoulders and his sun-kissed skin. 

"How's your embroidery?" he asks suddenly. 

You startle, pretending you'd been attending to that rather than staring at him uselessly. "It's going well, Prince Steven," you lie. You've never embroidered before —you have practical sewing skills for darning scuffed trousers and patching elbows, but embroidery is a labour of time. Time is a luxury you haven't had. 

"Steve," he corrects. 

"Do I… Is it really okay for me to call you that? Won't people think I'm presumptuous?" 

"Ten dollar word." He slides the bowl toward you, a beautifully glazed ceramic piece that likely cost more than your month's rent. "Well, they usually let me have whatever I want, and I want you to call me Steve. And to relax. And eat more." 

"I can't. They said I need to fit into my wedding dress." 

"The wedding dress needs to fit you," Steve says, the simple cut of his button down pulled snug to his chest as he leans back in his chair. "Not the other way around. Is that why you didn't eat much at breakfast? Or was it just gross?" 

"It wasn't gross," you say softly. 

"You don't have to do any of that stuff, either, if it's boring." 

You run your finger down the creamy linen stretched between your bamboo hoops. "I don't know if it's boring. I can barely do it." 

"You're too mean to yourself," he says. 

Steve stands and puts his arm behind his head, pushing his elbow until something clicks. Embarrassed by his dismissal, you stare at your hands and fume at yourself when they begin to tremble. 

It's too much. All of it. The cruel Palace attendants who know you're not good enough. Steve and his good nature. The wedding dress, the fine China, your wonky stitches. 

Steve steps to your side. He holds out his hand, and you pass him your embroidery without meeting his eyes. Your mood worsens at the sharp slink of snipping, sure that Steve will cut your pattern from the sketch and tell you to start again. 

"Sorry, your white knot at the back was bothering me. Pass me a slimmer needle? I'll tuck it behind your stitches." 

Astonished, you pass Steve a smaller needle from the pin cushion. His brows creases gently as he works, rewiring the white thread with patience and efficiency. 

"There. It looks really nice, honey. You're a fast learner." He passes you the hoop. You take it a beat too slow and he either doesn't notice or doesn't make a fuss, chucking you under the chin softly. "Don't worry so much. I'll talk to Cordelia about your wedding dress, the idea that you need to fit into it like it's one size fits all is dumb. It's made for you. Like, what are they expecting?" 

"They're probably hoping this is all a big mistake." 

"Did someone say that to you?" 

"Nobody had to say it to me, I can tell from the way they look at…" Steve takes your face into his hand, effectively killing anything you'd been trying to say.  

He seems royal, then. Used to getting his way, maybe, the disapproving lining of his otherwise sweet eyes. You get a flash of a memory, the morning you'd been presented, Steve in his finery with his platinum crown like a beacon in brown hair, you in your best dress, embarrassingly drab in comparison, your hand offered. He'd been meeting with eligible women all week. 

You were there as a formality. Never for a second did you think your soul mark would react to his, lines of light around your opposite wrists. 

To think you'd worried about touching him. You could never imagine how beautifully careful he is, how tender. You didn't know men were like this until Steve showed you, his niceness apparently bone deep and in everything he does. 

"If people are being jerks, you have to tell me." You never imagined how casual and vulgar he'd be either. "What's the point in being a princess if people don't respect you?" 

"I'm not a princess," you say. Your heart is a hummingbird as he turns his hand and strokes your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. 

"You will be. Nothing can change that. You're going to be a princess, and you can do as much or as little as you want, because those dorks left me in charge and I say so. I can decree it, if that makes you feel better," he says, dropping his hand, the phantom of it lingering like static shock. 

"What if I'm not meant for this?" you ask quietly, shy but terrified enough to ask. 

"I was meant for you," he says, tone matching yours in timidity. His sleeves rolled up as they are, you can see the soft light of his soul mark taking a pink hue. "Right?" 

Your soul mark glows a gentle pink to match his. Because you and Steve don't know one another well, not yet, but the feeling is there, thrumming under the skin like a pulse. Not love, not not love, a glowing desire. A want to know him.

There have been moments where you wished he wasn't a Prince, but then there's no guarantee you ever would have met. 

"Right," you mouth, offering him a small smile. 

"We were meant to be together…" Steve bends at the waist, meeting your eyes. He's yet to kiss you in the week since you met, but his touches come braver everyday, the unfamiliarity between you melding into butterflies. His smirk shakes them awake. "So let's be together the way we want to. Think of princess-ing as optional." 

"And you as mandatory?"

"I'm also optional," he says with a warm laugh. "But dinner is not. I need to know what you like, if we're going to get married."

You practically gulp. Right. You're going to be his soulmate, his princess, and his wife. 

"Don't be scared. I'm not cooking it, chef Joyce is." Steve brushes hair from his eyes like a model from the giant holo screens, unaware of his own attractiveness. "I'm a shitty cook. My talents lie in other things," he drawls grandly, "like lacrosse, and neck massages." 

He winks. You laugh genuinely for the first time since you met him, and his face splits with glee.  

—

if you want to request anything for this AU please do! steampunk princess soulmate and her smitten prince is my new fave thing

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 3 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: All hail severely traumatized Reader.

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The moment you stepped out of the Hanging Gardens, the city of Seoul came crashing into your senses. The bustling noise, the chatter of strangers, the blaring car horns—it was overwhelming. After so many years surrounded only by the whispering leaves and the sound of distant waterfalls in your domain, this city felt like a whole other world. Yet, you had no time to marvel at it.

Your first thought was him. The young hunter who, in the original story, would one day transform from the weakest E-rank hunter to the world’s most formidable force. You had seen his journey play out on the pages of a manhwa, and even though this was your reality now, you still thought of it as a story. Perhaps that was the only way you could cope.

Jinwoo. The name was a whisper in your mind, a mantra you repeated as you sent out your butterflies to search for him. They flitted into the sky, through alleyways, dodged bustling crowds, and skimmed across rooftops, invisible to everyone but you, its compound eyes transmitting a dizzying aerial view of the city straight to your mind. You kept your focus tight, pushing down the nerves that gnawed at your stomach.

But your search was interrupted by a sudden shift in the air around you. The city's mood had changed in an instant. People on the street stopped, their heads turning upwards, eyes glued to the enormous screens on the skyscrapers. As the images on the screen flickered into view, a chill you down your spine.

It was chaos. The screens showed devastation—images of buildings crumbling, fire and smoke engulfing the skyline, and a massive gate that loomed ominously above it all.

The first S-rank gate—the one from which Kamish, soon to be the most feared dragon in history, first emerged. You stood frozen, your eyes widening as the scenes played out in real-time.

“No…” You breathed out, barely a whisper, your hands shaking.

Even watching it on the screen was entirely different from reading about it on the pages of the manhwa. It was real now. Too real. The ground beneath you seemed to tilt as civilians screamed and hunters rushed into action. The casualties. Oh God, the casualties. The sight of corpses being pulled from rubble, the screams and cries of civilians and hunters alike echoed through your mind long after the broadcast ended. The dread spread through you like ice.

If I’d just managed to get out sooner, you thought, the guilt and horror churning in your stomach. If I’d escaped the Gardens just a year earlier, or even a few months…

Surely you couldn’t have stopped the gate from opening, but could you have evacuated more people? Shielded them with your powers? Reduced the casualties? Your mind raced with possibilities, spiraling in your inability to actively turn back time in a scale that large.

Could I have made a difference? Could I have saved even a single life?

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, heart pounding. The "what ifs" started to spiral, pulling you deeper into a pit of guilt and self-recrimination. Your fingers dug into your palms as you tried to regain control. Just as the world around you blurred from the tears stinging your eyes, there was a gentle nudge at the edge of your consciousness, yet the swirling visions just made you want to empty out your stomach.

Through your shared vision with the butterfly, there he was, younger than you expected— around sixteen or seventeen, a teenager, though he looked like he’d grown up too fast. His frame was slimmer, not yet the broad-shouldered man you knew he’d become. He was dressed in a faded school uniform, his eyes carrying the weariness of someone who had already seen too much. The lines of his face were taut with worry, a haunted look lurking in his gaze. An expression you’d often seen through the pages, etched into his older self.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling. If…If I had been here sooner, would things have been different for you?

Your mind wandered to another possibility—his father. Would you have been able to prevent the disappearance of Sung Il-Hwan if you’d arrived two years earlier? Could you have kept Jinwoo from bearing the weight of that loss, the look of pain he now wore like a permanent scar?

Though his mother was still with him now, you could see the faint shadow of the pain he carried even now. Could you have helped him avoid the countless sleepless nights, the burden he’d shouldered in silence for years?

But reality was harsh, and you couldn’t change the past. A hollow ache settled deep inside you, thoughts haunted you, sticking like thorns in your mind.

---

The following years were a blur of watching from the shadows, helping where you could without being noticed. You couldn’t save everyone, but you could lessen the burdens on the boy you had grown to care for. The butterflies you sent to heal his mother and alleviate her pain seemed to help, if only a little. But that look—that haunted, broken look in Jinwoo’s eyes whenever he thought no one was watching—it gnawed at your heart.

It was during one of those quiet nights, as Jinwoo and the rest of the world slept soundly, that you decided to take a more desperate measure. Jinwoo’s mother was showing signs of the dreaded Eternal Sleep disease, the same way she had in the manhwa. You had placed a protective spell around her to shield her from excessive mana exposure, but it hadn’t been enough.

No, not again... please, not again. You couldn't bear it. You refused to let Jinwoo suffer the same pain twice.

There has to be a way to save her, you thought, teeth clenched. The pages of the manhwa didn’t reveal much about Eternal Sleep, but you took a gamble. If exposure to mana was the cause, then maybe you could draw the mana out of her system.

The hospital was quiet that night, the corridors bathed in a cold, sterile glow. You slipped in under the cover of darkness, cloaking yourself and the room in an illusion. Her face was pale and serene, and she seemed to hover somewhere between sleep and consciousness, untouched by the turmoil around her.

You took a steadying breath, summoning the butterflies close and feeling their power surge within you. Your children hovered around her bed; their wings softly glowing as they began to absorb the excess mana from her frail body.

“Please… let this work,” you whispered.

Focusing on your intent, you reached out with your healing magic, channeling the butterflies to draw mana out of her body. It was delicate work, like trying to remove poison from a deep wound without disturbing the tissue around it. Sweat trickled down your temple as you focused, your hands trembling with the effort. You could feel it working; her breathing grew steadier, the tension in her muscles slowly unwinding.

“Yes, yes… this is working…” you whispered to yourself. Little by little, traces of mana were being drawn away from her, and with every second, your heart beat faster with hope for the first time in years.

But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, everything came crashing down.

[Warning! Trial Player is not permitted to alter this part of the storyline.]

The system’s notification blarred before your eyes in blinding red text. You shook your head, gritting your teeth.

“No, no! I can’t stop now! Just a little more and she’ll—” You breathed, ignoring it, pushing yourself harder. You could feel the system’s cold disapproval as it listed penalties— deductions in your stats, loss of your domain privileges, even the risk of a forced expulsion back to the Gardens, warnings, threats, each one harsher than the last. But you didn’t care. If there was a chance, even the slightest one, that Jinwoo could have his mother healthy and safe, you’d risk any penalty.

[Initiating first protocol: Trial Player is restricted from interfering with main events.]

“No! Please!” You screamed in your mind, pushing harder, trying to siphon the last remnants of mana from her body. An invisible force tightened around you, harsh and unyielding. It was like trying to wade through thick mud, each step harder than the last, until finally, the force slammed into you, and you were thrown back, the butterflies flung away from you as the spell shattered.

Your body hit the wall with a sickening thud. You let out a gasp, clutching your ribs as you tried to regain your balance. An invisible barrier had been erected between you and Jinwoo’s mother, solid and unyielding. Your butterflies fluttered helplessly against it, unable to pass through.

“No… No, no, no!” you screamed, cried, banging and clawing against the barrier until your hands were raw and bleeding. But it wouldn’t budge. The tears blurring your vision and cascaded down your cheeks in rivulets.

The system’s cold, unfeeling voice echoed in your mind. You couldn’t register the subtle unfamiliar desperation other than your own. [Trial Player, cease all attempts to alter key story events, or face permanent penalties.]

A sob tore from your throat as you slid to the ground, your shoulders shaking. “Please,” you sobbed, your forehead pressed against the barrier. “Please, let me help her...”

The silence a sledgehammer that you had failed. All your efforts, your desperate attempts to change the course of events, had been for nothing. The realization hit you like a knife to the gut.

No matter how much you tried, no matter how desperately you wished to change things for the better, the system wouldn’t allow it. It had let you toy with minor events, heal minor wounds, but when it came to the story’s crucial turning points, you were powerless.

The what-ifs that had haunted you since you’d first stepped into this world were answered in the cruelest way. Even if you had left the Hanging Gardens sooner, even if you had arrived in time to save Jinwoo’s father or cure his mother, you would have been stopped.

For the second time since you had been isekai’d, you felt utterly, hopelessly trapped. You were no longer a player with some semblance of control. For all your power, for all your knowledge of the future, you were nothing more than a helpless spectator to a story that would unfold exactly as it had always meant to. You were a mere observer, bound to the whims of a story you could never truly change.

All you could do was watch, from the shadows, as the boy you loved continued to suffer. As something inside you continued to crack.

You drew your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms, letting the sobs wrack your body. For once, you let yourself feel the weight of your powerlessness, the despair that had been building in your heart for years.

In the darkness of that hospital room, the weight settled over you like a suffocating blanket. And all you could do was cry. This was no longer the story you had loved. This was your reality. And you were utterly powerless to change it.

---

You stumbled out of the hospital, numb and hollow, the world blurring around you. The voices of passing strangers, the hum of distant traffic—it all faded, leaving only an aching silence in your heart. You wandered without aim, letting the sorrow settle, the bitter knowledge clawing at you. How many years had you spent dreaming of a way to help him, of a way to change his fate? And for what?

Back in the Hanging Gardens, you’d felt trapped and powerless, but there had always been hope. Now, that last ember was snuffed out, leaving only darkness in its place.

As you returned to your hidden space in the city, you couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness. It was like a familiar, cruel reminder of your first days in the Gardens, alone, struggling to survive in a world that hadn’t wanted you. And now, here you were again, unable to do anything but watch as the story unfolded as if you were still on the outside.

-----

The city had begun to grow familiar over the years, but the feeling of unease and disquiet never truly left. In this world of hunters, dungeons, and chaos, you weren’t exactly a normal citizen, though you’d tried your best to blend in. You made a life here, a life woven carefully to avoid standing out, hiding a fraction of your power and even more of your knowledge.

The first step to living a new life in this world was a matter of practicality: identity. You needed to establish yourself as a citizen of Seoul. But just as you were puzzling over how to manage something as complex as legal documents, the system—your ever-watchful, omnipotent shadow—seemed to have anticipated your needs.

You stared down at your supposedly birth certificate and identification card, your name printed clearly beneath a picture of a face that felt both like yours and... not. Relief was short-lived, turning to a sickening churn in your stomach. What happened to her? The question gnawed at you in quiet moments. This girl, this "you" of this world, had her life been erased to make room for your presence? Had she died before you arrived? Or, worse yet, had she been destined to die, and the system had simply taken advantage?

You tried to ask the system directly. “What happened to... the original?” you whispered, feeling a tremor in your voice. But, predictably, the system remained silent, its screen blinking away without an answer.

It left you with grim speculations. The more you thought about it, the more it felt like a noose tightening around your conscience. On sleepless nights, the thought haunted you: somewhere, in some unmarked corner of this world, the original (Name) might be lying forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to the wind one night, your voice barely audible. You were sitting in the Hanging Gardens, surrounded by the flowers you’d nurtured into bloom with your magic. The air was filled with the scent of roses and jasmine, a comforting balm against your troubled mind. “I promise... I’ll make a place for you here.” A way to remember her in the only way you could.

When you had a rare moment of free time, you returned to the depths of the Gardens. Deep within its heart, you found a secluded spot, a quiet clearing where the sunlight filtered through leaves, casting gentle dappled shadows. It was here that you began to build a small tomb, using stones and flowers enchanted with your magic.

It took days to finish. You poured your heart into it, weaving protective wards and spells into every petal, every blade of grass. You carved her name—your name, really—and when it was done, you placed a simple plaque: For the one who came before me. May you find peace.

Your hands clasped together; you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. This was your way of making amends, a fragile attempt to honor a life you had never known.

You stood there for a long while, the only sound the gentle rustling of your butterfly summons as they hovered, curious yet respectful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, not sure who you were even speaking to. Was it gratitude for the life you now had, or a farewell to the life you’d unknowingly taken?

---

After sorting out your papers and putting that grim thought to rest, you turned to the next task: becoming a hunter. You needed a way to sell the monster drops from your domain without drawing too much attention. Those materials were too valuable to ignore, and your stash from the Hanging Gardens had been growing, with enchanted trinkets and rare plants you’d carefully cultivated over the years.

With your identity settled, the next task was securing your place in this new world. You needed to establish yourself as a hunter, and quickly. The aftermath of the catastrophic gate and Kamish’s rampage had left the world desperate for capable hunters. S-rank hunters had fallen, and fear gripped the public. What if another gate like that one appeared? What then?

The Hunter Association was overrun with applications, both from hopefuls and seasoned hunters alike, eager to prove their worth. You knew your capabilities exceeded those of even high-rank hunters, but revealing your full power would draw unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was to be a target for the Hunter Bureau or one of the powerful guilds that dominated South Korea’s hunter landscape.

Suppressing your powers took everything you had. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with nothing but your bare hands. But you managed. After a few practice sessions cloaked in the safety of the Hanging Gardens, you learned how to cloak your true strength, masking it just enough to appear as a C-rank healer.

The evaluation day was chaotic, with hunters and administrators bustling around, trying to keep things moving. You stood in line, trying to ignore the stares from the other applicants. You kept your head down, focusing on the role you had to play.

“Next, please!” the examiner called, gesturing you forward.

You stepped up to the designated area. The sensation of being probed by the assessment device was unpleasant, like icy fingers brushing against your soul. But you kept your facade intact, holding your breath as the machine beeped.

“C-rank healer,” the examiner announced with a bored tone, scribbling notes on his clipboard.

You let out a silent sigh of relief, bowing politely before making a swift exit. You could feel the weight of curious eyes on your back, but no one suspected a thing.

Joining the South Korea Hunter Association was easy after that. You chose not to align yourself with any guild, instead opting to work freelance. It allowed you the freedom to pick your own missions and, more importantly, to avoid too much scrutiny. The Association didn’t question it, relieved to have another willing hunter, especially one with healing skills.

After a few raids, you gradually established a rhythm, selling a select number of drops at the hunters' markets. You kept the powerful materials for yourself, knowing the enchanted items might raise suspicions. The influx of funds was just what you needed.

----

The money you earned was enough to set up a modest business, a modest storefront on the quieter side of town, far from the bustling commercial districts. It was a charming space with large windows that let in ample sunlight. Perfect for what you had in mind.

A flower shop.

It was a simple concept—a quaint little greenhouse-inspired shop, cozy and serene, with butterflies fluttering gently around the blooms. Your years of cultivating exotic flowers to look like their normal counterparts in the Hanging Gardens paid off. Your magical influence made the flowers not only bloom faster but also granted them subtle enhancements, flowers that brought calm or clarity, leaves that eased headaches, petals that had slight rejuvenating properties, and much more.

The enchantments were soft, just enough to go unnoticed by hunters who occasionally stopped by, curious about the whispers of a shop with “enchanted” flowers. To manage the flow of clients, you eventually made the shop private, requiring customers to book appointments. Word of mouth spread quickly, though, and you found yourself busier than you’d anticipated.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a particularly finicky flower that required a touch of magic to bloom, a young girl entered the shop, holding her mother’s hand. Their wide eyes taking in the quiet, verdant space with wonder. The mother glanced at the butterflies resting on flower petals and the leaves that shimmered in soft hues.

“Mom, look! The flowers are glowing!” she exclaimed, eyes wide with childish excitement.

Her mother smiled and turned to you. “Hello,” she said with a nervous smile. “This place is… magical.”

You returned her smile, pleased with her reaction. “I’m glad you think so. What can I help you with today?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “I… I heard about your flowers and, well… I’ve been feeling exhausted lately. I thought maybe something here might help?”

You nodded and led her over to a section of delicate white blooms. “These are calming flowers,” you explained. “You can put them by your bed, and they’ll help ease your mind while you sleep. Their scent is soothing and works wonders for stress.”

Her face lit up as she reached out, fingertips brushing the soft petals. “They’re perfect. I never thought flowers could… do that.”

“They’re a little special,” you said with a soft chuckle. “But sometimes, a touch of nature is all we need.”

“And this is for you little one.” You make a grand gesture, like a magician, and a pink carnation bloom in your hands. The girl eyes sparkled, and you took the chance to slip the flower behind her ear.

She and her mother left with a small bundle, the flowers carefully wrapped, and you watched them go, a sense of satisfaction warming you. You were making a life here, slowly but surely, even if there was still a shadow of loneliness lingering at the edges.

Over time, your shop became something of an oasis. People came not just for the flowers, but for the atmosphere, the butterflies drifting lazily through the air, the subtle scent of earth and blossoms mingling together. You overheard customers remark on how they felt better after just a few minutes in the space, how even just watching the butterflies was calming.

“Ah, it’s so peaceful in here,” A couple walked in one day, the man sighed as his partner looked around. His eyes widened as a butterfly landed on her hand, its tiny wings shimmering like fragments of stained glass. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“This place... it’s like stepping into another world.”

If only they knew.

You smiled warmly, handing him a bouquet wrapped in elegant paper. “They’re drawn to the scent of the flowers,” you explained. “It’s said that they bring good luck.”

One regular visitor was an elderly woman who came once a week to buy flowers for her husband’s grave. She’d chat with you while you wrapped her order, sharing stories of her late husband and their time together. She once remarked, “There’s something… kind about you, dear. It’s like you have a healing presence.”

You only nodded, humbled and slightly unnerved by her words. You didn’t feel like you deserved the praise—after all, you were only borrowing this life, this identity. But every time she left with her bouquet, she’d smile back, and you’d return it with a quiet, grateful nod.

And so, you continued on, living a borrowed life.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [010/10/2024] - Welcome

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter one

“don’t call me by my name.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of reader’s demon form, Alastor uses the chain and withholding your breakfast as punishment, Alastor takes pleasure in your fear, power dynamics, reader worries over being punished, lecherous demons in an alley, non-consensual grab and lick of the face, graphic violence, murder, blood, teeth as a weapon, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Why didn’t you bring me a boy to play with?” Niffty pouted, her little foot stomping the carpet. 

She hadn’t been pleased when Alastor broke the news that he had acquired a new maid to help her out around the hotel, and glared at you past his legs. He laughed, seeming to enjoy her tantrum. You still weren’t sure how to feel about this Demon who had taken over your contract. While he had been pleasant enough at the Emporium after Rosie signed you over, he hadn’t spoken a word to you while leading you through the streets of Hell to bring you here. 

“I’m afraid you’ve answered your own question, Niffty dear. Had I brought you a toy, I’m not so sure you’d sustain your productivity. Which is precisely why I brought help.” He turned to look back at you for the first time then, your chest tightening from the eye contact. Alastor maintained contact as he continued, “Sylvie will maintain my quarters for now so as not to take away from your duties, but once the hotel gets busier I expect you to play nice and share. Besides, she’ll need training before we just let her loose around the hotel! We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He smirked at you and broke his gaze, pivoting to make his way up the stairs. Before the others could get a chance to come talk to you, an invisible tug was at your neck and you hurried to catch up with Alastor.

“I’ll show Sylvie to her room so she can settle in,” Alastor said loud enough for everyone, still facing forward as he continued up the staircase.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That had been a week ago.

Everyone else had been fairly welcoming, Charlie being the kindest. She and her girlfriend Vaggie had made the most effort getting to know you, which made sense being they were in charge of the hotel. Though he wasn’t rude, Husker only spoke to you in short quips. You tried not to dwell on the pity in his eyes any time you crossed by the bar in the lobby.

Angel Dust had been nice too, the few times you had managed to see him and always at the bar, joking amicably that you could almost pass as twins despite quite obvious differences. He was a decent amount taller and slimmer than you for starters. Hell seemed to have turned him into a spider of sorts, and if you had to take a guess, you had spawned here as some kind of milky-colored reptile. No scales, but there was a faint pearlescent pattern of something close to that covering your neck, back, and extremities. 

It was still jarring to see your reflection in the mirror. There were parts you still recognized, though even those features had felt Hell’s touch. To your relief, your face still looked more or less the same. Nearly Human passing, until your newly-added nictitating membrane blinked right-to-left. Though your red pupils and pink sclera were also a dead giveaway (haha, get it?). Something you weren’t sure you’d ever adjust to, but hey, you earned it right?

You had just finished getting into the black collared dress Alastor demanded you wore for work when a dark shadow pooled under your feet. Complete darkness and seconds later, you were standing in the parlor of Alastor’s suite. 

“[Y/N],” Alastor’s low, static voice lingered on it, red eyes boring into you. Something he had gleaned very quickly in the week was how unsettled you got when he used your real name, and enjoyed the opportunities to use it. “I find tardiness to be an irksome trait. Do not make it a habit. Am I understood?”

You fought a grimace, loathing his condescension. The Radio Demon’s smile threatened to tear as he watched you struggle to maintain composure. You hadn’t succeeded completely, but you were making some progress.

“Well?” he goaded.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to say evenly, hands fidgeting behind your back.

You knew better now than to play into his tricks. He was trying to get you to react, a sport he took great pleasure in succeeding at. So when he wasn’t ordering you around, he was complaining about the look on your face. Sullen, petulant, ghastly, he had used all kinds of names. And when you had gotten cheeky with him about it on your second day after hours of scrubbing the area rug in his room that he had dirtied on purpose…

The slight ache in the back of your neck served as a reminder of that. Sadistically, the chain was the only true cold you’ve felt since spawning in Hell and it seemed to burn more than acid rain. It wasn’t hard to remember the weight of it, the sweaty feeling of it on your skin. Alastor had enjoyed it all immensely. 

Denying him his fun in pissing you off probably wasn’t good in the long term, but you had to toe the line in order to find the limit. You wanted to learn as much as you could about the creature who owned you. Eternity was never-ending, but learning how to cope was all you could try to do. Being moved to this hotel had turned out to be a true blessing all things considered, so if navigating Alastor’s moods and demands was the price, you would have to pay it.

“Good!” The expression on Alastor’s face quickly relaxed into a more pleasant one. “Now hurry up and run into town to fetch my dry cleaning, and bring me something from that new butcher shop. I’ll leave it to you to decide, I so love surprises! Skipping breakfast will serve as your warning for being tardy. See you in an hour, dear.”

With that, he disappeared before you in a quick melt of shadow.

He was so. Fucking. Annoying. But you wouldn’t risk throwing a tantrum. For all you knew, he was still somewhere in the room, and honestly, you didn’t have time to waste. The walk from here to Cannibal Town was about twenty minutes and Alastor had summoned you before you had been able to put on your shoes, a five-minute setback at least. He had also made no mention of how you were expected to pay for any of this… 

Time to perform a fucking miracle, you thought to yourself, and made your way for the door.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor watched as you took a deep breath and smoothed your pale pink hair before leaving his room. The small click of the door locking echoed in the silence. He re-materialized near the large window that faced the city, grinning when he finally saw you walking off the premises at a hurried pace. You were so close to coming loose, so close to breaking that unbecoming pout. How he loathed it. He would rid you of the self-pity you wallowed in, even if it drove you to madness. A chuckle escaped him at the thought.

When you spoke back to him last week it had been such a thrill. Alastor closed his eyes, reliving the memory. He had allowed himself a moment to enjoy your insolence before inverting it to fear. Now that was a face he could get used to. The cold sweat on your skin, your red-pink eyes wide with shock. The sound of your hands and knees hitting the floor was music to his ears! Though he would never forget the gasp that caught in your throat from the shock.

He didn’t even need to raise his voice when he told you never to speak to him that way again, a direction you had perhaps taken too much to heart. Then again, you didn’t come across as a fighter. No, you were much too apathetic for that, at least for now.

And you had smelled so lovely in your fear. The usual floral sweetness of your scent had turned warm and nutty. For a moment he was certain he had picked up a hint of bitterness before you had mouthed off, but it disappeared so quickly once you were frightened that he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he wanted to smell it again.

With some luck, that would be quite soon; a little over an hour now if all goes according to plan. The Radio Demon had never expected you to return within the given timeframe.

Setting you up to fail wasn’t fair, but it was certainly fun.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Donner’s Butchery had been absolutely packed, but you managed to purchase the last available pound of liver. Their selection had been so low that you were more concerned with walking out of there without anything at all. Whether or not Alastor would enjoy it was a matter reserved for your return, though you hoped he would since you had to open a tab to get it. 

Thankfully, the dry cleaning had been settled upfront so you were actually starting to feel a little optimistic about making it back in time. In fact, you were now determined to be back in time out of spite. Imagining the veiled irritation on Alastor’s face when you arrived within the hour kept you distracted from the hunger pain in your stomach, and your pace subconsciously picked up. The high was short-lived though once your mind wandered to what other tasks Alastor would surely have lined up once you handed him his clothes and liver.

And what if he hated liver? You were in such a hurry that you didn’t even know what kind it was if he asked about it, which he probably would if only to watch you squirm trying to answer. The hotel wasn’t too far off now and you stepped into an alley to search the bag for a receipt, hoping that the butcher had been thorough enough to write it down. You found the receipt taped to the butcher paper, the words DEER LIVER scribbled with thick, black marker. 

“Thank god,” you sighed quietly, relieved to have peace of mind and placed it back in the bag. You were just about to step back onto the sidewalk when you heard laughter behind you.

“God ain’t here, sweetheart. Haven’t you noticed?”

You turned to see two demons, already standing much closer to you than you’d like. In your desperation to check the bag, you hadn’t heard them approaching. Something that should have embarrassed you, given the sour smell wafting off their clothes, but there wasn’t time for that. You took a quick glance at the clocktower.

Five minutes.

Of course it was… Even if you ran, you’d probably only get to the gate at best and knowing Alastor, that wouldn’t count.

“You got somewhere to be? Hand over the bag and maybe we’ll let you go,” the taller one continued, his plump sidekick snickering, both moving to cage you in.

God damn it… You were so close. So fucking close. Not only that, but were you were hungry and exhausted. All you had done this week was try your best to manage Alastor’s impossible expectations for what? An easier eternity? The creeps standing near you were right, God wasn’t here. This is Hell. Suffering eternal. 

The sanctuary you thought you’d found at the hotel was anything but. Its promise of redemption was the dangling carrot, always just out of reach. A sick joke, just like everything else here. Not that you had ever planned to be redeemed, you knew why you were here, but living in the hotel had lulled you into a false sense of security. Hell wasn’t clean and filled with mild-mannered sinners.

“Look at that, she’s fucking crying!�� the plump demon laughed, bringing you back to the moment. “You’ve always liked ‘em scared, Donny.”

The tall one, apparently called Donny, shot his arm out to block you from leaving, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. “Is he right, baby? You scared?”

You could feel your heart in your throat. Scared? You were pissed. And when Donny grabbed your face and boldly licked a tear off your cheek, you snapped.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The Radio Demon had been hard at work tuning Vaggie out for the last few minutes. He was aimlessly wandering the lobby when she cornered him, seeming to have finally found her opportunity to interrogate him over acquiring your soul. It would have been easy enough to tell the disgraced Angel that it was the least he could do considering the help Rosie had provided them, but upsetting Vaggie was simply too much fun.

She was droning on about how she and Charlie would be taking over the onboarding of any more new employees when Alastor felt a chain rattle, ear flicking in response. Some fool was messing with his property. He reached out mentally to follow the chain and soon caught the scent of almond. He grimaced. Of course it was yours.

“As much as I cherish our conversations, I’ll need to cut this short Vaggie. I’m afraid duty calls,” Alastor said smugly, grinning at the rage on her face from being so casually brushed off before slipping into shadow.

When Alastor materialized in an alley he was met with piercing screams, and it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. You were on the ground straddling the waist of some poor soul, your face covered in blood as you tore out your victim’s neck with your teeth. The creature in question no longer seemed to have much left of the lower half of his face, the remnants of it no doubt lying somewhere in the gore. His death rattle was nothing more than a gurgle and spurt of blood, but it seemed you were too lost in your rampage to notice he was now motionless beneath you.

Alastor didn’t bother with the pudgy creature that had no doubt been your victim’s friend. Well, perhaps not a very good friend, seeing as the coward ran away once he regained his footing. Besides, it wouldn’t be difficult to track the cretin down if Alastor changed his mind about it later.

For now, his focus was on you and what a glorious sight it was. He wished for a moment that your dress had been a different color, just to see how much blood and scraps of flesh had soaked into it. Judging from the mess on your face, it had to be quite a lot.

The sounds coming from you were savage, nearly carnal, and you were relentless in your attack despite the damage already done. When would you stop, he wondered. When there was nothing but bone? The aspect thrilled him to the core and he sniffed deeply, taking in the scent of blood and almond. There it was — that delicious, bitter, nutty warmth. He had been right. Letting out a satisfied, pleasured sigh, he waited patiently for you to finish. After a minute or so you succeeded in decapitating the fool, and Alastor made his approach as you struggled to catch your breath. 

Gingerly tapping you once with his foot, you startled with a growl and snapped your teeth. Alastor let out a low chuckle, taking in the wild look of your face, eyes glowing pink.

“I believe he’s had enough for now, dear. You made good work of him, I’m quite impressed,” he said, giving you a proud smile. “Now let’s get you home before you cause a scene.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Joint Broadcast (RadioStatic x Reader)

CW: Cheating, Dubcon, brat taming, Anal, double penetration, caught cheating, nonconsensual broadcast Rated: Adult Requested by: @nyx-umbrakinesis Summary: You thought you could have your cake and eat it, too. In this case, your cakes were Alastor and Vox in romantic and sexual relationships. Sure, you didn't disclose your entanglements with the other but what were the odds they would find out? When the unexpected comes to reality, you're left alone with two angry men who could end your existence. They intend to punish you but in the last way you expect…

It wasn’t uncommon for the Overlords of the Pride ring to have personal entanglements. When you’re as powerful as they are, it was hard to trust anyone lower than them to be vulnerable with enough to engage in any meaningful sexual encounters. Well, that was true for most of them. 

Some, like Valentino thrived on the power indifference, seeking out partners he could destroy in a moment. Most of the overlords instead wanted worthy partners, that left slim pickings and even slimmer pickings for someone like you who had an appetite for variety in addition to quality in your lovers. 

That’s how you found yourself balancing two of the most powerful overlords in your free time. You knew you needed to pick one. Having them both, especially in secret and behind the backs of both was a dangerous game that could get you killed if you got sloppy. 

Good thing you were anything but sloppy. Or so you thought. 

Vox sat one of the old unused broadcasting rooms, face to face with the one man he struggled most to be in the same room with. Dust floated through the air, kicked up by the agitated pacing of the tall man dipped in blood red. It sparkled in the old lights as the microphone tip of his cane spun through the air. 

“Both of us?” Alastor asked, not looking toward the screen faced man leaning against the old radio broadcasting panel. Behind him was old set, a remnant of his early broadcasts in hell and the only one he hadn’t updated, yet. “You’re certain it’s not just wishful thinking on your part?” 

“Seriously?” Vox’s claws dug into the broadcasting, gouging through the rusty metal as if it was nothing. 

“I mean no offense, old pal,” Alastor said, laughing. “I simply thought she had better taste than that. 

“I could say the same,” Vox countered, screen glitching momentarily. “She’s with you after all.” 

“My point exactly!” Alastor laughed, taking great joy in the way Vox had walked into the insult. 

“She should be here in a few minutes,” Vox said as Alastor’s ear flicked, catching the sound of her footsteps along the sidewalk. 

“And we’ll have answers.” Alastor said darkly, “Then you’ll know you were nothing but a second best, a fleeting fancy to pass the time.” 

Vox opened his digital mouth to answer only to close it as the doorknob rattled, squeaking as you turned it. Alastor dissolved into shadows, determined make his entrance a grand event.

“Vox?” You called out, voice timid as you stepped through the door. “What is this place?” 

“Come on in, Dollface.” Vox called, screen shining through the dim room, “Lock the door behind you.” 

You shook your hair behind your head and rocked your hips as you walked to Vox. When you were with Vox, you took on a more sultry, forward manner. That was what Vox liked. He would dissolve into puddy in your hands. The way he would whimper as you rode him gave you such a thrill. 

“What is this place?” You asked, looking around as your heels clicked against the tile floors. 

“Old broadcasting studio.” Vox said, wrapping you in his arms as you reached him. He slotted himself behind you, making sure you were right where he wanted you. “From back in the day.” 

“Oh?” You tried to turn, wanting to indulge in the electric kiss of your lover only to be held in place. 

“You see,” Vox said, pointing with his long arm reaching out in front of you, “Right there is where I filmed and broadcasted my early shows.” 

“And what was the rest of the room used for?” You whispered, looking around as best you could only to have your blood run cold as shadows morphed and liquified, a man who’s form you were also intimately familiar with rising up from them. 

“Why, my dear,” Alastor cooed, “It was my broadcasting room.” 

“Alastor?” You tried to jerk from Vox’s arms only to be held tightly in place.

“Ha! Can you believe there was a time when TV and Radio worked together?” Alastor laughed, yellow smile glowing under the warm lights. 

“We had gotten along pretty well, back in the day,” Vox added. “We shared pretty damn well, didn’t we?” 

“Indeed,” Alastor cooed, stepping closer. “We used to share our toys well, but now?” 

“Not so much,” Vox finished for Alastor. “But someone decided to make us share anyway.” 

“Didn’t even bother telling us,” Alastor added, standing directly in front of you now. He booped your nose with the red backing of his microphone. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“I didn’t think you’d find out.” You tried to keep your head held high as you forced yourself to meet the red eyes of the Radio Demon. If this was how you were going to die, you would be double damned if you didn’t go down without the last word. 

“She thought we wouldn’t find out, Al!” Vox laughed loudly behind you, familiar nickname falling from his lips as if it hadn’t been decades since it had been las used. 

“No, I didn’t.” You answer, trying to tug yourself out of Vox’s arms. “I figured two arrogant old-timey assholes wouldn’t spare a thought to what I was doing when I wasn’t with them.” 

“Old-timey asshole?” Vox voiced his outrage behind you, screen glitching as you let a spark of fire out from a palm of you hand, turning it to face him. 

Their raw power far overshadowed yours’ but you were eager to at least put some distance between them. If you could get out of Vox’s arms and somehow out the door, maybe you could run fast enough to get away, then you would just have to lay low. 

Vox stepped back, shouting at the sting of the flames as they singed his suit, just as you had hoped. In the process, he left you an opening you didn’t hesitate in the slightest to take. 

Alastor was quick to step toward you, though he was met with a flash of fire. The light was blinding in the dim space, making it hard to see anything as you raced to the door, counting on the fire to keep the stronger demons busy for at least a few minutes. 

Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to a hard chest as your fingertips just grazed the doorknob. Looking down, you saw red across your abdomen, black hand gripping you, red claws digging into your side. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” The static that surrounded Alastor cackled. You tried to spark a flame, sending it to wash over the dangerous man only to have it swallowed in his shadows, snuffing it out. 

“Away from you, old man.” with no other options, you stomped on his foot. The action was born more out of reflex than hope. 

“Old man?” Alastor laughed, lifting you as if you were nothing but a petulant child, disregarding your struggles. 

“Such old men we are that you thought you needed us both.” Vox grumbled as Alastor tossed you to the ground, taking a moment to enjoy the way your skirt rose up, just failing to cover the curve of your ass. 

“What are we going to do about this?” Alastor asked as if he and Vox hadn’t already come to the conclusion, unbuttoning his coat.

“We’re going to have to teach her a lesson,” Vox said as he slipped his coat down his shoulders, tossing it onto the old dusty office chair Alastor used to sit in decades ago, broadcasting the screams of those who dared cross him. A red coat joined the blue one as both men began to circle you while they pulled their bow ties from their necks. 

“What is happening?” Your voice trembled as you scooted away, only to have a black tentacle wrap around your ankle, preventing you from trying to escape. 

“We’re going to give you exactly what you wanted,” Alastor said as he worked the first few buttons of his shirt free. 

“You wanted to have your cake and to eat it, too.” Vox said, working his way out of the red and black striped vest he wore. 

“And now you’re going to have that cake,” Alastor picked up the line with the fluidity of an old friendship you were not aware had ever existed between the two men. 

“And you’re going to clean the fucking plates,” Vox finished, unbuttoning a the first few buttons around his neck. “And you’ll have to decide which cake you want.” 

“What are you-” Alastor’s tentacle pulled you up by the ankle, suspending you in the air, cutting your words off with a squeak. 

Your hair fell around your face. The skirt you wore succumbed to the forces of gravity. You hadn’t bothered with panties or a bra, being so sure that you were going to get dicked down by the TV demon and knowing that he appreciated ease of access. 

“We’re going to fuck you,” Vox answered the question you hadn’t gotten to finish asking.

The clattering of belt buckles and unzipping of pants seemed so loud in the old room. In a matter of moments, while blood was rushing to your head, you were lowered to be eye level with the two very different and yet very impressive cocks of your lovers. 

“Open,” Alastor said, shaking you by the leg when you hesitated.

Vox wasted no time shoving his dark blue cock into your mouth, thrusting until the force pushed your torso back through the air. Reaching out, you planted your hands on his thighs, steadying yourself as he fucked into your mouth. You choked, struggling to breathe in the strange position. 

Vox didn’t stop until he was satisfied with the way your saliva coated his thick cock. Once he pulled back, you gasped for air. There wasn’t enough of a chance to ground yourself before Alastor was shoving his long cock, working his way to the back of your throat again and again. 

Spit and tears ran up your face, making a mess of your makeup when they finally righted you, setting you on the broadcasting station, currently lit up with tiny dials and switches that looked like stars. Had it been powered on before? 

“How wet do you think she is right now?” Vox asked, “She likes it rough with me.” 

“Does she?” Alastor hummed, grabbing one of your knees while Vox grabbed the other, spreading them wide. “Would you look at that? The literary overlord likes it dirty! Ha, now- why didn’t you say anything? Ma cherie, if you don’t communicate your needs, how can any one man satisfy them all?” 

“Why should one man have to satisfy them all?” You answered back, refusing to meet the eyes of your lovers. Instead your eyes ran over the old broadcasting microphone, so much like the one Alastor currently used at the hotel and yet this one was covered in dust. 

“Why shouldn’t one?” Vox asked, running a clawed finger up your sopping slit, tracing a path around your clit before moving down again, poking into your opening before moving lower still, spreading your slick over your lesser used puckered asshole. 

You moaned as his finger sank into the tight opening. Alastor reached out, caressing your clit as Vox’s finger wigged deeper inside your ass, helping your body to relax. 

“Fuck, Al- she’s so tight here,” Vox couldn’t help the way he moaned, imagining you squeezing around his cock as he added a second finger, stretching you open. 

“Is that where you’d like to be?” Alastor asked, soft smile on his face as he watched your hips twitch, betraying your stubborn silence. 

“What do you mean?” You ground out, struggling to keep your voice even as Alastor caressed you closer to the edge. 

“My, our little brat needs it spelled out for us.” Vox pushed his fingers apart as he pulled them out of you, spreading the tense ring of muscle wider again and again. 

“Of course she does,” Alastor hummed, “She was stupid enough to think she could get away with this.” 

“We’re going to fuck you,” Vox said as if that cleared things up for you, pulling his fingers from your body. 

“Together,” Alastor added, gathering your slick onto his fingers and wrapping them over his long cock, smearing it along with the drying saliva, “Now be a good girl and roll over,” 

“Make me,” you spat out only to have Alastor and Vox both do exactly that. There wasn’t much you could do to put up a fight with four hands pushing your body into position. 

“Go on,” Alastor said, motioning to Vox. 

The thickness gave Vox away as he ran his dark blue cock up and down your folds, There was no containing the moan that poured from your lips as he pushed inside your cunt, stretching you wide as he coated himself in your slick. 

“Shuffle back,” Alastor directed, kicking your feet until your abdomen hung off the edge of the control panel. Blinking your eyes, you came face to face with the microphone. It must have gotten jostled as you were bullied into place. 

Alastor reached around you, fingers playing over the nub of nerves that headed your folds, relaxing you as Vox’s cock pushed into the tight ring of muscle. It burned, even with the sweet distraction of Alastor’s fingers. 

Vox thrusted shallowly into you at first, moving slowly but never fully stopping for you to adjust. Each thrust took his fat length deeper into your ass as you cried out. Legs shook as they struggled to support your weight, knowing that if they gave out you’d fall back and spear yourself on the rest of Vox’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Vox whined, screen and voice glitching as he bottomed out, pressing his balls against your leaking cunt. Your ass was gripping him tighter than a vice and he knew it was only going to get better. “Fuck, she’s so tight.” 

“Yes, I gathered.” Alastor sounded disinterested as he motioned for Vox to get on with it. “Pull her up.” 

Vox rolled his eyes at the direction. One of them had done this before and it wasn’t Alastor, though he acted like it. Anything for appearances, anything for the show- Vox knew that. That’s just how Alastor was. 

Vox pulled you up from the broadcasting desk, reaching forward to pull the top of your dress down. One of the straps over your shoulder ripped as your breasts were exposed only to be covered by his hands.

He turned, presenting you to Alastor as if his cock wasn’t twitching inside of your ass, desperate for friction. “How’s she look?”

“Sinful,” Alastor said as he admired the view, taking in the swell of your breasts as Vox’s hands left them. One dark blue hand braced your hip, keeping your ass tight against him as the other lifted your thigh, spreading your leg open wide. 

“Fuck,” You whined as vox thrust forward, sending his cock deeper into your ass as he displayed your cunt and stretched asshole to the man you had been seeing behind his back. “Fuck, Vox.” 

“You say that now,” Alastor said, grabbing your other thigh and pulling your leg up, leaving you supported by nothing but their hands and the cock in your ass. 

Your hips jumped forward as Alastor ran the head of his cock against your clit. The thick head ran through your folds, smearing slick along his length. Vox moaned shamefully as Alastor’s cock brushed against the base of his cock, running along where your ass had swallowed him. 

“You going to wait all day?” Vox demanded, legs straining with the desire to move. 

“Oh, alright.” Alastor made a show of sighing as he lined the head of his cock up with your vaginal opening, enjoying the way your eyes widened as you realized what they intended to do. 

“No,” you said, trying to wiggle away only to find your arms held out to the sides by dark ropes of shadows, “I can’t- it- it won’t fit. I can’t fit you both,” 

“You can,” Vox promised. 

“You will,” Alastor added as the head of his cock pushed inside. 

You could feel him pushing against the thin wall that separated the two pathways. From the way Vox moaned deeply, screen leaning forward to rest against he back of your head, he could feel Alastor’s cock pushing into you as well. 

“Fffffuck,” Alastor groaned as he reached deeper and deeper inside you, running along Vox’s cock, “so tight like this.” 

“I told you,” Vox was panting as your opening grew tighter around his cock. His mind struggled to think of anything but the way Alastor’s cock caressed his through the thin walls. 

Alastor stilled, bottoming out within you. His head hung over your shoulder, breath washing over both your shoulder and Vox’s. He could feel the twitch of Vox inside you, the difference of sensation nearly too much. With a rock of his hips, Alastor moaned as his balls pressed unto you, nestling between his cock and Vox’s.

The sensation was overwhelming, threatening to take him over the edge before he had begun. That would simply not do. There was a point to be made. The show must go on. 

Alastor took a deep breathe, willing his self-control to steady before pulling back. The thrust into you that followed was so harsh it sent your body bouncing up, pulling up along Vox’s shaft. 

“Fuck,” Vox whined, grip on your hips guiding your bouncing body as you fell back down on his cock as Alastor pulled back. Using the space Alastor vacated, Vox thrust up, bouncing you on the head of Alastor’s cock. 

In a few short thrusts, they had found a rhythm that was punishing for you and yet sustainable for them. As soon as one cock withdrew from your body, another was shoving in. Vox reached around your torso, pinching a nipple harshly between his claws as your body bounced. 

“You’re so tight, babydoll,” Vox cooed in your ear, bathing in the gasping moans that were quickly growing in volume. 

“Taking us so well,” Alastor wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you down against the cocks rutting into you one after the other. The slight change of angle had your clit rubbing against the fur at the base of Alastor’s cock with each of his thrusts. 

“Ah! Fuck,” You cried out as Alastor leaned forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. 

“Fuck, Al!” Vox moaned even as he tried t put on a show of disgust. He had always said he found Alastor’s cannibalistic habits distasteful, but the truth was, the only distasteful thing was what the sight did to him. 

Alastor moaned, feeling you tighten around his cock, orgasm drawing near. He was close too, the taste of your blood on his tongue driving him to thrust faster into you. Vox was likewise close, Alastor knew. There was no hiding the way the other man twitched in your ass, rubbing against Alastor’s cock with each move he made. 

“Who’s fucking you?” Vox demanded as he twisted your nipple, a delicious pain that was such a part of your rough fucks with Vox sending tightening waves through your cunt. 

“You,” you panted, drool running from the corner of your mouth as your head lulled. “You are.” 

“Who’s fucking your ass?” Vox asked, smiling at the camera you hadn’t noticed was set up in the corner. “Tell the viewers.” 

“Vox,” you whined, not registering what he said. 

“And tell the listeners who’s taking your cunt?” Alastor said, pulling the microphone closer to ensure your voice was picked up clearly. 

“A-ah- Alastor,” you clenched around them. “I’m so close,” 

“Good girl,” Vox purred, electric tongue running up the back of your neck, sending tinkles down your spine. “You going to cum on our cocks now?” 

“Yes,” you repeated the answer, a chant growing in volume as both men thrust into you, too many hands holding your body steady as they lost their coordinated rhythm, “Yes, yes, yes!” 

You screamed as you came, body convulsing from your fingertips to your toes. Your cry bounced off the walls in the old room, mixing with the grunted moans and hissed curses as first Vox found his release, seed spilling deep into your ass. Alastor was two short thrusts after, dumping his load of hot cum into your waiting walls. 

Vox leaned back, chest rising and falling in rapid pants as he collapsed onto the desk, not giving a shit about what buttons or dials he could be messing with. Each twitch of the cocks inside your abused body had you crying out. 

Alastor pulled you up off of Vox’s spent cock, not removing his own until he was ready to set your feet on the ground. Seed mixed and ran down legs that failed to support your weight. 

It felt like you couldn’t get enough air in your lungs as your body trembled with the aftershocks of the orgasm. Blackness overcame your vision as you laid down on the cold ground, letting the icy tile ground you. 

“Well, that was fun,” Vox said, winded voice coming through the darkness. 

“Surprisingly so,” Alastor’s voice was the last thing you heard as exhaustion overtook you. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

[whoisthispersonwow]

Hello people of tumblr! :)

I am not used to using this app but I thought i would give it a shot as the fandom works featured here are straight up the best things i've found on the internet, and the community seems just AMAZING on all regards!!! So I thought, yk, that I would share my ideas for this AU fic that perhaps maybe I would write sometimes...... idk....

Actor Bucky x Model Buck

Set in the 90s, this AU follows this rough outline : despite the 90s being a time of counterculture for the youth, (grunge, alternative movies being pushed forward and towards larger audiences) and being out of the 80s and all it entails (glam rock and so on) there was this paradoxally reinforced idea of masculinity (leather jackets, men having to be "strong", etc.) and lattent ideas of homosexuality being a "bad, filthy thing" in some places, interlinked with the misinformations concerning the HIV epidemic (if you're gay, you'll get AIDS, you'll die in a few months, all this stuff), which causes the Bucks have to hide their relationship from the public in fear of retaliation and backlash.

Buck is a male model, in a decade in which supermodels are emerging, and put on a pedestal : it's a decent job for him, despite not being a Claudia Schiffer or a Kate Moss (as female models, especially in that decade, were getting paid way more than male models, and overall just represented couture houses more than men did.). People know his face, he's had a few campaigns, but it's not enough to make him one of the A-list celebrities, not that he minds. He's slimmer than what is the norm for male models, but compensates it with his face : it is his strength as much as his weakness concerning bookings. He is known by his peers as this wise and generally kind man, not overly flairy as people can sometimes be in their industry, and overall very discreet about his personal life. He is extremely professional, a master of his craft that knows exactly what is expected of him at any time.

Bucky, on the other hand, is an actor. Freshly discovered among the rest of a new generation of actors, he climbs steadily and surely his way to the top, and has people from all over the USA watching his career with interest. He acts in movies which in our timeline would feel like "The Matrix" ; "Trainspotting" ; "Fight Club", and all of those sorts of very "mainstream yet still posessing their bit a flair" movies. He's extending his choices and taking more risks, ones that could perhaps lead him to great rewards (not that he is especially looking for it : Bucky would be content to act in a short movie by a middle schooler if it was done with love and passion.) Charming, bubbly, he is loved by many of teenage girls (and others, ofc :p). Everyone has a story about Bucky, be it good or bad. "Oh yeah, he bought me a car when mine broke down" says a make-up artist on a set. "He got so drunk he forgot I was here and punched me square in the face when i got up to pee" says his friend Curt Biddick.

(i made an ugly ass moodboard for the vibes)

-> now i'm gonna dump random infos for no particular reasons

TW : mentions of drugs, alcohol, homophobic cliches.

-They met at a party/gala of some sort for a brand, for which Buck modeled and Bucky was ambassador : it didn't click right away, but closely enough for it to feel like fate played a part in it.

-Buck is kind of excluded during parties as he's fully sober, whether it's from drugs or alcohol : a rarity, in the modeling world, and often not a welcome one.

-Bucky on the other hand, is a bit too much of a party monster : he drinks a lot, perhaps snorts a little cocaine in the bathroom, takes a little speed... Which GREATLY concerns Buck.

-Bucky is as cocky in his confidence and his career as he fears (and represses A LOT) the possibility of everything tumbling down and just going back to being nobody (THIS MAN NEEDS TO BE LOVED BY EVERYONE)

-He's terrified that fame will change him, that he will become a parody version of himself, that people will only know and like the version of himself he presents them and nothing else, not seeing his worth as a person, as an individual of flesh and feelings.

-Between the two of them, he's the one who desperately wants to tell the general audience about their relationship, not caring about the consequences, because in his eyes, love is love, and there sure as hell ain't nothing wrong with loving Gale Cleven, and people should know that he loves him, that they love each other, that they're a pair, that life only ever feels complete when they stand side by side, hanging in each other's orbits. They sometimes argue over this.

-Buck, on the other hand, wishes for their relationship to stay a secret, as he fears if it was to be known, it would taint Bucky's image, this very manly, confident and suave man, mingle it with dumb cliches (in a gay couple one is a "Folle" and the other has to be effeminate, because they're like GIRLS yk) and that it would basically ruin his career, tarnish his talent and hard work, get him blacklisted from most studios/directors and only perhaps offered type-casted roles in homophobic movies written by straight men. Buck could not stand seeing the love of his life being disgraced in the public's eyes, just because of some dumbass cliches, because of his love for him.

-Marjorie (Marge) covers for Buck. She's his front : They are seen dining together and huddling on benches by paparazzis, giggling and talking as they walk in the street, and that's enough. Their story makes people dream, these two young people who grew up together and fell in love, still a couple until this day, still loving each other as much as they did on the first day... They are a lavender couple (when both member of a relationship are queer, and use their couple to cover any suspicions) which helps making Buck and Bucky seem like just buddies. Marjorie is most likely not famous, or if so, she'd be more of a writer than anything else.

-Bucky is EXTREMELY jealous and FUMES whenever he cannot kiss Buck in public, touch him, do his little Bucky things, make Buck feel his. Despite that, he's sort of reckless and allows himself gestures that would not fly were the two men not viewed as pinacle of masculinity and a great example of brotherly love. Buck can't even bring himself to ressent him for it, and does not hold it against him : he too wishes they could hold hands on red carpets.

-Bucky is basically a disaster waiting to happen at some point, a pressure cooker dangerously whistling : he bottles everything he feels, just grits his teeth and says he's fine when dark times arise, drowns himself in alcohol and wishes to forget about his worries, thinks about simpler times when he had none at all. Gale stays by his side, no matter what, no matter his terrifying relationship with alcohol and the memories of his father.

-They live together, despite the risks : Buck couldn't bear having to say no to Bucky when he bought their appartment with a huge check from the royalties he earned over his first blockbuster. It is approprietly cozy : most of the decorum is Buck's doing, but Bucky's things still find their ways in there ; baseball posters, pictures, awards and silly little drawings on stick-it notes... It feels like home, to both of them.

-They probably have bought some sort of ranch or farm, somewhere, to run away from the city when things get crazy : they bask reverently in the fact that there, nothing they do or say matters, watching the sunsets on their patios, enjoying the melody of nature without any civilization.

That's pretty much it for now, I'll most likely add things later! :D I'm begging you to excuse any mistake I made, i'm just a poor French person trying her best. Don't hesitate to tell me how you feel and stuff, I am so nervous to make this post you can't imagine lmaoo

To end things, I guess I'll just post an extract of a wip, a written transcription of a fake interview Bucky probably had on some talk show!!! :]

[allthatmay]

Needed a refresher for my writing brain and came out with this! An anon ask put ideas in my head, so here's the start of a Sabo/Ace scenario...

Months after being reunited, Ace still isn’t used to the look of his brother’s face.

To Ace, Sabo has always been a round-cheeked, gap-toothed boy, one that hurts his heart to remember—and he would always be that boy, or so it was supposed to go. And yet, miraculously, Sabo has grown up. There’s no sight of his young, ruddy cheeks, nor the perpetual dirt beneath his fingernails. He’s taller and stronger than Ace could’ve ever dreamed for him; he’s slimmer, refined, dignified—a delightful juxtaposition with his preoccupation for violently dismantling the government.

The truth is, Sabo feels all at once intimately familiar to Ace, and like another person entirely. No matter how Ace seeks to understand him, he struggles to consolidate this new Sabo with the Sabo he knew. One thing he knows for sure is that, like the old Sabo, this one is well-organised, fairly meticulous, and dedicated. He spends a lot of his day aiding Dragon with his endeavours, organising the staff, and talking quietly with Koala—but any time left over is reserved entirely for Ace.

Perhaps Ace has grown too accustomed to having Sabo’s attention.

“We’ve hardly had any time together this week,” Ace says, slumping into his seat. He raps his knuckles against the table, chin upheld in his other hand. “C’mon, Sabo, I know you’re busy, but…”

Sabo tugs his gloves on, glancing at Ace with a smile. He looks a bit grim, actually. “I’ll only be gone a couple of hours. We can do something when I’m back.”

“We never do anything when you get back.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“What do you expect? If you leave me alone for an evening, I’m going to find better ways of spending it!”

Sabo’s hands drop to his sides like they’ve simply given up. He stares at Ace in silence, head tilted. Eventually, he says, “You’re fucking someone,” in a tone that's perfectly flat.

Ace’s breath catches so abruptly that he’s sent into a fit of coughs. “What the fuck, Sabo? Who the fuck would I fucking fuck around here?”

A corner of Sabo’s mouth upturns. “That’s a lot of fucks.”

“Did you hear me, asshole? I’m not fucking anyone!”

“Yes, I heard you,” Sabo says. He steps around the table, right up to Ace’s side. His gaze is intense, but then, it always is these days. “I can’t say I’m not glad to hear it.”

The statement stupefies Ace. “Huh? What? Why?”

Gently, Sabo reaches out, brushing his thumb across Ace’s cheek. The leather of his glove is cool and supple. “Because I’d have to hurt them, Ace.”

Ace frowns, watching Sabo's smile grow. “Hurt them?”

“Anyone who touched you. All of them. None of them deserve you, Ace. Not anyone here.” His expression sobers. “Perhaps not anyone, anywhere.”

A hot hand has hold of Ace's lungs, stopping his breath. He gawks at Sabo, speechless, then deliberately looks the other way. Sabo's fingers fall from his cheek.

"Don’t be ridiculous," he says. "That’s a stupid joke, Sabo."

Sabo steps away, adjusting a cufflink. "Jokes have never been a strength of mine,” he says. He picks up his hat, pitching it atop his head. “See you later, Ace. I'll be back soon."

"Sure, and I'll be here.” When Sabo’s half–way out the door, Ace adds, “Not fucking anyone!”

[shubaka]

I'M YELLING. I woke up and my brain immediately chose violence. It suddenly went "what if we write Filmania!Kim x BoC!Kim x Chay?" KhimhantKimChay, I guess. It's too early for this, brain. Why are you doing this to me???

Khimhant sees him waiting off to the side when the concert ends. He recognizes the face. Doe-like brown eyes framed by soft, slightly curled bangs. The face is slimmer than the last time he saw it, though. Khimhant gives the boy's body a once over. He's taller now, too.

Something itches under his skin, and before he knows it, he's crossing the room and sidling next to the boy.

"Phoenix's brother?" 

"Ah," the surprised yelp makes Khimhant’s blood thrum. "I'm sorry, what?" 

Khimhant’s grin widens, teeth on display. "You're Phoenix's brother," he repeats. "I remember seeing you sneak in to watch some of his fights a few years ago."

The sudden flush of red that creeps across the boy's cheeks is captivating. 

"Yeah," he laughs sheepishly. "I didn't expect anyone, let alone you, to know anything about that – or me."

Khimhant steps a little closer. "I have a good memory. I didn't know you were a Wik fan, though. I haven't seen you at any of his previous concerts. What's your name? Are you a new fan?"

Khimhant watches the red flush deepen. Interesting. 

"No! I – I've loved Wik since his early days! I just haven't been able to get tickets before! This is my first time. Um, My name is Porchay. " Arms flail about awkwardly, and Khimhant feels a little charmed despite himself. He knows Kim would be eating this up if he was here. "But you, uh, you can call me Chay."

"Well, I don't normally share, but," he steps forward again and feels the heat radiating off of the other's chest, and he tilts his head back, slowly, "would you like to come backstage and meet Wik?"

The sharp inhale and dilated pupils are enough of an answer for Khimhant. 

He reaches for Chay and wraps his fingers around a surprisingly strong wrist. He tugs Chay along with him in the direction of Kim's dressing room and says, casually, "This is my first time."

"What?"

Khimhant tosses a wide grin over his shoulder at Chay's confused stare. "Sharing my brother."

Chay stumbles and squeaks, and Khimhant suddenly feels the familiar weight of Kim's stare from across the room.

Oh, Khimhant has a good feeling about tonight.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Eggcellent Volley (Vargas x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Characters eating raw eggs (Do NOT do this), vomiting mentioned

Note: Reader is an adult NRC staff member

“Everyone come up and draw a straw.” Vargas’s order boomed with the power of his loud voice. You were sure even non-beastman could hear him from the other side of the beach. “Long straws are the left team, short straws are the right.” 

You watch the group of students present form a haphazard line in front of the bulky man, each hoping they’d be paired up with one student or another. Some silently celebrated with their result, while others were sorely disappointed. Both emotions only grew as each team was slowly formed; by the time the last straw was pulled, they were quite the opposition. Jack Howl, Deuce Spade, Leona Kingscholar (who convinced him to play?), and Kalim Al-Asim were some of those among the right team. Among the left were Rook Hunt, Ace Trappola, Sebek Zigvolt (from what you heard, he agreed to play because Leona insulted Malleus’s honor), and Floyd Leech. Indeed, quite the lineup. Hopefully they could all learn to get along for the sake of the game. 

“Now that you have your teams, I will give you all a few minutes to discuss positions and strategies,” said Vargas. “Remember, sport is about teamwork - you can’t win on your own. Count the strengths and weaknesses among yourselves; collaborate on how to use those talents to balance out the faults.” 

With a wave of his hand, Vargas gave the students the lead to begin their planning. You could already hear arguments begin to start up on who should be team captain - who called the shots. While Leona already took up the lead of his team, mutiny was viable to happen on the left team. Not everyone was too keen for Rook to be captain, despite his status and experience as a third year. Just a minute into the debate and Floyd looked ready to back out. That was to be expected, really. You were making bets with yourself on how long it would take either to fall apart. 

Your gaze focused on Vargas, who was now a few paces away from where you sat on the sand. He sipped from his bulky water bottle, a few droplets dripping down his chin. His Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, the veins of his neck prominent against his skin. He let out a relieved exhale as he gulped down the last sip, right as he set the water bottle and picked up another. It was slimmer than the other, with a circular opening on the lid instead of a straw. You cringed as he began to gulp down the contents within. You knew what was in there, and you gagged at the very thought of just a drop going into your mouth. 

“How can you stand that?” you asked, clear disgust across your face. 

“Mmn?” Vargas hummed in question. He held up the thermos and shook it slightly. “This?” 

“Aren’t you afraid to contract salmonella or something?” 

“I always buy pasteurized eggs.” 

“Still,” you protested, “they’re raw, Vargas. I know you’re big on building muscle, but…c’mon, there’s better ways. Much more tasty, too.” 

Vargas shrugged as he gulped up yet another ounce of the liquid poultry. “I’ve never minded the taste. They’ve never made me sick, either. And besides,” he flexed those bulbous biceps of his with a grin, “it’s working, isn’t it?” 

Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll pop like a balloon - was what you wanted to say, but decided against it. “I’m just afraid that, one day, you’re going to run out mid-class because you’ve suddenly contracted the shits.” 

“Ah ah ah, [Name],” Vargas tutted with a tease. “Watch that language. You don’t want to be a bad influence on the students.” 

Yes, the students, which a third of cussed up a storm on the regular. Even so, Vargas - for once - had a point. You didn’t give him the credit though. With a roll of your eye, you tore your gaze away from the bottle of nastiness and drank a bit of your water. 

“Alright, are we all set?” Vargas asked as he walked back to the two dysfunctional teams. The volleyball net was like a flimsy fence that might keep them from tearing each other apart…might. When the youngsters let out a collective “yes, sir” in response, Vargas then instructed, “Team captains, step forward!” 

Leona and Rook were now at the head of their respective groups. Ah, so Rook did manage to win out. You spied Floyd close behind him, glaring daggers into the back of his head. Rook seemed amused by the knowledge. Sebek, on the other hand, glowered at Leona on the other side of the makeshift field. You hoped he wouldn’t sabotage the whole game by trying to show the prince up. 

“Being captain’s a big responsibility,” Vargas began to explain. “Your team’s gonna follow your lead - every decision is crucial. You gotta make sure everyone is-” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Leona interjected. There was little actual respect in his tone, however, not with that arrogant grin stretched across his lips. “We’ve all heard this before. Spelldrive, basketball, dodgeball - the same ol’ same ol’, y’know? Have a little confidence in us, yeah?” 

Vargas spared Leona a prolonged glance before he looked over at Rook. “What about you, Hunt? You know the rules? The responsibility?” 

“Oui, professeur,” Rook replied with a smile and cheerful nod of his head. “I swear to guide my petits agneaux with the utmost care.” 

 You scarcely heard Ace whisper to Floyd, “Did he just call us lambs?” 

Yes, he did - little lambs, to be exact. From what you knew of the young man’s language, anyway. You had the faintest idea how Ace understood him, however. Did he study more than you thought, or was it just from exposure to his classmate? Either way, the Leech twin just gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I dunno. Seagull talks funny.” 

“Alright then!” Vargas spoke with a clap of his hands, grin spread wide across his face again. “Looks like we’re ready to play.” He dug his hand into the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a coin. He turned to Leona and gave him a choice: Heads or tails? 

“Heads,” Leona chose.

“Oo la la!” Rook practically swooned. “I get to be the tail? Marvellieux!” He eyed Leona with a smile that could almost be called eerie. “To be at one’s tail allows the predator to sneak up on its prey all the better.” 

You glimpsed Leona mouth “fuckin’ creep” as he scowled and shifted his gaze away from the blond. Apparently he was not the only one who had a problem with the statement. “Rook Hunt, as the vice housewarden of Pomefiore, that is a highly inappropriate way to speak to your superior.” Sebek’s back was as straight as a soldier's, as always, his arms crossed over his chest. Rook peeked over his shoulder to get a better look at the half-fae as he continued. “Such manners are unfit for a captain. I must insist that you-” 

“Seeebeek,” cooed a voice a few feet to your left. You looked to see Lilia situated on a large towel under an even larger umbrella. Malleus sat beside him, while Silver - the poor boy - was once again fast asleep on the ground. Lilia slipped his bat-shaped shades down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the green haired youngling. “Be nice now~” 

A quiet rustle of laughter surrounded the young man in an instant. You watched as his pale skin tinted pink, from his cheeks to his ears, in embarrassment. His expression fell, eyebrows and mouth downturned as he sheepishly lowered his head. “Yes, Master Lilia,” he mumbled, just loud enough for his own superior to hear.

Before the first year could be teased any further, especially by the redhead that grinned mischievously at him, Vargas called out again. “Tails it is!” He reeled around to face you and pointed to the volleyball sat next to you. “Toss me that, [Mr./Ms./Mx. Last Name].” 

You nodded with a smile and took the ball in your hands. From where you sat on the sand, you threw the ball in his direction. He caught it, but not before it lightly collided with his abdomen. You made out the hushest of grunts rumble in his chest at the impact; for a moment, you were afraid you threw too hard and hurt him. That worry was quickly washed away as he shot you a smile and mouthed “nice form!” You breathed a small chuckle and raised your hand in thanks for the praise. 

Vargas turned on his heel back around to face Rook. “Looks like you’re serving first, Hunt.” He tossed Rook the ball, which he caught in quick succession. “Everyone, get into your assigned positions.” Students shuffled this way and that - some stopped towards the front of the neck, others went to stand at the very back of their team’s side of the large square Vargas drew in the sand. Leona and Rook were at the head of each group; Rook held the ball between his fingertips, while Leona made ready to spike it the moment it reached him. With all of them looking so determined and ready to play, you could have mistaken them for a professional team. 

“Ready?” The students nodded their heads. “Set.” Vargas held up his whistle. After a few seconds of tense silence, the sound of the waves beyond were broken by the shrill sound of Vargas’s whistle. As Rook tossed the volleyball into the air, so began the spectacle of your afternoon. 

***

“Who’s winning?” asked a voice from behind you. You glanced to the side just in time to see Sam make himself comfortable beside you, a little cooler placed against his knee.

“So far? It’s a tie,” you responded. “Everyone’s been getting along, surprisingly.” 

Sam pursed his lips in a single low whistle in astonishment. “That’s a rarity. You think the little imps would have pounced on each other by now,” Sam gestured to Floyd, “especially that tall one over there.” 

Thankfully, Floyd had been quite entertained with the game, so much so he got along with his teammates for the most part. Must be all of that teamwork practice he’s had on the basketball team. The same went for Ace. Sebek wasn’t much to worry about as long as he kept his opinions to himself, and Rook was, well…he could be a good leader when he wanted to be. As for the other side of the net, though Leona was strict, it was for the team’s benefit. Deuce and Jack followed his orders to the letter, as did Kalim, even though the white-haired lad got distracted every now and again. Combined with the other students present, it was a pretty good game. 

A soda appeared in your line of vision. You eyed Sam suspiciously as he offered it to you - he simply smiled at you. “On the house,” he said. “The least I could do for a favorite customer.” 

You returned his smile and accepted the drink. “Thank you. Water does get kind of tiring after a while.” 

Vargas took his attention off the game for a minute to look down at the two of you. “Those are bad for you, y’know that. Nothing but sugar and unnecessary calories, not to mention bloating.” 

“Like you haven’t partaken in sugary drinks before,” you quipped back. “Who was the one who ordered a strawberry daiquiri when we went to that bar Saturday night?” 

“It was a one time thing,” Vargas grumbled to himself. 

“Sure,” you chuckled, not believing a word. As you cracked open your can, you added, “I almost expected you to order a drink with egg whites.” 

“I think he was saving up for later,” Sam snickered as he glanced down at Vargas’s now half empty thermos of liquidated eggs. “I tried a raw egg once, y’know. I don’t see how you-” 

In seconds, the volleyball hurtled towards you. You gasped and shut your eyes tight, arms coming up to try and protect your face. You heard the ball make contact - yet you didn’t feel a thing. When your eyelids fluttered back open, in front of you was Vargas. He’d lept off his place on the sand to protect you. He used his chest as an obstacle to make sure you didn’t get hurt. You supposed it was his gut instincts. One would develop them in their years as a teacher and an athlete. 

“Watch it!” he barked out as he stood. He scanned the crowd of students as he tucked the ball under his arm. “Who did that?” 

It wasn’t too hard to figure out. Kalim immediately ran over, expression between horror, concern, and humiliation. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to spike it that hard! I didn’t think it’d go in that direction.” He peeked around Vargas’s broad form to look at you. “Are you okay, [Mr./Ms./Mx. Last Name]?” 

Despite the adrenaline that coursed through your veins, you forced a smile to reassure the boy. “I’m alright, thank you. Just be more careful next time, okay?” 

Kalim nodded his head, earrings jingling along. Vargas, however, wasn’t done with the boy. “It’s those lanky arms that have got you so uncoordinated. Your muscles do a lot of work in directing the ball; they can help control its speed and velocity, too.” Vargas’s other hand was now placed on his hip. “When we get back to the college, I’m going to organize a special training regimen for you, Al-Asim.” 

Vargas’s grin was between helpful and threatening, at least to you. “We’ll bulk you up yet, kid.” 

While a student would usually balk at the thought (a certain Octavinelle second year came to mind), Kalim took the challenge head on. Though you could spy the exasperated glint in his eye at the very notion, he gave a firm nod. “I’ll do my best, coach!” 

Before Kalim could turn around and go back to his team, Vargas stopped him. “Wait, I’ve got an idea.” He whirled around and stooped down to where his things were sprawled out on the sand. His hand grasped the thermos of liquid egg…oh dear. “Have a drink of this,” he offered as he held out the bottle for Kalim to take. “There won’t be any immediate results, but it’s a start. I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again: Eat four dozen raw eggs a day, and you’ll get as strong as me!” 

You could spy the looks of disgust and pity that danced across the faces of Kalim’s peers behind him. Ace made a gag motion with his finger, Leona rolled his eyes, Floyd stuck out his tongue - even Sebek grimaced. In stark contrast, Kalim beamed brighter than the sun in the sky. “Thank you, sir!” He graciously took the thermos in his hands. “Do I drink the whole thing?” 

“Go right ahead!” Vargas looked thoroughly pleased by the boy’s eagerness. You and Sam, on the other hand, pitied the oblivious kid. “Just don’t choke,” Vargas laughed, “they’re slimy.” 

Without another word, Kalim popped open the cap on the lid and knocked back the yellow slime. While there were a few who cheered Kalim, the rest of the students made various noises of disgust and disbelief. The Al-Asim heir appeared to not like the taste, but he chugged it down like a champ. When he finished, he let out a loud gasp, a string of saliva dripping down his chin. He coughed once, twice - Vargas slapped him on the back to help him out. Not the best aid, you thought. 

“Good lad!” he praised. “Now, get back out there and show me what you’re made of! Just try not to hit anyone this time.” 

“Y-Yes sir!” Kalim’s enthusiasm was stuttered by a suppressed burp. There was a slight shake to his step as he jogged back over to his teammates. They all looked at him as though he were mad. Deuce laid a hand on his shoulder as he came to his side; the words you couldn’t discern were likely to ask if he was okay, maybe why he’d do something so brash. 

“If he gets sick later, I’m pointing right at you,” you said as Vargas sat back down. 

“He’ll be fine!” Vargas assured, tossing the empty thermos beside him. “Kid’s got guts - a strong stomach, too, from what I’ve heard. Just you watch: In a few months time, me and him will be chugging eggs like there’s no tomorrow!” 

You highly doubted that. You pitied the boy later that night when he upchucked Vargas’s ‘gracious’ gift.

[whitepeachrum]

11:11

Fandom: Hetalia (personified) Pairing:��Ivan x Kiku (RusPan/PanRus) Content Length: Short (~1300 words)

“Have you ever played the Pocky game?” Kiku asks.

“I have not. What is a ‘Pocky’?” Ivan responds, curious about a new game. Kiku shows him the box and Ivan is confused as he reads ‘Rosku’ on the packaging. Ah, it’s in English lettering.

“It is a biscuit with usually a chocolate coating, but it comes in many flavors. It is like a Kit-Kat, but slimmer.”

“Ah, so it's a sweet treat. I don't really like sweets.”

“It’s not that overwhelming. Here, try one.”

Ivan takes a biscuit and bites into it. He shrugs as he analyzes it's flavor, deeming it ‘alright.’

“So how do you play a game with it? Do you try to see how many fit in your mouth at a time?” Ivan asks, still interested in the game suggestion.

“No. This game is not about quantity. It is about speed.”

“Speed?”

“Yes. For Pocky game, you have one stick for two people. You hold onto it on each end with your mouth and then you munch, munch, munch until there is no more Pocky.”

“You said this was about speed.”

“Yes. Usually the fastest person wins.”

“Can’t I win if I just took one big bite?”

“No big bites!” Kiku quickly shook his hand. “Only small bites. Big bites are dangerous. They can be a choking hazard.”

“Ahh. I see. No big bites then.”

“I will show you how to do it. Hold it with your teeth and I will play first.”

Ivan does as he's told and bites the uncoated end of his unfinished pocky stick to hold out for Kiku to bite. His eyes follow Kiku closely as he watches him slowly get closer to him until he almost kisses him and pulls the snack from his teeth.

“Just like that, but with two people.”

“Oh, that is an exciting game. Can I try it on you too?”

“Oh,” Kiku blinks, “Yes. Yes, you can.”

“Alright, be still. I want to focus.”

Ivan puts both hands on Kiku’s neck to stabilize his head. Kiku’s face, in return, begins to warm up. He didn't expect Ivan to put his hands on his neck, he just expected him to bite.

And he did, but he went so slowly that it made Kiku’s heart race with every bite he took and chewed on. Did he have to go so slow? Going faster would make his mind wander less about what Ivan’s intentions were. But perhaps it was a good thing that he was going slow if he was just learning. The tension was eating him alive.

The worst part of it all was that Ivan was staring right at him. Not blinking at all. And his face just kept getting closer and closer and closer…

“Ah…” Kiku squeaked quietly, his face completely flushed by the time Ivan was one bite away from their lips brushing against one another.

Ivan grabbed the last part with his teeth, being careful to not accidentally kiss his friend, and pulled it out successfully. He chewed on the piece and pulled himself away from Kiku, who was completely stunned by his behavior. Ivan smiled, thinking he nailed it.

“Was that good?” Ivan asked innocently as he wiped his mouth of any possible residue.

“That…” Kiku blinked as he attempted to register some of his words.

His smile faded as he noticed Kiku just staring intensely at him. He must’ve gotten the rules wrong. “Mm. I guess not. Maybe I should practice once more. I think I took this one a bit slowly.”

Kiku nods and Ivan puts another sweet treat between Kiku’s lips.

Ivan repeats his process, this time with a bit more speed, managing to get Kiku looking as bright as a beet. This was somehow worse than him going slow. What kind of man stares down the other one during a Pocky game like that?! It was diabolically unnerving.

“That last one was close. I almost ate you instead.“ Ivan chuckles mildly at the situation.

“Almost… yes…” Kiku stammered, struggling to say anything after that.

“Alright, I think I’m getting the hang of it. Let’s begin the game.” Ivan holds the Pocky between his teeth and Kiku looks down at the treat picturing getting to the end of it as quickly as he possibly could.

“No hands this time.”

“No hands? What?”

“Using your hands is cheating.”

“Oh, I did not know that. You did not tell me that before. Maybe I should do another practice round without hands, then…?”

“No. No more practicing. It's time for the game.”

“Really? I can't practice again?”

“Just be confident. You are doing good already.”

“I don't want to be just good. I want to be the best.”

“…I-I'm going to start the countdown!” Kiku stood his ground.

“Fine, go ahead.” Ivan grinned cheekily.

Kiku wins the first round on speed alone. Ivan wasn’t quick enough to finish all the Pocky, so when it was gone after a second or so, Ivan looked stunned by his speed.

“So THAT’S how it works. I see.” Ivan nods, feeling more confident about his tactics. “This is a fun game.”

“It can be fun, yes.”

“Alright, next round.” Ivan warmed up his hands with excitement.

Being too hasty during the second round, the duo manages to break the stick before they get a chance to actually play. Kiku took this as a sign that his friend was quite competitive, which made the game all the more fun of course, but it made him all the more anxious. Watching Ivan’s passion and joy at playing a new game, made his heart swell even more. Maybe even too much.

Feeling like he can't handle his heart beating this fast, Kiku voices that he doesn't want to play the game anymore, putting a hand over his chest to try to ease the tension.

“Come on, Kiku. You can’t just win a round and say you want to stop playing. Let’s do one more round. It can be the last one.”

Ivan didn't even like the snack. Why was he so adamant about playing this game? Kiku hesitates, but reluctantly accepts to do one last round. He sets up the biscuit between his lips and closes his eyes tightly.

“Do you want me to count down?”

Kiku nodded.

“Alright. Three…” Ivan placed one hand on his face. Causing Kiku to shut his eyes even tighter. He was cheating! But it was the last round so Kiku thought to led it slide. It's not like he had enough willpower to tell him anything anyways.

“Two…” he placed the other hand on the other side of his face.

Oh come on, Kiku thought, just finish this game already.

“One…” Ivan removes the Pocky from their lips and when Kiku notices it drops, he opens his eyes to see Ivan lean in and kiss him tenderly with his own eyes closed.

Kiku should’ve expected this, since he did offer to play the risky game, but he had been completely thrown off-guard by him. He thought Ivan wouldn’t understand what he was going for, or worse, that he wouldn’t want to reciprocate his feelings back. But there he was kissing him without anything in the way. How long has he been holding this from him? What if he playing dumb this whole time? And why was he kissing him like that?! It made Kiku mad!

Kiku pushes Ivan off of him and covers his mouth, completely flustered by the whole ordeal, not expecting to have been kissed so sweetly. Ivan smiles at him and eats the last stick they had between them until it is completely gone.

“I win,” he says confidently, despite knowing well that he cheated his way into getting his sweet victory.

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS CHAPTER XXIV

"THIS IS THE REAL JACK....JACK THE RIPPER."

"The real Jack..!" James exclaimed in surprise. "You mean to say that the killer wreaking havoc in Whitechapel is an imposter?!"

"Exactly," Moran affirmed. "The moniker was originally used by the old man for more than 50 years, ain't that right instructor?"

Jack laughed "as if I would know! I never cared for silly titles like that!"

"Don't act dumb, old man! You're old enough to know these things!" The colonel furrowed his eyebrows as he yelled in annoyance, only to be shushed by (name) who put a finger to her lips, signalling to stay quiet so they wouldn't wake William "It the reason why William called you, no? Because of this psycho killer that's using your moniker himself." Moran said in a slightly quieter voice.

The blankets on William rustled "That's not quite the reason, Moran." He said, waking up from his nap.

"You awake already, William? Shouldn't you be getting more rest?" Moran suggested with a hand on his hip

"He would've rested a lot better if you're loud voice didn't wake him up," (name) glared, taking William's blanket and folding it aside as he smiled gratefully at her. She sat down beside him, a hand on his arm as William continued.

"How could I continue sleeping when the instructor is here? It would be disrespectful to him and all of you." He said with a usual polite smile. Someone so used to experiencing rudeness like (name) — who had now grown to expect such behaviour for either her gender or ethnicity or both — had found it almost endearing.

Now that she had drawn her attention to it, William was usually incredibly polite, even when it was not deserved. He always seemed to be so respectful to everyone and that gentle smile had radiated a comforting beauty she couldn't bare to tear her gaze away from.

The instructor kneeled as (name) was snapped out of her trance-like state, gazing (arguably) fondly at the blond. "It has been too long, Master William." He said "It would be a tremendous honour for this old fossil to be of use to you once more."

William gave him a flustered smile which (name) mentally cursed him for. "No need for such formality, Instructor...just call me 'Little Will' as you always do. I know it was you who pinched my cheek whilst I slept."

'If he knew that the old man did that, did he also?—'

The instructor laughed heartily. "Gahaha! Nothing ever escapes you does it? Never changed, little will!"

(Name) had occasionally thought of how William may have been like before they had met, although not often. In the eight years the couple had known each other, and quite closely one might add, he had changed a bit.

(Name) had noted he had grown much taller since their youth. He was above average height as a 16 year old but his baby like face always made her laugh a bit when she was a teenager. Now it had slimmed down although he did look rather adorable but the rest of the time, he would wear that teasing smile that (name) couldn't help but feel flustered by. His physique had likely remained the same, although slightly more muscular with all the combat involved in being the Lord of crimes. From what she had seen, he was toned despite still being on the slimmer side..his voice had also changed, it was slightly deeper and very attractive now...

Without warning, (name) had smacked herself in the face in an attempt to regain her composure. She internally screamed at herself to stop thinking such thoughts about a mere man. She had also internally screamed at her past self for making the foolish decision to attempt to prove the infertility rumours wrong. She should've known nothing good would come out of that.

"Are you alright, (name)?" Josephine asked. (Name) hadn't told her of the recent encounter so she was bound to be confused. Honestly most things (name) did confused her.

(Name) chuckled nervously, noticing the blank looks she was receiving from the other members. "There was a fly." Although she clearly seemed unsure about that. "Please forgive me for my disruption..." she muttered

"What's the old man doin' here anyways?" Moran said shortly after

"Ah yes," William said, his expression turning serious "As you may know, not only has the killer in Whitechapel been using the instructor's only moniker as his own, he also has been intentionally announcing it to the newspapers. Just as I was about to contact instructor Jack regarding this information, he took the initiative and contacted me through a telegram." The instructor stood up with a small smirk "Instructor Jack wished to lend us his help in disposing the imposter killer who is using his name. This, he contacted me. The crime consultant."

William turned to his subordinates, continuing his explanation "It was for that reason that I requested you to retrieve his knives from the bank. I trust there was no problem in the retrieval."

"No problem at all. Right, Bond?" Moran said, looking knowingly at the shorter man.

"Yes, not at all."

Moran leaned against the armrest of the sofa, his arms folded "but why use an old moniker of some fossil who the world had forgotten? Who is this killer trying to fool..?" His eyes widened in realisation, opening his mouth to explain his theory. "Aha! The paper says he only targets courtesans, right? So maybe he's getting rid of all the courtesans so there wouldn't be any left for the real—"

Moran was cut off by a harsh smack from the Instructor, like a parent disciplining a child. (Name) observed with a blank stare. "Dammit Moran! Why do you always have to silly the conversation with your moronic ideas?!" He scolded him like a little boy.

"Ow!! Stop hitting me!!" The colonel whined.

"I like this instructor already," Josephine whispered to herself

"What makes you want to eliminate the killer, Instructor?" Fred chimed in, turning the old man's attention away from Moran.

"I admit, I hold no attachment to that abomination of a title.  But I can't let the world remember me as a psychopath who murdered helpless women on the street for no reason either. Before I kill him, however, I need proper preparation. That is why I need little Will's help." The instructor explained

"I see. That is a good reason." Louis  commented

"That's right my boys! It is only common sense to clean up after yourself!" The instructor said with a chuckle before Moran opened his mouth to spurt out some nonsense again.

"Says one of London's worse womanisers.."

"Woman...?" The instructor muttered, ignoring the insult. "Ah yes! Speaking of women! I heard there are three women working for you now, little will..."

"Don't bother with (name). She's off limits old man. Can't be going for William's wife." Moran said as (name) frowned. "And the brat's much too young for you." He finished, gesturing to Josephine who her rolled her eyes

The instructor scanned the noblewoman, then turned to William beside her with a smile, like a proud parent to their child. "My, you've grown so much, haven't you? So this must be the lucky lady."

"(Name) (last name), a pleasure to meet you. I've heard great things about you, Instructor." (Name) flashed a smile and held out a hand to shake. Despite being so old, Jack gave a firm handshake, almost enthusiastic.

She had heard William singing the instructors praises any time (name) would (subtly) compliment her husband's combat skills. (Name) herself had been taught personally by both parents, mainly her father, so she hadn't had an 'official' instructor as a child. Her parents had insisted on it at one point but from what the young girl had seen, her fathers combat skills were far more superior than any teacher she could learn from.

"Oh I've heard just as much about you, lady (name). Little Will seems to adore—" the old man was cut off by William clearing his throat. His cheeks were dusted with blush. The instructor smirked but changed the subject promptly "Moving on, I also heard there were two others, namely a Miss Irene Adler..it's a shame, I don't see her, I was planning on having some fun with her.."

Bond raised his hand, drawing the instructors attention to him. "Ah, that would be me," he said "The woman, Irene Adler, is dead. I am now James Bond. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir."

Jack stroked his bearded chin "A pretty boy disguise..eh..that explains it. Well.." he muttered before smiling brightly "I imagine you would need help to learn how a real man behaves! What day I help you with your study tonight in the bedroom, Mr Bond?"

"He's as shameless as ever.." Moran whispered to nobody in particular.

Bond turned to Louis to whisper "he mentioned study, what kind of study?" He asked curiously

"You wouldn't know it Mr Bond, being a new member. After the Moriarty Mansion was burnt down, is brothers stayed at Lord Rockwell's mansion for a time," Louis said, recalling the familiar memories "That's how we met Instructor Jack who was working for their family at the time.."

Louis had explained to Bond their first meeting with the instructor during the trio's stay with the Earl of Rockwell. After William had explained their wish to learn how to 'defend themselves', the instructor, after a short examination ending in a young William holding a rifle, had agreed to train the brothers. It had brought (name) some minor satisfaction to know that although her husband was skilled, she probably would have been able to win against him in a sparring match throughout the entire time they had known each other despite on sparring once.

"Including Mr Moran, we're only able to do what we can today thanks to Instructor Jack." Louis explained once he had concluded his anecdote.

Bond nodded with an admiring smile "I see..so Mr Moran's  famous ways around women was inherited from instructor Jack as well.."

The instructor laughed once more "Ghaha! It was I who turned that muscle-brain into a true lethal weapon of war!" He exclaimed proudly. "Moran! Be sure to treat Mr Bond with care, got it?!"

(Name) heard Moran audibly groan as he rolled his eyes like a teenager being scolded. "Fine, fine..we always lose track of what we're talking about with this waffling old man, I swear. Can we get back on topic?" Moran asked rhetorically. "I still don't understand how this killer knew of the title 'Jack the ripper', and why did he choose it?"

"The answer is obvious Moran," the instructor said, stroking his white beard between his thumb and index finger.

Moran's dark eyes widened "What? You don't mean..?!"

Jack spoke, wisely and sophisticatedly. "There are so many possibilities I don't know where to start."

(Name) let out a small chuckle while Moran groaned in annoyance.

"That just means you have no idea either, ya bloody coot!!" He yelled insultingly

William, from beside (Name), interjected between the two. "We will only know of the killer's true intent and his relationship with the instructor after we find him." He said calmly " We must eliminate this fake 'Jack The Ripper as soon as possible...and clear Instructor Jack's name. What's more..." William trailed off, a noticeable dramatic habit the blond had as his wife observed. She watched his eyes narrow, an alluring feature despite the terror his gaze could invoke in the eyes of wrongdoers. "As instructor Jack has said, we must find those...who are taking advantage of this chaos to prey on the weak and bring them to justice."

During the 19th century, the east end was where the underclass of London gathered, which consisted mostly of vagrants, courtesan and urchins. Even within the East End, the Whitechapel district housed around eight thousand citizens without specific addresses. The district was often ridiculed as a den of thieves and criminals, so much so that it was said that if there were an unsolved crime in London, one could easily find the culprit amongst the slums of Whitechapel.

The victims of the series of murders, the courtesans, though fearing for their life, had no choice but to continue to sell their bodies in order to survive - much like Josephine Evans did prior to being taken into Ashfordshire's so-called 'care'

"Couldn't I have dressed up as an old woman or something? This dress is unbelievably uncomfortable. The corset is much too tight and if I were seen wearing such fuss and frills, I think I'd be a laughing stock in high society," (name) complained as they walked through the dark alleyways of Whitechapel. She had already gotten a few disturbing looks from the occasional nobleman who was only in the area for the most inappropriate of reasons "It's much too revealing for me.."

"You don't have the right face for an old woman though," Josephine commented. (Name) never thought she'd ever feel jealous seeing someone wearing rags and tattered clothing, but it seems she was wrong about everything with the Lord of crime.

"I understand I'm meant to take that as a compliment, but I'd much rather wear anything than this." (Name) said, gesturing to her pink dress. She caught William looking at her briefly as he turned his head from in front of her, then furrowed her eyebrows, pointing a finger at her husband in an accusatory manner "What are you looking at?"

William looked somewhat surprised, —he had simply been admiring her appearance as usual— then smiled innocently as he looked up and down her figure, before looking into her enticing (eye color) eyes, bending his neck down slightly as they made eye contact.

"You look pretty in pink."

(Name) could feel herself heating up instantly, stuttering as her brain attempted to formulate a witty response while Josephine snickered from beside her, the rest of the group equally amused by the situation. She clenched her jaw with an irritated huff and continued walking, adjusting her bodice as they all exited the alleyway.

"Whitechapel hasn't changed much from when we were here last.." William said, pulling the edge of his hat to shield his scarlet eyes. He turned behind him. "Follow me, to the old garden."

(Name) had rarely been to Whitechapel. In fact, she could probably count on one hand how many times she had walked these streets. As they would wander around the slums, she'd let her eyes wander too. Women stood at street corners, dressed much like herself; children chased each other around, happy despite being so malnourished and wizened and wrinkled men would throw judging and cautious glances. Had they been there after sunset, it would be very likely to find well dressed noblemen sneaking around, carrying money for any women that would catch their fancy.

"Huh..so this is the slum where Will and Louis grew up in?" Bond commented curiously. "It's different from what I was told."

Moran's dark eyes landed on Bond beside him. "Yeah...this is where they lived before the Moriarty family adopted them." He said.

Lady (name) had watched William as he walked a few steps ahead. Many wouldn't notice, but there was a very slight change in his demeanor that only she could probably detect. Of course, as his "partner" of some sort, a "colleague in crime" if you will, (Name) knew that William was sensitive in regards to his unfortunate childhood. She had partially discovered that the boy she knew was not quite who he said he was. (which made (name) particularly embarrassed after making many rude remarks, generalising him as a stuck up noble despite being of a well breed status herself, she could be quite hypocritical and ignorant to her own behavior sometimes.) But she hadn't known of his past beyond the mere legal documents she uncovered along with her deductive abilities, until a couple of years ago when William had, after an uncharacteristically sentimental encounter in which (name) caught her newly wed husband drinking for the first and last time considering he was never the time to ruin his organs by drinking excessively, that was more his elder brother's job.

That, however, is a story for another time.

"I hope their old home's still there. I'd like to visit it." Bond said in a hushed tone.

Moran shook his head. "Not possible.. William said that place is long gone now."

"That's a shame-"

Before Bond could say another word, though, gun shots filled the air, disrupting the bustling chatter of the streets.

"A gun shot...!" Moran exclaimed

"No shit, Moran." Josephine said, gesturing in the direction of the sound. "It's close!"

Within seconds, the group had rushed to a crowd of people, stood where the gun shot sound had come from. Police officers from Scotland yard followed suit, watching as the underclass men of Whitechapel held their rifles in the air, aiming threateningly at the cops.

"Take a walk, ye bleedin' Yard dogs!" One man yelled atop several crates "We don't need yo' kind 'ere muddlin' up the place!!"

Multiple men stood behind him, each holding some sort of weapon themselves. There were crates stacked like a wall, as if guarding Whitechapel from the 'enemy', their enemy being the policemen from Scotland yard. The men in navy blue uniforms whispered amongst themselves, planning on a method to regain control of the area and its citizens, much to the anger of the men by the crates.

"That's right! Whitechapel has its own militia!" They continued to yell "We can take care of this murderer on our own! We don't need you Scotland Yard here!!"

"The air seems tense.." The Instructor muttered amongst the commotion.

"Why are the Whitechapel blokes chasing the coppers away? Don't they want to catch Jack the Ripper?" Moran questioned

The officers eventually spoke up in retaliation. "We will not leave until we have caught this foul murderer! It is our duty to return peace to Whitechapel as is yours!"

"Duty?! Dont' make me laugh!! Where was your sense of duty when we needed help before?!" The vigilantes argued back "You Yard Dogs never even considered us citizens! We're nothing to you!"

'Ah,' (Name) thought as she observed the riot beside William who narrowed his eyes. 'The neglect of the police to 'unimportant' cases has caused some sort of social unrest..no doubt the riots will only continue, even if Jack the Ripper is caught..'

"That's not true!!" One officer stuttered

The vigilante from earlier scoffed. "Piss off! We can handle Jack on our own!"

"Calm yourself man," a stoic voice came from behind.

"Mr Woods! It's the Scotland Yard they're refusing to leave!"

A blond haired man with a short beard and wide stature, quite intimidating, emerged from amongst the crowd of vigilantes. He had almost commanded silence over his comrades, so (Name) assumed he was the ringleader.

"You tell 'em off Mr Woods!"

"The Yard only wants to catch this murderer, same as us." Woods said "I see no problem in letting them help us."

While Mr. Woods had gave a short speech to the constables, asking for support from the Yard to catch the killer aswell as allowing the vigilantes to use weapons to fend off Jack The Ripper, the group had snuck off in an attempt to pursue their own investigation.

"The Whitechapel folks sure seem up in arms about this.." Moran commented, peering behind a wall to watch a group of officers. "You can't blame 'em... This case has been a much talked about topic across the city, if not the whole country."

"And the presence of the Yard is certainly not making things better..." (Name) added. "If only they could realise that they're common enemy is this fake 'Jack the Ripper'.."

"This theatric murderer is playing with fire..he has turned Whitechapel into a battlefield." William said with a nod. It was as if the two could communicate telepathically sometimes, as they had both been simultaneously formulating a plan to expose this killer and his intentions. "One wrong move, and the power will shift in an unpredictable way.."

"We should split up here then, shouldn't we?" Josephine suggested. There was an even number of people and although she had wished to follow Fred and Louis to Scotland Yard, she would be glad to have been in a pair with (Name).

William nodded, a smile flickering over his features. "Indeed.. In that case, (Name) and I shall investigate the crime scene."

His wife narrowed her eyes, forming a deathly glare, promptly followed by a frown from Josephine and a chuckle from Bond.

"And why must I go with you?" (Name) asked in annoyance "This is a serious matter, William, I hope you're aware."

"I never said it wasn't, (Name)." William said, almost serious enough for it to be convincing that there was indeed no ulterior motive. (Name) rolled her eyes. "Surely you're not afraid, my love? I'll be there for you to cling to, rest assured, darling."

"You are truly aggravating," She insulted, the tips of her ears slightly warm, with anger of course... nothing else, before hearing a whistle come from behind.

"Geez, you two," Moran teased obnoxiously as he leaned against a brick wall beside Bond, annoying (name) further as she grew more flustered by the second "Get a room, would you? I'd hate to say this knowing how...physical...you two can be, but we are on a mission, y'know?"

"-Enough..!" Scoffing, (name) negotiated. "Fine, William, Josephine and I shall go investigate whilst the three of you-" She gestured to Jack, Bond and Moran. "Will go survey the courtesans, preferably without flirting with any of them." She said, eyeing the noirette

Moran looked quite offended at that last statement. "What ya lookin' at me for? The old geezer's right there!"

"Oh please." The instructor rolled his eyes at the younger man "I have the ability to control myself around women, no matter how tempting, unlike you, Moran."

Noticing a few concerned looks from constables around the corner, Josephine had grown tired of the petty arguments from both William and (Name) as well as Moran and the Instructor.  If the old man was to stay as Albert had mentioned briefly before leaving for work that morning, this could become a regular occurrence. As for (Name) and William, she internally prayed one of them would be brave enough to confess to the other sooner or later.

"Alright ladies, that's enough bickering." The brunette said to the four, taking (Name)'s hands in hers before she could strangle William. "The more we chat, the more this knock-off Jack the Ripper schemes to kill, alright? Might aswell get going."

Bonus

"...so Moran got his womaniser tendencies from the Instructor then?" Bond commented

(Name) smirked  "Daresay he's surpassed the master from what I've heard...how many women have you been with again, Moran? Was it 20...no that's much too low...56 I think..?" She trailed off in faux ignorance.

Moran rolled his eyes "You're much worse than me anyways, I swear you've been with twice as many men as I have been with women." He said sharply.

(Name) glared "It's not that high.."

"28 is a high number, especially for a woman," Moran pointed out

"Alright, but a lot those people weren't even all the way and most of them were solely for the sake of missions or blackmail..at least half were from when I was a teenager, so it isn't that strange," (name) defended

"also it's 29 now."  She added as William choked on his tea.

A/N: I literally didn't know how to end this chapter but first update in like over a month!! I've already said this but college has been screwing me over and I've been quite sick recently but I pulled through so it's fine. Honestly been dreading reaching chapter 25 because shit just goes downhill from then hehehe. The angst levels are gonna go much higher soon >:)

[shion-yu]

Day 24: Not breathing

Part 5 (of 8) of the Cliff coma saga for @medwhumpmay, parts 1-4 here: Fever | Flatline | Coma | Coma (#2). To be continued on day 29. I’m also counting this piece (although parts 3-7 all work for this prompt!) for my @badthingshappenbingo space “intubation.”

It had been one month since Cliff had taken a breath on his own. One terrible, impossibly long month where Elliot waited and waited for Cliff to wake up, but he never did. The doctors seemed to be hesitant to start awakening trials this time given the first unsuccessful extubation. They never came out and said it, but Elliot felt the unspoken implication: Cliff was unlikely to be able to make it through another failure.

Elliot had known Cliff’s wishes since the first time Cliff had ended up in the hospital after they’d gotten back together. It was all written down in an advanced directive. Cliff had made it shortly before they began speaking again. Go figure that Cliff would have everything in order, Elliot had thought to himself. It made sense, but having it documented felt so real. After all, most of the time Elliot preferred to pretend the possibility of something going terribly wrong was far slimmer than it actually was. 

The terms were simple. Cliff didn’t want his parents to make a decision he wouldn’t have approved of in the end, which is why he’d outlined things clearly. He didn’t want to be on continuous mechanical support such as ventilation for over three months. If he were to sustain debilitating and irreversible brain damage that reduced his independence to zero, he did not want further medical intervention. Originally his decision maker was named as Moira, his older sister, but when Elliot came back into the picture Cliff told him he doubted Moira would be able to live with having to make that choice. So he’d changed it to Elliot, something Elliot had reluctantly signed for.

“You’re the person I trust most,” he told Elliot seriously. “I know you’d make the right decision.”

Elliot had told Cliff then that he didn’t want to have to make a decision at all. It was all just formalities back then though, at least to Elliot in his state of denial. It scared him how serious Cliff was about it. Now, Elliot wondered if Cliff knew he’d need to invoke the terms of that document sooner than Elliot had ever wanted to imagine.

A month was a long time to wait, and Elliot couldn’t put his life on pause for the entire time. He had to go back to work occasionally, although he refused to travel more than a few hours away so that he could rush back to the hospital if the need arose. His manager was irritated that Elliot wouldn’t turn his phone off even during meetings and interviews, but had to concede to the condition as one of the only things that would get Elliot to leave Cliff’s side at all. Online and to all his fans, everything seemed fine. But his heart wasn’t in it and he found it impossible to compose anything.

The day they reached the one month mark, Elliot gripped Cliff’s hand, bowing his head and brushing Cliff’s hair as he did every day. It was too long now, but at least Elliot kept his face shaved - he knew Cliff hated beard scruff. “Cliff,” he said. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, it’s time to wake up, baby.” There was no answer, and Elliot hadn’t expected one. “I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I miss you so much.”

More silence. Elliot shook his head and kissed Cliff’s forehead. “I’m right here,” he said, pressing his face against Cliff’s. “I’ll wait for you, alright?” Forever if he had to.

Part 6

[damn-stark]

Chapter 12 Pretty when I cry

Chapter 12 of Sandstorm

A/N- I'M SO EXCITED FOR WHAT'S TO COME!!!

Warning- Sswearing, fluff, incest, violence, ANGST, death!! Dark magic and sacrifice, talks of pregnancy and THERES ALSO CHANGES THAT DRIFT AWAY FROM THE SHOW

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

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There’s a ruined Red Keep that you stand in, two cradles stand in the middle. Snow falls through the gaps on the ceiling, this time albeit it’s slow and so life-like, the bitter breeze that swirls the snowflakes on the ground actually feels cold. Once again just before you can see the babies inside their cradles, the fire begins to grow around you, but this time it's flames actually provide heat and slightly blind your eyes.

You expect the dream to end there and then as it always does, but this time the fire lingers, you don’t abruptly wake up, the fire only grows taller almost as if trapping you inside. The heat intensifies, making you turn your head away and shield your eyes. The silence lingers thereafter and the fire's heat doesn’t change anymore, so you slowly turn your head and put your arm down, that’s when you catch a figure in the fire, it grows taller as it gets closer.

This hasn’t happened before, you never stayed this long. This is…different, something new. Is it the meaning behind this dream?

You narrow your eyes out of curiosity even if your heart is beginning to race out of fear. The figure grows taller the closer it gets, and then when it reaches the edge a shadow casts on the ground before an armored metal boot breaks out of the fire wall. Instead of stepping away even if you have nowhere to go, you stay put and watch the rest of the figure walk out of the fire, revealing herself as a slim woman with silver-gold hair; braided and bound in golden rings. Her eyes are an intense and unique pale lilac color that almost seems to burn as hot as that fire as her glare pierced in you. She shouldn't be unfamiliar but you do recognize her now as the fires light basks her intense majestic face.

It’s Queen Visenya Targaryen.

She is your namesake.

What is she doing here? In this dream? This isn’t an answer, it's only more confusion.

Yet before you can grow mad with confusion, from the corner of your eye you catch another figure emerging from the firewall at your right side. this time it’s a man, a very tall man with a thick and broad appearance, he’s built like a bull. His hair is blond, and his eyes are a deeper lilac. His gaze is as intense as the Queens, but he looks even more intimidating. And just like before, you recognize him too, he’s King Maegor Targaryen.

But why?

“What’s going on?” You ask the pair, the mother and the son.

But there’s no answer, instead a third person appears this time from your left side. It’s a woman, she’s older than the others, slimmer than Queen Visenya, she has a fair complexion and a high forehead. Her eyes aren’t the same color as the others, they’re blue. And like the others there is a name that comes to mind, Queen Alysanne Targaryen.

“What’s—” this time you don’t finish your repeated question because another figure emerges from the fire between Visenya and Alysanne, it’s smaller and the moment their face shows your face falls with disbelief and your eyes fill with tears, and your heart….that shattered thing begins to fill with joy and warmth.

“Rhaenar?” Your voice quivers.

He moves his arm away from his brown eyes and finds you in the middle of the fire circle, and instantly smiles. “Mother!” He exclaims, and before you knew it you were both running towards each other to meet with a tight embrace.

“Oh my sweet boy,” you cry and hold onto him, you draw in a deep breath and take in his scent. “My Rhaenar.” Your breath shudders.

The boy laughs softly and holds onto your neck with force.

“I’m sorry,” you interject and pull back to grab his cheeks and face him, now you notice that his face isn’t burnt, his face is okay here. His curls are so neatly formed and all over his face. “I’m sorry. I failed you, I’m so sorry.”

Rhaenar wipes your tears away and shakes his head with a sweet smile on his face. “It’s alright mother. I’m okay, I’ll be fine. Don’t cry please. I’ll always be with you.”

You shake your head and now grab onto his shoulders. “No. No I’m not ready to be without you, I need you with me in real life. Not here, not in my dreams.”

Rhaenar draws out a deep breath. “They’re not dreams really.” He scoffs. “It’s all real in a way. This place, it’s just been different for everyone, but for you, grandfather says it’s different, you’re the only one who’s seeked far enough to reach all of us. This plane.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, and your eyebrows furrow in comfuson. But the first thing you question is what he mentioned moments ago. “Grandfather?”

Rhaenar’s grin widens. “I’m not alone here mother, I have so many people here, family. But most importantly my grandfather! He’s been with me the entire time.” He nods and then looks back, when you follow his line of gaze you see the man he speaks about with so much glee, Rhaegar Targaryen, your father. He emerges from the fire too, with his long silver-gold hair, his deep blue eyes, and a faint smile on his pale face.

His presence fills you with nostalgia, familiarity, and there is a spark of joy, but that soon gets overpowered by the anger, burning fury.

“I know,” he says in that voice you’ve missed hearing sing to you. “I know you’re upset my girl, but—”

“No!” You cut him off and stand up to your feet to stride towards him. “No! You!” You sneer and point at him. “It’s your fault! It’s your fault I grew up without my mother, it’s your fault my sister and brother died!” You reach him and shove him back with that same anger. “It’s all your fault this all happened to us! To our family! You left me! You left us! You left! How could you do that?!”

Your father ducks his head out of shame and swallows thickly. “I will never forgive myself for what happened to your mother and your siblings, but it’s something I won’t regret.”

You scoff and step back.

“It had to be done. To complete the prophecy. Which it has, Jon, Daenerys, you.” He lifts his head and meets your gaze with awe. “Three heads to our dragon, my darling. We did it.”

You clench your jaw and shake your head. “At what cost?” You snap at him. “My son is gone. He’s dead! Daenerys killed him! He was only 10!” You rebuttal. “It’s true the dead are gone and I’m glad that they are, but nothing else matters anymore because so is he. So I ask what now?”

“Now you rule,” a different voice cuts in. When you snap your eyes to where it comes from you notice that it was Queen Visenya. “You will revive the Targaryen dynasty. You will take back what your father destroyed.”

You swallow thickly and rebuttal. “Daenerys rules now. Isn’t that enough? I can’t lose more, Jon, my children that have yet to be born.”

Footsteps step forward from your left side and a sweeter but still rather stern voice speaks. “You stay there in Winterfell and you’ll die too. Your children will always be a threat to her, will you see them die too?”

You snap your eyes to the left and meet Queen Alysanne’s gaze with a glare. “Like hell. I won’t lose them. But you have her, let her rule, it’s not like our family hasn’t killed their own kin before, why not her? Why me?”

“Because she killed your son,” a different voice adds from the fire.

You look towards the flames again and see a different women come out from within them, this woman had a thicker waist compared to the other two, her silver-gold hair was in a long braid as well. She was ethereal as all the others, but also intensity followed within her gaze. You knew her too, a lot quicker than the others, after all she was one of your favorites, that is before she actually ruled; Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Because you are the one meant to restore our glory, rule like we couldn’t,” she says and begins to approach you. “If she rules, she’ll commit the same mistakes and wipe out the Targaryen name. It’s you who is meant to sit on that throne, your children shall follow, the ice and fire that our prophecy foretold. I know,” she mutters softer now. “What it is like to lose a son…but you aren’t me, use your anger, use your power, use your kindness and take what belongs to you, for your son. For all of us.”

You let out a shaky sigh, but don’t let anymore tears fall now since you’re beginning to be filled with inspiration and anger once again at the memory of what Daenerys did.

“You have a good heart my dear,” your father interjects, pulling your attention to him again. “Use it, be noble, don’t lose what you already have. Those you keep close will carry you through this, but remember to be firm, fearless, stern and unforgiving to those who truly deserve it.”

You sigh but nod. You then look at Rhaenar, but before you can speak your last words to him, a deep husky voice cuts in from your right.

“Don’t be like your father, girl,” Maegor says and begins to walk around you, as if he’s stalking you, a prey. “Don’t be foolish, and don’t live in the clouds,” he scoffs and shoots your father a dirty glare. “Use your fury, your dragon is your best friend, use your strength and power. Take care of business like me.” He stops by his mother and shoots you a malicious smirk before he looks at his mother with a smirk. “Burn her. Burn Daenerys Targaryen.”

You offer him a nod and shoot him a faint smirk before you face Rhaenar one more time. “I will always, always love you my sweet boy. I’m sorry.”

Rhaenar smiles at you and wipes away that stray tear that falls from your eye. “I love you too, mama. Tell Jon that it’s okay, that I’ll be okay, yes?”

You grin and nod. “Of course.”

He then throws his arms around you and you don’t hesitate to hug him back with all your might. You don’t close your eyes in hopes you’d stay, and it’s why you notice Queen Visenya approaching you one last time. She meets your watery gaze with an intense and burning determined glare.

“Burn your dead, mourn your losses. You are Queen now.” She mutters before the darkness quickly surrounds you at one second before you’re thrown back to the cruel reality, back to your room, back to the coldness.

At least the sun is out today, it’s light is soft but not warm since it is still dawn. It should’ve provided an ounce of happiness, but the natural light finally breaking from the clutches of the winter clouds doesn’t affect you now.

You sigh deeply and wipe your tears away before you look at the bed and find the spot next to you empty, and when you touch it you notice it’s cold, letting you know that Jon has been gone for a while. And since he is your only source of motivation to keep going right now you get up and change to go look for him.

Yet when you reach the crypts he’s not there. You walk to the gates since maybe he’s out with Rhaegal, yet you don’t want to walk all the way over to hills where the dragons are if he isn’t, so you look up and speak to the guards at their post. “Excuse me?!”

A man reaches the rail and looks down. “Princess,” he calls out in surprises and straightens up.

“Has Lord Snow passed the gates?” You ask.

The guard shakes his head. “No, but I did seem him walk towards the Godswood earlier today.”

You hum and nod. “Thank you, sir.”

The guard nods, and you then head towards the Godswood. When you arrive you see the new planted trees begin to sprout where the ashes of the olds ones once stood, leaving a clear view of all the Godswood, and Jon kneeled at the front of the Heart tree.

As to not interrupt his moment of prayer you make sure to slowly approach him, but stop by the frozen lake that’s by the red leaved tree.

Nevertheless, Jon hears your footsteps and turns around. When he notices it’s you his gaze softens for a moment before the sadness on his dark eyes returns.

“Good morrow,” he greets.

You offer a small smile. “Good morrow,” you return and meet him in the middle of the snow covered field. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Jon takes your hands and shakes his head. “I was…done already. What are you doing out here? It’s cold.” He touches your belly and smiles. “Are they giving you fuss?”

You grin and shrug. “Always, but that’s not what got me to awake up.”

Jon lips pull to a bigger smile and he scoffs softly before he drops his gaze and stares at the snow below his feet with a deep sorrowful frown that makes your sadness return, and brews curiosity.

“What is it?” You probe.

Jon lets out a deep sigh and then meets your gaze with a watery look. “I asked for forgiveness from the gods, but it’s you that I truly need to apologize to.”

You slowly knit your brows together in confusion.

“Please,” he continues with tears escaping out of his eyes. “Forgive me. I’m the reason your son is dead. I didn’t reach him in time, I didn’t get rid of the men fast enough. I’m sorry.” Jon drops to his knees and keeps holding your gaze. “I can never make up for what you lost. I’m sorry.”

Tears threaten to come out of your eyes, but you hold them back and just feel your throat sting more as you slowly get on your knees, and cup his cheeks. “What happened is not a guilt you need to carry on your shoulders Jon...” you pause and swallow back thickly. “My life will never be the same without my boy. It is true, but don’t blame yourself. He’s okay.” You muster a soft smile. “He appeared in my dreams, he said he was okay, he told me to tell you that it’s okay.”

Jon slowly grows perplexed, but he knows better now so he accepts what you say is true. “But you—”

“I’ll…heal soon, but I do know that I have nothing to forgive because I don’t blame you, nor should you blame yourself. Please.”

Jon hesitates, so you press your forehead against his and whisper.

“It’s okay, my love. It is. I need you for what’s to come.”

Jon lets out a shaky breath, and then slowly cups your cheeks and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he stays silent. You know he won’t doubt you, or try to discourage your new plan so you don’t explain what’s on your mind, you linger in the silence and relish in the warmth that radiates from his hands, from his lips, and from his body.

You don’t linger long though since it is cold and the funeral is today. Since you don’t have the stomach to eat so much breakfast is quick, it’s the getting ready that takes time. It’s not easy for you, no matter if you did see Rhaenar in a dream, to get ready for his…funeral, to mentally get ready to say goodbye one more time. But you still do it, you let the handmaidens dress you in a white dress that is dipped in red at the bottom, so the white-beige color flows to a blood red. You let them put on light makeup and fix your silver-white hair, you put on your gold jewelry, and then before you walk out of your chambers you grab Helios from his cage.

His eyes search the room for the boy he was once bonded to, he calls out for him in soft cries that only smash those heart fragments to smaller pieces. And there’s nothing you can tell him to comfort him. Absolutely nothing because you know he also knows deep within his little heart.

“Come on,” you whisper to Helios. “Let’s go.”

Once you step out Jon is waiting outside of your shared quarters, he holds your gaze for a moment before he takes your hand to interlace it with his before you begin walking outside, past the gates, to the top of a snowy hill. People begin to part once they see you approach, the Starks and your sisters then break away from their spots behind the crowd and follow you towards the funeral pyre where Rhaenar’s body lays wrapped in a white shroud.

Time moved normally before you walked through the crowd, but once you begin to walk past the people gathered to reach the pyre time began to move slowly as your mind still tries to comprehend that this is all real. That you’re going to say goodbye to your boy forever.

Tears even fail to fall at those moments you walk forward, even when you reach him your tears don’t break out from your eyes, no. Even if your heart sinks and a shaky breath escapes from your chest, you don’t cry. Instead you let Jon’s hand go and place Helios on Rhaenar’s chest one more time.

The dragon knows, he knew the moment Rhaenar drew his last breath that he was gone and they’d never see each other again. But the dragon like you held onto hope. It’s why Helios crawled to Rhaenar’s neck and sniffed him before he began to nudge his jaw so he’d wake up.

You knew you were being foolish, but you waited for a response. When it doesn’t come and Helios lets out a broken whine, is when you can’t hold back anymore and let a sob escape from your mouth.

Eraxis feeling your sorrow, cries out and fills the silent air with her melancholy song. Helios follows and sings about his own grief, and Rhaegal then joins them too and all three dragons fill the winter air with their sorrow filled songs.

You then drop your forehead on Rhaenar’s and clutch onto his shoulders, you cry and cry until you can’t breathe properly, until you can’t even stand. That’s when Eraxis leans her head forward and tries to wrap her neck around you for comfort and support. It startles some people from the crowd, after all, all they knew about dragons was that they’re fierce, not that they were also comforting and filled with many complex emotions. It got those who weren’t crying already, to shed tears for a boy they hardly knew.

And it was thanks to your dragon's comfort that you were ready, so you scoop up Helios, and as Eraxis raises her head in the sky you turn and walk down the pyre to hand Arya the orange dragon. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “He won’t harm you.”

Arya pulls the dragon back towards her and holds him fearlessly and with slight pride. Now, as you face Rhaenar again, you take Jon’s hand again and lift your chin to sniffle before you part your lips. Yet you can’t muster the word, only sobs.

“It’s okay,” Jon whispers and begins to rub your back. “Take your time.”

Your bottom lip wobbles, and your chest begins to feel tighter and heavier to the point you can’t breathe anymore, you turn to Jon and bury your face in his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head as he caresses your back softly.

“May he soar the skies in paradise,” Jon interjects. “May he rest and find peace, may he watch over his family. I’m sorry Rhaenar…”

A moment longer passes before you can face the pyre, before you can part your lips and mutter out the right words that tore at your heart. “Dracarys.”

The white dragon draws in a deep breath before she opens her mouth and breathes out fire, bathing the pyre and Rhaenar in her hot and bright red-orange flames.

You stand there in front of the fire, you bask in its heat and let more tears fall out before the anger returns, before that burning fury begins to boil your blood again, bringing back that dream you just had and everything that was said, especially those venomous words spoken by Maegor; “Burn her. Burn Daenerys Targaryen.”

You won’t hold onto hope for your rekindling anymore, you won’t ask for forgiveness. You’ll seek revenge and what truly belongs to you.

Which is why you slowly turn and face the crowd still gathered in front of the pyre. You meet the gaze of Jon before you face them all with a scowl. “I was asked to fight for the throne by all of you,” you interject loud enough so they can all hear. “I declined out of hope, and a dream that I would know a peaceful life and receive Daenerys forgiveness for my future, for the future I carry within me. But now, after she took what I held so dear in my heart, my first born. Now she will know my wrath, and I hope you all can follow me in my path to the throne. It will be another war, devastating no doubt, but once it is done we will finally know peace because she is just like those that came before her, a tyrant lost in her way.” You sigh, but muster a malicious smirk.

“I hope you all follow me. For my son, for you, for me.” You finish.

And thus, without hesitation the crowd begins to cheer, shouting out only one phrase. “Queen Y/N!”

——

*DAENERYS. KING’S LANDING*

A knock raps on her door, echoing in the tense silence that filled her quarters.

“Come in,” she welcomes the visitor, hoping it was successful news of the ambush. Waiting for the news has been keeping her on edge, she could hardly sleep, or keep in one place, she needed to know.

“My Queen,” a familiar voice she hasn’t heard in a long time cuts through the silence.

Daenerys turns quickly on her heels and comes face to face with Daario Naharis, a man she had left long ago in Meereen to enforce peace, a man who’s appearance hasn’t changed, and someone who she can’t deny is happy to see. After all he is one of few who hasn’t betrayed her, he’s remained loyal even after she broke his heart.

“Why wasn’t I advised you arrived?” She responds with a quirked brow and a faint smirk playing on her lips as he doesn’t fail to make her body ignite with lust.

Daario smirks wider and pulls his hand from behind him to show her the wildflowers he held in his hand. “I came on a faster ship apart from the others because I wanted to surprise you.”

Daenerys hums and watches the man slowly begin to approach her.

“I’ve brought these,” he says and pushes the flowers towards her.

Daenerys breaks away from her spot to slowly walk towards him, stopping just before she can reach him to let him get close to her instead. He offers her the flowers and she hesitantly takes them from his hand to then raise her chin and hold his warm gaze.

“I would just like to say that you look even more beautiful than before,” he adds. “The crown suits you.”

Daenerys places the flowers down on the table beside her and crosses her arms over chest to now press him with her gaze alone.

“Ah,” he says and clasps his hand behind him. “Right. The ambush happened, yet I’m disappointed to say that Lord Snow managed to escape with a couple of his men. The ship burned, most of his men aboard died, and a boy traveling with them perished in the fire.”

Daenerys blinks and furrows her eyebrows. “A boy?” She queries.

Daario nods. “Yes, I’m not sure who, but Lord Snow made great effort to take his body.”

Daenerys lips slowly begin to fall, and her arms slowly unfold from her chest as a name begins to circle her mind.

“Were there dragons in the sky?” She asks him with her gaze begining to narrow.

Daario nods. “Yes. The creatures burned our ship and helped them escape. There was three of them, a white one, Rhaegal, and a small orange one.”

Daenerys swallows thickly and turns around abruptly to look out at the gloomy white sky, and sighs deeply as sorrow begins to stab at her heart and pain fills her mind.

“What is it?” Daario instantly asks and takes a step towards her.

“Wheres Greyworm?” She avoids his question.

“I let him take a second break so I could deliver the news to you personally.”

Such a radiant boy he was, young prince Rhaenar. Regardless of the tension that existed towards the end of the relationship between you and Daenerys, he never was rude to her, he was kind and caring. No matter how short of time she had with the boy, she still cared for him because he was family, and now he’s gone and you're heartbroken.

And she can’t cling onto the hope that the dead boy is someone else, why else would Jon be so desperate to the take the body, why else would Helios be with Jon. Helios is a small dragon still very much attached to who he’s bound to, that dead boy is Rhaenar.

“That boy who perished,” Daenerys mutters and approaches her window with tears clouding her eyes. “Was the son of my niece. It was y/n’s son. How did it come to be? I said just kill Jon and the men he was with.” She stops and exhales deeply before she turns to face him.

Daario stays in his spot and shrugs. “I can’t be certain. You know how battles are? Unpredictable. All I know is that a fire started on the ship. It was an accident.”

Daenerys scoffs and shakes her head. “She won’t see it that way. No one on her side will. If she was ready to make peace before, now we can forget about that, especially with Sansa whispering in her ear.” Daenerys clasps her hands in front of her and drops her head.

“You sit on the throne now,” Daario interjects and steps forward. “They’ll follow you.”

Daenerys snaps her head up to face him. “No,” she snaps. “They won’t. The Reach will rally behind her because of what she gave them, and the future commitment that once bonded them. We can’t even count or try and sway Dorne, even dead they’ll never follow another king or queen that isn’t her or descended from her bloodline.” Daenerys turns and approaches the balcony to gaze out at the city below.

“The Vale of Arryn will follow her because of Sansa, meaning the North is also supporting her,” Daenerys continues to tell Daario. “And the Riverlands…they’ll follow the Starks, making for Five great houses rallying behind her, leaving us with two, the Westerlands if I keep Tyrion alive, and the Stormlands...” she pauses and sighs deeply. “That is if I make our commitment periment with a marriage proposal to the new Warden.”

“And so you shall have it,” he assures her with no argument, and finally closes the gap between them to grab her shoulder and turn her to face him. “You have a fleet, more men. And a dragon experienced in war. You can win this, you only lose if you give up, and I know you’ll fight with fire and blood before that happens.”

Daenerys holds his gaze and hums, feeling relieved that she once again had someone she can trust and talk to.

“We’ll get to work right away, fortifying the walls, whipping the men to shape, and making alliances.” Daarios continues to assure her. “No one will take that throne from you.”

——

*WINTERFELL*

Jon’s voice echoes out from the hall, his words are passionate you know they are because he gives good speeches, but right now his words just don’t register in your mind, all that you can think about is Rhaenar, the new future that you are now paving with this choice. Anger still fuels you and it's what’s pushing you, whilst that motivation after seeing your father and ancestors burns in your veins, waking up something that was dorement before, determination to take what’s yours once and for all.

It’s why you don’t frown, you don’t express sadness in your eyes either as Dornish guards make a path and line up across from each other all the way to the end of the hall where Jon, and the maester awaits with your crown. It’s that burning determination, and that grief that brings you pride as you stand at the end of the lined up guards, with your head up high.

Horns begin to play inside after Jon finishes his speech, letting you finally break away from your spot and create a footprint on the sheet of snow as you begin to stride ahead in between the guards.

The blades they hold above your head begin to fall when you pass them, leaving them to see only your back and the tail of your red dress. When you step inside the warm hall, slowly the people viewing your coronation kneel as you walk past them.

Being here was something you never dreamed about, at least you always thought you’d stand on the platform waiting for your husband to get crowned. Now that you’re here though, now that you see all the people kneel, as you see the guards metal blades glistening against the firelight, you can’t help but smile inside. And the moment you take Jon’s hand as you reach the platform a faint smile finally forms on your lips.

Jon mirrors your gesture and then leans forward to press a kiss on your cheek before he shifts to the side and helps you to your knees. Once you’re secured he moves to the side and lets the maester step forward.

“May the Warrior give her courage,” his voice booms throughout the hall before he daps oil on your forehead. “May the Smith lend strength to her sword and shield,” he continues and adds more oil on your forehead with each saying. “May the Father defend her in her need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light her way to wisdom.” With that last saying instead of oil he dabs blood on your forehead by your request as a sign of your goals, battles to come, and revenge.

When the maester finishes he turns to set the bowls down to instead grab a golden crown forged partly by the gold jewelry that Rhaenar owned so you’ll always carry him with you through this journey as Queen. The maester then turns with the shining gold crown in hand, causing the red shining rubies that are decorated around the crown to twinkle against the firelight. As he lifts the crown you see two small winged dragons holding the red ruby at the center. The moment he places the crown on your head you feel the heavy weight fall on your head, bringing some discomfort.

“Let the Seven bear witness, Visenya Targaryen second of her name is the true heir to the iron Throne,” the Maester adds, causing the crowd behind you to quietly agree.

After that is over Jon leans over and offers his hand, you gladly take it and let him help you to your feet. He then quickly lets you go and kneels before you. It catches you off guard for a second, but you have to remember that you are Queen now and it’s going to happen more often.

Alas, Jon then stands up and drifts his gaze to the crowd. “All hail her grace!” He exclaims. “Visenya, second of her name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm!”

You draw out a small breath and turn, catching the crowd and the guards kneel. You drift your gaze to the right front row and see Elia and Sarella kneel, Sansa curtsy whilst Arya kneels too. You then look to the left front row and see Ser Jaime kneel, Ser Brienne and her ward kneel, Ser Davos takes goes down too, and then as on cue, Eraxis fills the silence and air with her prideful roar, making you finally smirk.

“Long live the Queen!” Elia is the first to exclaim.

“Long live the Queen!” Ser Jaime follows before everyone inside repeats those words as they get up and clap.

Those who carry swords lift their blades in the air and shout. “Queen Y/N!”

Those words fill your ears and bring happy tears to your eyes as you tug your lips to a smile. When you sit on the wooden chair that was placed on the platform more people cheer, and Ser Brienne approaches the stairs that lead to the platform. She gets on one knee and meets your gaze.

You throw your hand out to silence the crowd, and they don’t fail to listen, letting Ser Brienne speak.

“I swear toward the Queen,” she interjects in a loud confident voice. “With all my strength, and give my blood for hers. I shall take no husband, hold no lands, mother no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honor.”

Chills travel down your spine, and a soft smile tugs on your lips. You rise up again and bow your head, letting her stand.

“I appreciate your loyalty and devotion, Ser Brienne. I’d trust no one else but you to be my Lord Commander of the Queensguard.”

Ser Brienne breath draws in a small breath and can’t help her proud smile at the mention of the title you just bestowed upon her.

“I leave it to your judgment to choose the other six who should join the Queensgard. When you have chosen the right people you may bring them to me.” You let her know.

Ser Brienne nods in comprehension and stands back up to return to her spot, leaving you to address the crowd to give them an announcement. “Every ruler needs their most trusted advisor at their side, a friend to confide in. A hand when one’s pair is full. Someone who is not afraid to hide their thoughts or pass judgment. There are many here that I trust to be that with me, but there’s one person who I know won’t fail me, Lady Sansa Stark.”

It was a choice that you had discussed before, and one she took with the condition that when this war is over, and if it is you who sits on the throne then she would step down to be Warden and Lady of the North.

“Lady Sansa, I name you hand of the Queen.” You finish saying, making said person head to the front to kneel. You then turn and grab the pin from Jon to walk towards his sister and hook the golden pin on her chest.

The crowd makes commotion in support of the choice.

“You honor me, Queen Y/N,” Sansa says and stands back on her feet.

You offer her a smile and watch her return to her spot so you can continue to announce to the people who else will be a part of your court. “Now with these battles to come I trust no one else to be my Master of War but my dear husband, and your King Consort, Jon snow.”

At the announcement of both new titles the crowd cheers for Jon, while you look over at him and grin. He breaks away from his spot to stand before you and bow his head. Your smile widens, and you’re filled with glee as you get to finally reveal your gift.

“Arya,” you call out and meet her dark gaze. “If you may please.”

Jon looks back at his sister in confusion and follows her every move as she makes her way to you. You fill with more joy and excitement as she reaches into her sack and pulls out a silver crown that looks similar to yours, but is a bit thinner, and has a golden dragon and a golden wolf holding a ruby at the center.

“Now,” you continue and take the crown from Arya. “I know that you aren’t one to be so flashy, and you’d be content without one, but it is gift from me to you.”

Jon holds your gaze and sighs softly, but he can’t help his faint smile before he kneels, letting you carefully place the crown on his head.

“There,” you say and clasps your hands before you. “Handsome.”

Jon scoffs softly and then stands back up to fall back at your side, letting you continue so you can finally finish and announce your master of whisperers, Bran Stark of course, and lastly your Master of coin Lord Ben Ashfords son, the heir of the Reach, Bernard Ashford. As to the other positions well, you still have yet to fill. Hopefully you’ll get to find the right people soon.

With that said you turn away and head to a different chamber where you will have your first small council meeting that consists of your sisters, Jon, Ser Brienne, Sansa and her siblings, and Ser Jaime.

“You know you did not have to get me this,” Jon breaks his silence as he walks by your side to the meeting quarters. “This crown is not necessary.”

You glance at him and smile. “You are my King Consort, my love, a King needs his crown.”

“I would’ve been fine with a ring,” he counters, making you giggle for the first time since Rhaenar passed.

“I told you,” you retort and hook your arm around his. “It’s a gift. You don’t need to wear it all the time, I just wanted you to have one.”

Jon meets your gaze and hums softly before his gaze softens. “You need to rest, you’ve been on your feet for far too long.”

You roll your head to the side and draw out a deep breath. “Yes, perhaps I should, but there are meetings to be had now. You know this isn’t easy. But for your comfort after this meeting is over we can retreat to our chambers and take a warm bath together, hm?”

Jon nods softly in agreement. “Sounds like a plan,” he assures you. “Not like I could actually refuse you now. You are the Queen.”

You scoff and shake your head. “Don’t start with me Jon.” You chuckle softly, causing Jon to watch you with a soft and admiring gaze and smile since he likes the look of your smile and the sound of your laugh after seeing how much you’ve been suffering.

Yet it is short lived since that sweet look on your face fades away, and gets replaced by a sad confident look when you all enter the meeting quarters.

Now the burden falls on you, after so much that your family did to try and get you on that throne, and after trying to avoid the burden, you wear the crown now and lead thousands. Now rather than listening on the sidelines you sit at the center and have all eyes on you.

“Thank you all for coming,” you address the group as they find their seats around the table. “You’ll have to pardon me for the next couple of meetings. As much as I have studied I still am not used to ruling,” you huff softly and clasps your hands together.

The people around the table don’t say anything to you so let out a deep sigh and continue.

“Let’s get to business then. I know not so long ago I turned down Ser Jaime’s requests of retrieving his brother from the clutches of Daenerys, but now with the sides being drawn, the Westerlands are left undecided. The Lannister’s may not be a strong house, but their name still holds much value, having both men at our side can benefit us. So,” you say and look at Jaime sitting in the middle.

“Ser Jaime, I grant your leave. You won’t have men though, it will attract too much unwanted attention.”

Ser Jaime’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you begin to smirk. “Sarella,” you name, causing the woman to straighten up. “Arya, you are clever, discreet and able to hide well. Will you accompany Ser Jaime to smuggle his brother out?”

Sarella without a fault nods. “Of course, sister.” She assures you, letting you shift your gaze to Arya. And when your eyes land on her a small smirk tugs on her lips.

“I will,” Arya agrees. “Thank you, Queen y/n.”

You offer her a smile and a small nod.

“Excuse me, your Grace,” Lord Royce cuts in. “The plan is great and all, the Westerlands may not be the largest land, but they are the richest. It will benefit us well, but with sides set, and Daenerys with a patch of new soldiers, entering the city will be difficult.”

You nod and can’t help your smirk from widening. “Yes. I know. It’s why while the three of them enter the Red Keep, I will lead a distraction.”

The members of the council all share confused and concerned looks at the mention so you explain your plan, and assure their worry. “It won’t be a big army, there won’t even be men, the distraction will consist of only women. I unfortunately won’t join the battle at the ground, I cannot,” you scoff and reach down to caress your swollen belly. “I’ll be in the skies with Jon, while the women go in pretending to seek refuge and help from Daenerys. Her army will come out and provide assistance, they won’t suspect such brutal attacks from women,” you begin to smirk smugly. “They’ll think of them as weak, fragile. That’s when the army women will strike, I will go in later and burn what remains of the small army. After that Jon and I will lead them out before more men can come.”

“If it pleases your grace,” Ser Brienne interjects as she takes a step forward so you can see her. “I would like to lead the attack on the ground in your stead.”

You catch the disbelieved stare of Lord Royce, but you have faith in her; just because she isn’t like every other typical woman doesn’t mean a thing. It’s sad that men here don’t see such a thing.

“Of course you can, Ser Brienne, the army will consist of Dornish women warriors and northern women who volunteer. Any other woman from the other armies of different houses can also join if they please, but we need to keep the numbers small.”

“Understood,” Ser Brienne agrees.

You drift your gaze back to the other members. “We will make that our first attack after the lords pledge their loyalty. With that said, Sansa, what can we expect from the Riverlands?”

Sansa raises her head and parts her lips. “My mother was a Tully. Our uncle still lives and rules now in my grandfathers stead. I expect we will gain their allegiance, but I think we should still go in person and ask.”

You nod. “Alright. We can go after our first attack, that way Daenerys doesn’t get word of our attempts until after. What about the Stormlands?”

“Given Daenerys gave the Stormlands to Gendry and declared him a legitimate Baratheon,” Jon interjects. “I doubt we can count on his allegiance.”

“But the boy doesn’t know a thing about ruling a kingdom or people,” Jaime argues. “Nor does he have the right connections.”

“But he has the Baratheon name now, he may be a bastard but some people will follow his family name,” Ser Davos defends the man. “Surely the staff at the castle would help.”

“I assume not long, any lord could usurp him,” Jaime counters. “We can use that to our advantage.”

“Aye,” Lord Royce agrees.

You look over at Sansa and ask her a question. “Could we send an envoy to any of the other lords?”

Sansa sighs. “We could, but we have to think about the risks, if Gendry bends the knee it would benefit Daenerys to strengthen the alliance with a marriage. She’d burn any rebellion attempts. We have other kingdoms that take priority if it comes down to a battle .”

“We could get rid of Lord Gendry,” you suggest. “That breaks the alliance—but also turns the Stormlands against us.”

“Then we leave them,” Jon adds. “As far as resources, it’s only fighters they provide. We have the numbers, we don’t need them. If a lord reaches out to us then we can think of a plan, until then we count them as traitors.”

“Anyone disagree?” You ask without trying to argue Jon’s suggestion.

The people around the table shake their heads in disagreement, letting you continue on. “ Bran, do you know anything?” You ask the quiet boy.

Bran nods stiffly. “Only confirmation that Daenerys plans to marry Lord Gendry. As soon as he arrives at the capital.”

Just as Sansa mentioned.

“Smart girl,” you comment. “With the Stormlands off the table, we also can’t count on the Iron Islands. With luck we will gain the Westerlands and the Riverlands.” You let out a small breath and then continue. “Anything else someone would like to discuss?”

Everyone looks around, but no one adds anything, thankfully leading this meeting to an end for today.

“Alright, well you all are dismissed, thank you for attending.”

Everyone disperses out of the room, and you wait for them all to leave before you can. However, Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Jon and your sisters linger behind.

“Excuse me, your Grace,” Brienne directs and bows her head as she addresses you. “But is it okay if I take my leave for today? I would like to start finding the other members for the Queensguard.”

Right that.

“Of course uh, Sarella, Elia,” you call out. “May you introduce Ser Brienne to some of the commanding officers of the Dornish army. There are some great fighters there you can choose from.”

“Yes!” Elia exclaims all too excitedly. “I would love to go.”

Of course she would, she likes to gawk and flirt with the men.

Regardless, they leave but Ser Jaime stays behind still. He takes a moment before he says anything, first he slowly makes his way towards your chair before he finally reveals his thoughts.

“I know I have probably said this, but, thank you. You have been too kind, more than I deserve. You have given me a second chance, and it’s one I don’t deserve and one I will live my life repaying. So thank you, Queen Y/N.” He reaches for his sword and then kneels with his hands on his pommel. “My sword is yours, my Queen. I may not be a great fighter anymore, but I have experience that can be just as valuable. I want to serve you.”

You share a small glance with Jon before you stand on your feet. “Then you shall. I need all the help I can get. And I value your thoughts, Ser Jaime. Just promise that when you see me straying from my moral path that you will help rather than betraying me. Remind me of the people I fight for because some rulers tend to forget who really keeps them in power.”

The corner of Jaime’s lips tug upward before he nods in agreement. “I will. I swear.”

“Great. Then if Jon wants you can help him with the armies. You may also help train the soldiers.”

Jaime gets to his feet and accepts before finally leaving Jon and you alone.

“Now,” Jon says and take your hand. “Can I have you to myself?”

You grab onto his arm and drop your head on his shoulder. “Please, I beg you.”

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

With the anger fueling through your blood, with fury clouding your mind, sleep was impossible, that hunger for revenge kept you awake and raised a desire in you for something to be done. Something that you haven’t touched in a long time, dark magic.

Rhaenar was your son, he was your little boy, and Daenerys took him, she will pay with blood, you will rip everything she has ever loved from her hands so she can feel what it is you feel.

So while the castle is sleeping, while no one can interrupt you, you use the chambers where Daenerys had stayed in to conduct a spell.

“Did you bring it?” You ask Sarella.

Sarella nods and unhooks her cloak to show the small baby in her hands.

You trusted no one else but them, besides the others would only judge you for this dark magic. Elia and Sarella won’t.

“It’s sick,” she mentions. “Mother dead, father drunk and with no love for this child.”

You nod stiffly and take the blade from the flames, and watch as the metal gleams red and orange with how hot it is.

“A dragon will never compare to the love you have for your own children. I want her to feel that love, that joy when she holds her child in her arms for the first time. I want to see her care for that child so much more than her own life so she feels an ounce of what I feel.” You sneer to the flames. “Blood for blood. Son for a son.” You glare at the flames and clench your jaw.

You then turn to grab the bowl off the floor, but just before you can you come to a sudden stop as you swear you see Rhaenar’s face in the flames, you swear you see his sweet brown eyes. And a small frown on his face. It’s only for a second, but you swear you do.

“I’ll use my blood that connects us,” you mutter and put the bowl over the fire. You then put your palm in front of you and use the sharp edge of the blade to cut a slash on your palm.

The pain stings and burns, but you just clench your jaw and keep quiet as the blood begins to spill out of the cut. After the slash is made you put the blade down and put your hand over the fire and fist your hand to make the blood pour over the bowl.

“Now, Elia give it to me,” you interject and put your uninjured hand out.

Without hesitation the girl comes to you and hands you a brush. One Daenerys had left behind when she left Winterfell.

“Now I’ll use her hair to connect this spell to her.” You add and pull the strands of hair off the brush and throw it in the bowl. “Now,” you sigh deeply and feel some hesitance and regret. But your pain is much deeper, so you turn regardless, and Sarella hands you the sickly baby.

“The sacrifice to complete this spell,” you continue and pick up the knife from the floor. You swallow thickly and without thinking deeper into what you’re going to do you slice.

The blood trickles out so you push it towards the fire and let the thick scarlet liquid spill over the bowl. Once the bowl is full you hand the lifeless body back to Sarella. “Feed it to the dragons.” You tell her.

“Now it’s time to finish.” You put the blade down, and put your arms out, you close your eyes and lift your head to begin chanting the needed spell in High Valyrian.

At first you start off quiet, but you get louder and louder, whilst the fire suddenly enrages and sends off sparks and thick smoke as it engulfs the bowl and what it contains inside.

The heat intensifies, bringing sweat to break out on your face, making the dress stick to your skin. The fire's light brightens, making Elia and Sarella shield their eyes.

But the act doesn’t last long, it then ends and the heat and brightness fades back to what it was before. Now nothing remains in the bowl anymore. Now the spell is complete.

“There,” you let your sisters know. “She’s barren no longer. She’ll have a child now and fear my pain. Soon she’ll pay. Son for a son.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Now do you guys think Daenerys will have a child with Daario? Or one with Gendry?

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie e @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo @ashleyforeverareject @dark-night-sky-99 @starwarsslut @stargaryenx x

[naavispider]

What if spider heard Quaritch talking shit about jannie

Let's pretend this scenario happened just as Spider finished the face link! This is a missing scene that follows chapter 33 of If You Playing Me 🥰

He took another deep breath to try and get himself together as he approached the bathroom. He halted when a familiar voice floated through the crack in the door - he knew that voice.

"-too involved, that's her problem. It's nothing to do with her."

That was Wainfleet. Spider looked around as if to confirm that the recom wasn't just stood behind him. No, the voice was definitely coming from the bathroom. He paused, holding his breath. He decided after a moment to risk it. He edged as close as he dared, his ear pressed close to the hinges of the doorframe.

"Spider is fine. He doesn't need some random lady sticking her nose in."

Fuck, that was Quaritch. And they were definitely talking about him. He bristled at the insinuation that Janine was just some 'random lady'. Of course Quaritch would think that. The man had never shown an ounce of kindness to anyone in his life, before Spider arrived on the scene.

Jealous much? Spider smirked to himself.

He pressed closer.

"She's too attached," came the quiet reply from Wainfleet.

"Do you think I made the wrong call?" Quaritch asked suddenly. "What if it makes Spider worse?"

Spider's breath caught. It felt strange to hear his own name spoken without him there. Especially the way that Quaritch said it - in the same soft tone he used when Spider was actually there. Spider couldn't remember ever being talked about before for something that wasn't negative.

How interesting that Quaritch appeared to be worried about him though. Of course, he was probably only concerned for the integrity of the mission. With Spider unable to translate for local clans the recoms' chances of finding Jake grew slimmer.

"I don't think you need to worry about that, boss. The kid's already pretty screwed up."

That stung. Spider didn't expect that. Why did those words hurt so much? He wasn't screwed up. He was screwed over. He closed his eyes, trying not to let the phrase get to him, but it was like a knife in his heart. Fuck.

After a moment, Wainfleet spoke again. "She's at Bridgehead... You're here. He knows he can talk to you."

"Does he? The kid hates me."

Spider smiled with his eyes still closed. So Quaritch wasn't completely clueless after all. He tried to focus on the sick satisfaction that settled in his chest, rather than the faint glimmer of sadness that was fighting to be felt too.

Wainfleet spoke next. "That's not true. He hates what you're doing, sure. But it sounds like you're the first person he's ever had that's gonna put him first. He's not an idiot, he knows that."

Spider gasped as though physically slapped. The words cycled through his brain on repeat, but he couldn't make any more sense of them than the first time he'd heard them.

You're the first person he's ever had that's gonna put him first.

How... how dare Wainfleet? Anger coursed through his blood now, sweeping away whatever else he'd accumulated over the coarse of this short but illuminating conversation. He balled his hands into fists to stop them shaking. He was gonna act out in a minute, he could feel it.

"He better. The last thing I need is some Na'vi-sympathiser medic whispering lies in his ear."

Spider took steadying breaths, repressing the trembles that were beginning to wrack his body.

"You know he's never even asked about Paz?"

He opened his eyes, but he wasn't seeing. His shaky breathing stopped. An icy fist had gripped his heart and was pressing... squeezing tightly, too tightly... it was going to crush him... His feet couldn't support him. He slid down the wall desperately and sat on the cold floor.

Paz.

Quaritch said he hadn't even asked about Paz. Suddenly, wetness sprang behind his eyes. He couldn't stop the tears falling as he stared, unblinkingly at the wall opposite.

Paz. Mom.

It was crushing because... it was true. He hadn't asked about her. He didn't want to. He didn't want to hear Quaritch's warped perspective on his mom, he didn't want to know what he thought of her. Spider knew who she was, he already had his image of her in his mind. Nothing Quaritch could say would change that. Did the man think he'd forgotten about her? Did he not realise that she was the one person who left a hole in his heart every single day? That he had stared at her photo and said goodnight to her every night for sixteen years?

The memory of his mom weighed on him as nothing else had so far. What would she think of him, of she could see him now? Crying on the floor as a prisoner of his own father? He knew she'd snatch him away if she could. His heart bled rivulets of grief through his body.

"He's been through a lot recently..."

"For Christ's sake Lyle, that's his mother! Don't you think he'd want to know something about her? That he'd be even the slightest bit curious?"

"Maybe the human traitors told him about her?"

Yes, yes they had, asshole.

"No. He's projecting, that's what he's doing. He wants a female influence and he's getting it from her."

Spider barely cared what they said anymore. Their words didn't matter. He let them wash over him, uncaring in the onslaught of emotions.

"Do you think that would be a bad thing?" Wainfleet was asking.

"I don't know, man." Spider had never heard Quaritch sound so defeated before.

"Look. This Janine has taken a liking to Spider, and he's clearly done the same back. They're friends, and we ain't gonna change that. So what if the kid wants a female influence? It doesn't change how he feels about you. You're still his old man whether he likes it or not."

"Yeah," Quaritch replied, with an air of finality. Spider brought his head up, realising they were nearing the end of the conversation. He should scarper before they saw him. His body sluggish with grief, he moved to a crouch, pressing his ear against the door one last time.

"You got this, boss. He's gonna be grateful you let him call her. So go out and ask how it went. He'll come around."

Shit, that was it, they were moving out. Spider couldn't stay any longer. He scampered down the corridor, back to the rec room where he'd had the call, still clutching the tablet close to his chest. He threw himself down on the couch and brought his knees up to his chest, thinking.

Quaritch thought he didn't care about his mom.

Quaritch hated Janine.

Quaritch wanted Spider to like him.

All of these pieces of information were too much to handle together. His heart pounded as he waited for Quaritch to come and find him.

Jesus, how was he going to get through this?

[totallytatum]

“ Outcast. That’s all they see.” 

⎯summary ;lo’ak is comforted after no one believes him about payakan, causing him to feel more alone than ever 

⎯pairing ; lo’ak x fem na’vi reader

⎯warning ; comfort, angst, love confessions

⎯word count ; 1k

It wasn’t a shock that the sully kids would have a hard time adjusting to the metkayina clan. It was obvious the difference- they’re forest people. They are a much darker blue and have slimmer limbs than you. Despite their differences, curiosity killed that cat.

“ He saved me. He’s not a killer you see. “ Lo’ak pleaded, trying to convince to convince his new found friends that payakan was just misunderstood. Believed to be a murder, lo’ak was just fortunate to be alive and well with just a few scrapes. Everyone remained quiet besides the frustrated breaths lo’ak let out. His eyes flashed around with some sort of hope, somebody had to believe him.

“lo’ak please don’t go looking for payakan. You’ll only find trouble, “ Tsireya signed softly, worry laced her words. You stayed back not sure to intervene.You truly wanted to believe him and you did. The way he spoke so confidently about the tulkun there had to be some truth behind it. “ Fine, “ he huffed, standing up from his spot, “ don’t believe me. I’m only alive because of him. “ Lo’ak shook his head in pain as he sauntered away. Why could no one believe him? Sure, they know the ocean better but lo’ak knows payakan unlike them. 

You shot a quick glance between everyone, nobody standing up to chase after him. You swallowed hard, getting up abruptly to chase after him. You didn’t dare to look back at everyone else. You were the last one expected to get up and chase him, not interacting much with any of the sully kid- just there because tsireya is your best friend. 

“lo’ak wait “ you yelled, catching up to him and grabbing him by the shoulder. It didn’t slow him down much, just enough to give you a second to catch up into the steady pace he was in. His eyes kept forward and his face pinched into a sad look. This took a ping at your heart. This was different for lo’ak. He himself was the outcast of his family and now an even bigger outcast across the metkayina clan. This was a different kind of hurt you wouldn’t wish on even the sky people. 

Lo’ak didn’t even glance spare you a look as your pace steadied out beside him. He didn’t need to hear it from you too that he was crazy. He couldn’t hear it from you of all people. “ I believe you, “ you spoke softly, giving him a small glance. His eyes forwarded down to his steps, looking at the ground in front of him as he walked. He didn’t say a word, his mind raveled. Why would you believe him? You knew the story of payakan, or so what was taught to you. “ I know it’s hard to believe but they’ll believe you soon. Pakayan is just an outsider to us, the story told to protect us.”  As much as you believed lo’ak you were still skeptical of the tulkun. You know the tales passed through your people. Your main reason for believe lo’ak is you been infatuated with him since his arrival. 

Lo’ak stopped abruptly causing you to stop in front of him. Not only hurt laced his face but it looked to be a hint of anger. “ An outcast? “ He questioned while you stared at him. “ lo’ak you have to underst- “ He was quick to cut you off, causing your heart to start racing. His raised his hand, showing you the obvious difference between him and other na’vi’s. “ Outcast. That’s all they see. “ Hurt was laced in his voice and you knew then you would do anything to take the pain away. “ I’m not like you. I’m not like my perfect solider brother or my sister that has this deeper connection to ewya. I have no place, I finally found payakan who understands. “ You remained silent, your eyes flickering all over his face, trying to come up with the words to say. He misunderstood your silence, shaking his head, “ I’m going home. “ Lo’ak pushed past you, causing your to swallow hard and blink a few times pushing back the ache you felt for him. “ wait, please “ you spoke, finally finding your words. He turned around, walking backward, slinging his arms up, “ No, no one here likes me. I;ve taken the hint y/n. I’m leaving. “ 

Your heart began to pound, your mind racing, “ Okay- “ you pause “ don’t leave because of them, stay... because of me. “ 

Lo’ak’s breath hitched as you stared hopeful at him. Everything around him was moving fast, too fast. He felt his world was spinning while he tried to gather his thoughts. He must have noticed he didn’t speak for sometime as the look on your face dropped. “ lo’ak...please say something. “ You didn’t realize how close you two have gotten, until you felt your chest brushing against his ever so slightly. His yellow eyes pierced into your blue ones, his breath hit your face again confirming how close you two have gotten. Some how your guys fingers brushed together, loosely wrapping around each other, “ you are like a flower, the prettiest one. “ A slight hue crossed your cheeks as you sucked a breath in, “ I see you lo’ak. “ Your scanned his face, watching a smile twitch onto his lips and his forehead lean against yours. “ I see you y/n, “ he barely whispered. Your eyes dart from his lips back to your eyes has his did the same. It was you who made the first move, becoming so smitten by ectasy that has taken over your body. Your lips lingered right below his, lips slightly open before placing them full on his. You melted into the bliss, this being more exhilarating than you ever thought it could be. Lo’ak’s hand moved from your finger tips to your cheeked, caressing it slightly as you guys pulled away. Your foreheads still touching, 

“ This feels right. I have never believed in love at first sight until I met you. “ 

“ I love you as well “ 

This is my first one-shot and I hope some or most of you can enjoy. It being the first that I put out I am slightly nervous but hopeful. Please push requests, what you want to see, your thoughts and feelings through as I push out more. 

much love, mooky xx