#i just think that if you removed childe from the fantasy setting and put him in the role of a 1950s teenager that'd just be holden caufield

[kaeyapilled]

childe tartaglia has something of a holden caufield coding in him

[lura-valentine]

Answer to my survey:

It's just a concept image, but with every stroke on my graphics tablet, a story was put together in my head. It's totally mental and has nothing to do with Shigaraki per se, but I feel the need to share this fantasy with you.

Maybe when you look at the picture you have a completely different backstory. Write your thoughts in the comments or reblog✏️ to share your ideas like I’m doing now.

I for one am curious to hear what others think, so please don't be shy and join in 🤗

!!ヽ(ﾟдﾟヽ)(ﾉﾟдﾟ)ﾉ!!

The legend of Shigaraki, the cursed daimyō

Setting: Feudal Period (Medieval Japan)

This era is characterized by wars between samurai clans, shōgun rule, and Japan's isolation from the rest of the world.

Why this setting? Most myths and legends have their origins in the Middle Ages, which is why I chose this one.

Story

As a baby, Shimura Tenko was nothing more than a shadow in a dying empire - a child of a daimyō (Provincial ruler) with no future, rescued from the flames of war. An allied daimyō took in Tenko and his sister when their father fell to the blade of an enemy daimyō. They grew up in silk and honor, in a family that considered them their own, since the ruler's wife could not bear offspring. Shortly after his arrival, Shimura Tenko was given the name Shigaraki Tomura, heir to a fair clan, a ruling family that watched over their province with a firm hand but a kind heart.

However, his seventeenth summer brought not the rush of young power, but the bitter breath of death. A famine spread across the land like a heavy, invisible curse - fields withered, wells dried up, livestock died. The old prayed, the weak died, and in the dark nights people told stories about the cause of this torment: a Gashadokuro (Japanese demon (yōkai)) - a skeleton made from the bones of the starving, driven by an insatiable hatred for the living.

Tomura went into the forests with his father and his most loyal warriors to drive away the monster. The fight lasted an eternity, and when the daimyō seemed to have defeated the beast, the yōkai struck one last time - his bony claws digging into Tomura's chest and his curse flowing like black ink into his blood. With the last of his strength, the monster breathed out words colder than death itself:

"Wretched people... your kind will suffer as I have and decay will be your downfall."

Tomura survived, but the yōkai's dark poison now pulsed in his veins. The priests of his clan bound his curse with sacred seals, forcing the poisonous force back into the depths of his heart, but the seal was no cure - just a lock on the door to damnation.

When news of the cursed heir reached the Tennō (The official, divine ruler), the emperor was overcome with holy anger. He, a pious ruler, could not tolerate the existence of such tainted blood and ordered the shōgun to remove the scum.

But the Shōgun (the de facto true ruler of Japan) was a pragmatist - he didn't waste a second on supernatural fairy tales. No honorable samurai should risk his life for a superstition. Instead, he bought the services of a horde of Kusa-Musha, outlaw mercenaries who wiped out villages and anointed their blades with blood for a sack of coins.

⚠️🔞 And so they came in the night like wolves waiting for the wind. They set fire to the palace, killed samurai as well as servants and raped the women of the house - Tomura's mother, his sister... No one was spared. 🔞⚠️

In the ruins of the burning ancestral hall, as the icy night sky shook with the screams of the dying and Tomura's father was murdered before his eyes, it happened - the pain, the despair, the burning, inextinguishable hatred broke the chains and the seal broke.

A storm of pure darkness erupted in a single wave of destruction. Tomura's body tore apart with the birth of a new being - no longer human, no longer a mortal creature, but a walking curse. Flesh and bone gave way and the yōkai within him screamed, "Free at last!”

He destroyed everything and spared nothing, neither the murderers of his family nor the few survivors who had called him “Lord” that morning. A massacre that no one would sing about.

When Shigaraki woke up, he was lying on cold stone. His palace was nothing more than a skeleton of charred wood and molten bronze. The halls where his father once ruled are now rubble and dust. The streets - or what was left of them - were covered in ash that settled in his lungs as if it was taking away the last of his humanity.

He glanced at his hands and for a moment he thought they weren't his. Too long, too sharp, too strange. His nails were black, his skin looked like it was made of parchment and was streaked with fine, dark lines.

"The Hand of Decay" he thought, but before the thought was fully formed, a strange, deep voice interrupted him:

"Not the hand of decay... the wings of decay."

The voice was like thunder rumbling in his head, as if the sky itself was speaking to him - it was the yōkai within him.

Shigaraki froze. A shiver ran down his spine, so strange and yet familiar, as if something inside him had been sleeping for centuries and had now opened his eyes. His breathing was heavy, his heart was racing - or maybe it didn't beat at all anymore, maybe it had long since become something else.

Then he felt something, a tingling sensation in his shoulders, a tugging deep in his back - wings.

With a sound somewhere between a gasp and an unnatural crunch, he spread her. Thin, ghostly wings, veined like coarse parchment, as if they had lasted centuries before finding their true form at this moment.

The wind tugged at them as if to carry them away, but they held firm, trembling as a strange heat spread through his veins, making him drunk and burning the truth into his core.

He was no longer human, no longer a daimyō, no longer an heir to any name. He was a beast, a yōkai - a dragon of destruction.

And from that day on his name became a curse. Whispered on dark nights, murmured in prayers for mercy, a shadow over the land that had betrayed him:

Shigaraki, the cursed daimyō - the dragon with the wings of decay.

Basic idea of ​​my kite design

Western Dragon

I deliberately chose a Western dragon design because the Japanese dragon (Ryū - 龍 or 竜) is different from them in many ways. They are often associated with water, storms and divine wisdom, rather than fire and destruction. Their symbolism ranges from protection and prosperity to chaos and divine punishment.

So why did I choose a Western design when a Japanese dragon can also represent chaos and divine punishment? The reason is that I know very little about Japanese culture and am only equipped with Wikipedia knowledge. I don't want to tarnish this or any other culture, so I chose a dragon design that is clearly associated with destruction, chaos and revenge.

Moth: Symbol of transience and death

Moths have a subtle but profound symbolism in Japanese culture. They are less well known than butterflies, but their meaning is often associated with transience, destruction and obsession.

In contrast to butterflies, which often represent rebirth and the soul, moths are seen more as a sign of decay.

Since moths often live in the dark and are attracted to light, they symbolize the longing for something unattainable.

There is a Japanese proverb: 「飛んで火に入る夏の虫」(Tonde hi ni iru natsu no mushi), which meant: "Like a summer insect flying into the fire." It describes someone who brings his own ruin - just like a moth that is drawn to the flame and burns up.

Some Japanese folk beliefs say that the soul of a deceased person can return as a moth to watch over the living or to deliver a message.

In some ancient tales, the moth is associated with Yōkai's and evil spirits that lurk in the dark.

Their “dust”, which remains on the skin when touched, was once considered “poison” or “curse”. It was believed that moths flying into the house at night heralded bad luck or an impending disaster.

My moral supporters

@doumadono | @alexandhisstuff | @unhinged-bratty-boy | @jake-lockley-vengeance | @taco-bee | @grossograsso

I mention accounts that my works 💜️ and 🔁. If someone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please write it.

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.

[horizon-verizon]

Every time I see a post about "King Jon" being the rightful ruler, it makes me root for Young Griff to be the real deal even more—just to shatter the whole fantasy of Jon being the “secret prince.” Jon is a bastard; he has no legitimate claim over either "Aegon" or Daenerys. Even if Young Griff was real, he still wouldn’t have a solid claim to the throne because Rhaegar was effectively disinherited when Aerys named Viserys as his heir. That leaves Daenerys (unfortunately for the haters) as the only legitimate Targaryen with a real claim. But despite this, people still twist the argument, saying things like, “Well, the Mad King could’ve disinherited Rhaegar and named Viserys heir, but Rhaegar’s son would still come before Daenerys.” It’s such a reach. Another take I can’t stand is“the king’s word doesn’t matter after he’s dead.” Aerys proclaimed Viserys as his heir while he was still alive. This is the same argument used against Rhaenyra’s claim...

Another take I can’t stand is“the king’s word doesn’t matter after he’s dead.” Aerys proclaimed Viserys as his heir while he was still alive. This is the same argument used against Rhaenyra’s claim…

Pre-LyannaxRhaegar running off, in AWoIaF, Yandel notes that tensions at court between Rhaegar and Aerys (and their factions) was similar to what was described for what existed b/t Rhaenyra and Alicent and their parties. This was deliberate on GRRM's part, yes, and I see people using this fact to make the case about how there would be more support for Jon or FAegon over Dany, as Rhaegar, no matter what, was the firstborn. Symbolism and foreshadowing and all that, third time the charm or whatever.

ONE, Duncan the brown-haired prince was also the firstborn of his set of siblings...he gave up the throne entirely to stay married to Jenny of Oldstones. The verbiage is "abdicated". The guy didn't just "give it up", Aegon V, his father, continued to not grant him the title of Prince of Dragonstone when Duncan continued to refuse to put Jenny aside. Before that, it's made clear Aegon didn't want him married to a "commoner", so Duncan's title was always up to Aegon's will. After he abdicated, he was called the "Prince of Dragonflies", instead as a sort of mock, but again, he lost/gave up the entire position and all its privileges and rights.

His kids/line would be totally removed from any rights to the throne. Aegon V didn't want that, and he capitulated, so then Duncan got to have the girl AND be still a prince. Even if Aegon had died, Duncan married a common girl who was "crazy" and listened to short suspicious woman she claimed was a child of the forest, any kids they could have had wouldn't be popular and there'd be debate over how "legitimate" or how much "real" appropriate "blood" they'd have possibly to have rights to the throne...similar to how real-life European nobles defined a "bastard" by how the parents didn't have matching-enough statuses and not necessarily just them being unmarried (pre-1300s). That and the easy accusation of witchery and magic in that kid's "blood" or practice. This is a headcanon of mine, but I also think it's a good speculation as it brings up Westerosi perspective of class and magic.

Perhaps this means more that Duncan's choice of woman would be more why his hypothetical kids with her wouldn't be accepted or very much supported more than the fact that Aegon V persisted in not allowing Duncan to continue not being his heir...but even though Lyanna was definitly a "fit" bride for a Targ prince in character or rank, even an heir...well I already note why it would work below. Rhaegar's conduct in "kidnapping" a lord's betrothed daughter, impregnating and "spoiling" her, puts that child of Rhaelya in a similar boat to Duncan and Jenny's child, and Lyanna is a "savage" northern girl who isn't as much of a "proper" lady, either.

You might argue why Elia's marriage to Rhaegar makes no question--hypothetically if their kids had been alloowed to live--as to their kids' right to the throne despite how nonDornish Westerosi view Dornish people. It's because their marriage was Faith and state-sanctioned and arranged through the "proper" channels. No independent will involved there at all setting up the marriage on the actual couple's parts.

When you add what I say below, Aerys II having refused to acknowledge Rhaegar and his line as his heirs when those heirs don't even really exist or be a part of the succession definitely tips the scales in Dany's favor. Not FAegon either (again, below), DANY. Rhaegar inadvertedly, in another ironic layer, paved Dany's way to the throne.

TWO, Let's talk about Rhaenyra & Dany. Like Rhaenyra, Dany has actually practiced rule and had dragons. The relevant differences, however, bt Dany and Rhaenyra is that:

Rhaenyra had oaths from most lords as arranged by her father to solidify their loyalties to her so that his word does matter that much more, so yeah Dany does have a comparative vulnerability

Rhaenyra's lived in Westeros all her life and further strengthened those ties later on in a tour (proximity), people know her and she even was very popular amongst both nobles and peasants enough to have her own moniker

Dany has all the dragons or is the ONLY party with dragons in any any confrontation she'd be in, whereas Rhaenyra had dragons...but her rivals & brothers/the greens also had dragons...so Dany is better off there

A monarch's word post death does matter, but it also loses its authority the more material power the living has or can use against their intentions. This is true. That does not mean that the monarch's word doesn't give an edge to further legitmize why one should rule, esp when that person has a certain disadvantage or has an identity that tradition doesn't grant the right or ability to inherit certain leaderships, like being a woman or being a bastard. As we saw what happened with Edward III's death and William the Conqueror's claim including that of all Edward's other sons. He claimed that he had been chosen...and just like Dany, William had the arms to back up that claim. Why bother, bc he was an illegitmate scion of a relative, so he had to use something even other than arms and soldiers to legitmize why his rule be accepted.

The other possible candidates vying for the throne? I explain below why FAegon and Jon has critical issues for their abilites to amass support for themselves, passively or actively.

THREE, one issue is that ALL three people are also "foreigners" in their own way. Dany and FAegon, obvious, they grew up in Essos and were most active in Essos. Jon maybe Westerosi, but he's not only a bastard but also way more Stark in expected/traditional behavior AND he is a northerner. King's Landing and the rest of Westeros are Faith/Seven-worshipping Andal descendants with a lot of suspicion and disdain for northeners, who have been called "savage" several times througout Westerosi history. You can find many examples in F&B! And Jon is likely never leaving Ghost behind to rule anything--we saw how "southrons" saw and treated the direworlves when all the Stark kids went down with them...what more a completely white, red-eyed magical animal? He may be the closest thing to a "real" Westerosi...but he's a tree-worshipper...and the Faith wouldn't want a king who wouldn't convert as their ruler. (Dany, idk if she'd even "officially" be of the Faith I can't even see that for her, but neither do I really see her ruling Westeros nor do I see jon or FAegon doing this either bc of the possible results from the Long Night).

Not only that, he's Commander of the Night's Watch, a post most people find useless down south. Dany might be a foreign queen who devotes herself "too much" to freeing slaves as Jon works to provide shelter to the "savage" freefolk, but she has ruled as something closer to the position of a monarch they are familair with and respect. Over real (or believed-in) things and people. An entire city and not "just" a penal colony. And as to Jon, the entire Wall is understood as an unnecesaary drain of resources on the rest of the real bc it's up against creatures of fairytales. (I don't mean that the freefolk are unreal to the rest of Westeros, the city and giants and Others are.) They could think that he didn't really do much other than freeze, as they don't think there'd be much comparatively much to do. Their mistake, but one that could very well determine their outlook of the two. Now, why would I mention experience mattering bt Dany and Jon in the eyes of Westerosi lords? Because they are looking for stability and quick stability after the recent wat and the burgeoning tensions the Lannisters have fostered.

Barring that, another issue is that Jon is and always will be a bastard because the Doctrine of Exceptionalism was about sibling marriage as a privilege of the Targs, NOT polygamy! We have no evidence whatosever that bk!Lyanna and Rhaegar even eloped! To get that Doctrine, Jaehaerys had to work hard (or devise how others would in his stead but he and his council picked the perfect people), it didn't come in a year of peaceful negotiations! It came after Maegor's decimation or severe reduction of the Faith's Militant AND Jaehaerys' later careful manupulations (and the appointment of an amicable new High Septon). There has always been an implied but obvious agreement that the Targs would never have polygamy as a royal privilege, as we see the Targs never have polygamous partners after Maegor I. (Not polyamourous, polygamous...very two different things). Likewise, Rhaegar would first have to win against Aerys and then mess with the Faith and have the rules bent for him if he ever wanted to take Lyanna as his legal second wife if he ever wanted to, or secretly married her or wanted to later...but he died way before all that.

With FAegon, the story is that the Aegon who was murdered alongside his mother & sister was literally an infant or a toddler (I foregt which) when he was killed...who is around to confirm the claim that he is who he says he is? He can only succeed if Varys manages to get rid of possible competition, destabilize the current government by subterfuge and secret blood, and/or have the peasants (who can be easily swayed if there's a promise of support and food) show support and seem like they'd get active or disobeident to their overlords and those overlord's vassals. Again, he was raised in Essos and even if he was the actual Aegon, no one with the appropriate credit (to my memory) is at hand to say he shares the exact features or enough as that baby...bc people don't look like their baby selves often. Unlike Viserys II, who was taken to Essos at 8 or so and came back in just a few short years, FAegon spent way too much time in Essos to be seen as none other than a foreigner AND there's no way to confirm his claimed identity. Nor does he even have dragons! Which all runs the risk of inspiring even more and longer dissent and chaos and division bc people (nobles) would be divided further into camps of following him to use him, those against those people and most trying to stay out of it bc they literally just got out of the War of Five Kings.

And you may be able to argue that some part of Aegon's issue is the same for Jon--who will confirm Jon's being Rhaegar's bastard through Lyanna? But that would be easier than for Jon bc Ned took Jon in and others can easily come to the conclusion that it'd be the honor-loving Ned Stark who wouldn't offer his own nephew up to even his king and best friend. A weird sort of kin-slaying some might say maybe, but idk.

Other than that, unlike Dany, Aegon was told to be dead...and this rando kid claims to be a dead baby. Dany, all the realm knew, fled Westeros as a baby with Viserys and a knight that though is not in the mortal coil anymore was also accompanied by a Pentoshi merchant at some point...everyone knows where she is and that Barristan Selmy is with her. Robert the wanted to have her and her brother killed when he took over and was angry when they got away. Later, Robert's council took the news of her existence and rise seriously and Robert wanted her dead, which means the entire realm knew about her, and obviously her awakening the dragons confirms who she is. The fact that she woke dragons up once again, even tou many at court at first and still don't believe that she has. She has the foreigner Essosi woman who leads a Dorthaki "savage" hoard thing against her, but she has the Valyrian look, the legitimacy, and the DRAGONS to prove her lineage and identity. And she has the firepower, literally, to assure a more guaranteed victory apart from her Dothraki fighters. She is a much more comfortable choice for nobles to fight or fight behind the scenes for.

So regardless of Aerys' disinheriting Rhaegar's line...she still has a very good chance of getting a lot of support and much more than either man, genuine or not. At least from here.

I am not saying that the Dance did not set a dangerous precedent for her either and that there's still a good chance of Jon passively and involuntarily inspiring people to call for his being named king enough to raise arms or at least try to take Dany out secretly to make room for him--not FAegon, bc that identity is just too much of a hangup for him. But to say she'd have very little to none supporting and wanting her to rule in comparison to these two is simply weird and misleading.

[vclvetfleur]

Obedient Chapter 13

roman roy x fem!reader

Summary: You and Jess haven't spoken in a while. You finally decide to confront her on the plane to Dundee. While Roman is still in deep denial over his father's abuse.

TW: trauma talk, child neglect, degradation

Word Count: 5k

Notes: SOrry for taking so long. I have been not knowing where to lead this and I had to focus on French class lately.

Chapter 13: A Clockwork Orange

You heard Roman till he had finally fallen asleep. You both agreed that he couldn’t just let his father just sweep that under the rug. You even convinced Roman not to forgive. You knew it was a lot to ask, but you wanted him to heal. And bending and forgiving was not going to do anything for him or Logan. Except make Logan think Roman was just as weak as he thought he was. You woke up before him, making him an appointment to go see a dentist to fix his tooth as soon as possible. You were still in shock. You couldn’t help but stare at it as it was laid on the counter, dried blood on the end of it. You put a tissue over it, not wanting to be reminded of it. You felt sorry for Roman. You were in his place years ago. You were him when you didn’t realize that your parents would never change.

They weren’t going to. They never did. Not for you at least. You had gotten older, moving from home to home depending on if your parents wanted to deal with you or not. You had been sent to aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, and family friends. You had only come back after your parents had your sibling. And there it was. They changed. But not for you. Not towards you. But towards her. You had gotten updates, hearing about their new golden star child. How nothing has made them happier. You wished you could stand up to protect her, but you didn’t have to. She got the parents you wished for.

A part of you wished you got them, but you knew you weren’t worth changing for in their eyes. And Roman wasn’t worth changing for either.

You brushed your teeth, staring at your phone. You always wondered if an unknown number would maybe one day be them. But that was you just getting your hopes up for an unrealistic fantasy. You looked at Roman, sleeping. You were glad he finally got his moment of peace after what had happened last night. You came back to back, scrolling through your phone and making notes for Roman. Today was a day Roman wouldn’t be in the office anyway, so you just wanted him to relax. But still do things before having to go back to the office. You were sure Roman wasn’t gonna go to the office with a tooth missing. It would only create talk. He also didn’t need any media seeing him like that.

You felt Roman stirring himself awake, moving his head away from the light as it shined in. “Morning Rome…” You told him, running your fingers through his hair. You were busy texting Eduard, trying to set up some kind of meeting with Roman. It would possibly be the biggest fuck you to his father if he landed a major deal with another billionaire when Logan had just messed up the deal with Nan. Logan had exploded at the show that you both missed, where Rhea and Nan followed him and told him the deal was off. This was all relayed to you by Shiv. She had kept checking up on Roman the entire night and you just sent her updates when you could. Despite their rocky relationship and the fact they never really got along with one another. And the constant fighting and yelling and hitting. They deeply cared. Shiv and Roman were the most verbally aggressive with one another, but had so much in common when it came to their dad than they did with Kendall. Kendall was Logan’s pride. He basically removed Kendall from their mom and obsessed over his future. He was the only thing that mattered. He had sent Connor away and was now worrying about one kid. Then Roman came along, but Kendall was just something else. Then a certain incident made Roman act quieter, more reserved. Which in turn made Logan a lot more harder on him. He was seen as weak. Not as good as Kendall. Not that he really paid him much mind, but the fact that Roman was more emotional and was now suddenly quieter, it only made Logan resent him more. A child at the age of 7 was now weak and not fit to be CEO forever. But his other son, who even at the age of 3 was set for the CEO job. Then came Shiv. Logan was disappointed about having a girl. Carolina was a little excited but was too busy with her own issues to care enough. She completely abandoned her children when Shiv was born. Shiv never mattered. Only if she started to be prettier than Carolina. Then Carolina tried to compete and force and embarrass Shiv. Even only uplifting Roman to make Shiv feel worse. But once Shiv stopped looking for the attention of her mother, she played with Kendall’s games of using Roman for the attention of their dad.

Roman was the weird one. And Shiv was the girl.

The two outcasts of the family. Both not good enough for anything.

Not even their dad.

So, despite their distain for one another, at least they weren’t Kendall.

Kendall only checked in on Roman from Shiv. He did his best. He had to physically protect Roman. He was smaller. He wasn’t able to when they were younger. Kendall felt a duty to always physically be there for Roman. Trying to be there emotionally never worked because Roman was too scared to ever open up. His emotions got him in trouble. He never knew when the right time was to ever open up.

So as result of Connor’s absence as older brother, he had to pick up the role and protect Roman physically from Logan. He could only protect him so much. He started to protect him more once he had gotten tall enough. Logan was never scared of his kids though. He knew what power he had over them.

Either way, they all did their parts as siblings as best as they could with the father and mother they were given. They made a lot of mistakes on the way, but there was an effort.

“Morning…” Roman mumbled under the sheets, covering his mouth with the comforter. He didn’t want you to see him without his tooth there. It made him even more insecure than he already was. He knew that you already had, but something in his mind told him you’d run if you saw it. That he’d be too much or something like that. His mind was controlling his logic. “How are you feeling?” You asked, pulling yourself from the phone. You were ready to tell him the news of what you had just done but wanted to ease him into it.

“Fucking great. Uh- can we leave early?” He asked you. You nodded, going back on your phone to make the arrangements. You both were supposed to leave at 11, but you had gotten up early enough. Roman wasn’t ready for the questioning. Roman finally crawled out of bed, going to the bathroom. He had been there for a good 15 minutes, just staring at himself and his missing tooth. It made him feel so ashamed. He never was super secure with how he looked. He knew he wasn’t special, and no one was chasing after him. He was shocked you were decently into him. But the tooth made it so much worse. Another dent in his appearance. Roman hated himself even more. Not only because he hated how he looked, but the tooth was just a reminder of how Logan really felt about him. Roman was never ready to accept that Logan wasn’t a good parent. Logan was abusive. But to Roman, it was his fault. But you helped put it into perspective for him. He finally accepted some part of Logan was abusive and his love wasn’t actual love. His mom, despite being neglectful and instilling terrible ideals and being emotionally unavailable, she loved him. She checked in on him. She held him. She would be there if Roman deeply tried to. Logan was never there for anything. No matter how hard you tried to.

“Rome?” You called out. He barely heard you. You had already gotten dressed, keeping updates on the car that was arriving soon. You knocked before going into the room. You saw him just staring at himself and inspecting little things about his face and appearance. “Hey, the car’s almost here. You almost done?” You asked. He finally snapped out of it, looking at you. He had no idea why you were so willing to be with him when he looked the way he did. But he was so grateful for your standards being that low, in his head. He just put toothpaste on his toothbrush and started brushing his teeth, acting as though he wasn’t just inspecting himself in front of you. “Your appointment today is at 6, by the way.” You mentioned to him. “Wow, thanks, mum.” He joked. His words were slurred with toothpaste foaming his mouth and his brush stuck between the inside of his lips and teeth.

“I know you wanna fuck your mom, Roman, but don’t call me that.” You made a quick comment. You weren’t sure if he fit the Freudian theory, but it wasn’t unlikely.

“If Shiv told you that, tell her to stop acting like I haven’t seen her give Dad fuck me eyes too” Roman shot back. He was of course lying. You’ve seen how Shiv looked at Logan. It was exactly how you looked at your dad when you were in middle school. Just regret and shame for hating him, but such distain and anger for whatever happened.

“I’ll be sure to send her an email about it.” You rolled your eyes. You came up and jumped onto the counter. You looked at him, looking at the details as he was doing earlier. His eyes were so soft. They had bags under them that made them seem slightly sunken. But his personality and other expressions always reminded you he was actually awake. His eyebrows were mostly straightened, but so expressive. For a man who hated showing his emotions, he showed them so much with just his face. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” You asked him. There it was. His eyebrows furrowed, questioning you, but his eyes softened. He didn’t look at you like he was actually confused. Just pleasantly surprised. “I don’t think I have either.” He spits his toothpaste out before starting to brush his tongue. He wasn’t ready yet. He didn’t want to feel all the love you were willing to give. You leaned down and gave him a kiss on the forehead before dropping yourself off the counter. You went off to the bedroom and began to prep Roman’s things for him and your own stuff. Roman soon came in, wrapping his arms around you. He stood behind you, laying his head on your shoulder. He left a kiss on your jaw before giving another on your cheek and moving close to your ear. He whispered, “You’re gorgeous.” Before moving away from you.

You suppressed a smile, giving it a frown kind of look. You looked at him as he grabbed his clothes and finally started to dress himself. “You saw that in a movie, didn’t you?” You asked him. He looked up, his smile creeping up before nodding.

He buttoned his shirt. “Yeah- I think it was one of those shit movies you’ve shown me lately. Fuck wait- was it ‘Clockwork Orange’?” He asked you. You had shown him your favorite movies lately. Most of the time he talked through them and acted as if he thought they were dumb, but after enough scolding from you, he would quit it. He enjoyed most of them though. Except maybe one of them, but he thought it was too pretentious, trying to say something about something that had no real meaning.

“Oh yea- definitely. Wow, Alex. What a little charmer, huh?” You played along. It definitely wasn’t ‘A Clockwork Orange’.

You both left the room once Roman was settled in. You both had to be escorted through the media, questioning Roman about the scandal. Roman knew better not to make too light of a joke at the moment. Mostly to media.

“God what fucking vultures…” He whispered to you once the door was shut. “Doesn’t ATN do the same thing?” You asked him, calling out on his hypocrisy.

“Shut the fuck up… fucking snowflake…” He mumbled, laying his head back. He reached down, holding your hand in his. It was the most affection he could give you out in public. Plus, he needed it to calm his nerves down.

“I have news by the way… Eduard is willing to meet with you. Next week. He thinks after the scandal has gone through a week, the hype will die down and by the time the deal lands that it’ll mostly be over. So yeah, you're welcome.” You smirked. You were cocky, but after working your way into it, you had convinced him. No one was gonna touch ATN for a while. Not with this scandal around.

“Good job, you did your fucking job.” He teased. He was happy though. You saw it on his face.

You had just made sure Roman was safely home before going to your own home. You needed to decompress after yesterday too. You had just run a bath, done some skincare, and treated yourself to a meal. An actual meal. Not a snack.

You texted Roman to make sure he went to his appointment to just be sent a photo of him in the dentist's chair. You saved it to your phone. You were tempted to text Jess. You stared at her number for a while. You swallowed your fear of rejection and finally texted.

‘hey. are you ready to talk?’

You watched the delivered notification turn into Read 7:19 PM.

Then 3 text bubbles coming up. For them to disappear quickly. You didn’t get anything from her all night. Not even in the morning.

She did not speak to you for days.

Waystar seemed to be in a worse state than it ever had been.

Sandy and Stewy were trying to get shareholders and attacking the company. The scandal had gotten worse and now they were scrambling with investors.

Roman had even told you about how Logan even claimed to never hit Roman. It hurt, but it made Roman truly believe he might’ve been overreacting. It just led you both into a fight as you tried to knock some sense into him. But he was stubborn in his ways. Logan still could do no wrong in his eyes. And the more you discredited Logan, the more upset he got. He was just back to doing his dirty business for his father. He was now off to England with Kendall to convince his mom to actually vote for her ex-husband who she despised. You were invited to come, but your fight with Roman made you decline the offer. He just shoved it off as if he didn’t care about it at all. He just thought it would maybe be nice for you to meet his other parent. But you reminded him of your actual status.

You had gotten more news on Waystar as a story broke about Logan ‘bullying’ and ‘hitting’ a young man, someone between the ages of 18 and 23. Apparently, it had caused the boy to drive his car into a lake. You didn’t doubt it. Roman tried to call you about it and called it bullshit.

“I don’t know Rome, seems on brand for him.” You shrugged, sipping on your coffee. It had been 2 pm for him while Kendall and Logan were out doing damage control.

“Fucking- whatever… yea cause people are so sensitive nowadays. Dad didn’t even hit him. Fucking moron is going to drive off a lake over an insult? Really?” Roman ranted, but you had pulled your phone away from your ear, unable to listen to Roman speak ill about a dead child.

“Roman- fucking stop…” You warned but he didn’t. You just hung up.

He looked at Shiv, shocked and obviously upset about your choice to hang up. “What the fuck?” He asked. Shiv shrugged, not surprised. But she just kept her opinion to herself. You shuddered at the thought of what Roman was saying. It truly disgusted you. You knew it was just because he was so ignorant. He was sheltered to think whatever was going on was okay. Shiv just pushed Roman out of the house and decided to finally go to their mom. It would be better if they went rather than bring Kendall. Kendall was Caroline’s least favorite. Shiv was a close second last. Roman was the only one accepting whatever love she could possibly give.

You had been packing for England for your late-night flight. You had to be there for some stupid award show for Logan to celebrate some stupid achievement.  It was just a way to inflate his ego. And for his peers to celebrate him. You thought it was obnoxious.

You were finally finished, getting your bags and putting your belongings into the back of a black car that waited for you. You were being driven before stopping to pick up other people. Including Jess. You watched her get into the car. Your eyes met, but she diverted her eyes away from you. You just wished she’d talk to you. You weren’t sure if your relationship with Roman was worth this. This was too hard.

“Hey…” you tried to talk to her, but she had ignored you for her phone. You bit your lip, looking away. Once you did, Jess’ eye looked up at you with pity. She wanted to talk to you too, but she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to talk about your emotions for Roman. Or why you lied? Or why didn’t listen to her? There were so many questions. But she wasn’t emotionally ready for it. She wasn’t ready to apologize for all the awful things she said either, bringing your family and past up as a way to hurt you.

But it happened.

It stuck with you more often than usual. The fact your parents were emotionally unavailable or physically abusive. How much they’d pick out the flaws you had. All the names. And the blaming for what was done to you.

You were reminded of it constantly since you had to spend more time with the Roys.

You had gotten on the flight, watching Jess as she had just walked past you without giving a second glance over to you.

You had enough. You sat across from her. “Jess… Fucking talk to me… Please… Just FUCKING KNOCK IT OFF!” You exploded. People looked at you, but you gave them a look to make them stop. They quickly looked away.

“What do you want me to say y/n?” She asked you. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “Well? I don’t know what to say to you y/n… And I don’t think this is the conversation to have with people around. I know this is your little secret.” She shrugged it off.

You let out a large breath, shaking your head no. “I’m fucking sorry. I didn’t- it’s just- I fucked up. And I regret my choices. If I knew they’d end this badly, I would’ve not gone through with it.” You let out a shaky breath.

“But you knew y/n. I told you. You just ignored it. You did what you did. And I said what I said.” She tried to avoid the conversation.

“I’ll break up with him… As soon as we land, it’ll be over.” You tried to rationalize. Jess thought that was what she wanted. But she wasn’t sure if it was. She didn’t like the fact you were both hooking up or doing whatever, but she knew it wasn’t truly her business. She shook her head, just grabbing her phone. “It’s just- it won't fix anything.” She wasn’t sure if it would ruin your happiness.

Realistically your happiness with Roman shifted depending on if Roman would express his awful opinions. Which he had a lot of.

“I just wanna fix this Jess…” You pouted.

“If you wanna fix this… just give it time… I’m just not there yet. Uh- maybe we could talk about it more another time.” She tried to compromise with you. She missed you too. But this wasn’t going to be productive. You nodded, getting up, and swung your hand on a bottle as it flew against the wall. “real fucking mature.” Jess called out. You walked away defeated and annoyed. You spent the rest of the flight away from Jess.

You had landed in the morning, getting your stuff quickly. The family had already been there, so you were immediately sent to go to where they were staying.

You texted Roman letting him know you had arrived safely. He had sent you multiple messages, trying to admit what he said was disgusting and unfair. He didn’t directly say it, but he admitted to it being not the best thing he could say.

You were driven to the event, ready to confront Roman. But once you had walked in his face lightened up once you walked in. He had grabbed you a glass of whatever was being served and came over to you. “Hey, here get drunk, Shiv is plotting something.” He whispered. You smiled, taking the glass from him. Despite Roman sometimes being awful, he could be very sweet. And he was now more willing to see his mistakes.

“Ooo. Can’t wait.” You smirked, sipping your drink. Rhea began her speech, going on and on about whatever bullshit Shiv fed her.

Rhea began her speech and had brought up ‘Rose’. Roman looked amused at Shiv’s game. While Rhea had lifted her glass up with a huge smile on her face as if Logan was going to be sooo happy to hear about Rose. You didn’t even know who Rose was. You leaned in and asked Roman “who’s Rose?” You asked.

“Dad’s dead sister.” He whispered. Logan had put his drink down and sulked in his seat. It set a mood for everyone to stay quiet.

Roman walked past Rhea “Wow. Well done. Look at you, fitting right in.” He teased before making a disgusting pedophilic joke. He seemed to be interrogating her. You didn’t know their issue with her all of a sudden, but you decided to stay out of it. You sat with Shiv, watching them whispering to each other.

“What a fucking snake…” Shiv whispered to you. You laughed, watching as Rhea tried to work her deal with Roman.  But Shiv and him were in a very healthy place where they decided to work against someone again. They always worked better when they plotted against another person together.

“What’d she do?” You asked.

“She’s trying to suck the CEO position out of Dad’s dick and balls.” She stared at Rhea, trying to intimidate her.

Rhea couldn’t find an in with Roman and joined the table. Roman sat with you and Shiv and Roman then began to interrogate with Tom being their hype man.

The tension felt incredibly thing. But Connor decided to ease the mood but decided to insult Rhea nonetheless.

“This is a fucking slaughter…” You whispered to Roman. “I wanna join.” You snickered at the idea.

“Uh- we should start. The event is going to start soon.” Rhea tried to get out of the next dig that was going to be thrown her way. You had been brought to Logan’s old home. You just watched the kids insult the looks as if it was cheap and disgusting. But it was something that looked huge to you. You would never understand their perception of money. Roman thought a coffee cost $40. A black coffee. It wasn’t cheap, sure $4-$8 depending on where you went. But nowhere near $40. You all just waited for Logan to arrive, but Logan could barely look at it. The photographers waited to take a photo, but Logan told the driver to speed off.

“Wow, how fucking fun. God, you know this reminds me exactly when I chased that twink singer in some dumb fucking band for him to just drive off in his car. Should we chase after him?” You joked. You all just seemed a bit annoyed about your time being completely wasted. But that was expected of Logan. You crawled in the car, Roman following you right after. “I didn’t even know Logan was Scottish. I thought he was just some rich fuck with generational money. You know like some hush hush tycoon stuff.” You admit.

“Yeah- Dad doesn’t talk about that kind of stuff- he rather talk about how much he hated Connor’s mom than talk about his own.” Roman laughed. Thankfully, Connor wasn’t around to hear the comment towards him. You had just stood outside. You didn’t want to watch Logan gloat about some stupid University he was buying out. You found the perfect excuse to stay behind.  You grabbed your pack of cigarettes out, lighting the end. You sucked on the end, waiting for the rest of them to come out. You saw an older man come by with a hat and trench coat and sat and watched. You just watched him. He looked disappointed. Annoyed. Angry. You saw Greg leave the building to greet him. “Oh hey- y/n.” Greg waved at you. You thought Greg might’ve had a little crush on you. He had asked you to ‘come to hang out’ with him so many times. He even tried to impress you multiple times with his big-boy job. It was amusing in all honesty. It was cute. But he just wasn’t your type. You liked pretentiousness and arrogance apparently. “Uh- Ewan… Give me a second.” He scrambled before walking to you. “I didn’t know you smoked. Uh- can I- can I get one?” He tried to find something in common with you. Your eyebrows raised, questioning him.

“Yeah- I don’t think the building allows me to smoke. I didn’t know you smoked either.” You said before pulling the pack out again. You pulled a cigarette out for him and your lighter. You were going to see if he actually knew what to do. It would tell you everything.

“Oh yeah- all the time. I actually can’t breathe half the time 'cause I love these things so much. Yea- I buy like a pack a day 'cause I finish them up so quickly” He tried to lie about his association with smoking. He held the cigarette in between his fingers and tried to light it like a joint. It told you everything.

“Greg, you’re supposed to light it in your mouth.” You informed him. He looked up, knowing he had just exposed himself. “Look- like this.” You showed him, putting the cigarette In his mouth and lighting it for him. “Now breathe it in.” You instructed. Greg misunderstood how much or how hard and began to cough viciously. He dropped the cigarette and curled up as he coughed loudly. You just sat and watched, giggling to yourself as you smoked your cigarette.

Ewan was amused as well. He just quietly laughed as he watched his idiot grandson embarrass himself. The group had left the building, Logan surprised to see the man to be there. Roman pat Greg on the back, looking at you confused about why he practically coughing up a lung. “All right, all right. Dramatic. Don’t cough on me. Yeah, that’s right just turn that way.” He said as he turned Greg around and lightly pushed him away. He didn’t like Greg. He thought Greg was a freeloader. Which he kind of was. Roman just viewed him as someone who was riding on the fact, he was somewhat related to them and was trying to find any way to make the kind of money they did. He leeched onto any family member who would let him. Which was Tom.

“Who the fuck is the crip keeper?” You asked Roman about Ewan. You had seen him talk to Logan. “His liberal snowflake brother.” Roman answered.

“Oh, good news. Uh- Eduard is here. I told him to fly in. He’s expecting you at a bar in an hour.” You broke the news. Roman was shocked at how stupid of a decision that was for Eduard. But he was happy enough to have it set up in the very lease.

“You’re the fucking best. God what a fucking moron. I could just take you right here in front of everyone.” Roman seemed to pump himself up. “Yeah-yeah. Go now.” You laughed, pushing him slightly. You both went your own separate ways for at least a couple of hours. You had a lot of stuff to do in the meantime. Which mostly consisted of you hanging out with Shiv as she seemed to be calling meeting after meeting to destroy Rhea. You had stayed out of it most of the time though.

Connor left the room completely upset before the rest left as well.

“What fucking pathetic brats…” Connor mumbled under his breathe. You looked up, wondering what had happened. Roman left soon. “Rome- what the fuck happened?” You asked him. “Why is Connor-?” you asked him.

“Eh, who actually gives a shit?” He shrugged.

Notes: Poor Connor.

Chapter 14

[highlordofkrypton]

SUMMARY: Lucien Vanserra is the most desirable faerie in Prythian, and yet, the Mother has not deigned to give him a mate. One day, he is sent a gift from the Dawn Corp, known for its Tinkerers. A mate made to order, a perfect blend of magic and technology, is sent right to his door. I’m never going to use this, he tells himself, until he finally decides he’s tired of being alone.

This fic is a set in a Modern(-ish)/Urban Fantasy AU of Prythian.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: During Kinktober, I discovered the dollification tag. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to strictly be a smut thing, but it gave me this idea! Thank you @matrixsss for beta reading and helping me cross the finish line on this! You're such an amazing cheerleader. Technically not a prompt for 31 Days of Tamicen, it's still Tamcien so I'm sending it your way @achaotichuman!

TAGS: @lucychanart @sonics-atelier @yaralulu @thrumbolt

READ ON AO3 OR UNDER THE CUT

God, I’m so tired.

The words on the pages no longer make sense, contract revisions and added policies blurring into nothing. A lesser faerie would sign his life away without reading. A lesser faerie would not care about the consequences of his carelessness. Lucien Vanserra is not a lesser faerie, and so he reads every single document that crosses his desk with the utmost meticulousness. 

He removes his glasses off his face, rubbing his remaining eye and tying his long auburn hair into a loose bun. It’s easier to work at home, and at this late hour. No one to gawk at him, no whispers in the office hallways when he rolls up his sleeves or tucks an errand stand of hair behind his pointed ear. 

When will you get married, he recalls a famous widow asking him. Her entourage had laughed softly behind open fans, hiding their hungry smiles. Isn’t that the answer they’re all searching for?

Oh, hush, one of his favourite socialites had chimed in. This just means more Lucien for us. He’s too perfect to marry off to anyone.

Yes, Lucien Vanserra is perfect in every possible way, except for finding a mate.

Marriage would mean a political alignment. His father wants him to marry for strength, to unite their family with a corporate rival or something equally ridiculous. His mother wants him to return to her home country and get away from all of this, and with each passing day, he’s becoming more and more attracted to the idea. His brother has plans too. Lucien doesn’t have the mindset to hear what Eris has planned. There are friends who have offered to set him up, but Lucien hasn’t felt that spark with anyone yet.

Is it a fever dream?

He’s heard of the fated mates, but he’s only ever seen it in action less than a handful of times. It sounds like a dream, like the fairytales his brother used to read to him when he was just a boy. The tales were for girls, his father would tell him. Love is for the soft and the feminine, not for any of his boys. So, Lucien did as any child would. He loved harder. He loved all the things his father hated, and clung to the tender parts of him that should have been beaten out of him long ago. 

You’re getting old, Luce, he thinks to himself.

You’re lonely, he corrects and that should be reason enough to find a partner to settle down with.

His eyes wander over to the large box in the corner of the room. Lucien hadn’t known where else to put it. It’s heavy and an encumbrance. It’ll take up all the space anywhere he puts it, and he’s far too rusty with spatial magic to enchant a closet without a consultant. If it weren’t for the nature of the gift, Lucien would have long invited his mother for tea and kindly ask for her help.

Lucien worries at his lip, staring at that damned box. It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek, would it? He’d heard all kinds of stories about the Dawn Corp’s latest invention. They’re the leaders in the market of magical technology, and Thesan is such a mindful leader that he’s sure this thing would have been made with the utmost care. Most of the upper echelons of faeries lambast the usage of this particular technology, calling it blasphemous towards the Mother’s will. If she has not deigned to give faeries their mates, then it is not to be. How dare they try to replicate her blessings, even in name.

Mate to order, Lucien had cringed when he saw the name. 

Because that’s what it is. Why call it anything else? Thesan smiled at him, honest as ever. He doesn’t bother with marketing games. What you see is what you get, and as long as he lives, honesty will be his policy. The other competitors can do what they please with their branding and their aesthetics. 

Lucien has no idea how Thesan would know what he’s looking for in a mate. His curiosity gets the better of him as he gets up from his desk. The other stories he has heard are ones of success and utmost bliss. The perfect partner. Who wouldn’t want that? This high, no one will be able to see through the windows of his penthouse. He’s just taking a peek. No one else has to know.

Letter opener in hand, he cuts the box open, taking care not to rush or press it too deep. His hands moisten, and his heart hammers in his chest. There’s no reason to be nervous. Nothing will come out and jump at him, that’s not the kind of person Thesan is. One flap at a time, he unfolds the outer box to see the mysterious packaging beneath. It gives no indication to the model inside, only implying that its contents can be anything. Lucien still doesn’t believe the claim. Techno-magic has not advanced this far to make a perfectly malleable and transformable material… has it?

He doesn’t bother with trying to pull off the cover. Instead, with a single touch, he burns it away. The fire is perfectly controlled, a light little thing that is convenient rather than threatening. When the embers of the box cover vanish, Lucien is left staring down at—

He’s staring down at—

Lucien gasps softly, and his breath remains caught in his throat. The model that Thesan sent him is unlike any faerie he has ever seen, or any mate-to-order he has seen out and about in the world. Had Thesan asked him, he would have never given this description. The sight of the large and muscular male has Lucien flushing deeply, his cheeks nearly turning as red as his hair. The doll’s hair is a beautiful blonde, laid across his shoulders and covering his soft-yet-broad chest. Lucien’s gaze trails down the defined muscles of his stomach, down to the nothing of his groin. In the packaging, a biodegradable silicone, different attachments are offered—breasts, a cock, a tail, horns, and a starter set of toys. After all, mates are known for having a very high compatibility.

He dares to touch the skin, too much of a gentleman to reach for anything other than his hand. It’s soft. Softer than a faerie or human hand; it has never had to hold anything, or work a day in its life. The very first thing it touches is Lucien’s hand. Oh, that makes Lucien blush even more.

“Come on, Lucien. Why are you getting all flustered over a toy,” he mumbles to himself, digging around for the instructions. In the back of his mind, a handful of terrible scenarios play out, like what if this simile-faerie were to jump out of the box and demand to be mated. He knows better to assume Thesan would program something so aggressive without his consent. 

Welcome to mate-to-order, your perfect partner in all things, whether platonic, romantic or anything else your soul desires. To awaken your mate, you must give your missing half a part of yourself. Be it a kiss or a kernel of magic, you are a part of each other now. 

A kiss is far too intimate for Lucien’s tastes. A piece of his magic is as well, but a kiss errs far too close to the fairy tales he adored growing up. He conjures a small flame atop his index finger and presses it into the doll’s chest. The magic courses through the doll, lighting it up with the glow of life. The doll opens his eyes.

They’re green, Lucien notes with silent awe.

“Hello,” the mate-to-order says to him. His voice is a low rumble, a hum that echoes in Lucien’s own chest. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Tamlin. What should I call you?”

“Tamlin? You already have a name?”

Tamlin nods, his body language perfectly open and trusting. He even smiles and laughs softly. “Yes. You can call me whatever you like, if you don’t like it. If you would like the technical explanation, you’d have to enable the setting. Would you like me to explain why I have a name?”

“Yes, please.”

“It is my creator’s belief that asking you to choose my name shatters the illusion. Your mate should be a partner, not an object.”

“But you are an object.”

“Technically, yes, but that’s not my purpose, unless you’d like me to be.”

“No, no, that’s fine.”

“May I sit up?”

It occurs to Lucien that the question is an important one. The second he realized the— Tamlin wants to move, he puts a considerable distance between them. It’s only polite. (Or is he… uncomfortable?) He makes sure to glance away as well from Tamlin’s nudity.

“Yes, please. Let me get you some clothes.” Lucien doesn’t wait to see if Tamlin will protest, disappearing into his room to try and find something that will fit him. He’s built leaner than his mate — Mother, that sounds so strange to say—but he has a few sleeping shirts that should do. He can’t decide if he should offer Tamlin the chance to shower. He’s brand new and out of the box, which should imply… Lucien shakes his head and decides on offering him a bathrobe, for now. “Here. This should be a lot more comfortable. Please, have a seat,” he motions to the leather couch in his study.

“You never told me your name,” Tamlin asks kindly, once again.

“Lucien.”

“Lucien,” he repeats, testing the sound of it. Tamlin’s face blooms at its sound when it rolls off his tongue. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.” It comes out stunted and awkward. Lucien can’t get used to the idea that there is suddenly someone else in his house, now living here with him. Deactivating him sounds like a horrible idea, so he’s stuck here with a handsome stranger catered for him, apparently. “So, how does this work?”

“However you want it to. If you’d like me to care for the house, I can do that. If you’re looking for a lover, feel free to use the different attachments. Or not. I have functioning—”

“That’s fine!” Lucien waves his hands, looking away from Tamlin’s now spread legs. He was clearly going to give him a demonstration. “I get the idea. You can just… sit.” He rubs his face in mild frustration. What has he done ?

“Lucien,” Tamlin calls to him softly. “Don’t think too much about it. I can be anything you want me to be, or need me to. No judgement. I want to make your life easier, not harder.” The doll stands, walking over to Lucien’s side.

This is the moment where Tamlin pounces on Lucien, making advances because he’s clearly desperate if he’s turning to technology and magic to place the touch of a real person. Lucien braces himself, but Tamlin only takes his hand, delicately, in both of his and starts massaging it. The effect is immediate. Lucien melts into his own seat, tension bleeding out at Tamlin’s touch.

“Oh, that feels good,” Lucien moans, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“You work hard all day, this is the least I can do.”

“And how do you know I work all day?” He cracks his eye open, amber questioning emerald.

“It’s dark outside, and we’re in your study. The papers on your desk make it seem you were in the middle of something before your curiosity got the best of you.”

“Observant,” Lucien remarks.

“A necessity, if I want to stand beside one of Prythian most wanted.”

“Most wanted!” The laughter is sudden. Tamlin has been here less than an hour, and he’s already making grandiose proclamations. “And what makes you say that, my dear flatterer?”

“Why else would you be working so late at night?”

The logic is so sound, it makes Lucien laugh. “You’re right,” he says, the laughter fading out. “I do have work left. Will you be alright?”

Tamlin nods, his expression reserved. He’s still getting used to life, so he contents himself with looking around the room while Lucien returns to his desk. He runs his fingers over the many books on the shelves, and presses his palms against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cityscape. His wonder is impossible to ignore, and Lucien finds himself glancing over more and more, curious about Tamlin’s curiosity.

What does he see? What is he thinking right now?

He quietly reprimands himself for being unable to focus on his tasks at hand. The faster he finishes, the quicker he can spend more  time with his new… guest. To think, Lucien had thought working was a good excuse to put distance between them.

Maybe—maybe, he doesn’t really want distance.

By the time Lucien finishes his work, Tamlin has wandered further out into Lucien’s penthouse apartment. He doesn’t mind Tamlin exploring; he isn’t exactly a stranger, is he? He’s a piece of technology created specifically for Lucien. Lucien isn’t wary enough to think that Thesan would have ulterior motives. If anything, Thesan is too kind.

“Heading to bed?” Tamlin asks, catching Lucien as he exits his office.

“I am,” Lucien pauses, awkward. “Do you sleep?”

“Ideally, yes. It’s the default time for me to process my day and new learnings. You can set me to do this while you’re at work, if you prefer. I can do tasks around home.”

“No, no, by all means, sleep.” Lucien shifts, unsure of how to ask. “Where… What’s the protocol for how you do this?”

“I can sleep in my box.”

“No!”

Letting Tamlin sleep in a box is unacceptable. Magical doll or not, Lucien can’t bring himself to treat Tamlin like an object. He doesn’t know the depths of the magic imbued in him, and how much he feels. He struggles with the thought of sharing a bed with someone he’s just met, the thought even more intimate because this person is meant to be his mate. Lucien has no intentions in using him, but his heart flutters anyway as the words leave his mouth: “We’ll share my bed.”

His phrasing is deliberate, trying to maintain the boundaries of respect.

Lucien finds old Prythian University clothes, ones that were large enough to drown him in—how else was he supposed to study in comfort? Triple shots, hundred-page study guides, messy buns and sweats were the only way he survived.

They change in the same room, and Lucien is all-too-aware of his mate-to-order behind him. Lucien steals a glance, noting his broad back—muscles defined in a way that would take years and years of work—and the way two dimples rest above a plump—

Tamlin begins to turn, and Lucien makes sure to face the wall. His cheeks are aflame, ashamed from the lapse in etiquette. Lucien knows better than to look, disrespectfully at that.

“I’ve changed,” Tamlin informs.

“Right.”

It is awkward to lay in bed with a man he hardly knows with no intent other than to sleep. Lucien doesn’t dare move, looking up at the ceiling. Tamlin is as still as ever and he cannot tell if the male has fallen asleep. He’s afraid to make a sound to disturb him, or take up too much space even if it is his bed. Tamlin exists for him, and is not real, but he feels real, and Lucien cannot treat him otherwise.

“Would you like me to hold you?” Tamlin asks in his perfect voice.

“No, thank you,” Lucien answers as evenly as possible, despite the heat creeping up his neck.

In the middle of the night, Lucien finds himself drawn to the warmth like the Autumn son he is, turning in his sleep to hug the bulk of a male beside him.

They don’t talk about the cuddling. Well, Lucien doesn’t, and Tamlin has yet to learn to question him. The blonde watches him as he cooks breakfast and prepares for his day. 

Tamlin watches, and he learns. The next day, he anticipates Lucien’s needs by having his meals ready and his mail placed at the centre of the desk in his study. He adapts to the necessary chores of the home, easing whatever burden he can from the shoulders of his master. (He has also noticed that Lucien does not favour that term, skirting around all talks of it, especially when he is on the phone with his family.)

“You don’t have to do all this,” Lucien suggests, standing by Tamlin at the stove as the latter works on a new meal he plucked out of Lucien’s saved recipes.

“I do not mind. You seem more at ease now that you do not have to manage the home,” Tamlin smiles at him. (Where he learned to smile remains a mystery to Lucien, but if he asked, he would discover it’s the very same way he spreads his lips when he speaks to his mother—a kind and easy gesture, shown even when she cannot see him through the receiver.) “It is my pleasure, Lucien.”

The sauce bubbles and splatters across Tamlin’s shirt. He simply pulls it off, and at the sight of his bare chest, Lucien glances away immediately. The tips of his pointed ears are bright red. Lucien reaches for the apron and hands it to Tamlin.

“Here, to help keep your clothes clean,” he manages as steadily as possible.

Without a question, Tamlin puts it on without replacing his shirt and it only embarrasses Lucien further. He’s devastatingly handsome, and Lucien struggles to temper his reactions day after day. It’s different now that their relationship has become… domestic.

“Are you alright, Lucien?”

“Of course! I’m fine! I’ll be having a late dinner, please go on without me. I have to finish work.” 

The auburn haired fae slips away, escaping his feelings. What he has with Tamlin is everything he’s ever wanted in a partnership: simple and easy.

When he returns hours later, Tamlin is sitting at the dining table waiting for him.

“I told you to eat without me.”

“I have no need to eat.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Guilt bubbles up in his chest. In all honesty, Lucien was hungry, but Tamlin in that apron making him food stirred up an ache in him. “Next time, you don’t have to wait.”

“But I want to make sure you eat.”

Lucien tips his head. Is the doll… pushing back against him? A smile slips onto his face. “Why do you want that? I did not know you could want things.”

The question makes Tamlin think, and the furrow of his brow is cute. His open emerald gaze flickers back to Lucien. “I do want things. I will want things as I learn about you,” he smiles. “You don’t eat enough.”

Lucien laughs slowly. “And how do you know that ?”

“Your mother said so the last time you spoke to her.”

“Did she, now? With that attitude, it sure sounds like you’ll be calling her yourself to conspire with her.”

Tamlin looks at Lucien, biting his lip. “I would like that.”

“You would?” Red brows raise in surprise. “Why so?”

“Because she loves you, and I would like to learn how to love you properly.”

Oh. Lucien’s cheeks, they are aflame.

Tamlin is a good friend. 

One of Lucien’s fears when Thesan sent him this gift is that the doll would simply be subservient to him without a single thought, but no. Tamlin has likes and dislikes, separate from Lucien's own preferences. His thoughts feel as real as his own, even if he struggles to articulate them. He is clever, and far more creative than Lucien will ever be. He grows into someone beautiful inside and out, and it is a wonder.

The rain is heavy. The streets are slick with it, and the marble tiles are unforgiving.

The alcohol makes it worse, but it’s the only thing that makes this bearable.

Cold seeps into his bones and Lucien shivers despite the natural propensity of his power. He cannot, no matter how hard he tries, warm himself up. His wet clothes weigh him down, and every step feels like torture. He does not want to keep moving forward. He doesn't care anymore because this kind of pain is inescapable. It lives within him—the unworthiness.

Every step is vengeance, he reminds himself. Living is defiance.

The elevator door dings, and he can see through the squint of his swollen eye the rise of Tamlin from his chair in the sitting room. The other one grasps the magic of the bulky fae—of the only other person who would be here. He’s worried; he always worries.

I don’t want to be seen like this, Lucien thinks, so he turns his head away from Tamlin. He tries to escape, hiding in his own damned apartment. He could order Tamlin away, but there is a chance that the fae will not listen. He could power him off, but that would be cruel. Tamlin has done nothing wrong.

“Lucien…”

“I’m fine. Leave it,” Lucien growls.

But Tamlin does not listen, and for the first time, it frustrates him. He feels those soft, unblemished hands reach for him. They cup his bruised cheeks and turn his head. The sight in Tamlin’s eyes has his breath catching in his throat. Pain, sorrow and rage. It swallows up the bright green and replaces it with something much darker.

“Who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucien snaps, trying to pull away, but Tamlin does not let him. “It doesn't matter!” He yells, shoving Tamlin away. He hates to admit it, but it feels good to take the anger out on someone other than himself. He shouldn’t. He can’t. And yet, he shoves Tamlin again.

“You want to know? Fine. It was my father. It is always my father and he’ll do it again. What now? Will you stand against him? He’ll have you in a trash compactor in a second,” Lucien snarls. He holds his hands out, challenging. “What now, Tamlin?”

It’s mean, and Lucien knows it.

He watches as Tamlin works through his emotions; he always takes time to feel them, all of them, before settling on the one he feels most appropriate. Lucien thinks he will fight back, or he will go after his father, but in the end, Tamlin’s expression eases. He raises a hand, and Lucien flinches. Lucien’s reaction only make Tamlin frown more.

There’s a brief pause before Tamlin continues his motion. He helps Lucien out of his wet shirt, and kneels to help him out of his shoes. It’s terrifyingly intimate, and Lucien can’t stop watching him. No one has ever been there to help him after this kind of encounter. He stares at Tamlin, as if that would tell him what is going through that techno-magical mind.

“Lean on me, and lift your foot please.”

Lucien does as he’s asked, holding onto Tamlin’s shoulder as his shoes and socks are removed. Tamlin’s touch is gentle, almost imperceptible. He takes care not to touch Lucien’s skin without his permission. His belt goes next, placed on the ground to avoid loud, sharp and sudden sounds. Tamlin unbuttons his pants, pulling them down and helping him step out of them. There’s a brief moment where his cock twitches with interest as his underwear is removed, but Tamlin does not ogle nor does he try anything aside from removing his cold, sopping wet clothes from him. It helps ease the chatter of his teeth.

“Please let me carry you,” Tamlin asks, and it sounds almost like a very, very soft pleading.

Lucien doesn’t know what else to do— it’s too intimate, it’s too intimate, it’s too intimate —but he nods his head anyway. Within the span of a breath, Tamlin scoops him into his arms and carries him to the bathroom where he runs a hot shower. Steam fills the room, and a scented tablet is placed in the corner of the stall where it evaporates under the heat. The smell is delicate and soothing, and Lucien breathes it in to try and calm the torrent in his heart. He’s angry, and he’s hurt. He’s touched, but he is so sad. The sadness runs so deep, it’s branded into his very soul.

The rustle of clothing has him lifting his head, and Tamlin stands there with his hands out, wearing nothing but willingness on his face—willingness to be here, willingness to listen and willingness to just hold him. Lucien allows himself to be led into the shower, beneath the spray of water where he lets it wash away the pain of this evening. He grieves the love that he will never have, and the parts of him he has lost while trying to prove that he deserves kindness, if only a little bit. His knees grow weak with the weight of his sorrow, but strong arms wrap around him and hold him.

“You are not alone anymore. You will never be alone again, if you will allow me to stay by your side,” Tamlin whispers softly into his ear, and that makes Lucien cry more.

Isn’t it wrong? To rely on a machine to love me?

When the sobbing subsides, and Lucien manages to hold himself up, Tamlin washes his hair and the rest of him. Lucien expects Tamlin to ask for something in return, but he doesn’t. His touches remain as platonic as they were when he was undressing him in the entrance hall of his apartment. He makes Lucien feel safe and… loved.

The ache in his chest worsens when he’s wrapped up in a fluffy towel, and Tamlin remains soaking, his blonde hair matted to his head, neck and shoulders. Lucien wants to reciprocate, it’s only right, but before he can try, he’s cradled against Tamlin’s strong chest and carried to bed.

“You’re dripping all over the floor!”

“As the one who will be cleaning it, I don’t mind.”

Tamlin sets him on the bed, and disappears. When he returns, it’s with the healing kit and ice. He hands the ice pack for Lucien to hold against his swollen eye. He mixes a few salvents together to create a healing ointment. He dabs it and around Lucien’s eye, keeping the touch light so as not to hurt him.

Lucien simply watches him, the way Tamlin’s lips part to increase his focus, as if breathing through his nose is too risky. Droplets of water roll off him from his wet hair, and Lucien follows them, down, down. He swallows hard, and tries to temper the flourish of interest blooming within him. The kindness Tamlin shows him is more attractive than any flirting he’s experienced.

He slips his fingers under Tamlin’s chin, keeping it tipped upwards as he leans in to kiss him. Tamlin stills, but he gets the message quickly, rising to press Lucien into the mattress. He asks no questions, and it’s for the better. Lucien is tired of talking, and of reasoning through everything he wants, and feels, and his own notion of worthiness. He just wants to be touched, and he cannot justify it.

The silence in the room amplifies the sound of their intimacy. The duvet rustling beneath them, and the towel slipping onto the floor in a muted thud. Lucien’s breath is heavier than Tamlin’s, and he swears his heart is unbearably loud and treacherous. A grasp escapes him when Tamlin’s fingers tweak his nipples, drawing his back into an arch. Tamlin kisses him everywhere. His cheek, his neck, his jaw, his chest, his belly, and the proud, leaking tip of his erection.

Lucien’s moan is shaky and shuddered as Tamlin grips him, stroking him. Tamlin’s length is added alongside him, and Tamlin strokes both of them together.

“Together,” he instructs, leaning over Lucien, making him feel small and protected.

The Autumn faeries shivers, wrapping his arms around Tamlin’s shoulders, moaning softly and breathing heavily. He allows Tamlin to tug him along to the crest of ecstasy, and allows himself to tumble over into his orgasm. Stars speckle behind his eyes as he orgasms, white coating their chests. He doesn’t let Tamlin leave, holding him tightly.

I don’t want to be alone.

“I’m just getting the towel, I’m not leaving,” Tamlin whispers, kissing his forehead.

They make love properly deeper into the night, when Lucien’s thoughts chase sleep away. He searches for a distraction, and Tamlin works him into exhaustion, until he is boneless and finally at peace.

“How does it work?”

Thesan’s laugh over the line only serves to irritate him. Lucien cannot feel this way about—about Tamlin. The concept of these mates-to-order are so new, and Lucien struggles to come to terms with it, so he blames the creator.

“How does what work?”

“The mate. How does it… How does it know what to do? What to say?”

“They observe and adapt.”

“But how does it feel so real ?”

“Because they are real. They’re powered by your magic, and magic always has a life of its own.”

Well, that does nothing to reassure Lucien. “Will,” he pauses, choking on his words, throat dry. “If he’s his own person, does that mean he’ll… Won’t he want freedom?”

“Do you treat him well?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you love him?”

“I…” Lucien breathes deep. “Yes.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“Yes, he’s perfect.”

“Oh, come now. I’m sure he’s made mistakes.”

“Yes, but he corrects himself quite quickly.”

“It sounds like you both have excellent conflict resolution skills, then. I’m sure you would do the same for him. Now, the question you should be asking yourself is would you walk away from this? The feeling that you’re feeling?”

Lucien doesn’t answer. It has to be more complicated than this. 

“Lucien, I do not know a single being, made or born, that does not want to be loved. Growth is natural, but if you don’t want him to leave, then don’t give him a reason to. Just like anyone else.” Someone speaks to Thesan, but Lucien can’t make out the words. “I have to go. Stop looking a gift horse in the mouth, unless that’s what you’re into, but I promise I have done nothing nefarious. Just enjoy it.”

The Dawn inventor hangs up, and Lucien is left sitting there with his thoughts. He’d snuck out first thing in the morning to speak to his dear friend, only to get answers that complicate his feelings. Lucien sighs, scrubbing his face.

“Hey,” Tamlin calls from the doorway, shirtless and hair a mess from sleeping without drying it. He looks even more real like this, smiling at him with open adoration. “Everything alright?”

Just enjoy it. Everyone wants to be loved.

Lucien smiles back at him.

“It is now.”

[walrus150915]

Since you liked my rambling abt my random Nimona headcanons, here's part 2

- Starting off with the queen (rip), I think her white hair is actually a wig and she has some gorgeous greying tight curls under it

- There was a thingy "the Boldheart project" which was created when Bal got accepted into the Institute's knight program. "The project" followed his progress in training to figure out if commoners were able to train as good as nobles. If he completed the course successfully, the reform would be set (sry I like talking abt fantasy politics- yea, putting responsibility on a literal child to become a figure of "equality" is... Sure a strategy)

Let's stop with the politics amirite

- Ambrosius sings in the shower. First it was like quiet humming n stuff but when him and Bal start living together this guy's shower was akin to opera (hah- soap opera- get it-)

- Ambrosius would be a type of a rich dude who fantasizes about living on his own and providing for himself and having this sweet humble suburban way of life with his husband until he actually starts living this way (he's a literal nepo baby- cmon the habits will be there even if he tries being independent)

Ambrosius: Bal, I don't get why I keep burning my bread! It's the second time I fail!

Ballister: Practice makes perfect, darling

Ambrosius: But these KitKoters make it look so easy😭😭

- He catches up gradually tho. Bal is very understanding, Nimona is having a lot of fun with this

- Does fun include bullying Ambrosius for not knowing how to remove plants to the bigger pots?. Yea kinda

- Nimona's hanging out with the kingdom's kids from time to time. She goes out of her way to make them laugh or make them feel happy in general. It heals her inner child, in a way

- Even though she hangs out with them from a perspective of a cool older shapeshifting punk sibling, she still feels like their peer and can't help but transform into her child form sometimes

- idk I think Nimona shapeshifts into a child pretty often if she feels overwhelmed or emotionally devastated or just wants to be taken care of

- Ballister does take care of her

Wow this got sad fast. Anyway

- Ambrosius is left-handed but was forced to relearn because the perfect descendant of Gloreth cannot be left-handed, it's abnormal🤓

- Ballister can't help but go 😬 when either Ambrosius or Nimona take food with their left hand while eating. Yeah technically eating with his flesh hand would be easier for him. No he won't do that for the life of him (saying hi to all Muslims out there)

- Ballister decides to grow out a real beard and Nimona thinks it's the coolest thing ever to play with during their family quality time. Ambrosius also likes this change in his looks but for rather uh... gay different reasons😁

If we're talking about gay stuff I might just as well talk abt some Goldenheart hcs

- When they've only started dating Ballister had a really difficult time with the eye contact bc Ambrosius's loving gaze was too much to handle for him. He'd see how gentle and soft his eyes are and how they're filled with complete adoration to the top and just look away all blushy and smitten

- I think we as a fandom agree that Ambrosius's love language is arm chopping physical touch. Have you considered how important kisses can be to him in expressing his love tho

- Ambrosius LOVES kissing Ballister. He's probably kissed him everywhere if you think about it-

- But yea. He steals kisses from Bal as often as he can. Boo goes to work? Kiss him goodbye. Boo gets back? Kiss him goodhi - doesn't matter where😉

- His favorite place to kiss is probably Bal's neck bc he just likes nuzzling into it and making him all flustered

- Ballister loves kissing Ambrosius as well. His favorite thing ever is press kisses into Ambrosius's hair while they're lying down on the couch, Ambrosius's head on Ballister's chest n his arms around Ballister's torso. It makes them both feel very soft and warm and safe❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

- (teenage years) You know this type thing when kittens playfully fight each other and jump onto each other and bite and stuff? Yea that's teenage Goldenheart

- (a little older than teenage years) current sparring trend in the writer part of the fandom. That's it. You know damn well what I'm talking about

- At some point their private training sessions became the reason they succeeded in combat and got the highest of marks

Okay gay stuff is over

- Nimona has some pretty dark humor but draws the line at the things that could really trigger her or other people. Joking about burning everything down? Of course. Joking about... Well... The act 3 of the movie? Nope, never

- Nate Knight (do ya remember him?) does drag in his off-duty time haha RuPaul hi

- Ballister snores in his sleep bc he's a dad like that

- Ballister also is a type of dad to sleep on the couch while watching TV, and when you turn it off he wakes up and tells you he's been watching it this whole time

- Both Nimona and Ambrosius encourage Ballister to speak his mother tongue more often bc he used to hide it at the Institute

- Nimona scrunches her nose when she tries to remember things

- Ballister snaps his fingers while remembering stuff, especially in "Huh... What's the word for..." situations (he just like me fr)

- Nimona loves biting pencils and pens but sometimes she bites too hard and they break in half or something

- I feel like her stomach is iron. This punk can eat an eraser or swallow a knife or drink lava-hot water and all she'll do is burp maybe

- After leaving the Institute Ambrosius would have one hell of existential crisis. All he's dedicated his life to for all these years were lies and propaganda, what's the purpose of his life now? He tries out as many new things as he can - baking, painting, singing, playing musical instruments, photography, even science (with Bal's help ofc) my dude has tried it all. He sometimes felt worthless bc his life had no greater purpose but Bal and Nimona would reassure him that living happily with people who love him is more than enough and that you don't have to be the greatest person ever to live the best life. Find joy in the smallest of things n stuff😌

- Ballister has found ways to renovate his arm and made a bunch of new prosthetics for different purposes. I feel like he'd use a hook as well sometimes (as I've heard from the disabled community, hook is a very comfortable aid). No I'm not talking about that one post about his prosthetic's... renovations (😳) from the fan acc I follow

On this quite interesting note I'll end the post😁

Gn!!

[kitkatopinions]

Rewrite Salem?

Okay, this is a good one! Keep in mind, not all of this is concrete for any firm plan, I'm kind of just spit balling here. Also, you can't really rewrite Salem without rewriting some of Oz, so I'll be putting some of his backstory here, but I got an Oz ask too, so there will be more Oz stuff coming.

So first, alterations to the backstory. I firmly believe less fantasy villains should be victims of abuse and should instead be the rich and powerful, so to start things off, instead of having Salem start out as a damsel in distress trapped in a tower, I would have her instead be the spoiled second daughter of a very wealthy king. She was raised with high manners and instructed to support her more rambunctious elder sister who was set to inherit the throne (also I'd give Salem red eyes from the start and change her look, but I'm bad at art, so I can't make an example of that.) Salem and Oz would actually be lifelong friends and I'd make him the child of the captain of the guard, and it would be Salem's sister and Oz that actually had feelings for each other. Along with Salem's sister, they would have spent their childhood together, unaware of a growing conflict between their kingdom and the adjacent one. Right before Salem's sister was set to ascend the throne (the sister eighteen, Oz seventeen, and Salem sixteen,) the other kingdom attacked, and Salem's sister and father died, leaving Salem and Oz both devastated, and Oz ran from the conflict, while Salem was left alone to ascend the throne herself, pushed into an all out war she'd known nothing about as a teenager. While Oz was off adventuring, the war grew bigger, and Salem was growing colder and more paranoid, and becoming ruthless in the actions she'd take to end the conflict. After five years of war, Salem led her kingdom to victory and full on conquered the other kingdom, and Oz came back now that things were peaceful. Salem welcomed him, taking him on as a royal advisor, and Oz saw some bad signs in her, but since he wasn't around for the war, he justified it and convinced himself he was wrong and Salem was basically his family and he loved her. But meanwhile with the war ended, Salem felt dissatisfied at just getting justice and revenge for her dead family and decided to bring them back. This is what leads her on her quest to the God of Light and then when he rejects her to the God of Darkness. Oz knows of her plan and tries to talk her out of it, but goes along with her anyway. GoD tells her that toying with life and death is dangerous, but when she flatters and lies to him that he was the only one she could come to, he does bring them back just like with Oz in the OG. GoL finds out and has his 'I said no' tantrum, and he and the GoD start fighting about it, but then the two brothers work things out and realize Salem lied to GoD and decide that the solution to their problem is rectifying the situation by removing the thing they were in conflict over. They kill Salem's sister and father again, and warn Salem that if she steps out of line again, the consequences will be bad. Just like in Canon, Salem starts rallying people against the gods, though since she's not immortal yet, she's doing it purely through her intelligence, her will, and her charisma Edelgard style. Ozpin thinks it's a bad idea and once again advises Salem to stop (not because he likes the gods or anything but because he knows how dangerous it is to go against them,) and once again Salem doesn't listen, so Oz decides that in order to stop the war the gods would be sure to punish everyone for, he should tell GoL what Salem is doing so he can put a stop to it before it goes bad. He begs for mercy for Salem and explains how her losses have affected her, and GoL thanks him and sends him away, and proceeds to tell GoD about it and GoD does what he does in canon and wipes out humanity and destroy part of the moon, and the brothers then curse Salem with immortality as a punishment for turning against them. But GoL spares Oz since he told him about Salem's plans, and gives him the "gift" of "life" (meaning his reincarnating into hosts) and the quest to purge the world of evil so that when the Relics are united, they'll come back and judge the world and all that.

With the world as Salem knew it gone and her oldest friend supposedly dead along with it, Salem throws herself into the Grimm pits like in canon in an attempt to die, turns all grimmified just like in canon. But she can't, so she kind of just gives up.

But when Oz is brought back to the new world unaware of his own new immortality, he's like "fuck the gods" and goes back to Salem because he obviously doesn't trust the gods after what they just did (btw, my version of things would be very anti-the-gods.) And in my version of things, he straight up tells Salem about the quest the gods gave him and how reuniting the relics would bring them back. The only thing he keeps from her is that he's the one who told the gods about it in the first place. Salem is reinvigorated by the news and suggests that they try to "remove all evil in the world" like the gods want by faking at being gods themselves, and Oz is reluctant but agrees. However, he quickly starts seeing all the red flags he had ignored like five times worse. At first, he tried to talk to Salem and work things out, and starts seeing that 'being a god' isn't helping anything and is just helping Salem sink more into her bad tendencies. Then one day Salem starts expressing how unhappy she is with all the "evil" humans who make their quest impossible, and she starts talking about how if only she could bring back the magical people of their time and rebuild her father's kingdom instead of "keeping these mortals," they could fix everything. And Oz is like "whoa, pump the breaks" and starts really fighting with her about it. During their fight, he accidentally lets slip that he's the one who told the gods about her plan to bring them down in the first place, and Salem gets all furious and betrayed and decides that he's the reason for all the bad things she's suffered, and they start actually physically fighting and she kills him like in canon. Oz realizes his curse when he resurrects into an unwilling mind and body, but meanwhile Salem starts up a new cult where she starts rallying people again, and does start trying to like, wage war and rebuild the world in the image of her father's kingdom. Oz starts trying to fight her and stop her, and at first tries to reason with her and redeem her but she isn't having it.

They go back and forth like this for a few hundred years before finally Salem decides to throw in the towel and decide if she can't have the perfect world she wants, then she'd rather destroy the world she sees as evil and hopeless, and she starts trying to actively make the world worse while she tries to find the Relics to bring the gods back in the hopes they'll destroy everything and either start all over so she can cultivate the new world in her image, or just kill her along with everyone and be done with it. Oz starts fighting her in the shadows too, and this continues for like three thousand years. Salem's cult stays alive, though it's very small and also works in the shadows, and Salem also starts attempting to bring back magic through procreation, having kids every now and again with people that have very powerful semblances. And every time she can, she tries to find Oz and imprison until he dies because she doesn't want him in her way. But, Oz has had the upper hand after creating the Guardians (Maidens in my AU, because unnecessarily genderlocking powers is weird,) and especially for the past like five hundred years or so after establishing the Kingdoms and the councils and the Hunter schools, where he was able to hide the Relics. And that's forced Salem and her cult to be extra careful and reevaluate.

So now that backstory is out of the way, fast forward to Ruby's time. Salem and her faction (which is currently like twenty five to thirty odd cult members) basically do a lot of the things they do in canon only it will be more planned. Salem sets her sights on taking down the four kingdoms and specifically the four hunter schools one at a time while sewing as much discourse as possible. She seeks out the powers of the four maidens to get her the Relics so she can unite them and destroy the world. The specifics would be a little different especially when we got to Atlas Era, but by and large, her goal would be the same.

As for personality, I would go a bit more Edelgard from FE meets Rhea also from FE than the slow talking attempt at a sexy Voldemort they have. Salem would be harsh, cold, and ruthless, but all with a charisma and an ability to talk people around and present what she wants as good and just, because she herself would truly believe it's good and just. I would make her pretty calm as a rule, with the ability to get angry, but not really have any fits of temper, and she would be above all bored. Oz explores real connection, creativity, and progress through his long life, whereas Salem only wallows, destroys, and uses people, so unlike him, she has nothing fulfilling to pass the time. So she winds up just like, bored all the time, and that leads her to doing things just to see what would happen, and honestly just not feel very deeply in general. Salem as a villain would represent the opposite of Ruby. Ruby (if I was rewriting things) would see the good in people, would believe in hope for the future, and that people could always get better, and she would find meaning in life and be determined to keep moving forward. Salem instead would believe people are nothing but beasts, defined by their evil, believes no good will ever come of anything, that people can't get better, and as I said before, believes the only 'meaning' in life is uselessly prolonging the inevitable destruction, and only ever looks back.

So, yeah. Not a lot of intense rewriting from the original, but I like the different backstory. Hope this was an interesting read!

[mustela28nivalis]

Amerus prompt

Medieval omegaverse au. Allen(alpha) wants his omega son Alfred to marry, but Alfred only agrees to marry the one who beats him in many competitions, but because of Alfred's superpower, no one can beat him and never will. Alfred doesn't need any alphas, he fucks his omega friend Ivan. Maybe they'll have a secret wedding.

Alfred and Ivan are representatives of the furry community. Fursona Alfred is a grizzly, and Fursona Ivan is a polar bear. They met at a gay furry party and had sex in fursuits.

Omegaverse au. Alfred and Ivan are students at a school that is only for alphas. They have secrets, Ivan is actually an omega, Alfred is not a simple alpha but an enigma.

Omegaverse au. Alfred(alpha), Matthew(alpha) and his boyfriend Arthur(omega) go on vacation to the jungle, another group of alphas went there with one prostitute for all - Ivan(omega) . They all get into an adventure, something like Indiana Jones on the minimum wage, what exactly happened to them you can think of yourself. In general, Ivan gets into trouble, everyone refused to save the prostitute, except for Alfred, Ivan falls in love with him and offers to sleep, he won’t take money from him, Alfred refuses and advises him to stop doing this. A year or two passes (I can’t decide) and by chance Alfred meets Ivan on the street, who was never able to leave prostitution. Alfred decides to take Ivan for himself, help him find a normal job and of course they will have a love relationship.

Office au. Ivan and Alfred are friends, and now Alfred told his secret, his dick has not risen for a long time. Ivan offered to give a blowjob (of course, in a friendly way) suddenly the member will rise and the member really got up. Ivan even allowed himself to be fucked as a reward for the fact that Alfred burst into tears of happiness.

Ice dragoness Natalya kidnaps Prince Ivan, knight Alfred saves him.

The beast and beast au. The witch Natalya fell in love with Prince Ivan, but he is not interested in women because he is gay, for this she turns him into a beast, the spell will be lifted if he has mutual love with a girl and not with a guy. Then Natalya sticks to Prince Alfred, he also turns out to be gay and she turns him into a beast, the method of removing the curse is the same. Beasts intersect, love happens, the spell is of course not removed, but they don’t care anymore, because you can love each other in the form of furry cats.

Omegaverse au. Ivan is an underage omega prostitute who has a child from a client. Alfred is an underage alpha from a prosperous family who pulls Ivan out of prostitution.

Ivan is a sinner who has sunk to the very bottom. Alcohol, smoking, sells his ass for drugs, and before all this, he stalkered for his ex-boyfriend - Tolys, even a badge was allocated so that he would not approach him even 50 meters away, but this did not stop Ivan. But now he has lagged behind Tolys and regrets the past. Alfred is an angel who wants to do something heroic, for example, to put some kind of sinner on a bright path, and Ivan is the first to come across.

Fantasy omegaverse au. Ivan the omega in heat, who was presented as a gift to the magical alpha eagle Alfred. Now Ivan is his wife.

Omegaverse au. Alfred is the top!omega who is unlucky in love. Omega guys left him because Alfred is not alpha, you can’t give birth to a child from him. Alphas also abandoned him because they were tired of constantly being the bottom. Somehow he met with beta!Ivan and now they became a couple.

Alfred gets himself a huskyboy Ivan, a troublesome dog that everyone refuses, but Alfred manages to tame him.There is no logic in this universe, just a stupid wanker. You can buy a animalboy(girl) and sleep with him and this will not be considered bestiality.

Omegavers au. Ivan is a modern (well, that is, as modern, the setting is similar to our fifties and sixties) omega through a portal that got back in time to the local dark ages. Meets Alfred(alpha), they marry. After some time, they find a portal and travel to the present.

[cmishwrites]

FO4 Fanfic thing pt 1

This is just the intro, setting up the background for the mc (who is NOT the ss, and in this bit not the pov character.). And it's sorta really long.

some things;

~ I wrote this originally back in 2019, it's a touch rough, I apologize. brain bleach is available on request if you feel you need to scrub after reading it XD ~ It's going to be multiple parts, the intro is a big chunk. ~On the whole I write novels (fantasy/sci-fi etc), so when I dabble with fan fic, I write it as a novel too. Long and wordy in spots. ~ The main character is not the SS. And her history is a touch complicated. ~ On the whole the thing is unfinished. I do have my notes, but with some of it, I'm not sure exactly where I was going with it. ~ It has no title and I am still a touch clueless on what the title would be. ~ Because of it's length I might have to move it to wattpad, or another platform and link to it here. I... apologize? ~ I am procrastinating.

WARNINGS: not in this section.

Intro: Year 2274 north of the commonwealth.

"I cannot condone this action." Rugur snarled. His voice silenced the gathered crowd, all eyes went from the woman silently weeping to the old man who leaned heavily on his walking stick. In the woman's arms was a girl, small for her age, her large blue eyes dull, her dirty face tear-streaked. "We've made changes." The grim-faced man beside the woman said. His face pockmarked and scarred from years of heavy chem use. Rugur shook his head. "That's what we see, that's what you say, but what happens behind closed doors? The other children don't see fit to visit you. Putting Calisto in your home will not end well." Rugur glared around at the crowd. "Don't forget the state the child was in when she and her siblings were removed from their home." "With all due respect," The Mayor, a slim man with a high pitched voice stepped over. "They have made great efforts to improve their living conditions. I see no reason why the child can't return to her mother and father." Rugur looked around, his shoulders shaking in contained fury. "HE would be disgusted." "He is dead." The weeping woman said, her high pitched voice on the verge of hysteria. The child in her arms made no move, no sound. Poor thing is in shock. Rugur shook his head slowly and stepped over to the woman "If I find you mistreat her," "Rugur! It's decided." The Mayor snapped. The woman shot him a smug look and she, followed by her husband, left the circle of murmuring villagers, heading up the pathway to their small little shack in the woods. Rugur shook his head and glanced at the Mayor. "This won't end well, you know." "They've made the changes we demanded." "Did you see Calisto's face? Her eyes?" Rugur leaned against his walking stick. "That child needs a gentler hand than what those two will provide." "Rugur, stop. It's decided. Go home." The Mayor scowled at him, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "You'll see, it'll work out fine." Rugur snorted and turned, making his way not back to his home, but to the small house where his best friend had lived. He stopped at the doorway, the lingering smell of the cigars giving the illusion that the old man was still there, pouring over his maps, trying to devise a way to return home. "Rugur?" The soft spoken Chani was behind him. He sighed. "Before anything happens to this stuff, stash it away." He motioned the jumbled set of power armor, the box of mementos from a squad lost in ambush decades past. There were several boxes of papers and a few black journals, carefully crafted for the old man. "Give it to her when she gets old enough to appreciate it." "Are you going to be all right?" Chani asked. Rugur snorted. "No. Not while that child is in the hands of those chem heads." He whirled on her, almost tipping over to one side. "What the hell is everyone thinking?" He raged as she helped him steady himself. "I don't know." Chani leaned against his shoulder, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's like he's still here." She swollowed and patted his arm. "I'll make sure nothing happens to these things. I'll have Murlo give me a hand." "You trust that synth?" Rugar scowled. Chani nodded. "I find many synths to be more human than actual humans." Rugur snorted. "Just get it done today, please." His gut twisted. He was afraid something would happen to these things. Chani patted his arm. "Of course."

~*~

He was woken in the middle of the night by the smell of smoke and yelling. It was a struggle to get old bones working, and by the time he made his way to the porch of his small shack, he could see a glow of flames in the distance and villagers rushing in that direction with buckets of sloshing water. He followed, forgetting his walking stick and swearing at himself for his stupidity. It was the old mans house, and it was completely engulfed in flames. He slowly leaned against a tree staring in disbelief as years of memories went up in black oily smoke. A hand touched his shoulder and he found himself looking into the stricken eyes of one of the old man's grand-daughters. Jenna, like her mother, Chani, was soft-spoken. "Are you all right, Rugur?" She peered at him. At her side was her tall, lanky son, almost as tall as she was, even though he was barely ten years old. "Everything… gone." He whispered, guesturing the house "Did your mother..." "She got the power armor and boxes out." The boy said in a low voice. "I helped." Jenna nodded. "There were other things, I think those are gone, but the things from his squad are tucked away and safe." "Good." Rugur sighed. He glanced around, seeking and failing to find, "They're not here." Jenna said flatly. Rugur looked at her sharply. "I think if I saw them I may resort to violence." "The rest of the family?" He looked back at the flame engulfed house. "Did they hear about Calisto?" "Most of us heard yesterday afternoon, after it was all decided. She should have come to me. She and Leo are very close." Rugur nodded and jabbed a finger at the boy. "You keep a close eye on her, you hear?" "I will, I promise." Leo peered at him. "Do you want me to get your walking stick, sir?" Rugur nodded. "Aye, it's next to my door." The boy darted off and Rugur looked at Jenna who was watching the efforts of the villagers. "You have a good one, there." She looked at him, surprise melting into a proud smile. "He's a wonderful boy." She linked her arm with his. "Come on, there's nothing for us to do here." He cast one last look at the house, the villagers started to edge back from it as the roof caved in sending sparks towards the uncaring stars above. It was a loss. He sighed. The end of an era. He took his walking stick from Leo and allowed Jenna to 'help' him back to his shack. ~*~ He slept fitfully, his dreams sliding from one confusing scene to another. He found himself standing in front of a familiar door. He hesitated before opening it and stepping into the small, neat space beyond. Familiar, though strange. This space had burned just hours ago, yet his dear friend was sitting at a small narrow table, a cigar in his lips, papers spread out in front of him. He looked up, smiling around his cigar, eyes bright as they'd been fifty years before. "It's time, you know." He said around his cigar. Rugur frowned and started to protest when he noticed his hands. No longer wrinkled and gnarled, his skin was tight as it had been in his youth, hands steady. He looked at his friend confused. "Time for what?" He realized it was no longer the old man sitting there, but a younger man who stood on two good legs. "It's time to go home. Time to see the Lost Hills again." He smirked and motioned at Rugur with his cigar. "Wanna come with me?" "You really have to ask?" Rugur grinned, feeling better than he had in years. His smile faded a bit. "What about Cal?" "She's tough. She's steel." The former Paladin grinned. "She's going to be just fine." Rugur nodded and took the rifle leaning against the wall. "Lets go then."

~*~

Jenna and Leo stopped by Rugur's shack in the afternoon, Jenna wanted to let him know that all of the old man's things had been moved before the fire, Chani and Murlo and managed to clear everything important to the old man out before nightfall. She hoped it would soothe his nerves. It was hard enough for Rugar, losing his best friend, knowing his special things hadn't burned with the house would give him some semblance of comfort. But it was silent, eerily so, and old Rugur wasn't sitting on the porch like he usually did in the afternoons. She frowned and glanced at Leo. He was poking around the shed, looking through some of the boxes of junk Rugur had collected for his 'inventions'. "Leo stay out here, will you?" She called, rubbing a hand over her stomach. Her unborn child kicked at her hand. He looked up sharply, blue-green eyes narrowed. "Something wrong?" "I don't know." Jenna forced a smile, though her gut was twisting and it had nothing to do with the baby. "I think Rugur may have gone somewhere, I just want to make sure." Leo nodded, but didn't look away from her, didn't move from his spot. His expression serious. Jenna turned, pushing the door open and hesitantly stepped into the tidy, clean shack. The stove was on one side, tucked against the other was the bed, with a table and rickety chair in between. The window shutters were still closed, casting the one room in dim light. Laying on the bed, prone, was Rugur. Jenna swallowed, tears filling her eyes, making it hard to see as she went over to the bed, kneeling beside the man who was like a second grandfather to her and her siblings. She took a shaky breath and straightened, looking down at the face, often angry in life, yet peaceful now. She reached over, closed half open eyes and patted his hand which lay on his chest. "Couldn't go far without him, could you?" She whispered. From the day Rugar had pulled the injured paladin from a slaver camp, the old man's death, they'd been near inseparable. She wiped her eyes quickly and made her way out. It was time to get the doctor, to prepare the tell the rest of the family. ~*~ Thanks for reading so far. It went long, longer than I realized it was. Hope you enjoyed it. I need to tidy up pt2 before posting it. With christmas around the corner, it might be a few days before I get that up. Feel free to let me know what you think. (needy author is needy)

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four Chapter 28

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 118k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: In order to save the world from the continuous subjugation and potential annihilation at the hands of Tiandi, hard lines must be drawn. The Great Spirits that were imprisoned ages ago must be unsealed and awakened, no matter the consequences.

The players are divided—those who stand blindly with Tiandi, such as Xiang Merra and her disciples versus those who want to tear the system down and give the power back to the people. Even a few of the most religious Lords change their minds when they learn the truth of the world—that Tiandi is no more than a dictator with no love in his heart.

It is up to the last, real Xiang and the ill-fated Chaaya to put everything they have into tearing God from his throne and creating new possibilities for the future.

Full chapter 28 under the cut

Chapter XXVIII:

They settled in Alf’s hut and Pangu looked between everyone, trying to gauge their current state. Dio and Evie were not especially upset that Gnome had not chosen them but, then again, Viren was reacting quite badly to the Great Spirit so any envy they could have had was immediately lessened.

“Just as long as Viren does not seek to unify Terra under his rule and become a tyrant,” Evie mentioned when the topic was approached, carefully, by Oli.

“He would not,” Pangu assured her. “I know him and I know he might have considered the way he ruled Ultimos to be the best a while ago, however, he has seen more of the world since then. He now understands that the same system cannot work for everyone though I am sure he will be eager to assist others if he can.”

“That was one of his points of negotiation, actually,” Oli picked up, “No matter who Gnome chose, he intended to approach you both with a proposal.”

Pangu already knew of it already since Viren had spoken to him, Baiya, and Kaz about it as he was working out the kinks.

“What sort of proposal?” Dio asked, cautious.

Alf set down cups of tea for everyone, glancing between them with a degree of anxiety. He was clearly expecting the worst. All of them were.

Oli grabbed his cup and held it close, not taking a drink just yet. Instead, he sighed, “Viren wanted to give you complete control of Meala. Even remove the title of Terra from you if that was what you wanted. You could be your own country, rule yourselves, and be left alone.”

Both Dio and Evie leaned forward, no doubt expecting a “but” at any moment.

Then Alf asked, “He would just…let us go? Not try to also be our lord?”

Oli nodded. “He does not wish to enforce his will on anyone and he believes your leadership is strong as it is. He is prepared to write up a declaration of your independence and further treaties to ensure that the sovereignty of your country lasts.”

Evie shook her head. “That is all well for now but what about in the future? He does not intend to have an heir and, Oli, you appear to be headed down the same path. Will you two pick a successor? If so, how can you be sure they will not tear up this documents and attempt subjugation in the future?”

“Dear, the same could be said of us,” Dio replied with a chuckle. “We cannot have children either so our successor will most likely be an adopted child or a hand-picked replacement.”

“Even if heirs were in the picture,” Pangu interjected, “There is no guarantee they would hold the same beliefs as their parents. Honestly, picking a successor who already has similar values is a more logical decision.”

“Beyond that, none of us can say what people will do in the future, when we are gone,” Alf added. He smiled at Oli, “I think the best thing would be for us to be allies for the time being and make our future intentions both clear and appealing for the next generations.”

“That is the sort of optimism I like.” Dio pointed. “I am in! Once we beat back this horrid Xiang, we can fly our own banner.”

The outcome was about as good as it could be so Pangu relaxed. He knew Viren would be thrilled to hear the news and it would take some convincing to get him back to the caves without drafting and filling out the paper work then and there.

***

A distant frog croaking was what woke Viren up and, though it felt as if he had just settled down, he could tell some time had passed based on the amount of light shining in through the flap of the tent. His body weighed more than he was used to and it was a struggle just to turn onto his side.

“Do you feel any better?” Kira’s voice came before Viren spotted him.

He was nearby, within arm’s reach, but he was sitting up straight and clearly had not slept any himself. Not that Viren had expected him to.

“Still tired,” he confessed with a sigh. “It feels as if a boulder is settled in my chest although, all things considered, that makes sense.”

Kira chuckled under his breath. “Gnome did look heavy.”

A moment of silence passed and Viren struggled to move any further. He kept imagining himself sitting up, joining the Terran disciple, and even leaving the tent but, when he attempted to enact any of that, he just continued to lie there. Concerned, he checked that he could still wiggle his fingers and toes. He could but that was about the extent of his abilities.

He sighed again, louder this time, and laced with more frustration. “Can you help me sit up, Kira?”

Without a second of hesitation, there were hands on him and, when enough space came between his body and the ground, Kira slipped his arm around him and hoisted. It was disorienting but Viren was glad when he was upright.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Kira scooted to sit in front of him. “Do you need more time to rest? I can tell Pangu.”

Viren slowly shook his head. “I can rest more in the caves. There is no reason to delay the rest of you.”

But Kira regarded him as if he was looking at a sick animal whose prognosis was grim. His expression only made Gnome feel heavier.

“I am fine,” Viren said, for both of their sakes.

“Of course,” Kira responded, not at all sounding convinced, “Once Gnome is feeling better, you’ll have your energy back too.”

He nodded but then made himself dizzy, having to reach out and grab hold of Kira’s arm to steady himself. Kira, in turn, held him more securely and, before Viren knew it, he was laughing under his breath.

“What?” Kira asked.

“Nothing,” the lord muttered before actually answering, “I had just…I always knew you were kind. It is difficult for me to see you as the horrid menace that Tiandi’s cohorts paint you as when you are so sweet.”

“Not to say they are right about anything, Viren, but I did kill a lot of people.” Kira loosened his grip on him, when he was sure he would not collapse. “Like…probably a hundred or so. Innocent people—just to try to coerce the Princes to come after me. Much of what has been spreading as rumor is, actually, true.”

Viren stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Still, I cannot fault you for any of it. I, myself, had thoughts of revenge that would put my ancestors to shame. While I, obviously, did not act on it, I cannot help but feel that, if I had the power and opportunity that you did, I might have very well tried.” With a sigh, he finished, “But theorizing such things does not change what happened or how. Even if I did find your actions reprehensible, there would be no fixing them. You would be accountable for only what you did from here on out and, so far, you have been a force of great good. For Shakti, for the world, and, personally, for me.”

“You and Pangu should start a club in defense of me,” Kira joked and proceeded to help Viren to his feet. His discomfort with being spoken about, in such a way, was clear so the lord let it go.

They walked, wordlessly, to join the others outside. At the sight of them, Alf made two extra cups of tea. Viren mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” before taking a drink.

“How are you feeling?” Evie asked as she pushed a few stray locks of her pale hair behind her shoulder.

“Better, I think.” Viren smiled. “Still tired but I believe Gnome is also recovering their strength while I sleep.”

Pangu wondered if he could feel the thoughts of Gnome or if he could communicate with them directly. That was a question for later, however.

“Good,” Dio remarked with a wide smile. “I am sure it will remove some stress off of your shoulders to hear that we, the people of Meala, will be assisting you in your upcoming fight.”

Viren’s brow raised and Kira smirked. “Yeah?” the Terran disciple asked.

“The details of our arrangements can be decided after the fact,” the large lord said and nodded. “Let us know when you need us and we will be there.”

“I am very grateful,” Pangu said and tapped along the side of his tea cup. “But, before we go, I do have another issue I need to take care of.”

Everyone glanced to him, either confused or worried.

He stood up and walked to Lord Dio’s side. With his hands outstretched, he asked, “Set your hands on top of mine.”

It then became clear what he was up to—at least for Kira, Viren, and Oli.

Dio followed his instructions and Pangu easily pushed his block open while talking him through the process. Then, he did the same for Evie who was a little more hesitant.

“Now, I cannot stay to train you thoroughly but I can give you a crash course,” he started.

“Actually, Pangu,” Oli interrupted him and raised a finger. “I can stay and teach them.”

“Oli—” Viren was only able to get his name out before his cousin shook his head with a smile.

“Viren, I was planning on staying in Gnoma anyway. I…there is not much for me to do in the caves anymore and, well, I like it here.” His smile started to fall but, when he glanced back to Alf, it came back with a force. “Is that alright…?”

For a second, Viren did not answer. Then he nodded and said, “You do what you want, Oli.”

It felt strange to leave him behind but there were definitely a lot of worries removed from Pangu’s mind by doing so. Dio and Evie’s training, for one, was no longer a concern. Even if Oli had not been the strongest with his resonance, he had paid attention to all of his lessons and he understood the function and behavior of energy well enough.

On the more political side, having Oli stay in Gnoma meant he could continue working out the finer details with the people of Meala personally. He would probably have the first drafts of their paperwork done before the battle.

The only downside was Viren’s worry for his safety. Pangu, personally, was not too concerned. Oli could defend himself if it came down to it and he was surrounded by people they trusted. Those facts would not stop Viren from worrying, however. Pangu knew all too well—Heidi was in a similar situation and it did not stop him from often thinking about her and wondering how she was fairing.

Oli wrapped his arms around Viren’s neck as they said their final farewells. “I am going to miss you.”

“We have spent every day together for…how many years now?” Viren chuckled and patted him on the back.

“At least three years.” Oli sighed.

When they parted, Pangu set his hand on Viren’s back, offering silent comfort. Kira, in the meantime, summoned a portal so that they could hurry back to the others. Already, they had stayed gone for longer than intended so he was sure everyone was curious about the hold ups.

“Goodbye,” Alf said and waved, spurring the others to chime in. Dio’s voice was, by far, the loudest, and Evie stuck to just politely waving.

“See you soon,” Viren all but whispered before he walked through the portal.

It was dark, as usual, but there was no welcoming party like Pangu expected. After last time, he figured the entire populace of the cave system would be standing around, awaiting their arrival with questions. But, perhaps, they had been gone so long that everyone gave up?

As his eyes adjusted, he heard casual chatter. It sounded nearby.

“Those are two eights though,” Ziyi complained.

“Yes and you have zeros.” Raine.

“Zeros are high.”

“In AGNI,” Chandes balked, “Which you aren’t even from.”

“I thought we were playing Agni rules.”

“Do you see anyone from Agni at the table?” Strangely, Gong was the one who responded.

“Oh hey! The guys are back,” May shouted and the sound of chairs scratching against rock and shuffling fabric echoed through the cave just about the time Pangu’s eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Everyone except for Baiya, Phay, and Loa were in the room—even Kali sat at the table with a handful of cards. Most everyone stayed sitting but Raine, Kaz, and May ran over.

“Where is Oli?” Ziyi asked before anything else could be said.

“He is staying in Gnoma,” Viren answered and then leaned against Pangu, suddenly and with a bit of force.

Thankfully, Pangu had been ready for him and held him up with an arm. “We should sit.” He did not wait for an answer before helping Viren into one of the chairs.

“What happened?” Kaz asked with a frown.

“Gnome picked him,” Kira explained as he rested a hand on the man’s shoulder, “They were pretty tired so they are resting with him. It’s taking a bit of a physical toll.”

Quite like Kira had, Raine pulled a canteen of water from seemingly nowhere and passed it over. “Here, take this.”

“I am not ill,” Viren responded but took the drink anyway. “Where is Baiya?”

“Right here.” Baiya came from the tunnels and briskly walked closer. “I heard some commotion so I came running. Are you hurt?”

“No.” With a smile, Viren said, “I am fine. Really. What is most important is that we were successful and we only have one Great Spirit to go.”

“That is good news,” Parvati commented, “You all are doing a phenomenal job.”

“Truly,” Devi agreed.

“Mother is sooooo happy,” Chandes announced and threw her fists into the air.

“At this rate, you will be facing your final battle in just a few weeks,” Gong said with a sideways smile as if his words held no gravity. Pangu gulped.

Then his attention was stolen by Kaz asking Baiya, “How is Phay?”

“Still frustrated, mostly.”

“What happened?” Pangu cocked his head to the side.

“When you three,” Baiya said and pointed at him, Kira, and Raine, “Were in Kyrie, Phay tried to work out her arm. Made it worse. She’s been on stricter rest since but, as you can imagine, she is not taking it well.”

“If she would just wait, she would heal,” Fujin mumbled, clearly frustrated at the topic.

“Like you would?” May regarded her skeptically.

Everyone turned their attention away from them, partly because they knew exactly how the fight would play out but also because Shakti entered the room.

“Hello, mother,” Devi greeted.

Shakti gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement but made a straight line for Viren. “Gnome…I sense them. Are they hurt?”

“More like tired,” Kira answered for him.

She lowered herself to look Viren in his eyes. Her hand reached out to him and she touched the center of his chest with a tentative finger. When Viren sucked air through his teeth and recoiled, so did she.

“What happened?” Pangu asked while Baiya and Kaz each took a defensive pose on either side of Viren.

“I am sorry,” Shakti cried out and sunk away, “I did not mean…I am sorry…”

“It is alright,” Viren assured her as well as everyone else, “It was just…I think Gnome was startled. Too excited, even…it is going to take getting used to.”

Kira watched the two with a keener eye. Shakti had not done anything on purpose but he did spot a line of black flow under Viren’s skin, along a vein. Some of her miasma had gotten into him. He rolled his wrist and attempted to draw it out but, either due to it being her miasma or some interference with Gnome, he could not remove it from him.

His heart grew heavy and he looked from the group to Raine. As Shakti left, still apologizing, and Pangu checked on Viren, whispering about having another nap, Kira could only stare at the Kyrie disciple.

After a moment, he noticed. “What?” Raine asked with a hint of a smile.

Kira returned the expression and added a short laugh. “Nothing…want to talk about what all happened?”

“Of course.”

With a hand offered, Raine took it and they excused themselves to their room.

[vesemirsexual]

I have such complicated feelings about him, because I feel like Witcher 3 really had to retcon a lot of the bad stuff, because otherwise there was no way that the empress ending wasn’t an actual horror story that would’ve had people questioning what the hell was going on. As such, more people tend to know Emhyr The Shit Father as opposed to Emhyr The Predator, which is a whole other can of worms.

I think my main gripe is that a lot of people miss from book canon:

• Pavetta is 15 when they’re married, and he’s been sleeping with her for a year, which is incredibly creepy to say the least. A lot of people argue that “oh but they’re in a fantasy/olden time setting” still weird, not necessarily factually correct but regardless, still in the realm of “should make you as a reader go woah this guy will happily go low”

• Obviously the wanting to impregnate Ciri plotline, who is 13-17 the entire series, and also his daughter who’s on the run due to the destruction of everything she’s ever known (fucked that one up bad buddy). Like even with framing as a “for the greater good/better of many/fulfilling a prophecy” angle, I still feel like it should make readers pause and wonder about who Emhyr is as a person as well as a ruler.

• I can’t remember the details properly so I would have to check, but the date seen with False Ciri was incredibly uncomfortable. Again I’d need to pull details, but the vibes were terrible.

So I can see why CDPR pulled all that, because there was no way they could pull that off with any endings where Ciri reconciled, and have the majority of people feel good about it.

TWN…I’m uncertain how they’re going to handle it. Unfortunately, the reality is: they’ve cast an attractive older guy, so plenty of fans are going to jump on the shipping, the Ciri reconciliation, the justification because we see in fandom that people really like that Character Type.

This infamous tweet makes me incredibly cautious. To be fair, Hissrich has absolutely stuck her foot in her mouth before and had to walk it back, but “he just wants his family back” is an interesting choice. If it goes that route I think it’ll unfortunately put more of a wedge between canons and fandoms of each canon, because I don’t think you can really reconcile “weird pedo emhyr” and “did a few war crime fuck ups family man emhyr” which is so unfortunate because there’s already quite a gap between them.

Pavetta aged up in TWN obviously removes some of the absolute creepiness of that relationship, although I do think that she’s been sneaking out to see him and have a relationship with him is a little eyebrow raising when you consider the entire situation, let alone the fact he’s not honest about who he is. I think that it’s not as clear immediately to fans though that there’s already alarm bells there, because so much else is also going on with Calanthe, Geralt, and the Ciri child surprise.

I don’t think they’ll broach to far into creepy Emhyr territory realistically. I think it’s probably a little too far from the safe line for the production, and that’s possibly a good thing because Netflix has a very broad reach and it really is the kind of topic you’d want to be handled well. It’ll be interesting to see though whether they keep the creepy implications and to what level - I personally think referring to Ciri as “my queen” alone is creepy as fuck, especially when you already know she’s his daughter.

will never forgive cdpr and netflix for trying to make emhyr more likeable and a sexy dilf, because how you could erase most of his most important traits (the dude is a repeat offender pedo)

[bluetomorrows]

Ultra Q is magical

Ultra Q is a weird show. And I don't mean that in the way some westerners do when they see something slightly Japanese and say "What drugs were they on???". No. Ultra Q was weird even by (maybe more so by) the standards of tokusatsu media in 1966. 

How do you even explain the premise of Ultra Q? A reporter and her two pilot friends repeatedly experience strange phenomena, sometimes manmade, sometimes alien, and sometimes just nature in unbalance, all illustrated through Eiji Tsubaraya's special effects, often reused and modified from past productions. 

It feels bizarre to watch Ultra Q removed from its original context. I am not a Japanese child who rushes through their dinner so they can make time to watch this show they've waited all week to see. To watch a show that despite being on a tiny tube TV, had effects that could rival the big-budget theatrical kaiju films of the era. I am instead a 19-year-old Canadian who bought the Blu-ray set, and can watch any episode at any time, all gorgeously and meticulously restored in high definition. Seeing it like this, I am often impressed with the amount of detail and care put into props that would have never shown in its original broadcast, and just as often I laugh at the obvious faults in the special effects that also would not have been noticeable in said original broadcast.

But the thing is, when I step back and look at this through the eyes of its original presentation, I am wowed. I think if I was a child watching this, I would just think that it's real. Seriously. So much effort has clearly been put in to sell this. More so than so many kaiju stories at the time, there's almost always a personal connection in the sci-fi/fantasy elements. Always a person who this story affects personally that we get to see in-depth. It goes a long way to make the unreal feel real. Almost every episode ends with a stinger about how "this could happen to you!". When a mysterious phantom train is taking people to another world in an episode, the narrator tells you to be careful boarding the train at night. There's an episode where Earth gets a warning from an alien guardian. Her people have designated her as Earth's protector and she warns us of a different alien threat. At the end of the story, she decides that she's fallen in love with our planet and our people, and wants to live here permanently. The narrator tells us that many of her people have made the same decision as Earth is a beautiful and peaceful planet. We then cut to a series of shots of people nearby, all wearing the same distinctive shoes as the woman in the episode. I can guarantee you that if I watched that as a kid, not only would I become convinced that aliens live among us, but I would start looking for them the next day. Ultra Q wants you to believe that you live in a beautiful and strange world and that might be my favourite aspect of it. 

The amount of creativity on display here is insane. It's always pushing itself to come up with new and creative stories. Some of my favourite episodes here are Mammoth Flower, a story where a strange plant monster takes root beneath Tokyo and sprouts out to destroy buildings (the main inspiration for the villain in one of my favourite kaiju films Gamera 2: Attack of Legion). Peguila is Here!, the only episode that doesn't take place in Japan as it sees our protagonists venture to the south pole to meet a woman searching for her missing fiance, the only lead being his journal warning of the monster Peguila. Space Directive M774, the previously mentioned episode with the alien woman. They get very creative with the ways she communicates with our cast, and the alien threat is a giant stingray which hatches from an egg on the ocean floor. Very cool stuff. Metamorphosis is another episode that sees a woman searching for her fiance. This time he's been infected by a strange species of butterfly that caused him to grow to a giant size. They have to appeal to his emotion to get him to shrink down. Open Up!, the series finale. This is about the aforementioned train. It takes away those who are fed up with their lives and wish to escape them. Some realize that they didn't appreciate what they had and leave. Some leave and then come back again because they're the problem in their lives, not other people. One of the few episodes with a real moral message and it's surprisingly complex. It also forces our protagonists to reflect on their lives

My absolute favourite episode of the series is Blazing Glory. A fighter nicknamed Dynamite Joe has been on a spectacular rise in the world of boxing. Throughout it all, he's been caring for his pet alligatorsaurus Peter. Peter has the ability to change size based on temperature, and also telepathically tells Joe the outcome of his matches ahead of time. Before his championship fight Joe disappears and the gang finds him washed up as a clown that performs at a motel, drinking himself away in shame. Peter had told him that in the championship he would be knocked out in the third round. They fail to convince him to return to boxing, but eventually, Peter breaks loose, starting a large fire and disappearing from Joe's life. After his near-death experience and loss of Peter, Joe decides to return to boxing. He realizes that knowing the outcome of every match killed his ambition to better himself, and the true beauty of life comes from its unpredictability. For me, this is Ultra Q at its best. It pushes the envelope to tell new and exciting stories with its medium that try and make you believe in a wild and wonderful world. It's truly a show that has never been truly replicated, partially because of the wild success of Ultraman, but also just because it is a one-of-a-kind joyous celebration of Eiji Tsubaraya's life and career.

[narrators-journal]

Step one

Hoo boy, this one is potentially dark as fuck, so remember that this is entirely fantasy. Do not think this is healthy or copy anything here.

Cw: heavy heavy nsfw. Drugging, b+e, somnophilia, Illumi gets possessive lowkey

previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi used the month or so you were closed off and mourning to try and dig up as much intimate info on you as he could, from childhood fears to how many times you've had sex. With this knowledge added to his collection, the last thing he needed to do was set up a cover story, than introduce himself. If this fails, she can be killed, or trained He told himself as he read through your social media on his laptop, ignoring a nagging sense of dread he hadn't felt since his first solo kill as a child.

The cover story was easy enough, murdering the people across the street from your home was boringly simple, setting them up to die of heart attacks and a break in, waiting out the investigation, nothing new to the assassin. By the time things had cleared up there, you were beginning to cheer up anyway, which was good, it'd be easier for Illumi to court you if you weren't verging into suicidal territory. Finally, the day came when he moved into the home, much to the teary refusal of his mother.       "I'm not leaving permanently," Illumi assured her the day he moved out, taking only a duffel bag of clothing with him, the issue was that his mother was holding him in a hug and refusing to let go. "You were so excited for me to be courting a woman, you can't sob and cling to me when I need to move out to properly 'woo' her." His voice was level and uninterested, as always, though on the inside he did feel a bit of reluctance at leaving, which was why he guessed he didn't use a lot of force to remove his mother's iron grip.        "I know, but why can't you go about the process from home?" she blubbered, Illumi's father standing a bit behind her sighing at her antics,              "To build up proper propinquity I need to be near her a lot, I cannot do that from here while also doing my work. Besides, it is relatively frowned upon for a 24 year old to still be living with their parents, so I need to have my own place for...the later portion." Sadly, even logic didn't calm Kikyo down, so Silva was forced to pry her from Illumi and simply wished the long haired assassin well as the man left. To atone for the sin of leaving the Zoldyck estate, Illumi was required to call his mother at least once a day, but other than that, he was free to live across the street from you when he wasn't working. This set up proved to be very useful, as it allowed him to linger on the street without suspicion, watch you from his windows, and it gave him more opportunities to run into you 'organically', despite having your meager outing schedule memorized already, and more. The day he moved in properly, Illumi was helping a trio of butlers move furniture in, trying to seem as normal as possible since he could see you sitting on your porch, getting some fresh air while also watching your new neighbor curiously. It's good to see her out at least, vitamin D is necessary for good health. he thought as he moved the last bit of strategically aged furniture into the home, letting the butlers return home after that. If he was to blend in, he'd have to slum it for a while after all. Though, he could put up with that as long as you stayed as friendly as you were the first night he was there. It was pretty late, the dark hours cooling the relatively warm air of the late spring day when he heard a knock at the door, but when he opened, there you were, your (h/l), (h/c) hair pulled away from your face, in a (f/c) jacket and some of your nicer casual clothes,       "Hello! I'm sorry if you were asleep or anything, but I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" you chirped, your kind smile making something weird happen to his heart, but he hid that, not wanting to scare you by saying he was having a heart attack,      "Ah, hello miss. No, I was just trying to cook some dinner, not to worry." he assured, watching you relax a bit before tilting his head, "I'm sorry if this is curt, but have we met?" he asked, your (e/c) eyes shining with confusion for a moment before realization washed that away,       "Oh! you're the man I bumped into at that party!" he mimicked your stunned reaction, chatting a bit before you heard angry sizzling from his kitchen, the sound earning a concerned look from you. "Um?? Should you step outside?" you suggested, and when he looked in your eyes again, he saw that undeserved concern in those captivating orbs. That weird feeling returned in response, but Illumi repressed it once again,        "No, I believe that's just my food," he said nonchalantly, watching your expression change to panic, it was so intriguing to see how expressive you were compared to his family,        "Maybe you should go check on it??" you urged gently, the panicked look in your eyes compelling the empathy-less assassin to do as you said, so he nodded simply and returned to the pot of boiling water that was leaking with angry bubbles splashing water onto the burner. He simply turned the stove off and returned to you once the water had settled again. You were still there, nervously peeking in to try and check on him he assumed.        "Why didn't you come in?" He asked, making you jump,        "I-I wasn't invited, it's rude to just walk in." you pointed out, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting that fact briefly. Though he verbally just sighed in defeat, running a hand through his long, silky hair.         "Actually, would it be uncouth of me to maybe ask if you would help me with something?" He asked, and when you shook your head he reluctantly continued, "You see, my family is rather well off, so I've...never learned to cook. Would you maybe teach me how to make the food?" He asked, and he liked to think it was the power of his natural charm that made you agree, not the pitiful mask of helplessness he put on. Either way though, you were now inside of his new home. Could this be considered a date? Illumi mused as he followed your instructions to bring the water to a boil again and put the store-bought noodles into the rolling liquid, People cook together as a date, so this should count as a date. He decided after a moment of watching you prepare food, following your orders until the two of you had managed to make a rather respectable looking dinner. He cemented this occassion's 'date' status by handing you a plate,          "It's fair that since you helped make it, you eat some of it with me." he pointed out when you went to refuse his offering. After that, the two of you sat in his living room in silence, neither making the first move to speak. For Illumi, the silence was comfortable, it gave him time to judge the weird thing that had happened with his insides. He wasn't dead, and the warm, fluttery sensation was fading, so it didn't seem to be fatal. I should get the family doctor to check me over. he decided as he ate, finally glancing over at you while you sat on the opposite end of the couch. Judging by the tension in your limbs and how you radiated discomfort, you were about to bolt like a scared rabbit. That's not good...

        "so." He hummed, hoping to ease your anxiety with some conversation, plus it'd give him a chance to dig into you, "why were you at that party?" There was a stretch of silence, your mood falling again for a moment, but than you seemed to put on a fake smile for him, how sweet.         "I'm a bit shy, so my friend decided to try and hook me up with a man she worked with." you explained, shrugging it off, "He ended up ditching me for some friends when we got there, so I didn't ask for a second date." Well of course your date went badly, you're supposed to be with me, not some stranger. a dark part of him thought, than stopped. What brought that up? I haven't even decided if she's really worth 'dating'. He reminded himself, but that possessive thought still lingered a bit more than he would've liked. However, that issue was for later, right now he wanted to see just how much information he could get you to willingly tell him.       "So, are you looking for a partner?" he asked, and he just caught a bit of a flustered epression on your (s/c) face at his question. He was beginning to enjoy seeing such an expression.        "R-right now? Um..not actively, b-but I'm not against a relationship." you said, not looking at him as you spoke, your body language screaming how flustered you were. After that, the two of you simply chatted, Illumi enjoying when you fully relaxed and opened up a bit more, but what felt like only a short time later, you were thanking him for the food and leaving for your own home. The tall man was polite back, but for the third time that night, his torso felt odd inside. He wanted to ask you to stay, maybe offer you a drink and slip a sedative into it, that way you'd stay the night, but no, he refrained from stopping you. If you drug her, she'll wake up tomorrow and be terrified of you. Maybe even call the cops. He told himself as he shut his door behind you. However, the thoughts were already there, making him groan. What is going on with me?! I'm losing control of myself so easily now. he thought, rubbing his face as if that would wipe away the bubbling waves of dark lust that were once again flooding his mind with images of you naked beneath him, calling out his name, mixing with the urge to control that he usually kept a close eye on. This is absolutely pathetic. She's not even that attractive! He chided himself, glaring down at the growing bulge in his pants as if it were to blame for his urges. Which, to a point was true, but either way it still twitched, demanding to be tended to. However, he refused to masturbate again. His sperm was precious, and while he could produce quite enough to impregnate a woman despite such a shameful act, he didn't like wasting his DNA. So, for a bit, he tried to cook up ways to relieve himself, unable to shake the lustful thoughts of you. Could he wait until tomorrow and lure you over again? No, that'd leave a horrid impression of him in your mind. Maybe he could sneak some aphrodisiacs into your food and than offer to help? No, that'd take too long, and he didn't know how long he could control his lust. Around eleven or so, Illumi finally came up with a satisfactory method. So, he turned his lights off and slipped out into the cool night to slither across the street and into your dark home. It was late enough that he knew you were asleep, so he was free to make his way in and towards your bedroom, What he wasn't expecting though, was to find you sleeping on your couch, your blanket fallen to the floor, revealing your pajamas to him. The sight only seemed to throw gasoline on the fire of neglected needs within him.       "now this is simply inappropriate," he breathed, shaking his head at your baggy t-shirt and (random color) panties, "(y/n), you should know better. Such outfits should be saved for your husband." He kept his voice low, making sure not to wake you as he chided you and his lightless eyes zeroed in on the bit of panty he could see with the way your shirt was ridden up ever so slightly. teasingly. He sighed, this would make his plan easier anyway. So, he just pulled out a needle of sedative and carefully moved you so that he could get access to your neck without waking you, sticking the needle in and injecting you with the fast acting drug. Within a few moments you were certain to stir for nothing less than a natural disaster, so he was free to do whatever he wished. The assassin's body burned with lust, his cock throbbing within his pants while he moved your thighs apart, revealing more of your panties. You weren't much to look at, he'd seen prettier women, but the feeling of your perfectly malleable thigh in his hand, seeing you so complacent and welcoming for him while his hormones were so out of control, you could've passed as a goddess in that moment. He wasted no time in removing your underwear, leaving your shirt and bra on so it'd be less work afterwards, revealing your most intimate parts to him with no arguments. It gave him such a rush to see you so obediently laying on your back, your legs apart and welcoming. your vulnerability was like a form of foreplay for him, but when he ran a slender finger up your slit and realized just how dry you were, it ruined his fantasy. Though, not enough to deter him. Instead of stopping, Illumi simply pushed your shirt up with your bra, using one hand to massage your breast while he kissed down your sternum and up the soft mound of flesh. His free hand slipped between the two of you, rubbing slow circles around your clit until breathy whines and moans slipped from your lips. Carefully, he teased your nipple between his fingers, simultaneously moving up to your throat until he found the spot that made you gasp and whine in your sleep again. The only downside was despite how badly he wanted to mark you, he couldn't. He had to wait until he securely had you, until then he couldn't leave any visual evidence of his actions. So, he nibbled and kissed the spot, but didn't bite too roughly and claim you. He simply teased you, rubbing your clit, massaging your breasts or hip, and pressing hungry kisses to your unresponsive lips until he could dip his fingers down into your warmth and pull them back coated with a healthy amount of slick. With you properly aroused, he eagerly freed his throbbing dick from his pants, giving himself a few pumps before running the head up and down your slit, making you hum at the stimulation. God, how he relished how your face twitched and you groaned at the feeling of him grabbing one of your legs with one of his hands before pushing into you. God the tight warmth alone could've made him cum, but he once again held himself back. He'd gone this far, he wasn't about to squander the opportunity to indulge himself by not savoring it. No, He simply grabbed your hips once fully inside and began moving, pretty soon slapping his hips into yours roughly. He might regret being so aggressive later, when it undoubtedly left you sore, or at the very least left bruises and scratches, but right now he just enjoyed the way your pussy squeezed around him and your breasts bounced with each rough thrust into your womb. He let out a few soft noises after a bit when the waves of pleasure began fogging over his mind again. The combination of your breathy moans, your warmth squeezing around him, begging to be filled, and the possessive urge to claim you continuously driving him forward, encouraging him to go until the blinding waves of pleasure erupted and he stilled himself so that every drop of cum was safely inside of your womb. It took him longer than usual to regain his composure afterwards, but when he did he swiftly pulled out, pulling his pants up and slipping your panties back onto you before too much of his essence escaped. He grimaced at the marks of his nails on your (s/c) flesh, though hopefully they would fade before you noticed. Right now though, his main priority was to get out of your home, and leave as little evidence as possible, save for his cum. He refused to feel sorry for filling his obviously needy wife with perfectly good semen. That's right. his wife. The phrase seemed to fit perfectly.

[gaitwae]

"I would rather die a thousand times;" with loki please?

Warnings: argument, hurt/comfort, cringey crying, ambiguous ending.

Summary: You decided to ask Loki if the two of you could ever have a romantic relationship. Loki, who knows this question might be from some weird Midgardian infatuation instead, gets defensive.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter  @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @lokis-high-priestess @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz

Happy ending! I’m sorry for the (mostly) angst!

+-+--

The sun sank low beneath the horizon long before Loki had said a word. You were biting at your nails silently. The god was yet to make his decision. Time dragged on and on, ticking along with the clock on the mantle. The sound it made was horrendous. The sound of silence would have been worse. You wanted an answer, but it would take years and years before the two of you could reach an agreement. 

You just wanted to know if there was a possibility.

“Loki?” you whispered. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Hmm?” Loki picked up his head and faced you. He had that sad look in his eyes, again, his fingers curling nervously. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I was still thinking, Y/N, I apologize.” He pulled his hands over his knees, then back over his thighs. “You really think that he’s out there, don’t you?”

“Who?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You didn’t want to give in to his let-down — not when you still had some shred of honor left. You found your feet very appealing, suddenly. 

“That man; the ‘One,’ you’ve called him.” Loki heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He wiped his face. Your heart plummeted. Dipped. Your belly was set ablaze and your eyes felt scratchy. You knew what was coming. “Listen, I don’t know if we’d ever be… together, but I would feel much better if I knew your ‘One’ was still searching for you, too.”

“Loki,” you pleaded, “that isn’t fair.” You swallowed the tears down — if you cried now, it would show how weak you were — how much you relied on him. He would be scared off, wouldn’t he? Would he lose respect for you? Would he despise you? What would be the outcome? What would happen? “That’s not fair at all…”

“No, it isn’t,” he conceded. He turned his head away from you. You knew he couldn’t handle your tears well. His voice raised slightly as he continued, “But asking such a fragile question isn’t fair to me, is it?”

You felt the tears slip down. You wiped them away quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Loki…”

“Is it?” he snapped, causing you to jump. “Did you have to ask now, Y/N? Did you have to let your emotions get the better of you when we’re trying to escape this blasted planet?” With each word, more rage slipped into his voice, his tone, his whole manner. He was furious with you. You had upset him.

“Loki, I —” 

“Asking me to be your partner is out of the question! I would be dead first, Y/N! The situation we’re in, the pressure we’re under, I would rather die a thousand times than put our lives at risk for your silly fantasy!” He threw his hands down. You didn’t remember them flying so high. “Dying like a hero is far better than dying to protect your flimsy, mortal heart.” His chest peaked, then fell harshly. “You change so frequently; I’m surprised you even figured out that you wanted me. Perhaps it’s the thrill of danger, yes? The possibility of becoming a legend? An idol? Or is that too much glory for you? Are you hoping for rescue? To be saved like you had been taught from so young?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how; after all, you hadn’t really been on the receiving end of his scolding. Well, that wasn’t really scolding. That was just… degrading. He was insulting you, peeling away your confidence layer by layer with a steady glare. He was angry — no, he was embarrassed — at your query. If you knew he would react this way, you would have sewn your own lips shut. You thought you could trust him. You wanted to trust him. You wanted that more than anything.

“You’re being cruel,” you pushed out. “You have no idea what I want.”

“I know you’re a small, witless child,” he growled. Loki stood from his seat. You ducked your head and stared at your knuckles. He grabbed your chin, jerking your face up without hurting you. “You’re simply an… an insect in the grand scheme of things who imagines greatness for yourself. I’m something you haven’t attained, that you haven’t experienced. You don’t want me for who I am, but rather what. Y/N, you’re a dreamer. That is why you follow me. Yes?” The god’s eyes searched yours with a frantic need. You clenched your jaw, removing his hand from your face. 

You said nothing.

“Answer me,” he spat. He dropped his arms, spreading his legs apart in a warrior’s stance. He was battling this topic more than you had imagined. Unless you were seeing things, Loki’s blue eyes were shining. His lips were tight against each other. Why was he losing his temper so? “Answer!” 

You kept your eyes focused on his; you wouldn’t say anything, you couldn’t, your tongue wouldn’t let you. Your knees shook. Your hands tingled. Your cheekbones tingled, too. Your throat hurt. Your nose burned. The longer Loki saw your tears, the wetter his own orbs became. Your body hadn’t racked with sobs yet, but they were waiting to erupt any moment. 

“Why could you possibly want a relationship with me, Y/N? I’m not yours to study, to toy with. Greatness cannot be the basis of love.” He looked between you and the door. His escape was too far away. The confrontation was hurting far too much — it was evident, written all over his face. “You can’t love me. Why would you?”

“Because you’re a hero,” you whispered. Your eyes followed him, but your limbs disobeyed every order to stand, to turn away, and walk out the door. Your last chance to spare your own feelings was slipping through the door. “If you weren’t, I would have been gone long before asking the question.”

“So… it is greatness,” he said quietly. “You want the persona.” He sniffed sharply, settling back into his chair. He raked his hands through his hair, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t sit still, but you still couldn’t move. “Not… me.” He wiped under his eye with his thumb. Finally, you understood why Loki was so offended by your question.

After all, who could ever love a man if he was a concept? What woman was loved wholly when the world focused on her beauty?

Your own heart shattered as you watched his crumble. Before you understood what was happening, you stood and walked to the prince. The forgotten prince. The prodigal son who had been thrown away, cast aside, and crushed like a cigarette under a boot. Once a bright flame, but quickly reduced to dying embers. Oh, and you had the nerve to ask him if there was a possibility of having his heart… you were like a child asking to hold something frustratingly delicate. 

You held his head, petting his hair for him. Your lip wobbled, as did Loki’s. He shook his head with agony. He buried his face in your body, clinging onto your hips with arms wrapped tight. You kept running your fingers on his head, scratching his scalp, and playing with his hair. His arms shook against your person. He tugged you between his knees to grip you better.

“I love you,” your voice came, echoing the ringing thought in your nearly empty mind. “I would love you even if you weren’t a god; I would love you if you lived under a bridge and smoked gasoline.” You tried for some humor. Loki’s fingers dug into your shirt. “Your greatness comes from your heart, Loki. Isn’t that what matters? Your heart?”

His shoulders jerked forward, the pace faster and faster as a heart-wrenching noise escaped from him. You tightened your grip on him. His sobs kept coming, over and over and over. They weren’t loud —  they sounded more like whimpers than anything else. It didn’t mean that the sound wasn’t enough to tear someone’s soul in half. It was tearing your soul in half. Seeing him like this… you didn’t know what to do other than to be his anchor. This was so unlike Loki; at the same time, this was Loki. 

This was every piece of hurt he had been holding onto for who knows how long. You had just found the weak spot in his armor. Loki loved you deeply and you could care less if it was platonic or romantic. Your stupid selfishness had caused a breakdown… 

Yet, it was healthy. He needed this. He needed this. 

You didn’t need an answer tonight. You didn’t need an answer for a while. 

This was more important. You’d rather die a thousand times than walk out on him in a moment of need.

The clock passed midnight long before Loki calmed. By the time he had stopped making that tear-jerking sound, the clock was seconds away from chiming. When he stopped shaking, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. You had moved to sit next to him then. Loki rested his head on your chest and shoulder. The only words spoken were your affirmations and your coos. For the Norns’ sakes, the crying was awkward; just by the way he stared off into space, you could tell he wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said once it was over. “That wasn’t very… very heroic of me, was it? He laughed sourly. You continued to stroke his hair. “I wail like an infant and you’re still here…”

“I thought it was very brave,” you said honestly. “Breaking down in front of someone who might not truly love you? I’d just run away and hide.”

“You’re pushing it,” he mumbled, deadpan. “If this was me years ago, I don’t suppose I would have even let you see me like that. I would rather be dead, first.”

“I’m glad we solved something, tonight,” you told the giant in your arms. “But next time, I think we should talk about it slowly.”

“Agreed.” Loki closed his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” you yawned. The clock ticked quietly. It was like a lure to sleep. You felt safe, squished in this seat with Loki. 

If someone wanted to take you from Loki, you’d have to be dead first.

[viking-raider]

The Belle and the Bane - Chapter II

Summary: Living with the Bane is turbulent, at best. But, you do your best to weather the storm of his moods.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,916

Warnings: PG-13 - Fantasy!AU, Dark!AU, Bane!Henry, Dark!Henry, Belle!Reader, Healer!Reader, Curses, Language, Angst, Light Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Very Minor Character Death, Multiple Personalities(?), Possessive/Controlling Behavior

Inspiration: My warped version of Beauty and the Beast.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long! Muse was spazzing from this fic to that fic and this idea to that idea. You know how it goes! Forever and always, thank you to the amazing @wondersofdreaming​ for being my beta, brainstorm partner and encouraging me! Tell me what you think!

You woke that morning with the bright sunlight streaming into your room, as Damien threw the curtains over your windows open, letting the new day stream in, brightening the remaining darkness out of the corners of your room.

“Good morning, Ms.” He grinned at you, standing at the foot of your bed.

“Morning.” You yawned back, sitting up.

“I have breakfast ready for you.” He said, motioning to the table in the corner of your room, by one of the windows. “Also, I have some clothing coming in for you, later this morning. It's not your full wardrobe, but it's a start.” He smiled, sounding happy and chipper.

“Thank you, Damien.” You smiled at him, getting out of bed and pulled on your robe, sitting at the table and looking over your breakfast.

Nodding his head, Damien exited your room and traveled down to Henry's room, finding his master in a similar position you were, but instead of his room being bright with the morning sun, shining off the calm waves of the ocean. Henry's room was nearly pitch black, minus the raging fireplace and a few candles in large candelabras.

“Morning, Sir.” Damien said softly, nodding his head at Henry. “I hope you slept well.”

Henry took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, taking a gulp of his tea. “As usual, Damien.” He sighed. “Other than that girl you went behind my back and allowed here.” He added, with a lifted brow.

“I simply thought that some companionship would do you some good, Henry.” Damien replied, daring to use his master's first name. “Other than myself.” He added, as Henry opened his mouth.

“What companionship can she give me, Damien?” Henry asked, setting his teacup down and rubbed at his tired face. “Other than physical.” He added with a huff.

“Perhaps you should try and find out.” He replied, making Henry's messy bed. “She loves to read! She's almost completely read 'Great Expectations' and she's only been here a day. I know how much you like to read.” He explained, smiling over at him, his eyes glittering.

“I haven't read a book, in a long time.” Henry countered, his blue eyes darkening at his servant.

“Maybe.” Damien grinned, unbothered. “She can read to you.”

“I don't need to be read too. I can read on my own.” He hissed, narrowing his eyes. “I'm not some invalid.” He growled, his body tensing.

“Of course not. It was only a suggestion, she has a sweet voice, was all I meant.” Damien replied, softly. “Give her a week, Henry. If you don't find her presence wanting by then, I'll send her back home to her father.”

The muscles of Henry's jaw flexed as he contained his fluctuating emotions. “Fine.” He huffed, angrily, then winced at the loud sounding of the door bell. “Who could this possibly be!” He barked, looking at Damien.

“I had a bit of a wardrobe made up for her.” Damien replied, finishing Henry's bed. “She only came with what she was wearing, and I'm sure that wouldn't have met your meticulous standards.”

“Spending my money on her, Damien.”

“Would you rather her look a peasant, or be nude?” Damien countered, lifting a brow at Henry.

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes, turning his back on him and staring at the dancing flame of the candle on his table. Damien half smirked at Henry, and left his room, going down the stairs to the third ringing of the door bell, and pulled it open, greeting the visitors. There were two men, holding several boxes, swinging the door open wide, Damien allowed them to enter the castle and showed them up the stairs to your room. You stood as your door opened and Damien entered with the two men, directing them where to put the boxes, then shooed them out.

“Your new clothing.” He grinned at you, pulling open the boxes and removing several articles, laying them out on your bed. “I do hope you like them. I wasn't sure what colors you would like, so I tried to keep them as neutral as possible.” He explained, pulling out more and more things from the boxes.

You stood beside him as he laid them out, surprised by the expensive quality of the fabrics and their current fashion. They were all so beautiful, you had never seen anything like them. Looking them over, you picked out the outfit you wished to wear for the day, and Damien put the rest in the empty walk-in closet. He smiled as he watched you stand in the full length mirror in the corner of the room, looking at yourself from every side and playing with the flow of the fabric of the dress you wore.

“You look beautiful.” He complimented you, standing behind you with a smile.

“Thank you.” You smiled back, your cheeks warm.

Henry groaned, stepping out onto his balcony, needing a breath of fresh air, when he saw a shadow move in the neglected garden below. Frowning, he leaned forward on the oxidized railing of his balcony for a closer look. He saw the shadow again, before you rounded an overgrown hedge, your fingers lightly touching the leaves. He watched you as you explored the ruined garden maze he had played in as a child, with his brothers. Biting his lip, Henry turned and went back into his room, throwing open his bedroom door and storming down the stairs, to the back garden.

“Christ.” You gasped, running straight into Henry, like he was a brick wall. “You nearly scared the life out of me.” You panted.

Henry grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you away from him. “What are you doing out here?” He demanded, glaring down at you.

“Enjoying some fresh air and sunlight.” You replied, staring up at him, your heart pounding. “Is there an issue with that, like wandering around the house at night?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

His hands squeezed your arms, before letting go of you as you gasped, realizing he had been hurting you. “No.” He gulped, relaxing. “But, you do need to be careful, if you turn the wrong direction, you'll end up stepping off the cliff.”

“Why would you design a garden to do that?” You asked, frowning up at him.

“It wasn't.” Henry replied, looking over the cracked and overgrown path you stood on. “There was a very bad storm, several years ago, and part of the cliff gave way, taking the back portion of the garden and a gazebo with it.” He explained to you, brushing his wind blown curls out of his face, then turned away from you, disappearing around a corner.

Blinking a couple of times, you followed after him, turning two corners, before you found him again, standing several feet away from the edge. Henry smiled at you over his shoulder, shocking you with the transformation it gave him, both physically and emotionally, he felt less threatening and harsh. You moved to stand next to him, a rush of strong ocean wind blowing against you so much, you felt the, surprisingly, gentle touch of Henry's hand rest on your back, keeping you steady as you both stood there.

“Damien said you've almost finished reading the Great Expectations.” Henry said, after a long pause of silence.

“I have.” You nodded, biting the corner of your lip. “Charles Dickens is one of my favorite authors.” You confessed to him.

“Mine as well.” Henry chuckled, looking down at you. “I've thoroughly enjoyed 'The Old Curiosity Shop'. I've read it numerous times.” He explained to you, looking out over the ocean. “But, it's been some time since I've read anything, but a financial or business report.”

“Why is that?” You asked, glancing up at him, a soft frown on your face.

“Because, life gets in the way.” He replied, his face hardening. “You should go back inside.” He said, moving his hand from the small of your back to your shoulder; turning you away from the cliff. “It's getting much too cold for you out here.”

“And you?” You replied, lifting a brow at him.

“I'll be fine.” Henry answered, in a short tone. “Go.” He barked, pointing back to the house.

Biting your lip, you nodded your head to him and wound your way back through the garden maze, finding your way back through the open veranda doors. You only whiled away most of the morning, before boredom took you, unaccustomed to just sitting around all day. So, you pulled on a coat and went downstairs, you could hear Henry and Damien's voices through the closed study door as you showed yourself out, going back down to the village to check on your father and see if any of the villagers needed you.

“Where have you gone?” Damien asked, appearing in your doorway as you removed your coat and draped it over the back of a chair. “I came to bring you your lunch, and you were gone.”

“I went down to the village.” You replied, turning to him. “To check on my father, and one of the young wives down there was in the middle of giving birth, so I helped her.” You explained to him, unapologetic for leaving the castle without notice, you weren't their prisoner, and refused to be treated as one.

“Mr. Cavill is quite unhappy about it.” Damien replied, pressing his lips together.

“I'm sure, Mr. Cavill can get over it.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. “He is a grown man, is he not?”

Damien narrowed his eyes at you and took a deep breath. “Well, be it as it may. If you're to leave the castle, please inform me, or I'm bound to worry you've fallen off a cliff or something.”

“I will.” You told him, your voice tight. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“That's a question I should be asking you.” He countered, a soft smirk tugging on his lip.

“No, I don't need anything from you, Damien.” You sighed, you really just wanted to soak in a hot tub of water, your back aching from bending over as you helped birth the young woman's babe into the world.

“There's nothing you can do for me, either.” He replied, nodding his head. “Yet.” He added, softly, turning and showing himself out of your room.

Sighing and rubbing at your face, you turned towards the bathroom door, stripping off your clothing as you went. You melted into the hot water, up to your neck, eyes falling shut as it slowly eased away your aches and pains, taking your worries and stress away with it.

“If I were to be stuck here for the rest of my life, the only thing I would get used to, is this glorious hot water.” You mumbled yourself, drifting off.

You were awoken in the middle of the night, shaken by your shoulders and the frantic calling of your name. You batted your hands at the ones holding and shaking you, whimpering as you were drawn out from your peaceful slumber.

“What?” You rasped, in a sleepy voice. “What!” You barked, jerking up in bed. “Damien, what in the world! You're acting as if the house is on fire.” You sighed, brushing your hair out of your face.

“It's not, is it?” You added, face snapping to your open bedroom door.

“No, no! The house is intact.” He assured you, no less frantic and antsy.

“Then, what is the rush?”

“It's Henry, he's terribly unwell, and you are a healer, are you not?” He asked in a jumble of words.

“I am.” You nodded, frowning and throwing back your blankets. “What is wrong with him?” You asked, getting out of bed and taking your robe as Damien held it out to you.

“I'm unsure, I went to check on him in his study, he always works very late.” He explained, leading the way down the hall. “He was quite pale, and I'm sure he's thrown up in the bin.”

Your frown deepened with every description Damien gave you of Henry's ailment, your brain shuffling through dozens of different possible illnesses based on them. When you and Damien finally reached the ground floor study Henry spent a great deal of his time in, you found him lying on the sofa, an arm slung over his pale and sweaty face. You knelt down on the rug beside him on the sofa, gently resting your hand on his elbow.

“Henry.” You whispered softly.

“What do you want?” Henry growled, but it sounded more like a pained whimper.

“I've asked her to look you over, Sir.” Damien replied, hovering from the other side of the couch, his face creased with concern and worry. “She's a healer down in the village.” He explained, chewing on his lip.

Henry huffed, but didn't remove his arm. You frowned up at Damien, then stood, going around the couch to whisper in his ear.

“Give me a moment with him.” You said and tilted your head towards the door.

Damien looked between Henry on the couch and the study door, but nodded his head and went out, quietly closing the door behind him. Rounding the couch again, you took up the fire poker and pushed the burning logs apart until they were nothing but glowing embers, then brought the burning candlestick on Henry's desk over to the small end table at Henry's feet on the couch, plunging the study into near darkness.

“You can take your arm away from your face now, Henry.” You whispered softly, kneeling back down beside him. “The light shouldn't bother your eyes so much.” You told him, tilting your head at him, having an idea of what was bothering him.

Henry slowly removed his arm from over his face, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low light. His handsome face was quite pale, his eyes were red and damp, his curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. He carefully turned his head towards you, narrowing his eyes at you.

“How long have you had migraines?” You asked him, lifting a brow at him.

“Since I suffered that illness.” He replied, gulping thickly. “They're crippling.”

“I can see that.” You replied, glancing over at the waste bin by his desk, where he'd thrown up. “Come on.” You sighed, standing up. “Let's get you off to bed. You need to rest.”

“I have work to do.” Henry protested, slowly sitting up.

“It can wait, Mr. Cavill.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “If you don't rest, you'll end up throwing up more, and probably passing out. Neither is good for your business or your health.” You protested, planting your hands on your hips.

“So, up you go.”

Henry looked up at you, narrowing his eyes at you. Both of you stood there for a long moment, staring each other down, before Henry growled and stood up. Smirking, you moved around the couch, taking up the candlestick and opened his study door. You and Henry went up the stairs to his room, you paused, resting your free hand on his thick arm as he swayed outside his door for a moment. Henry squeezed his throbbing eyes shut, reaching out blindly to open his door.

You set the candlestick aside and guided him to bed, pulling back the blankets and made him sit down, before he fell. Frowning at him, then sighing, you bent down and pulled off his slippers, setting them aside. Henry watched you through half-lidded eyes as you fussed over him, helping him remove his shirt, then piled up his pillows, so he could rest back on them, and covered him with his blankets. Moving away from him, you went into his bathroom, soaking a washcloth in cold water and brought it back to him.

“Put this over your eyes, it'll help some of the discomfort.” You told him, holding the washcloth out to him.

“As you wish.” He smirked, his tone teasing as he pushed his head back and draped the cloth over his eyes with a moan.

“How is your stomach?” You asked him, watching him gulp thickly.

“Like a raging ocean.” He replied, licking his lips and fisting his blankets, then sat up suddenly, his face going pale as a ghost.

You reacted quickly, picking up the bin by his table and thrust it out to him, just in time for him to throw up, wrenching hard. Henry whimpered as the wrenching agitated his throbbing and pulsing skull. He looked so weak and harmless, like a small boy trapped in the body of a man. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you used the damp cloth to wipe at his sweaty face, the scent of vomit was something you had grown used to as a healer. Sighing, you set the now warm cloth on his nightstand, chewing on your bottom lip as you regarded him and thought about something that could relieve the pain of his migraine and the discomfort of his stomach.

“Do you have any willow trees nearby?” You asked, frowning at him, as a solution brewed in your mind.

“Of course, what kind of question is that?” Henry huffed, shaking his head at you, then instantly regretted it. “The whole county is known for them, there's three in the graveyard alone.” He told you, gripping the waste bin, as another wave of nausea hit him.

“Good.” You nodded, getting up. “I'll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Henry demanded, as you rushed out of his room.

“Is Henry all right?” Damien asked, he had been lingering in the hall.

“He's got an acute migraine.” You told him, rushing up to your room to pull on a shawl. “I need to retrieve some things to help lessen his pain and the discomfort of his stomach. But, I'll also need hot water and a tea set.” You told him, pulling on your shawl and grabbed the sharp letter opener on top of your dresser, before running downstairs and out the front door, into the darkness.

You knew where the Bane's family graveyard was, you had to pass the narrow path that led to it on your way up the castle. The air was bitterly cold and windy, pushing off the ocean and mixing with the late autumn night. The spooky shadows of the trees that lined the path to the graveyard were frightening, but you were far too focused to allow yourself to become scared and paranoid about them. It took some doing, in the dark of the quarter moon, but you found one of the willow trees, near an overgrown, dark stone mausoleum, the names of Marianne and Colin Cavill carved on the sealed doors. You removed the sharp letter opener from the inside pocket of your robe and started cutting into the bark of the willow tree, collecting enough to fill one of your robe pockets, then started searching around it roots, running your fingers through the leafy tops of small plants, until you found the second thing you were looking for, mint. You knew you could find it here, it was how the village of Mintwillow had gotten its name, after all.

Pockets full with what you needed, you raced back up to the castle and into Henry's room. Damien had gotten everything you asked for together. You dumped your pockets out on the table beside them and started breaking up the bark into smaller bits with the mint and dumped them into the boiling water of the teapot.

“What is all of that?” Damien asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Willow's bark and mint.” You replied, stirring the concoction. “Do you have any honey?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him. “Willow's bark can be rather bitter, so the sweetness of the honey will help with that, as well as coat his throat, after all the throwing up.”

“Certainly.” He nodded, rushing back down to the kitchen for the honey pot.

“Thank you.” You smiled, pouring some of the tea into a cup, then adding a drizzle of honey into it.

“You can go, Damien.” Henry rasped, his voice now sore from throwing up and wrenching. “I'm sure she can care for me now.” He said, his eyes on you.

Damien looked between you both, then nodded his head, excusing himself. Satisfied with his tea, you carefully brought it to him.

“Sip it slowly.” You told him as he raised it to his lips, then chuckled. “It's not meant to taste good, just to help.”

“It better.” He huffed, taking another sip of it. “Or I'm going to be very angry.”

You smiled at him, unphased by his mood swings. “I've given this tea to many people over the years, and it's never failed me.” You assured him. “But, I should let you rest. Sleep is the third best thing for a migraine like this.” You told him, turning away.

Henry's hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stopping you in your tracks. “Stay.” He said softly, his tired and glassy eyes staring holes into you. “Just for a little while.” He whispered, so quietly, you weren't sure he had said anything.

“Perhaps, you could read to me? It helps me sleep.” He added, glancing at a book sitting on his nightstand.

You swallowed slowly, surprised by his request, as the heat of his hand wrapped around your wrist, pushed out the last of the cold that had settled into you, when you were outside. This was a side of him you hadn’t expected, and you weren’t sure how it made you feel; perhaps conflicted from when you experienced his normally callous mood. Licking your lips, you nodded your head at him and Henry felt relieved that you agreed to stay with him, it gave some deep part of him a great amount of comfort, so he slowly let your wrist go. You grabbed a chair from his table and brought it to the side of his bed, picking up his book and saw it was 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.

Clearing your throat, you flipped the book open to its marker and started reading at the top of the page. Henry relaxed against his pillows, sipping the rest of the tea you had made him, before setting the empty cup aside and closed his eyes, focusing on the soft and easy rhythm of your voice as you read aloud to him.

Henry woke several long hours later, his head still throbbing, but not as badly as it had been for the last few days. He opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep from them, when he noticed you, book open in your lap, and sound asleep. You had also fallen asleep, while reading to him. Henry smirked and got out of bed, carefully setting the book in your lap aside, and gingerly lifted you into his arms, your head lulling gently against his shoulder as he carried you out of his room.

“Good mo-”

“Sshhh.” Henry shushed Damien, angrily, as he appeared on the stairs. “Don't wake her.” He growled, in an almost protective manner, then tenderly shushed you as you whimpered and shifted restlessly in his arms, hugging you closer to his chest.

“My apologies, sir.” Damien replied demurely, moving out of Henry's way and bowing his head, to hide the smirk on his face as Henry went by.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Henry carried you up to your own room, pushing the door open with his foot and delicately laid you down, your blankets still thrown back from when Damien woke you up to tend to him. He stood above you for a long moment, after covering you up, watching you snuggle and melt into the mattress and pillows, a faint and sweet smile on your lips. But, he quickly turned away as his heart started to pound and his chest hurt, like he'd been punched by a giant.

Leaving you to sleep in your room, Henry returned to his own and felt his head start to throb again.

You woke just before noon and found yourself back in your own bed, figuring Damien had brought you back to bed. Rising and stretching your stiff body from bending over Henry and sitting in a chair all night, you got out of bed and dressed, just as Damien came in, carrying a tray.

“Oh, you're awake!” He grinned, setting the tray on your table, lunch no doubt, since you had slept through breakfast.

“Yes.” You replied, stifling a yawn into your fist as you sat down at the table. “Thank you for bringing me back to my room.” You added, munching on a bit of your food.

“Oh, I didn't.” Damien replied, making your bed. “Henry did.” He explained, seeing your confused expression.

“Henry did?” You replied, slowly setting your teacup down.

“Yes, you fell asleep, while you tended to him and when he woke this morning, he found you sound asleep on a chair.” He explained, fluffing your pillows. “So, he carried you back up here, to bed.” He said it all, like it was the most normal and natural of things.

“Oh.” You gulped, picking your tea back up and taking a large gulp of it. “Is he any better?” You croaked, keeping your eyes on your food.

“He was quite well, until a few hours ago.” Damien frowned, collecting your dirty clothing. “Seems his headache has re-surged.”

“Oh no.” You cooed, frowning over at him, very concerned. “I should check on him at some point today.”

“It could do him some good.” He agreed with you.

After breakfast, you dressed and found Henry hunched over his desk in his study on the ground floor. Even standing out in the hall and peeking through the cracked open study door, you could see the pain Henry was clearly in. He rubbed at his temples at regular intervals as he frowned at the report in his hand, eyes narrowed at the black lettering. Frowning and pressing your lips together, you turned on your heels and went into the kitchen, where Damien had taken the herbs you used the night before to help Henry's migraine.

Finding and filling a kettle, you set it on the stove to boil, preparing the cup of mint and willow's bark, with a drizzle of honey and a splash of milk. Smiling, you set the steaming cup onto a small plate, carefully carrying it down the hall, and into Henry's study.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked, sounding annoyed, as he looked up from the report he had been staring at for nearly an hour.

“Damien said, your migraine returned.” You replied, carefully setting the cup down on a clean corner of his desk. “So, I brewed you another cup to help.” You told him, smiling at him sweetly.

Henry set down his neglected report and stared at the steaming cup of tea, the muscles of his jaw flexing as his mind roiled with a kaleidoscope of thoughts, before huffing and picking his report back up. “You can leave.” He hissed, not looking back at you, with a cold aura rolling off of him.

“Um..” You floundered, then let out a soft sigh and excused yourself from his study.

You made it halfway up the staircase to your room before a wave of tears hit you, no one had been so rude and cold to you as Henry was, and you had encountered some stubborn people in your practice. Taking a moment to get a hold of yourself, you continued upstairs to your room. But, it was an hour or two later that Damien appeared in your doorway with a note in his hand.

“This came from the village for you, Ms.” He said, holding it out to you.

“Thank you.” You replied, taking the note from him and breaking the seal. “Oh no.” You gasped, reading the note.

The note was in your father's own hand, but wrote about one of your patients who suffered from a chronic illness, telling you that he had turned for the worst and you needed to hasten down to the village before it was too late. In a flustered rush, you grabbed your cloak and the bag you kept your herbs in and rushed down to the front door, your heart pounding and mind racing, praying that you made it back to the village in time.

“Where are you going?” Henry's voice boomed, aided by the echo of the vast foyer.

“One of my patients in the village needs me.” You replied, startled and out of breath.

“No.” He snapped, shaking his head, rage burning in his blue eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“What!” You snapped, gobsmacked.

“You heard me.” Henry hissed at you, his body tense. “You aren't to leave this house, unless you have my say.” He told you, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “And you do not. So, go back to your room, this instant.”

You stared at Henry wide eyed, shocked and dumbfounded. How could he refuse to allow you to go down to the village to tend to one of your patients, one so critically ill. Surely, being someone that has lost loved ones to such a crippling illness would understand that need and haste of trying to cure someone with something so life altering. Who did he think he was? Your warden, keeping you in this dark and oppressing castle, cut off from those you loved, with only his hot and cold tempers and Damien the rest of your life.

“No.” You replied, your voice a mixture of stubborn defiance, shock and outlined in fear of what he would do with your disobedience. “He'll die.”

“Then, he can die and you'll have one less obligation.” Henry answered, his voice cold as ice. “Now, do as I told you.”

You gulped, watching him practically grow with his rage and impatience towards you, and your hand still resting on the handle of the front door, gripped it tighter. Henry saw the small action, like a wolf seeing the small twitch of a rabbit's body, readying itself to bolt from the reach of its mighty jaws. You had the door open by the time he took a step towards you and felt the brush of his fingers against the fabric of your cloak as you bolted out the door and into the bright light of the early afternoon sun.

Running several yards, and expecting Henry to catch you at any moment, you realized he wasn't and paused to look back towards the castle. You saw the outline of his tall frame standing just before the threshold of the doorway, unmoving to dash after you and drag you back inside. Henry just stood there, fuming with rage and shaking with something far more complex as he battled to go after you. But, after several long moments, he disappeared, the door slamming shut with an echo.

“Such a strange man.” You panted to yourself, before turning back down the path towards the village, wasting no more time to reach your patient.

“Sir?” Damien frowned, hearing the crash of the front door slamming closed from the other side of the house, and came running to make sure nothing nefarious had occurred.

“Damn that girl!” Henry roared, storming into his study.

“Has something happened to her?” Damien asked, alarmed for your welfare.

“Not yet.” Henry replied, angrily pacing the room. “She's left, after I explicitly told her not too.”

Damien's brow creased for a moment, then it dinged in his mind. “Her note, of course.” He nodded, smiling to himself.

“What note?” Henry growled, stopping his pacing to look at his servant.

“She received a note about twenty minutes ago, from her father.” He explained to his master. “One of her patients suffers from a chronic illness. Her mother cared for him before her death, and she's picked up the patients, in her wake.”

“You read the note?”

“I might have glanced at it.” He replied, smiling softly. “But, the rest of it, she told me herself.” He added, he had grown quite fond of you.

“Why didn't you tell me she received it?” Henry hissed, his lips pressed into an angry line.

“I didn't want to bother you.” Damien gulped, biting the corner of his own lip. “I know you've been very busy lately. Especially after one of the ships go-”

“I want any correspondents she gets, I don't care who they come from!” Henry barked at him. “I'll determine whether or not she'll receive them or not. Do you understand?”

“Of course, sir.” Damien nodded, nervously licking his lips.

“Clear this away.” Henry huffed, waving a hand at the tea cup still on his desk as he sat back down.

“Right away, sir.” He rushed over and picked the empty cup up.

“Close the door.” Henry called as Damien started to leave.

Nodding his head, Damien closed the door behind him and took the cup into the kitchen to be washed. With the door closed, Henry leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips to his temples. His migraine had gone away after drinking the last cup of tea you had made him, but now it started to come back, his anger with you disobeying him and leaving the house, and him not going after you, to bring you back.

“Why didn't I bring her back?” He growled at himself, pressing his fingers harder into his temples. “Why couldn't I go after her?” He panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing pain in his skull.

You sighed as you stepped out of a hut in the village, exhausted from the run to the village and the struggle to help your patient. A warm hand rested on your shoulder and you didn't need to see who it was, before you turned into the warm body it belonged to, enveloped by iron hardened arms that clasped you to an even warmer chest.

“You did your best, little lamb.” Your father's rough voice whispered into your ear, his hot breath warming the cove of your cold nipped ear. “You did your best.”

“Ma would have done better.” You mumbled into his tunic.

He smiled into your hair and brushed it out of your face, before cupping your cheeks in his calloused hands. “Your mother would have done all the same things, little lamb. She taught you well.” He assured you, before gently kissing your forehead. “I should walk back with you, it's getting too dark for you to walk alone.” He said, letting you go.

“I don't want to go back, papa.” You frowned, not willing to let him go. “Please, don't make me go back to him.” You begged, looking up into his eyes. “He's so cold and mean to me.”

“Has he tried to wrong you?” Your father frowned, a flash of anger in his eyes.

“No. Thankfully. But, all I do is sit in my room and read or stare out the window. The only person I have to talk to, other than myself, is his servant, Damien, who is a very sweet and attentive person, it's just..” You paused, your chin dropping to your chest as tears started to overwhelm you.

“It's lonely.” You sniffled.

“I know how you feel, my sweet.” He sighed, huddling you back up into his arms. “It's lonely for me as well. But, things will get better, he'll warm up to you, once you work your sweet charm on him.” He chuckled. “I've seen you melt the icy heart of so many, I doubt Mr. Cavill will be immune to it.”

“I don't know, Papa.” You sighed, fruitlessly dabbing at your tears. “He's not like anyone I have ever met before.”

Your father's roar of laughter echoed in the growing misty darkness. “The man is the richest in the county and among the elitist rich in the country, lamb. He's got airs and graces, self entitlement, ego and everything at his fingertips. He's spent his life with people at his beck and call, doing his bidding and obeying him.” He chuckled. “You've never dealt with a rich person before. But, you'll adapt, you are so much like your mother in that aspect. You are strong, independent, intelligent and like a red hot piece of steel coming out of the forge, capable of shaping and molding yourself to fit into any situation.”

“You just need to show him that.”

“So, you think I should go back to him and his dreary castle?” You frowned up at him, your stomach in knots.

“I do, lamb.” He nodded, but you could see he had knots in his own stomach. “If he ever does anything vile against you or your person, you come home, and he'll feel the strength of my hammer.” He told you, showing where you had inherited your stubbornness.

“All right, Papa.” You sighed, but straightened your stiff back. “I'll go back, for you.”

“Then, let's be off!” He said, taking your bag for you and accompanied you back through the village and up the road leading back to Cavill and his Castle of loneliness. “I'll write to you more regularly.” Your father said, as you both reached the turn on the road leading up to the house. “So, it will seem like I am with you more.” He promised, his voice slightly weak.

“I would love nothing more.” You replied, your own voice weak with tears and emotions, as you reached out and squeezed his hands.

Taking leave of your father, you made the solitary and anxious walk up to the castle, trying not to let the shadows from the trees and sudden animal noises spook you, keeping your eyes forward. Once you reached the front door you thought of knocking or ringing the bell, but knew if you did it would wake Henry and you weren't in the mood and didn't possess the strength for his cold wrath. So, you tried the handle and found it open, which in actuality, didn't surprise you. No one in their right or ill mind would try to rob the Bane, no matter how rich he might be.

You quietly closed the door behind you, before taking off your shoes, not wanting to make the old floorboards creak under their soles. Gingerly tiptoeing by Henry's study door, it was closed, but you weren't willing to risk him being inside and hearing you, before mounting the stairs, pausing with each small noise you or the house made. Only letting out a soft sigh of relief, you weren't aware you were holding, when you reached your floor, no one but you occupied the floor, with the Bane on another floor and Damien sleeping somewhere below stairs no doubt.

But, you lifted a brow at the stream of light coming from under your room door, but brushed it off.

“Maybe Damien made up my fireplace to keep my room warm, while I was away.” You said to yourself, it was something sweet and thoughtful Damien would do. “Has to be, what else would it be?” You sighed at your silly paranoia and went inside.

“So, you came back.”

You yelped, dropping your shoes and bag to the floor with a clatter, pressing your back to the now closed door and your hands to your pounding chest. “What are you doing in here?” You demanded, out of breath from your fright.

“Waiting for you.” Henry replied, leaning forward in the chair by the window, that you usually occupied to read during the days.

“In my room?” You asked, lifting your brows at him and trying to collect yourself, not wanting to give the beast the satisfaction of seeing you off-guard.

“It's only your room, because I allow it to be.”

“How kind of you.” You hissed, finally recovering yourself and relaxed. “I didn't think you were capable of it.”

An oddly sinister smirk tugged up one side of Henry's mouth. “I am capable of a good many things.” He replied, licking his lips and resting his elbows on his knees. “How was your little patient, anyway.” He asked, lifting a brow at you. “Did you cure him with your cute little leaves?”

“Don't mock me!” You snapped, hands tightening into fists.

“I'll take that as a no, then.” He smirked more at you, apparently pleased with himself.

You drew in a shaky breath and let it out, trembling with a built up amount of emotions, before suddenly snapping towards him, in a fit of rage. “You fucking bastard!” You growled, jaw clenched and hands raised.

Henry snapped to his feet, like a flash of lightning, grasping your raised wrists in his hands, instantly restraining you and pushed you up against the wall beside the window he had been sitting next to. “That is fowl language from such a sweet mouth.” He growled, looking into your angry eyes.

“Did your patient break your little heart?” He mocked you, venomously.

He didn't believe for a moment that you had actually gone down to the village for a real patient, that your father had only sent the note as a cryptic message for something entirely different. Like a lover or beloved, trying to plot something to get you away from him.

“What are you talking about!” You yelled, struggling against him, confused and frightened.

“Do you think I'm a fool!?” Henry bellowed back at you, painfully pinning your hands to the wall at either side of your head. “I know that note was a fucking lie! A feign to get away from here, probably to see some peasant lover.”

“What do you care?!” You huffed, even more confused and shocked at him and his outburst. “You'd pawn me off to anything that gave you the chance to do so! You didn't want me here to start with, I know that, the whole village, if not the county, knows that.” You taunted him, hotly.

“Yet, here you are acting like your my scorned lover!”

“Because you are mine.” Henry growled in a low tone. “My possession to do with as I please.”

“Ha!” You laughed in his face. “I am no such thing.” You huffed, shaking your head at him. “I don't belong to you. My only misfortune is being held prisoner here, with a monster as a jailer.”

You yelped as one of Henry's hands gripped your jaw in a vice-like grip, forcing your head back to look up at him. “You belong to me.” He hissed, his face so close to yours now that your noses brushed and his hot breath wafted over your face. “I paid for you. All that money your dear father owes me; for the goods he uses to sustain his profession, for the taxes on the land his forge and house rest on, and so much more.”

“He sold you to me, to have those debts paid for and cleared away.”

The dull nails of his fingers pressed into the smooth skin of your cheeks and you whimpered, pathetically, immobilized by one of his hands pinning your wrists above you, his other hand gripping your head, like a bear trap, and his body caging you in, preventing even the smallest of movements of your body.

Your rage was forgotten in that instance, seeing the true Bane, and fear paralyzed you.

“So, yes.” He grinned at you in a way that made your heart stop. “I am your jailer, and you are my prisoner, and if you ever leave this house again, you will feel my wrath. Do I make myself clear to you?”

“Yes.” You gulped in a breathy whimper, unable to move your head to nod.

“Very good.” Henry replied, tipping his head slightly to the side. “Now, that's settled.” He looked to the clock, then back at you. “It's almost two in the morning.” He moved to stand sideways, but still stood close to you.

“Go to bed.” He ordered you, his tone leaving no room to argue.

Licking your dry lips, you slowly moved away from him, to the edge of your bed and pulled down the blankets, while he approached the door. You gulped, your throat sore from where the heel of his palm had pressed as he held you. “My patient,” You dared to say, as he opened the door. “died.” You informed him, your face hardening against the hurt of losing a patient and the fear that gripped you as Henry turned around.

Henry regarded you with a tired, cold and indifferent face, but his blue eyes gave away to something deeper you couldn't place your finger on. “You no longer have any patients, real or otherwise. So, you should put your mind to other things.” He told you in an emotionless voice, then left.

“Other than you, you mean.” You said to the closed door of your bedroom.

You stood by the side of your bed for a long time, paranoid that Henry was just standing in the hallway listening in on you, which he did for several minutes, before going to his own room, before your turned and went into the bathroom, desperately needing to soak in a hot bath. You needed that delectable heat and steaming water to melt away every ounce of stress, fear and exhaustion that you had coursing through your sore body, and it did just that. You didn't get out of the tub until the water turned as cold as Henry was towards you and it was almost four in the morning. Then, and only then, did you put on a nightie and crawl into bed, using the dying light of the fire in the grate to read your current book and fell asleep as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon and tree tops.

“Good morning, Ms.!” Damien's chipper voice rang out as he entered your room with breakfast.

You groaned and tossed the blankets over your head, you had only gotten four hours of sleep and weren't in the mood for how happy-go-lucky Damien sounded, especially after what had happened with Henry during the night.

“Oh, come on!” He teased you, setting the silver tray of food down on the table. “It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the wind is hardly blowing and the birds are singing!” He said, trying to infuse his energetic mood into you, coaxing you up and out of bed, as he threw the curtains open and opened the windows, letting in the fresh sea air.

“Not today, Damien.” You sighed, turning your face into the plush pillow with a groan.

“Didn't sleep so well?” He asked, tilting his head at you, as he stood at the foot of your bed.

“You can say that.” Your mumbled reply answered, staring at the thin seam of light at the edge of your blanket.

“All right, then why don't you stay in bed, until you feel ready to get up and meet the day.” He suggested to you, though the concern was evident in his voice.

“Thank you, Damien.” You replied, closing out that thin line of light, plunging yourself in the darkness you felt yourself being swallowed into.

Lingering for a moment longer, Damien quietly showed himself out of your room, silently closing your door after him. You laid in bed for a long time after he left, not moving and barely moving, before letting out a deep sigh and tossed the blankets off of your body with a huff.

“Damn that man.” You growled, staring up at the canopy of your bed. “Damn him to hell!” You shouted, your anger and despair culminating inside of you.

You didn't care if he could hear you, let him hear you and rot for it. You had done him no wrong, you had done nothing to him, other than the misfortune of your father giving you to him to pay a lifelong debt, before you were even born and your father owed his father, before his death.

“Why couldn't all of you died in this miserable house, that's never been a home.” You growled, beating your fists against the feather mattress. “Do this already dismal world a spot brighter for the rest of us.” You raged, jerking your body to sit up and threw your pillow against the door.

You sighed and rubbed at your face, trying to calm yourself, not wanting the Bane to reduce you to this mood and attitude, it was one thing for him to act like it and another for you to do it. Your parents raised you better and would be disappointed in your tantrum. Straightening your back and taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, you got out of bed, pulling on your robe and tied it around your waist, before moving over the breakfast Damien had made for you, it was almost cold now, but you didn't mind; your stomach was rumbling like an angry tiger.

Finishing your breakfast, you glanced around your room and sighed, there was nothing to do. But, read, that was.

Getting up, you went into the attached library, since you had finished your last book, The Iliad by Homer. You froze half way into the room, there was a package sitting on the table that hadn't been there the day before. You glanced at the door that led out of the library and into the hallway, it was closed, but the cobwebs that usually covered it, were broken and disturbed.

“Damien.” You sighed, shaking your head, figuring the man was just trying to cheer you up.

Picking the wrapped package up, you touched the delicate, fancy, black and gold wrapping paper, feeling the heft of what was inside and wondered what in the world he had gotten you. It felt like a book, from what you could feel through the paper, and you didn't want to ruin such nice, and clearly expensive, paper. So, you carefully unwrapped it and setting the paper down on the table, it was indeed a book, a hardcover of deep brown leather and gold stamping decoration on both covers and the spine.

Turning it over, you blinked at the cover.

“The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas.” You read off the front cover, before opening it, a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled on it slipped out and fell to the floor, making you bend down to pick it up.

Setting the book down, you unfolded the note, then frowned and shook your head at it, it was written on Cavill Industries stationary. But, the words surprised and shocked you even more.

My actions last night were unspeakable, I do not wish to keep you a prisoner in a place that has become my own penitentiary, nor make you feel fear, while you stay within these walls.

I have my reasons, that are not your fault and beyond your understanding. Take my apology with this gift, I have read it myself, and would love to know what you think of it.

Perhaps over dinner, one night.

If you would be so nicely inclined to have it, with me. - Henry

Your mouth was agape by the time you finished reading his note, having to read it twice over to ensure you weren't misreading it. You were so taken aback and dumbstruck by it, how could this be the same man that had pinned you, bodily, to a wall the night before, telling you of the wrath you would endure if you considered leaving the castle without his permission.

Was it some sick and amusing joke of his?

Was he trying to lull you into some sort of false confidence?

Was he trying to brainwash you into falling into being his good little pet?

Or was Henry being genuine and trying to make amends for his inexcusable and ungentlemanly behavior towards you?

It was all too confusing and made your head throb.

So, you set the note down on the table and picked up the book, rubbing your palm over the orate cover, before moving over to the window seat, settling on its plush cushion, the filtered gray light coming from the cloudy sky came through the windowpane, illuminated the pages just enough for you to read by, and you quickly got lost in the world that inked its pages.