#it sounds magical and terrifying and beautiful and unstoppable

[rosslovesspn]

the wind is screaming its woes to the world, have you stopped to listen?

[morelikeravenbore]

The Final Goblin

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC spicy one shot 🔞

Warning: SMUT. 18+ CHARACTERS. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Contains sexual content, reader discretion is advised.

Ordinarily such a demure little thing, whenever Sebastian's brilliant, powerful girlfriend unleashed her gift of destruction upon their enemies, it broke something inside his brain - as if all that raw power she tore from the ether went straight to his cock, turning him feral.

Word count: 1.4k

READ IT UNDER THE CUT 👇

[read on wattpad | ao3] ✨ [HL fic masterlist]

The final goblin had gone out in a blaze of searing white light, blasted into oblivion by a powerful surge of magic that had come from the hands of one petite little psychopath. 

His petite little psychopath.

There was nothing left of the goblin camp but a haze of smoke, the lingering scent of singed hair and a single tent engulfed in flames. Nothing else stirred but the sound of the wind through the bare trees, the sizzle and pop of the burning tent, and his own desperate moans as he fucked the ever-living hell out of his girlfriend.

'Fuck,' - groan - 'fuck,' - groan - 'fuuuuuck.'

Ordinarily such a demure little thing, whenever Sebastian's brilliant, powerful girlfriend unleashed her gift of destruction upon their enemies, it broke something inside his brain, as if all that raw power she tore from the ether went straight to his cock, turning him feral.

The sight of her wielding such unfathomable power - so wild, so dangerous, with her eyes glowing a vivid blue and a deranged little smile curling her pretty mouth - was enough to make him come, untouched, right there in his trousers. In fact, there had been a few times in their early days of conducting poacher raids and dishing out vigilante justice when it actually had. But he'd gotten better at controlling himself. These days, he always managed to hold on long enough to stumble over to her - led not by his brain but by his throbbing cock - to mindlessly bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her senseless.

Tonight's escapades had been no exception. By the time it took for her to blast the final goblin into whatever miserable afterlife awaited it, he'd managed to lumber over to her, clumsily unbutton her breeches and slide his trembling hand beneath her soaked panties. They'd both groaned as his fingers sank into her wet heat, her insides hot and slick and still tingling with the magic that coursed through her blood. 

Driven almost to madness by lust, Sebastian had wasted no time in pinning her to the ground and wrangling their pants down just enough to slide cock-deep into the most dangerous woman known to wizard kind. 

Sebastian was an insatiable man even on a day that didn't involve his beautiful girlfriend committing murder with her Ancient Magic. Driven by a deep-seated need for physical affection, he was simply unable to keep from touching her, craving her closeness like her skin was infused with Amortentia, addicted to the feel of her soft lips against his, her small hands, her soft hair, her warm supple body. When he wasn't touching her, he was dreaming of touching her - or else touching himself as a proxy, his fist a poor substitute for her. 

But it wasn't just about sex. Drawn together by trauma and tragedy, the pair had forged a connection that - to Sebastian, at least - bordered on something spiritual. Muggles believed in an all-powerful God, a celestial creator, but Sebastian worshipped only one divine deity. 

A goddess.

Her.

She was the love of his life, the missing piece that perfectly fit the gaping void in his soul. Their bond was a tangible, unbreakable thing that not even the very worst things could sever; not his obsession with the Dark Arts nor her penchant for murdering goblins. They were kindred spirits, unstoppable in their love and terrifying in their power. 

Ordinarily, Sebastian liked to take his time when they were intimate. He liked to suck the sweet little moans from her slender throat, to coax her desperate pleas with his fingers, his tongue. Ordinarily, he withheld his aching cock until she begged him for it, her eyes wet with tears of desperation, her little fingers digging into his shoulders. But there was nothing ordinary about taking her when she was power-drained and weak from magical exertion, when she was crossed-eyed and whimpering and so fucking wet that his stomach and thighs were slick with it. No, this was something different. 

Something primal.

Powerful. 

Having never had much power in his life, Sebastian wanted to consume her, to use her, to fuck her into submission over and over until she forgot her own fucking name. And she, shouldering the heavy responsibility of a volatile magic, weighed down by a burden she'd never asked to carry, had an equally desperate need to submit, to relinquish control and let someone else take over. To let him take over. No, it wasn't just about sex; it was a forging of hearts, a merging of souls, a relief from the pain that ceased only when they were together. 

Her eyes, still glowing a vivid blue from the power surge, locked onto his own: her brilliant blue gazing into his warm brown: sky and earth, spirit and body. Remnants of her magic tingled over her skin like there was lighting in her veins, passing from her core to his cock where it settled deep within his stomach, coaxing his impending release. 

She smiled then, flushed and panting. 'You feel it?' she moaned, clenching herself around his length. 'The power?' 

He could only moan in reply.

Merlin, how easily she could kill him, his little moaning whimpering mess of a girlfriend. With nothing more than a single touch, she could evaporate him into non-existence as she'd done the goblins, destroying him so completely there'd be no body to bury, no trace that he'd ever existed at all. But she wouldn't. She never did. 

The thought drove him wild. 

With a strangled gasp, he thrust into her - hard, hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her utter filthy words she was ordinarily too sweet to say aloud. A jolt of power surged through her fingertips and she cried out, convulsing and twitching beneath him. White-blue and so bright he had to squint, her magic sizzled along the ground, forking across the dry earth like streaks of lightning. But rather than leaving destruction in its wake, swatches of lush new grass sprung up beneath them, cushioning his skinned knees. 

He laughed, awed and joyful as he thrust into her again, harder, and harder, and harder, each frenzied movement causing more power to blaze from her fingers. This time, flowers bloomed beneath her hands and sprouted up around them. He caught the scent of them, a sweet note permeating the scent of death and lust; flowers and sex. Sugar and salt. Beauty and chaos. 

If this kept up, they'd soon be fucking in the middle of an oasis, not a site of destruction. Sebastian laughed again, the sound broken and breathless as he pounded mindlessly into her. Her power could destroy, yes - but it just as easily create. 

Merlin, she was so fucking beautiful. 

With every surge of magic, every fervent meeting of their bodies, her core clenched around him, threatening to rip his release from his body. He gasped for air, suffocating in desire, drowning in pleasure, so close to the edge he couldn't - 

He couldn't - 

And then she did something she'd never done before, surprising his impending climax into temporary submission. 

Reaching up beyond his head, her delicate fingers curled around what appeared to be nothing but air. But a moment later, a single strand of silvery magic materialised within her grasp, twisting and wriggling in like a worm on a fishing hook. Sebastian, too fucked out of his mind to care if she was about to blast him into oblivion, simply watched it undulating in her fingers. 

Then she lifted it to his face. 

As if by instinct, as if some wordless communication passed between them, he obediently opened his mouth and latched onto her fingers, moaning as he sucked at them, pulling on the chords of magic like they were much needed sustenance. 

His field of awareness shrank down to only two points of their connection; her wet, warm center as it contracted around him, and the tingling sensation of raw magic as it buzzed down his throat and into his gut, filling him as thoroughly as he was filling her. With a broken cry, his vision whited out completely and he succumbed to the hardest orgasm he'd ever had in his life. 

There was a ringing in his ears when he eventually came to awareness. Still sheathed deep inside her, his head spun as he lifted it gingerly from her chest, his damp skin peeling away from hers with a sticky slick. He gazed down at her, his beautiful girl with her flushed cheeks and her damp hair, her eyes still glowing that impossibly bright blue. 

Smiling softly, she lifted a heavy-limbed hand to touch his face, cupping his cheek with a gentleness that made his heart ache. Sebastian leaned into it, wishing they could stay connected like this forever. 

'Your eyes,' she whispered, an awed expression gracing her perfect face. 'Sebastian, they're blue.' 

[servantofthefates]

Me Explaining Zodiac Sign Elements at a Dinner Party to People Who Have Never Heard of Them

FIRE

Aries, Leo and Sagittarius are different kinds of fire. Aries is wildfire. Uncontrollable, dangerous, and at its strongest, unstoppable. Leo is the “burning stone” that is the core of the Earth. Its flames are hidden. Not as loud as Aries, but burns even more relentlessly, neverendingly. Sagittarius is the fire from a match, a lighter, a barbecue grill. Seems small and fleeting compared to the other two, but is the most practical, grounded and accessible of them all.

WATER

Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces are water’s different forms. Cancer is the kind we can drink. Nurturing, nourishing, essential. And yet often seen as plain and taken for granted. Scorpio is the ocean — more than 80% of which is still left unexplored in 2022. Deep, mysterious, dark, and honestly, terrifying too. Pisces is the rain. Its lightness and surface positivity bring cleansing and life to almost everyone it meets. Many find it romantic. Although, too much of it creates flooding... causes drowning.

AIR

Libra, Aquarius and Gemini are all air. Libra is the sudden light breeze on an otherwise hot day. Soft, gentle, beloved, and always welcome. Aquarius is the biting wind in the winter. Strong, bright, fierce… loved only by a select few. Evokes darkness and loneliness in most. Gemini is an air conditioner. Smart, modern, and well, artificial. Some would say innovative. Its boisterous presence alleviates discomfort. When it’s off, people beg for it. But too much of it often makes people sick.

EARTH

Capricorn, Taurus and Virgo are different treasures of Earth. Capricorn is metal. Hard, tough, useful. A solid frame that’s difficult to break. Sounds common and unexciting, however. Taurus is precious stones. Beautiful, ethereal, desired by all. Sometimes, unassuming. Most times, magical. Virgo is cement and concrete. Soft and easygoing, yet makes for the strongest foundation. Seems boring on paper, but wears masks of different makes and colors.

[honourablejester]

Ideas for Warforged (D&D)

Because magic robots/constructs are the best idea. I will admit that backstory/inspiration-wise, I’m fonder of things like Discworld’s golems or the Muses from Girl Genius. I like the feeling of ancient constructed things learning to be people.

(I also like the caster classes, which will possibly be really obvious in a minute)

Cleric

I love the Grave Domain for warforged. How does a constructed being conceptualise death? Especially if they get slapped in the face by it. Take the standard warforged background, the machine built for war, a constructed, immortal child created for violence. Have them watch their squishy biological comrades die. A lot. Do they have an epiphany? Do they become curious about the beliefs and fears around death? Do they want to give comfort to their friends? Do they start to think of mortal death as a reprieve from a life of endless service and violence? (Do they view undeath as a horrific corruption of their own constructed service and immortality, taking relief away from those who have earned it in death?) Imagine a warforged priest of a grave god. The serene, mechanical face. The slightly off, dispassionate gentility. The curiosity and care. I love it.

Druid

Circle of Spores! Sorry, but we are continuing the theme of decay and the undying here. But with spores there’s a lot of … I’m thinking post-apocalyptic fiction. Robots in the remnants. Wall-E, even. Your trash-heap, rusted, bucket-of-bolts survivor of a dead world or colony or underground kingdom. The curious innocent finding beauty in decay, or perhaps a wiser, more melancholy survivor. Or a darker one, cynical about the cycles of extinction and regrowth. Also, just the image. A strange, skeletal metal creature, crystal eyes glowing uranium green, strange mushrooms growing from their rusted plates and darkwood sinews, surrounded by an almost-sound, a subaudible buzzing that people feel in their teeth. Watching warily as new creatures wander through their ruins, or spurred by their own curiosity to venture up into some strange new world.

Bard

The Muses, here, so very much. 18thC automata. The music box song from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. A construct built for beauty, grace, skill, to be the epitome of a craft, but also a construct that is very old. Built for kings, because who else could afford such breath-taking craftsmanship? Built to entertain or advise a ruler and their court, and so a lot wiser to the passions and vices underneath the pretty words than they seem. Students of history, who’ve seen it cycle through a few times. Maybe trying to escape, now. Find a simpler life. Or trying to affect things rather than just witness them, trying to be a hero or the villain or the spy instead of just the historian or the muse.

Paladin

Clockwork angels. Hubris and innocence all in one neat package. Constructs made in the image of celestials, complete with flightless bronze-and-silk wings, out of arrogance or hope or despair or for mysterious purposes that even they don’t know. Found in the laboratories of dead mages, or manufactured by warmongers for propaganda purposes. Innocent, still, hopeful, or else deeply, deeply cynical. Struggling to find or maintain a sense of their own identity, choosing oaths in honour or defiance of their image. Redemption, Crown, Conquest, Vengeance. Lots to have fun with.

Sorceror

We’re going more for the ‘touched by cosmic power’ angle than bloodlines, obviously, though there’s possibly some wiggle room if you go for weirder origins. Constructed with a little flesh and bone and blood from your creator, maybe? But I really like Shadow Sorceror here. A construct made in a dark ritual, touched by the fell energies of the Shadowfell. A strange, half-alive being, shadowed by darkness, who ‘woke’ in an empty ritual chamber with no idea of their nature or their purpose. Honestly, shadow sorceror is as good as warlock for the gothic, haunted end of origin stories, so might as well go full Frankenstein on the confused horror of a constructed being. Might lean a bit more on the ‘organic’ end of warforged construction here, darkwood, living stone, black metal. Just to match the aesthetic. Warforged are great for aesthetic.

Warlock

Speaking of. Just. I have already mentioned, but I love both warlocks and warforged, and they’re a lovely mix together. The Lurker Patron. A construct built to dredge a long-lost harbour, finding sentience and a strange ‘friendship’ while wandering the deeps. The Great Old One, a strange, mad being who cobbled you together from spare parts in an attempt to understand the life forms of this foreign plane. Fiend, the demon who was baffled and intrigued by the concept of an artificial soul, granting power just to see what temptation looks like in a heart made of crystal and stone (or the puppet master who stole the most beautiful and extraordinary puppet, to call back to the muses). The Archfey who built or stole themselves the perfect knight, a mobile statue or plaything that was never meant to win its own soul. There’s so many things to play with.

Rogue

To throw a bone to the non-caster classes. But. There is a lot of potential to the rogue, too. Assassin, particularly. One of the things that’s so cool with warforged is not only their own choices and motivations, but those of the ones who built them. Why train a perfect killing machine when you can build one? But then what happens when they become sentient? When they start to have feelings and opinions of their own? Rogue warforged have a lot of the same appeal as bard and paladin warforged for me. Beings built for the machinations of those around them, and struggling to free themselves and forge their own path. (Also I loved the Zeta Project cartoon as a kid and it rubbed off on me, and there’s something half-humorous and half-terrifying about a seven foot metal skeleton somehow built for stealth and infiltration).

Barbarian

My other favourite non-caster class, but there also some lovely things to work with here. Perhaps the flipside of the grave cleric above? The soldier warforged who grew to love battle instead, whose first emotions were the rage and terror and thrill of the battlefield. I like the Zealot barbarian here. The being literally made for the fight, who channelled it so perfectly that it drew the attentions of the gods of battle. But there’s also … the opposite of rage. When it’s a robot, a machine. There’s the image of the blank, emotionless killing frenzy. An anime I watched, Pumpkin Scissors, had a supersoldier as one of the main characters. A normally extremely sweet and gentle man, who could be brainwashed into a mindless killing state by a blue lantern. He was terrifying and tragic and unstoppable and broken. Imagine a warforged barbarian like that. A being terrified of the truly emotionless machine they become in battle, the remorseless frenzy they enter when injured or struck by the sight of blood, but believing they were built for nothing but war, knowing no way of living other than that.

… Um. In summary? Magic robots are great and, depending who built them and what for, can delve into tragic very quickly and easily. Heh. Though you can also easily go the benevolent creator route, the parent who taught them well, and take some much gentler angles on all of this. I’m just in a gothic mood tonight, apparently.

Also, there is just no beating the imagery you can build up around a living wood-and-metal being. And I’m not just saying that because I love a) robots, b) skeletons, and c) robot skeletons.

Honest, yer honour.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Five

A.C.

“Clint, where are you going?” Steve asked, looking up from tinkering with his bike. The Archer tossed a bag into the trunk and slammed the lid, clearing his throat.

“I’m gonna go see Y/N,” he said.

Steve frowned, “I thought you and Natasha had a policy of not looking for her.”

“We do,” he answered, “but... Something doesn’t feel right about how she left. The last few weeks were... off. She was avoiding everyone if she could. Usually, when it gets bad, she’s practically climbing on someone’s lap, trying to be okay.”

Steve nodded. He’d seen that. Hell. It had been him a couple times when you were treading water. But he’d put you there just to keep you from running off after you’d spent all day in the snow setting wards around the compound. Some awful nightmare jolting you into action. “Do you think she’s in danger?” he asked earnestly about to go suit up.

“Not. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know it isn’t right, and I don’t think she’ll come back this time.” 

“What makes you say that?”

Clint shrugged, “She hates saying goodbye to people... goodbyes are permanent. Usually, when she leaves, she just quietly tells people she’ll see them later.”

Steve made a soft, thoughtful sound, “Good luck,”

“She’ll come home or she won’t,” he said, shrugging again, getting into the car that was gonna take him to his flight.

Stever watched him go thoughtfully and turned to look at Bucky. The Brunette looked quietly furious. A muscle ticking dangerously in his jaw. He’d been... not himself for a couple weeks. At least not the self he was now. More brooding, even than he had been before, and Steve hadn’t thought that was possible.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, picking up a wrench.

“Nothing,” Bucky half growled.

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“What the fuck did SHIELD want with a witch anyway?” Bucky asked abruptly.

“I asked Peggy that,” Steve answered, “Not long after I first met Y/N. Peggy said that she thought SHIELD wanted her for her upbringing. A witch from a really conservative Christian household would probably be 1.) already powerful, especially if she developed powers in those conditions, and 2.) would know what it felt like to be absolutely nothing to someone.”

“What’s Peggy got to do with it?”

“Peggy did her initial interviews,” Steve said, “SHIELD basically snatched her up off the street. And they figured a nice elderly British lady would be a lot less scary for a terrified 15 yeard old than Fury.”

Bucky couldn’t picture you at 15. All he could see was you now. Though, if what he’d heard about your aging was correct, you probably looked the same way now that you did in your late teens. That on its own was irritating. HYDRA/SHIELD had been gentle with you. Careful. Treated you like a baby. A little breakable creature. They’d have never dreamed of electrocuting and freezing you. Making you into a weapon. Bucky nodded at the things Steve said but didn’t say a word. He’d give himself away if he did. Because right now, if you were standing in front of him, he’d probably choke the life out of you. And you’d deserve it. 

_________________________

B.C.

Bucky was disappointed when he realized you weren’t in the tower when Amber showed up. His plan was simple. Fuck this other girl’s brains out and make sure you saw him do it. Rinse and repeat until you didn’t have any feelings left for him... at least until he got bored and wanted you to have them. He’d warmed to the idea of having a toy. Someone he could play with when he got too bored. 

And you fit the bill. A little fragile. Vulnerable. Insecurities out the ass. Lots of tiny small pressure points he could exploit. Because, surprise, whoever the fuck had raised, you hadn’t known what they were doing.

The Former Assassin was even more surprised when you came in, carrying a very Drunk Natasha over your shoulder and carefully handed her to Steve with a smile. “Successful girls night?” he chuckled.

“If by successful you mean that I got them all so fucked up, they forgot they were supposed to be snooping, then... yes,” you tell him. Happy, carrying Pepper snorted and handed her to Tony. 

“Some spy you are, Romanoff,” Steve chuckled, shifting her weight.

“Not my fault,” Natasha protested, “Pretty sure she just put a spell on everything.”

“Uh-huh. Likely story,” he hefted Nat easily over his shoulder and headed the direction of their room vaguely, still chuckling. 

Bruce and Thor traded looks and shook their heads, snuggling back in to watch their movie on the sofa. They both knew. Thor knew because you had told him, kinda, and Bruce knew because Thor had had to tell someone when he felt like he might have betrayed your trust. 

“What a mess,” Bruce said softly.

“Indeed,” Thor rumbled, “My poor little Witchling.”

Bruce smiled a little, “You really do have a soft spot for her, don’t you.”

“I have a soft spot for anyone that goes head to head with Loki and lives,” Thor said, smudging a lazy kiss against Bruce’s hair. “She was just a girl,” he rumbled, “But when Loki tried to take her, she managed to bloody his nose... And that’s no small feat. Loki had had centuries to hone his craft. She’d barely had 3 years. One day she’ll be unstoppable.”

“But for now, some idiot is playing with fire,” Bruce sighed.

“And he’s going to get burnt,” Thor agreed.

_____________

A.C.

You’d rolled the window of the truck down, and your hair was floating on the breeze. Clint liked this a lot. A pretty girl in the jump seat and her fingers laced through his when he didn’t have to shift. 

It felt good. You felt good. Even on your worst days. The days that had you quietly hiding in your bed trying to avoid them all, just knowing you were around, felt good. Even if the bad days made him daydream about charging up to your room with flowers and a new book. He wondered if you liked to be read to. He’d like to read to you. Have your head on his chest while you giggled at the way he had to struggle to wrap his mouth around big words. He didn’t think he’d mind if you laughed at him for it. Not while you were looking up at him with those big doe eyes.  He’d never done that, of course. Too scared of being rejected. Or worse, ignored. The way you sometimes did when you were struggling, especially hard. The way you did when Steve or Tony tried to demand you come down and eat dinner. 

But right now, the radio is playing. Classic Rock. The only station that plays this far out. And you’re singing along with him, albeit softly. 

Clint wants to pull you into the middle seat where he can reach you better. He intends to nibble along your neck and your collar bones until you’re breathless and dizzy. That thought makes his mouth go dry, and he swallows hard. You’re so pretty, the late afternoon sun shining in your hair and bringing out new colors in your eyes. So beautiful. So out of his league. But as he pulls into the Dairy Queen parking lot, Clint doesn’t care. 

He wasn’t kidding when he told you he missed his friend. That he wanted to know you were okay. That’s he’d leave if you said so. But right now, everything is perfect. Sitting under an umbrella’ed table, the vanilla soft serve tastes like it’s own kind of magic on a hot day. And for once, Clint is happy to have you to himself. 

“Clint?” you say softly when he comes back from throwing trash away.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He offers you a hand to help you up and gives you a crooked smile when you take it, “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, “I haven’t kept the other half of my promise.”

You cock your head curiously, and he kisses the hand you give him, “I promised to tell you you were pretty, too.”

Unbidden, images of statuesque women flood your brain, and you look away, “You really don’t have to lie. It’s okay.”

Clint cups your chin gently, smoothing his thumb along your jaw, “Y/N,” he whispered, “What happened to make you leave, this time?”

“It’s a long story,” you answer, not meeting his eyes.

“You only say that when you think no one wants to listen,” he scolds gently.

“And it works, doesn’t it?

“Baby girl,” he says softly, “We got nothing but time.”

Tags:  @lancsnerd, @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess, @stevieang, @beautybyfire, @sunmoonandbucky @mrsfox79, @bbmommy0902, @mendes-fan, @iheartsebastianstan, @wtfcas @pinknerdpanda, @process-pending, @ladifreakingda, @leasly, @coldbookworm, @hv-chw3, @past-perfect-future-tense, @starkrobb @beardburnsupersoldiers, @petlaufeyson, @queenoftheunderdark, @potatoheadthewise, @thehyperactiveteen

[ddaehyeon]

-- ☆; stars he created; koo jungmo

...unknowingly he created stars too weak to stay in your galaxy. 《 star tears! au 》

pairing: koo jungmo + fem! reader

genre: angst

word count: 1.1k

a/n: another star tears au. i wrote another for subin before it is entitled collapsing cosmos. anyway, i enjoyed writing this a lot. hope you'll enjoy it too!

lowercase intended.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☆

jungmo had always loved the stars. never did it occur to him that he’ll be catching stars. stars that he created—found in someone’s eyes because of his inability to reciprocate their feelings.

there are three levels of star tears disease.

first, the acute one with just tiny stars falling occasionally. stellar mingles perfectly with the tears that it gives no actual pain. the jingling sound soft and relaxing.

second level gives way to larger stars of different colors. few sharp sides would draw out blood. it would happen a few times a week. this is also the stage where one fails to see colors properly. the color becoming duller each level.

the third one, the worst, occurs every evening. blue stars outnumbering the other, making hot and prickly stars burn and scratch the eyes and cheeks. the sound would still be soft for the others around, but it resonates rather too loudly for your ears, echoing in such a horrying symphony.

the final stage also leads people to their inability to see pigments. their world turning black and white… and some even experience a pitch-black world.

there was no known cure for star tears disease, aside from having love reciprocated.

and you were on the third stage.

“that guy’s an idiot for having such a sweet girl’s feelings wasted!” he sighed, frustrated as he rubbed circles on your back. trying to comfort you. as if that was what you needed.

it was one of the nights he had called your phone and got no response so he ended up rushing in your dorm in such a panic. he found you in your room with dim lights highlighting your small figure curved in a corner. there were stars surrounding you, no longer glimmering in vibrancy. stars would leave your eyes with such vivid and glittering color, but once it touches the ground the color disappears.

jungmo found himself sitting beside you, arms carefully wrapped on your figure.

you know this stupid stellar show will not stop unless your love is reciprocated and jungmo seemed to miss that fact. jungmo overlooked your feelings.

his lips spoke of a sweet language, poisonous to your heart. it let out of fondness that chewed your stomach with envy. his mind always occupied thinking of someone else and how to get her to love him back. his heart had so much room to love her and little to no space to give you such kind of love.

his starry eyes that glimmered whenever he talked about her had brought stars to your own. his cosmos, perfect and beautiful. while yours was already on the verge of complete destruction, ascending to the ground every evening.

you fell on that friendly zone which was cruel and sickening.

you were jungmo’s best friend. someone who would listen to his stories during sunny days, someone who would console him during heavy downpours, someone who would root for him during blossoms.

a question never left your mind.

i’ve been always here for you and i’ll always will, so why not me?

“jungmo,” you called, your heart contracting in anxiousness. “i want to continue seeing colors. i want to see the world. i don’t want to go blind.”

it flowed out of your lips like a practiced monologue. each word trickling with fear.

jungmo’s embrace became tighter, trying so hard to collect you. to collect the pieces of a person he subconsciously shattered.

“no, no, it will not happen,” jungmo reassured, detaching himself for a bit to wipe your tears. the worry found on his countenance devouring you, giving more ache than comfort. “you’ll not go blind, okay? i’ll talk to that guy. maybe once he knew about it, about your condition something good will happen.”

you doubted it though.

will something good really happen if he finds out about your feelings? will he be able to heal you?

the mere thought was such a distant reality. it was absurd.

jungmo had fallen too deeply in the abyss of his affection for someone else to be able to allow himself to rise from that and turn his eyes to you.

your gaze was attached to him, the tears were on a continuous stream, but suddenly the pain felt empty as if your body had already got used to the excruciating pain the disease offers. it was a blank stare.

then came a sad smile. “jungmo, i love you.”

the confession left your lips, a small wave of relief came washing your heart. finally, you had the courage to say it.

each word was laced in sorrow and genuine intention that stole his breath away. his eyes wide, hands shaking as it slowly dropped.

no, he’d been hurting you. he didn’t deserve to wipe your tears.

he was the reason why there were scars on the corner of your eyes made by the stars prickling your delicate skin. he was the reason why the jingling magical sounds you used to love became such a terrifying sound.

he was the reason why your galaxy was collapsing.

there were tears forming on the corner of his eyes which he tried so hard to hold.

your tears never stopped. it fell like a spectacular meteor shower on anticipated and rare evenings. gloomy stars accompanied by salty tears mingling with droplets of blood. the new wounds hurt, but the wound he’d been watering in your heart was far crueler. eyes drowning in stars, heart drowning in unreciprocated affection.

tears cascaded down his cheeks, it became unstoppable like yours.

“oh my god.” he finally managed to utter with a trembling voice. “i'm so sorry, y/n.”

a choked sob left his lips. his stomach flipped in a terrible manner and his inability to return your feelings continuously crushing him, which crushes you even more. “shit, i’m so sorry. i'm really sorry. you don’t deserve this. you don’t fucking deserve me. i'm so sorry y/n.”

his words repeated like a broken record.

but it didn’t do anything to help you.

he was aware his apologies won’t heal you.

he was aware he’ll be unable to heal you.

[fanpom-imagines]

Imagine fighting in the Battle of Winterfell. (Part 4)

Masterlist [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] (Part 4)

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Words: 3876

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sorry for the long wait guys but here it is and this is a long chapter too, in docs it was 8 pages long

Gifs aren’t mine.

If you want to be tagged in my taglist send me a message

(Female Reader)

I walked briskly down the halls of Winterfell and get to my men to make sure they’re ready. By the time I’m standing out in the courtyard my soldiers are all standing tall and ready whilst staring straight forward. A fourth of my men were standing in front of me. The other soldiers had been stationed by Ser Vadin. They’re all good men and even better soldiers. I had hand picked them before our departure back to the mainland. They’ve been trained in man different areas of combat, though they may not be as obedient and fearless as the Unsullied they still are worth a hundred soldiers each.

“Queen (Y/N),” I heard a voice come from my right and I look over to see Daenerys’ Hand. If it wasn’t the Hand’s pin over his heart than it was definitely his height that gave away who the man was.

“I presume you are Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys’ Hand?” I asked with a small nod of my head in his direction.

“You presumed correctly.”

“Well what is it you’re here for?” I asked him looking back to my men.

“Just wanted to meet the Dragonslayer Queen in person, is all,” I looked down at the man with a raised brow.

“Well it is good to meet you in person as well. Though you may be the last person I meet.”

“So it seems to be that way,” and just like that Tyrion left.

“Peculiar fellow,” I heard Robin say from beside me.

“He seems too smart to be in the middle of all of this,” I told him in reply as I watched the Hand of the Queen leave.

I got on to my horse and from the corner of my eye I saw Robin also get on his. I waited for him to come by my side before going forward and out the main gates. As we made our way out I saw Daenerys’ Unsullied and Dothraki army make their way to the battlefield as well. The contrast between the people in her army was quite interesting. The Unsullied moved in complete unison, almost as if they were one entity, whilst the Dothraki ran out on their horses screaming and yelling in their native tongue full of pride and will. Though they were both equally terrifying, no one could argue that. Both were fearless which was admirable. It seems the people of Essos are more fearless, loyal, and brave than the people of Westeros have ever been.

Getting into position my soldiers stood by some of the wildings and behind to the left of the Dothraki. Whilst I stood in front of them and my head up.

Everyone stood in front of Winterfell whilst staring at the darkness ahead of us. Everyone was on edge and ready to head head first into battle to protect their homes, people, lives, and rulers.

Hearing the familiar sound of hooves hitting the snow I looked over to see a woman draped in red while galloping up to one of the Dothraki. She places her hand onto his sword and starts to chant what seems to be a spell, but I am too far away to make out what she is saying. Then all of a sudden all of the Dothraki’s weapons lit on fire. My eyes widened at the sight.

Though I have heard of magic and I have believed that it had existed once long ago I had not believed that anyone on this time still could possess such powers. I guess I have been proven wrong.

The Dothraki yelled louder as their horses neighed. Then they charged. Like a stampede of a wild unstable force they ran head first into the darkness before them. Yet, they were not unstoppable. They’re not beasts. They are simply warriors fighting for their queen, and with every light that went out I felt my stomach drop farther and farther into my stomach. Till the last light was gone and my stomach twisted out of fear.

I’ve never seen one of these “undead” creatures, but if the mere thought can send a man running for the hills then what can the sight of one hurling at you do?

I saw a few men running back towards us and right after them I saw them. The undead. The creatures I swore to fight without even seeing evidence of their existence. Yet rather than turning back I unsheathed my sword and ordered my men to charge, and with that the battle begun. I slashed at the enemy which were coming from all directions. I stabbed, slashed, kicked, and fought.

One of the Wights grabbed onto my horse and bit down, hard. My horse neighed and stood up on its hind legs, knocking me off of her. I coughed trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of me. My eyes widened as one of the wights came out of nowhere jumping on top of me and trying to chomp down on my face. I quickly grabbed my sword and stabbed it and as it went limp I pushed it off. I looked around and whipped my head to the sound of my horse whining at the wights tearing at her flesh. I ran over to her and slashed at the wights, eventually getting them off of her, but the poor creature was on the brink of death. I looked down at the poor horse as it cried out in pain trying to get itself up as its feet moved. I couldn’t leave her and let her suffer.

“I’m sorry girl,” I whispered as I pet her head before raising up my sword and stabbing it though her head; killing her instantly.

I don’t have time to even take a breath before I hear rushing footsteps coming from beside me, making me stab out my sword which in return had the wight collapsing onto the red colored snow floor.

I fight my way through trying to kill as many of them as I can. Sadly, that was not enough. More of them came and more soldiers were killed. I heard someone yell fallback. I looked around and screamed as well, “Fall back!”

My men did so as they fended off other wights and turned to rush between the Unsullied into Winterfell. I fought off more of the wights and ran through the Unsullied as well. Men were limping and crawling towards the gates.

I heard Lyanna Mormont yell, “Keep moving back as she ushered the men inside.” I looked behind me and saw the Unsullied protecting the ones retreating. I quickly turned back around and ran to one of the towers and up the stairs onto one of the walls. I looked out upon the battle going on around us. It was terrifying and devastating. Men were coming from all sides pouring in through the gates of Winterfell while the Unsullied stood in clean cut formations protecting the ones who were retreating. Yet, even they couldn’t stop the wights. They were pushing forward inch by inch, body by body. Soon they will be at the gates forcing themselves in.

I looked around and saw Jamie Lannister and Brienne of Tarth urging the men back into the castle. I glanced back to the men stationed around the walls. Their arrows wouldn’t do anything yet. The wights were too far away for them to get proper shots without killing the Unsullied too.

As the Unsullied finally moved to close up the gap the retreating men were running through the few last soldiers rushed through the gates. Yet the wights were getting closer and closer, and were not slowing down. Some of the wights broke through and were making their way towards the trenches I quickly picked up a bow and grabbed a handful of arrows I lit one up and aimed. I fired my shot hitting the wight and I kept on firing.

I saw the Unsullied retreating whilst screaming “Retreat” in High Valyrian. I kept on firing arrows trying to stop the undead from claiming anymore for their army.

I saw one of the unsullied pull the rope to the bridge across the trenches, and I heard another scream “Light the trenches.” I quickly aimed my bow down towards the sharpened logs lining the trenches and repeatedly fired one arrow after another, each hitting its mark, but it was not enough. I looked above us to try and find Daenerys’ dragons, but I could not see them at all. The dark night mixed with the harsh winds blocked their view of us. They were flying blindly through the storm. I started to fire more arrows at a more rapid pace making my aim become more and more accurate yet all we needed was the logs to catch on fire. To signal to them where we are.

Only a few Unsullied were left as they guarded one another in front of the entrance of Winterfell which had its gates still wide open. I saw the same women dressed in red walk out and place herself next to a log. I saw her starting to whisper once again, but my concerns grew as I saw no flames emitting and the wights were coming closer. I started aiming my arrows to defend her. Then they the trenches lit aflame all around the castle.

Through all the shouts and screaming I hear a distinct screech. I look up to see Daenerys’ dragons. They’re absolutely astonishing. I had never seen them before this moment. They were huge cruel looking beasts, yet beautiful as they came swooping down upon the wights below. Spreading fire upon them giving the men left outside of the walls to fall back.

I looked away from the dragons and down upon the wights below, to my surprise they just stood there. Staring and unmoving from their positions. A bone chilling scene. I aimed and fired my bow once again at the wights who were nearest.

I stopped shooting and lowered my bow as I saw them moving and laying themselves down upon the trenches. They were killing themselves to make a bridge for the others. I heard Ser Davos scream out, “Man the walls!”

Seemed as though many of the soldiers were just staring wide eyed at the scene ahead of them.

“What the fuck are you men gawking at? Man the goddamn walls!” I ordered at them with a fierce voice as loud as I could to where my throat burned at the strain. I quickly raised up my bow and fired at the enemy that were once again making their way towards us as they rushed past the corpse bridge they had created over the trenches.

Everyone was rushing and making their way up the walls. All you could hear was the horrible sounds of the wights, the shouts of soldiers, and the sounds of arrows being fired left and right.

The wights inched closer to the walls and I screamed out, “Mind the walls they’re coming up the walls!” At that I started to fire at the wights below us which were crawling and clawing their way on top of m]one another trying to make it up and over the walls. I saw them making up their way at the walls to my left and I quickly grabbed more arrows and ran. I made it seeing Jamie Lannister, Tormund, one of the wildling men Jon is acquainted with, and another man who I have seen forging the weapons getting ready for battle. I quickly place the arrows in their containers and light them and fire them off. The wights slowly make their way up the wall and as the three men are fighting them off I try to shoot each one that gets passed them.

I reach over for more arrows only to find none left. I quickly grab for my sword and unsheath it as I swing it at a wight which in return slices the undead in half. More soldiers join us at the wall as each and everyone one of us slices at the foe, holding them back as much as we can, but they still end up breaking through. No matter our efforts.

There’s so many of them crawling over all I can see is wights and men fighting and all I can do is the do the same as everyone around me. Fight till I can’t anymore. I see Samwell Tarly being attacked as he tries to fend it off I quickly run towards him and slash off the ones coming up behind him while the blacksmith from before stabs the one latched on to Tarly’s arm.

As I kill another coming up behind me my head whipps towards the sound of wood breaking. I see the sight of the wights breaking through the railing and falling onto the courtyard floor. The wights run and impale themselves atop the spiked logs as other wights run either over or around them as they attack the men below. I turn away from the sight and keep fighting off the wights coming over the wall. As en around me were being torn apart, pushed off the wall, and killed I fell back slashing my way to one of the towers and making my way out into the courtyard to join the fight down below.

I hear large monstrous footsteps nearing and I look over to see a giant. My eyes widen as I look around for a way to kill it. I grab one of the bows discarded on the floor and pick it up and I search for an arrow which I luckily quickly find. I aim it towards the eye of the giant and with an exhale I release the arrow. It hits the giant dead in the eye and it starts making its way towards me. My eyes widen in fear, but then I hear a high pitched scream that in no way could belong to any of the soldiers I look over, as does the giant wight, to the sound and see Lyanna mormont running towards the giant with a weapon raised in her hands. She rush at the giant and straight into its grip as it lifts the girl up effortlessly. My eyes widened as I try to find some sort of way to top the girl from being crushed. I see the poor girl start to cough up blood as the giant pulls her closer and clenches its fists harder around her small frame.

Before I could do anti thing to help her Lyanna’s stabs the eight in the eye with her dagger. My eyes widen. I would’ve never expected a trained warrior to do such a thing let alone a young girl.

I run towards the giant as it falls down with Lyanna clutched in its fist. The giant has already fallen by the time I get to it. I drop down next to the girl and smile at her sadly.

“You’ve fought well,” I whisper to her.

I hear a sound coming from behind me and I quickly turn around with my sword once again unsheathed and I stab it into the wight which had been approaching me, and I quickly dart out of the way of the oncoming onslaught of wights barreling through the gates. Swiftly I move  to get on top of an object and from there make my way up to get to a higher point away from the wights down below.

I run through the corridors and halls of the castle. Quickly and quietly whilst killing wights silently to not cause too much attention to be drawn to me. For if I do they’ll all come heading in my way and no matter how well I’ve been taught to fight I am no match for a horde of the undead.

I ran upstairs and around corners trying to find my way back out to one of the walls to see if there were any people in need of help, if there is anyone left that is. The moment I rush out from around a corner I’m met with a wight hurling towards me. I let out a surprised scream as I’m knocked to the ground. I struggle with keeping the wight away from my face as it tries to chomp its teeth near it. I struggle with pushing it away, but then an axe is embedded through its skull making the creature collapse on top of me.

“Come on dragon slayer, get of your ass,” I hear my supposed savior say as I look up I’m met with the all too familiar fiery red hair of Tormund.

“Thank you, Tormund,” I sigh out taking his hand that he reached out for me as I pull myself up with his help.

“Don’t mention it, lass. Now come on,” He says as he pulls the axe from the wight’s skull.

The two of us make it to one of the walls where the blacksmith is also standing atop of, but all of us stop as we look around and see the people slain starting to rise back up with glowing blue eyes.

“Shit,” I heard Tormund say as I nod along with his statement.

The wights start to attack once again and the ones left alive all throw themselves back into battle once more. The bodies started to pile up one by one till we were standing on mounds of them fighting off other wights which would then collapse and add onto the pile of bodies I’m already standing on.

I make my way through the wights and into the middle of the courtyard to see Jon Snow making his way further into the castle. I somehow get a bad feeling in my gut and I follow him further into Winterfell and fight off any oncoming creatures that jump out at me. I follow him into a tunnel and quickly make my way behind him as I see a wight fall from the ceiling and behind him. I swiftly take care of it and pull him back as another falls from the ceiling. Jon looks over at me in shock.

“You can thank me later now lets go!” I urge him pushing him forward to the end of the hall as we fight our way through. He pushes me through and as fast as he can turns around to pull the door closed and shuts it. In return the wights press themselves against the cage like wall and reach through trying to get at us.

The two of us run out into the courtyard and run towards some wights trying to get at some poor man, but the two of us stop in out tracks as a large screech is heard and the undead dragon lands atop the walls of Winterfell and spits out blue flames at the ones in the courtyard. The two of us automatically turn and run back into the hallway to hide from the flames of the dragon.

I run through the hallway as Jon follows closely behind me. Making our way back into the courtyard I hide behind a wall from the dragon and pull Jon to my side before the dragon could take notice.

Not even being able to take a breath before our head whipp over to the sound of wights breaking through the doors in front of us and falling atop one another as they do so.

I turn my head to Jon, “You stay here and try not to get killed, I have a plan.” I tell him as I run off towards one of the towers that can lead me up to the wall nearest to the dragon. Before Jon could protest a wight comes up and tries to get at him, but he quickly move out of the way and slices it in half.

I turn back around and push myself against the door to break through it. My feet rapidly make their way up each step. I run out onto one of the many walls of the castle and look out to see the dragon breathing its fire towards Jon’s location as he tries dogging it. I quickly run to get closer to the half faced beast. I look at Jon and see him make eye contact with me. Giving him a short nod he nods back in reply and runs out and to another cover making the back of the dragon face me. I quickly run forward onto some rubble with my unsheathed sword and hold it above my head as I lead on top of the dragon and stab it down into its back. It cries out and its head reaches towards the sky as it breathes out blue flames once more. It struggles as twists its body trying to throw me off. I pull myself up on its back closer and closer to its head. Stabbing it in the back  to pull myself closer and holding onto the scales on its back to keep myself from being flung off the dragon every time I pull out my sword.

Once I get to its neck I stab it hard and the half faced dragon breathes out fire in Jon’s direction as if it were a reflex. I quickly pull myself to its head as it is at a slight stand still when breathing out fire and shove my sword into the top of its head. As I push my sword farther and farther into its skull. I take out my dagger and start yelling out a victory cry as I repeatedly stab its head. Placing all my eight on top of the sword to make it go farther into its skulls as I keep on pulling out my dagger from its head and thrust it back in repeatedly.

The dragon lets out a large cry as it breathes out a large gust of fire, which I hope Jon has been able to avoid. Right before it goes limp and collapses below me. I hold onto my sword as the beast falls finally. I breath in and out at a rapid breath as I stare wide eyed at where my hands are clutching the sword. I did it. I killed it.

I sigh out in relief as I lay on top of the dragon. My final bursts of energy leaving me as fatigue took over. I hear a sound and look up and see a wight rushing towards me. My eyes widen and I can hear Jon yelling at me in the background to get up, but I can’t. I’m too tired and too scared to do anything.

Then the creature out of nowhere falls down. I look around me in confusion and see the other wights collapse one by one. I look over to Jon with a confused face which he returns as well. My face then contorts from confusion to happiness and relief.

“We won!” I scream out in victory as I get up.

I hear other people yell and scream out in victory and relief.

I looked down on Jon and gave him a bright smile which he returned with his own slight smile.

TAGLIST:

@silver-tigress @youre-a-good-man-theon @bee-wrecker @boogiebunnies @precious-bands-love@supernaturaltrashy @immortal-imagination @mikariell95 @saoirsewhittle @jinx-is-fire @askblog12 @colors-for-the-world-please @magical-spit @a-sweet-little-fangirl @letsloveimagines @turtlelurky @fandomsfanman @frog-face-wolfhard @jordy---9 @breadisrawtoast @discoball-deaky @lusyschwa @believeinyourdreamsxo @amandasugg09 @patdsinner33

[missolitude]

A Taurean* take on the zodiac signs

*Taurus sun, Libra moon, Cancer rising, Mercury and Venus in Gemini

Look at your sun sign but also moon, rising, mercury and venus. This is merely my opinion so of course bias is part of the deal, but in libra moon fashion I shall try to be objective and fair.

Aries: I never seem to vibe with you guys unless you have strong Piscean influences in your chart. Very fiery and aggressive. Go getters. Naturally dominant and sometimes athletic, usually into sports and the outdoors. Extroverts. You love to express yourself and you have so much energy. Decisive and creative. I might never be friends with you but I would immediately hire you to advocate for a project or an idea. You are literally unstoppable once you want something, you strive when you need to overcome obstacles. Confident aura. Daring and bold. Usually very self-centered. Please do remind yourselves that other people have feelings and that a more diplomatic approach would solve most problems that you have in relationships.

Taurus: My own sign, so I’m probably biased. I have had so many Taurean friends in my childhood. I immediately get along with you, I feel so comfortable and at ease in your company. You radiate such calm and warmth. Loyal. Dependable. You are a solid rock in a world that doesn’t stand still. You move slowly but when you do have taken a decision you follow through. You possess unbreakable, indomitable inner and physical strength. Everything you do is meaningful, you do not like to waste your time or resources. Very stubborn but you usually know that you are and don’t want to be. Self-reliant to a fault. You are so peaceful and sweet, and you put up with so much before you lose your patience and speak up. You rarely get angry but once the bottled up rage finds a way to the surface it’s like hot lava, it burns everything in its path. You are a powerful and terrifying creature, embrace it but use your strength wisely. Once you have invested time and energy in something you cannot let go, even when that person or relationship hurts you or has stopped serving a purpose in your life. You give so much to others, you are allowed to put yourself first every once in a while.

Gemini: Masters of mischief and communication. So funny and energetic! They hate boredom. Like to show off. Literal goofballs and dorks. A million different hobbies and interests. Usually are into traveling, they want to engage with the world. So curious and charismatic. Sometimes distraught and absent-minded. Lives in their head. Wants to get to know everyone, will ask you so many questions on literally every topic, likes to use their hands when they talk. Everything they say sounds smart and they know a bit about everything. Easy to open up! Words are your weapon and if you harness and develop that gift the world is at your feet. People will tell you over and over again that you should focus on one thing in life, don’t listen to them. Versatility is your strength. So are connections, both in your head as in relationships. You manage to connect everything and create a bigger picture based on small details. You guys are walking mindmaps. Listen to your gut more! You make sense of chaos, you thrive in it. Embrace it.

Cancer: Undervalued gems. Your life always seems to revolve around pain, either your own or that of others. You are sweet and sensitive and people like to underestimate you because of that. Too bad, they won’t see you coming when you get sneaky and come from the side. Your indirectness is not a weakness, don’t let anyone tell you differently. You are sooo receptive. To other people’s moods, their burdens, their struggles, you go through life sensing what other people see. Your protective shell is your weakness and strength at once, depending on how you use it. Once you have it on nothing and no one can hurt you, you become unbreakable, unreachable. This is such a magical gift, use it wisely. But also don’t forget to take it down and experience life every once in a while. You will never be able to avoid all the risks, no matter how hard you try. You will only keep yourself from living truly and intensely. You are at your strongest when you protect and nurture, either yourself or those you love. You are soft but not weak, you are not afraid to feel, to hurt, to cry. You can find strength and wisdom in that like no other. You are the Gabrielle to someone’s Xena, this is your archetype. You hold up others so that they can heal, and by healing others, you heal yourself.

Leo: Natural performers and entertainers. Most comfortable when they are the center of attention, also at their best. You were made to be in the spotlight, you can’t seem to help but shine, it’s such a superpower. You are so good at expressing yourself creatively, you aren’t afraid to be bold and to take risks. You possess so many talents and you are crazy attractive. (You always seem to have the most amazing hair too, wow.) You are hard workers and proud of what you do and accomplish. You do naturally what other people need to learn, to demand to be treated with respect and to ask for well earned validation. But don’t forget that you are at your strongest when your validation and self-respect comes from within, not from outside sources. You can only become your most powerful self once you detach yourself from that need to seek applause from everyone you meet. Once you have that stability and that strong ego that comes from within, nothing and nobody can stop you. You are such natural givers, and because you are so positive and shine so brightly you always seem to get back even more. But there is a fine line between a strong and healthy ego and arrogance and learning the difference is your biggest life lesson.

Virgo: Natural healers and educators. You have such passion and strive for knowledge, and you always want to serve and offer your gifts to others. You are truly amazing. If you need emotional nurturing go to a Cancer, if you want a solution to your life’s problems go to a Virgo. You are great organizers and you can literally juggle so many things at once it boggles my mind. You never stop thinking and analyzing and working on yourself. Other people sleep at 3 in the morning, you work and are on some kind of mission that will either improve your life or that of others. Adulting is something that was made for you. You are at your strongest when your life and your environment is clean and devoid of unnecessary clutter and distractions. You strive the most when you help other people organize their lives. You are here to help, to serve, to be useful, this might be unhealthy for others but you are happiest when you can offer your unique gifts to uplift others. This is how you uplift yourself. Truly stellar and amazingly capable human beings. All the awards to you.

Libra: I always seem to draw you into my life. You are so enchanting and beautiful, inside and out. Natural diplomats, you are able to build bridges where others only see differences and odds. So skilled with words. Obsessed with being detached and objective. Flirting is your way of connecting with people and some will not get that. You are so well spoken and good-natured. You are so perceptive and observant, you literally see everything. You like to make other people feel as desired and wanted and comfortable as you want to feel, and it’s the biggest tragedy in life that most people either fail to appreciate that, or won’t return the favor. You are so accommodating and never want to be a burden to anyone. You always have your guard up, and you are so good at becoming what other people want from you that you forget what you want. You are at your best when you counsel people, or educate, you read others so well, you are so good at telling people what they need to hear to become the best version of themselves. Recognize where your strengths and weaknesses are and do what you do best, build bridges between them and solutions that make it a win win for everyone, yourself too. You are such a force for good and for justice in this world, you deserve so much. Don’t be afraid to ask for reassurance, the right people will be happy to give it.

Scorpio: Literally my favourite people in the world. Endlessly loyal and steadfast companions. I genuinely don’t think they are capable of anything but good intentions. Once they have chosen you they will stick with you for life. They have endless depths and abysses inside of them and they aren’t afraid to brave them. Crazy intuitive. Obsessed with sex and food, the rumors are true. They are a cute dork and a sensual siren all at once, usually at the same time. They see and feel more than anyone else I know. Usually very good with animals. Spiritual. Endless advocates for the good in people. Could be mistaken for being naive but don’t be fooled, it is bravery to choose optimism and kindness over and over again like they do. Have sometimes trouble expressing their deep thoughts and emotions with words, they always feel like they don’t suffice to convey what they want to express and in their case it’s true. They can be afraid of their own intensity, or of being rejected for it, and since so much happens subconsciously for them they often don’t understand themselves very well. They are first class people. Always helpful, always forthcoming, and their life always revolves around sacrifice, about giving up something or someone. Sometimes they end up sacrificing their own happiness for someone else. They often can’t help but choose a path of self-destruction, but nobody else can surpass obstacles and tragedy like they do. Scorpios, your archetype is a Phoenix. You can burn yourself to the ground one day and build yourself up the next. Your superpower is evolution and regeneration. You can withstand destruction because you are not afraid to start anew. Every day if necessary.

Sagittarius: Travelers and seekers of experiences. Always on a search for enlightenment and self-improvement and growth. You want to expand your horizon, you need spirituality in your life, the bigger picture, meaning. Natural philosophers. Idealists. Want to change the world. So fun to be around and great friends. The most non-judgmental people on this earth, probably. They will analyze you and adapt whatever life hacks you have and they are eclectic when it comes to spiritual practices or world views. They pick up whatever works for them and they don’t care about being traditional or old fashioned. They can talk and connect with everyone, regardless of background or social status or nationality. If you want good advice and an unconventional perspective they are your best pick. They have so many acquaintances and good friends, it doesn’t matter whether you haven’t seen them for a day or a couple of years, it’s so easy to pick up exactly where you left off with them. They are so bold!!! Total adventurers. The first ones to say yes if you suggested a bungee jump or paragliding. Take them on a vacation with you and you will be sure to get the best experiences out of it. But don’t expect them to be very romantic or overly interested in love, at least not in the conventional sense. They don’t like to feel trapped in relationships. Always have a window open when you are with them, figuratively. Don’t be too clingy, make them feel free and they will love you for it.

Capricorn: I have never had many Caps in my life for some reason, but I’d love to change that! My perspective on you is probably limited for it but here we go. You have a reputation for being sarcastic and closed off but that is not the impression I have of you. Most Caps seem to be deceptively funny and have a hidden penchant for humor and comedy. Perhaps that is a direct result of you having no illusions about the world. Life is a tragedy to those who feel but a comedy to those who think, and you have such a sharp mind. You are so analytical and you see everything exactly how it is. Pure realism and sometimes negativity but I think you take strength from that. You always want to protect yourself, from disappointments, from rejection, from failure. It’s hard to get to know you, you only let people in that have proven themselves to you. And you do not hesitate to cut people off that don’t respect you or your priorities. You have no time for bullshit and you do not tolerate fools. You aren’t very diplomatic about that either and most people cannot handle that. You are direct and straightforward and you will make an effort for those that you love but you are not known to mince words. You do not offer pity or compassion to those who you perceive as weak or that are responsible for their own unhappiness. You have no patience for people who are unhappy in a relationship but refuse to leave. You can seem unfeeling when the opposite is true, you care so much but you show it differently than people expect or want. You look for dependability and strength and self-reliance in others. You only respect those that respect themselves. There are a lot of life lessons in this that other people should learn. You often feel alone because you tend to push people away and you have trouble asking for help. There is strength in showing weakness sometimes, perhaps that is something you will learn too, when you are ready. Also, how do you do it, you literally never stand still??? You constantly have projects going on, sometimes several at the same time, and you have so much energy?? This never ceases to amaze me. You guys invented productivity. 

Aquarius: Creative oddballs, proud misfits!!! Why do things a certain way when you can do it differently? I used to have an Aquarius acquaintance who only walked around barefoot even in snow and randomly burst into song and unpromptedly composed serenades for his friends, I think that captures the experience with you. Not afraid to be different, but sometimes different just for the sake of it. Unconventional and always against the stream. Always expressing yourself, always on the move, always doing something lovably weird. Never the same, never predictable. And you know so much, about literally everything? You guys seem to have the most eclectic books at home, it jumps from space to architecture to a manual on how to make your own soap. And I’ve observed that you do what some people never will be able to learn - at your most evolved you achieve a perfect balance between intellect and emotions. You are visionaries and underappreciated geniuses. I don’t always understand you and you might not always make sense either but you are very intriguing to me.

Pisces: You are so hard to find in the world! I desperately want more Pisces friends. I love your sign. You are romantic, sensitive, sweet, creative. Old souls. Soft and dreamy. So good with words it makes my heart ache. If I immediately get enchanted by someone that person usually has Pisces somewhere in their chart. You are dangerous to me, you draw me into your own world of dreams and wisdom and beauty. You remind me of old gods and stags wandering cemeteries in the twilight, walks in the moonlight, poetry and impossible love. You are otherworldly and captivating. You can be hauntingly shy and elusive but I adore that about you. You are such gifted writers. You find words for concepts that are foreign to people that aren’t dreamers. The world is in desperate need of people like you, I see you and all the power to you. I know you don’t want it and that’s why you deserve it.

[thesalemsaga]

𝟲 — 𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗯𝗮𝘆

—   𝙨𝙞𝙭𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙢 𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙖.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 6.4k words

𝙨 : they’ve left the walls, and now it seems like they’re unstoppable. however, having to make a short stop, they soon uncover the savagery that has taken hold of the world, putting their training to the test.

“ doesn’t your eye-sight hurt? ”.

alexander peered up once seren’s voice caught his ears.

she had been sitting at his side for a good hour, glancing over his shoulder whilst his index finger trailed beneath the lines consisting of runes and symbols that she had never dreamt of seeing before. for the first time she took knowledge over how his fingers were tainted with ink, red from hours of writing, pouring every last pint of energy he had into his studies.

seren had seen copious books thrown in front of her when exam season hit the calendar, but nothing could compare to what this boy probably had to sit through to be a qualified cleric. she took to admire alexander for how he persevered, it didn’t seem like it was labor for him, he must enjoy it to some degree. even now, when he could be talking to the others, growing closer to them, strengthening bonds, he continues reading as if to never give himself a break from the school they probably wouldn’t see for a while.

yet, the more she thought about it, the clearer it became. maybe it was for the very reason that they would not face their school for some months that he clung to the only thing that might bring a sense of normalcy. school is hell, albeit the only thing they’ve ever known within the walls. it kept them grounded, centered on something. even seren, an avid daydreamer, allowed herself to be consumed by her studies and let it became the center of her life.

now she realizes that she has to distance herself from the only life she’s ever known and replace it for one she could not control, where the laws didn’t bend at her will, because nature kneels to no one. 

alexander was wise, though, to keep something to occupy his mind. who knows how long it’ll be before they start to lose their ways and begin to cave into the reality of the world outside?

“ m-my father got me these at the start of the year after . . . some glasses that made my eye-sight worse. these ones have steadily improved it, though ”, he replied after a moment, immediately drawing his attention once more to the book he grasped within his hands.

seren hummed, swinging her feet slightly. “ is your hair also always like that? ”, she questioned. she found herself in a very questioning mood that day, maybe it was an attempt to distract herself from the utter boredom she might face during this flight to egypt.

“ like what? ”.

“ that bowel-shape cut. ”

his face suddenly incredibly pink, red rising to the tip of his ears. seren’s eyes widened for a moment with slight realization, “ w-well, you get what i mean. always the same style, quite conservative. do you ever switch it up? ”.

“ how? i find it unnecessary. and a waste of time, if you ask me. ”

chuckling, the girl rested her back against her seat and ran her fingers through her own hair, “ not exactly. i find that boys switch up their hairstyles more than girls on some occasions. have you seen percy? one day he has a perm, the next he’s wearing a beret. ” it was super cute.

alexander appeared timid all of a sudden. “ well i’m not percy, seren. i find that i quite like my look. sure, the glasses can be fussy and the hair is hard to cope with in the morning, but it’s my signature look. like your hair bow ”.

seren defensively grasped her ointment, “ i have my bow but i still style my hair differently on occasions. i customize it, explore my way of dressing. it’s actually a great way to learn to appreciate your looks, looking at yourself in different ways. ”

alexander seemed unwilling to counter, attention on the book once more. taking a deep inhale, the girl smiled and reached over. he had a signature look himself, that face. his entire face was a signature because his features were so firm and bold and beautiful, it would still be him even if he chose to wear something different or styled his hair.

she found herself removing his glasses, ignoring the fuss he appeared ready to put on, and messed up his hair, bringing the locks hiding his forehead and pushing them back. thankfully, they fell right into place. capturing a glance at him, seren felt like she was looking at a different person, she smiled to herself, content with the transformation that had occurred under her doing.

“ w-what? ”.

seren shook her head slightly, “ you look good. you look even better, actually. people never realize how beautiful they are when others are looking at them. you still look like you, in case you’re wondering. but just without the glasses. stop squinting~ ”.

“ s-sorry ”, letting out a small laugh, alexander raked a hand through his locks and seren was barely able to contain her excitement, he seemed to be liking it! “ i just really can’t see without my glasses. contact lenses are hard to wear, as well, i tear up and people think i’m constantly upset. ”

seren peered at the frames in her hands and hummed, “ can’t you enchant yourself to fix your own eye sight? or are long-term conditions out of question? i hear only a witch doctor can do that. ”

“ percy could. he’s a mage. the magic i access is limited only to healing and enchanting things that might bring people at death’s door. a stab wound, i can deal with. a cancer or a chronic illness, i’m afraid i can’t deal with that. believe me, i’ve tried ”, he countered, flipping aimlessly through his pages. seren’s eyes suddenly frowned. “ i would ask percy but . . . it’s too much to ask. it would demand a crazy amount of mana. ”

seren held her breath.

she’d witnessed it herself, the moment percy went pale the night before and for just a split second, it felt like he went totally limp before managing to catch himself. mana was the fuel source for anyone dealing with magic, and if you drain it, it eats your energy away in chunks if you use your magic excessively and recklessly.

alexander pushed on, “ besides, he could end up panicking and blinding me for life. i know he feels slightly reluctant when dealing with his magic. he hesitates all the time in magical art lessons. it’s like he’s scared of what he’s capable of. ”

“ well isn’t everyone? having that much power should scare anyone ”, seren shook her head, staring at her feet. “ magic is serious business, that’s why i felt lucky to not have inherited it. because as a swordsman, i have control of who my target is. as a mage, i might end up burning a whole village to kill just one man. ”

the aircraft suddenly shifted, and the girl caught herself in case she went overboard. it wasn’t turbulence, it seemed like they were going to start to make a descent into the territory they’d dreamed of stepping into. she stood up, clinging to the security railings on the roof and walls. “ what’s happening? ”, she called.

perseus peeked his head out of the cabin door with his cheeky, boxy grin. “ we’re about to land! ”, he replied over the sound of the engine roaring, but as they neared their descent, all that she could hear was the whistle of the wind. beyond the windows, she saw red. well, red soil.

the landscape in which they’d landed resembled a savanna region which you wouldn’t have expected to find in egypt a long time ago. the dirt paths were overtaken by spreading grass, tall acacia trees scattered around but not close enough to resemble a full forest. no animals in sight, as expected. and if there were, they probably fled when they heard the aircraft landing.

landing in a desolate terrain that a human being has probably not stepped into yet was a thrilling idea, albeit terrifying. because if there weren’t humans roaming then there had to be something else, lurking, aware that something strange and out of their world had just touched down on their soil.

it felt forbidden, like they shouldn’t be here.

“ are we in the sinai peninsula? ”, seren quizzed.

at the shake of kailen’s head, she was growing confused. “ i made an emergency landing because i need to figure this compass out. if i try to do it on hair it’s just going to waste fuel. we might as well pause here until i get this thing working. ”

“ well, what do we do in the meantime? ”.

“ explore for a bit, i suppose. ”

romeo was the first one out once the hatchet opened. seren stepped out and landed on the grass with her two feet. the sensation was albeit the same but knowing that they were no longer caged within stone walls and now roamed the wild, it was no wonder her heart felt heavier, blood pumping with excitement.

what she did notice was how unbearably hot it was, the sun smiling down at them, toasting the girl beneath her dense military clothes. they only weighed her down, and if she was going to traverse through desserts and dry lands, there was no point wearing it.

after ripping her jacket off, she felt a massive improvement, loosening one button of her white shirt and slipping her gloves off. “ s-seren, what are you doing? ”, she heard perseus stammer behind her. she blinked at him cluelessly.

“ i’m burning hot. besides, these things are only going to slow us down. we’re not representing valhalla out here, we’re by ourselves. ”

pacing forward, she began to investigate her surroundings with a little more liberty. time was of the essence, but they were not expecting to reach salem within a week, that was very unlikely. so whilst tying her hair back with her ribbon, she took to admiring the trees, the landscape, the mountains in the distance.

“ from what i heard ”, alexander began suddenly, crouching down to take a sip of his water. “ the peninsula became densely populated with trees. it used to be more of a dessert, mountain range. now it’s practically a rain forest. most of the middle east is a rain forest. ”

which would mean that there would be less dessert to traverse, which the girl was thankful for. she’d heard rumors that during the apocalypse period, the world underwent a series of freezes that meant temperatures drastically cooled down and even countries that used to be in the line of the equator became sudden areas stained with trees and wildlife. egypt was one of them.

and with cooler temperatures, trees and humidity, the wildlife can be, well, wild. the girl realized that after spotting something on the dry dirt just after a patch of grass. something that seemed to resemble footprints, huge ones.

whoever they belonged to, the creature had hands resembling a human being if it wasn’t so thin and so lanky, and she was certain she had just come across claw marks embedded into one of the nearby acacias. crouching, the girl ran her fingertips over the prints and hummed.

“ you okay? ”, romeo asked.

she motioned him over and pointed to the foot prints, measuring at least at three metres in length. “ what kind of animal would you find in the middle of these plains who could have such a claw? ”, she questioned. 

“ dragons, or some sort of lizard-resembling creature ”, the gunner replied, grazing his fingers over the marked dirt. “ these aren’t new footprints, though, they have most likely been here for at least three or four days. they’ve not faded yet because of the lack of wind. ”

seren frowned, looking off at the set of mountains in the distance. casting her memory back to when she met alexander in the library, she had pulled out a book on the creature at hand. it spoke of the domains dragons took to, and long mountain ranges were some of them.

hopefully we’ll be out of here before such dragon can spot us, she prayed.

“ hey, i think i found a lake or pond! ”.

they immediately stood and walked on over to where evangelos stood and pointed. there was certainly a body of water, a stream of some sort that most definitely belonged to a greater source, perhaps something verging off of the nile river. “ it’s pretty cool, i’d suggest maybe getting clean water or cooling down before we head back ”, perseus called.

seren did just that, crouching over the edge and taking the water in her hands, holding it to her nose. no funny odor, and based off of how evangelos was drinking, it had no funny taste either. and it wasn’t pristine, yet she could at least see the bottom of the pond. 

she refilled her water bottle and set it to be cooled, and then splashed her face a couple of times and instantly felt better, headache simmering down with each passing second until it stopped. “ you’d never would have thought the world would be peaceful like this after stepping outside ”, romeo began, grinning to himself. 

“ this won’t account for the rest of the world. for all we know, the rest could be filled with monsters of all sorts trying to kill us. but it’s nice that there’s a safe haven here, minus the dragon footprints ”, evangelos ran a hand through his now damp hair. “ i asked kailen. we’re apparently very close to cairo. we might even be able to see the pyramids if we fly low enough. ”

“ seriously? ”, seren gasped and beamed. “ that’d be so great! but . . . we’d be best off staying on higher ground to avoid being spotted or alarming anyone we don’t want knowing we’re here. ”

it was unknown just how for salem’s hand stretched. eastern europe was occupied completely by her henchmen and it was why they advanced so easily down into the balkan countries. the empire military was being forced back into greece as their defenses fell, their greatest fear being that salem would find crete soon enough, and the last set of human beings would be crushed under her wrath. 

earth would have to start again, smaller, weaker, with no means of fixing what they had since it was going to be stripped from them anyway. seren’s blood boiled, it came to a point where she was done questioning the morale of a person like salem, of why people go to these lengths to pursue things for their own benefit. evil people just exist, they don’t need a reason.

she would be damned if she let the woman get close to her home. having been spotted in russia already probably had her hiding out in fear, but fear brings panic, and in the midst of panic, she might do something catastrophic and seren promised her father the woman would be dead before such thing could happen.

“ do you think . . . there are human beings outside of the walls? ”.

seren turned to perseus and rose a brow, “ separate populations? ”.

the boy nodded. “ yeah. people who weren’t given a chance of treading into the walls like everyone else, people who isolated themselves. people who saw the wild as their home and never thought to abandon it. different languages, a different culture. i think it’d be nice if we came across something like that ”, he suddenly chuckled. “ though, let’s hope they’re not aggressive. ”

“ for all we know, they could also believe they’re the last people on earth. we’d surely give them quite a scare, being armed to the brim ”, evangelos stated, tilting his head. “ human beings can be sympathetic despite their differences. i don’t think we’re going to get killed at the hands of people like that, though. that’d be a waste. ”

it was never said whether there were humans beyond the walls. seren knew the government worked hard to expand the walls at the same pace that the population grew, allowing people to situate their homes in zones they deemed ‘safe.’ never was it said that they made contact with other people, and if they did, they kept it as a very, very good secret.

they suddenly jumped at an echoing sound and threw their gazes over their shoulders to find kailen at the open hatchet, waving them over with a grin. “ i’ve fixed it! ”.

romeo grumbled, “ about time. ”

once inside the ship, seren found alexander tapping away at some control buttons on the board, the compass glowing green and seemingly working pretty well. kailen had pulled out a map of the old world, and he prayed that the land structure hadn’t changed exactly.

“ it seems like we’re going in a more north east direction. as soon as we get into sinai, we’ll start treading through the middle east, and even more east just to avoid the baltics. from what i heard, salem doesn’t have much control over china and mongolia. so we have to enter through there ”, kailen spoke whilst running a red pen, tracing through path and drawing what seemed to be a border around the baltics. it was a good tactic, avoiding where the enemy’s front line was. he looked back at seren who stood just behind him. “ what do you think? ”.

the girl shook her head, “ it’s perfect. what we have to be mindful of is not disturbing any of her minions in the area, but we can worry about that later. how much fuel are we on? ”.

kailen winced, lowering his head. “ three hours, at least. t-though, i hear there is a place where we might find some . . . ”.

time skip . . .

the flight wasn’t too long, but it was long enough for the girl to catch another nap. the seats were incredibly uncomfortable, the components of the seat belt digging into her torso and waking her up when the airship would shift at times. the feeling only relieved when she had an idea.

evangelos had been sitting beside her quietly, doing what appeared to be doodling on his phone. valhalla students were given school phones that aimed mostly at giving them a better experience in their classes, and they had longer lasting batteries, which is why evangelos seemingly whipped it out. some adjustments made by alexander meant that the school could not trace them.

the seat beside the male was free, and the seat belt component was lowered which meant that what she had in mind could work, it was just a matter of whether evangelos would be comfortable. seren bit her lip and sat down beside him regardless, he lifted his gaze and glanced at her. “ what’s up? ”.

she didn’t say a word, resting her head against his shoulder and finding herself feeling way more comfortable as opposed to before, smiling softly to herself. evangelos merely held his breath, but made no attempt at moving or pushing her away. you’d think she would be more cautious around him of all people.

in reality, she would have felt awful for avoiding him because of that dueling incident. her arms were still recovering, albeit slowly. and the burn marks became heavily obvious in the daylight, hence her attempts at hiding them as best as she could. 

and she probably to avoid making evangelos feel bad.

“ comfortable? ”.

the girl nodded, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips slightly. she was bothered by the marks she saw on the dirt road despite romeo’s reassurance. in all honesty, she was far more concerned with the idea of there being a dragon roaming the heavens than getting to salem.

kailen had stated there was a nearby bay area on the coast of northern sinai where human dealings had stained. some sort of power plant from a long time ago had exploded, leading to the area becoming unstable and too toxic to support human life. after many, many years, it looked as if the toxicity levels were low enough for the fuel to be deemed safe enough to power the airship’s engine.

what didn’t bide well with the girl was the lack of a hostile presence ever since their journey began. they had not encountered one enemy aside from clues pointing to a dragon terrorizing the nearby area, but to come face to face with an abnormal creature was still on their to-do list. it was silent, peaceful, nothing she was complaining about but it drained the thrill from the situation and made it feel as if they were sneaking out to a party rather than, you know, saving the world.

that would only mean that whatever they encountered soon was going to shake her to her core. hence why apprehension to easing down and resting too much, but she found evangelos’s shoulder to be comfortable. his presence radiated that of protection aside from intimidation. and he was warm.

seriously warm.

“ did it hurt? ”.

“ hm? ”.

his fingers grazed gently over the surface of her arms. his touch was delicate, not an ounce of mal intention with it. it was perhaps the most docile thing she had seen from evangelos from the moment she met him. her thoughts drifted once more to the duel, to the internal shock she experienced after that impact, the agony that came from the burns, the way her bones rattled in fear when she realized her weakness.

“ well, of course it hurt. but does it still hurt? ”, he sounded concerned, and a part of her ached on his behalf. to have everyone glance at you as if you’re some sort of monster when your anger builds and you act upon it must be something nobody wants to necessarily deal with. she hurt for him. and she didn’t see a reason for holding a grudge against an injury that will heal. sure, the marks will always be there. but they will never be a reminder that evangelos was a violent person. ever.

seren glanced at his hand and chuckled, patting it gently. “ it did. but what hurts me most is that you’re still hanging on. it’s healing, as most injuries do. i just want you not to worry about it when there are other things we have to heal ”, she said.

and that was not her attempt at shutting down the conversation, it was simply a way to reassure evangelos in case his thoughts were scrambled, in case he somehow considered himself as the monster people painted him as.

“ like . . . the wounds of people who might have been denied a home within the walls. the wounds of people who never got a chance to be saved. if they’re out there, then we have to help them heal. isn’t that what heroes are supposed to do? ”.

evangelos started, “ y-yeah, but . . . ”.

“ my wounds will heal. memories stay but it’s how you remember them that counts. i don’t remember it as an attack. i remember it as a mistake. and we all learn from them. ”

it was clear she wanted to say more to nurse the situation, to put his mind at rest but she was cut off when the engine began to roar a little louder. upon listening out, it became apparent it was not the engine. but rather, waves crashing against each other. an ocean. a beach.

when the ship landed and the hatchet opened once again, seren felt a chill crawl down her spine when the pristine blue sky she had seen previously turned bleak, grey. lifeless. something you’d expect to see on a cold island in northern europe, not in a tropical region blessed with greenery and life.

upon stepping out, it felt like entering another planet.

craters of sharp rocks and dips made the landscape, the waves thrashing roughly against the shores. it was violent, turbulent, as if a storm slowly crept above them. it was a phantom menace, one that would bare its fangs and strike the rocks with pummeling strength. it took her a couple of steps back suddenly to avoid getting hit by a wave. when her back hit kailen’s chest, she let out a minor squeak.

but he applied a firm hand to her shoulder and nodded to the others, “ alright, there has got to be an oil source nearby. the toxicity will not kill you since it’s harmless at this point. but still be careful. fill the tanks as best as you can. if there’s any sign of movement, don’t wait. just act. ”

the tanks he mentioned weren’t large but it was enough for each member to carry one individually. kailen had suggested that he stayed in the ship whilst they went off to get the oil before quickly returning.

but seren was apprehensive to leave him alone. “ are you sure you don’t want someone to stay behind? ”, she quizzed as they prepared to leave. “ you know we can’t exactly communicate without alerting the academy of where we are, what if something happens to you? ”.

kailen gave her his usual comforting smile, one which causes every suspicion or worry to practically vanish. but it didn’t work this time around on seren. “ i’ll be okay. you just hurry back. it’d be nice to get going before night fall. ”

there was no use convincing him, of course.

seren hurried just like everyone else. it was in their best interest to hurry in order to avoid enemies, but her worry remained grounded on kailen who had stayed in the ship. and although he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he might not be able to resist a mob of enemies, in whatever form they manifest themselves in. dragons, goblins, maybe even the very henchmen from last night.

“ kailen can handle himself, seren ”, romeo briskly reminded her with a quick pat on the back before hurrying her along. “ he’s an archer, sure. but his semblance won’t fail him in an attack if he gets swarmed. trust me, he will be okay. ”

seren chuckled, “ it’s a habit of mine to worry. i was even concerned when he was with alex fixing the compass. i suppose i feel anxious when we’re not in a group, if you can understand that. ”

romeo hummed, and swung the tank in his arm in a childish fashion that incited a grin from the girl. even if they were escaping mortal danger and running towards the enemy, he still acted as if it was a walk in the park. “ i don’t. but i reckon it’s due to the fact that i know their skills. and i know how strong they are individually. don’t worry, you’ll only exhaust yourself if you keep panicking during the journey. ”

to a great extent, she agreed. but this was also a habit that she has had from a young age, like her habit of taking the blame when it wasn’t hers to claim. unhealthy habits, as one might call it. it was going to take her a lot more time to grow distant from that constant worry. it wasn’t as if she was doubting their skills, they were in higher ranks than her and had stellar combat performances. yet . . .

a whistle from alexander caused her attention to shift. it seemed as if he had found something worth checking, so they hurried over.

what they stumbled across was a bunch of iron barrels with some sort of symbol on them. not the danger symbol, not the flammability symbol, but something else, a mark of manufacture. it was long faded, something that belonged to the old world yet it still sent shivers down her spine. part of the past stood in front of them.

perhaps the most bizarre detail to the scene were the skulls.

skulls.

ribs, skulls, arms and feet. as if a graveyard had surfaced from the soil, the barrels might have been a metaphor for a gold mine but the apparent human remains was what stunned seren the most. and even as the boys moved to fill the tanks, she remained with her feet nailed to the ground, her concern growing tenfold.

there was no use asking for what they believed happened here when it was somewhat clear. it had been a previous power plant, as kailen stated, and after an accident, nobody ever came to look at what remained of the location. craters of oil remained, yet what appeared to be the bodies of the workers also stayed. it was a disturbing sight of which she thought she’d only see in movies.

her steps brought her beside perseus who was studying one of the skulls closely, gloves slipped on and eyes narrowing in thought. “ notice how there is what appears to be bite or scratch marks near the top. that wouldn’t happen if it was a power plant accident, except if they were making monsters instead of oil, which i doubt ”, he stated, looking up at her. “ what do you think? ”.

seren brought her eyes towards the ocean, angry, thrashing, crashing, battling for what seemed to be a victim to pull into its grasps and yank it back into unknown depths.

“ i believe . . . it could have been a monster of some sort. maybe some animals that moved to the area and thought it would be nice to feast on the remains but the toxicity should have killed them and there are no animal bones . . . ”, she spoke, looking around. “ my bet is that it’s a monster. ”

evangelos suddenly grunted as he filled up the tank and screwed the lid shut. “ if there were monsters, they might have showed up by now. those marks look new, if we had the equipment we might have been able to locate the origin. but if it’s monsters, i suggest we hurry up ”.

but what kind of monster would attempt to dig their fangs into a human skull and then leave it aside. it would be normal if the flesh of the bodies had rotted and joined the soil beneath their feet, yet seren was uneasy. it felt too good to be true that this bay, dark and grey, was radio silent aside from the waves crashing ahead of them.

it was a horrible sensation, ignoring that worry gnawing at the back of her mind and then proceeding to fill up her tank with as much fuel as it could carry. she strained to lift it from the ground after screwing the cap shut but she heaved it up and sighed, following romeo who offered the way back to the ship.

with fuel in hand, they will be able to travel a longer distance before sundown and probably find themselves within the rain forest quickly. it would mean that they will be exposed to new danger but it would keep them hidden from any eyes from above trying to track them down.

“ where’s the ship? ”.

huh?

surely enough, when seren glanced up from the ground, her hand suddenly trembled and the tank met the floor within seconds as the ship had vanished. gone, as if it had never been there to begin with.

her first reaction was to believe that kailen might have left them. but if it had been the case, they would have heard the airship taking off and would have come running back long before their current return.

when they heard kailen’s scream, though, they all acted.

romeo suddenly bolted towards the edge of the rocks where he soon spotted the airship being dragged down the rocks, constantly being engulfed by violent waves that they couldn’t stick too close to. what was dragging the ship into the ocean?

seren’s worst nightmare.

mermaids, in mythology, are often depicted as beautiful creatures. alluring, tropical, ethereal. with perfect teeth and hair and stunning voices that will drive a sailor mad, inviting you in with docile smiles and large, curious eyes.

the mermaids that were dragging the ship into the ocean were far from it.

they were scathing around like wild animals, screeching and screaming loudly. there were dozens of them, seren was driven dizzy by the waving tails and the blunt force they used to drag the ship, pushing and pulling and screaming repeatedly and it felt like her ears were going to start bleeding soon, yet she gasped and reached for iron thorn the moment romeo fired a shot from his weapon.

“ kailen’s there! don’t let them get away! ”.

the ship was probably long gone, half submerged under water with kailen in the hatchet, motionless. seren’s food rose to her stomach in heaps yet she managed to fire some essences of ice from her blade, and it reached at least five mermaids, enveloping their tails and pulling them down into the rocks, keeping them from grasping at kailen.

but that still left at least twenty of them that evangelos and perseus were trying their best to blow away with the shots they could fire. evangelos was re-loading consistently, looking fed up by the second and perseus struggled on remaining on his feet. “ kailen! kailen, come on, man! kailen! ”, alexander yelled over the edge, flinching back when a mermaid jumped from a wave and tried to claw at his face. it was only then when seren realized that their nails were razor sharp.

with each stroke of ice and fire, the mermaids seemed to scream their way into the waves but when they began to drag kailen, alexander finally jumped into action and motioned with his hands. when the faint glow swarmed kailen’s body, the mermaid pulling him down shrieked and clawed at him. when alexander began to lift kailen’s body, seren was hopeful he would make it all the way.

when a mermaid jumped and suddenly grasped his ankle, romeo ran to keep the male on the rocks but kailen’s body began to fall back into the waves and seren did the only thing she could. and threw her sword that then pinned the fabric of kailen’s cape against the rocks. and then bolted, running the curve and launching her body over the edge and grabbing him roughly.

and soon, with the little strength she had, heaved him up, caring not for her sword that was probably going to fall into the waves.

“ perseus! ”.

seren busied herself with removing the tight jacket kailen wore as well as the chest coat and yet he made no attempt in breathing or moving. her blood began to run cold and when she began to apply her weight onto his chest, compressing a dozen times, she didn’t notice the hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

she was crying.

“ kailen? kailen! come on, wake up, wake up! breathe for me, kailen, please, we can’t lose you now! ”.

she grunted and pressed harder at a steady pace, her compression only becoming sloppy when she began to realize it wasn’t working. he wasn’t breathing. he wasn’t breathing! choking back a sob, seren pressed harder and felt someone grasping her shoulder but yanked their hand away and brought herself closer to the unresponsive boy. “ kailen, for fucks’s sake, stay with us! please! ”, she cried.

it was only when seren moved over him, pinched his nose and covered his mouth with hers, followed by two steady inhales, that she felt the boy flinch beneath her and jumped back to see the life rushing back to him.

kailen looked pale, coughing up the sea water that had been trapped within his lungs for some minutes. he was drenched, in some sort of pain, groaning through every cough and when he came to a stop, he panted. looking at the concerned faces looking over him, bringing his attention to seren and then looking around, as if to look for the ship.

“ w-what happened? w-why did i black out? ”, he grunted, moving to sit up but being pushed back down by evangelos who removed his jacket and wrapped it over the other’s shoulders. “ where’s the ship? o-oh god, did i lose the ship? ”.

seren’s lip quivered whilst she wiped the tears from her eyes, grimacing at the thought of having lost a team mate in the midst of something like that. the mermaids came out of nowhere, and through the way they shone their teeth at her, they were not good mermaids, not the ones she wold read about in stories and fairy tales. they were monsters. 

and they had almost killed kailen.

if they hadn’t arrived faster, kailen would have suffered the same fate as the remains of those people they had come across near the iron barrels. he would have been eaten.

“ they dragged the ship into the ocean. there’s no way we’re going to recover it now ”, romeo voiced with a sigh. seren glanced up when perseus gave her iron thorn. her heart sank once more. if she had lost kailen and her weapon . . . she gave the boy the best smile she could manage and nodded in gratitude, looming worriedly over the boy. “ looks like we’re gonna be walking. ”

kailen sighed and met eyes with seren, smiling timidly at her. “ sorry if i scared you. but thank you for acting so quickly ”, he managed through another cough.

“ y-yeah, it’s no worries ”, seren said and smiled back at him.

but they had a lot to worry about. the day had seemingly grown darker. they had faced possible carnivorous mermaids and they had also lost their ship.

night would fall soon.

they would get hungry.

they lost their direction.

they lost their means of travel.

they were lost. officially.

[prettieparker86]

There’s A Woman || Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 4b

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning:  implied questionable consent

Gif Credit: ridget-regans,  necromancersatan,  drinkthevodka   Thank you so much!

Tag:   @theskinofmyemotions @3eyeddame@vikifirman@reyloshipper-starwars @londoncharlotte88 @megnificent07   @mafaldaz   @deactivated-veen @justmehanav @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze   @neversleeping4am, @icebluegriffin  @johhnshelby, @ subhamamu@unicorn-glitter-princess @thatsamegirl, @mafaldaz, @cafe-sabor-a-chocolate,  @collegecatlady,  @20th-centu-fairy-girl, @xlightning-disasterx  @niiight-dreamerrrr  @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze  @badwolf-in-the-impala  @mafaldaz @athewindsofsummer  @peaky50  @weeo   @thelightsideoflife@s0tc  @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze @stupiddarkkside @feverxxdream @eiliab @solidly-indulgent @eightyninesqueen @hollabackhollagram

Note: It’s been a Really Long Time since I posted anything. I’m terribly sorry. Not even sure most of you will remember me or my stories. I’ve had alot of challenges over the past few months as many of your know. But I’m trying really hard to get back into writing. So please go easy on me. This is the first thing I’ve completed in a long time.

As always, but especially now after such a long hiatus, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

This one goes out to @twistedrunes It was suppose to be for her bday, which was ages ago, so big fail, but atleast it’s here now and I know if anyone would understand, it’s her. This ones for you friend! For always having my back and supporting me. and having the privileged of being there for your as well.

Tommy’s barely spoken to you since that night and you’ve hardly had a word to share in return. He filled your world up before that, like time and space, only to suddenly disappear with the blink of an eye. And what he left behind was an empty gaping hole that hollows and aches within you in your quietest of moments, to remind you of what’s gone. 

What you did together was the sort of dirty deed that swims around in murky waters. The kind of thing that fills the heart with regret, but still leaves a quiet hunger in your veins when you get too close. But you still can’t decide if you wish you never knew what it was like to have a piece of him, to know him and the magic he encompasses, or wish you would have taken any road that didn’t lead to him and spared yourself the pain.

Instead of facing each other, avoiding one another became the unspoken rule. A game you thought you were both playing and perhaps even winning, until Tommy catches alone; leaving the room you still share with Arthur, though you’re not sure for how much longer. Your eyes meet briefly as he exits his room. You move to leave as if he hadn’t been there at all when he steps in front of you path. 

Those heavy iridescent blues like a net pulling you into his trap with a glance. You step back on instinct, trying to break free of the hypnotizing hold of his eyes, but he follows, and you find yourself walking right into a trap, wedged between the wall and a man you don’t want to trust. You don’t want to feel anything for. Not that the pace of your heart is listening.

You break from his stare, turning your gaze stubbornly to the peeling wallpaper off to the side and hold steadfast. But you can still feel him. You can feel the tailored ends of his jacket brush against your blouse. The heat of his body as he stands impossibly close. The distinct smell that emanates off him, whiskey and smoke like the factories that bloom overhead. The sound the steady rhythm of his breath makes. Calm – almost too calm. You can practically feel him on your skin, like the thick heavy dew that covers everything in the early morning hours. He clings to you, sinks into you… as if you could ever forget how that felt. But still you persist, avoiding his gaze you feel so heavy upon you.

He grabs at your jaw, tugging it toward him, forcing your hand. Insisting the way Tommy does so well. Reluctantly you turn to him, but your gaze holds steady on the lapels of his jacket in defiance. Until he says it. Until your name rolls off his tongue, smooth like velvet with a touch of grit at the end to bristle the hairs on the back of your neck.

You meet his gaze as if it isn’t a choice and instantly he has you. The power this man wields over you, the way he makes you feel, you don’t understand it, and that terrifies you. No one’s ever made you feel the way Tommy can and you’re undecided over whether you like that or not.

His lips are sealed as he stares down at you, but you feel his thumb drag up from your jaw and brush across your cheek. You fight the urge to lean into his touch as your heart begins to hammer in your chest. He swallows you in his gaze. Devours you, eating you alive, and you can’t break free. You can’t read his thoughts in those sea of blues. His intentions unknown, but the way he looks at you… you could almost swear he’s as dumbfounded and mesmerized by the pull between you two as you are.

You can’t feel the wall at your back anymore, the whole house seems to almost fall away as his blunt thumb drags across your skin. All that remains is his eyes, his touch, and you.

A creak on the stairs snaps you out of it. Your gaze shoots to the sound and you spot Polly standing at the top of the steps. Her gaze heavy upon you with scrutiny, sending the whole world crashing back at you with force.

“There’s work to be done, Thomas.” You tell him, pulling his hand from your face as you brush past him without a second glance. Your eyes glued on Polly’s disapproving stare as you move to her, slipping past her sheepishly on the stairs as you quickly descend.

Tommy doesn’t even need to turn around to know who awaits him. He’d know the presence of his aunt from a mile away in a pitch-black cave. A powerful woman, who fills space as readily as she commands it. And when he turns to face her, he finds the pointed gaze he knew would be waiting. She doesn’t speak as he moves for the stairs. She doesn’t need to. He can hear her. 

Telling him to stay away. Telling him to leave you alone. He knows. He already knows. And that’s why he can’t meet her gaze as he moves past, trotting quickly down the stairs without a second glance. He had no intention of cornering you, of touching you… But like so many other ill thought-out moments with you, he doesn’t know what came over him.

  There was a time you and Ada had been close. As girls and throughout the war. You had been thick as thieves, joined at the hip, latched at the ankle. The fire inside her drawing you in like a moth to a flame, to revel and soak in her light. Steal a spark of it to keep in a locket or ribbon close to your heart where she could always be near. But after the war things changed as they so often do with the passing of time. 

Sometimes slowly, like a cool breeze settling in around you, sinking into your skin until the chill is so thick it reaches in deep to your bones and then all you can feel is the unrelenting cold. Other times it’s swift, like the slip of a blade moving too quick and suddenly the tip of your finger is gone. You’re not sure which it is with Ada, slow and undetectable or fast and unstoppable. All you’re certain of is the absence of her in your heart and a trusted friend who once shared secrets by candlelight.

No one can let the idea of Kimber and race day rest until more pressing matters arise. When Ada’s secret comes to light, you finally realize why your dear friend has been so distant. And that perhaps you’ve finally lost her for good this time. Lost her to a man who stole her heart and bound her to him with his child.  All word of Kimber and his intentions for you fade to the back at the Shelby home. 

Ada’s pregnancy became just the distraction you didn’t know you needed, and while it pains you to see such an ill fate befall her, it only strengths your determination to go through with your plan. When Arthur leaves and you know he will leave, you’re determined, now more than ever, to make your own way in these cruel streets, without a ring on your finger and little ones biting at your ankle. A life that would only leave you at the mercy of a man who could philander, leave, or die at any moment; leaving you destitute and helpless. No, you would not become your mother. You will make your own way. You will do this. There is no stopping you.

You slip into your finest dress. The one Arthur bought you, because you said you needed it. Because with the guilt he feels over Linda you could have asked for anything. You slip the soft fabric over your body. Let it glide down your figure like rain drops slipping over bare skin. Pull the straps carefully in place with the tips of your fingers as you relish the feel of such delicate fabric against your skin. You’ve never worn a dress this beautiful, never had the occasion, but staring at your reflection in the mirror, touches of color on your face, fine fabrics draped over your body, you look quite convincing… you feel convincing. Not a broken young woman from the filth of Small Health. Something beautiful, something to be coveting and desired.

“Tommy know what you’re up to?”  A low quiet voice sounds from your back. You catch sight of John’s reflection in the mirror just before you turn to face him. Blue eyes ensnaring you as he leans against the door frame, drinking in your image.

Your face drops, unable to meet his gaze as you nod. It’s the sound of his scoff radiating through the room that sends your gaze back up on him. Watching silently as John plucks a pick and pinches it between his teeth in frustration, slowly shaking his head. You can hear the words he doesn’t says, but you know he’d never go against Tommy.

You watch him silently, watching the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, as he slowly shakes his head. A whirlwind of thoughts storming around him, none of them you can hear, and yet you can still feel them filling the space between you in the room.

He pushes off the wall with a start, tossing his pick to the floor with unnecessary force as he moves to you.

“Fuck it, let’s get outta ‘ere.” He tells you pointedly, blind determination bursting from his gaze as it holds you in its grips.

Your taken aback by the insinuation alone. It takes your mind a moment to realize he’s actually suggesting you abandon Tommy’s plan for the races. All of it. Take off together instead.  You’re not sure you’ve ever heard John go against Tommy and you’re not sure what to make of it until you watch a sad softness wash over his baby blues. 

He’s no fool. He knows what will happen if you go to races with Tommy. Why Kimber wanted you there. It’s that truth, the weight of it on your heart, the way it makes it beat faster, makes your veins suddenly hum with anxiousness, makes you nearly question everything, that has you pulling away from his gaze. Pulling your eyes away, trying to smother the fear building rapidly inside you.

You go to move past him, in pursuit of the door and the distance it brings, but John blocks your way, stepping in front of you, and your eyes meet before you can stop yourself.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, the words so earnest, so genuine, they melt your defenses. As the crooked grin curled on his mouth and boyish charm dancing in his eyes disarms you.

You can’t resist the smile that forms on your face in return. You lean into him, to place a kiss upon his cheek, but John surprises you, turning to you, he captures your mouth instead. The breath strips from the lung as he kisses you painfully hard. His hand gripping tightly at your face in desperation. You’re shocked and stunned, but only for a moment before you welcome his assault, meeting him with an urgency of your own. A jolt races through your spine as your senses fill with him. Heart pounding so hard you swear he must hear it as John devours you with his kiss.

It’s only when John breaks away, shaky breath fanning against your lips as he rests his forehead against yours, that you realize how different this kiss was from any you’ve shared before. Your eyes slowly blink open to his find his gaze heavy upon you, his thumb stroking steadily at your cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” He whispers, so close you swear you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours with every syllable.

You’re not sure you’ve ever wanted to stay in a moment the way you suddenly want to stay in this one. John’s never shown himself to you like this. Fear and pain, and something undefinably desperate in his eyes as he pierces through you just a heartbeat away.

“Let me get you outta ‘ere.” He tells you, but you have enough sense to realize his words spring from a ball of coiled emotion. Pulled too tight with the knowledge of what’s to happen today. What your arranged to do. What you must do. Because you can’t be saved. You won’t be. You refuse it. You can’t let John rescue you from this.

Pulling from his embrace, your mind is made up. This is something you need to do, even if it is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Even if it costs you everything.

Unable to see what awaits you in his eyes, you look only to open door and move for it without apologies or second guesses.

   Tommy pulls you close then spins you on the dance floor. You’ve never been to a place like this, where bright lights and big music surround you. This place, these people they’re unlike anything you’ve ever known and everything you seek to gain. You follow Tommy’s lead, your steps feel light, his hands strong, and for a moment your back home on Watery Lane. 

Dancing to the faint flicker of candle light, when your thoughts were naïve and your ambitions twice as strong, before you decided the only path to your dreams was through a man’s heart like the pierce of a dagger. Dancing in the arms of the man who has the power to bewitch even your sharpest instincts, you could almost swear you were back there, in the safety of your home. But as you move to the center of the dance floor you can feel Kimber’s eyes on you. Sharp like the prick of a needle as it slips to quickly as you finish a stich. You feel your muscles tense as you’re sent jarringly back into reality and the weight of what your about to do envelopes you like a blanket intended to suffocate.

Your heart begins to race as everything falls into place and your fate is sealed, and every second that passes only brings you one second closer, but then you feel it, the grip of his hands as he squeezes you. Subtle and steady, so indiscernible you could almost swear it didn’t happen, but you know better. It’s Tommy reassuring you the best way he knows how, without words. 

You turn to face him, taking in the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the depth of his blue eyes and the way they suck you in until you can’t look away. The intensity of his attention, you thrive under it, bask in it, feel yourself blossom under its rays. And for a moment, you’re untouchable. Nothing can hurt you. Lost in his eyes, you’re fearless, and capable of anything. Lost in his eyes you remember every moment in that cold musky room, the creak of the bed, the heat of his skin, the look of his gaze when he saw only you.

But then you remember how swiftly the winds can change. How easily he can discard you – can and will. That truth, that scar - It’s sharp and cold, and you nearly flinch when you feel it. You trusted him – the words vibrate and echo through you. Trusted him after everyone warned you. Believing he’d never intentionally hurt you. That somehow you were different, immune. Until he did. Till cut you like a knife whose blade chipped in the battle and now lies embedded in pieces in your heart. The wound festering and rotted, so you’ll never forget. Never forget what it’s like to be everything and then absolutely nothing. You can’t trust his kindness anymore then Kimber should trust his word. And in a room full of liar, you know you only have yourself to trust.

You told yourself you convinced Tommy to let you come. You’re that clever, that smart, but that isn’t what really happened. Tommy only does what he wants. Only truly out for himself. You know that now and can never forget. But staring into his eyes, you suddenly realize he needs you too. You may have lost your naivety, but with it you’ve gained insight… Tommy’s weak to you and if he has a chance of stealing everything away from Kimber without a fight, he’s needs you just as much as you need him. And with that truth, you know you’ll never be a silly little girl again.

You watch something register in those piercing blue eyes that have the power to make a fool out of you if you let them. You find yourself wondering if he can read every thought in your heart as you swiftly turn your gaze away and back over his shoulder as the trumpet fades out.

“Let’s get this business done.” You tell him through a tight jaw and forced smile, now more determined than ever to see the plan through and show Tommy just how formidable you can be

   You play along, pretending as if you don’t know Tommy’s made you a part of the deal. You smile and act coy as Kimber joins you at the bar. Pretend you’re delighted at the offer to see his giant mansion tucked away in the countryside just beyond the city. Pretend you’re impressed by all he’s amassed and can introduce you to, because it’s your charm and innocence he’s after, and as long as you spoon feed it to him, he’s good as yours. He’d never imagine you’re clever and cunning, and you use it against him at every chance.

But what surprises you more than even how easily Kimber falls into your hand with every stroke at his ego, is the way Tommy keeps watching you with an air of disinterest you’re not convinced by at all. You distantly wonder what he’s up to, before he breaks from the plan completely.

Taking you and Kimber by surprise when he asks for a moment alone, pulling you away from Kimber’s side just as everything was going to plan. But there’s something piercing and undefinable in the hollows of Tommy’s cavern eyes. Pulling you below, down into their pits as you stare back at him trying to decipher the secrets of a man so locked away he swallowed the key when he buried his heart. But you can’t say no to his request, your lips seem incapable of it. 

You let him lead you away as if it were a choice, as if you can control the pull between you. It’s a quiet corridor Tommy leads you to as your eyes scan briefly around the empty space, looking for anyone who might overhear, but it’s the grip of his hand upon the side of your face that draws your gaze back to his determined pair. Pulling you into his vortex.

“You don’t have to do this.” Tommy tells you suddenly, hollow blue eyes pinning you where you stand. His voice lower and more full of grit than usual. Sending the hairs on your skin standing on edge.

“It isn’t necessary. I’ll sneak you out the back to Arthur an’ I’ll tell Kimber you weren’t feeling well.” Tommy says in haste, undercurrents of panic sweeping through his veins as he stares at you. 

Rattling his bones though he’d never show it. Looking at you, his heart begins to thump the way it did that day on the train station platform. The power of it pulling him to you in a way he can’t stop anymore then he can understand. He had let himself believe he could live with you going through with this. The part of him that can do what has to be done regardless of the cost. But staring into the light that shines from your eyes, the clench of his gut tells him – he can’t let you sell your soul to that devil.

The raw urgency in Tommy’s eyes, it makes your knees tremble as if you suddenly stand on unsteady ground. It’s akin to the urgency you saw in his eyes that night. It makes you weak, weak to him. You hate that almost as much as you’re drawn to it. How anyone could break your heart, make you want to lash out against them in spite, but at the first sight of their softness, the first gentle touch, everything inside you wants to give in all over again. Somedays it makes you weak to him, right now it just makes you mad that he can have such power over you when you feel you so little in return.

Smacking his hand from your face, your mouth pulls tight. “You always underestimate me. I can do this, Tommy.” You lash out at him.

 You shove at his shoulder as you try to push past, but Tommy’s swift and easily drags you back against the wall. Pushing his way into your space, the heat of his breath fanning at the hair that dances around your face as he lingers just a breath away.

“Fuck him, fuck the plan. Fuck all of it. It doesn’t matter, ya understand?” Tommy whispers on a harsh determined breath, intensity blazing in his eyes. His fingers digging into your shoulders as he tries desperately to convince you.

“What I need is for you to be ok.” He says on a softer breath, his heart giving way. Revealing itself in a way it so rarely does, because staring at you as he imagines Kimber’s hands pawing at your gentle flesh, it feels like the shovels digging against the wall of his mind all over again, like a pick axe to his heart. You shouldn’t matter, he shouldn’t care about you in this way, but he does. He undeniably does.

Your heart races as you stare at Tommy, all sharp edges and dangerously handsome. Your heart melts and surrenders from the confines of your chest. Because you’re weak to him. Drawn to him inexplicably. Even at the determent of your own heart. Dancing around something intimate and real like two teenagers fumbling and groping about in the dark. You’re the same, you tell yourself, but you’re not entirely convinced it’s just that. 

The way your heart races under the glow of his affection tells you it’s something far more incendiary then that. Something that could and has caused you so much more grief and heartache. It would be easy to give into him now, but even under the warmth of his affections you know you can’t trust this. You know it could change on a dime. He’ll change his mind. He always does.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the plan.” You whisper back to him full of resolve. The ice on your breath enough to freeze any man’s heart, even one as cold as Tommy’s.

Slipping from his grasp, you put your back to him as you move away. “Two hours, Thomas.” You remind him. Your bones trembling with an anxiousness you blindly ignore. Refusing to stare into the face of fear. As long as you don’t acknowledge it, don’t think about what your about to do, you can go through with it. Only when the moment looks you dead in the eye will you face its ugly truth. Doing what has to be done… A woman’s work. Because that’s what you do sometimes - you race toward the flames with reckless regard for your own life while everyone else runs for safety.

Kimber eyes you on approach, gaze sweeping the length of your body with lascivious pride. He’s cocky and entitled, and that’s what makes him weak, you remind yourself as you swallow the last of your champagne, letting the bubbles go to your head.

“Shall we?” You smile with your best girlish charm. The charm that makes Arthur fold and John smirk. The kind of charm that makes Tommy’s guard slip. The kind he told you was a weapon and if used probably could bring the best of men to their knees. The space between your body and heart feels so vast one could nearly swear they were separate entities entirely. 

And if you prayed anymore, you’d pray for the strength to be like Tommy. The strength to do what has to be done no matter the cost, or how much it frightens you. Here in this place you won’t feel. In this space you will deny the racing of your heart, the tremble in your veins. There’s no room for feelings here, only what must be done, what will be done and everything you stand to gain from it.

   The drive back from Kimber’s is bumpy. The road no different from the drive-up Tommy took to retrieve you, but every bump, and every rattle somehow feels harder, more jolting as he glances over at you from across the seat. You sit silently beside him, staring out, without a sound. No familiar light, no bursting spark… unmoving. 

And while you’ve been distant and quiet with him for days now, this silence feels deafening as Tommy wraps his lips another yet another cigarette, pulling and tugging away at it with tight unease. He tries to focus on the road, but his gaze just keeps wandering over to you. The seconds tick like a clock winding up, each tick tightening the muscles in his shoulders a little more, until he can’t bare the pressure a moment longer and he has to break you out of your trance or he’ll surely combust.

Subtle as not to startle you, Tommy runs the back of his hand down the length of your arm. You don’t move and suddenly the thought races through his mind, what if you never move again, but as he reaches your wrist and his eyes glance back over from the road he finds you staring at him. Silently staring at him, lips sealed, eyes blinking, suspended. And the momentary relief that washes over Tommy to seeing you move, is quickly dashed as he stares into your eyes. 

Dry and tearless, though he almost wishes they weren’t, because the emptiness in your gaze is startling. It sends Tommy’s eyes shooting back to the road. His mind racing, recalculating – what has he done? How could he let you do this? How could he agree to it? Glancing back, he finds you’re still there, there and yet miles away, somewhere he can’t see anymore then he can reach.

His heart heavy with guilt, Tommy reaches for your cheek, running his knuckles gently against the apple of it. Willing some spark to ignite back inside you. A reaction. Something. Show him a glimmer of the girl who bewitched him so effortlessly, but you only turn away – from him and his touch. 

A feeling akind to war rekindles inside Tommy’s chest. The same sickening heaviness he used to feel when he’d send men out on orders he knew they’d never return from. The look in their eyes as they realized they weren’t coming back, the way they’d look at him – Sergeant Major – before charging out of the trenches to their inevitable demise.  Something in your eyes harkens back to those pits of hell. Tommy’s pulled so many triggers he’s lost track, but there’s something about sending a man that trusts him to slaughter that snuffs out another piece of his soul.

You echo through him like the blast from a shell as Tommy pulls his hand back and coughs dryly, trying to loosen the tightness in this throat and chest. Trying not to be pulled under with the realization he’s betrayed you now twice, in the worst of ways.

Pulling the flask from his jacket pocket, he extends it toward you, nudging your arm faintly. He watches you from his periphery as you glance down at it without response.

“Take it,” He orders, nudging you again, before you finally move. Taking it into your hands, you unscrew the cap and draw it to your lips.

Tommy knows he can’t fix the damage he’s done, can’t mend the kind of wounds gaping in your eyes, but he can ease your suffering, like a shot of morphine to an ailing soldier on the battlefield.

    What kind of person are you? What kind of person does the things you’ve done? The words float in and settle like a storm moving in from the sea, to linger unbudgingly against the raw strip of earth that makes up your current state of mind. You listen to the water shift around you as you move, listen as the fire cracks and cackles at you tauntingly from the fireplace.  You stare down at your body, taking in the shape of it. The softness of your belly, the width of your hips, skimming steadily down the length of your legs, to where your toes peak out and breach the water. When did this become your body, you wonder, as if you haven’t seen it a million times before. And more importantly, why does it feel so foreign to you now?

You’ve stripped yourself of your dress, and scrubbed your flesh clean, but still the feeling persists, and you find yourself wondering if it’ll always feel this way… Like a stranger draped in your skin.

You lied to Pol about the races. You could see in her eyes, she wanted to press, but she didn’t, instead she drew you a bath. John didn’t say a word when you and Tommy returned. He took one look at you, just one, and headed straight for the door, as if the truth was blinding upon you.

The thought of John and Pol makes you sink back down in the water. Drenching your shoulders, pulling your head beneath the warm soap water. You listen to your heart beat in the ears, let it drown out the noise in your head. You focus on the sound and the distraction it brings until your lungs burn and demand for air, only then do you surface once again.

You linger low in the tub, water encircling and swaying against your lips, every exhale from your nose creating tiny ripples in the water. You’re safe here, from your family, from the world… from yourself. You almost convince yourself.

It’s the creak on the step that catches your ear. Second to the top, old and slowly rotting. You slide slowly up in the tub and spot a figure in the low light moving down the hall. Tall and lanky, there’s no need to see his face, but the sight of him alone creates a deep unwavering ache from the hollows inside you. You think he may be the only thing left in this world that could draw you out of this bath tonight.

You dry and dress quickly, your damp hair soaking into the fabric of your nightdress as it hangs down your back. The pads of your feet step light footed and swift down the hall until you reach the room you share. You slip inside, careful to close the door softly behind you. You find him already tucked in bed, eyes closed, chest even. The sight both peaceful and disheartening, because you need him, because he’s the only thing that feels safe.

Moving to the edge of the bed, you lean in to blow out the candle on the nightstand. It’s only then does he stir. His tired blue eyes flutter open, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth with the sight of you.

He pulls back the blanket as your pull off your nightdress. Heart racing, you swear you see his hand waiver in his invite, the blanket tremble in his hand before your climbing atop him. Bringing your bare fresh down upon his, wrapping yourself around his body. Still dressed in most of his cloths from the day, you feel Arthur stiffen beneath you, but his arms find their way around you just the same. A cautious tension gripping his muscles, but still he reaches for you, comforts you.

“Vera,” He whispers your name, concern tightening at his throat.

You want to tell him everything, but you can’t as you burrow against him, slipping your hands beneath his undershirt to let the heat of his skin warm you as you bury your nose in his neck.

“Let me grab your nightdress.” Arthur persists when you don’t respond, arm extending out against the floorboards. But you cling to him, unsure why you need him to touch your flesh, this flesh that feels so foreign to you now. You breathe him in deeply, old familiar musky scent filling your senses with the kind of relief nothing else has been able to give you tonight. The sense your completely safe.

“Don’t go.” You gasp out sharply, arms squeezing tighter. Arthur stops searching for your nightdress immediately, his hand slipping back beneath the blanket to hold you close with your plea.

Clutching you tightly as he rolls you both onto your side. Holding you firmly in his arms as your breath wavers against his neck.

“I can’t lose you.” You confess, the first set of tears you’ve let surface now burn at your eyes. Desperation clutching at your heart like a squeezed fist. You never once considered stopping him. Never once considered stealing the joy he finds with Linda. You wouldn’t dream of taking that away. But in this moment, as you’re riddled with so much confusion and self-doubt, you know he’s the only place that feels safe. Your first hero, your home.

His fingertips message at your scalp as he leans in close, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead. His breath and lips lingering for a moment longer. “I’m here Little Lady.” Arthur promises. “I’m here.”

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness (1 of 6, mostly work safe for 1)

Old, old fic of mine...touched up with tweaks to words, grammar, sentence structure that sort of thing. Nothing too major a change, just the perfectionist in me trying to make it a smoother and more enjoyable read....I got the urge to reread this, and of course, couldn’t make it through without trying to “fix” it. And someday I really need to write the sequel, Light Seducing Darkness.

I believe this was my first foray into Hook Emma/Captain Swan fanfic. It starts out i guess R rated, but by chapter two vastly becomes super smutty. This is set in season two, is an AU, has Rumplestiltskin character death. According to fanfic net I originally wrote this in July 2013..., long before season five made Hook as a Dark One a thing. XD

As such, it was written with some thoughts in my head, (I looked at my old author’s notes) where I had thought Hook wasn’t aware of what would happen if he used the dagger on the dark one. I firmly believed he wanted to get his revenge and die, and would have been pissed to find himself stuck as the new Dark One. Although in this fic, from what I remember, I don’t think I gave him much time to be pissed, between the evil queenS orders, and the lust that quickly spilled over in an effort to combat it.

Will be posting all six parts of the completed first in a series fic onto my tumblr, as well as updating it at archive and fanfic.net. Will be posting on tumblr as I finished going over each chapter. 

There are moments, all too brief respites, where everything stands frozen and still. It is a lie, the quiet that it brings giving them the illusion of the luxuries they no longer have. Chief among them is time, every moment stolen, every second bringing them closer to what just may be their deaths. However, there is no time to grieve, no time to wage protest against an unfair fate. There exists only now, the running and the plotting, readying themselves for a war they are ill equipped to fight under the best of circumstances, and that was before Gold had been killed.

There's no time to mourn him, no time to do anything more than acknowledge the fallen. Gold stands to be the first in what will become a string of massacres, the worst nightmare of many coming true as Storybrooke falls under the power of not one, but TWO evil queens.

Maybe, just maybe they would stand a chance if it had only been Cora and Regina to contend with. Maybe then they could have won, somehow backed only by the power of the savior, a power that she herself didn't understand and had barely begun to explore. But there had never been time, and Emma had never seen need to truly explore the potential within her, the magic that left her so frightened and disturbed.

She regrets that now, a million if only running through her head. Wondering if only she had made the time, if only she had put aside her duties as sheriff, if only she had taken seriously Gold's attempts to tutor her. Nothing and no one can change the past now, not Emma as the savior, and not even Gold with all the power of the Dark One at his fingertips.

All that power had done little good once Gold had lost control of the dagger. Enslaved by the one who controlled the blade, Gold had been rendered helpless, unable to do anything to ward off the death that had finally come calling.

It wasn't just that they had lost a valuable ally in the war against evil. It was the power the evil queens had gained, the magic that was now theirs to command. A power they were all to quick to use, despite the fact that their tool was a staggered weapon at best.

Emma tried not to shudder as she remembered the scream that had followed Gold's death. The scream that had been unlike anything she had ever before heard, the pain and shock of what was happening registered within it, leaving the Dark One confused, fighting against fate, against orders. That resistance to do as commanded, was the only reason why Emma and her family were still alive. Was the only reason why they were able to run long enough to scheme. Not that the Charmings had much in the way of ideas, not when the dagger was so essential to defeating that which was coming.

It was hard not to give in to those hopeless feelings. To not wonder what chance they stood, with the power of the Dark One turned against them. Even as Emma fought against despairing, she acknowledged that she didn't know enough, not to fight and not to use the power locked inside her. For all that lack of, there was hope, Emma realizing that although she didn't know much about being the savior, the young woman also didn't know enough to truly believe the Dark One was completely unstoppable, dagger aside. And she disliked immensely the pitying looks her father and mother both gave her when she had said so.

Perhaps it was because they were of the other world, and always had lived with the knowledge that there was no true way to destroy the Dark One. Even before the existence of the dagger had become known, the people who had lived in the Enchanted Kingdoms, had grown up believing in the Dark One's invincibility. They had learned first hand, the failures of those who had made attempts on the Dark One's life, had been terrorized and manipulated for years far longer than Gold had been alive.

The Dark One already so terrifying, had become something else entirely under Rumplestiltskin's control. The man had twisted the legends, distorted truths until the name Rumplestiltskin was feared, the man rather than the monster fear, and with that faded memory had gone many’s truths behind the dagger. Through his masterful manipulations, most had gone on to forget that the Dark One had once been a slave, that whoever possessed the dagger had controlled the beast. Forgotten about, it was now a painful reminder that had been slammed into them, stark and potent in its devastating truths.

It was that reminder that was snuffing the hope out of David and Mary Margaret's eyes. That and the memories of those failed attempts to kill, to corner, to even contain Rumplestiltskin and his power. They remembered well the hardships, and the sheer desperation that had led the Blue Fairy into finally discovering a way, albeit a temporary one. A  way meant to hold him, to imprison him long enough so that a single generation of people would have peace of mind.

There would be no repeating that way, even if the Blue Fairy had been capable of repeating that spell. In the realm of Storybrooke, even with magic brought back into it, there simply wasn't enough of the Enchanted Kingdoms in this land. There wasn't enough of the ingredients needed to power the spell, no time to prepare, no location secured to act as a prison. There wasn't enough of anything, David and Mary Margaret knowing this, and thus choosing not to build their daughter's hopes up.

They held back, but didn't stop their daughter from scheming. Desperate plan after desperate plan came flowing, none of them seeming plausible, none of them offering true hope of survival.  Emma wouldn't, couldn’t, give up, not even when faced with the Dark One, watching as her gun's bullets slammed into his black leather clad chest.

Was it the bullets or the pain of them that seemed to confuse him? He'd actually look down, stare at the small holes in his clothing, smoke curling upwards out of them. His hand would raise, finger fitting into one of the holes. No blood, the skin already healing, mending together as though the bullet had never torn it open.

No further proof was needed that their weapons were useless. And yet Emma kept on firing. Watching the body jerk back with each shell's piercing, seeing the expression on the Dark One's face, a lost look of a despair all his own. She didn't truly understand the expression, or the reasons behind it. Why would he allow such pain to color his eyes? Pain that had nothing to do with the bullets, or Mary Margaret's arrows. Hadn't this been what he had wanted? Hadn't he pursued Gold over time and space, in an effort to bring about his end and claim his power? Hadn't he become exactly what he had always wanted?

Emma didn't know  that she was jumping to conclusions. Didn't know, and truth be known, wouldn't have cared. She was blinded by what she saw as his betrayal, cursing herself a fool for ever even giving him a moment's benefit of doubt. She should have known better, DID know better. Once burned, you never, ever give a person a second chance to hurt you. And yet for him, she had. For him she had pushed back the betrayals, choosing to ignore how he had left her and her friends, even her mother, to die in a rotting dungeon, or of the time shortly after, where he had been set on killing her.

Nothing personal he had claimed. And she had believed him! Was it her own guilt at work there? Was it the fact that Emma had not only abandoned him, but left him trapped at the top of a beanstalk, that led her to grudgingly bear him no ill will? Was it that same guilt that made her feel responsible, made Emma think that if she had done one thing differently, none of this would have come to past? Or did she simply regret not killing him when she had had the chance?

No way to know, no time to mull over the what ifs. She was out of bullets, and he was coming, his black leather riddled with smoking holes, but his body otherwise fine. More than fine, if one ignored the anguish of his expression. Always a handsome man, that beauty had become more pronounced, devastatingly dark and seductive, all the better to lure foolish maidens to their ruin.

Emma wasn't foolish, but even she couldn't look at that dark beauty and not be affected. She rebelled against the want that fisted inside her, total defiance spurring her to fling her gun at him. His arm raised, the gun bouncing off harmlessly. She barely registered the sound of steel being drawn, the borrowed sword in her grip as she took up a new stance, readying herself to die fighting.

David was somewhere to the right of her, a sword that had slayed dragons, in his hand. Arrows came from the left of her, Mary Margaret rapidly depleting her stock of projectiles. They were catching on fire, bursting into smoke instead of striking him, though the Dark One hadn't seemed intent on defending himself.

With a challenging scream, Emma and her father both rushed the Dark One at the same time. David's sword twirled in his grip, slashing downwards one moment, then attempting to belly thrust the next. Emma's blade met the metal of his hook, the Dark One effortlessly holding her back. She didn't fight his shove back, instead rebounding, spinning round to come at his head from a new angle. But the blow didn't connect, his hook there, stopping her blade, even as David mercilessly hacked away at his sides. He came away with nothing for his troubles, save to chip away bits of the leather of the Dark One's coat.

Emma bit out a frustrated sound, lashing out with her legs. At best the target she chose would distract him, at worse leave him infuriated. Her knee connected, and for a second it seemed the breath blew out of the Dark One. Her father quick to seize the advantage, went for the Dark One's heart, intending to split it in half with his blade.

And then David was airborne, a self presevation of the Dark One sending Emma's father flying. He didn't go far, the forest too crowded with trees, one of which he slammed into headfirst. Emma heard her mother scream out, Mary Margaret running towards where David had landed. He wasn't moving, the sword slamming tip first into the ground, inches away from his body.

Emma didn't dare think that David might be dead. Didn't dare allow herself to fear she had lost a father she had barely begun to know. She just tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, grim determination in her to somehow bring down this monster.

The sword was caught mid blow, wrenched free of her hand by an unnatural force. She wouldn't let that deter her, striking him close fisted in the face and coming away with a hand that had gone numb from the contact. An arrow flew, just missing the Dark One's face, Emma hearing Mary Margaret screaming at her to run.

Even if she wasn’t stubbornly rebelling against such a command, there was no chance to flee. The Dark One had grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up off the ground. Leaving Emma choking one instant, growling the next. More arrows flew past, Mary Margaret refusing to take her own advice, refusing to abandon her husband and daughter to this unstoppable monster.

Emma felt her mother's frustration, as she kicked out with her legs, clawing at the arm of the hand that so effortlessly held her up off the ground. She didn't want to believe she was going to die like this, one hand digging her nails into his, the other held towards him in a warding gesture.

"Hook..." She barely got out his name, her voice sounded like gravel in response to the grip crushing down on her throat. "Please..." Emma hated that she was begging, but her options had run out. There was nothing left to do, but plead with a monster, hope there was enough of the man left inside him, to listen and show mercy.

"Emma..." The Dark One had hesitated, his grip relaxing slightly. Sorrow colored his sea dark eyes, an expression so unsettling on he who had once been nothing but wickedly flirtatious. Emma saw then that he really didn't want to do this, that he was truly enslaved by the dagger. That he was fighting even now, the compulsions of his mistress' command. And yet it would do none of them any good, could only delay the inevitable.

"Fight it." urged Emma, still speaking in the raspy tones forced on her by that bruising grip of his.

"I want to." He admitted, and then his grip tightened again. "But I can't..."

She tried to scream in frustration, but it came out a mere whimper. How did one fight, how did one hope to win against the Dark One's power? How did anyone do anything but lay down and die, when faced with such unfair odds.

"Help me." The Dark One gritted out through clenched teeth. Emma's eyes had widened, the woman shocked completely at the Dark One's plea. "Save me..."

All seemed frozen, waiting for Emma's answer. But how could she save him, when Emma couldn't even save herself? The familiar frustrations bloomed within her, Emma wishing she understood the power she was supposed to have. Would it have been enough? Was there anyway for the product of true love to combat such an ancient, and all powerful evil?

Her vision was blurring, the grip on her throat slowly but surely suffocating her. Wetness pricked at her eyes, but Emma refused to give in to tears. Sound echoed from a distance, Mary Margaret's scream barely more than a whisper. She saw faces of her past float before her, Neal, her son Henry, that of her parents and friends. Even Gold appeared, a ghostly vision of the past that helped remind her that the power was within her, Emma merely had to focus to find it, to know what she needed to do.

Difficult to focus when one was losing their tenacious grip on reality. Emma reached out, her hand making contact with the Dark One's chest. He felt warm, so full of life and vitality, in comparison to the cold that was streaking icy tendrils through her. Emma wanted that warmth, wanted to use it to stave off the cold. Her hand moved, doing an unconscious caress as she dipped inside his shirt to touch directly on his skin.

So focused was she on the warming feel of his flesh that Emma almost missed the look that flashed in the Dark One's eyes. Almost didn't see Hook looking back at her, the pain and surprise being eaten away by something primal. It was sin of a most wicked kind that gazed out at her, the ever flirtatious pirate longing for something she had never been prepared to give him. Emma would give it to him now, if it meant they stood a chance of surviving, if it meant it would buy Mary Margaret enough time to flee.

With the breath being choked out of her, Emma directed her touch lower, her accidental caress gaining purpose. The breath hissed out of the Dark One, Hook looking as though he was the one struggling to breathe now. His eyes were swallowed up in desire, when her hand slipped into his pants, Emma not bothering with being coy, or teasing, directly grasping hold of his cock, and giving it a purposeful squeeze.

Hook reacted immediately, the grip on her throat loosening as his erection sprung to potent life. Emma had a second to be amazed, and even made breathless and dazed, she didn't miss the cocksure smirk that he gave her, Hook proud of himself and the formidable size of his erection. He had been right to boast, and a part of her was actually anticipating feeling that length of his thrusting inside her.

Continuing to touch him, to stroke and grip the focal point of his arousal, Emma looked Hook right in the eyes, a smirk of her own inviting him to play. "What say we take this some place more private?"

It was all she had to say, Hook's arm going around her waist, pulling her against him so that her breasts squished against his chest. Emma didn't allow a second of hesitation to affect her, knowing there was no room for doubts at this point in time. This was the right course, the only course, and though it might just be delaying the inevitable, it might just buy the needed time. Time for her to figure out her powers, or time for Mary Margaret to find Ruby and Henry, and flee to where the Dark One's powers could not follow.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Be Continued....

[the-light-followed]

MORT (1987) [DISC. #4; DEATH #1]

“‘Why did you have to save me?’  The answer worried him.  He thought about it as he squelched all the way home.  …As he lay shivering in bed it settled in his dreams like an iceberg. In the midst of his fever he muttered, ‘What did he mean, FOR LATER?’”

Rating: 6/10

Standalone Okay: Yes

Read First: Sure, why not!

Discworld Books Masterpost: [x]

* * * * * * * * * *

I’m just going to get it out of the way right off the bat: as much as I hate to admit it, the Death books are my least favorite of the Discworld sub-series.  (I mean, I still love them, a lot, but I don’t love them as much.)  And I know, I know—Death is an excellent character, and I love all of his cameos in the other Discworld books.  I love Susan Sto Helit, because I’m a sensible human lady with eyes and I recognize a brilliant, beautiful powerhouse of a woman when I read about her.  But the Death books just…aren’t my favorite.

And it’s doubly strange that I still think that’s true, even though Reaper Man might be my favorite Discworld book, depending on the day.  It’s definitely top three.

Mort, though, is—kind of boring.  Actually, no.  Let me rephrase that, without the italics this time: Mort is kind of boring.  The story itself is unique, and the concept is fantastically interesting, and I’m almost sad about that.  Because Mort, the character, is unimpressive.  I spend half the time reading this book wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.  It might just be that he’s a teenage idiot—I do sort of have the same feeling with him (and especially all his interactions with Princess Keli) that I do any time I’m forced to read Romeo and Juliet. It’s a sort of constant, high-pitched, internal shriek of rage and distress.

Stop that!  Stop what you’re doing right now!  Grow some common goddamn sense!!

But he never does.  I am continually disappointed.

Even beyond his regrettable life choices, the kid is just dull.  Some early text flavor we get for Mort includes gems such as: “Mort was interested in lots of things.  Why people’s teeth fitted together so neatly, for example.  He’d given that one a lot of thought.  Then there was the puzzle of why the sun came out during the day, instead of at night when the light would come in useful.  He knew the standard explanation, which somehow didn’t seem satisfying.”

Yikes, buddy.  Yikes. Might as well be interested in watching paint dry.

It’s wild to me that of everyone and everything involved in Mort, Pratchett picked—well, Mort—to be his main character.  Mort, who complains that he’s not an ordinary human being living an ordinary human life.  He’s got a super awesome thing going for him, given that he’s Death’s actual apprentice, and he wants to be normal and boring?  By the time he makes this complaint, he’s already messed up reality and, frankly, a very easy job by being a lovestruck twit over a girl whose eyes he met exactly once across a crowded room—just before her father was brutally murdered.  He’s clearly already the king of bad decision-making.  It’s baffling that he wants to be even more boring, too.

We’ve got so many cool and interesting characters that we could have focused on instead!  Actual, literal Death!  Ysabell, his immortally teenage daughter, who’s been sixteen for thirty-five years!  We’ve even got Albert, a formerly great and terrible wizard so terrified of death (and Death) that he chose to become Death’s eternal servant rather than die!  Any one of those would make a cool as hell main character.  We could have had it all, but instead we focus on a dunderheaded teenager, distracted by hormones and totally lacking in common sense.

I get that Mort is acting as a sort of audience surrogate, coming from a vanilla human background, learning as he goes, and only just beginning to move in the occult and magical circles.  But I would be about one hundred million times more interested in following Ysabell’s journey from normal human orphan to the never-aging daughter of Death, both rescued and trapped by her father in his land outside of reality, where time never moves and there’s no one to interact with except the stories of the outside world as they write themselves in the library.

She’s a cool goth romantic trapped in the body of a sixteen-year-old for decades.  Her favorite thing to do is read real, historical accounts of love stories where everyone dies horribly.  Death is her dad and why is this book not about her?

Mort, I’d argue, doesn’t really get interesting himself until he and Death start picking up some of each other’s traits.  And even then, if Mort-going-inhuman is cool, it’s overshadowed entirely by Death becoming a person rather than simply an anthropomorphic personification.  It’s, just, damn.  Death’s arc is beautiful and poignant and has lasting implications for the Discworld. Meanwhile, Mort’s whole…thing…will soon be fridged so that his daughter, Susan Sto Helit, can begin her reign as unstoppable badass and also queen of my heart.

Susan is great.  On second thought, I wish this book was about Susan.

Conceptually, everything about this story is wonderful.  I love the plot elements, the concept itself is so unique and executed well, and Mort does an amazing job of setting up the rest of the Death series within the Discworld.  It’s impossible to read Mort and not think about what it means to be a person—recognizing that everyone must and will die, that there’s no rhyme or reason to it, but also knowing that fighting back against that inevitability is built into us on a fundamental level.

Not yet.  Not today. Fairness might not matter; justice might not matter.  But part of what makes us human is that we think they should.  We want them to.  

And, by the end of Mort, Death agrees.

Part of the reason I keep coming back to Mort is that I do like seeing the seeds of what Death will become in later Discworld books. Mort, Ysabell, and Albert—and eventually Susan as well—all give Death the experience and the space to become more than what he was meant to be.  Rather than just an anthropomorphic personification, just a thing, Death becomes a person.  He has wants and desires and needs, and he acts on them, sometimes despite the fact that it causes problems with The Duty—his literal, actual reason to exist.  He grows and changes.  He cares.

Compared to the Death we see in The Colour of Magic, who seems relentlessly antagonistic to poor Rincewind—who implies, several times over, that he is actually, actively, trying to kill people himself—the Death we meet at the beginning of Mort is already a relief. He’s perfectly neutral, not threatening at all.  He’s an entity who performs a necessary service without any sort of emotion at all.  But by the end of Mort, the Death we see is—well, I find him flat-out comforting.

It’s the little things.  He goes fishing.  He makes jokes, even if they’re creepy and morbid and so specific to his field that most people don’t understand them at all.  He likes cats.  He’s a good cook.

[Death’s Glory, by Paul Kidby, off his website. Shit, I love his official Discworld art. This, I think, shows his attempt at making a fishing lure that Pratchett describes in a way that seems—nightmarish at best.]

And it’s the big things, too.  Death makes mistakes.  He plays hooky from his work, which is a bit more impressive when you remember that it’s the literal reason for his existence.  He knows right from wrong, and when it comes down to it, I think it’s less important that he chooses to do what’s right over the letter of the law (though I also appreciate that he does), and more important that he can choose at all.

“THERE IS NO JUSTICE,” Death likes to say, “JUST ME.” But when Death is a person, and on top of that, a good person, it almost feels like the same thing.

You have to love the see-saw of Mort and Death going wrong in equal but opposite ways, both of them fascinating (and horrifying). Mort starts losing his humanity as he picks up aspects of Death, leaving him with more and more of the power and knowledge, but none of the steadiness and impartiality that Death has shown so far. And as Death gains humanity, gains personhood, he starts to feel and to understand those feelings.  

It’s beautiful to see, but it’s also desperately sad.  I think it’s almost cruel to give an emotional range to an undying being who must be there for the end of every life, who must be alone for most of time.

But he gets the good things out of existence, too. Over the course of the Death books, he seems to think it’s worth it more often than it’s not.  So it’s a good thing that even after everything’s sorted out and the humans have been given back their normal lives, Death keeps what he has taken.

One of my favorite quotes:

“WHAT IS IT CALLED WHEN YOU FEEL WARM AND CONTENT AND WISH THINGS WOULD STAY THAT WAY?  ‘I guess you’d call it happiness,’ said Harga.  Inside the tiny, cramped kitchen, strata’d with the grease of decades, Death spun and whirled, chopping, slicing and flying.  His skillet flashed through the fetid steam.  He’d opened the door to the cold night air, and a dozen neighborhood cats had strolled in, attracted by the bowls of milk and meat���some of Harga’s best, if he’d known—that had been strategically placed around the floor. Occasionally Death would pause in his work and scratch one of them behind the ears.  ‘Happiness,’ he said, and puzzled at the sound of his own voice.”

While Death moves more and more towards being a person, Mort goes the opposite way, and I, reluctantly, have to agree he’s right to give it all up and go back to being purely human.  As conceptually cool and interesting as it is to be apprenticed to Death, to be more powerful and more real than any other living person, people aren’t meant to live like that, and certainly not meant to live forever.  Mort understands that.

As Death says, “YOU COULD HAVE HAD ETERNITY.”  

And in reply: “‘I know,’ said Mort.  ‘I’ve been very lucky.’”

Honestly, in the course of writing this all out, I’ve almost talked myself back around to really loving this book.  It’s got everything we all want from a Discworld novel: exquisitely crafted and delivered puns, punchy and memorable quotes, unique and well-written characters in a unique and well-crafted setting, a perfect blend of humorous absurdity and heart-wrenching sincerity.  And unlike the first few Discworld books (especially The Colour of Magic, but I’d include all of the previous three novels), Pratchett is clinging less to established High Fantasy tropes and relying more on Discworld-specific flavor. Ankh-Morpork feels more and more like a real place with every visit, and even the other regions of the Disc come across less as never-explored, baffling and bizarre foreign lands (Here There Be Dragons!) and more as places that really do exist, even if we haven’t seen them personally just yet.

And, if nothing else, Mort is so, so important to the rest of the Discworld books from this point on because it establishes exactly what and who Death is on the Discworld.  He’s a person.  He is, at his core, good.  And maybe, as Death says, “THERE IS NO JUSTICE, JUST ME,” but I think it’s incredibly reassuring while reading the series to know that no matter how badly things go wrong, no matter how much danger our Discworld heroes are in or how nerve-wracking things get, the absolute worst thing that could happen is that they end up in Death’s hands.  And Death will treat them as they deserve.

I will always appreciate Mort for that peace of mind.  (And I can appreciate Mort for it, too, even if I still want to grab that ding-dong dumbass by the shoulders and just shake—ahem.  Sorry.)

* * * * * * * * * *

Side Notes:

I need everyone to read this quote about a party at the Patrician’s palace and join me in my confusion: “In fact some two hundred of the Patrician’s guests were now staggering and kicking their way through the Serpent Dance, a quaint Morporkian folkway which consisted of getting rather drunk, holding the waist of the person in front, and then wobbling and giggling uproariously in a long crocodile that wound through as many rooms as possible, preferably ones with breakables in, while kicking one leg vaguely in time with the beat, or at least in time with some other beat.”

Vetinari let them do WHAT

Sure, he’s not technically Vetinari yet, he’s never been named at all, but that’s still proto-Vetinari’s guests at proto-Vetinari’s house and he’s letting them do WHAT

Rincewind pops up briefly in this book, serving as an assistant to the Librarian.  Is this an important cameo?  No, probably not.  Does it make me smile down at my book like I’m seeing a long-absent friend, even if there’s only been one book so far in the series that does not include him? Absolutely, yes.  Hi, Rincewind!  Missed you, buddy!  See you in a minute, Sourcery is coming up next!

Ysabell and Mort have such a strange love story.

“‘I don’t want to get married to anyone yet,’ he added, suppressing a fleeting mental picture of the princess.  ‘And certainly not to you, no offense meant.’  ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the Disc,’ she said sweetly.”

“‘Obviously we shouldn’t get married, if only for the sake of the children.’  Mort nodded.”

“DAUGHTER, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.  WHY DID YOU AID THIS FOOL?  Ysabell curtsied nervously.  ‘I—love him, Father.  I think.’ ‘You do?’ said Mort, astonished.  ‘You never said!’  ‘There didn’t seem to be time,’ said Ysabell.”

Teenagers. Honestly.

We get a lot more discussion about belief and reality in this one—Mort himself kind of embodies the point as he becomes “more real” and begins to stroll through walls, or doors, or arrows.  Nobody can see Death wandering around the mundane world (with the exception of cats and the magical community) because nobody expects to see him; they don’t believe he’ll be there, and so they don’t see him.  Princess Keli died, according to history, so even though Mort “saved” her, history (and the population of her kingdom) start to write her out.  Belief = reality.  We change the world with the force of that belief.

Favorite Quotes:

“I?  KILL? said Death, obviously offended. CERTAINLY NOT.  PEOPLE GET KILLED, BUT THAT’S THEIR BUSINESS.  I JUST TAKE OVER FROM THEN ON.  AFTER ALL, IT’D BE A BLOODY STUPID WORLD IF PEOPLE GOT KILLED WITHOUT DYING, WOULDN’T IT?”

“Let’s just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colorful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.”

“‘How do you get all those coins?’ asked Mort.  IN PAIRS.”

“‘Are you going to send me home?’ he said.  Death reached down and swung him up behind the saddle.  BECAUSE YOU SHOWED COMPASSION?  NO.  I MIGHT HAVE DONE IF YOU HAD SHOWN PLEASURE.  BUT YOU MUST LEARN THE COMPASSION PROPER TO YOUR TRADE.  ‘What’s that?’  A SHARP EDGE.”

“They’re always telling people how much better it’s going to be when they’re dead.  We tell them it could be pretty good right here if only they’d put their minds to it.”

“It had been a long afternoon.  The mountaineer had held on to his icy handhold until the last moment and the execute had called Mort a lackey of the monarchist state.  Only the old lady of 103, who had gone to her reward surrounded by her sorrowing relatives, had smiled at him and said he was looking a little pale.”

“Logic would have told Mort that here was his salvation…Logic would have told him that interfering with the process a second time around would only make things worse. Logic would have said all that, if only Logic hadn’t taken the night off too.”

“‘Why did you have to save me?’  The answer worried him.  He thought about it as he squelched all the way home.  …As he lay shivering in bed it settled in his dreams like an iceberg. In the midst of his fever he muttered, ‘What did he mean, FOR LATER?’”

“‘I mean, friend or foe?’ he stuttered, trying to avoid Mort’s gaze.  ‘Which would you prefer?’ he grinned.  It wasn’t quite the grin of his master, but it was a pretty effective grin and didn’t have a trace of humor in it.  The guard sagged with relief, and stood aside.  ‘Pass, friend,’ he said.”

“The sword burned icy cold in his hand, dragging him on in a dance that would not end until there was nothing left alive.  And that time came, and Mort stood alone except for Death, who said, ‘A fine job, boy.’ And Mort said, MORT.”

“‘I think there’s something you ought to know,’ said the princess.  THERE IS? said Death.  (That was a cinematic trick adapted for print.  Death wasn’t talking to the princess.  He was actually in his study, talking to Mort.  But it was quite effective, wasn’t it?  It’s probably called a fast dissolve, or a crosscut/zoom. Or something.  An industry where a senior technician is called a Best Boy might call it anything.)”

[strangerships]

Faithfully- Mileven fanfic

When El is away, Mike uses the memories to keep the nightmares at bay.

This is my first Mileven fanfic! I hope this is the first of many, let me tell you, writing this one certainly opened the inspiration floodgates. It starts out on the angsty side, but there’s also a lot of sweetness mixed in> I really hope you enjoy! I have no idea why I chose Faithfully as the title. I guess it kind of applies. I just listened to it on the road trip I'm on so, thanks Journey? 

Read on AO3

On El’s first business trip away, Mike starts awake from the sound of his own whimpers. He feels an all too familiar moisture pouring from his eyes and slipping down onto the bed sheets. He fumbles around for El, only to tremble with the realization that she’s gone. He’s vaguely aware his heart thudding in his chest and tries to shake the sleep from his mind and gain his bearings. His thoughts come like an unstoppable flood. Where is she? Is she safe? Where are the kids? Does he need to get the bat? He can’t stand the blood pounding in his ears. He feels cold and alone. He freezes as the business trip floats into his thoughts among the panic. She’s not gone forever. She’s coming back. She always comes back. He tries to focus on each individual syllable of his impromptu mantra. He can’t stop seeing her face contorted in pain as she is pulled away from him by the mind flayer. Her face red and puffy as the Uhaul truck pulls away from the Byers house and his whole world changes. “Goodbye Mike” echoes in his ears as El vanishes with the demogorgon. He feels like that scared little kid again, terrified of losing her and helpless to stop it. Mike eyes the telephone on the bedside table. Don’t call. Suck it up. This trip means a lot to her and she’s not coming back because you can’t get it together. Mike can’t catch his breath. It’s been so long since he had a nightmare, so long since El wasn’t within arms reach. He feels the sudden need to grab onto something, anything to ground him as he feels vertigo set in. Mike suddenly feels a stuffed bear under his hand as he gropes in the darkness. He remembers earlier that evening when his darling daughter set the worn bear on his bed and said “Daddy! I want you to have this. Mommy says I have to take care of you while she’s gone, but it’s past my bedtime.” She spoke so matter-of-factly, you would have thought she’d been tasked with guarding the Crown Jewels. His daughter was truly the light of his life, matched only by El. He had chuckled at the time and accepted the gift warmly. Now, he stares at the bear, feeling as if he’s staring right back into the summer of 1985 when El had left him again. It's not that simple. He scolds himself. El had to go. They all did. To heal. But the pain feels fresh. It had taken so long to be with her again. To spend every day with her. To see her wonderful smile. To hold her whenever he felt like...The thought makes him shake and he clutches the bear tightly into his chest.

He sits there for a few solemn minutes, blocking out the nightmare that closed in on his fragile respite with every memory he had of El laughing. It was an infectious sound. Melodic without even trying. It was no wonder she was a beautiful singer. He hadn’t even known until their first came. She was so quiet for the longest time. He knew he’d never forget the moment he saw El in the nursery, cradling their little bundle of joy, singing into the otherwise empty room. He stood there for a small eternity gaping at how she managed to constantly surprise and amaze him. Mike hums the tune into the top of the bears head and he sways a little, his eyes closed, the tension in his body slowly melting away. He lulls himself back into the daze that comes with being up at three in the morning. He doesn’t remember when sleep takes him again, but he remembers replaying El smiling and laughing through the years, like a slideshow of pure magic.

El tiptoes into her house early in the morning, hoping not to wake anyone. She sets down her bags and heads to check on her loves. She peeks in to see her daughter still sleeping soundly and counts her blessings. Then, she walks into the nursery to find her son up and leaning on the railing of the crib. She sees his eyes light up in a way that reminds her so much of her husband that she aches to see him. It's been a long, grueling business trip and she’s pretty sure she has the most supportive husband on the face of the planet. She picks up her babbling little boy and heads off to get him taken care of so she can hopefully surprise Mike with the fact that she was able to come home a day earlier. Needless to say, taking care of morning feedings and changing is a hell of a lot less hassle when you can move bottles and diapers with your mind.

Finally, she sets towards the door to her bedroom. She can already hear Mike’s soft snores from the hallway. El giggles and nods to open the door as quietly as she can. She smiles when she sees him, peaceful and untroubled. She cocks her head to the side as she considers the bear he’s gripping onto tightly. She recognizes it immediately from her daughter's obsession with it as well as when Mike gave it to her decades ago. She moves to crouch down beside the bed and delicately moves the fallen strands of hair out of his face. His hair is nowhere near as long and bowl-like as it was when they were kids, but he still manages to maintain the messy bit at the front that always flopped into his eyes. She contentedly rearranges his hair and traces the lines of his face as his eyes slowly flutter open. He lives in a state of utter grogginess until he focuses on El’s face. He breaks into a belated smile at the sight of her. He promptly tosses the bear to the other side of the bed and pulls her up with him. El bursts out laughing and he envelopes her in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and holds her tightly. “What’s this?” she giggles, closing her eyes and beaming as she sinks into his warm chest. He kisses her head and strokes her long hair. She feels him sigh as if a great weight has been lifted off of him.“I’m just…I’m happy you’re home” he whispers.

[theashofwkm]

A Kraken’s Deal (Siren Call Part 2)

Summary: In the Kraken’s lair, William strikes a deal and makes a horrid mistake. LittleMermaid!au

Prompt: Goretober, Sacrifice

Warnings: deal making, unfair deal, skulls, mention of skinning mers.

Note: Markraen is pronounced “mark-ray-in”. Just did to make it sound more exotic and less normal, but I like it. Apologies that this is late!!! Hope you enjoy this, though, I’m loving this world so far^^

Part One

———

Dark inky water swirls around, the chill of it aching. Blood wasn’t what ran through kraken veins, they had no need for warmth and so they lived in the coldest parts of the sea. In the deep, the chasms, the one part of the sea not under the mer king’s control. The parts that remained empty and isolated until those who were desperate came along, searching for the gods of old.

Spikes rise up, bleached skulls of creatures appearing through the murky waters and hanging off the sharp points. Belonging to those who have angered the krakens, who had broken a deal, who hadn’t followed the rules. Symbols of anger, fair warning of what one was swimming into.

Life was forfeit, in these waters.

The mer king, despite ruling all of the seven seas, did not have control over the chasms and what lived in them. The krakens had been gods, once, had been rulers and kings and unstoppable. Then the tides had changed and the mers took the mantle of rulers of the sea. The krakens lived, angry, seething, but willing to offer deals to the mer, for a price. Losing their throne hadn’t stripped them of their magic.

Maybe it was coincidence that the mers who made deals were never the same after being submerged in the icy waters, in close proximity to the only things that were above them on the food chain.

Every mer knows to avoid the krakens, the chasms. To never, ever, ever strike a deal. They used to be gods and all they knew to do was take.

William swims forwards, scared but determined.

He’s searching for a particular kraken, a witch, one said to hold tremendous power, even when compared to others of his kind. One still angry, one who’s name is only whispered in frightened tones, a warning at the end.

If you must seek a kraken, do not go for that one. He will trick you into giving what he cannot take.

He’s passed the lairs and homes of the other krakens already. They had been bright, had been foreboding, but somehow not frightening, like all the stories said they’d be. Some of them weren’t angry, some of them were kind, almost. The further William swims, dives, the more harsh the homes become, the louder his instincts scream at him to turn back.

He doesn’t.

In the deep, where the water is darker then the night sky, then the dresses Celine had worn, is where the final kraken lives. The oldest, if the old folktales were to be believed. The one who hadn’t forgiven the mers for their upheaval, for the coup and for their banishment, loss of power. He lives in the part of the sea that’s almost too cold for a mer to be able to function.

The lair, home of this particular kraken, is sharp, all long, jagged edges and shadowed crevices. A soft light peers through the dark waters, and it is towards that light that William swims to.

Dimly, the light brightens the waters enough to see, but not warm the temperature any. Leaving all guests shivering and shuddering and anxious.

Disgustingly, horrifically, the inner walls are covered in skinned mer tails, stretched to lay flat against the wall. Scales shiny and gleaming and colorful in a way that means that the mer was living, when they were harvested. Living or very recently dead. Fins drip from the ceiling, tied together, preserved. William gags.

Movement. A deep, throaty chuckle. “My, my, is this the little king?”

William whirls around, a shadow skirting in his peripherals and more skinned tails lining the wall.

“Ah Ah,” the voice clucks at him teasingly. Cold water brushes against his back. “No peeking. It’s rude to barge into someone’s home, you know.”

William shivers, the sing-songy, low voice dredging up his fight or flight response. Fin twitching, he fights the urge to flee. “I want to make a deal.”

“A deal?” The voice rises in pitch, excitement and curiosity lacing through the voice. The kraken moves, tentacles wrapping around his tail and a finger notched under his chin. “Do you know who I am?”

The kraken is different from the mer. His human half is thickly skinned, leathery and muscled. His facial features are sharp, eyebrows edged downwards and lips plush and curled. Toeing a line between beautiful and terrifying. His fingers are sharp, tapering to a point that’s perfect for digging into something, ripping it apart. Eyes dark, a ruddy red with dim yellow lines drawn through it. Pupils no more then a pinprick, sclera as black as the darkest shadow, almost blending with the deep red of his iris. Hair short, black, waving in the water above his head like a demonic halo.

His lower half is black, but it winks a dark red in the light, frightening. Suckers line the underside of his tentacles, sharp-edged and able to dig into or stick to any surface. Able to cut into most anything, sucking nutrition out. The underside is a bright crimson, camouflaged against any blood that may be spilled against it.

“You’re the kraken witch.”

Pleased smile, the kraken nods. “And my name?” He whispers.

Gills flowing, breath taken, William whispers. “Markraen.”

“Excellent.” Markraen bares his sharp teeth in something that’s not quite a smile. “What could you possibly have to offer me, prince?”

Dull, murky red eyes meet William’s brown, probing for an answer. “Whatever you want,” he says, his own eyes darting between the two of the kraken.

The kraken sucks in water, teeth clenched pleasingly. “Those are dangerous words,” he says. Tentacles cinch around his chest, tugging him closer. “Anything gives a lot of wiggle room.”

“I don’t know what you’d want.” He tries very hard to keep his eyes from the wall of scales, the wall of his kind’s flesh displayed on the wall like artwork. He fails. Markraen looks behind him, smiling when he spots the scales.

Loosening his grip on William, sharp-edged suckers leaving circled marks all over, he gestures to the wall. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” He runs the backs of his sharp hands over the scales, slowly dragging it over the smooth surface.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not.”

“Hmm. Tell me,” he glides closer, tentacles waving over the ground in a way that’s somehow terrifying, predatory. “What do you wish to gain, little king?”

William flicks his tail, gliding away from Markraen’s hungry stare, sharp yellow cutting through the red. Celine’s soft voice hums in his head, a new measure he takes when he feels anxious and needs to calm down. “Legs,” he says. “Human legs.”

“Oh?” Surprise filters across the kraken’s face. “Legs? What use would you have for such a thing?”

He remembers Celine, her casual trust in him, her voice, her beauty. “What I want them for doesn’t matter,” he says. “You grant mers a wish, a deal, if they seek one out. Or is giving me legs something you’re not able to do?” His tone is sharp, instinct harshening his words without any thought.

Markraen leans forwards, face inches away. “Do not speak so brashly, mer.” He says the name like an insult. “You approached me for a deal and you should take care to remember who you’re speaking with.” Jagged yellow cutting through his eyes glow, casting a harsh light in his anger.

William flinches, eyes wide. “I— I’m sorry.”

Sneering at the frightened mer, the kraken backs away. “You have nothing to give that I want,” he says, eyes flat, yellow a little dimmer. “Leave.”

He should. He knows that. Celine— he doesn’t even know her that well.

“There must be something.” If he was smart, William would take this chance to leave with his life. Pushing one with more power usually didn’t end well. But he remembers the soothing effect her voice had had on him, how she had sapped away the pain of his mother’s memory. He had to do this.

“Nothing that is easily given. You are not exceptional, little king. Your blood is the only thing you have of value, and that cannot be taken without taking your life as well and then there is no deal.” The kraken blinks, face uninterested as he turns away. He gestures to the walls. “I have been dealing for a long time, prince, and there is little I do not have. Now leave while I still offer the chance.”

William swallows, instincts screaming at him to obey, to just leave. Eyes scanning the horrid walls, he stays. “What about my tail?”

Markraen turns, eyes sparked, yellow bright. “What do you mean?” He stares at William, gaze intense and pinning. He couldn’t leave now even if he’d wanted, not with those eyes on him.

“If you give me legs, you can have my tail. You don’t have the scales of a gold mer.” His gold scales, how they were revered by the people. He was the first to be scaled in the color of the mer palace. There’d only been rumors of gold-scaled mers and the people believed that it would make him a good king. Now, here he was, offering them to a kraken. For legs.

Red eyes turning to appraise the decoration in question, he nods. “That I don’t.”

False bravado, chin lifted, William offers a deal. “Then you can have it, as long as you give me legs.”

Hands clenched behind his back, shaking, he keeps Celine’s face in his mind, her words of him being better than her suitors. She is why he is here. He must keep that in mind.

Silence, grinding teeth, swirling arms. The kraken grins, teeth bared. “Alright, little king. We can strike a deal.”

“Alright.” William nods. “Deal made. Let’s do it.”

Markraen laughs. “Foolish prince,” he says. “We must discuss details. Deals are not so simple.”

William shakes his head. He knows about negotiations from his father, how they can drag out, take days, and in the end, make the deal fall through. He doesn’t care for the details.

“No.”

“Oh?” Mark slithers closer, eyebrows raised, lower appendages sneaking to encircle the foolish mer. Eyes dark, pupils shivering, teeth clenched and smile restrained, he does what he needs to seal the deal. “Are you certain, my prince? The deal cannot be undone, once it is made.” Despite all the nasty rumors and warnings, it was ridiculous how many mers didn’t wish to discuss the details. He could be fair, in the right circumstances.

It’s really not his fault that mers didn’t want to argue a better deal for themselves.

“Then you shall be bound to the usual rules, with details altered as required.” He extends his hand, lips curled upwards in the beginnings of a grin.

Hand outstretched, William shakes on it. Markraen produces a long scroll from behind his back, a too-wide grin adorning his face as William blindly signs the bottom, not reading any of the fine print. Maybe the basic contract should get boring, but the stupidity and blind trust of the mers never fail to bring him joy. It helps that the contract was effective and highly in his favor.

Bound by signature, the deal cannot be undone. All William promised must be given and he will receive what he asked and only that.

Foolish prince, William has made the worst mistake.

The details lie in the fine print. Krakens have a knack for giving what is offered in a way that is unpleasant. William, poor him, had asked for something very simple. Legs were easy to give. A mer with human legs, however, didn’t make a human.

One should never sign before negotiations. That’s what they all did, anyways. Foolish, stupid mers. Thinking that the old gods would offer fair deals, would be merciful to the lesser species after they fell from power, after it was wrested from them.

Hand shaken, deal signed, there’s no going back.

———

Masterlist

Sorry if this ended up being a bit filler-y, but it was needed. The next part is gonna be more exciting though. I’m actually really disappointed that this didn’t get out on time. Sorry again!! I’m gonna try to catch up soon, but I won’t be home for the weekend, so I might fall more behind. I’ll still do all 31 prompts, just no longer in a timely manner, unfortunately :/

TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae (tags are open)

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Writing Commission - A Gift of Sunshine - Chapter 9 (Final)

One last note before I part with you all, but I actually have a little headcanon of my own that Shouta is Aizawa Adachi's reincarnation, hence why he and Hizashi managed to grow their bond as quickly as they did.

Summary: It is the worst day of fifteen-year-old Aizawa Shouta’s life when he trudges home after a failed entrance test to U.A. – the school made for heroes. His worst day abruptly turns strange, however, when he gets home to find a beautiful sword on his bed with a scroll attached that is addressed from his grandfather.

It turns out that his entire family was descended from a samurai (unsurprising considering he lived in Japan) and the sword was meant to help him become a hero. Shouta hadn’t been expecting the sword to talk, however, and he especially hadn’t expected the sword to have a voice as warm as sunshine itself.

It’s a long journey to become a hero like he wants, but Shouta has a feeling that he and Hizashi are going to do just fine.

                                                    ⁂

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia    

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count (Total): 35,935  

Transaction Amount: $250 (USD)

                                                  ⁂

         Check out my writing commission information here!                Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!

                       Read and follow the story on AO3!

                                                 ⁂

                               <<Previous Chapter>> 

                                      Chapter Nine

                                                ⁂

Staring at the fitfully sleeping little girl surrounded by nurses and doctors alike, Shouta finally let himself close his eyes and half-collapse against the wall he was up against as he let out a slow, deep breath, exhaustion seeping into him even deeper than before. The last few hours, Shouta decided, had felt far longer than they should have been. 

He didn’t let his eyes stay shut for long, though, prying them over and ignoring the dry itching and burning as he looked back into the room he was watching. Eri would be asleep for hours, if not an entire day, but she was there, at least. A kid with no home, no last name, and, until they had changed it, no future. Now she was free, alone, terrified of the world around, and had no knowledge of how it worked. 

Shouta only glanced away when he felt Hizashi return, something in him relaxing as his husband leaned against him, exhaustion lining every bit of him. For as much as he liked to insist that he didn’t have a ‘body,’ that didn’t stop him from being as exhausted as Shouta after their latest mission. 

“We finally got Togata back to his room,” Hizashi yawned, his usually cheerful voice dampened into something soft and tired. “It took a few good threats, but we finally threw him and his friends in a room together so they’d be a little more at ease after everything. They’re all doing okay and Togata should be fine in a few days, physically.” Physically. There was no telling how this loss was going to affect him mentally. “How’s our little princess?” 

“Resting.” Shouta shifted so Hizashi would be just a bit more comfortable, fingers lacing with his own a moment later. “She’s stable, but they’re debating putting her in a medical coma until they can be sure her body will recover from the strain she put her quirk through.” 

“At least she’s out of that place,” Hizashi said softly, Shouta not needing to look to know the man had his eyes closed and was a few minutes away from falling asleep altogether. “I checked on the other kids. I’m worried about Kirishima, right now, but all of them seem like they’ll be okay with no lasting damage after a few months of taking it easy.” 

Shouta sighed, not sure if he should relax or let his worry grow even more. “They might not have a few months to take it easy.” The world was only growing more dangerous, after all, and this mission proved that heroes were not the unstoppable force the public thought they were. “How’s-”

“Everyone is going to be fine, Starlight.” Hizashi cut him off softly, but with a firm edge to his words that was as sharp as his blade. “They’re in hell right now, but they’re all resting and taking time to process. There’s nothing you or I can do for them in this moment.”

Shouta muttered what he was half-sure was a swear, too tired to argue anymore as his eyes once again strayed to Eri’s face, scrunched up and unhappy even in her sleep. A child that young shouldn’t look so broken from the world around her, and Shouta had little doubt that her life would never be normal like she deserved; not with a quirk like hers. 

Having a quirk like Erasure or Brainwashing, quirks that could be seen as ‘villainous’ but had extraordinary potential and couldn’t, on their own, be dangerous, was one thing. Having a quirk like Eri’s, though… Having a quirk that was powerful enough to rid someone of their quirk or erase them from existence entirely? She would never be allowed to live a normal life. 

“Tensei this time, I think.” Startling at the broken silence as much as the words, Shouta finally looked away from Eri and down to Hizashi, who had his chin resting on Shouta’s shoulder and a fond, indulgent look in his eyes that didn’t fit the mood of the world they were in. “Don’t you think?”

“One day you’ll realize that what you think and what you say are two different conversations,” Shouta finally settled on, squeezing Hizashi’s hand. “What about Tensei?” 

“To act as a witness, of course!” Witness? Why would- Ah. “We could ask Nem, of course, but Tensei already let me know that if we didn’t ask him next time then he would disown us completely, which, yeah, he was pretty pissed to not be there when we adopted Hitoshi.” 

Silent as he stared down at Hizashi, who for all his cheerful joking looked completely serious about the idea of adopting Eri, Shouta finally closed his eyes and released a soft sigh. Hizashi’s words were wrapped up in a joke, but they were as heartfelt as the day he broached the topic of taking in their son. 

Two pro heroes, one of who was a sword that possessed people, and a teenager with enough emotional damage to fill several dozen books was not the typical sort of family a normal little girl would have, but… 

Finally smiling, Shouta leaned forward just enough to press a soft kiss to Hizashi’s forehead, pleased at the delighted hum he got in return. “Tensei works,” Shouta said softly, looking back to the sleeping little girl who deserved so much better. “Besides, Hitoshi seems like he would be a good big brother.”

Days later and Shouta decided that he had been underestimating Hitoshi’s ability to handle small children. 

Almost a week of talking, debating, and arguing had ended with the agreement that Eri, while unable to leave the U.A. campus until they could guarantee her safety and the control of her quirk, would become Shouta and Hizashi’s foster daughter for the foreseeable future. The agreement was finalized on the day Eri was to be released from the hospital and, as such, Shouta had dragged Hitoshi along to meet who would be his new little sister. He hadn’t expected Eri to have the kid wrapped around her finger by the end of the first ten minutes. 

“Is this what I sound like?” Hizashi, far too amused, was near beaming as he looked at where Hitoshi was sitting on Eri’s bed and jabbering on too fast for Shouta to keep up with. Eri, at least, seemed entertained, expression blank even as her eyes were bright and curious.

“When I bother to listen,” Shouta finally replied, trying to hide his smile at Hizashi’s dramatic whine beside him. “Hitoshi, don’t overwhelm her.” 

“Hey, I’m doing my heroic duty by warning her about who she needs to avoid once we’re back on campus.” Of course he was. The kid may have had a neutral expression on his face, but Shouta knew without a doubt that he was grinning like a little shit somewhere deep down inside of him. “Don’t worry, I already warned her which teachers to stay away from - and yes, I warned her about Kayama-sensei first.” 

Pausing for a moment to think about Nemuri’s reaction at Eri not wanting to be anywhere near her until they corrected the misunderstanding, Shouta nodded. As far as he was concerned, his kids making Nemuri’s life a living hell was karmic justice. “Make sure to warn her about Yagi, too.” Loud idiot would probably terrify her unless he had learned volume control since the last time Shouta had talked to him. 

“You’re so mean, Shou-chan. Hey, Hitoshi, kid, don’t forget to warn her about Snipe, too!” Rolling his eyes as Hitoshi finally broke and gave a loud laugh, Shouta was about to add another teacher before he paused because Eri was… looking at Hizashi. 

Wracking his memory for a moment where Eri had so much as touched the sword, and coming up with nothing, Shouta finally whispered a soft, “Hizashi, walk towards the other side of the room.” Hizashi, without even a pause or a question as to why, did so immediately. Eri’s gaze followed him the entire time. “Huh.” That was… unexpected.

“Hitoshi,” Eri’s soft, quiet voice filled the room, Shouta watching as she pointed directly at Hizashi, who looked as shocked as Shouta felt. “Who’s he?”

Hitoshi blinked, looking towards them both before looking back to Eri and recovering quickly with a cheerful, “That’s Aizawa Hizashi, the pro hero Present Mic. He’s going to be taking care of you along with Eraserhead.” 

Hizashi, back by Shouta’s side, made a noise that could have been called a startled laugh. “So that’s what I was feeling from her…” Shouta narrowed his eyes even as Hizashi’s grin grew. “Her blood is pretty strong. She-”

“If you say the words ‘magical heritage’ in relation to my kids one more time then I won’t be responsible for what I do.” Because there were many things that Shouta was willing to accept about the world, but he drew the line at magic. 

“Boo, Shou-chan, you’re no fun,” Hizashi whined, Shouta rolling his eyes before grabbing Hizashi’s hand and pulling him towards the bed, Eri looking at them once again, this time looking curious.

Shouta nudged Hizashi forward with a quiet, “Indulge me.” He was curious as to how Eri would react to someone that could be as energetic as Hizashi

Hizashi shot him a suspicious look but put on a cheerful smile anyways as he beamed down at Eri. “Hello there, little princess! You can just call me Hizashi, if you want, but I was one of the heroes there when you left that scary place. You probably don’t remember seeing me, but that’s okay. It was a busy day!” 

There was a look on Eri’s face that Shouta would almost call patient indulgence as Hizashi rambled, Hitoshi looking like he was trying not to laugh or fidget nervously as Eri seemed to decide something before she was sticking her hand out with a blunt, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And it’s wonderful to meet you, Eri!” Hizashi reached his hand out with a sad little smile to attempt to wrap it around the girl’s own. “I’m a little different from others, though, sort of like you, so you might not…” Hizashi let his sentence trail off, gaze locked on where his hand looked to be securely wrapped around Eri’s own. It wasn’t until Eri gave the hand a firm shake that Shouta realized that they were touching. 

“You’re warm,” Eri stated simply, looking back to Hitoshi when the teen let out an incredulous laugh, one that Shouta almost mirrored because, well… He hadn’t been expecting that from their newest family member. 

“You know,” Hitoshi said cheerfully, “I always wanted a sister.” Their oldest kid was a brat, Shouta decided, but he would let it pass. Instead he just focused on digging out his phone before holding it out to Hizashi, who snatched it up in an instant, already jabbering on about calling Tensei and Nemuri. 

Eri, looking incredibly confused, looked up at Shouta with a frown. Shouta didn’t waste any time in taking a seat on the bed beside her, gently soothing her hair down, “Don’t worry about him, Eri. He’s silly.”

“That’s okay,” Eri said softly, something like the beginning of a smile flickering across her face. “I think I like silly.” 

Eri, Shouta decided, was going to fit into their family just fine. 

                                                         ⁂

Shoving down the deep sigh that had been building up for at least twenty minutes, Shouta shoved a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. He had known it when he first started out as ‘Eraserhead’ all those years ago, but now he was absolutely certain that paperwork was going to be what finally ended him. It was even worse with the fact he had stupidly let himself become a teacher which meant more paperwork and grading homework. 

Rubbing at his eyes until he could almost hear Recovery Girl yelling at him, Shouta finally adjusted on the couch he had taken over in their on-campus apartment and squinted back down at the batch of papers he had been grading, halfway through reading a response about the ethics of working with an expired hero license when the soft sound of Hizashi’s singing destroyed any hopes of his attention remaining on the paper. 

If he were being lenient on himself, it was the soft sound of Hizashi’s singing along with the not-so-distant clatter of food being prepared in the kitchen. For as limited as Hizashi’s ability to interact with the world had been, these days he could spend hours cooking in the kitchen and trying every recipe he set his mind to learning. While the food was delicious, the drawbacks included Nemuri and Tensei constantly trying to visit and their kids parroting Hizashi’s instructions of telling people that ‘a ghost made their lunches.’ 

It would be too easy to slink into the kitchen and bother Hizashi until Shouta forgot all about his paperwork and, while it sounded like a much better waste of time, there were only so many times Shouta could delay in finishing his work. His mind, however, seemed to be firmly fixated on finding a distraction because his focus almost immediately settled on his kids when he tried to ignore the kitchen. 

Hitoshi had joined him in his suffering and had been steadily working through his homework, but it seemed he had lost the fight long ago as his papers were scattered around him on the floor and ignored completely, instead focused on the smiling little girl chattering away in his lap as he brushed and braided her hair. 

Eri had long abandoned whatever had caught her interest for the day, it seemed, and had resorted to her favorite activity of listening to Hitoshi tell wild stories that had only the tiniest grain of truth in them - a habit that had Shouta making a mental note to whack Hizashi with his own sword when he found a free moment. 

Finally rallying his strength to look back at the papers in his lap, Shouta listened to the soft sounds of singing and cooking, the bright and happy laughter that was tumbling out of Eri, and Hitoshi’s wild stories that Shouta could only half understand. It all led to Shouta finally releasing the deep sigh he had been staving off before he was setting his work aside, slipping off the couch, and walking straight towards his husband. 

Shouta hadn’t even fully stepped into the kitchen before he heard a cheerful, “Oh? Finally escape the clutches of your work?” Hizashi was grinning softly at him, look warm and fond as Shouta didn’t hesitate to lean up against his back, tension draining out of him as he let Hizashi hold all of his weight. “That bad, huh?”

“I teach an ethics class for fifteen-year-olds,” Shouta responded, thinking of some of the answers from the students in his class alone. “They get stupider every year.” 

“Such a mean teacher,” Hizashi snorted, holding up a wooden spoonful of something that Shouta didn’t hesitate to taste. “Thoughts?” 

Shouta made sure to let the silence draw out until Hizashi started to fidget, immediately calming the man down with a soft kiss to his cheek, “It tastes amazing like everything else you cook, Sunshine.” 

“You’re absolutely awful,” Hizashi snorted, stealing a kiss of his own before going back to what he was doing, Shouta content to continue to lean against Hizashi and listen to the sounds of their kids laughing and talking from the other room. It was a big difference from the silent and cold apartment Shouta had grown up in before Hizashi had come into his life. “So, then? What’s weighing on your mind so heavily that it’s louder than me?”

Shouta gave a soft hum, letting the question linger in the air as he thought back to that one day where everything changed. Shouta, during what had been the worst day of fifteen-year-old life, had failed the U.A. entrance exam and had come home tired, bitter, alone, and with no one to so much as complain to - except then there had been a sword on his bed and a scroll tied to it neatly. 

That cold, empty apartment had practically vanished and instead Shouta had been constantly dragged about by an energetic voice that was as bright as sunshine. It wasn’t hard to see that Shouta’s life had a before and after, and the change of it all was Hizashi, the man who had been there with him every step of the way, getting into the hero course with him, becoming a pro hero with him, fighting by his side, and so much more. His life had been shaped by Hizashi, whether the other was aware of it or not. 

“I suppose… I just never thought I’d be here,” Shouta finally answered, because, well, that was the truth. Shouta, when thinking about his future, had never thought about having a job that he loved even while being constantly tired and frustrated by it. He had never thought that he would have two kids who he adored more than anything else. He had certainly never pictured a husband and a partner that he could no longer imagine his life without. “You know?” 

Hizashi, as with the first day and every day since, seemed to know exactly what he meant, the smile on his husband’s face softening to something that was beautiful to watch as he looked back at Shouta with nothing but content joy. “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” The kitchen was a mess of half-finished lunches and a dinner in progress, Hizashi was lightly swaying them in time to the music playing from the phone on the kitchen counter, Eri was near shrieking in laughter that echoed Hitoshi’s own bright laugh, and the world of heroes and villains and danger seemed so far removed from their little apartment with the four of them. “Yeah, it is.” 

His grandfather, as always, had been right. Hizashi had been his gift of sunshine long before he knew what that truly meant and Shouta half-wished that he could go back in time and tell his fifteen-year-old self what he now knew with every bit of him. 

It was a good future. 

[gut-shabbos-sluts]

Tell Me Things About Kitrit 🌟☀️🌙❄️🔥❤️🕊️🍼☕🍂🦋💐🌼🥀🏞️🏡🔪💎📚🌗👑💕☁️👀❓ Yes I'm asking every question. No there are no ulterior motives. Promise. Kinda.

I don’t trust this but I love my girl so here are some answers (under the cut bc this is a Lot of questions)

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

When things go down, Kitrit first turns to her sister, Gadiela. This is a poor choice on many levels, the first being that Gadiela is a Literal Snake, but Kit trusts her sister more than anyone in the world, and knows that she would do anything to help her. Whoever’s comforting her, Kit wants to be held, to be told that things will be alright, to be distracted from whatever’s going on. She’s used to being in a bubble. Comfort that takes her back to that works best.

☀️ What makes your OC genuinely happy? A person, an item, their hobby? Where is the place they’re happiest, or most at home? What is the happiest they’ve ever been?

She’s at her happiest when she’s with her sister (this will be a running theme). Before Plot Things happened (more on those later), she also took a lot of joy from creating different types of art: painting, drawing, glass blowing. But she can’t do those anymore. The happiest place for her is her family’s garden, and all of her happiest memories are of spending time there, talking to her sister, enjoying the flowers and recreating them in art.

🌙 If your OC could have one wish come true what would it be and why? Would there be consequences to this wish or would they regret it once they get what they want? What would they give in return for this wish to come true?

The greatest wish Kit has is to turn back time and never agree to leave home. Things have gone from bad to worse since that agreement, and as far as she can tell, there was nothing but good at home. She’d give up her new magic in a heartbeat to go back to that.

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

She’s not one to be sad, really. Scared, angry, horrified, lost, those are her negative emotions. Kitrit is rarely straight up sad.

🔥 Is your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

Kit’s not known for her temper, with most of her emotional reactions being to shut down, but she gets angry. She’s angry at the people who have hurt her, the people who force her to be someone she doesn’t want to be, the fact that her sister isn’t accepted by the others she cares about. She steeps the emotions, not wanting to show them or take it out on anyone, and one day she will burst.

❤️ What would your OC’s ideal lover be like? Appearance, personality, voice? Would their family approve or would it be civil war?

She has no clue what her ideal lover would be like. She’s very sheltered and very obedient and has never thought to have thoughts about anyone except the person her parents set her up with.

🕊️ Would your OC ever get married or are they already wed? If they’re married, describe what their wedding was like! If not, describe their ideal wedding (or do this if you feel like it anyway!)

She’s engaged, to a man she’s met once. And she wants out. So Kit’s ideal wedding is one that Does Not Happen.

🍼 Does your OC have any children or want children? What names would they pick? Are they good with kids or a complete disaster?

Kit’s barely not a kid herself, and couldn’t imagine having children of her own. She doesn’t want anyone to rely on her.

☕ Give us one (or more if you feel like it) of your OCs deep dark secrets! Why do they keep it hidden? Spill the tea!

So, the first one, the biggest secret she’s got (that honestly her sister and party have probably already caught on to in some degree): she’s grateful for the trauma she underwent, for the sole reason that it means she can push off getting married for as long as possible. Then, another secret she’s keeping from her party: her sister is a Literal Snake who lives under her skin and is the source of her magic. Both of them are secrets because she’s terrified of rejection and abandonment.

🍂 What are their opinions on the different seasons? Which one do they hate and which one do they love and why?

She loves them all, between the changing colors and wildlife. But Kit’s favorite is by far summer. She loves the feeling of everything being lush and alive around her.

🦋 If your OC could change everything (or just something) about their life would they? What would they change? What do they think would happen if they did? What would their loved ones think?

She’d live someplace quiet and full of nature, with her sister, and where only her closest friends knew how to find her. She’d have peace, and no pain. Her injuries would be healed. She’d be with the only family member she cares about, and she knows that that person wants the same.

💐 Does your OC like flowers? What are their favourites? Do they keep a garden of some sort? What flowers would they use in a flower crown? (and if you like, research the meanings behind those flowers!)

Kit loves flowers, spent most of her childhood in her family’s gardens, and doesn’t know anything about their meanings. Her ideal flower crown is made of dahlias, lilies, peonies, and zinnia.

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

Kitrit met her sister at the age of ten, while sitting in the gardens. A snake has wound its way up the bench, and began to speak to her, and she could understand it. There was no shock, as she had grown up with stories of the snake that had left the womb with her, but Kit was dumbfounded, all the same. A sister, after all these years? Someone only she could speak with? It was the best sort of miracle.

🥀 Has your OC ever been hurt by someone they love? Ever been betrayed? Abused? Attacked? Give me the angst! (if you’d like, write a short drabble about it!)

She left home to go meet her fiance, and that’s where things went wrong. Kitrit’s caravan was attacked by what seemed to be bandits, and she was dragged out of her carriage. Every person traveling with her was killed in front of her, and when that was done, the leader approached her, cutting her eyes out of her head and her hands from her body. She was left for dead.

🏞️ If your OC could travel to anywhere in their world where would they go? Why? If they could live there would they?

The one thing Kitrit would like to experience before she withdraws into privacy is the sea. Everything about the water fascinates her, and she’s never been close to it in such a large way before. But she wouldn’t live there. There isn’t enough green, and it's too foreign. Just the visit is enough.

🏡 Describe your OCs ideal house! Give us a tour around! What’s their garden like? Their bedroom? Kitchen? Where is it and how many people live there?

Kit’s ideal house isn’t a full house, it’s a bedroom, full of light and air, and a garden, sprawling and beautiful. There’s a kitchen somewhere and guards protecting it from a distance, but otherwise, it’s just her, her sister, her art, and nature surrounding them.

🔪 Has your OC ever killed someone? Ever had to defend themselves against violence? How did this make them feel? Or, alternatively, has your OC ever attacked someone? Seen someone die?

She’s seen many die, now, and she has no interest in seeing it again. But she has attacked in self-defense. It was strange and not something she wants to have to do often.

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

She doesn’t collect anything, at least, not yet.

📚 If your OC was given some kind of forbidden knowledge, what would they do with it? Would they tell anyone? Use it for evil or good? How would it change their outlook on life, if at all?

There’s a high chance that Kit wouldn’t understand the knowledge. She’s not the brightest, and assumes that everything she needs to know will be explained to her. If it was entrusted as a secret, though, she wouldn’t tell a soul. Except maybe her sister.

🌗 Early mornings or late nights? What do they spend their time doing during these hours?

Of the two, early mornings, for the sunrise. But she prefers the brightness of day.

👑 If your OC was made royal (or is royal) how would they use their power? Are they a good leader or bad? Do their subjects like them or is it ‘off with their head’? Do they enjoy being royal?

She’s noble, and she hates it. Everything about being in the center of attention makes her uncomfortable. From that, at least, she would be a good leader, but she’s also very quick to trust, and is too much of a people-pleaser for her own good.

💕 How is your OC like with physical affection? What are their boundaries? Do they enjoy being touched or is that a no-go? Is there any reason behind this?

There’s no particular reason for it, but Kit loves physical affection. Casual touch, being held, she craves affection in that form. It’s helpful that she likes it, now, with all the comforting she needs.

☁️ What’s something your OC wishes they could forget? Why is this? Or, what is something that your OC has forgotten? (or do both!)

She wishes she could forget the last things she saw. Everything else she could live with.

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who)

She’s small, frail almost, with dark hair. The bangs almost let you miss the blindfold. She smiles often but doesn’t sound happy when she speaks. There’s a sense of nervous energy that can’t be relieved. Her arms are crossed, hugging herself, and she sits with her knees at her chest.

❓ A random fact or short drabble! Or make up your own question to ask the OC!

Ask Me Something Specific, Wren