#it is *the* moment of all that burning pain and agony and oh my god is it beautiful

[creativename87]

orv spoilers!!!

ok guys. guys. why aren't we spending every single fucking moment of our lives talking about the oldest dream & kim dokja scene?? like hello??? i'm not even talking about when kdj tries to stab himself no no i'm talking about the few, small moment leading up to that, when it's just them, staring at each other.

it's such an gut wrenching powerful scene in my opinion. like like like oh my god. so much has happened. and yet, and yet to them it's still about the same webnovel. kim dokja has aged thirteen years since he was this kid, but as he steps forward they still are both just kim dokja.

They both remember the cold rush of air when they leapt from their school balcony. They both remember the breathless laugh before they did it. They probably both remember the way it reminded them of when they were five, getting thrown into the air by their mother, her face not yet wrinkled with regret. They remember the way it burned as they hit the cold pavement and as blood seeped into the concrete. the way that whole thing was nothing more than a reminder that this time there was no one left to catch them.

They remember the flashes of cameras and they both remember typing three tiny words into the hospital computer.

They are both kim dokja: One is just the past and the other is the future.

They stare at each other when by all definitions they shouldn't be allowed to exist close to other. Kim Dokja hates him, he hates himself and he hates his past. and the oldest dream wishes he were him he wishes he could be someone stronger ,someone better, and that's why our kim dokja exists. They are trapped in this circle of resentment and remorse.

His companions stare, registering the scene in front of them. what this means. and it's this heartbreaking sort of realization that the god they came here to fight is not just a child, but the past of their leader. this world that has bruised them and hurt them and killed those they loved, was caused by one of the ones they loved.

And then the oldest dream( he's just a fifteen-year-old kid. he doesn't even have a drivers license yet. he doesn't know anything in this world except for pain and the rush of joy that comes with another chapter) opens his mouth. He stares at his future. A future he has created for himself. and he whispers, in a slow voice, his face twisting

"M-monster…"

[curly-my-beloved]

“And I can't exist without you” Curly x Reader

i. i've been waiting by my grave

waiting for you to rescue me, my love

come back from the dead

You'd look up at the night sky often. Each night, even. Especially now. Especially these days.

By now, it was routine. You'd go to the balcony of your house (one that he bought) and use the ladder to climb on the rooftop so you could lay down on it, looking at the stars.

... why was the ladder there again?

Oh, that's right. He left it there. He put there for you.

So you could look at him.

Oh, what a fool that man was. And yet, you loved him so damn much... so, so much it hurt. Especially now.

Now that he was gone.

He was supposed to be back a year ago. And yet... he disappeared. And since you didn't get to marry him, they would use that damn technicality against you.

You tried everything, but nothing worked. Not even a lawsuit.

You were stuck. Stuck with a ring on your finger...

And without him.

ii. and i can't exist without you

i can't exist without you

You felt tears falling down your cheeks as you looked at the full moon and all the stars around it. You could almost hear him. Almost feel him.

You remembered it all too well. Your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you. You remembered his small chuckles as you confused the constellations. He always seemed to know all the stars so well.

It was so sweet.

You remembered smiling and giggling at the child-like wonder in his eyes. In moments like this, all your worries seemed to fade away. It was just you, him and the night sky.

It was not the same anymore.

It was almost like phantom pain where you couldn't feel his body against yours.

It was almost piercing just how silent the world was without his voice and heartbeat.

It was almost colorless without those damn bright blue eyes of his looking at you lovingly when you woke up.

God, you missed him.

iii. you are my cure

in this infected world

and i can't do this without you

i'm dying here without you

Curly didn't know when he woke up. One moment, he was frozen, drifting in space on the Tulpar, all his crewmates dead... the next, there was a team of doctors above him.

He wasn't sure what was going on. His mind was too hazy, still trying to handle everything that happened to him. To his crew.

His mind kept going from them to you. He never forgot you.

Even with how fuzzy his mind was, clouded by the constant pain he felt, you always remained in his mind and heart. Sometimes he even hallucinated in his agony, seeing you sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his face and hushing him with the sweetest, softest whisper.

You'd promise him everything would be alright. Talk about your plans. You'd remind him about the silly cat or dog debate that never got to reach a conclusion.

You'd wear the beautiful ring he got you, talking to him about the wedding you two were planning once he comes back home.

He'd sob every night, prying to once day get to hold you in his arms again.

The only real cure for his pain. The light in the dark.

God, he missed you.

iv. i don't belong here without you...

Hope is the mother of all fools, and yet, it always dies last.

Your hope never died.

Almost two decades passed since he disappeared.

And yet, as your hair greyed and your skin started to lose it's youthful glow, you never lost hope.

You kept waiting.

You'd rather die a widow than even think about loving another, after all.

And yet, one day, you got a call from a hospital hours away from your home.

They asked for your name and if you knew a man called Curly. Shocked, yet hopeful, you told them that yes, you were engaged to Grant Curly.

He was finally found.

v. i wanna lie with your bones forever...

You'd recognize those god damn bright blue eyes of his anywhere.

From the moment his one remaining eye met yours, you know it was him. As damaged as he was, it was him. Curly. The love of your live.

You had no idea how long you were there with him, holding his burned face and leaving the gentlest, most love filled kisses on it as relieved tears streamed down your face.

You'd rest your forehead against his chest, finally feeling his heartbeat again after all those years, hearing his the fast yet steady rhythm between your sobs.

You could finally feel his arms around you again, even if they were much skinnier, with stumps instead of the big hands you always loved to hold.

It was him. The man you loved so much.

And as you looked into his eye, that beautiful, gorgeous blue eyes of his...

You could see your world was slowly regaining its colors.

Just like his world was slowly regaining the light.

You were together again.

God, you've both missed this so much.

[angel1010xx]

ｎｉｇｈｔｍａｒｅｓ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Nami, stop!” Running with as fast of a pace as you could manage, you chased after Nami, crying out for her to stop. She was heading straight into a trap—but why wasn’t she stopping? Why couldn’t she hear you? And God, why did your side hurt so fucking bad?

A jolt of pain caused you to fall to your knees, scraping them and your shins against the rough cobblestone road. Your hands went to your side, pressing down hard, and you looked down.

Red. There was so much red.

Tears fell from your eyes as if they were a waterfall, and you shrieked in utter agony and fear. You didn’t have the strength to stand. You didn’t have the strength to move at all. 

Barely managing to lift your head back up, you gazed on as Nami got overpowered by the devil fruit users that attacked the crew. You glanced to your right—there was Chopper, laying in a pool of his own blood, body small and misshaped. You glanced to your left—there was Franky, lying still, limbs missing. 

Dazed in shock from what was going on around you, and from the pain in your abdomen, you hardly registered when two hands fell on either side of your head. Someone was standing behind you. However, you did feel when they twisted your neck, and with a quick ‘snap,’ the pain was gone.  

Thud.

You gasped and wheezed, pushing your upper body up off the floor. Sweat was dripping down your face, and your body was soaked in it. Slowly, you managed to piece together that no, you weren’t dying in battle. You were in your cabin, you had just rolled off of your bunk, and you were in your underwear—no bloody clothes and no fatal flesh wounds. 

Your shoulders hurt from the fall, but this was much better than a nightmare.

Groaning, you began to stand up. It was hot. You were thirsty. Why did the kitchen have to be so far away? I need to ask Franky to put some mini-fridges in the rooms, you mused. 

You grabbed a robe off the hook on the wall, and wrapped yourself in it as you left your cabin quarters. It was cool outside, and it was a welcome change. You took a few deep breaths.

In… out. In… out. Someone please make my heart stop beating so fast.

“Can’t sleep?”

You squeaked in surprise, stumbling a bit while you whipped around to see Zoro. He was sitting while leaning against the main mast that led up to the crow’s nest, a slight flush on his face that was a little damp. You eyed the bottle at his side. “Yeah…” you muttered. “Are you training? This late at night?”

He just shrugged. “Can’t become the greatest swordsman if I don’t make time to train.”

“Training? With booze?”

“Mind your business. Gotta practice being battle-ready under any condition.”

You huffed, pulling your robe tighter around you while you moved to sit down beside him. Zoro silently picked up the bottle and gestured it towards you, and you chose to take it. You put the bottle to your lips, took a gulp, and groaned as the alcohol burned down your throat. “I don’t drink much.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro mumbled as you handed him back his liquor. “Good. It’s not good for you.” A few silent moments passed while the swordsman placed his attention on your heavy eyes. He gestured towards your face, hand still holding the bottle. “You’re tired. You look like you’ve been crying.” You sighed, then placed your head on his shoulder. “Bad dreams. I’ll be alright.”

Zoro tensed up slightly, but didn’t move to get you off him. Mr. Rough-and-Gruff had a soft spot for his crew, and maybe more so for you. “I have strong friends,” you whispered. “I don’t have to worry about any of them, especially not the king of hell right here.” Zoro chuckled. “No, definitely not.”

You two stayed there, quiet, and comfortable in the moment. Neither of you remember when you two dozed off to sleep, lying against the mast.

*_______*_______*________*

Nami yawned and stretched, still shaking off her sleep as she left her quarters as the sun rose. She had to go find Robin, and Robin had been on night watch, so Nami was heading towards the crow’s nest.

What Nami was surprised to see, was you and Zoro sound asleep on the deck. Your head was still on his shoulder, and your legs were up against the side of him while his arm was around your waist. She smiled. 

Nami turned her head as she heard the door to the kitchen slam open. There, in the doorway, stood a very pissed off Sanji. Wasting no time, Nami rushed him, placing her hand against his mouth and pushing him back into the kitchen. She listened as Sanji shouted a bunch of obscenities—“Damn that mosshead! Defiling a princess! His hands shouldn’t be on such an angel! It’s a crime against humanity!....”

Nami laughed at him. What a sore loser. 

[natalievoncatte]

She had it. She actually had it, in her hands.

Myriad. The ultimate weapon of a dying race, brought to Earth to subjugate its people and rebuild an empire from a shattered world, possibly the key to saving this one. The key Lena needed to unlock Non Nocere and

(take over)

heal the world. End all strife. Eradicate all conflict. No more pain. No more deceit. No more greed, or cruelty, a world without malice, a peace without end.

No more lies.

It was in her hands, such a small petty little thing, barely more than a trinket.

Lena dropped it too sharply on the stainless steel lab table, took three steps, and vomited, the contents of her stomach noisily splashing at her feet. It was the effects of portal travel, she told herself- like jumping from a great height and into cold water at the same time.

(oh god what did I do)

She just needed a few moments to steady herself, collect her bearings, clean up.

(oh god oh god I hurt her what have I done)

Then, she could begin her work immediately. She shrugged out of her coat and found a bottle of vodka, hardly her weapon of choice, and took a pull straight from it to wash the

(pain away)

sour taste of her own puke out of her mouth and dull the sour churning in her stomach, because she couldn’t get the image out of her head, the image of Kara lying broken on the fortress floor with green lines of agony carved in her flawless skin and the most heartbroken look of remorse and fear in her eyes.

(Lena don’t do this)

(please don’t do this I’m SORRY)

Snatching the Myriad core from the lab table, she went to shove it into place. The final work would take only a few hours and then…

Lena stopped. Her hand hovered inches above her work. All she had to do was make the connection, but something was stopping her, as if her own arm revelled against her. She tasted puke and alcohol in her mouth and she was crying, hot tears burning down her cheeks in razor lines.

(Lena please)

No more lies.

It was heavy in her hand, the alien device suspiciously heavy and cool to her touch. Why didn’t she just do it? She was here, key in hand, ready to open the door and she couldn’t do it. Why?

Gritting her teeth, Lena took it in both hands, staring at it.

This was good. This was right. Lena had given Kara everything. Everything! Her friendship, her support, her comfort, her secret council. She killed her own brother for her and what did she get in return? Lies! Deception!

(soft hugs and kind words and powerful arms shielding her from harm and strong hands… holding her)

It had all meant nothing. It was all a lie.

Right?

It was, wasn’t it? It was! It had to be, she needed it to be! If it wasn’t, if she was wrong, then she betrayed and tortured the only person who cared about her for what? For this fucking thing?

Lena held Myriad over her head. She hadn’t even been aware she’d raised it high, ready to smash it to the ground. Bringing it down, she stared at the device and saw a stranger’s face, a distorted visage of a pale, stress-thinned woman with red-rimmed eyes.

Oh God.

The watch! There was still time. It still had the coordinates.

Lena’s hand hovered over the watch. She could push the button and erase the only way she’d ever reach the fortress again, and it would be decided. She’d make it permanent, make it real. She could finalize the destruction of the most important relationship she’d ever had. Deny Kara. Give her up.

(leave her locked in a cage of agony)

Lena pressed the button.

The portal opened behind her with a gust of wind.

She stepped through.

The first thing that hit her was the cold. She didn’t think to put her coat back on.

The second thing was a right hook from Alex Danvers that sent Lena sprawling across the floor and Myriad spinning out of her grip.

“You bitch,” Alex snarled. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. I should have put a bullet in the back of your head the first time you set foot in my town.”

Alex stood over her, boiling with fury.

“I knew it was all a lie. I knew! I know what you did. You and your little lip bites and your flirty looks and your coffee dates. Was breaking my little sister’s heart part of the plan or just a sadistic bonus?”

For once in her life, Lena was truly speechless. She stared up at her attacker, absently touching the trickle of blood from her split lip.

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t,”

“You fucking did,” Alex hissed. “How dare you come back here? Didn’t you steal enough? Was the rest of the armory too much temptation for you?”

“I couldn’t leave her,” Lena choked out.

“Alex,” a harsh voice rasped, “that’s enough.”

Kara was on her feet, clutching her side. The Kryptonite had left her pale and pallid and hunched over a little, her normally bright eyes dull.

Lena pushed herself to her feet, wobbled, and started for Kara.

“Don’t you dare,” Alex stepped between them.

“I said that’s enough,” said Kara, pushing past her.

“I’m sorry,” Lena blurted. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Kara I…”

“Shhh,” Kara whispered. “It’s okay.”

Lena’s hands seemed to move on their own, palms cupping Kara’s cheeks. God, she was cold. She was shivering. Kara was shivering. She leaned into Lena’s grasp, falling against her.

“I’m sorry,” Lena whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Kara said, gathering Lena in her arms.

“The hell it is,” Alex cut in. “Jesus Christ, she robbed the Fortress of Solitude! She hurt you, Kara!”

“I hurt her first.”

“Kara, she’s right.”

Kara shook her head.

“You can’t just forgive her!” Alex almost screamed.

Kara looked at Alex, then at Lena.

“You’re forgetting. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

The tears began to flow and Lena couldn’t stop them. She collapsed into Kara’s arms and sobbed, her body shaking with exertion.

Alex bent down and picked up Myriad.

“Give me that,” said Kara.

Alex looked at her quizzically, and placed the device in Kara’s hand.

She looked at it for a moment, then looked down at Lena.

“Do it,” Lena whispered.

Without the slightest appearance of effort, Kara closed her hand and the device exploded between her fingers, circuits and alien technology clattering to the floor.

“Let’s go home,” said Kara. “I think we need to talk.”

[o-batll3]

lena request! reader and lena are in an established relationship but play for different countries. during a match between their countries, lena injures reader badly (ankle or hamstring injury). lena is sorry about it but reader is upset at her. angst but happy ending when reader forgives her?

i don’t know how to make it stop - l.oberdorf x reader

warning : just angst with happy ending

masterlist

the roar of the crowd was deafening, flags waving in a sea of vibrant color, national anthems echoing through the packed stadium. it was the World Cup quarter-final, a match that promised intensity, determination, and skill. y/n stood on the pitch, heart racing with excitement and nerves. this was the kind of game she had always dreamed of playing, the kind of challenge that pushed her to the limits. she caught lena’s eye across the field - her girlfriend, but also her rival for the next ninety minutes.

they had shared moments like this before. they were both professionals, used to putting their relationship aside when the whistle blew. but there was lena a tension that lingered beneath the surface. lena, playing for her country with the same fierceness that y/n played for hers, was not going to hold back. nor would y/n. they both knew what was at stake.

the game started off at a furious pace, each team pressing hard, neither willing to give an inch. the stakes were high, and the tension built with every passing second. y/n was playing some of her best football—quick, clever passes, bursting runs into open space, her energy filling the team with hope. lena was everywhere, a shadow in midfield, intercepting passes and driving her team forward. every time they collided, every challenge they shared, there was a spark of something electric, something both familiar and dangerous.

and then it happened.

it was the 68th minute, and y/n made a darting run into the open, the ball at her feet, defenders falling behind. she could see the goal, feel the moment, the chance to change the game in her favor. but she barely registered the movement on her left before lena’s foot came out in a desperate slide, an attempt to block her progress. y/n twisted to avoid the challenge, but her ankle buckled, giving out underneath her. a sharp pain shot up her leg, and she went down hard, clutching her ankle with a scream.

the referee’s whistle blew. lena was already there, hovering over her, panic in her eyes, her face stricken with horror. y/n’s own heart was pounding, not just with the agony that shot up her leg but with the harsh realization of what had happened.

“y/n, oh my god,” lena’s voice was broken, her hands reaching for her. but y/n’s pulled away, her expression filled with raw pain and shock.

physios were rushing onto the field, lena pushed back by y/n’s teammates as they encircled her, creating a barrier between them. lena was shouting something, but y/n couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in her ears, the pain that clouded her mind. she knew, even before they touched her ankle, that it was bad. the stretcher was brought out, and the looks of pity, the sympathetic nods from the trainers, were all too telling. her world cup was over.

she was out.

the crowd’s cheers were still echoing in y/n’s ears, even as she lay in the treatment room. the adrenaline was gone now, leaving only a dull ache in her ankle and a far sharper pain in her chest. her dream—everything she’d worked for—was ripped away in a single, brutal moment. she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears back, trying to push away the image of lena’s face, the horror that had twisted her expression just after the tackle.

she heard the door open, and her heart lurched when she saw lena standing there. lena’s eyes were wide, filled with remorse, but all y/n felt was anger—blazing, hot anger that burned away the sympathy she might have felt. she couldn’t look at lena without seeing the tackle, without hearing her own scream of pain over and over again.

“y/n,” lena started, her voice unsteady. “please, just let me explain.”

“explain?” y/n’s voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “what is there to explain, lena? you tackled me. you didn’t even hesitate.”

lena’s face paled, her bottom lip trembling. “i was trying to win the ball. it was instinct—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“well, congratulations,” y/n spat, eyes flashing with fury. “because you did. you ruined everything.” her voice broke at the end, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded, hated the tears that blurred her vision. she didn’t want lena to see her like this, broken and devastated.

lena stepped closer, but y/n pulled away, shifting painfully on the treatment table. “i’m sorry,” lena whispered, and y/n could hear the desperation in her voice, but it only fueled her anger. “i never wanted this, y/n. you have to know that.”

y/n’s hands clenched into fists. she wanted to yell, to throw something, to make lena understand the depth of her hurt. “do you have any idea what you’ve taken from me?” she said, her voice shaking. “this was my chance, lena! my chance to prove myself on the biggest stage! i trained for this. i bled for this. and you—you took it away. you didn’t even think.”

tears were streaming down lena’s face now, her shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back sobs. “i know, i know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so, so sorry. if i could go back, i would”

“but you can’t!” y/n interrupted, the anger swelling until it choked her. “you can’t take it back! i’m out, lena! i’m out of the world cup, and i don’t get another shot at this. it’s over. and it’s because of you.”

the silence that followed was suffocating. lena’s face crumpled, and she took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself like she was trying to hold the pieces together. “i love you,” she said, the words sounding so small, so fragile in the heavy quiet of the room. “please don’t hate me. i love you, y/n.”

y/n wanted to scream. she wanted to shout that it wasn’t enough, that lena’s love couldn’t fix what was broken, that she didn’t have the right to stand there and cry after what she had done. but she couldn’t find the words. instead, she turned away, her voice icy and distant.

“just leave,” she said. “i don’t want to see you. right now”

lena didn’t move at first, rooted to the spot like she was waiting for y/n to change her mind, to call her back. but when y/n didn’t, when she kept staring at the wall with her jaw set and eyes hard, lena’s shoulders slumped, and she left without another word. the door closed softly, and the emptiness swallowed y/n whole. it broke a piece of y/n, knowing that lena wouldn’t be there like usually would to help her through something rough, but her mind didn’t want to see her, all she wanted to do was isolate herself.

y/n barely left her room for days. she couldn’t bear to see her teammates, couldn’t stomach their pity or their attempts to comfort her. all she could think about was the sound of her ankle giving way, the burning pain that had shot up her leg, and lena’s desperate face in the aftermath. her phone was full of missed calls and unread messages from lena, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at them. she was so tired of the apologies, of the guilt. they didn’t fix her ankle, didn’t change the fact that she was sidelined, watching her dreams crumble from the shadows.

she lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, hating the silence and how it left her alone with her thoughts. every time she closed her eyes, she was back on that field, feeling the grass give way beneath her, hearing the sharp whistle of the referee and the stunned gasps of the crowd. sometimes she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like the weight of everything was pressing down on her chest until she was drowning.

and then, a week after the injury, there was another knock at the door. y/n knew it was lena. she’d felt it like a pulse, like some invisible thread still connected them even though she wanted to cut it clean. for a long moment, she didn’t move. she thought about ignoring it, letting lena stand there until she gave up and went away. but something made her get up, her feet moving almost without her permission, and she opened the door.

lena looked awful—eyes red and swollen, dark circles under them, like she hadn’t slept in days. her face was pale, her mouth drawn into a tight line, and when she saw y/n, something broke in her gaze.

“please,” lena said, her voice raw and unsteady. “i can’t—I can’t take this silence anymore. just tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this.”

y/n stared at her, the anger and hurt rising like a tidal wave. “you can’t fix it, lena!” she shouted, her voice cracking, the emotion spilling over at last. “don’t you get it? this isn’t something you can just make better with an apology. you ruined everything!”

lena flinched, but she didn’t look away. she took a shaky breath, stepping into the room as if she belonged there, despite the pain between them. “i know,” she said, her voice breaking. “i know i messed up. i know i took away something you loved, something you fought for. and i hate myself for it, y/n. every single second, i hate myself for it. but i can’t stand losing you, too.”

y/n’s hands were shaking, the tears streaming freely now. she wanted to stay angry, to hold onto it because it was easier than feeling the deep, aching sadness that lay beneath. but seeing lena like this, so utterly broken, cracked something inside her.

“i hate you,” she choked out, the words barely more than a whisper. “i hate you so much for what you did.”

lena’s face crumpled, but she didn’t turn away. “i know,” she said, and her voice was so full of pain that it made y/n’s heart twist. “and if that’s what you need—if you need to hate me—I’ll take it. just don’t shut me out. please, y/n.”

the room was spinning, y/n’s emotions too tangled to untangle. she took a step forward, and then another, until she was standing right in front of lena, her breath hitching. they stared at each other, and the anger, the sorrow, the grief—they all collided, bursting out of y/n in a sob as she collapsed into lena’s arms.

“i’m so mad at you,” she cried, burying her face in lena’s shoulder. “i’m so mad, and i don’t know how to make it stop.”

lena held her tightly, her arms wrapped around y/n like she was afraid she might disappear. “i know,” she whispered, pressing her face into y/n’s hair. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere. i’m so, so sorry.”

for a long time, they just stood there, holding onto each other as the storm of emotions raged and slowly settled. y/n’s sobs quieted, her breath evening out as the weight she’d been carrying began to lift, just a little. it wasn’t fixed. it wasn’t over. but in lena’s arms, the anger didn’t feel quite so overwhelming. and for the first time since the injury, y/n allowed herself to hope that maybe—just maybe—they could find a way forward, together.

SEND REQUESTS I NEED IDEAS

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason has to make a mighty sacrifice to save Bruce.

Context: Typical fight with Bane, Batman wasn't prepared. Jason decided to save him. The duo are on better terms and Jason is even liked by Bane, but it's Bane.... It's Bane.

Jason: Can I have my dad back?

Bane: No.

Jason (exasperated): Come on, man.

Bane: I don't hate you, Jason; I hate him with a burning passion. I can't let him leave.

Batman lay bruised on the ground, suffering from broken ribs, a black eye, and with his leg bent at a disturbing angle that no sane person should ever witness.

Bruce (coughing, wincing): If you just give me a minute, I can still take him down.

Jason leaned past the hulking Bane, taking in Bruce's pain and twitching on the ground. He let out a heavy sigh, thankful that his helmet concealed his growing frustration.

Jason: I get it, Bane. You’ve got a laundry list of issues with this guy, many I could see us agreeing on. But he’s technically my father, so I sort of have to save him—family and all that crap.

Bane: While I admire your attempt to patch things up with the old man, I can’t just let him waltz away…

Bane extended his hand, and Jason groaned, already dreading where this was heading.

Bane (cunningly): Without some sort of compensation?

Jason: What’s the minimum amount of money I can throw your way?

Batman (weakly): For the love of God, don’t give him any money! I’d rather die—

Jason (shouting): Batman, shut the hell up and wince quietly for once!

Bane: Continuing our bargaining, I'm not sure monetary compensation will suffice. What else you got young man?

Jason sighed, yanked off his backpack, and unzipped it, desperately searching for something to offer. He really just wanted to talk some sense into the overly muscled foe, not trade his stuff to save Bruce.

Jason: The fact I'm doing this proves I'm selfless— Want a gun? I have like three... on safety I think.

Bane (shaking his head): I’m not a gun guy; I prefer to use my fists.

Jason: Fair enough. How about chocolate bars? I’ve got five in here.

Bane (dismissively): I’m on a diet.

Jason fished out the current book he was reading, a "Bridgerton" series book. He was sure Bane wouldn’t want that, and he definitely wasn’t planning to trade it—until the villain snatched it right out of his hands.

Jason (alarmed): Hey, that's mine!

Bane: I’ve never read this Bridgerton book.

Batman (twitching in agony): Bridgerton?! Oh, god, that hurt. Why did I yell?

Jason sighed, conflicted about parting with his precious book.

Bane: A man of culture, I see. Penelope is quite the captivating character.

Jason (a hand on his helmet, covering his eyes): Yeah, she's a gem, and that was a collector’s edition I paid a pretty penny for!

Bane: I can tell—signed and everything.

Jason (defeated): Yep. If you let him go... You can keep it.

Bane (nodding with a thumbs-up): Deal. Pleasure doing business.

Bane strolled off with the book, whistling happily. Jason clenched his fists and slapped his hands together, too furious to find words for a few moments.

Jason: That was the collector's edition! I waited three months for that, and now it’s gone! This is what happens when I try to save this man. Batman, get your ass up so we can bail!

Batman: Uh, funny story… I wasn’t going to let Bane see this, but he seriously messed up my leg. I can’t even stand on it.

Jason groaned, facepalming. He shook his head, regretting his decision to come to Bruce’s rescue tonight. With a mix of annoyance and sympathy, he trudged over, muttering curses under his breath, then he hoisted the cape crusader's good leg and dragged him toward his car.

Jason: You’re buying me that book. Same edition, and don’t act like you don’t have the cash for it!

Batman (trying to lighten the mood): That seems fair… So, what’s Penelope like in the books?

Jason: Bruce, really not in the mood right now.

[myokk]

Her whole body was on fire.

Not the pleasant, tingling sort of fire that had been consuming her as she kissed Sebastian just moments before.

These were terrible, burning flames that made her nerves scream in agony as her body tried to purge itself of the curse. Once her coughing stopped she tried her hardest to straighten her spine and pretend that it wasn't what they both knew it was. But everything hurt so badly, and she knew she wasn't fooling Sebastian.

Eloise was terrified. She had seen how Anne's body had wasted away due to the curse, and Eloise wasn't hopeful she would survive. Even if Sebastian hadn't given up hope when his sister was cursed, he had already been researching relentlessly for a cure for over a year without any breakthroughs - and his research was in addition to Nurse Blainey and St. Mungo's fruitless attempts to heal her.

But...she could take a small measure of comfort from the fact that she had managed to save Anne.

Even if it was at the expense of her own well-being.

"What did you do?" Sebastian whispered, voice raspy, eyes wide and horrified as he looked at her.

Her eyes darted away from his accusing glare, down to the white sleeve that was now peppered with tiny spots of the blood she had just coughed up. They were slowly growing, the tiny spatters expanding and mingling with each other. "I..."

Throat constricting, tears welling up in her eyes, a sob that she was trying to swallow back down.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Eloise shook her head helplessly. "I have no idea."

She wasn't lying. When she had run to help Anne in Feldcroft all those weeks ago, she had been acting on pure instinct. Just as she had when Leander had hit Sebastian with diffindo. It was the most natural thing in the world to dip into whatever ancient magic reserves she was privy to and just use them. Even if she didn't fully understand these instincts.

"What did you do?" Sebastian repeated, voice rising with every word. He started pacing in front of the fireplace, running an agitated hand through hair that Eloise had already messed up. "I...oh, god. This can't be happening again."

"I would do it again. I saved Anne." Eloise's voice sounded very small to her ears and she shrunk away at the expression on his face when he turned to look at her. It was incredulous and devastated and furious and she couldn't look at him any more. She turned her head to watch the flames. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his agitated, jerky movements.

"At the expense of your own health! Merlin, this is all my fault. I -"

Eloise couldn't hear whatever Sebastian was about to say as his words were lost to another fit of coughing. His anger slipped away and was immediately replaced with concern as he moved to stand in front of her, gently reaching out a hand to her shoulder.

She was lost to the pain and flames screaming - was she screaming? - their way up her throat, the hacking coughs so gratingly painful that it was all she could focus on.

"Fuck," she heard Sebastian say. "Wait..."

He put an arm around her waist and helped her move the short distance to the bed. As soon as he let go of his hold on her, she fell to her side. Her arms were useless at the moment, and the side of her face met the mattress as she fell without being able to catch herself. Tears were streaming down her face as she coughed and coughed and coughed and -

"Here. Please..." A reassuringly solid presence at her side, leaning her body against his chest, her head lying limply across his shoulder. A gentle hand grabbed her jaw and then forced a potion down her throat.

Eloise immediately started gagging and tried to wrest herself from his grasp. The potion was thick and viscous and tasted like mud, slowly sliding its way down her throat. If the curse had manifested itself in all-encompassing flames, this potion was its antidote in the form of shards of ice that burned in an entirely different way. Her ears were ringing and her head swam in pain as she whimpered.

But...

The coughing had stopped.

Her eyes slowly opened.

Sebastian's face swam in and out of her vision as she blinked away the tears. There was a sharp stab of pain through her head when she tried to focus her vision, so she just closed her eyes again and moved her face into the crook of his neck.

Her breath came out in ragged gasps, but at least she wasn't coughing anymore.

She felt his arms tighten around her, one of his hands starting to massage the base of her neck as he cradled her body to his. Sebastian was warm, reassuring, solid. That, she could focus on. Eloise breathed in deeply, and the faint smell of cinnamon mixed with what she was now recognizing as Sebastian filled her senses. She tried to move an arm so she could caress him the way he was, but her arms were numb and tingling and she was just so tired.

She felt herself drifting off to sleep in his arms, the overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort being her last fleeting thoughts before sleep overcame her.

the scene after their first kiss, that I drew a while ago😇😇😇

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 16

Synopsis: Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

They say when one dies there should be as few regrets as possible. Many spend their lives making sure that when the hour comes, they can look back with satisfaction. You were not dying, but your living days were over. With the sentence came the end of life. Your body may be breathing, your mind conscious, but your state of existence would be of less than a ghost. Your room was a tomb and your dull green dress funeral garb.

Regret was a heavy cross to bear. Tossing and turning you thought of all the moments you could have done something. Every interaction was analyzed, baked in your seething impotent hatred. Sometimes you wished for death. Others you imagined bursting out of the prison cell and killing every last one of them. Eating, drinking and sleeping in woe you wondered if this was madness. If it was you greatly lamented it. Could your madness have not made you unaware so as to spare you further suffering?

They say the gods punish those non believers. And your subs had been great. In hell you were, no need to die. Every day yawned onto a new dark night where you lingered in purgatory. You might have prayed. ‘But none can hear my prayers now.’

You were beyond the help of men.

To say you had no visitors would be a lie. Every few days Cerilla would come in and read from The Seven Pointed Star. Her favourites were on whores and adulteresses who met bad ends. At times like these you tuned her out. It was easier in a way. Being locked alone made you so used to the silence it could be overwhelming. She was like a fly you could not catch. Irritating, but so miniscule. The trial and constant anguish had drenched your fire. Where once you might have spat and clawed her beautiful white face, oh those days. Their like would not be seen in this life.

'No!' With a great wail you were wrenched out of sleep. A horrid agony seized you with such ferocity it was painful. Doubled up you moaned; 'No...no...' Slipping off the bed onto cold stone floor you were a lowly creature. Burning tears streamed down a cold worn face. The day before Cerilla had read Fate of a Sinner, a story where an evil queen was locked up for the rest of her days. Grieving over her loss the queen raged unrepentantly, for she had been evil. When the last of her hope was killed the queen shriveled up, never to set out again. You felt like that queen, crumpled to dust on the ground.

All night you remained on the ground. Not even the cold could encourage you to get up. 'I fear I shall never get up again.' Despair triumphed over sadness.

Only thoughts of Owen kept you sane. 'She will not kill him. Jenna needs him.' Then you would go to sleep, for that was the only way to escape. Mercifully your dreams were sweet. Small mercies.

What would Owen think of you in the years to come? One day he would be Lord of Highgarden. Should you be alive in such a time, then who knows. So much could happen. There was a small glimmer of hope at you imagined freedom in the future. It was not something you wholly believed in. Maybe when you were younger, but the years had stripped that from you. You contented yourself with the knowledge that whatever happened, Owen was safe.

'Your son is dead.' Cerilla did not even give you any warning. She simply came in and mentioned your only childs death as if it were the weather. Immediately you understood the truth. The glint in her eyes and the crow of her voice said everything. Owen, your son, was dead. 'Di you kill him.' The voice was not your own. Pitched and ragged it belonged to a mad woman, someone who was not you. All you could think of was Owen. Owen who was your son. Owen who was dead.

Cerilla did not stay for long. She mentioned about just having gotten back from King's Landing, something about Tyshara. And then she was gone. There was no need. Cerilla had succeeded in utterly break you. She would not visit you, there was no reason to. Now you were just some childless madwoman left to die alone and unloved. All the dead swam before you and into the arms of despair you fell. And there the specter of Owen, Jeacerion, your father and all the dead stood, blue dripping from their mouths.

Alicent Hightower was breathing her last. Day and night merged into one as the hour of her death drew nearer. She was so, so cold. Her sight was unfocused. There was a window and sunlight, but her eyes did not register these things. Someone was sitting by her bed, murmuring.

The white dress she was felt soothing against skin. When all the green was cleared she felt a sense of relief. Only white adorned her room, pure innocent white. Alicent had not worn white except to bed since her wedding day. She had always thought death would be scary, but right now she welcomed it. She was drifting away from this sad world of men. She only prayed regret would not follow her to the afterlife.

She mumbled something in the midst of her delirium. Her eyes burned from crying. The figure leaned in forward and said something. The former Querns mouth opened as wispy words tumbled out. And she saw their faces….oh their sweet faces. ‘I want to see my sons again, and Helaena my sweet girl, oh…and Rhaenyra. I will read to her under the Weirwood tree as we did when we were little. Flying around on Syrax eating lemon cakes.’ And ahead she saw clouds. Soaring above she saw them flying on dragons. And she was amongst them, older, but happier. There was a dull ache as she dreamed of what could have been. A world where women had a say in their destinies. 'In another life, pray I make the right choices. Let me be happy in heaven.' Happy as she had not been in life. As Alicent drifted away her thoughts were of those she loved.

Tyshara stood above Owen’s crib. She had never met her younger brother. He was small and very cute. Despite that woman’s colouring the babe looked very much like her father. Tyshara had entertained the possibility of Y/n having an affair. But she had never truly given it any real credence. Reaching down Tyshara brushed hair out of Owen’s face. Tyshara wondered if she could hate the babe. But now the very idea seemed ridiculous. Picking him up, Owen rested his little head against her shoulder.

‘He has no mother now.’ And something heavy fell into her stomach. Yes, there was a reason, and she had seen to it. Tyshara comforted herself with the notion Owen was better off without a murderer for a mother. That night she slept.

Highgarden was everything she dreamed of. Lucious gardens, flowers large as her head, tea parties with lemon cakes, warm night with stars twinkling. She missed her sisters but Jenna Tyrell and Cerilla Swann were always nice. Two of her friends joined. Karina her cousin and Lolly Payne joined and provided a blanket of security. She made new friends, including Jenna Tyrell’s good-daughter Florice Swann. She had been nervous when told she would be sent to Highgarden as a ward. But so far everything was very nice indeed.

‘Did you hear that Y/n Tyrell is coming back to Highgarden?’ Startled, Tyshara gapped at Cerilla Swann. ‘Truly? How come?’ Tyshara did not much look forward to seeing Y/n Tyrell slinking about the castle. ‘Yes. We have suitable room for a woman of her….situation.’ ‘I won’t have to see her, will I?’ Cerilla laughed. Unlike her other laughs this one sent unpleasant tingles down her spine. ‘Oh, no. Y/n will never be free again. I assure you that.’ Somehow this did not cheer Tyshara up. Something ugly stirred within. For now Tyshara decided to ignore it.

'A letter from my father's uncle?' Tyshara was paying a visit to Jenna Tyrell as she normally did. Once a day Jenna summoned her to speak over tea. These gatherings were very nice. She enjoyed cakes and treats from Essos. Jenna was kind enough. They flipped through books and Jenna gave her advice. 'Always keep your ears open, my child. A man may have his sword, but we posses other weapons.' Thinking it sage advice Tyshara hung onto every word. Jenna sat in a great oak chair. Tyshara had never met a queen before, hand queen Helaena or Alicent lived she might have been a lady in waiting. All she had were picture books of queens long past. Her favourites had always been Good Queen Alysanne and Visenya. Alysanne had been a just queen in her day, and Visenya had answered every challenge with bravery. It may be odd to idolize both women, as one gave birth to the man who terrorized the other. Maybe she just admired bravery. As a little girl Tyshara dreamed of meeting such a queen. Seeing Jenna sitting there looking every inch regal Tyshara was nearly blown away.

'My Lady.' Tyshara dipped into a curtsy. The great lady gave a smile and Tyshara blushed. To have the attention of such a woman. 'Lady Tyshara, please sit.' Tyshara sat down, careful to straighten out her dress, discretely. Jenna had given her a new green dress. Hanging off her shoulders the silk flowed behind her. A golden ribbon adorned her hair holding it up. Tyshara noticed the rings on Jenna's fingers. There were several, glittering and standing out. The one that caught Tyshara's attention, however, was the most plain. Well, by most standards it would not be considered plain. The gold circular disk had a rose embedded into it. Long ago the Tyrells had been stuarts of Highgarden. Tyshara found it funny that the Gardeners were gone only for a flower to be the lands symbol. It rested, shining on Jenna's finger. The ring had been passed down through the past hundred or so years, to be worn by the Lady of Highgarden. The Lady of Highgarden.

Wait.....was it not Florice Swann, Cerilla's elder sister, who was Lady of Highgarden. Granted she had hardly seen the true Lady of Highgarden. Cerilla told her Florice was a reclusive sort. Still it was rather odd that the ring remained with Jenna.

Jenna set aside the parchment. 'As mentioned, your great uncle has sent word from Casterly Rock. You are to attend the Maidens Ball as a candidate for queen." Tyshara nearly leapt from her seat with joy. Her a queen! Tyshara's noble heritage had always entailed prospects of a fine marriage. But to be a queen! There would be others of course. She had no doubt Lady Baratheon would put her girls out. But she had seen the Baratheon girls (at least the two remaining, Ellyn having died of poison and Floris in childbed). Sugars knew she was by far the prettiest.

‘While you are there I want to hear what is going on at court. Normally I would go myself but these troubled times call for certain sacrifices. Could you do that for me?’ Rushers readily agreed, of course she would. It felt good to be so important, bring a future queen and companion of Jenna Tyrell. ‘I will be a great lady.’ She thought.

Later that day Tyshara ran up to Cerilla’s room. Upon arrival she noticed Cerilla sitting with her sister Florice Swann. There were few similarities. The elders hair was the colour of straw and had a drowned quality to it. Her pale parlour gave her no glow that young women of her age were said to have. While Cerilla’s brown eyes sparkled nearly like gold Florice’s own looked dull. Never before had Tyshara seen such an unhappy woman.

‘Tyshara, how good to see you.’ Graciously Cerilla stood up and took Tyshara by the hands. She lead her to the table where cakes and tea were laid out. Florice’s thin boney hand stretched out taking the cup. Shaking she brought it to her lips. Was she ill? Worried, Tyshara looked to Cerilla. Yet Cerilla looked unbothered. Tyshara wondered if she should say anything. Finally, she decided to remain silent. Of course they would realize Florice was less than healthy. And anyway it may be rude to inquire on such a personal matter. So Tyshara said nothing.

‘That is a lovely dress you are wearing.’ Cerilla smiled with a simple ‘Thank you.’ Cerilla’s dress was similar to Jenna’s with long draping green sleeves. Today Cerilla’s long reddish gold hair was in a half up-do which Tyshara admired. She considered doing the same some time. ‘You look lovely yourself.’ Florice’s voice was wispy and the only reason Tyshara heard it was because of how few people were there. Tyshara quickly composed herself. ‘Thank you, My Lady.’ Tyshara sat down and the three of them ate and talked. Though the talking was mostly done by Cerilla and herself. ‘Tell me, where did you get that bracelet?’ Tyshara looked down at the ruby bracelet sparkling in sunlight. ‘It was a gift from my father, passed down through generations.’ This explanation was not entirely truthful. It was an heirloom but it belonged to a collection passed down to every Lady of Casterly Rock. When she heard her father was remarrying Tyshara took what she could. It gave her satisfaction to know Y/n would not get everything that belonged to her mother. ‘A worthy lady of Casterly Rock may have this bracelet, no one else.’ And so Tyshara kept it for herself. She fully intended to give the bracelet to Owen’s future wife, but that was years away. For now, however, it remained with her, a worthy lady of Casterly Rock.

‘And that is The Mother, see?’ Tyshara held Owen in her arms. He was old enough to hold his head high. By now Owen had gotten used to her presence and so no longer fussed. Tyshara was thrilled to have a brother, even if that woman was his mother. There had been another brother. The birth that had taken her mother’s life produced a boy, weak, who only outlasted their mother by a day. The only thing that gave Tyshara comfort was that her mother had died thinking the baby would live. It made Tyshara angry that her mother tried so hard for so long to have a son only for some woman to sweep in and triumph in only a year. The bitterness was still there, dwelling like a malignant tumor.

'I will be this boy's mother. He won't need her.' Tyshara convinced herself. And with that woman gone she could pretend there was no other woman, that they shared the same parents. It did not matter that they looked so different. He was her beloved brother and she would do anything to protect him. Her beloved baby brother.

She read to him all the stories her mother once had. They were all happy tales with no sad ending. Just light, justice and good triumphing over evil. Just as the world was made to be. Tyshara enjoyed, at night, hiding in her room and having Owen snuggled up in the sheets. A makeshift fort was built like she was still a little girl. Safe and cozy under blankets she slipped into another, happier, world. 'You will be just like one of those knights, Owen. A brave true man who stands up for justice.' It sounded so silly but Tyshara liked to think of herself as a sort of mysterious guardian. Like the handmaidens of The Mother. Looking after the young. With those sweet sentiments, she was lulled into sleep, blocking out the waking world.

She had thought that while those stolen nights allowed her to dwell in dreams, daytime was not so bad. Tyshara could look in those picture books she loved so well and compare them to her life. Jousts, masked balls, fabulous dresses, feasts and laughing the night away. She even had several suitors. At ten and six Tyshara was a woman now and had been turning heads for years. Like most Lannisters she was golden haired with green eyes. Tall and lithe with a slender waist she stood out amongst all the others. It gave her a great deal of joy to be the center of attention. Being fabulously wealthy also helped. New dresses for ever night, glittering in moonlight. 'I am a princess in a story, soon to be a queen.' swept up in the moment Tyshara could only think of how happy she was. Oh how happy she was! 'Let it never end.' She prayed.

Maiden's Day Ball was to take place at the heart of power. With little Jaehaera Targaryen's death Aegon the Third would need a wife. It did not matter than he was miserable, or that every night he awoke in terror, he was king. There was never room for things such as emotions, or pity for a little boy. Tyshara thought of none of these things. Not that he was just a boy, or that her father helped defeat his mother. Not once did she even truly consider him. Sure, she did not expect to bed him, or even feel love. She just saw the crown un all its splendor. When little the idea she might marry Aegon Targaryen, firstborn living son of Viserys, had floated around. That had fallen through with the insistence he marry his sister. At the time the refused had hardly bothered her. Being so little Tyshara had other matters. Such as what was for desert that night. But now and then she considered it. In dreams Tyshara dreamed of bring like a fairytale princess. And now she would be one for real. A beautiful queen coming after war and bloodshed.

They set out in great splendor. After spending months in Highgarden it would be hard to leave. But leaving for King's Landing! There would be celebrations there too. Jenna Tyrell would not be coming, to Tyshara's surprise. Jenna had been invited. But being busy with post-war matters was an understandable reason. No one else was surprised. Apparently Jenna rarely left the confines of her castle. Thankfully Cerilla would be coming along with several other ladies, including Katrina. All bundled into carriages they feasted on sweetmeats and cakes, playing cards and telling stories. They all talked about who was wearing what. They took the greatest interest in gossip and idle chatter. It was a blessed relief after two years of war and misery.

As much as Tyshara looked forward to the ball it was starting to get cold. Highgarden had a cold tinge that was easy to ignore. But despite going south, Tyshara found that the closer to King's Landing they were, the colder it was. Thankfully she had several sturdy cloaks Tyshara had done up. The weather was no true issue. Excitement was so infectious Tyshara cared not a fig for something such as weather. There were greater matters.

Whispers Tyshara paid little head to were the beginning. Of course the roads were not totally safe after a was such as this. Some maidens died or were horribly injured, so they said. But their retinue was so large that Tyshara cared not. Certain maidens were pleased to hear of such morbid details, including a rumor that one girls had her face slit open, nose in half, as it meant less competition. Tyshara tried to put it out of mind. 'Likely a rumor.' One day Tyshara went out of the wheelhouse to ride horses instead. Accompanying her was Katrina and other such friends. Naturally she was not without guards so they were all perfectly safe. Riding on ahead Tyshara enjoyed the wind rippling through her blonde hair. She truly looked a sight, so beautiful with tumbles of hair in curls. 'Katrina, hurry!' They sped on, Katrina laughing. Tyshara was filled with happiness. Soon she would be in King's Landing and Gods willing be queen.

Crack!

There was a scream and Tyshara's horse bolted forward. With a great cry she clung on. The world became a haze of panic and confusion. Fingers slipped and with a thrill of fear Tyshara realized she was falling. Wind was knocked right out of her as Tyshara landed. Both teeth and brain rattled, every bone shook. People were all over her when Tyshara needed space. Someone picked her up and in her pain did not realize immediately what had happened. When the world was back in focus Tyshara realized a great tree had fallen. And under its great body was the crumpled form of Katrina.

She was not celebrating anymore. The horror of seeing Katrina being crushed under such a weight tore at Tyshara. Her dear sweet friend was gone. Any joy there was dissipated, replaced by the feeling of something cold. Staying in the wheelhouse Tyshara held a figure of The Mother. May she guide Katrina in the after life. News of other mysterious deaths were no longer simply speculation. She cursed herself for not paying attention. Otherwise Katrina might be alive. Cerilla seemed oddly detached from the situation. The normally fun loving woman seemed to not care that such a young girl had died. 'At least it was not you.' Cerilla said as if that were comforting.

People grieved but they forced themselves on. Suddenly Tyshara wanted to flee home. Casterly Rock was her haven, not this castle Tyshara had only visited once before, during the trial. This journey felt so much worse. In stoic silence Tyshara remained for the rest of journey. The absence of Katrina widening.

King's Landing was silent, eerily so. The smallfolk looked out through their windows at the lavish procession before them. A chill had descended over the quiet city. Tyshara had heard the stories of riots. Angry smallfolk sweeping through the streets killing all in their path. They had even managed to kill dragons. And yet now these people remained hidden. Perhaps they had enough of fighting.

The Red Keep, on the other hand, was bustling with life. Decorations of white lilies festooned red stone. Silk draped from windows like banners. Perfume emanated from lanterns in an attempt to disguise the stink. Carriages had been pulled and people were escorted inside. When Tyshara arrived she was helped out and could hear music. The scene was truly beautiful, and there was a painful pang as Tyshara thought of how Katrina would have loved it. What Katrina would not have liked was the very clear tension. Something was off and Tyshara felt someone come up behind her. Alarmed, Tyshara spun around to see a large horse, its rider proudly sitting. Unwin Peake bore the crest of his house, imperiously looking down on her. 'Lady Tyshara.' His voice dripped with pomp. 'I am a Lannister you fool.' She thought. Who did this man think he was? Behind him was Myrielle Peake, a little girl with pale feeble features. In her hands was a doll, why he let her Tyshara did not know.

After that frosty reception Tyshara was ushered inside to get ready. Every candidate was expected to present themselves before king Aegon the Third. Bathed, Tyshara was dressed in Lannister finery. Proudly on her wrist glittered the bracelet. Walking though the halls she truly felt like a queen. Unlike last time she was here for a show and dressed as such. During Y/n's trial she had been advised to dress modestly. The double doors were thrown open and a herald bellowed 'Lady Tyshara of House Lannister!' The crowd parted and Tyshara's self importance doubled.

King Aegon shocked Tyshara. She had not seen the king before. Of course she had not expected to see a warrior or a strong handsome man. What she saw was not a boy, less than a ghost. Never had she seen a such a miserable child. His silver locks hanging limply, King Aegon looked forlornly out at her. She knew he was still a boy, but by the Gods he looked far younger than his years! He looked about ready to topple over with a single gust of wind. Tyshara pulled herself together. 'Think of queenship.' She suffered his dark look and curtsied. He gave a nod and then just like that it was over. Relived, Tyshara blended into the crowd. Another name was called and Tyshara knew that had Katrina lived, she would have been next.

The next few days were filled with banquets and dances. She was not obliged to attend the king, thankfully. In fact, Tyshara could have spent the rest of her life without seeing the forlorn boy. Thoughts of queenship abandoned she resolved to enjoy the festivities. Plays bawdier than she had ever before dared to see, costume parties and hunts were carried out. Rings set with emeralds were passed around and Tyshara wore in on her slim finger. But every now and then, no, more often than that, she remembered Katrina. In those moments she paused in her tracks. Before bed she prayed for Katrina's soul, and in those dark hours thought of others. One must unburned themselves before The Seven, otherwise how can they be truly clean? Tyshara had always tried to be good, dutiful daughter and sister. But something nagged at her conscience. They say when a death happens one becomes thoughtful. Unbidden, Y/n came to mind. She had tried to banish the image of that bedraggled sickly looking woman. Before it had been so easy to hate her, the woman who wore her mothers things. Gold and ruby had been replaced by rags. It was harder to hate her.

Tyshara found Cerilla giggling over a letter. Curiously she walked over. 'What is it?' With a grin that sent Tyshara's stomach clenching Cerilla shoved the letter into her hands. 'You will be glad to hear of this I recon.' Jenna's wax stamp still lung to parchment. The woman's small curved writing was hard to read, but Tyshara managed. What she read was not pleasing, not in the slightest. 'Is this not cruel?' Tyshara protested without thinking. Surely, even with who she was, Y/n did not deserve such treatment. A murderer she might be, but something did not feel right and Tyshara could not put her finger on it. Alone in a dark cold cell made her shiver. As a little girl her septa showed pictures of damnation. 'This is where the bad go.' One image that stood out was a cell. It had only one sole occupant, doomed to eternity in solitude.

Cerilla's laughter shook Tyshara. For the first time Tyshara was afraid of this girl. It had been easy to talk with Cerilla and lambast Y/n. She told her all sorts of things. Of how Y/n was with Jaecerion every waking hour. Or perhaps it was that way? Or not? Tyshara could not truly remember. Only that she had said the words. Savage anger had coursed though her. An anger deflating by the day. 'We will not let her die, not yet at least.' Tyshara felt she may be sick. 'Why do you hate her?' Tyshara had always assumed it was because of Y/n's true personality. A scheming evil little whore. But Tyshara was finding the rage Cerilla held quite alarming. Horrifyingly so. Cerilla tossed her head sending red locks cascading down. 'Lady Jenna tells me everything. She is a horrid creature who tried to steal my sisters husband. 'I thought Y/n grew up in King's Landing.' Tyshara knew that Y/n grew up in the Red Keep and Jenna's son in Highgarden. 'My lady's son came to King's Landing on occasion.' Cerilla shrugged as if this was no big deal. She did not seem to realize how truly disturbed Tyshara was.

Tyshara brought the subject up no more. It was not needed as Cerilla could not see, to keep Y/n out of her mouth. There was just something not right about Cerilla's hatred. And the stories she told started to not make sense. She still remembered how Cerilla had prodded for stories about Y/n before the trial, how she herself had spilt out words, suspicions she told a fact. And as Cerilla spun tales of Y/n, and others, Tyshara felt caught in a web.

Owen's nanny had written on his progress. Tyshara was glad to hear he was well. By now Tyshara was torn between returning to Highgarden or Casterly Rock. She missed her little sisters, even the bastard ones. More than ever she missed Katrina and wished to pay her family a visit. Already a letter had been sent yet that felt insufficient. She considered summoning Katrina's younger brother over but decided not to. Soon she would leave.

Tyshara sat in her bed fingering the ruby bracelet. So many times she had seen it on her mothers wrist. Cerilla entered and Tyshara placed it on the table. The silk sheets were soft and the bed heavenly. Despite that she was careful to remain stationary. Cerilla slid in next to her and pulled up the covers. Cerilla seemed quite unbothered, as usual. 'Who do you think the king will marry?' Tyshara shrugged, she had not been keeping track. 'There are a lot of pretty maidens this year.' Cerilla continue. Tyshara did not want to continue the conversation, because Cerilla held the tone of one setting..... something up. Tyshara was too tired and too weary to carry on at the moment. Laying down her blonde head Tyshara tried to fall asleep.

'You knew, they say the king may marry you.' Her eyes flew open. Not turning around, Tyshara's ears were shop. Suddenly it was like sleeping next to a panther. Feeling Cerilla slide closer, the bed dipping, Tyshara suppressed a shudder. How could she ever have liked this girl? 'Lets see, you, Cassandra Baratheon, a few others I recon. Do you wish to marry the king?' This time Tyshara turned around. The question made her feel invaded, and slightly indignant. 'And if I did?' Tyshara rolled over and closed her eyes, praying for sleep.

Tyshara had taken to watching Cerilla's moves. There was just something off about her. There was something else that off put her, apart from Cerilla's malice towards Y/n. Cerilla was watching her too. A tension had grown between the pair of them. Of course Tyshara was not fool enough to voice any of this. By now she was sure going back to Casterly Rock was for the best. First, she would gather Owen. It was about time he come to his seat. Jenna would hopefully be understanding.

Dear Lady Jenna,

I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to thank you for your patronage these past few months. Owen, I am sure, is under the best of care under your supervision, which is why it pains me to say he must leave for Casterly Rock. Your hospital is greatly appreciated and I will always be grateful for your kindness. I will return to Highgarden once I receive permission from Lord Leon Lannister. I pray to The Seven that our friendship shall remain.

Sincerely,

Tyshara Lannister

Thankfully Tyshara did not need to write a letter to Leon Lannister. Her great uncle resided in King's Landing thanks to this ball. After sending the letter out Tyshara headed off to Leon Lannister's rooms. They were situated in the Hand's Tower, although he was not part of the council. Dressed in Lannister finery, bracelet included, Tyshara sought an audience. Looking surprised, Leon met with her. They exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business. 'My brother should take up his seat. Naturally you will remain regent but the west should get to know their lord, should they not.' Leon had a thinning goatee that Tyshara found slightly ridiculous. He stoked the hair while pondering quietly. 'I suppose.' He did not sound totally sure, which made Tyshara nervous. Why should Owen not go back to Casterly Rock? Seeing the look on her face Leon quickly agreed. But Tyshara was warry.

Each morning Tyshara would wake up and write letters. Her sisters wanted to know about the ball , her friends the same and she wrote to Jenna. It was just small things, the comings and goings of the court. Tyshara wrote about her discussion with Leon Lannister, how he had consented to her return. What Tyshara did not enclose was his odd behavior, but Jenna did not have to know that.

'Getting ready to leave so soon?' Cerilla appeared by the door as Tyshara was taking an inventory of all her things. Not looking up from the list Tyshara said 'Yes. Then I will be leaving.' Cerilla raised an eyebrow. 'Some other ladies are leaving. The ones that are not injured or maimed have started packing. They may fear that once chosen to be queen they will be harmed. Tyshara was only half listening, thoughts of her siblings. 'It is a pity your sisters are not here.' Cerilla took a step forward. 'Too young.' Even then Cerilla did not look up. She did not leave, instead hovering like some malignant specter. 'Is there something you would like to tell me?' Tyshara was starting to get impatient, sounding more aggressive than a lady of her standing aught to. 'Do you still wish to marry the king?' And Cerilla was right behind her, breath blowing at the back of Tyshara's slender neck. Tyshara said nothing.

She should have said something, anything to derail Cerilla from her plan. Tyshara might have noticed Cerilla's malice, but not the depths it would go. For the next two days they said little to one another. As her departure time came closer Tyshara looked forward to seeing Owen. One night she was packing away the gifts, dressed for the girls and a little wooden sword for Owen. Once that was done Tyshara washed her face and get ready for bed. A maid came in and laid out the next days clothes. As Tyshara drifted off to sleep she did not notice that the door remained unlocked.

She woke up to rough shaking and shouting. Groggily she stirred awake to find an angry face over hers. A septa was shouting overhead, shaking Tyshara by her shoulders. With a gasp of pain Tyshara was awake. Crying out Tyshara launched herself back in fright. Hitting a body, she turned to see a boy, not much older than herself. Surrounding her bed were three others. Screaming, Tyshara hit the boy. 'Who is this!?' 'Do not play the innocent with us Tyshara Lannister. He was spotted sneaking into your chambers several hours hence.' 'But I am not at fault!. This boy is unknown to me!' Her pleas fell on deaf ears. She was quickly forced to changed and taken to the office of Lord Unwin Peake.

If Unwin Peake scared her before it was nothing to the fear she felt now. A snarl played on his thing worm like lips. In the room with him were two guards, Leon Lannister and, to Tyshara's surprise, Cerilla. 'Lady Tyshara, sit.' Under any other circumstance Tyshara might have reminded this man who she was. But alone and friendless she felt so small. Tentatively she sat down on the chair. 'This very morning you were caught abed with a stable boy. And do not lie we all saw it.' Tears rose in Tyshara's eyes, both from the unfair accusations and distress.' 'I...I swear I have no idea who this boy is I....' She could not continue any longer. 'Lady Cerilla told us you had been having carnal relations with this stableboy since your arrival. Tyshara gave Cerilla a horrified look. Surely she wouldn't have....

'You will be sent back to Casterly Rock immediately. You are a shame to your family and house.' Cerilla was quick to interject. 'My Lord, pardon my interruption but Lady Tyshara resides in Highgarden.' 'Very well. Lady Tyshara you will go to Higharden to collect your brother.' Leon Lannister was the next to speak. 'I see no need for her to go to Highgarden. We can have her things brought to Casterly Rock.' Unwin nodded. ' But My Lords, my brother-' They did not care what she had to say. 'You will go back to Casterly Rock.' Unwin Peake ordered. There was no pity in his eyes, only a sick triumph. Stung by the anger and injustice of it all Tyshara called out 'wait'. They all scrutinized her. 'Let me prove my innocents.'

When Tyshara asked to clear her name she had not imagined this. She was brought into a room where several septas laid her back. When they entered the cold metal all Tyshara felt was pain and humiliation. It was over in a moment and afterwards she was cleaned up and brought before the lords. Humiliation coursed through her veins as she hobbled into the office and needed help sitting down. These cold hard men were staring her down, the little insignificant girl she was. Her hymen was broken, although no one mentioned that a hymen could easily be broken upon a horse. Most noble girls lost their maidenheads to such activities. Cerilla then got up and mentioned that Tyshara was up late into the night. This was the truth but Cerilla was alleging something she knew not to be true. A maid was brought in and probed. The things in the beginning she said were true, that Tyshara stayed up late, that she requested tea and went for nighttime walks. The the story was spun, so that these walks and staying up awake were spent in sin, that the tea was of a certain type. And by the end they all thought her guilty.

She was finally leaving. Despite the disgrace she had endured it was a relief to leave King's Landing behind. There was the double satisfaction of having Unwin Peake's plans being foiled. Despite all the deaths and mutilations to make his daughter queen it was Daenaera Velaryon who would be queen. By new Tyshara was sure he had Katrina killed. Oh how she desired vengeance. But what could a woman of her position do? A Lannister she might be, but still a woman.

Tyshara would be heading right back to Casterly Rock. Her companions sat in stony silence all the way there. If only Katrina were here. It wounded Tyshara how not a single one of them spoke up in her defense. Now they all thought her guilty despite all the years spent together. Counting back the days till she arrived at Casterly Rock Tyshara thought of her siblings. Cerelle would be glad to have her back. Caren had been so little when she last saw her. Briefly her thoughts went to Crissa, her bastard half-sister. She had died the day the Ironborn invaded the Westerlands, along with her mother Lady Redwyne. She had hated her fathers mistress too. But after finding out the woman's grim hate it was hard.

The moment she arrived back at Casterly Rock she fell into Cerelle's arms. They hugged each other and cried. 'I missed you so much.' Tyshara sobbed. 'I too. And I am so sorry.' 'Oh Cerelle, you have nothing to apologize so.' Hugging her tighter, Cerelle said 'Owen-' Tyshara quickly broke apart. 'Owen? What happened?!' The look on Cerelle's face was pure horror.

When Cerelle told Tyshara Owen was dead she could not truly comprehend what she meant. Dead? Owen? And then suddenly she was screaming, a long drawn out wail. Everything was dark and wretched. Somehow she was taken to bed and left there to whither. Every breath was agony. This had to be some horrid nightmare. At some point Tyshara asked if Y/n knew. She probably did.

The days dragged on like she was being hauled over sharp stones. Sinking into the soft covers Tyshara was in purgatory. She thought of a storybook in which a queen was punished and locked up left to whither alone. And there she dwelt within herself until Owen's body arrived. Taking off every piece of finery, including the bracelet, Tyshara now wore black, was draped in it. During his funeral in the sept she was beyond the tears. Statues of The Seven looked down upon Owen's body with care, hers with judgment. Once the funeral was gone and everyone left Tyshara watched as they loaded his body into the stone casket. He would sleep for eternity bellow Casterly Rock, in the great Lion Vault.

Late that night Tyshara headed out alone. She crept through the silent passages, keeping to the darkness. When her own mother passed Tyshara visited the crypt one final time to gaze upon her face. After that she had never done it again. Same with her father. Tyshara wondered if Y/n would lay here when dead. Probably not, likely in the garden in they were kind. The entrance to Lions Vault were two iron carved lions, rubies set into the metal. They let her in without a word. As a Lannister this was her right. There was a long gallery held up by marble pillars. Tapestries worn by centuries depicted the arrival of House Lannister. Some of these tapestries hailed back to a time where the Lannisters were kings, not mere lords. She walked passed the countless carved statues until she arrived at one newly built.

Owne was depicted as a child, his likeness sending a shard of pain through Tyshara's heart. 'I am sorry.' She said. Hopefully he could hear her. Tyshara then fumbled around the edges of his crypt. The Lannisters had a small secret few others knew. But every coffin was built so that the cover could be easily moved. She found and pulled the pulley. With a crunch it slid open to reveal her brother. He looked so tiny, even for his young age. Tyshara reached down and shuddered when she felt his stiff skin. Her thumb crushed his lips and she smeared off skin. Recoiling back Tyshara thought there was dead skin on her hand. But upon closer inspection she realized it was not her brothers remains, but paint. Leaning in Tyshara inspected her brothers face. There was blue on his lips.

Tyshara stumbled back. Not even breathing her heart was bumping furiously. A hand went to her mouth. Taking off the blindfold Tyshara now saw clearly. The world was in colour and now she knew the truth. And it was too late.

'Novice Joan.' Tyshara, now a novice prepared to take her vows, get up. Gone were the jewels and her mothers bracelet. Here she stood in septas garbs. Most thought this was a choice made by Leon Lannister, the new Lord of Casterly Rock. Little did they know this was made of her own volition. A life of penitents. She stood alone in her room, a prison. Behind her were two candles. A silent prayer still lingered, along with two names. Owen Lannister, and Y/n Tyrell.

It was over, she had won. Jenna stood on the balcony overlooking all that was hers. Ever since she was a girl Jenna had dreamed of greatness. So when her father married her to the son of a second son Jenna had been bitterly dissatisfied. She had wanted greater but was forced to settle for him. She remembered when Amelia Tarley arrived shortly after for her wedding. On sight Jenna loathed her. This thin weak looking woman who was to be Lady of Highgarden. She had been overjoyed when Amelia gave birth to only one little girl, Y/n. She attempted to betroth the girl to her newborn son. But it was reflected and Jenna’s hatred grew.

Jenna had been reborn when married. The youngest of three sisters, Jenna had always been in their shadow. Cristina the eldest was beautiful, Justina was clever, and then there was her, just Jenna. So when Jenna was married with a second chance at a family she swore she would be great. ‘One day they will all kneel to me.’

She would not be marrying the Lord of Highgarden or his heir. Some cousin, but close enough to that great seat. At the time she married Owen Tyrell was the heir, a man slightly older than herself. She did not think much of that wife, some Tarley girl named Amelia. Even the girls looks were meager, although she was not ugly. So thin was she Jenna wondered if Amelia even have children. Her own son, strong and healthy, showed Amelia's bareness for all to see. That satisfaction had been oh so sweet.

Of course the Gods were fickle. Shortly afterwards Amelia was with child. Bitterly Jenna had prayed the babe would be born dead, or at least a girl. The latter turned out to be granted and that night Jenna stayed up in anticipation. If Amelia could have one child, even some squalling daughter she named Y/n, there could be others. But they never came and as the years went by Jenna became more hopeful.

Although Lord Owen Tyrell had no more children from that weak simpering fool he had no intention of divorcing her and remarrying. Jenna considered that a good thing. A new pretty wife may very well provide sons. Amelia was not the only one having fertility issues. Jenna herself had not gotten with child since Gerald. She consulted midwives, maesters and even woodswitches but to no avail. Once, she had visited a traveling wise woman with green eyes. When Jenna demanded assistance the woman only laughed. 'You will strangle the vine and spread the seeds. Or perhaps you will be wise.' Her words Jenna did not care to understand. But the bit about 'strangle the vine' always remained. Yes. She should strangle the vine. Nothing else mattered

Jenna’s first husband Gerion had passed from fever and soon after Jenna looked about. For a time Jenna fancied Owen Tyrell might marry her. It never happened. So Jenna simply removed a piece and Owen Tyrell was a widower. Her intention had been to attract him. One night she came upon with great ardor. It was not hard, so wealthy and handsome. But Lord Tyrell had dismissed her with great fury. Jenna was sent away with her son and bitterness as companions.

When she found out Owen Tyrell passed Jenna nearly collapsed with joy. Immediately she raced to Highgarden. It seemed the poison and her allies had done their work. In no time her son was Lord Paramount of Highgarden. It was suggested that her boy marry Owen's little girl. 'You had your chance Owen, my blood alone will rule Highgarden.' That did not mean the girl had no uses. Jenna was quick to utilize this new tool. it was easy to tether the girl to her. And she did her work well. When Y/n was old enough to comprehend the world around her Jenna received news. Because of her birth and good standing with the royal family Jenna learned much. 'Your girl is mine, all mine Owen.' Jenna mused.

Everyone but Viserys saw the upcoming war. As the king slowly crawled towards his grave Jenna planned for the future. Alliances were built and none were so great as those made through marriage. Alicent Hightower wanted the Lannisters. Although already silently pledged to Aegon a marriage was decided. There were no Targaryen princesses and Jenna had no daughters. So she put forward Y/n as a bride for Tyland Lannister, so conveniently in need of a wife. The thought of Owen's daughter being Lady Lannister galled her. Jenna contented herself that Y/n would still be under her control. Whatever name the girl took she was still a mere pawn.

She spent the war in Highgarden, in the safety of its walls. It was much light being a gardener, plotting every location. But by the Gods she was good at it. Y/n was brining daily new of the comings and going of Casterly Rock. One day she had asked Y/n to intercede on her behalf to Jason Lannister. It was so useful to receive assistance from Casterly Rock. Some complained, it was said, that Lady Y/n of Casterly Rock was favouring her Tyrell relations. Resentment was stirred. This had the mixed effect of concern as Jenna did not want the dislike of House Lannister heaped upon her. At least the dislike seemed focused on Y/n rather than herself. And it felt good for Owen Tyrells little spawn to suffer as he should have.

When she got word that Jason Tyrell had passed Jenna seized her chance. She had wanted Y/n, pregnant, brought to Highgarden. This had been counteracted by Prince Regent Aemond having her placed in Harrenhal. Why he placed her there she could not say. Word came that a boy was born. 'Owen Lannister.' She spat. The letter was flung into the fire. Y/n having a boy suited her plans. Her sons wife had given birth to a daughter. The idea of having a granddaughter as Lady of Casterly Rock was tempting. Finally she had been able to have Y/n brought. With the political ground shifting Harrenhal was no longer a safe option. Better news was to come. Leon Lannister, uncle to Jason Lannister, had a son. A confirmed bachelor, many had marveled when he finally settled down. And so another heir to Casterly Rock was born. This opened another possibility. She had only consented to her granddaughter being married to Owen Lannister to gain power. But now the boy was no longer needed as he was. Thanks to Y/n intercepting on her behalf to House Lannister Jenna knew Lord Leon. The pair had met and decided on marrying the tow little ones. But this had all been kept secret. Then it was time to rid herself of Y/n.

Some might have said it was unnecessary. Some could say it was the girls own fault. Y/n had behaved rather foolishly with Prince Aemond, and made enemies. Jenna's spies brought together all those who may provide incriminating evidence. By the time the trial happened all of Y/n's friends were either gone, banished or dead. Jaecerion had been taken care of quickly. She had been rather surprised to find the prince truly did kill Ellyn Baratheon. But it all worked out in the end. Owen Tyrell's daughter was locked up forever. Her time had come and Jenna felt dizzy with excitement. Another case of Winter Fever and swept through Westeros, and the final stone was laid. One cold night she had Owen brought to her. A little less than a year old Jenna observed him. He slept soundly, unaware of what was to come. From a small wooden box under her bed Jenna withdrew a thin vile. Thick blue liquid sloshed around inside. Carefully she uncorked the bottle. A small scent of mint was whiffed. Then, she turned upon Owen. Every step sounded like a trumpet of victory. Her heart pounded victoriously. Extending an arm clothed in green, Jenna poured the poison into Owens mouth. It was all over in but a moment. The babes eyes flew opened. He shook violently and all healthy colour drained. Then his panicked eyes rolled up, lips turned blue, and lay still. For a few moments she looked to the still figure. A thin finger checked, there was no pulse. Then a great gasp of jubilation broke free. And that gasp turned into a laugh. Turning her face to the sky and raced to the window. Throwing open the balcony window she burst into the windy cold night. And her crows of victory were heard only to the wind, and Alys Rivers.

Alys Rivers stood under the three Weirwood trees in Highgardens forest. It was not the forest that interested her but the Weirwood. Right above her, looming like a Spector of death the tree gently swayed. She could see their faces in its wood. One might wonder why she chose to go north, especially during winter time. Especially with a babe. Her son, his silver hair swaying in the breeze, slept peacefully. Aeron was small as his father had been at birth, and just as strong. He would thrive in the north. The other world ruled here as the one who held power dwelled beyond the wall.

But as much as Alys loved this place there was work to do. Aeron would be safe. This would be an ambitious assignment yet it would all be worth it in the end. The dreams that haunted her could not, must not, come to pass. Otherwise an eternal night would reign.

Tucked beneath her clock was a scabbard. It was well concealed in its sheath but it was not the blade which worried her. The Valyrian steele with a hilt imbued with the remains of the First Children, laced with venom, was the threat. She would need to be very careful because the effects were neatly instantaneous. Alys had built up an immunity but would still need caution. It had taken her lifetimes to set everything into place. Carrying on the wind Alys heard a cackle of laughter. Alys turned back to her son. ‘We are almost there.’ And then the battle for Y/n’s soul, and the world, would begin.

Notes: A grim ending for part one. But part two is coming. The epilogue will be out tomorrow, and the teaser at a later date. Book 2 will be out in a few months because I want to write some of it first. I am so excited because it is gonna be crazy!

I begun writing this book back last summer on a whim. Back then I did not know how much this story would mean to me. Writing and all the support I have received has truly provided me with a new experience. Thank you to every last one of you who has read, reposted, liked and discussed the story with me.

Epilogue (Coming tomorrow!)

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[idyat]

Overprotective Sanford x reader

They'll never hurt you again

Requested on Wattpad

Summary: The AAHW has captured you. That will not stand with your lover.

WARNINGS: Violent threats, torture, murder, lots of gore in general

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...What time was it? You couldn't know inside your empty, dark, sealed of from the world room. Your ennemies had got you, the chances of you dying in terrible agony were at an all time high. Lucky for you though, they wanted to try and get some information out of you first.

"So, are you gonna talk?" The ATP soldat in front of you asked. But there was no way you were saying anything. Ever.

"Oooh playing tough huh? If you love staying quiet so much maybe you'd like to have your throat ripped out?" They threatened, pointing a knife towards said throat.

You couldn't do anything to fight either. Your arms, your legs, even your torso were strapped to a very uncomfortable chair. Judging by the look, it was electric too.

While you were dwelling on your thoughts, the soldat got a call through their earbud.

"Huh? Yeah don't worry I'm not actually killing them. Might cut the bitches tongue though. You guys do your jobs and make sure absolutely no one's breaking in okay? Okay."

They were probably serious about the tongue thing. Your body was already covered in cuts, burns and bruises.

But you knew your condition wouldn't last long. You knew he would just need to know about what was going on to bring hell upon these assholes and their base. Which is why, even through the pain you managed to smile.

"Oh? You're smiling now?" Your captor had focused back on you.

"What's making you so happy huh? Is there something funny going on on the wall?" They were baby-talking you and turned around to this time look at the wall in front of you with stupid movements. Idiot, they're only embarrassing themselves even more.

You suddenly got punched in the face real hard.

"Are you enjoying this, huh?! You like being hurt or do you like being annoying, you stupid brat?!" They continued to hit you as they yelled.

"Maybe you'll enjoy the stretchers even more then, you useless fu-"

The building's alarm suddenly went off. Filling every room with a flickering red light and ear-splitting ring.

"What the-" The soldat got once again interrupted, this time by the sound and sight of explosions, screams, and guts flying out not far from your own placement.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" You smiled even more at their panic.

Both of you knew that motherfucker was already dead.

One last explosion of your interrogation rooms door, and their body was already getting hooked from across the room, right before it was their heads turn to get crushed onto the ground. And when I say crushed I mean crushed. Brain and eye flying out and everything.

It would almost gross you out if you weren't concentrated on the hunk responsible for the carnage. Well, "hunk". At the moment all he was was terrifying. Blood and shadows covering his face with only the light of his sunglasses perceivable as he wiped out everyone in his way with horrid shrieks of agony.

He looked up before bolting towards you. Your heart almost stopped until you felt your face being grabbed and restraints being torn as if they were mere paper.

"Oh god, Honey are you alright?! Holy shit, what did they do to you..."

You could almost see the darkness fading away as he worringly yelled if you were okay.

"I'm definitely better now that you're here." You smiled, still panting from the pain and recent beating.

He finally destroyed all the straps connecting you to the chair before grabbing you and tightly, yet gently, hugging you.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...I took so long just look at what they did to my sweetheart..." Sanford's voice was trembling as he scanned over your wounds to make sure none needed urgent attention. It was quite funny honestly, to see such a murderous and sadistic man turn so nurturing within a few seconds, all for his lover. It's a very strong contrast for one person.

"Hey, Love, it's okay! You saved me in the end, isn't it all that matters?"

"Yes...But-"

You gave him a kiss. "No buts Honey. It's all over now. Let's just go home."

He nodded before picking you up bridal style. No way he was going to let the love of his life walk with legs injured like that. He also took the time to get to the entrance (or to blow up a hole in the nearest wall) to comfort you and made sure you were ok physically and mentally. You were the one who just got kidnapped and tortured, there's no way he's the only one getting reassured!

You two eventually made it outside. To which your boyfriend suddenly stopped.

"...Uuh...I got here all by myself...Could you call Deimos to come pick us up?"

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 10)

The giant chapter won by a landslide 𓁹‿𓁹

9k later. Absolutely wild to me, but here we are (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

I guess it's fitting as we just hit chapter 10!! Double digits lets gooooo~! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

And this also concludes the "Black Market" storyline, so that feels like a good enough reason for this chapter to be super DUPER long >ᴗ<

Also huge thank you to everyone who's been leaving such lovely comments for me ;;w;; I read every single one and try to respond every time (I'm actually behind on a few so if you're waiting I apologize! I'll address them tonight!!) But keep 'em coming if you can! I adore getting anything, even if it's just a single emoji or one word ꨄ

Alright, enough chatter. Let's get into the nitty gritty >ω>

SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You are fully pampered by your deer friend after a harrowing adventure... Word Count: 9k

Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing your murky mind picked up on was soft clattering.

Eyelids as heavy as led, you had a hard time opening your eyes; so you opted to keep them shut as you could feel your mind slowly coming back to consciousness. 

The next thing you picked up was a mix of smells. There was something in the air that had a chemical like scent, strong and potent that made your nose wrinkle. But there was something else behind the strong synthetic smell. Something like rain, earth, and nature; crisp and clean and oh so soothing.

The final thing you noticed was feeling as if you were laying on a cloud. Your fingers twitched back to life, and the silky satin that practically slipped through your touch had caught you off guard. And whatever pillow your head was resting on was plump and soft, cradling your skull so tenderly. 

You laid there in pure bliss for a moment, you mind still groggy from such a deep sleep and just happy to be somewhere that felt so comfy. But as you felt your head sink even further into the bed, a thought crossed your mind.

You didn’t own silk sheets.

Eyes still closed, your brows furrowed.

Your room didn’t smell like this.

You slowly force your eyes open, the world around you still a blur as your eyes adjust. As your body shuffled under the buttery sheets, another scent rose from the pillows and entered your senses. It was something you were so familiar with, and yet, in that moment you couldn’t pin it down. The smell of bourbon, coffee and cedarwood. It took a moment for your dull mind to connect the dots, but eventually you could feel your eyes widen when it finally hit you.

“Comfortable, my dear~?”

And speak of the devil.

You scramble to sit up, but your body immediately screamed in protest, chest aching and limbs sore. You audibly gasped in agony, not understanding why your body was in such excruciating pain. Your head began to swim, and you could feel your upper body swaying precariously. Before your torso even had the chance to fall back, you heard the shuffle of static as clawed hands reached out and caught you, one around your back and one cradling your head. Too absorbed in the pain, you didn’t even notice the long tendrils of shadows behind you, stacking and fluffing up the pillows against the headboard. 

“Careful, little songbird,” Alastor softly scolded. A deep chuckle accompanied his next line, “It’s not quite time for you to leave the nest~”

You let out a pathetic whimper of despair as you felt yourself being slowly lowered, but this time your upper body felt more elevated on the bed below you, allowing you to have a better view of your surroundings. Finally adjusted back to the mattress, Alastors arms slipped out from underneath you, and for a brief moment, as his warmth slipped away, you wished that he hadn’t. 

God, why was your body aching like this? Why was your head pounding against your skull? Even more so, what was this burning sensation you felt all over your chest? You run a weary hand over your face and flinch back as your fingers traced over your cheek, hissing at the tenderness. 

And then it all came flooding back.

A large paw backhanding you, being pinned down and gasping for air, dragged against the harsh pavement and tearing your skin open.

And worst of all. That horrifying image of silver claws slashing your chest.

Your mind reeled with the rush of memories and everything that had happened, like some harrowing nightmare you had just woken up to. But you knew it was all real, you could feel it with every bruise, scrape, and sore muscle. You look down to your hands and shudder upon seeing them still stained red with blood. Most likely a mix of your own and that Dobermans.

Fuzzy memories flashed before your eyes; the sound of his screams, the glimmer of your hair pin, the adrenaline pumping through your heart. You honestly didn’t remember much after seeing the skinny HellHound step out from the shadows with his gun. But you knew in your heart what had happened; what you had done. Something so horrific, you had vowed never to do it again.

But they were going to kill you, amongst other things to you… And they were going to kill Alastor. 

You couldn’t live with yourself if you had let him get hurt.

You attempted to take a grounding breath of air, this flood of horrible memories making you lightheaded, but winced as your lungs attempted to expand. Your chest felt tight and heavy, like you were being constricted. You feared to look down; look at the mess that was left behind after the battle. But you had to know what you were dealing with. So with some hesitation, you finally lift the silk sheet and peek down at your body. 

The first thing you noticed was three long gashes stretched across your torso from the bottom of your stomach to the top of your collarbone. But to your relief, they seemed to be already sewn shut, little stitches of what appeared to be neon green thread closing your deep wounds, the blood already cleaned off of sanitized skin. 

But the second thing…

Your eyes widened to dinner plates upon realizing you were practically naked in Alastor’s bed, save for your underwear… Which wasn’t the same pair you were wearing earlier. 

A choked cough escaped your lungs, suddenly scrambling to pull the sheets tight around your bare body and your cheeks burning red. Alastor, who had been shuffling around in the first aid kit beside him, didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes lazily drifted back up to you. You looked back at him, mortified, and to this Alastor simply cocked an eyebrow. You tried to take a deep, calming breath.

“Alastor…” you warned, “Where the fuck are my clothes?”

The deer demon sitting by his bed blinked for a moment, his eyes eventually going back to his previous task. Though his eyebrows furrowed as he replied with a tight smile. 

“Hm. Not even a thank you for the craftsmanship I did? Those stitches are some of my best work…”

“ALASTOR.”

“Oh please, y/n, do be rational.” Alastor huffed, cocking an eyebrow at you. “All of your garments were in ruin; they had to be disposed of. Besides,” he gestured his hand to your torso, “I needed access to stitch your wounds to prevent further blood loss. Would you have preferred that I let you bleed out?”

You both stared at each other for a good minute before it all became too much. You groaned in embarrassment, bringing the sheets up to cover your face and secretly wanting the bed to swallow you whole. You knew deep down he was right; as always. And you truly were grateful for his care. But still… You imagined him working over you, your chest bare and exposed as his hands brushed up against your skin, fingers dangerously close and skillfully sewing.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you once again whined in defeat, fully bringing the blanket over your head and vowing never to leave your fortress. You heard a mix of a sigh and a chuckle from beyond the sheets, static shuffling in the background. 

“Such dramatics. Makes me think you’ve been taking lessons from our Arachnid fellow~”

A clawed hand grasped the top of the blanket, and after meeting some resistance from you, pulled it down so only your head was visible again, your hair now slightly disheveled. Alastor's expression had softened from annoyed to calm as he shook his head at you.

“I can assure you,” he mused, “that you should not worry over such things. I do not perceive people in such a way. The body is simply a machine of flesh and bone to fulfill the duties of the mind, nothing more.” He placed a hand on your cloth-covered knee, making you peek up at him tentatively, “You can trust me on that my dear.”

You could tell how sincere he was about this, his eyes never left yours as he spoke. And of course, you knew he would never put himself in this kind of situationship unless it was absolutely necessary. He was too much of a true gentleman. You could feel your heartbeat start to calm after his reassurance, and you give a little embarrassed nod to acknowledge him. 

Nevertheless, you still felt a bit too exposed sitting here in just your panties, and only a thin sheet of silk to cover you. 

“... I want a shirt at least.” you mumbled, looking down to avoid his gaze. Alastor straightened up in his chair and blinked.

“I don’t see the point my dear…” he said blankly, eye twitching. “I’ve already seen everything. Besides, you are already covered enough to-!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed, trying to hold back your own irritation. “I would just feel better if I had an extra layer. Please.”

The Overlord glared at you a moment longer before sighing and rising to his feet. He promptly began to unbutton his jacket, making your face fall open like a deer in the headlights. Before you could accuse him of anything, he rolled the blazer off his shoulders and flung it at your head. His smell laced in his jacket immediately overtook your senses, and you had to hold back the urge to bury your face in it. You didn’t dare to pull it down past your cheeks; you didn’t want him seeing just how red you were underneath.

Alastor stood before you in a red vest adorning the similar pinstripes that were on his jacket, his vest hugging his frame perfectly as if tailored just for his torso. The demon’s smile was tight and sharp, clearly annoyed as his ears flattened against his head and he straightened his undershirt. The long sleeved blouse was a crisp white, flaring out ever so slightly near his elbows and wrists. You were so grateful to be hiding behind his jacket at this very moment. You had never seen Alastor without his blazer on, so this was all very new to you. Soon enough his head turned back to you, and you immediately averted your gaze back to his face; heaven forbid he caught you gawking. 

He placed his hands on his hips, looking at you expectantly with a cocked eyebrow and smile tense. You could feel yourself begin to sweat under his deep gaze and eventually dropped your own.

“T-turn around…” you mumble, you grip on his jacket tightening. You heard the sound of a microphone screeching. 

“Of all the-” Alastor sighed heavily, his tone clearly beyond annoyed, “I’ve already seen-!”

“GOD DAMNIT ALASTOR JUST DO IT!!”

You didn’t even realize what you had done until you heard a soft ‘fwump’ sound from across the room. Alastors static waves immediately hushed, and you instantly knew you had fucked up. You lowered your outstretched arm and immediately hid under his blanket and jacket, not even daring to look up. 

Cause you knew, if you did, you’d find one of his pillows that you threw at him had comically flattened over Alastor’s face, eventually flopping to the ground with a final ‘womph’.

You couldn’t tell what was happening outside of your little fortress; the silence was practically deafening. But eventually, you saw the lights flicker as radio waves shuffled through the air sharply. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the sudden increase of electricity buzzing through the air. The bed was practically vibrating. But after a period of time, the lights stopped flickering, and the radio buzzing became dull and back to its usual tone. Still too chickenshit to emerge, you heard him stomp around the bed with some soft clattering. 

“I am going to get some hot water to clean your wounds,” you heard him growl, “Do not, by any means, put my jacket on fully. I still need access to your arms.” You heard more shuffling, and soon his footsteps pound away and towards the bathroom door. 

“Simply drape it over your body, since heaven forbid I catch another glimpse at your naked form.” his last sentence was dripping with sarcasm. 

And even though you were beyond embarrassed, you couldn’t help the nervous snort escape your lips at his tone. He was so done with your bullshit, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. You knew you were being ridiculous at this point given there really was no point in covering up. And the fact that you had whacked the Radio Demon with a pillow…

You buried your head deeper in Alastor’s jacket, muffling your soft awkward giggles as the sheets you were under jiggled along with your shoulders. There was a pause before you heard an irritated sigh, heeled boots retreating into the bathroom and the sound of water running moments later.

You continued to tee-hee under the sheets, eventually catching your breath and emerging from your cocoon, still clutching the blazer close. You quickly glanced back towards the bathroom, and realizing you still had a couple seconds, brought the clothing up to your nose and inhaled deeply. 

It was just like his pillow, but much stronger, and even had a sweaty, musky smell to it. You realized you probably looked like an absolute freak at this moment; who the Hell goes around smelling their friend’s clothes?? But this scent had become such a comfort, you were reminded of happier times. Like the moments when he’d lean in to whisper gossip into your ear during hotel meetings, when he purposely got too close in your bubble to annoy you and crack a terrible joke, or when he danced with you that one day. You were always at your happiest when you were with him.

You sighed contently as you draped the jacket over your torso, thankfully it being long enough to cover you right down to your mid thighs. You pulled the silk sheet back up over you just in time to hear a soft knock on the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Am I allowed back into my own room?” Alastor called out dryly. You chuckled a moment before confirming, and soon Alastor emerged, face still cross, no doubt still fuming over the previous incident. He carried a large bowl filled with bubbly, steaming water in both hands and had a small towel draped over his shoulder. He came to the bedside and placed the bowl down on the nightstand before turning back around to the first aid kit. And you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your throat once his backside was to you. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

Immediately, Alastor’s ears flattened on his head, turning only his head so you could see the profile of his face as he glared at you. 

“ ₩ Ⱨ ₳ ₮ ” 

You snap out of your gaze and lock eyes with him, brain quickly trying to come up with an excuse. 

“Nothing! Nothing, I just…” With a quick smile, you go to grab your shoulder and rotate it around a bit. “I moved funny and felt a pang in my joint. That’s all.”

You continue to try and dazzle him with your smile, to which he glowered at you before turning his attention back to the first aid kit. You felt your muscles relax, relieved he had bought your little white lie. Because you knew if you had spoken the truth, you’d never get to see it again.

See the adorable, soft, fluffy, black and red tail poking out from his tailbone.

You focus back on it and basically have to bite your tongue to stop from squealing. It didn’t even occur to you that he might even have one, but of course it made sense that he did. He was a deer demon after all, many animalistic demons here had just the like. But of course when he wore his jacket it was covered up. You were fairly certain it was designed as such so it helped him keep up appearances. It's hard to be terrified of an Overlord with a cute, little fuzzy tail. 

God. How badly you wanted to touch it; similar to his ears looking so downey and full. But of course, you snapped out of your daydream once Alastor turned back to you, a box of bandaids in hand and his tail disappearing behind his back. You had to hold back your pout, but you were at least grateful you even got the chance to see it. You had the feeling not many did. 

“Now, my dear,” Alastor spoke up, taking the towel from his shoulder and soaking it in the hot water, “Since your main injury has finally been tended to, I’d like to continue my medical procedure before I was so rudely interrupted.” His eyes narrowed into angry slits at you, and you knew he was referring to what happened earlier. You desperately tried to bite back your smile, but couldn’t help your shaking shoulders as you nodded your head.

“Yes.” you softly giggle, “Yes of course. Thank you Alastor.” 

The Radio Demon’s nose wrinkled up in disgust at you before he gave a final sigh, turning back to the bowl and wringing out the excess water in the towel. 

“Honestly… All of this nonsense…” he huffed, genuinely looking confused and slightly irritated, “I don’t understand all the fuss over this type of matter…” Alastor held his hand out to you expectantly, and it took you a moment to realize before you reached out. He carefully held your wrist in one hand, his other holding the warm towel and rubbing your arm. Whatever bloodstains that had soaked into your skin were slowly coming off, and that was more of a relief than you had imagined.

“Even Miss Morningstar had a similar reaction to yours when I first began undressing you.” Alastor continued, carefully turning your arm over and wiping away more blood, “Wild little firecracker, that girl. Nearly singed my jacket and everything…” His eyes tapered into angry slits, yet his words made you perk up.

“Charlie? … Oh God, she knows?” 

“Hmmm. Unfortunately.” Alastor sighed, his grin tight. He dipped the now bloodied cloth into the bowl and squeezed before returning to your arm, “And after her banshee screeches of terror, it wasn’t long before everyone else found out and came rushing over.” His eyelid began to twitch in annoyance, but you felt your skin prickle. Everyone… came rushing over? For you?

“Alastor… what exactly happened while I was unconscious?”

The deer demon rolled his eyes, making you think the event was troubling for him. He turned your wrist over in his hand, giving your forearm an inspection. 

“Must we really talk about such matters?” he grumbled, eyes narrowing angrily at your wrists as  bruises were slowly revealed underneath the blood, “It’s all in the past, and I’d much rather focus on tending to you.”

He had said it so matter of factly, it made your cheeks warm for a moment. Still, a part of you wanted to fill in the gaps as to what happened. And more selfishly, you wanted to hear what the others' reactions were.

“Please Al,” you urged, “I need to know.”

He took a moment to look up and lock eyes with you, eyes flickering over your pitiful face. Finally, he huffed out a sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat before lifting your hand back up to his face, carefully taking each individual finger and rubbing it between the towel to get into the nooks and crannies of your digits. 

“When you passed out, I immediately transported us to my room,” he began, eyes never leaving his work, “I knew I needed to work quickly to tend to the gashes on your chest; the blood loss was becoming dangerously fatal. So, I laid you on the bed and did what any medical professional would have done: began to undress you.” 

You knew he was literally just trying to save your life, but still, you felt your face grow hot at the thought of Alastor taking your dress off. The deer demon continued.

“Unfortunately, I was in the most precarious position when Miss Morningstar decided to waltz in.” Alastor’s eyelid twitched angrily as he set the towel back in the bowl, reaching now for a bottle of ointment and squeezing some cream into his hand. 

“I was in the midst of reaching behind to take off your…” his eyes flicked away awkwardly, “brassiere, when our little Princess of Hell came in unbenounced. She later claimed she wanted to ask me a question; as to why she didn’t think to knock, I will never know…” Alastor sighed through his nose before gently taking your arm and dabbing the ointment on your various cuts and bruises scattered on your hand and arm.

“Of course,” he scowled, “looking back I can understand where her fury came from. Seeing the infamous Radio Demon lurched over your unconscious, barely dressed form; both of us soaked in blood… I’m sure it was quite a sight.” Surprisingly, he let out a chuckle as you just watched him horrified.

“Ironically, all Hell broke loose.” he sighed, explaining the next portion as if he was bored, “She screamed at me, I tried to explain, she shot fire at me, I dodged. At some point I finally managed to get through to her amidst the blaze and explain the situation. Once she had calmed down, she immediately dropped her fury and rushed to your side, shedding tears over your injuries and blabbering her apologies to me.” Alastor rolled his eyes, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest at the thought of Charlie crying for you. It made your own eyes start to get a little misty.

“It wasn’t long before everyone else began pounding at the door, having heard the ruckus and coming to aid their precious Princess… No one coming to my aid mind you.” he grunted, “Charlie, wanting to save face, threw the sheets over you for cover before the riled crew bust down the door. And honestly my dear, you know how much I love dramatics, but this…” he gave you a deadpan look for a moment before rolling his eyes, making a giggle escape your lips. His smile widened as he finished rubbing the last bits of cream into your skin before reaching for the box of bandaids.

“I had never seen this camaraderie of sinners so riled up before,” he confided, taking a bandaid out of the box and unwrapping it with his sharp claws, “The moment they saw you in bed, then looked at me covered in blood, I was sure they all wanted me dead.” he paused a second before adding, “Well, other than Nifty. I’m sure she just wanted to clean my soiled clothes when she tried to jump me.” The imagery of Nifty attempting to tackle Alastor made you smile.

“Thankfully,” the Overlord breathed, gently sticking the bandaid over one of your larger cuts, “Miss Morningstar stepped in and explained everything before anyone could lay a finger on me. Which is probably for the best…” His smile got dangerous, a mischievous glint in his eye, “Because if I had my way, they wouldn’t have any fingers left at all.”

You gasped and shot Alastor a dirty glare, making him shift his eyes over to you. He gave a quick shrug of his shoulders before reaching for the bandaids again.

“And then, of course, the waterworks began.” Alastor said wearily, as if the thought of emotions exhausted him, “The Snake was nearly beside himself, blubbering almost as hard as Charlie was. Vaggie sat beside you on the bed like a worried mother hen. Even our little Sourpuss seemed upset over it all. And of course, our dear Nifty tried licking up the blood on your face in an attempt to clean it.” Alastor looked off in the distance fondly at the memory, meanwhile your nose wrinkled in surprise and slight disgust. 

“Our little arachnid friend was especially distraught,” Alastor continued, his face slowly hardening, “He immediately ran to your side and held your hand. He kept going back and forth between comforting you, then scolding me for allowing such things to happen…” you couldn’t help but notice Alastor’s eyebrows furrowing at his last statement, his grin extra tight on his face. Was he feeling… guilty? You were just about to address it until Alastor kept talking, his expression once again soft and rather bored looking.

“Given that you still needed stitches, I managed to convince everyone to leave so I could have space to work.” He stuck another bandaid on one of your cuts, “Charlie was quick to action, ordering everyone around to grab whatever materials I needed. First aid, ice, towels, fresh clothes, and so on. I allowed the girls access to the room so they could help you change into fresh underwear while I prepared my medical supplies.” Alastor took your arm once more and meticulously inspected it, turning it over in his hands to ensure every inch was clean and addressed. 

“Then finally, I was able to dismiss everyone from my quarters. I’m sure they’re all nervously pacing in the lobby as we speak.” he shook his head before gently setting your arm on the bed and ending the story. The Radio Demon took a moment to stretch before standing up once more, taking the bowl and bandaids and moving to the other side of the bed.

You sat there dumbfounded, taking in all the information and feeling yourself getting emotional. They were so quick to protect you, so quick to mourn what you had been through, so quick to take care and provide for you...

Alastor rounded the mattress and set the soapy water down on the bedside table, not expecting to turn back to you with big, watery droplets dripping down your face. He couldn’t help the tiny curl of his lips. Startled by your reaction? Yes. 

Surprised? 

No. Not at all. 

He hummed to himself, taking the washcloth out from the bowl and giving it a quick squeeze before lifting your other arm.

“You have quite the village behind you my dear,” he mused, carefully wiping your forearm. You blinked back your tears and turned to him, taking a moment to watch him scrub you clean. He was entirely focused on you, brows slightly furrowed as he removed the blood, eyes flicking over your skin and taking note of every scratch and bruise that was revealed. He was so serious about it all, taking his time to ensure you were taken care of and personally tending to every wound he could find. Your heart swelled deep within your chest, and before you think, you twist your wrist around in his grasp and lock fingers with his. Alastor’s eyes widened in shock, head wiping up to look at you.

“I really do,” you breathed, eyes still misty but grin beaming, “And I'm so grateful for all of them.” You give his hand a squeeze, leaning in closer and never breaking eye contact. 

“Especially for you. I am so so grateful for you, Alastor. Thank you.” 

The deer demon looked up at you, his whole face wide and smile threatening to waver. There was a gentle pause as you both watched each other, your hand gently grasping his and tenderly rubbing your thumb over his knuckle. Eventually, Alastor blinked back his shock, face furrowing as he unlaced your fingers with his and took your wrist in his hand.

“There’s nothing to thank, my dear.” he mumbled, continuing to rub your arm with the soapy water, “Just doing what any gentleman should.”

Your grin widened by his sudden shift, not at all put off by his dismissive response. He didn’t handle genuine affection well, and that was ok. It just made you more determined than ever to be that person for him; to slowly chip away at those walls he had built up around his heart. Alastor placed the cloth back into the bowl, once again reaching for the ointment now that your arm was perfectly clean. He was being so attentive; you couldn’t help it. You had to say it.

“Your mother would be so proud.”

Alastor paused only briefly as he was squeezing the ointment onto his fingers. But he was quick to recover, snapping the lid shut and carefully pulling your arm closer to dab the cream onto your wounds. He said nothing in return, remaining quiet and looking down as he rubbed the balm into your skin.

But you did notice his ear flicker. 

And that was all the confirmation you needed. 

Alastor continued his tending, the room falling into a peaceful silence as his static hummed softly in the background. He finished your other arm, slicking bandages when needed and returning to the bathroom to refresh the water bowl. You took a moment to admire his work on your arms and couldn’t help the smile creep up your face. The thought of Alastor taking care of you… It was honestly something that seemed so sweet and intimate, and certainly not anything the Radio Demon himself would do. An Overlord nursing a lowly sinner? Unthinkable. Yet here you were, wrapped up in his silk sheets and being doted on as if you were a queen. 

You heard soft jazz beginning to play in the bathroom, and soon Alastor emerged with a bowl of fresh, sudsy water. He rounds the mattress and positions himself at the end of the bed, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his new location. It wasn’t until the deer demon started lifting the blankets by your feet that you subconsciously flinched back. Of course, Alastor noticed, his eyes locking with yours immediately.

“I noticed earlier you had quite a few scrapes on your legs,” he explained, his voice surprisingly calm, “It would be wise to let me examine them.”

You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling your shoulders begin to relax. You give a quick nod, and Alastor lifts the sheets up, uncovering your legs right up until the base of your hips, tucking the sheets in a way so your lap and torso was still fully covered. Alastor took in the state of your lower limbs, and his brows furrowed angrily at the sight. Similar to your arms, they were in such an abused state… It made his blood boil to see you like this. 

He immediately sat down and took one of your legs in his, resting your foot on his thigh as he began to clean up the dirt and dried blood. You had to hold in a gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing over your calf and thigh. You weren't accustomed to the idea of someone touching your leg in such a way, especially the Radio Demon of all people. As nice as the warm towel was, you still felt a smidge uncomfortable by this circumstance. Of course, nothing got past Alastor.

“Relax my dear,” he mused, not breaking concentration from his work, “Your muscles are far too tense right now.” He stopped for a moment, eyes dazing out in front of him as if a thought came to mind. In an instant, he returned the cloth back to the bowl and snapped his fingers, a bottle of lotion popping into his hand. He was quick to apply it to his hands, and what he did next almost floored you.

Long fingers gently began to knead over your calf, pinching and pressing in such a lovely way your heart almost leapt out of your throat. He ran his hands and fingers gently up and down your leg, being wary around any open sores or bruises, but massaging your muscles deeply. Whatever tension you had immediately melted away, his claws surprisingly delicate as he rubbed the tissue. Your head immediately flopped back down on your pillow, eyes closed in bliss as a deep, staticy chuckle rang out by your feet. After working your leg, he moved down to your foot and began massaging your arch and sole. You audibly let out a sigh of relief, it felt so damn good.

“Alastor,” you breathed dreamily, “Where the Hell did you learn to do this and who do I owe my first born to?” Another chortle came from the foot of the bed.

“Entirely self taught darling~” you heard him muse, “My dear mother was always on her feet, working long hours and coming home simply exhausted. As a boy I’d often try and help alleviate the pain whenever I could, so nightly massages became routine. It wasn’t much, but it put my mother in better spirits, so that was what mattered to me.”

You felt your heart practically melt, you were so touched by his words. She really was everything to him; what an amazing relationship to have. You try to imagine Alastor as a little boy, dancing with his mother, helping her around the house, tending to her when she was weary. Truly a momma’s boy right to the end. 

“Your mom sounds absolutely incredible.” you smile, voice soft and gentle. “I wish I could’ve met her…”

Alastor didn’t respond right away, continuing to rub away at your foot as jazz played softly in the background. You assumed the conversation had ended and you were content with letting your mind drift. But at the last minute, you heard a thoughtful hum come from the end of the bed.

“As do I mon passereau… As do I.”

He treated your legs in a similar fashion to your arms; wiping them clean of dirt and blood, applying ointment to help sooth your open wounds, and applying bandages wherever there were particularly large cuts and scrapes. You let out a happy sigh when he started to massage the other leg as well, earning another amused snicker from your friend. The jazz hummed softly in the background as Alastor worked away, being attentive as always and focusing on his tasks while you relaxed blissfully. You were more than happy to let your body sink into the bed, never feeling so cherished in your entire life. The minutes trickled by, your mind getting sleepy after such a relaxing pampering. The only thing that would make this perfect is if you had a warm beverage to sip on.

………….

“Oh my God ALASTOR!” You practically leapt up from the bed, nearly kicking the poor man right on the chin as your feet flew up. The radio came to a screeching halt as Alastor jumped back to avoid getting socked in the jaw. He whipped his head up to you, his eyes glowing red as he snarled at you. But you ignored him, your eyes looking around the room frantically.

“My bag!” you whine, “Did you happen to grab my bag before we left??” 

You couldn’t believe you had almost forgotten. That damn siphon was the whole fucking reason all of this had happened! That and your stupidity for leaving Alastor’s side, but you were going to scold yourself for that later. For now, you needed to know it was ok and totally not lost somewhere in the streets of the city. 

Alastor’s lip twitched, shooting you a most hateful glare. He took a deep, calming breath through his nose before exhaling slowly. Face now softer, other than his furrowed brows and lidded eyes, he stood up and walked away without another word. You watched him nervously as he walked to the nightstand, but felt your heart bloom when he pulled your bag out from the blindspot beside the table. 

“I simply do not understand why you were so desperate for me to grab this for you,” he sneered, tossing the plastic bag onto the bed, “There were much more pressing matters at stake, surely whatever you purchased couldn’t have been that important.”

You ignored his angry tone, grabbing the bag with relief, “I can’t believe you understood what I said in the alley!” you laughed, taking the box out of the bag and beginning to open it. Your heart was racing with joy, but a part of you was filled with dread. You had dropped it before you were attacked, and now you were praying it didn’t get damaged in the fall. The thought of going through all that for a gift that was broken before you had a chance to give it to him? That would be tragic.  

You felt an unusual electric buzz shift in the air as you picked away at the lid of the package. 

“Pardon my confusion,” Alastor spoke, his eyes flickering over the box in your hands, “but I was under the impression you left to shop for new clothes...” His eyes snapped up to you, lifting his hand to point a claw at the box, “This does not look like clothing to me.”

Oops.

You look up briefly and give him a sheepish smile, before focusing back on your task, fingers finally opening the box. “Ah. Right, well…” you could feel yourself start to sweat, “I may or may not have… told the whole truth about-!”

“So you lied to me.” Alastor was fully glaring at you, the radio shuffling and fizzing dangerously.  His smile was taut and eyes cold, eyelid twitching; but you couldn’t see him, too busy focused on digging around the bubble wrap.

“I mean,” you mumbled embarrassingly, “Technically I did, yes, but-!”

“But. What. Y/n.” Alastor growled, his fingers scrunching into tight fists, eyes flashing crimson red, “First you attempt to go off on your own when I explicitly told you not to, and now I come to discover the reason you left was under false terms?”

Still unaware of Alastor’s current state, you manage to uncover the siphon just enough to peek at it. After gently shuffling it around with your finger, you felt your shoulders relax as a relieved smile broke out on your face.

“Oh thank God,” you breathe, more to yourself than to Alastor, “It didn’t break… I was-!”

Alastor’s hands slammed on the bed on either side of you, making you jump up at the sound. Too focused on the gift in your lap, you didn’t realize he had crawled up on the bed with you,  leaning over your body and kneeling over your legs. You shrinked back in fear as the lights flickered, his static buzzing and the room growing cold. His horns were fully extended, but his head was bent forward, his hair covering his expression. 

“You had almost died y/n.” his voice was uncomfortably calm, but you could tell his tone was deeper, darker and sharper than usual. His head slowly rose so you could just see his glowing eyes peek out from his bangs. His eyes were a raging scarlet with sharp, black dial pupils. His fingers curled up into tight fists, clutching the sheets beneath him. 

“Do you not fully understand that?” he continued, eyes narrowing into furious slits, “If it weren’t for me you’d still be bleeding out in that fucking alley way.” his eyes were practically burning you, his stare was so intense, so enraged; you were shivering under his hateful gaze. You would almost prefer it if he yelled at you, screamed and kicked and went on a rampage. But the chiling, silent fury he had… it scared you more. You had to look away, it was too much. But that didn’t stop Alastor. 

“I thought you to be smarter than this.” he seethed, lifting his head up more and showing his sharp, tight smile, yellowed teeth almost as bright as his eyes in this darkened room. His eyes snapped to the box in your lap and immediately he reached down and took it out of your shaking hands. He inspected it for a moment, the anger emanating from him soon growing as he looked back up to you. He then waggled it in front of you tauntingly, his tone growing more aggressive and frenzied. 

“Was this really worth risking your life for?” he sneered, his head tilting so much it caused his neck to snap as he leaned in closer, “Do you not realize how much your life is worth to these fools in this damn hotel? How much it means to-!” 

He immediately stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening for a moment. The air was heavy for a solid second before his face scrunched up in fury and his pupils focusing down at the package in his grasp. 

“Well then, dearest,” he spat the last word out, the pet name sounding more like an insult than anything. In an instant he sat up, kneeling over your legs and claws pulling the bubble wrapped object out of the box. His eyes flicked back up to you, to which you still looked away, before peeling the wrapping off of the mysterious item.

“Let’s take a look at what possessed you to risk life and limb, shall we~?”

Stripping the foreign object of its confines, the Radio Demon felt his face widen once the item was revealed. Almost instantly, the radio buzzing silenced, the lights flicked back to normal, and the room became deathly silent. The air was still as Alastor looked down at the siphon, something that brought a wave of memories along with it just at the mere sight. Could it really be…? A hesitant claw slowly reached down and thumbed the smooth glass, eyes dumbly blinking back to normal and his horns slowly shrank. 

There was a heavy pause as Alastor processed the sudden turn of events. But eventually, he managed to slowly lift his head back up to you.

And the sight before him made his stomach churn. 

Big salty tears streamed down your face, your hands scrunched in balls around his jacket that you held up tight to your face. Your eyes were downcast and not daring to look up at him. 

You felt so stupid for crying, but you couldn’t help it. He had never been this angry towards you. Sure you had pissed him off before, but those were under different, more sillier circumstances. He had actually hurt your feelings this time, and what made it worse was that you knew he was right. You knew your actions had not only caused you harm, but had hurt everyone, even Alastor given his reactions. His facial expressions throughout the whole treatment was enough proof, along with the tender aftercare. And the rage that flowed from him just now; clearly the thought of you dying had affected him more than he intended to let on. For fuck sakes, Alastor almost died because of your stupid mistake. You felt your shoulders start to shake. 

“I-I know you were still trying to b-brew the perfect cup,” you start to hiccup under your breath, your voice coming out in shaky warbles, “I-I just wanted to h-help… I d-didn’t mean t-to…” 

You started fully sobbing, burning your face in Alastor’s jacket and unable to stop your tears. 

Alastor didn’t dare to breathe, thinking if he did it might make you blow away into dust with how fragile you were. Usually seeing someone looking so pitiful brought him such delight. But this… This felt wrong. Not from you. Not his little songbird. He had never seen you so upset before, and it was unsettling. You were nothing but a joy around the hotel and its staff, and as much as he hated to admit it, a joy to him. Like a moth to a flame, you were that beacon that brought together wayward souls and made them feel better. And he had snuffed that. 

Your pain was his fault, and for the first time in nearly a decade, he didn’t wish it to be so.

“Don’t cry my dear,” he spoke softly, unsure what to say or do with his hands, “I see now that I was… wrong in my accusations.” He swallowed dryly, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. How does someone attempt to comfort a person in distress? He couldn’t remember the last time he was in such a position, not since he descended at the very least…

“But you’re not wrong.” You sob, voice becoming more frantic, “It w-was stupid for me to go off on my own; if you weren’t th-there I would have died!” your misty eyes widened in horror as the previous events came spiraling back into your mind. “God, I almost died… And you… You almost d-died because of me.” A new wave of tears came flooding through, guilt clawing through your chest and making you hyperventilate. Alastor stiffened at your down spiral, eyes flicking over you nervously. 

“Y/n, it’s alright.” He gently put the siphon down on the bed, raising his hands in a defensive state as if attempting to tame a wild animal. “True, things got… disorderly back there, but we’re no longer in any danger.” A thought popped into his mind and his face brightened slightly, “Also, keep in mind that you also saved my life earlier today. You were practically on death’s door and yet you still risked everything to come to my aid. Such an honorable deed can’t go unnoticed.” He gave you a calming smile, surely convinced that his words would help make you feel better. But your breathing simply became more erratic, too absorbed in your own thoughts to comprehend his.

“B-but all of this was my fault! What I did, the t-trouble I caused… You should hate me after all of this!” You felt like your heart was being crushed after that last sentence, the thought not once occurring to you until this very moment. Would he even want to be your friend anymore after all of this? 

You grasped onto your scalp as your head began to pound, feeling yourself begin to shut down with panic. Your breathing became labored as you shut your eyes tight, your whole body still aching with pain, yet it felt like nothing compared to the dark thoughts swirling in your mind. The reality of everything that had happened was too much. You felt yourself sinking into a dark place, and you were ready to let it consume you…

Until you felt clawed hands gently cup your cheeks, warm and gentle and so familiar. They urged you to lift your head, but you were scared. You didn’t want to look, didn’t dare to meet him in the eye and see his hateful face again. But so tired with tears, you allow your head to be lifted, eyes red and stinging with hurt. Siphon aside on the bed and already forgotten, Alastor’s face leaned in close to yours, watching over your face with sad, furrowed brows and eyes unable to meet yours. 

“Please stop crying,” he whispered, his voice soft and the radio filter barely audible. “I... I can’t stand to see you like this…” His pupils dared to flick up at you as his thumb gently wiped away your tears, desperate to do something, anything, to make you stop. You sat there frozen for a moment, shocked by his actions and sentiment. You had never seen the Radio Demon looking so… vulnerable. It shocked you enough to snap you from your hyperventilating, but in a way, just made your heart break even more. Eventually, his comforting touch made you melt into his hands, tears still pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so sorry Al,” you blubber, your own hands reaching out to hold onto his wrists for support, “It’s all my f-fault… I’m s-so so sorry…” Alastor softly began to hush you, pulling your face closer to his so you were only inches away from each other. A soft, albeit hesitant chuckle escaped from his lips.

“I should’ve known you'd do something so reckless for the sake of a kind gesture,” he mused, but his expression became serious again as his gaze went back to your face, “Reguardless, you shouldn’t apologize for doing something so thoughtful…” He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, his eyes flickering away as if hesitant. After a pause, he finally spoke: “If anything, I should be the one apologizing-!”

Immediately you flinched back, aghast by his words. Alastor? Apologizing? You never thought you’d live to see the day. Plus he had nothing to apologize for?! Alastor, still holding your face, recognized your expression and continued before you could interrupt him again.

“Let me finish.” he cocked an eyebrow, his grin threatening to spread in amusement before becoming somber again, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. And I definitely shouldn’t have let you venture on your own in the market, your injuries are my fault.” his eyes flicked to your hands and you noticed his slight grimace, “I promised you my protection… and I failed you. And for that I am sorry.”

Your lower lip trembled at his words. Alastor wasn’t the type to apologize for his actions (or lack of in certain circumstances). So for him to actually respect you enough to say such things… It was flooring. And completely heartwarming. 

Your breathing had slowly calmed, no longer hyperventilating, but still sniffling in his hands. Alastor softly began to hush you, his electricity buzzing quietly in the background. He wiped your tears away gently with his thumb, making your heart feel like it was going to burst. He was being so kind, so caring…

“... Does this m-mean we’re still friends?” you croak, terrified of his answer. To your relief, Alastor immediately pulled your head closer, pressing his forehead up against yours and running his thumbs tenderly over your soft cheeks and wiping away the new teardrops that formed. A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“Oh, my darling,” he breathed, “No matter how many times you may get on my nerves, it’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me~” his scarlet pupils were locked on yours, unwavering as if looking right into your soul. 

You were whimpering under his hands, feeling yourself sink into him and the relief that he wasn’t going to leave you. You blink back your final tears and close your eyes, happy to just rest your forehead against his and live in this bittersweet moment. Alastor didn’t seem to move away either, subconsciously squeezing your one uninjured cheek like a little stress toy, which made your lips curl into a soft smile. Your body finally calmed, you matched your breathing pattern with his, helping to ground you. Your hands still grasping his wrists, you slowly trace your thumb over his skin in a comforting motion. You felt the familiar muted burn of where the ‘X’ on his forehead would be against your own, something that you were slowly getting accustomed to feeling since meeting him. The room fell silent as you both sat on the bed, minds equally wandering with flickers of thoughts, but also just content to just be in each other’s presence. 

After a peaceful couple of minutes, Alastor nudged your head a bit with his own before pulling away, pushing off his straddling position over you and opting to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, torso still turned to your direction. His hands softly trailed away from your face, but one lightly trailed down your arm until it was holding your hand. 

“I’m flattered that you went to such lengths to get me something so wonderful,” he smiled, eyes looking over at the siphon before returning to you. Like the many ways he had done before, he lifted it up close to his face, looking down at it for a moment before focusing back on your face. 

“It’s something I will treasure for as long as I breathe… Thank you, mon passereau~”

He bowed his head and closed his eyes, bringing your hand up closer. You sighed happily, closing your eyes with relief that it had all worked out, and fully expecting to soon feel that familiar warmth of his forehead against the back of your hand.

But when you felt a warm pair of lips press down instead, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. 

He pressed your hand up to his mouth, warm and soft, eyes closed but a soft expression on his face. The delicate kiss against your skin caused a shiver to zip up your spine, your heart hammering in your chest harder than ever before. 

He’s kissing you. He’s kissing you?? He's kissing you. Do friends kiss each other? Wait, why are you thinking about that. Focus y/n. It’s just on the hand. A friendly kiss on the hand. People do that. Gentlemen do that. Alastor’s a gentleman. This is normal. This is fine. Everything is fine.

His lips slowly parted from your hand, face hovering over your skin and looking up at you with lowered lids and grin wide. His pupils flickered across your burning cheeks, his cheshire grin spreading devilishly before locking on your eyes. As your heart slowly calmed down, you eventually huffed a sigh through your nose, shaking your head in defeat but smiling all the same. 

You give his hand a quick squeeze of affection before lifting your hand out of his grasp and cupping his face delicately. Looking at him endearingly, you stroke your thumb carefully over his face, causing the Radio Demon to cock an eyebrow but not saying anything. 

And just as he was beginning to relax under your touch, you squish his cheeks and gently, playfully, shove his face away from you.

And the deep rumbling laughter that came from his chest was like music to your ears.  “That’s my girl,” he chuckled, eyes wrinkled with happiness, “Now my dear, why don't I show you what quality coffee tastes like~?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

FIRST PREVIOUS NEXT (Coming soon)

My beautiful does and bucks: @saccharine-nectarine / @doowopshewop / @mysterypotatoink / @wendds / @crispybelieverworld

@raicomme / @letshavedeernnertogether/ @sirens-and-moonflowers / @from-nobody-to-nightmare / @iheartalastor

((EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL SINNERS!! TYSM!! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ ))

[happysparklingshadows]

A Certain Hunger (2/?)

Chapter 1 ✿ Chapter 3

Summary: Wilderness training and skills your father gave you come in handy as you wake up from the plane crash. Reflects and Habits come up to plant seeds for the months ahead in the wilderness. You figure out something about yourself you never knew you had or wanted to have: you have to be the leading voice in the chaos and have no idea what is happening. Good thing you have a few people to have your back. 

Pairing: Surviving! Yellowjackets x reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Gore and blood, panic attacks, and depressive intrusive thoughts.

Taglist: @g1rlsriot @zhivaxo @icabrth

Word count: 10.7k

Your eyes flutter as the blurry and smoky surrounding air hits your eyes. Your oculus is burning and dry. You couldn’t see straight, and you felt yourself move against the plastic surface against your chest and face. You groan and start to pull against it again with more strength, now with a hand on it flush against the hot plastic, but you still can’t move. You’re nose hurts so bad, your chest feels light and frantic, and your neck sores as you inch your face against your displaced seat. Lips letting out a pained whimper as you push again. 

No. No. No. 

The crash was real. You were really amid a nightmarish disaster unfolding around you, cut into you like a knife with the sounds of screams piercing through your ear after a few seconds of regaining your consciousness. Your cheek limply pressed against the navy plastic of the back of a seat that once was infront of you, and your back arched extremely uncomfortably as your plush chair was broken forward. “Thank god my neck didn’t break,” You think darkly as you fight against your seat again. Your chair was still on your back, but you slowly evaluated what was happening. 

Misty rushed past you down the walkway, the others screaming and crying loudly, and Taissa was close behind her. The two of them get to the plane's door and pry it open, some girls beg for them to open it, and others scream nonstop. Agony across everybody at this moment, and you look up to the others, paralyzed in your seat that has broken from the floor but stuck in the front that trapped you against the back of the seat in front of you. 

You start to blink faster when Misty pops the door with the summer breeze flowing into the plane, and you try again to move, this time with a foot kicking against the seat. You felt tears and panic come over you as you realized you were trapped in your chair. You were going to die in your seat. 

“Help! Help, please!” You cry out to the others, but you keep trying to push them away. “Fuck! Oh god! Lottie!?” 

You sob and sniffle in smoke as the dryness causes you to choke. You frantically push your shoulders back to your seat and use your face and hand to thrust yourself off the backing. You cry pathetically as some much as the others, better then the some with metal popping out of their body and others dressed in blood.

“(Y/n)!! Stop! Stop moving!” Lottie panics as she comes over, her hand next to yours on the back of the seat, helping you move.

“Lottie, I can’t! I have-“

“You’re going to impale yourself!” Lottie snaps at you as she moves a hand to your lap to undo your belt. Your hips limply fell due to gravity and freed your other hand; you didn’t realize how pinned you were. Lottie then started to push the back of your seat away from you with all her strength, her biceps bulging and her face twisting with pressure. You meekly move out of the way with your limp hands and numb feet, your entire body trembling as you stumble into the plane aisle. 

You look behind you to see that the plane had a massive opening from the wing being ripped off by force, and just behind your seat was a sophomore impaled by a metal beam that supported the walls of the aircraft. The sharp metal stapled the girl through her heart. You only survived the metal beam by your seat breaking forward, missing the edge that attached the back of your chair. 

Your eyes wide with tears flowing out, your breath pulsing in your throat, you push yourself off the walkway. Your face felt like ground beef and your eye starts twitching as you try to blink. Adrenaline is pumping through you more than blood. You stood up, you felt a leak of blood down your thigh, and you felt like you would run a marathon. Lottie tugs you with her to the door before you can find solid ground with your numb feet; Lottie lets go as she goes outside. You follow behind her closely before you hear Van.

Van pleaded for help as she could get out of her seat. A fire started behind her in the flight attendant area, spreading and was horrific. 

It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like your body as your legs rush to the ginger. You quickly start helping her. Shauna comes from behind you and begins frantically pulling Van’s seat belt. Van was crying and frantically helping us with the belt, and it wouldn’t come off. All three of you fight the locked strap, Jackie pulls Shauna away with a fight, and you don’t even seem to be fazed by Jackie’s skinny hands trying to grip your shoulder.  

You don’t know what came over you as you shrug her hand away and fight even harder to save Van—Shauna cries out to you two when she is pulled with Jackie out of the plane. 

“Come on! God, please, come on, you fucking cocksucking slut!” You cry to the belt, feeling the heat of the fire near you, and Van smashes her hips and breaks it. 

Finally, it broke. You grab Van’s hand and quickly run out of the plane. The fire touching your arm, the smell of the tiny hairs burning, you yelp as both of you are pushed by the force of an explosion from the area you were just in.

You stumbled further away from the plane with small steps, the tall pine trees and dirt under your feet. You thought, “I am not supposed to be here.”

 Your eyes rain on the scene of the girls scurrying to try to help each other and find people alive. You see Travis yelling for Javi, Taissa yelling for Van as she rushes past you, and Misty holding a balled-up shirt to one girl bleeding eye. Your body freezes as you feel your knees buckle; you could get out of this tranced panic, breathing deeply. Your breath is quick as it comes in and out, and you feel lightheaded when you finally come to the truth that you were stranded where you were with them. They had no idea what to do, and you didn’t know either. 

 “You were supposed to be the smartest one here.” You remind yourself as you swallow the sobs begging to come out. You felt a wall go over you. It clicked and grounded you at the moment.

You spring out of your trance, your legs marching quickly over to Misty. She looked up at you with her big brown eyes, she looked just as scared as you, and you helped the young girl sit on the rock below her. 

“It’s okay; everything will be okay. Just keep this on your eye, okay!” You say to the girl with a forced smile. You cringe at the feeling of your lips turning upwards on your face, and shame dances around your body. “Misty, what can I do?” You ask Misty. You start wrapping a scrap of fabric around the balled-up shirt to hold it into place.

“(Y-y/n), i-i don’t know-“ 

“It’s okay. Just do your best.” You say quickly, the girls still swarming around and loudly trying to find people.

“I need you to rip these into strips so I can bandage three other girls,” Misty says quickly, handing you a shirt that you quickly start ripping with your bare hands. You felt strong with Arderaline. 

Misty’s land on your thigh, she pushes you softly to the rock beside you, “(Y/n), sit. You need to rest for a second, let me check that out.”

She kneels in front of your body and her small hands grab your thigh, she couldn’t hold all of it in her hands, and she starts to clean it with a bottle water. She is so seriously looking at the wound on your leg that you couldn’t help but felt touched how serious she is taking your wound. You didn’t realize how bad it was until Misty could put somewhat of the tip of her finger in the wound, she wraps a cloth around your leg.

Both you and Misty start helping around, giving bandages, and trying to stop some girls from bleeding. You lost track of Misty as you comforted a first-year student with a deep cut on their arm, you closed it up and cleaned it, and your shaking hands tied the fabric to her arm. You grab a blanket to give to the girl for comfort, but you are stopped before you hand it over.

“Guys! Coach Ben!” Misty yells from the other side of the plane. You quickly rush over to her voice. You gasp as you find Coach Ben lying on the ground with a part of the broken-off wing on top of, crushed, his left leg. You feel the other senior girls come behind you, and they react similarly, “Help me move this!” Misty pleaded. She started to try lifting the heavy part off of the coach's leg. 

You and the others rush over to help her, the coach screaming his head off as you all lift with all your collective strength to move the wing. After a minute of struggling, you all carry the wing as you look down, Ben’s leg hanging on by a thread. The portion was ripped off from the knee, muscles and fat exposed with the sharp edges of the crushed bones of his lower leg. Blood leaked out of him rapidly when the wing was lifted, without the pressure to stop the bleeding from oozing out of the wound. 

You gasp and feel at a loss for words. You don’t know what to do, but you must do something. You drop to your knees as the others back off, scared and disgusted, and grab the blanket. 

As you lay out the makeshift gurney, you felt a sharp breeze with a thud beside you to the wounded leg. You snap up to see that Misty cut just above the eviscerated knee. You quickly wrap some of the blanket around the wound. 

“Help us move him!” Misty commanded, taking her belt off to tie it around Ben’s leg. 

“Misty, what the fu-“ 

“Everyone shut the fuck up and listen to me,” you snapped at them as you tried to help Misty with the leg. They froze at the sound of your voice. It was commanding and strong, sounding like your fathers when you camped and traveled. It startled you as you tightened the fabric on the meaty wound. The sticky blood leaks between your fingers and slides down your plush hand.

“Now is not the time, so shut the fuck up. She did the right thing. He would have bled out if she didn’t cut it off because we can’t fucking save a shattered bone with what we have.” As you looked at the other seniors, Misty was quiet beside you as she helped get the blanket under Ben. You look at the seniors and realize that as of right now, with  Ben passed out, the seniors were the only authority out here. And right now, you were thinking and decided it was best to try and control everything as best you could. Your fathers' advice about the wilderness comes to your head quickly as you say, “Shauna, Jackie, go get firewood; we need a fire before it is dark. Sticks are fine, but big ones the size of your legs would be wins, okay? We need a lot tonight.” 

Shauna nodded to you, and Jackie stared at you with disturbed eyes. She meekly nodded to you with Shauna. 

You snap your head to the next girl, Lottie’s warm and affectionate eyes on you, Lottie’s eyebrows drawn together, and a wrinkled folded skin between the eyes. “Lottie, I need you to find me something to light a fire. I will even take two fucking rocks. Please hurry!” You say sternly, pulling the edges under Ben, tugging it under his back and head, “Tai, you need to clear the way and get the other girls out of the injured. We will need to have a clear way to move him.” 

“Got it!” Tai says and rushes out of the scene, and she doesn’t think twice once you finish your order to her. 

“Natalie,” you say as you make eye contact with the panicked girl, “can you go find Travis? We’ll need him! Van, help us with him.” You say as you and Misty struggle to lift the adult man with the thin blanket, now soaked in his blood. Natalie doesn’t say a word before she runs off to find Travis, you didn’t even know why you asked for him, but you wanted to give everyone something to do. 

“Come on!” You groaned to the other two girls as you tightly held the blanket. The other two shuffle with you and struggle with Ben’s dead weight. 

You hear screams from the other girls as you three lay Ben down on the ground softly. You softly start wiping the sweat on his forehead and neck as he still lies in shock. 

You feel almost lost in a dream after Misty told you to sit down; everyone was running around now with the jobs you gave them. You slowly sit down against a tree, your hands caress every crevice of the bark, and you feel the cold air slowly flow inside your nostrils. You didn’t feel like you matched your reality, as you couldn’t understand why you were standing here. You were heading to Seattle for the weekend? You were meant to be there at 12:45, and you would call your mom before Jerry Springer came on and talked to her. How were you going to call your mom? You said you were going to call.

“Hey…” Lottie rushed over to you and touched your back, and she sighed as she held two rocks in her hands. The wrinkle on her brown was deeper than before, and her eyes looked dilated wide, “I couldn’t find a lighter. I couldn’t find Natalie, and I found these stupid rocks, but-” 

You silenced and looked down at the rocks in her hands as she self-depractiatonly rambled and gently took them from her soft hands like a gift. You felt empty, and you felt scared and confused. But you smiled and nodded your head to make her quiet. “Lottie, this is perfect. Thank you, this is exactly what I asked for.” You listlessly say to her and hold her hand for a second as you get the rocks. 

Lottie looks into your eyes for a moment and seems to be stuck in their gaze. Her diluted eyes look into yours, and for a moment, it seems like some kind of language is shared between her brown eyes to yours. 

sighed at Jackie, and she placed her wood down gently. She forced a smile on you as she did it. 

“Here!” Jackie said as she dumped the pile of firewood onto the ground beside you.

“Thank you, great job!” You animated. You knew Jackie needed positive reinforcement to keep morale up. You then kneel near the woodpile and move the kindling to the more cleared land to control the fire. You curl the small twigs and leaves and line up thicker sticks near you. You take the two undemanding rocks together, making a loud clang.

“What are you even doing?” Jackie whined behind you, watching over your actions. She is out of the three watching you alerting you of their eyes on you and sticking onto you.

You flick the rocks together again against their edges for friction. You quickly smash the rocks together and don’t ignore the gray stones in your hands. You flick them faster together, and tiny friction sparks come off them after your 10th strike. You lean the rocks lower to the dead leaves on the ground that quickly set alight. You drop the stones, blow smoothly onto the leaves, and feed them small sticks until a stable fire starts. You provide one of the sticks Jackie dropped for you.

“That. I was doing that, Jackie.” You decree as you put another piece of wood on the fire, forming a smile.

 All the girls sat around the burning fire; you stared at the stones you formed around it to protect the fire. You sit with your knees to your chest, your hands rubbing your numb legs up and down. A low tremble came over you a few hours ago. The dark comes closer as the girls are quiet. 

You sat by the fire and fed it the branches to keep the light alive for everyone. The sun that simmered along the gaps in the leaves dulled slowly until it was completely black in the wilderness. There was a calm with the injured, and most had fallen asleep. The girls seemed to quiet under the weight of reality. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying anything to them, you didn’t even know what to say. The feeling of pulsing pain rests on the base of your neck, you feel a tingling and dull but sharp when you move too quickly. You hope it will go away soon. 

Shauna breaks the silence gently and smoothly. She was reassuring, “I am sure that the plan has an emergency transmitter or something that is sending a distress signal and they’ll be here in the morning.”

“Still…” Jackie hesitates as she looks over at Van eating corn nuts. “Maybe we should conserve some food? In case they don’t get here till later in the day?”

Van nods, her lips pursed as a look of hurt enters her face. “You want to save the CornNuts?” 

“Jackie, let’s not worry about food for a moment. We will be okay.” You say, a little sternness to it as you poke at the fire, “We should worry about shelter first. We need to build or find something before we start worrying about food. We are fine.” 

The words that come out of your mouth don’t really sound like you. They sound like the words and tone your father used out camping. Sternly leading and correcting. You hated it. But you couldn’t find the strength to mask that up. “We’re just in the woods, you guys. We are built to live in all-natural conditions, and we have conquered it before. But this time, we know what we are doing. We’re in Canada, and the forest is fertile and green. We’ll be okay until tomorrow, when they will probably find us. Shauna was right; every plane since Vietnam  has a distress box. We can eat the CornNuts.” You say to them to calm them down a little bit. 

“But what about bears?” Jackie asked to you, nervousness in her eyes. Everyone’s eyes look to you as you speak like they were hanging on every word, like you knew everything. You feel a weight on your chest but you compose yourself. 

You smoothly fake a chuckle as you say, “The plane was very loud. And for a forest like this, that would scare off everything in a 15-mile radius away from the sound. Even Grizzley bear would run away from that. They will stay away from here for a few days, We’ll be okay.” 

Jackie and everyone grows silent again. You look over to Van and see the soft sadness. You stop working on the fire and move beside Vanessa with a smile. You gently push the hair out of Van’s face, and ask her quietly, “Are you okay? The burns are looking better.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She utters back to you with her eyes glued to your hand that touched her face so tenderly. Van has never felt that kind of softness from someone, she looks up with puppy eyes. “Does it look bad?” 

“No. You look like you still, just a little crispy from the fire.” You mumbled and rubbed Van’s back. 

“You okay, Laura Lee?” Tai asked the girl next to her by us. You look over to the two and see the blonde worryingly pensive. A fat tear welled on the bottom of her waterline as she looked down to the dirt. 

“This is all my fault.” Laura Lee confessed, sincere with every vowel. “I did something really bad.” 

Tai looks over at the two of us, I shake my head, and Van shrugs her shoulders. Confused and worried. 

 “I kept screwing up in my piano lesson last week. Mrs. Brophy kept yelling at me.” She continued, tears falling down to the ground. “Sharp. F sharp. F sharp.” She whispered in memory. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. So I called her a bad word. Just in my head, but… God heard me. Now we’re all being punished.” She mournfully nods in disgust in herself. Van shakes a little beside you as she tries to hold in a laugh. You grip her arm to hold it in. 

“What did you call her?” 

“A cunt.” She whispers. A muffled laughter breaks out in the group as we all laugh at the innocence of her words. Even Laura Lee breaks out into a laugh.

“I steal shitty clothes from TJ Maxx.” Lottie blurted out. 

“What?” Van giggled. 

“I return them, and I get the credit that I never use, and I have thousands of dollars in T.J. bucks.” She explains, and we all laugh again louder. You feel a sharp pain in your neck as your head rolls back, your ribs yell at you to stop, but you can’t, a cut on your lip opens, and a little taste of blood comes to your tongue. 

Sometimes you think people laugh as hard as they want to cry. And these are one of those times. 

“What? Really?” Jackie agust, giggling to Lottie. 

“I, uh… I used to sneak downstairs after everybody had gone to bed and watch The Color of Night. So, I could pause it on Bruce Willis’s wang.” 

Giggles and cackles. 

“Definitely why we crashed,” Tai added. 

“Jeff’s not bad, but damn. Right?” 

You don’t notice Misty slipping away from the group as you exclaim, “I was the one that spray painted that Mr. Madden was a Pervert!” 

Everyone roared with laughter, and tears came to their eyes, shock and disbelief. 

“No fucking way!” Natalie chimed. 

“Yeah! I saw he looked up Susie’s skirt when she was getting books, and the time he called that only whores wear slipped skirts! I just fucking had it!” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, I was just trying-” 

The screaming of coach Scott cut you off. You all run over to find that Misty has cauterized his wound.  Immediately, Taissa and the others start to ridicule Misty, and you quickly tell them that it is what is best for an open wound. You feel yourself start to space out for a moment, running on autopilot. 

‘21 

Your fingers type onto the keyboard as you blankly stare at the computer screen. You were trying to finish the 17th chapter of your book, trying to add as much smut as possible. You groan as you roll your aching shoulders. You slowly and declicly roll your head not to upset the temperamental wound that never healed. Over the years, the base of your neck always seemed to be annoyed and caused you to have intense migraines. It sometimes felt like a little devil stabbing you in the back. You take a long breath, feeling it slide down your throat, and you look down at the screen again.

You reread out loud as you light yourself a cigarette, “She slid her hands under the strap of Anna’s belt, touching and twitching the soft bulb- clit that made Anna sigh out for her lover.” You corrected and typed. 

Brring! Brring! Brring! 

You look down at your phone next to you to see it vibrating and a name that makes your heart fall to your stomach. You answer it quickly. 

“Hello, Misty, what going on?”

“Oh! I’m doing good, I just got off a shift with my least favorite co-worker, and it was super unprofessional; I mean, who calls off 20 minutes before a shift?” 

You felt a smile come to your cheeks as you hear Misty talk on the other end. “Someone who is a jag off, girl.” 

“Yeah, sorry for calling you so late.” It’s 5 pm. “I was calling to let you know that I spoke with that Jessica person, and you were right, super shady. The publisher isn’t real, and I couldn’t find her anywhere.” 

“Did she ask you anything?” 

“Nothing more than what you said she would. She was weird.” 

You chuckle at this and hear her on the other end giggling hysterically. You knew she was just laughing to copy you, but it didn’t stop the warmth coming into your heart. “Yeah, she is weird. Anything else I should know?” 

“Well, did you get the postcard?” 

“What, no? What postcard?” 

“I got this postcard, and it, uh, it had It on it. I think someone is trying to blackmail us.”  

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, and you turned away from your outside desk and went inside. You felt tense from learning that. “Well, haven’t got a postcard, and I know we all wouldn’t peep about it-“ 

“I don’t know; someone could have spoken.” 

“Well, if they did, we would find them, and they know what we do to traitors.” You snapped firmly, tense with a familiar feeling of needing to protect the hive. You take a deep breath, trying to shake the reflective sharpness of your words. “I’m sorry, Misty, didn’t mean to get that way-“

“I get it.” Misty proudly says on the other end; you could imagine her putting her hand on her chest and her smile trying to win you over. “I was like that when I first saw it. But don’t worry; I don’t think it’s too much because it only has the single and nothing else. The postcard was bought online, so I couldn’t find where they bought it, and there is no way to trace it, but it most likely is nothing but someone trying to stir stuff up. “ 

“Oh.” You sighed out of relief. You put your hand to your forehead.

“I have another thing to tell you.” Misty chimed happily, “Natalie is back in town. I know. I was shocked too.” 

“Holy shit?! Natalie is back?” You say with a little bit of your air knocking out of you. You and Natalie had a very close relationship. Once you were rescued, Natalie went off and did her own thing. You saw her periodically throughout the last 24 years since she left Wiskayok. The last time you saw or heard from Natalie was in 2013 when she was in New York, and she went to the old flat you had had for the entirety of your time in the city for your career. She came over, you cooked for her and caught up, and you two made love. She left in the middle of the night to never speak to you again. You heard she was in rehab, getting better a few times, then released, and the cycle continues.  She always returned to you like an old samurai movie where the husband had left the wife for years only to go again because of duty. That duty was running away from what happened like a fool. 

“Yeah, She came back in town last night. We caught up last night. Funny enough, I was on a date, and when I got home-“ 

“Let me guess. Nat broke into your house?”

“How did you know?!” Misty was astonished, and a giggle came out of her mouth like an uncontrollable tick. “Yeah, she came in and thought I was the one that sent the postcards because she got one.”

“Now I feel left out.” You joke as you smoke the end of your cigarette that you mainly had forgotten about from the stampede of intense memories. “Was she doing good?” You asked, your eyebrow furrowed slightly. You had always worried about your team; even after you cut off most of them, it didn’t mean you didn’t want them to be happy.

“Yeah, she looked great…” Misty said on the other end, and she got quiet. You did, too, just wanting to hold the air that connects you two for a moment longer. 

“I have-“ you start and get cut off from Misty.

“You still live on Applepine, right?” 

You still, and a breath comes through you, your voice says before you can stop. “Yeah, I moved back in.” 

“Great! I’ll see you later!”

“What?” 

“I’m going to pick you up later, and we can see Natalie together!” Misty chimed happily. A little bit of panic comes over you as you feel the unease of leaving the safety of your home. “I think it would be good for us to catch up and talk together.” 

You pause, and your eyes linger on the window in your kitchen; you stare into the treeline of the oak trees that lingered on your land. You stare into the darkness collected by the trees as if it was pulling you into the shade from your home's kitchen. “I-I need a little bit more time before that. I need to prepare to go out and-” You stop rambling and say with a crease on your brow. “You know what, If Natalie is still here in a few days, I would be more than willing to meet up.” 

“Really?” She amazed. 

“Yeah.” you jerk as a cold sweat collects on your brow. You locked into a trace with the shaded side of the yard. “I would love to see you two and see how you have been up to.” 

“Great! We’ll get coffee! I’ll come around Monday morning?” 

You felt a forced smile come over your lips as if she was in front of you, a deeply founded habit you couldn’t let go of, always acting without wanting to make someone else happy. “Yeah, that sounds great! I’ll talk to you then?” 

Misty giggled on the other end, chirping, “See you Monday! I’ll text you the details!” 

She hangs up the phone, but you stand in your kitchen and see the tree in the distance start to shift under your intense stare. You don’t know if you imagined it; the tree branches don’t seem right. Trees typically had random sticks and edges to the extensions, not horns proudly pointing toward your home. 

You gulp and close your eyes. Opening them again to only find the tree back to how it should be, you blink a few times before you text the closest person to tell about this. 

You: HEY! Something is happening with Misty and Natalie. I’m going on a trip so that is where I am if I go MIA Shauna: Misty? You are talking to Misty again?  You: Girl, She called me, and I’m not going to say no to her.  Shauna: K good luck  🙏

————————————————-

‘96 

You finally find a good moment to leave, and everyone in the injured group is calm after Misty cauterizes Ben’s leg. Tai, Van, Mari, Natalie, and you all decided to stay up in shifts to look over the team while they slept because they were still scared of animals. You told them to look around for anything and call you if they found anything edible. You then kind of walked off; you shooed away Mari and Tai because you “needed to pee.” 

You walk straight for 10 minutes; you turn around to see the small fire about 2½ miles off. The woods sang loudly and unashamed all around you, the sounds of the trees moving, squirrels running, the sounds of bees in hives humming in the air. You felt that seed that was laid in your chest, and it danced around with every step. Your mind was clear, complete and suppressed as you finally sat down again. Body tingling and squeaking as your plush back leans on the bark of the old oak tree, soreness rests sternly on your eyes and neck. Every blink hurts, every turn of your head insults your neck, and every word out of your mouth opens a scab on your lower lip from a cut you have assumed came from your teeth from the force of the plane hitting your face.   

And like a bomb whining down, you exploded. 

A sob escaped before you even realized it, and your body convulsed to cup your mouth shut. You couldn’t stop it this time. Your face twists, and you sob helplessly into your hands, your knees protecting your chest. You lean harder onto the tree and try to hide in it. You just wanted to be strong and smart. “No crying at camp”, are the words your father said to you when you were a kid and when you grew hysteric when he skinned a rabbit. You felt a hollowing in your chest, like a child for a moment in the woods, and you never felt so lost in your life. 

“Where the fuck am I? In Canada, the plane crashed in the woods in the mountains. But pilots have to tell someone they are going to another country, right? Why wouldn’t they? Do they think we are in Seattle? Oh my god, mom and dad!” You thought and started feeling trapped in a small box that grew tighter around you. Your throat closed like a Barracuda sprang up and twisted around your neck, waiting to eat you when you die. You are going to die alone without your mom or dad. They were never going to find you. “Oh my god, I was going to call my mom! How am I going to talk to her? What is going to happen? FUCK! What time is it? Isn’t it 10:30? She needs her medication! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I want my mom! I want my mommy!” You helplessly thought, your breath moving fast in and out, wrapping your arms around yourself to hug yourself to find comfort in this crashing moment. 

“Hey! (Y/n), you over there?” 

Your head snaps up, and sees Misty walking towards you with a blanket. She is almost running to you. You try and fail to wipe your tears away, and you try to hide the panicked shaking in your body. 

“Yeah.” you croak. 

Misty gets closer and slows down, her eyes on your face. Her face pinches, and her eyebrows furrowed. She looks a little angry at the tears on your face. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

You chuckle a little and wipe the still-falling tears. You shake your head and look at her with a smile creaking, and you start to feel delirious. “Outside of surviving a plane crash, worrying about my old as fuck parents, and trying to keep it cool. You know, nothing big.” You lightly joke, lightly lament, but a crack in your voice wins the fight to suppress it from showing how hurt you are under the surface. You don’t even know how you came across to others, and it worried you deeply, hoping you were not being a bitch and trying to keep everything calm before it got real. 

“(Y/n)…” Misty sighs; she pushes up her glasses in her way. She smiles, comes closer to you, crouching before you, and puts the blanket around you. “You are the smartest girl here. You are freaking valedictorian, and you started a fire! We would be so lost without you.” she compliments. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You wanted her to confide in you as you did, but you think she doesn’t understand that she can do that. 

You smiled at her, not accepting her words but acting like you did. “You are very sweet, Misty, thank you. You’re right. And the same can be said about you; you fucking took charge today Misty. I am very proud of you.” You said, honey dripping through the words. You wanted her to feel comfort, too; it was kind that she still tried to do the emotional labor even out here. Misty’s eyes were wide as plates when you spoke, and she was silent. She nodded her head; her cheeks were deeply red. You don’t understand why she got so flustered by a mirrored compliment. Misty’s eyes were a little watery, and you didn’t know what came over you, but you leaned over and hugged your blanketed arms around her shoulders. 

Misty’s cheek nestles to yours, and you rub her back. Misty’s hand awkwardly hovered your skin, and her breath hitches audibly. 

It made you feel sad for her. A simple hug was enough to make her breath stop. She was touch starved and had no friends, but she was kind and sweet. Yes, Misty is the weirdest person you have ever met, that sometimes gets under your skin, but she never was cruel. 

“T-thank you, (y/n).” 

“Not a problem. What are friends for?” You say to lighten your mood and her. You felt yourself wall up again and forget why you were crying as you hugged Misty. Her hair moves to look at you and pull from the hug, smelling like marshmallows and raspberry. 

“We’re friends!? Are you sure?” Misty asked; she seemed a little shocked to hear you say that. 

You laugh and nod, “Yeah, we’re friends, girl. Why do you think I went to you first?” You say, not wholly truthful but honest, that she was the first person you went to when you exited the plane. She knows that too. She blushes and stares at you a few inches from your face, not backing off the hug. You smile and hug her again, feeling comfort from her body on yours. You rub your hands on her shoulder up and down, showing her how much you care at that moment.

“Hey! I think I found some berries or something.” Natalie calls out for you a few feet away, probably not seeing you in the dark. You pull away from Misty and stand up with her; you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders. 

“I will catch up with you later, Misty; try to go get some rest because you rocked it today.” You reassure and turn to find Natalie, Misty doesn’t look away from you. She nods and hesitates before she walks out to the camp. You don’t notice her walk out into the forest. 

You start to walk towards where Natalie’s voice was. Sticks and leaves crunch under your feet. You call her name once before feeling a hand coming to your arm.

“Hey-“

“FUCKING CHRIST!” you shriek, falling back to Natalie’s chest. You turn to find her face inches away from yours. Her hand seems to tighten on your flesh when you look at her, trying to hold onto you longer.

“Shit-I’m sorry!” 

“Nat, your all good!” You laugh, feeling the fear leave you quickly. You pull your arm away from her touch. Natalie’s eyebrows furrowed at the movement, and looked harder at you. “You found something?”

“Yeah. Come with me,” Natalie said, crossing her arms over her chest, and she walked a few feet with you to a bush with little blue and red berries on the branches. “Here, I almost tripped over it when I took a leak.”

You chuckle and look closer, even in the darkness, you can tell what they are in a second. Bilberries. They are super common in Northern America and are primarily for deer, which means that deer and doe will be around the area this time of year. You smile and exclaim, “You did good! These are yummy!” 

“Wait? They are not poisonous?” Natalie asked with wide eyes, shocked she found something of importance. 

You smile and shake your head, “yeah, you did. Good eye, I wouldn’t have found them in the dark.” You say, looking for something to collect them in. Natalie is silent as she watches your face, she is almost studying the curve of your face in the darkness, and she snaps out of it and pulls out a scarf from her leather jacket pocket. 

You thank her and take the cloth to start collecting the red and blue berries, Natalie does the same, and you smile at her. “Okay, so remember, White and Yellow, kill a fellow. Purple blue is good for you. Red is something for you. Like it’s 50/50, these berries come in two colors, so I know they are okay. They are called Bilberries, they’re kinda like, um, currents and cherries.” You teach her. You softly touch her arm to show her the berries. You take one into your mouth and the juices of the natural small berry pop in your mouth with a tart sweetness that is so luscious on your hungry tongue. A small moan comes from your mouth, and you hand one over to Natalie’s mouth. 

Natalie’s big blue eyes look deep into your eyes as her mouth opens, welcoming the berry in your hand. Your hand gently puts the berry into her lip, and the skin of your finger glides on her lower lip softly as you move your hand back. It felt like it was in slow motion. You pull yourself away to pull more berries, with heat coming to your neck and spreading up your cheeks.  

“Cool.” Natalie smiled. She picked some more and put them in the palm of your hand. She looks at you and says, “I never knew you knew all this stuff. Woodsy and shit.” 

You shake your head and laugh, a little embarrassed, and pick more berries into your palm. “I’m not really. My dad is this Teddy Roosevelt kind of guy. He tries to take us to all the national parks each summer.” You explained, the marble ball of dread rattling in your heart as you spoke. You miss your dad. You wanted to hear his voice. “I just like to know a little bit about everything.” You continued. You look over to Natalie and see this softness on her face. Her eyes were on you, her blue eyes were a little sad as she took your words in. She never knew what it was like for a father to want to spend time with their kids or do things that didn’t involve screaming. She knew that if anyone should have a good family, it was you. Natalie always saw you as this sweet light for her, one of the only good things that she has going on and had going on for years. You were a good influence and taught her math and English outside the club. You were patient and never made Natalie feel small for not getting something. You just accepted people as they were in Natalie’s eyes, which she longed for. 

Natalie smiled at you and handed you some more, “You are really smart, you know that. Seriously, you are the only person I copied on and still got an A.” 

Laughing, “Oh whatever, you know if you applied yourself, you would get A’s too.” You say back, remembering the years of letting Natalie look over your shoulder to cheat on almost every math test since freshmen year. 

“Nah, I don’t know. I do know that you are smart as fuck.” 

“Oh please, your smart too! You are the only person I know that can read a map correctly, and you know how to talk to people-“

“(Y/n), that doesn’t take smarts to talk to people.” 

You shake your head with a soft smile, “No, but it takes a different kind of intelligence just to meet people and talk to them. You are smart, and I will not let you shut yourself down in my presence.” You said with a stern ending. You take the last of the berries and let Natalie finish up. 

“Fine, but know that I disagree.” Natalie joked and handed me the last of the berries. Her hand stopped on top of the berries. Like she wanted to hold your hand under the mountain of berries, she looked at your face and said, “How are you holding up?” 

You look at her face and feel the weight of her blue eyes on your face. You felt like blushing. A small ping of guilt comes over you when you remember she doesn’t know you are gay. “Honestly, I am not doing better than anyone else. I am freaking a little bit on the inside right now.”

Natalie nods and purses her lips, “I get it. I am still shaking from everything…”

“Same. My legs feel like jello, but happy to still be standing.” You smile and chuckle a bit to make it lighter than you feel. The bruising around your eyes hurts when your cheeks pull up in your smile. You just push it away. You and Natalie start walking back to the camp. You keep bumping your shoulder with hers. “Okay, I don’t want to sound insecure-“

“Then don’t.” 

“Does my face look bad? I look a little messed up, but I don’t know. And I know you will be honest with me.” You asked, you touched your eye to the soreness under it. You haven’t looked at yourself yet because of how busy you were with everything, but you knew you looked as bad as you felt. 

“You're still sexy you.” She said and put a hand on your shoulder, her blue eyes burned into the side of your face. “You’ll still have a modeling career after all this, don’t worry.”

You laugh and act out relief with a dramatic hand wiping sweat from your brow. “Oh, thank god, I don’t know what to do if Victoria's Secret cut me from the summer collection.” 

You and Natalie laugh as you come to the circle of sleeping girls; you shh her, and you hold in your giggles. She tries to as well but fails a little bit. You quietly go to the fire and put the berries near it for tomorrow. 

Lottie sits up from her makeshift sleeping bag, “Your guys still up? Did you find anything?” She whispered to us. You give her a quick look of apology for waking her with your giggles. You nod toward the pile of berries in the cloth and say, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Go back to bed.” 

You missed the sharp look Natalie sent Lottie that told her to back off and stop talking to you. Lottie doesn’t bad down as she says, “Okay… but you sleep next to me. I am scared.” 

“Oh, Lottie.” You melted a little bit at the small voice she had coming out of her mouth. You smile and move to her, letting Natalie stand by the fire alone.

“Hey, no, (Y/n), come sleep next to us. Shauna and I have your bag next to us.” Jackie says, cutting through the air sharply. She stops you from moving, and you look over to her like a deer in the headlights.

“Well, she was going to sleep with me-“ 

“No, (y/n) come over here,” Jackie commanded softly.

“Uhm, how about I sleep with Jackie and Lottie you can come sleep by me too. Win-win.” You say to Lottie and come over to Jackie and Shauna. You smile at both and see your bags still together and not super damaged. You almost cry when you see your bag. You open it up and look through the contents. You see your clothes, underwear, makeup, notebook and pens, your Walkman and cassettes, and most importantly, you find the ½ bag of your mom's medical marijuana that you had hidden in your room but took with you out of paranoia that your parents would find it while your away. Your purse connected with the small chain, your dad insisted on giving you the old chain to secure luggage, and that inside your pack of cigarettes were still all together. You didn’t engage with the soft bickering of Lottie and Jackie. Natalie seemed to just sit down by the fire with a gloomy aura about her now. 

“Jackie, why did you always to have it your way-”

“I do not! Her stuff was here because she put it here; Shauna found her purse and stuff, so shut up and go to bed.” Jackie whispered hiss at Lottie as you stood back up from your purse, slipping your pack into the back of your jeans. 

“Yeah, Lottie, relax. Don’t get on Jackie’s case about it for no reason.” Shauna added in, hyping Jackie up. 

You steal the pack and smile at the girls that were still bickering about where you were going to sleep. You look at them and say, “Actually, I think me and Natalie are going to look out for some more berries.” 

Natalie’s eyes widen, and she comes back behind you, her eyes that were angry that the girls took your attention away. She looked slightly smug as she reached behind you. Jackie and Lottie whine slightly, asking you to just sleep with them and saying that it’s not safe if you leave them. 

“Everything is okay. I will be back in a few. Don’t worry so much. I will come right back.” Your day, and you pull Natalie with you again to the woods. You don’t miss the displeased faces of Jackie and Lottie. “I just wanna see if we can find more. Come on, Nat.” You say and tug her with you. 

You both walk back into the woods and to the bush, “I thought we were looking for more berries.” 

“Fuck that.” You said, and you pulled out your pack of cigarettes and lighter. You smirk at her and say, “Would you like one?” 

Natalie smirked at you, took one from the pack, and leaned forward toward your face. The end of the cigarette meets the end of yours. Your eyes look into her blue eyes as they look down. You start to wonder if all the flirting you two have done was real for her as it was for you and how it would be just to lean forward. 

“You know you smell good?” Natalie rasped as she pulled back, her now-lit cigarette glowing at the end. She smiles and puffs the stick with her fingers decorated in chipped black lacquer. She nods, “You feel like a girly girl. All fruity and shit.” 

You laugh; you are aghast, “I don’t know how! I just smell like sweat and blood.” 

Natalie chuckled and shook her head, and she continued to flirt with you lightly. The two of you not noticing or caring about the pressure from the trees. 

Fingers gripping the bark hard enough to scratch lines on the weak bark. Watching the two of them talking and laughing. The eyes of the girl glued onto the two figures around the bilberry bush; they feel a growl hum in their throat. How fucking dare they make you smile like that. How dare you share a cigarette with her. Natalie is a fucking burnout and doesn’t have anything going for her. How is she going to protect you, take care of you? They would not take this at all, now that they have spent their whole life loving you. They back off the tree, stalking closer, leaning on the curve of the tree to be hidden in the moonlight. They watch and listen; if Natalie would learn and experience you, so were they. 

‘21 

You sat at your kitchen table, dressed in your black slip nightgown. You scroll over your emails, seeing the publisher's demands for you to finish quicker but also giving you “creative control”, and your manager asking you to tweet something about the upcoming book. You yawn as you start your day with a longish awkwardness and slowness. 

Knock! Knock!  

You sit up straight as you wrap the red blanket on your lap around your shoulder, you cover your thin legs as you walk to the front door. You rub the crust from your eye as you lazily open the door, greeted by the crisp spring morning air and freezing at the people that stood in front of you. 

Big blue eyes lined thickly with eyeliner and black strands of hair over the matured face of Natalie Scat. Bouncing ashy blonde curls danced as Misty animatedly waved to you, greeting, “Good afternoon, (Y/n)! Sorry for stopping by unannounced, but we were in the neighborhood, and We needed to stop to a restroom, but we couldn’t find anywhere to go, so we came here.” 

Your eyes hadn’t moved from Natalie’s since you opened the door; the past lingered, and who we once were to each other is always implied when we see each other. There was a ping from something deeper within you calling for you to say everything and nothing to her, your souls singing to each other privately. 

You take a breath and look at Misty. It felt like moving a ton of weight off your chest to disconnect with the baby blues, but you knew better than to fall into them. You see how happy she was to see you and how her smile seemed to be wider than the ones on her social media. You smile back and quickly hug her, “Hey! Oh my god, Welcome in!” You say quickly and let them into your house. 

Misty confidently strides into your home and looks around, commenting on how she remembered everything back in the day. The times after you all were rescued when Misty would come over after nursing school to chat comes to your mind, the moments of letting her into your only safe space and how kind she was to you. You couldn’t leave your family home after you came back home, you refused to step foot outside, and your dad didn’t fight you on it. You didn’t leave the house until you were 26, after years of slowly coming outside to parks and stores until you could live a “normal” life again. Misty was right there. She never wanted to be anywhere else it seemed, and you couldn’t get away from the deep loyalty you felt for her in some ways. 

Natalie slowly comes into the house, she hesitates and looks around. She stands by the door as you point to the bathroom for Misty. 

Natalie looks to the ground, almost unable to look up into your eyes again. She felt it too. She always felt that pull from your eyes, from your presence, and she knew that she had fucked it up in so many ways. And there you were, beautiful and safe, standing before her. You watch her eyes scan your floors and baseboards, “You look good, Nat.” You utter in the silence. 

Natalie chuckled lowly, looking at you quickly and looking away. She was getting nervous being her, and she played it off in her way of being cagey. “Thanks.” 

“Seriously. You’re not so pale. I never liked it when you were pale.” you confess, you push a hair behind your ear. Even after all these years, tenderness never died for her. You could never not love Natalie. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Okay.” You mutter and nod softly, a pain rings throughout your body at the base of your neck. You pull a little away from her and look down, feeling like a teenager again being rejected. 

Natalie sighs softly, knowing how she is acting is unfair to you as it has always been. She looks at you with soft eyes. “I-I’m going to see Travis. Misty found where he lives, and we will go check on him.” 

A marble rattles in your chest. 

“Is it okay if I come?” You ask, not really knowing why you are asking her this. You don’t know why you want to come along. You shouldn’t. You need to finish your book. But you need this. “I’m free today, Misty asked about coffee. I’d love to get a coffee with you two.” 

“Really? You want to come with me and Misty Quigley?” She teased, a rise from her eyebrow. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? Wait a second!” You say and throw the blanket to the couch, wearing the slip and moving to your stairs quickly. “I’ll go get dressed. Don’t leave without me!” 

You felt a rush of something you haven’t had in a long time. You felt the need to do this. To spend time with them and make up for something. Anything. You quickly dress in something comfy, you comb your hair. You hear a squeal from Misty downstairs and Natalie groaning back to her, you feel a smile coming to your face. 

You look down at your phone before you leave your bedroom, and you see a simple text from Shauna that makes you chuckle. 

Shauna: Jeff and Callie think I was joking about the rabbit and it’s still making me crack up  You: LOL! But does rabbit even taste good in chili? Shauna: Yes Shauna: You should try it sometime Shauna: still coming over next week?  You: Where else would I be? Love ❤️️

‘96

Misty’s feet carried her deeper into the woods to go to the bathroom. A grin on her face, tears coming down quickly down her round cheeks. She did it. She made a friend. A friend that loves her and hugs her. 

Misty happily sits down and readies herself to go to the bathroom. The sound of a few girls pacing catches her ears. 

It was Van and Mari praising Misty for taking control of the wounded and how they would be “lost without her”. Misty felt a rush of love pulse over her as she thinks about how this is the most love she has felt in such a long time. 

Misty hasn’t been hugged in 130 days since today. It was Christmas day when her grandmother gave her a loving hug that she had wanted more than the VHS player and the newest The World Book Encyclopedia volume 11. She just wanted to relieve the itch on her skin that stained her and called her unwanted. She never felt loved. But she could at least be held, right?

Misty hadn’t felt that anyone had ever really seen her. When people see small things about her, they act like she is an outcast. Misty was scared to show herself, but she didn’t know how to hide it.  

But you.

 You’ve seen her. You listened. You talked. You smiled. You loved. 

So, when the blinking red light of the distress box lights the leaves of a bush that caught Misty’s eye. She knew what she had to do. 

You finally were her friend. People finally seen her as important. She was needed. 

Misty smashes the box with passion and rage. Like it was the thing that kept rejecting her all her life, not her mom, not her dad, not the yellowjackets, this fucking box. 

Misty uses all her weight with a rock on the metal box, wiring exposed for her. She pulls it and kills the light. Pulling with the whining of old wires. Killing everyone’s chance to be rescued.

Misty did this for you. She knows you would leave her when high school ended. She knew everyone would treat her like nothing again. You were all that was important. Nothing. Just you.

Just you.

(Y/n) (Y/N) (Y/N)

I'll take care of you! I'll love you. You'll want for nothing.

There was no return after befriending Misty Quigley. 

Note: Sorry for how long it took for me to finish this chapter up but I was working extra hours for my vacation next week and got kinda lazy because of that. Please tell me all your thoughts and criticisms!

Teen looks, Adult looks, and the things that you brought with you to your trip to Seattle that had never been.

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: Honey Cut by Sierra Simone

5/5. Releases 6/18/24.

vibes: WEAPONIZED LONGING, the perfect angst recipe, the man Lana Del Rey was singing about but much better, We Can't Discuss Our Feelings Because My Feelings Are Hard

Heat Index: 10/10

Isolde Laurence is in a bind (literally, at points). She's about to marry Mark Trevena (the cold, dangerous man who deflowered her and promptly crushed her heart) in an arrangement that will enable her to seduce him and offer his secrets to her uncle, a high-ranking cardinal. However, on her way to do so, she's fallen in love with Mark's romantic, pining bodyguard Tristan. And Tristan--who very much loves her back--is also in love with Mark, thanks to a preexisting whirlwind affair he put a stop to upon finding out about the engagement. Isolde is determined to, if nothing else, guard her heart against her new husband. And, for personal and practical reasons, honor the agreement they made years ago: once they exchange vows, they'll be faithful to each other.

Easier said than done.

But Isolde herself is deadlier than she seems, and in the midst of a thorny triangle, she may end up crushing not only Tristan's heart, but her own... and maybe even Mark's. If he has one.

Well, this was my most-anticipated release of the year, and BY GOD did it live up to expectations. This is an ongoing series (you must read Salt Kiss before starting this one, and in my opinion? You should ABSOLUTELY also read the prequel novella, Salt in the Wound, as it lays the groundwork for Mark and Isolde's relationship) and of course, I don't want to count chickens before they hatch, but... If Sierra pulls the ending off--which I totally believe she will; she's yet to let me down--this could end up being her best series yet. And that is a LOT coming from me, someone who worships at the altar of New Camelot (and Thornchapel, for that matter).

The thing about the way Sierra writes triads--and nobody does it better--is that they all feel unique. You might think that Mark, Isolde, and Tristan would have a lot in common with New Camelot's Ash, Greer, and Embry. They're MMF, they're based on Arthurian myth, these people literally know each other (Sierra: I owe you my life for that cameo). But the dynamic is completely different--and in this installment especially, quite darker. I didn't see Mark's darkness as much in Salt Kiss (Salt in the Wound... perhaps more so, which gives you some insight into the differences between his individual dynamics with Isolde versus Tristan) but here? Um. She portrayed the conflict within him and his ruthlessness perfectly... While also letting us even further into the vulnerability she hinted at in Salt Kiss.

Mark can be a difficult character for readers to humanize, I think, because we haven't had his POV yet. It's easy to sort of dismiss him as this frosty, stern alpha who doles out pain while also dealing with plenty of his own (on the inside, because Mark is clearly very uncomfortable with feeling a feeling). Where she makes it brilliant is through these moments of BOYISHNESS. We got sneak peeks of boyish Mark in Salt Kiss, but here? Oh my god. The grins, the poking at Tristan, the GOOFY HOT FACETIME SEX WITH ISOLDE??? It's so human, and dropping those sneak peeks in makes his pain even more palatable.

And the thing is that you do get that pain. Because Sierra also doesn't shy away from the agony of a love triangle and, yes, cheating in this book. I often find that MMF is used in a sort of like... "Why choose? Heehee it's all okay because everyone wants each other" get out of jail free card. Sierra really doesn't do that ever, but this is the hardest she's gone in on "these people are cheating, and it HURTS the person they're cheating on, and it HURTS them". No punches are pulled here. This is one of the angstiest books I've read, and as an angst hound, I loved every second of it.

The ending? I am going to be in actual PAIN until Bitter Burn (out early next year, SHIT). There was a moment in the last few pages of this book that made me gasp. In part because I really didn't think she'd go there on multiple levels. This is a book of huge swings, and for me, every single one worked.

Quick Takes:

--I have been very vocal about how much the one time Mark called Tristan "puppy" in a cut scene (Beg Me, which you should absolutely read if you can--I think it's on Sierra's website) has not left my head since. Guess what? It's just a regular nickname now. He says it SEVERAL times in this book, in prime moments. And I was extremely happy.

--You can for sure read this series on its own, but I will say that this book in particular "spoils" a good bit of New Camelot. In the same way that any romance in the same universe or series of standalones sort of spoils others, but if you want to read chronologically without any giveaways, you should read that series first. And in general, read it even if you do read Lyonesse first. Because it's gorgeous.

--I can't emphasize enough how happy Isolde and Mark's dirty Facetime calls made me. Like. At the end of the day, Mark is just like any other man with a hot young wife, desperately trying to get a peek over his phone. While someone else peeks, perhaps.

--Isolde's such a fantastic heroine. Broken and devoted to God and maybe lowkey a zealot, while also craving physical and emotional pain and release and Tristan's soft heart and Mark's cold one all at once. She's the kind of heroine we very rarely get to read about in romance. If I'm being honest, I was a little worried about how the dynamics would balance here, as so much of the last book was Mark and Tristan on their own, and then the remainder was Tristan and Isolde on their own. (Which is another reason why you should read Salt in the Wound first, in my opinion.) But God. The dynamic of the three, the dynamic between Mark and Isolde, just blew me away. Two black cats circling each other, Mark perhaps a little more reticent to open up to Isolde than Tristan because he recognizes something of himself in her.

While at the same time, I found that Tristan and Isolde's relationship deepened. I always fully believed in their agonized love for Mark, and their desire to stay loyal to him. Yet I also completely believed that they couldn't possibly stay away from each other, not permanently.

--Mark's backstory? I foresaw some surface level stuff, but not the parts that mattered. Those kind of blew my mind.

The Sex:

I mean, it's Sierra Simone, so it's creative and very much a part of the character development. One of the sex scenes in this book was so... it was really one of the best she's ever written. But also? DEVIOUS. Sierra, you did not have to do us like that. However, I'm glad you did.

There are so many different "flavors" of sex in this book--super kinky, kinda vanilla (or as vanilla as these people can get), happy, angsty, sad, passionate, light, funny.

You can expect, among other things: restraints, impact play, cum play, breeding, biting, public sex (a lot of that), car sex, edging, voyeurism, pain play, cum licking.......... all that shit. And more!

Look, dude. Read this book if you've read the other books. If you haven't read the other books, read those and then read this book. I can't recommend it enough. This is angsty, passionate, heady romance at its best. Hot and emotionally complex and well-written. Sierra's prose! It's what romance should be; she sets the pace, and we all must chase it.

Thanks to Candi Kane PR for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[howlingtides]

Dazai visits Chuuya after Chuuya used Corruption to save him (Chuuya's POV)

Takes place immediately after Dead Apple

tags: hurt/comfort, soukoku's version of fluff, Chuuya has chronic pain

Every time Chuuya activated Corruption, it took him a little longer to recover. When he was younger, he'd sleep it off in a few hours. The last couple of times, it had taken him maybe a day or two.

It had been three days since he'd defeated that dragon and saved Dazai's ass, and his entire body still felt like it had been crushed beneath the pressure of his own ability.

It was absolutely brutal.

He'd definitely exceeded the recommended dose of painkillers over the last seventy-two hours, and though they did help a bit, it still wasn't enough. His head throbbed and his muscles burned and his bones ached and it took every ounce of effort he had to get out of bed and force himself to eat something.

All he had left in the fridge was some leftover rice and a half empty bottle of white wine, and cooking was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He opted for the rice, popping the lid off the container and grabbing a pair of chopsticks and bringing everything with him over to the couch where he all but fell against the cushions with a groan.

He'd just taken his first bite when there was a knock at the door.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

It crossed his mind to play absent, to let whoever was here think he wasn't home so they would go away and just leave him the fuck alone while he wallowed in his post-Corruption agony.

"Chuuuuuyaaa," came a sing-song voice from outside, another knock following suit.

Oh he was definitely pretending that he wasn't home.

"I know you're in there," Dazai said. "I can feel you pouting."

Damn it all to hell.

"Go to hell you goddamn coat rack."

"But Chuuya," he pressed, "I come bearing gifts."

Gifts? What the hell could shitty Dazai have possibly brought him?

He pondered it for a moment before ultimately deciding that this was a losing battle. Chuuya was either going to let Dazai in or Dazai was going to eventually let himself in.

He set the rice down on the coffee table and pushed himself up with a grunt, dragging himself over to the front door. And he must've been in worse shape than he thought because the moment he opened the door, Dazai's stupid smile faded a little.

Just a little.

But it was enough.

"Please don't," Chuuya said before Dazai could comment on his appearance.

"Don't what?"

"Just. Don't." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Not today."

They stood there in silence for a moment as Chuuya held his breath.

Eventually, Dazai held up a brown paper bag. "In the mood for some carbonara?"

Chuuya was always in the mood for carbonara, and shitty Dazai knew that, but Chuuya was not in the mood for company, and Dazai probably knew that, too.

It was then that Chuuya's stomach growled and he remembered the cold white rice he was about to eat.

Begrudgingly, he stepped aside, allowing Dazai to enter.

It was also then that he realized how dark his apartment was. He'd kept all the blinds closed and the lights off because everything hurt and the light hurt, but if Dazai had something to say about it, he kept it to himself. Which was unsettling.

Was Chuuya dreaming?

"I figured you were still wallowing," Dazai said, setting the bag down on the coffee table next to the sad leftovers. "I haven't heard from you since you passed out in my lap."

There it was.

"That was not by choice, asshole," Chuuya snarled, limping back over to sit on the couch. "You held me down."

Dazai sat on the other side. "You looked pretty comfortable to me."

Chuuya could feel himself getting worked up, the pain increasing. "Dazai," he warned, rubbing at his temple.

"What?" Dazai continued. "It's not like it was the first time you've ever-"

"I should have left you to die."

"Well if you'd've done that, you'd be dead, too."

"Not the worst thing in the world right now."

Dazai paused at that and gave Chuuya this look.

Was that pity?

"I swear to god, if you-"

"I never got to thank you," Dazai said, cutting him off.

Chuuya froze, still trying to decide whether or not this was a dream.

"You saved me," Dazai continued. "You're always saving me, Chuuya." He slid the paper bag across the table. "So. Thank you."

Chuuya's chest felt warm. He stared down at the bag then back up at Dazai. "That's not poisoned, is it?"

Dazai gasped. "Chuuya! So soon after what happened to me? Consider a guy's feelings."

"You're so fucking full of it."

Dazai smirked. "You want me to take the first bite?"

He grabbed the paper bag, holding it away from Dazai. "Don't fucking touch it."

"I brought it for both of us."

Chuuya thought for a moment before setting the bag back down. "I guess," he uttered, "I guess I owe you one, too. For," he stared down at his hands, "saving me."

Dazai hummed in acknowledgement. "Has Chuuya gone soft?"

"Dick," Chuuya said, softly punching Dazai in the arm.

Dazai chuckled. "You're so easy."

Chuuya felt his cheeks go hot, and he wanted to scream, but he was also starving, and if it meant sharing a meal with Dazai to eat some delicious carbonara in his time of need, then.

Well, he guessed it also wasn't the worst thing in the world right now either.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Ooooooh, that looks interesting!”

Keith groans, as loudly and dramatically as he can. He tries to emulate Shiro every time he was finally forced to actually do his job and mark student papers after weeks of procrastinating.

(He’s pretty successful, if he does say so himself.)

“Please,” he begs the red paladin, yanking on his sleeve to dissuade him from turning into the store. It does nothing.

“C’mon,” Lance says, ignoring his agony. “One last store, okay?”

“You’re a dirty liar. You said that two hours ago.”

Lance reaches back blindly to pat Keith patronizingly on the head, missing by a mile and smacking him on the face instead. Keith has to bat his hands away. “There, there. You once tried to fight a ten thousand year old zombie dictator with your bare hands. You will survive.”

“Fistfighting Zarkon wasn’t nearly this painful,” Keith grumbles, but lets Lance pull him into the store, anyway.

God, he’s fucking whipped. He’s embarrassed of himself. Truly.

He dutifully takes the basket Lance hands him (on top of his twelve other shopping bags, full to the brim, Keith might add) and holds it out whenever Lance gasps excitedly and swipes something off a shelf or a hangar.

“Allura would look great in this skirt!”

“Wouldn’t Pidge look adorable with this hair bow?”

“Oh, Hunk has been looking for this!”

“Gasp!” (He actually says the word gasp, out loud, with his mouth.) “Hair chalk! Maybe Shiro will let me dye his floof!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith tells him. He sounds so fond that a random passer-by raises an amused eyebrow at him, which makes Keith want to melt into the floor. “Like an irritating wind-up toy.”

There. That should cover his tracks.

Lance pauses for a moment, turning to face Keith and squinting at him. For a brief, foolish moment, Keith feels something like hope — maybe this horrible torture will come to an end!

“Didn’t you collect wind-up toys when you were a kid?” he questions, head tilted. “You had like four boxes of them in your shack. I stole a little stegosaurus.”

Keith opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His ears burn.

“First of all, you have a kleptomania problem,” he points out, instead of stop knowing so much about me and let me live in peace. “Second of all, you are a snoop and I hate you.”

Lance snorts. “Yeah, yeah.”

Keith is about to say something else, something scathing, something to make him the clear winner of this dumbass, not-real argument, but then Lance absentmindedly links his arm through Keith’s and pulls him close as he strolls down an aisle full of puzzles and games.

Keith’s throat goes dry. Lance smells faintly of something floral, sweet.

Briefly, he squeezes his eyes shut and prays for strength. It will do nothing, because the universe likes to put Keith in horrible situations and laugh at him, but he tries anyway.

They walk in mostly silence for a the next little while, interrupted only by Lance’s quiet humming and occasional points of interest. He’s agonizingly slow to walk through the store — Keith is sure at this point that he’s doing it on purpose, no one likes shopping for this long, he’s definitely punishing Keith for drinking the last of the red juice packs — but perks up excitedly when he sees an aisle lined with jars on one side, and various tubes and pallets on the other.

“Look! Look look look! They have a skincare and makeup section!”

Keith turns his head to the sky. “Why do you despise me,” he mutters to it.

He is never getting out of this goddamn store.

“Come on, you drama queen,” Lance says, dragging him towards the first shelf of various products. “Shiro and Pidge keep stealing all my products because they are horrible people who don’t know how to ask for things. I need to replenish. Come help!”

He yanks Keith forward. Yelping, Keith stumbles after him. “I’m coming, you goober, yeesh! Ease up a bit.”

Smirking, Lance ignores him. He reaches for a shiny pink pot, unscrewing the lid and taking a sniff. He makes a face. “Blegh. Here.”

Keith indulgently smells it and almost gags. “That smells the way final exams feel.”

He trails after Lance for the next fifteen minutes, smelling weirdo products and laughing himself to tears at Lance’s various reactions. He has the pleasure of making Lance laugh, too, with all his creative descriptions; making his brown eyes light up and his bright smile making Keith’s heart do dangerous things.

He’s so fucked. He’s so fucked!

“Oh, hey, I have an idea. Close your eyes.”

It doesn’t even occur to Keith not to listen. That’s the embarrassing part. Lance tells him to close his eyes and immediately his world goes dark.

He feels something approach his face.

“Smell this,” Lance says.

Keith grimaces. “Can we be done with the nasty smells?”

“This one isn’t nasty, promise. It’s lip gloss. Guess the flavour.”

Keith hesitantly leans forward and inhales. To his surprise, the scent is pleasant, familiar.

“Mint?”

“That one was too easy,” Lance says. “Keep your eyes closed, smell this one.”

Less wary now, Keith does. This one is even better than before.

“Oh, oranges!”

Lance grumbles to himself. Keith hears rustling, like Lance is digging through something, and then a sharp intake of breath.

Keith peeks an eye open. “Everything okay?”

“Close your eyes again,” Lance orders. Keith does, hesitantly, noting that Lance’s expression is very particular, in a way he can’t place.

“Guess this one,” he says quietly.

Keith does. He frowns, tiling his head in confusion.

“D’you give up?”

Lance sounds closer. Much closer, actually. Keith’s breaths get heavier.

“No.”

Lance says nothing for a moment, and Keith is tempted to open his eyes. He feels Lance get closer, feels the heat of his breath on his cheeks. He’s still for a moment, and Keith’s heart pounds as he breathes rapidly, strangely familiar scent of the lipgloss getting closer and closer.

“…You want a hint?”

Keith nods rapidly. The smell gets even stronger, and then something warm and sticky presses against his lips.

Lance is kissing him.

He pulls back as quickly as he leaned in, but not far. The scent of the lip gloss is still cloying, intermingling with the scent of Lance, sweet and fruity.

“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it before,” Keith rasps. He cracks open his eyes, barely, and finds them level with Lance’s nose, close to those shiny lips.

Lance hums. “It’s sweet pear.”

“Oh.” That makes sense. “It’s nice.”

Lance leans in again, and Keith does too, like a magnet drawn to Lance’s polarity. “Wanna taste again?”

As if Keith would ever say no to that.

———

based on this post

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

NIGHTMARE

The air was heavy with thick hot smoke as screams of agonizing terror pierced the night. Bright flames devoured building after building, mercilessly destroying and killing everything in its way. Man, animals, objects. Everything crumbled to ash.

Magnifico stood on his balcony, eyes wide in horror and limbs frozen in panic. “No …” he uttered breathlessly, “No …”

His entire kingdom had turned into an inferno. In an instant he turned, stumbled through his room and down the corridors. 

“Myrah!” He hollered, “Myrah, where are you?”  A window to his left suddenly exploded and he gasped. More flames leaped onto rugs and furniture and spread down the hallways within seconds. “Myrah!” He cried once more, frantically searching for his wife. “M’fhíorghrá, answer me!”

Dashing from door to door, Magnifico dodged the growing fire and falling debris. But no matter how much he cried for his wife, he got no reply.

Fear and shattering guilt overcame him like an avalanche and he had to hold onto a wall. Right at that moment, one of the curtains crashed in front of him, cutting off his way. Magnifico flinched backward, coughing and shielding his eyes from the spitting flames.

It happened again. How did it happen again? 

In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly right outside his palace. People ran in all directions, wailing, yowling, burning. He recognized their faces, knew their names, remembered their former wishes. 

Before he could call out to them however, one of the stone pillars near him cracked, seconds from collapsing. He noticed a child standing below the crumbling roof, calling for its mother, and without hesitation threw himself at it, shoving it out of the way just in time. The pillar fell, the mother sweeped the child into her arms and Magnifico rolled to the side, hardly escaping being crushed. Dust and hot ash filled his nose and mouth and he coughed. The glowing heat made it almost impossible to breathe.

“Magnifico!”

Lightning shot through his nerve system at the sound of his soulmate's voice. She was there! She was alive! Within seconds, he scrambled to his feet and hurled around. His heart leapt in his chest for a second before being ripped into shreds. Myrah tumbled toward him, almost burned to the bones. Crying out like a beaten animal, he dove forward to catch her before she could fall and sank to his knees with her.

“No! No no no! My love ... my life! Hold on I’ll-” Magnifico desperately tried to recall his supernatural abilities to heal the wounds he knew were her sure death, but the blue light refused to surface. “Come on!” He growled at his shaking hands, “come on!”

“Ma-”

His head turned back to her, “Hold on, my love! I’ll fix this! I’ll save y-”

“Magn-” Myrah coughed, compulsing in pain and trying to move her lips to talk to her husband, but before his name could fully come over her lips, her strength left her, her eyes closed and her body went limp. 

“Myrah?” Magnifico breathed, “Myrah? Sweetheart?”

No response.

"No. Oh God, no! Myrah!” He gently shook his wife, utter panic flooding his being, “Please! You cannot - I cannot lose you too! Please!" Again he shook her, stroked her face and hair over and over and wiped ash, dirt and blood away from her cheeks, but her eyes stayed closed. The limpness of his wife cut his soul like a hot sword. His mind refused to believe it. Once more he shook her but to no avail. “No, my love! No! Wake up! Open your eyes, darling! Myrah!” 

Nothing. 

“No ....”

The queen, his wife, his soulmate was dead but he couldn’t accept it. How could he accept it? 

Her broken body tightly in his hold, he bent over with a choked sob. Tears came like a flood as his entire being was consumed by indescribable agony and he let out the loudest, most heart-broken wail a man could ever sound. 

~

Myrah woke in an instant as she felt her husband cramp and twist in their sheets, flailing his limbs between breathless whimpering. Immediately she rose and reached out to hold his arms down. 

“Magnifico!” She called, “wake up, mi vida! ” 

His head tossed left and right and Myrah almost had to climb onto her husband to pin him down. 

“Shhht! Wake up! Wake up!” 

Suddenly he shot upright with a scream, his blue eyes wide as plates, his chest rising and falling in quick heavy breaths. 

Myrah sighed in relief. Now that he was awake, it was easier to get him out of his panic attack.

“All is well, mi amor. It was just a nightmare.”

Still disorientated and caught in the terror of the things his mind had played on him, he hyperventilated, sweat dripping from his forehead. The pain of losing his wife and the guilt of failing to keep the past from repeating was ever so present. He could still hear the screams, smell the horrible stench of burning flesh mixed with blood, dirt and fire. But even worse than the sight of the burned corpses, was his dead wife in his arms. The emotions overwhelmed him, nausea rose in his throat and he gagged.

“Magnifico! Look at me!” Myrah gently touched his face, “Look at me, my darling!”

Her husband flinched for a second but then slowly turned his head and she smiled. “There you go! Keep looking at me! Breathe with me! Deep breaths!”

Magnifico followed her breathing until his own had calmed and his pulse slowed down. 

“Well done, mi vida." She wiped his loose bangs and the sweat from his forehead and kissed his trembling lips. “I’m here. It was a nightmare.”

“M- …. Myrah.” He choked through his rising tears. “Rosas ... burned … people … my people burned … You were … I- I lost you! I couldn't-”

“Shhht!" Lovingly she caressed both his cheeks, continuing to wipe his tears and sweat. “It was another nightmare. I'm safe. Rosas is safe! All is well, mi vida.” 

He mustered her for a while, assuring himself he was truly awake. “Myrah?” 

“Yes, mi vida. I’m here.” She kissed him again, once more swiping his bangs away. 

She was real. She was there. It truly had only been another one of his raging nightmares. Utter relief flooded him and he sobbed. His head fell into the nape of his wife’s neck and she wrapped him in her arms. 

“Shhht! I know. I know.” She whispered, stroking his back as he cried. 

“Oh, Myrah!” He whimpered hoarsely, “I’m … so … tired!”  

Myrah felt her own throat tighten and her heart ache. 

“I got everything I could have ever dreamt of and more. Everything is perfect and yet … the past just won’t let me rest! I … I can’t bear this anymore!” 

His entire body trembled in her embrace. Her strong husband, who usually always carried himself proudly, now wept against her shoulder like a child. Right in this moment, he was no longer king but the boy once broken so many years ago. 

“Oh my darling, my life!” She breathed as she carefully lifted his face to rest her own close to his and combed through his dark silver hair.

“I know this is incredibly hard, it hurts terribly, and you just wish to forget, but it will get better. I promise you! And I'm here to help you in this pain. Each step of the way I will go with you, mi amor. Until the pain has faded into a scar and the memory of the past into yet a mere shadow. I’m here for you and I will be for eternity!”

The next time Magnifico woke up was early in the morning. As soon as his eyes opened, he turned his head to the side to check for his wife. And there she was. Deeply asleep. Her weight on his chest immediately filled him with relief and his pulse calmed once more. Gently, he stroked one of her auburn locks from her forehead and kissed it. Taking in her beauty for a few more seconds. God, he loved and adored her beyond comprehension. 

He must have fallen asleep in her arms after his melt down and over the course of the last hours their position had shifted. 

Carefully, he removed himself from the embrace, made sure she lay comfortable and then left their bed as quietly as possible. Throwing his thin morning robe around his shoulders, he passed the edge on which Julius was rolled up, sleeping as well, and fondled his head before striding out on the balcony. 

The sky was already turning indigo and the horizon, at the edge of the ocean, pale yellow. 

Magnifico closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He still felt awfully tired. Exhausted. As if he'd not slept at all. 

The sweet singing of birds painted a stark contrast to the roaring sounds of terror that still gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. 

Why couldn't he just forget it? Why did his past still haunt him like a never tiring predator?  

Before he knew it, his eyes started burning again but this time, he refused to cry. Instead, he stubbornly forced himself to concentrate on the sunrise. 

A light breeze hit his face and made his loose bangs sway back. He closed his eyes once more, breathing in the salty air and savoring the scent of oleander and roses it carried along. 

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that he didn’t need to endure his regular mental episodes alone anymore. Now there was Myrah, who caught him whenever he fell. 

But as grateful as he was that she helped him through his pain, he rather had the whole trauma be done with once and for all. 

Slowly the sun started climbing over the edge of the ocean, throwing its first rays across the land. Magnifico blinked into the golden light, sounding yet another tired sigh. 

Suddenly there was a soft rustle behind him. Two gentle arms wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and he smiled. Her touch felt like taking a deep breath after a long dive. 

“You’re up already?” 

“I wanted to watch the sunset.” Not a lie, more a forced truth. 

The hold around him loosened and his wife stepped next to him. There was no fooling her and he didn’t mean to. 

“When did it stop for you?” He asked quietly. 

“The nightmares?”

His lips slimmed. 

“A few years.”

“I’ve got these for over two decades now … I’ve let the past go and it shouldn’t affect me as much anymore but-” 

“Magnifico,” Myrah took his hands into hers, “you are way too hard on yourself! Be a little bit more patient. There is no right or wrong as to how long the process of healing has to be.” 

“How much longer - I … I’m terrified to lose you too one day …this fear …it wrecks me!” he uttered brokenly. “I’ve lost everything I ever loved once before … I cannot bear it a second time …”

Myrah lifted her gaze. Her own eyes burned with tears now. She hated seeing her soulmate in so much distress. “I’m afraid as well.” She admitted, “after you’ve destroyed the book and sacrificed yourself to save Rosas … I thought I had to die as well. To have to live the rest of my life without you until I could see you again on the other side? … That was hell on earth. But-” she reached out to touch his cheek, “the great father let you return to me. And nothing can ever separate us again!” 

“How do I deserve you?” He smiled lovesick, chuckling along as she did. 

“Only you deserve me! Mi vida.” 

Leaning forward, he kissed her and her hands dove past his face into his hair. 

“I love you!” He breathed into the kiss, “I love you so much-” 

Her hands wandered from his hair down to his neck and back and then to his chest.

“I love you!” She replied, once again locking eyes with him. “I cannot erase your past, but I can help ease the pain.” 

He almost shuddered at the touch of her fingertips spreading on his chest.

“I can help you forget those nightmares for a bit …” 

Oh God! 

Her lips traveled across his skin like bolts of electricity all the way back to his neck and jaw before she gently pulled him closer to her body. 

His mind started swimming. In the best way possible. Whatever she did, it always worked. Always cracked him open and lightened up his soul. She was his beacon, his lighthouse in the darkest night.

And he held onto her as well. Like a drowning man onto a rope. Kissing her passionately between gasps for air. If she hadn't guided him back into their bedroom, he would have helplessly stumbled against the next pillar or wall, maybe even face planted the floor. 

She smiled against his lips and Magnifico wondered for the billionth time how it was possible for his stomach to tingle that strongly. 

Yes, right. She was his soulmate, this was everyday life and yet it was new to him every time. 

He let her guide him all the way to their bed, he’d forgotten how to walk anyway. With the most gentle pressure, she pressed him down on his shoulders to sit and before he knew it, she was on his lap. Together they shifted backward further onto the bed. 

Julius used the momentum to head to the door. Smirking to himself as he left the royal bedroom. He would take a long stroll through the gardens.

Oh, Lord! Am I still dreaming? Am I truly awake?  “Myrah …” 

More and more of her tender kisses showered Magnifico and he prayed she wouldn’t stop. Each place her soft lips touched tingled, almost burned. Once more they found his and he closed his eyes, tightening his hold around her back and waist. 

Could one get drunk on love? One part of him wanted to reply with as much intensity to everything she did but this time he just couldn’t fight against her and he didn’t want to. There were times where they both equalized each other while melting their endless love and their souls together, there were times where he gave more to her and this time it was her, who gave more. 

He had to do nothing but let her flood him with all the love her soul could offer. Let her give herself to him fully. This kind of giving was the highest peak of joy. An honor, a pleasure like nothing else on earth. 

She was bone of his bone and one flesh with him. Only her soul made to link with his like no other. A unity for eternity. Ever growing in love and wisdom. 

“Myrah!” Her name was the only thing left leaving his lips in gasps, breathless hisses and whimpers of purest pleasure. One gaze into the sun-flooded forest of her eyes, that intense look grazing every part of his soul, was almost enough to send him over the edge. 

Her love indeed silenced every sound in his mind, calmed the raging storm in him and pushed the hellish memories away. He thanked the great father exceedingly as his world was filled with Myrah. Tenderly and deeply passionately. 

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 9: The Save

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: How to save you… Din Djarin has one hope.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, Our Reader really Goes Through It this chapter (sorry). CWs for: blood, gore, injuries, being imprisoned, gross male characters, and unconsciousness, and a level of violence beyond canon.

A/N: Thank you for reading and I promise some lovely, tender stuff is on its way.

--

The first thing you sense on coming to is the sensation that your shoulder is being ripped from its socket. The next is the way it and your other arm are wrenched behind you, bound together. Cold metal bites into your back and your head, which throbs.

Opening your eyes, you swallow down a hysterical panic.

The cell is long and narrow. You’re chained on a longer side on which, as you glance left and right, more than a dozen bindings for beings of all sizes line the wall. The opposite wall is mere feet in front of you, also lined with restraints. Cables dangle from the ceiling and spark dangerously close to puddles of water across the floor. You can’t see a door and when you look up, there’s just a metal grate lining the ceiling. 

You sit shivering for a while before some degree of your wits return. 

You’re alone in here, which you take as a small mercy. You edge your feet back, trying to keep them away from the sodden sections of floor. You push and lurch until you can stand upright. The movement rips at your shoulder and you have to fight back the urge to start sobbing.

Gingerly, you test how tight your bindings are and find you’re able to flex your wrists back and forth, feeling the tension loosen just a little. Hmmm, if you rotate the left counter-clockwise against the right, it’ll— but even that sends jolts of agony rippling up your arms. You clench your teeth, wincing through the pain. For some reason, your instincts are telling you that it’s a good idea to stay quiet.

Not a lot of options. Just try something.

You remember an old fighting teacher you had back ho— back at the Estate. He claimed he could block pain receptors by meditating. Seemed wild to you, but he’d taught you the basics and maybe if you try it you can twist out of these restraints. What you’ll do after that, you’ll think about then. You’re just casting back to those lessons, digging into the recesses of memory, when your mind is whited out by a momentary vision so indescribable and impossible, you let out a cry of astonishment, a gasp of shock.

In an instant, it’s gone. 

Gods, was that? Are they--?

The cell comes back into focus and a shadow falls across you from above.

‘Ah, she’s awake,’ a voice overhead. ‘Good, good. Hello there.’

It’s a soft and lilting voice, but sickly. 

‘She’s a pretty one, my,’ he speaks, apparently to someone else. 

Still short of breath, reeling from what you think you just saw, you tip your head up to try to see your imprisoner. A beady set of eyes is above you, glaring down. They sit in a round face, rimmed with horns and sporting a toothy sneer that crawls across your nervous system. 

‘Who knew such a pretty thing could do so much damage to my little traction systems, hmmm?’

You’re so overwhelmed by pain and fear, it takes several moments for what he’s saying to sink in. Oh, fuck?

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he questions. Through the blood rushing in your ears, you hear boots shuffling on the other side of the wall you’re chained to. ‘No way that crazy bounty hunter would have been able to crack my codes.’

The eyes disappear from above the grate and for a few moments there’s only thuds and echoes reverberating around your prison.

Then, the whole room slides sideways and you’re nauseated with disorientation. It’s when your limbs scream in protest that you realise you’re what’s moving. The panel you’re chained against has spun 180 to present your shuddering figure to the gathered company.

‘And now I get to crack you,’ Cephlate says, a twisted face of fury boring into you.

Somehow this room is even more terrifying than what’s now behind you. Because that’s definitely a carbon freeze unit taking up the bulk of the space. The beady eyed warlord and three goons stand between you and it.

You utter the first thing that comes to you, an exclamation of disbelief, ‘How--?’

He steps forward and backhands you.

‘Tsk, naïve girl,’ he intones. ‘I own this treasury, you know? I own this fucking sector. And I own that upstart ex of yours. He doesn’t know, of course. But how do you think he acquired something so valuable as that ship holo? How do you think he learned of the significance of that beskar on board? And came to be in the cantina that day?’

He leans back and lifts a fleshy brow at you in an ‘it was all me’ type of expression.

‘Just pieces on a dejarik board,’ he sighs. ‘I was after that Mando of yours, of course. The New Republic makes most space too hot for me nowadays, so I couldn’t go to him. So why not just make him come to me?’ 

He claps his palms together. ‘It’s sad those idiots let him escape, but… Do you think he’ll come back for you? I sure hope so. Although…’ his eyes rake over you, ‘maybe not for a little while, hm?’

He steps close and raises a hand again. But this time he takes your chin and gently tilts you side to side, appraising.

You know what comes next. They always try it.

He leans in close, dry lips brushing your ear, and speaks.

He’s only a few words in when something inside you roars to life.

Feeling a wild fury you don’t know or understand, in that moment you use the only means of fight you have. You lean forward, bare your teeth, and sink them as hard as you can into the soft flesh of his exposed neck. Your jaw strains and everything hurts – but you’re surging, raging, burning up. Skin gives way and hot, pulsing liquid gushes into your mouth.

He shrieks and pulls away. You hold on to what’s gripped in your teeth and the sounds of it send you manic. Blood sprays your unhinged face as you spit and snarl.

He paws a hand to his ruined neck.

‘Fuck this little animal,’ he spits. ‘Fine! I’ll deal with her later.’ He whirls from you, stumbling away. He waves a hand behind him, ‘Throw her in the freeze, boys.’

Six hands drag at you. The binds on your arms give way and your dislocated shoulder swings wildly about. You finally scream, unable to bear the excruciating sensations wracking your body any longer. It’s met with laughter and the feeling of being lifted whole into the air.

You’re not thinking at all, mind blank with pain and terror, but your body still has its instincts and muscle memory. So it tries to fight, twisting and thrashing against what holds you. You might land a kick somewhere significant because you hear an angry grunt, then a curse, then a brand new and overwhelming pain in your side.

Head lolling, you look down to catch the blade leaving your belly, a gush of blood pouring onto the floor.

That’s the last thing you see. You’re losing consciousness, giving up, when you feel yourself dumped into a – is this a coffin? Then a hiss and a burning ice crawls up your limbs. Then you feel nothing.

--

The Crest coasts through an inky black. Din, with Grogu now in his lap, kills the engine and works to keep his voice calm.

‘Grogu,’ he says. The child looks over his ear at him. ‘You know how you, how you learned to sense me? Find me in the essence, or energy, or whatever?’

‘Heh,’ the kid says, already looking at the charts.

‘Yes, exactly. You get it.’ Din lets himself feel hope for the first time since he saw you kick that pod hatch closed from the wrong side. 

‘Can you reach out, out there,’ a glance to the black, ‘and find her? Tell me where she is? She’s on a ship. These are the last coordinates I have of it.’ He taps the screen.

Grogu, to his stunning credit, hums shyly but moves straight into a meditative stance. Din’s chest swells.

‘That’s it, kid. Find her for me.’

The little arms raise and begin to tremor, hovering back and forth over a presence Din can’t sense or comprehend. He just waits, and trusts. He knows this power is deeply special, and that Grogu can do things beyond explanation.

The child grunts with effort. In an instinctive move, not even sure if it would help, Din puts his hands on the little, quivering figure, trying to offer support.

After an agonisingly long moment, Grogu pops his eyes open and hops onto the console, pointing a clawed finger at the spot his father had shown him and trailing it along the screen, then giving it an urgent tap. Din leans in and starts thumbing at switches and palming levers.

‘I knew you could do it, buddy,’ he says as he pulls the child back into his lap. ‘Let’s go get her.’

Pulling the same manoeuvre to park the Crest is surprisingly straightforward. Din has total faith that the cloaking drive you’d installed after the run-in on Cephlate’s moon will hold up. Still, he leaves Grogu securely in his space, the child groggy and fatigued from such a stunning use of his powers.

Once dropped into the upper-level corridors, Din orders R5 to ready the canon protocols he’s queued. ‘Wait for my mark,’ he commands. 

Instead of taking the carefully plotted path to avoid detection, Din charges into the first unit he comes across. Six are dead within minutes and the last guard flails on his stomach as Din leans a knee in his back and a vibroblade at his ear.

It’s not long before the sap is singing, ‘the prison! Eight deck! The boss he-! She’ll be in carbonite by now! Please don’t-- ’ He slams the guy’s head into the floor and surges forwards, sprinting and checking the map at the same time, finding the location.

As he nears the section of cells, he tells R5 to disengage locks and move the Crest into position. He rounds a bend, planting detonators on the walls to activate on his way back out.

Horror floods his system as he takes in the prison section. Where the fuck are you?

He has to dispatch of only one set of personnel barring his way as he clocks one door window after another. When he spots the unit, he whole bodily kicks the door aside and marches to the control panel.

The blocks of carbonite rotate one after the other until you come into view. Relief and rage tear at Din’s insides as he takes you in. Your hands seem to be pressed into your left side, elbows locked to your ribcage. Your face is a rictus of pain, but your eyes are closed – that’s a small mercy.

He checks the read-out – you’ve been in there only a few hours. Only. Din’s stomach is roiling. He thumps the release pan.

The machine disengages your frame and the room fills with a wretched vapour, obscuring his vision of you for a moment, but he holds his arms out ready. When the process ends, your knees buckle and you collapse into Din’s embrace, limp and unresponsive. He can see your heart beating though and, as you start to shake violently, he can reassure himself you are in fact alive.

But as he lays you down to check your condition, he gives a shout of alarm. 

Blood is everywhere.

He focuses on the gash at your side and tries not to think about the dried blood covering your face. It doesn’t seem like you’re injured there and the implications of that makes Din’s blood run cold.

Throwing the medical pack off his shoulder, he tears through the contents for a sterile patch, pushing the shredded hole in your tunic aside to lay the dressing as best he can over the wound. It hisses and puckers the surrounding skin as it creates a pressurised seal to staunch the flow.

That’ll have to do for now. He looks over the rest of you. Your left shoulder is sitting low and outside the joint and he rechecks your face for any injuries. Your jaw may be bruised, and the taser’s burn mark is bright and blistered, but he’s confident you’re not bleeding anywhere else.

Time to move.

‘R5,’ he growls. ‘Begin the barrage.’

The treasury shudders as the Crest’s thermal railguns lay into the landing bay where Cephlate’s ship is docked. R5 will empty the energy cells then break vicinity and jump. Distraction and revenge, for now.

With your injured shoulder tucked into his chest and an arm looped under your knees, both blasters pointed in front of him, Din swears on his creed and clan that every fucker he crosses paths with is going to meet a swift end.

The escape vessel settles on the grass and gives a final grinding whir as the landing lock engages. A huge boot kicks the hatch door open, bashing it into the side. The Mandalorian lunges from the pod with your unconscious form in his arms. He strides to his ship, barking at R5 to drop the doors.

Once he has you laid out on the cabin’s low bed, he pulls every med pack to hand from the rack.

He looks you over to take stock of each hurt. The plaster seal is working on your stab wound, no blood leaking out or sign of infection. Nothing for the burn on your neck but salve and time.

Shoulder first then.

Din sets to work.

--

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