#it's dread domain nothing ends well.

[hikarinokusari]

Neriel is @xyanmajor's DnD Character. I'm only taking credit in destroying her in Barovia, and with Tarokka reading about her ''soulmate''.

Falchion (c) shamelessly taken from Thranduil's own weapon in the movies.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Run, Run Far Angel

Note || I am obligated as a fanfic author to write this, sue me. I got attached to DogDay, and he deserved better in Chapter 3.

WC || 2,070

<(You are here)><(sequel part)>

Sypnosis || An unlikely shortcoming of a friendly entity, or, You get a new friend in spite of this hellish factory.

The noise that had buzzed in the far reaches in the depths of your ears had annoyed you to no end, insistent to remain with you. So many times over had your guilt marred your sense of peace, your sense of futility. Whatever control you felt you had in your life was completely gone the moment you had come back to the accursed place known as Playtime Co. Toy Factory. So many unruly things had gone here, things done and said that left you chuckling–few that had left you with regrets.

Regrets that had stayed with you for well over ten years, since your co-workers had disappeared. You always had a sinking feeling you knew well what had happened to the last of them, your friends and those that you had come to consider family. 

Then you fell into Playcare, a place once filled with laughter and joy, something of which was indescribable. To know the children here and being able to hear such joyful playing and sometimes the odd cry, it was fulfilling, now the whole Factory–every floor there was to know–was devoid of the very same life you’ve come to know and love all those years ago.

Now the only thing that had tormented your mind, as it always had been since you first arrived, was your fight or flight. Instinctive you were, but you hated every minute of having to run and hide away from the monster that had presided reign over their domain, on of which the very one you had to be stuck with was-

“Catnap?” You muttered, thumbing the scarred fur that was blotched with ashy spots, as if it were burned by fire. 

The small recreational stuffed animal looked so adorable for the most part, yet it disturbed you greatly, guilt was predominant in mind and body. In all of your years you had remembered working at the Factory you don't ever recall the name of Catnap, the creepy elongated mouth had stood out to you the most.

He was hunting you, toying with you for sport. You couldn’t really understand why he hadn’t just gunned you for killing you at a moment's notice, though you felt a breath of relief that you could buy yourself time.

Supposedly some of this relief is partial to the fact that this Ollie kid was guiding you on where to go, with how dark this place was is absurd to you–so the guidance was appreciated. A voice had finally snapped you out of your ever consuming thoughts, it was terribly the truth.

“Hey are you alright? Just press that button and you’ll be through in no time! The small critters cant seem to get you from up there so you should be alright.” Ollie, yes Ollie that is the kids name. Who is this strange person anyway?

Unfortunately you weren’t in a position to worry about that right now, you simply pressed the button with the help of your grabpack. Trying to remember all the hands you had now with you was troublesome, but you manage.

‘I suppose.’ You wonder if there is anyone in this place that won’t actively be out for your head, truth be told.

Maybe that was a miracle in mind, as you walked through the desolate rubble the air seemed to desaturate, a mist once permeated with dread and the iron taste of blood seemed to float away as you came across a surprising display. Gruesome but something nobody should have to see or experience. 

It seemed to be DogDay, you could've sworn coming across a cardboard cutout of the very same character earlier. 

He seemed to be so.. Sad.

“You…you’re Poppy’s angel. Come to save us. Nothing left to save, not here…You’re in CatNap’s home, angel. Their home.” His voice was broken, forlorn, vocal cords riddled with experience he never wanted to relive again. You felt saddened on his behalf, no doubt the pain he is feeling right now is tremendous. For a moment, silence had filled the comfortable atmosphere rendering you with a small pit of anxiety balling within your gut.

Still you feel as if you had to speak, but you allow Dogday to have his part, that much you could try to do for him.

DogDay’s head lolled about as if he were a ragdoll, the effort to make movement was extraneous. “A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry. They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit - fill what feels empty inside themselves.” Those words sparked an ire of curiosity inside your trodden heart, you wanted to help him now.

You needed help, especially answers too. He was in pain, and you wanted to help him, so to ease your guilty conscience a little; hopefully in the process of gaining a friend at the same time. “Catnap.. Just, I don’t understand him.” DogDay raised his head, looking at you wistfully as if he had expected the aforementioned cat to be brought up. 

DogDay winced as he moved, each little rattle sending painful vibrations throughout his body–the phantom legs hadn’t brought any peace to him whatsoever.

“That thing…CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” His words carried an aura of ominous spiels, as if you were to heed this warning. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate- and in return, they are fed.” 

In their place, you would take measures to avoid such a fate too if you would. To a point, you could sympathize with the small toys, not being able to do anything and the teetering possibility of being killed always hanging over your head. Knowing that alone is unfathomably terrifying.

“Would explain why they were hunting me previously..” You murmur, now tucking that thought to the depths of your mind. Still you wanted to hear out DogDay, for he knew better of what had gone on here then you did. His head had shagged, fur ruffled and dangling about as he had squirmed slightly.

“We tried to fight it, the Prototype’s control. I’m…the last of the Smiling Critters.” His tune was mournful, his friends really had been killed right before his very eyes. Catnap’s gas, you remember it well enough. 

You had to take a moment – articulate your words. You were completely filled to the brim with anxiety and alert, you remind yourself to not let down your guard in spite of being with someone who has no intention of wanting to kill you. “You had tried to escape, and he… knocked you out with his gas?”

DogDay’s brows creased, confirming your answer. You felt so terrible for him, causing you to be firmly set on a decision. 

You were helping him get out of here, in no way shape or form did you feel he should be left behind in shambles like this. “This is probably going to sound, insane. But I’m gonna help you get outta here.” Dogday perked up at this, nodding his head no.

He certainly didn’t want you to die, especially not on his account.

“Angel that is not wise! I will slow you down.” He persists, “Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live. You and Poppy can fix this, end this madness, the torment–” You didn’t want him to change your mind, so as immediate as you were, You desperately grabbed at his arms.

Quickly and surely enough the small critter toys had began crawling toward DogDay, you certainly would not put up with that. You fired a flare gun at the small critters, as much as you could so you could buy time to get DogDay out of his chains.

It seemed Dogday had sensed your determination to want to help him in spite of his warings, even with how much he had tried to convince you to leave. “You are doing well Angel, keep them away from me.. I will do my best to free myself of these.” His voice felt strained, cut off with a cough as he wriggled free–even if every brittle bone in his body had begged him to just lay there and rest.

You thanked him silently, continuing to work away at the critters who were highly determined in their goal to possess DogDay and resume their chase to kill you. “I am free! Quickly now Angel, quickly.” He ushered you forward to run right away, you picked him up as soon as he had done so and heaved him over your shoulders with a heavy breath as a display of your efforts. To say he was surprised at your willful strength was an understatement, he silently applauded you for your strength to keep moving.

Though, it hadn’t removed any of his worry for you as you continued to run forward, your muscles straining to keep up with your mind. From what he can understand of humans anyway, you were exhausted, though he felt it wasn’t right to speak out on it anyway–safety first before talking. 

“Almost there, Angel.. You just need to get to that elevator over there!” He jabbed his finger in the direction you needed to go, and you went on instinct with his direction. Your muscles ached and burned, but you could rest as soon as you reached the elevator, you couldn’t risk DogDay being left behind helpless with the small critters.

Speaking of which, they were still chasing you and your new companion. You wished they stopped, but you had considered an aforementioned thought, they only do this to ensure their fate wasn’t like his. Since then this has wildly changed.

You were close to the edge.

Then, you leaped, everything seemed to slow down. DogDay held on tightly, hands wrapped around your neck secured tight, to you it seemed comforting in the depths of your sudden despair.

You dropped right onto the metal plate, which luckily had railing. The door shut right behind you as DogDay had quickly made action to press the button to start up the elevator nor long after you had succeeded in jumping to the elevator. He slumped with a sigh, something you could very much agree with, sitting down with a thump following in your wake. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure of how much more you could take much more of this nightmare. You may just as well be in a very long dream, and you were just actually sleeping at home, but no way however as the exhaustion had finally settled into your bones. 

Weary bones creaked about as DogDay made an effort to check over your slumped body, wanting to ensure you were not injured anywhere before he spoke, “Whatever questions you have..” He paused for a moment as if he were considering his words, something of which seemed to happen to a lot of people and toys alike in this Factory. “I will answer, rest for now first.”

DogDay was being his typical self, always so worried over someone else before considering his own health. His own legs being severed must be a great deal of pain, you wanted to ask him to rest too. Yet, you were too tired to respond, only nodding curtly as sleep had stolen you away from your awakened consciousness. 

A genuine smile seems to relax DogDay’s expression, you sorely needed rest. He would help you get that rest, things to talk about and things to face would come later. “You have done impossible things, you have run far. Thank you.” He quietly spoke, curling up to cuddle you. 

His head laid to rest on the crown of your head, hands and arms elongating ever so slightly to surround you in his warmth. DogDay was a leader, a friend, but he was also a good napping buddy. That much was certainly no lie to be told. 

Silence seemed to fill his ears now, sleep was creeping up to DogDay as well. Ah, he cannot sleep right now. You were in his care and vulnerable, especially considering you had gone through the trouble of freeing him. 

To those tormented, the madness had enraged man and toy, you were their saving graces. Someone they could get behind, without the utmost support where would you be now?

“Night has fallen, but for you I will do my absolute best to help you, Angel.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

age of calamity prompt: mipha and link post water & fire mission? 👀

With all his strength, training, and the benefits of youth, there were few times Link truly ever felt absolutely exhausted. It had happened far more frequently in the last year, what with all the monster attacks making everyone feel like they were in all out war.

But now that war had actually arrived, Link learned a new level of exhaustion, born from a worry so deep in his heart and soul that he didn’t even know what to do with it.

When Ganon had taken control of all the technology they’d worked so hard to learn and utilize, it had been such a defilement that Link’s blood had boiled with rage while his heart froze with fear. His, Zelda’s, and Impa’s determination helped them push through, of course, and he’d hardly had time to truly register any of his emotions once they’d started moving once more.

He remembered the heart stopping terror as the initial realization hit him though. He remembered feeling his breath utterly stolen away in a dread, a knowledge that the capital was falling, he and Zelda were in danger, his family was in danger, the Champions were trapped—that Mipha was trapped, and, for one moment, he thought he was absolutely powerless to do anything about it.

But he wasn’t powerless. They’d gotten there in time, they’d saved Mipha.

But it had been close. Hylia, it had been close. She’d looked absolutely exhausted - if it hadn’t been for Terrako’s magic, for that man—Sidon, he reminded himself, marveling at how the little fledgling could turn into such a massive Zora—then Mipha would have… would have…

She’d barely had the words to even acknowledge him when he’d finally gotten there. And he’d had to rush off to save Daruk as well.

Now that all the Champions were safe, Link felt himself on the verge of collapse. Zelda was trying to rest, instead worrying and mourning. Link felt awful for her - despite all the lives they’d saved, after all, she’d still lost her father. Link’s own father had barely escaped Castle Town and was recovering.

But now their friends were together once more, Divine Beasts ready for a counterattack. They were all impatient to do so much, to fight back now, even Link, willing to push through his exhaustion and end this.

There was no way they could fight right at this moment, though. Even Link couldn’t. But what he did want to do was check on Mipha. He’d been with Zelda, trying to keep her company, and with his father, but his heart was aching and worrying for the Zora princess as well.

After all she was… she was his friend.

Goddess, he couldn’t really lie to himself anymore. She was far more than a friend to him, and he’d almost lost her.

Link dragged his feet towards the palace. Of the four locations they’d helped free from Ganon’s hold, Zora’s Domain was the most fortified and therefore the safest, so it is where the majority of them were staying to recover until they could plan things out better in the morning. Mipha had been whisked away by her people upon exiting Van Ruta, and Link hadn’t seen her since.

He was allowed easy access to the palace, having visited Mipha multiple times and befriended her family (or, really, King Dorephan had essentially adopted him, he was so charismatically extroverted). The older Prince Sidon was excitedly talking to the king, missing Link entirely for he moment and giving him a chance to sneak into Mipha’s room.

He knocked, clearing his throat nervously (he wanted to see her, genuinely, but going to her bedroom seemed… inappropriate). Initially he heard nothing, and he worried a little more, cracking the door and calling her name softly. Silence was the answer, and he finally peeked around the door to see an empty room.

Where was she? Her family wasn’t distressed at all, so she couldn’t be in worse shape than he thought, right? Did they even know she wasn’t in here?

Link walked into the room quietly, closing the door behind him, examining everything. Mipha’s jewelry was on her little vanity - she always wore it when she went out, unless…

The one time Link saw her without her jewelry was when they’d agreed to sneak out at night - she’d commented that at the least, the headdress was too noisy for such a venture.

Wait. Surely she didn’t…

Narrowing his eyes, Link moved towards the window by the shallow waters where she likely rested. Looking out, he could just make out the area they’d designated for triaging the injured.

He had a funny feeling he knew where she was. Link climbed out of the window, crawling along the side of the palace so he could avoid scrutiny, and then hastily made his way back to the medical encampment. He saw a flesh of red, and he followed it to…

His father’s bed. Where Mipha sat, hands glowing, slowly working on healing his wounds. For his part, Link’s father was fast asleep, having been just as exhausted as everyone else - it was why Link had gone to be with Zelda and comfort her, as he’d felt fairly useless hovering anxiously over the man.

Mipha seemed to notice the scrutiny and glanced up, jumping, startled. “Link!”

He was relieved to see her on her feet, so relieved. After their last encounter—goddess, she looked so much better.

But she was still tired. So, inevitably, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Why aren’t you resting?”

He wanted to kick himself. He should be thanking her for looking after his father, asking her how she’s feeling instead of just scolding her.

But he was scared, tired, and angry too - why didn’t Mipha ever let herself get a break?

The entire situation was crashing down on him, and he didn’t know wha to do with all the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t want to take them out on Mipha, though, so he tried to keep his mouth shut and was nearly mortified to instead feel his eyes stinging with tears of frustration.

The magic glowing over his father subsided, and Mipha hugged herself a little insecurely. “I… I’d already been unable to assist any of the other Champions. I was resting, Link, but when I saw so many injured coming in, I knew the others would need help.”

“You were unable to help because you’d almost died,” Link argued, his voice shaking. “Everyone almost died.”

Mipha swallowed, easily reading how close Link was to falling apart. She clearly was shaken as well—he could only imagine what it felt like to have been so close to death. He saw his friend bite her lip uncertainly, hands wringing in front of her. “T-they did. I… Link, I promised… I promised I’d protect you, and I almost failed.”

Link felt his breath get stolen away. She… he didn’t know what to say, only that he wanted to tell her over and over that this wasn’t somehow her fault.

“I knew,” Mipha continued quietly, and now her own voice shook. “I… I figured I would be the weakest Champion. I was prepared to die if it was to happen. But… I…”

Mipha sniffled, inhaling steadily to try and calm herself, closing her eyes. Link moved towards her in an instant, dragging her into a hug.

His mind and heart were screaming.

What kind of thing was that to say - I figured I would be the weakest Champion, was prepared to die—had Mipha truly expected not to survive the encounter with Ganon? Yet she’d pushed forward anyway, had promised to protect and heal Link—

He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to feel. He was horrified and terrified and felt so awful for her, he wanted to hold her for the rest of his life and tell her over and over that she had done nothing wrong, that she was an incredible fighter, that he would protect her. Mipha was trembling in his arms, crying quietly, finally letting her own stress out, and Link found himself crying too.

Words came forth before he knew what he was saying, genuine and raw and desperate to be heard. “I love you.”

Mipha’s sniffles turned to outright sobs, and she slid her arms around him. Link rested his head atop hers, cheek pressed against smooth scales, tears slowly sliding downward.

“Link, I—I’m s-sorry—”

Please don’t be.

“We’re at w-war—and I—”

“I know,” he whispered.

He let her cry for a while longer, he let himself cry. He was too drained to figure out how to proceed, to worry about protocol or anything of the sort. He just wanted to be with her, to comfort her and let her hold him in return. He wanted this nightmare to be over, and for a moment, it was just them.

As their tears slowed, the pair slowly, hesitantly pulled apart.

Mipha spoke first, trying to get a hold of herself. “Thank you… thank you for saving me on Vah Ruta.”

Goddess, did she even need to thank him for such a thing? He countered, “Thank you for healing me so many times, for always being there. I… Mipha, I’ll always protect you. I promise.”

Mipha watched him a moment, smiling as a blush stained her white cheeks red. She looked down at her hands, suddenly seeming to remember her usually far more shy nature. “Did… did you mean it…?”

Link blinked, confused. “Mean—why wouldn’t I mean—”

“O-oh, no!” Mipha interrupted, waving her hands. “I mean—I know you would protect me, Link, we’re friends after all, and you’re a Hero and—”

Oh. He knew what she was asking.

Of… of course he meant it. He’d just… been not addressing it. Because… well…

They’d been friends when they were children. And he’d liked her a lot then too. More than any of the other Zora. He was attracted to her kindness, her compassionate heart, her silliness and desire to help. Before his little mind and heart knew what such a love was, he already loved her. Now that they were both older, that feeling had matured, and…

Link swallowed, grabbing hold of his courage. “Yes. I meant it. I love you.”

His words derailed Mipha’s stuttered rambling. The silence gave him an opportunity to continue, saying, “You’re not weak. You gave that blight everything you had. You’re an excellent fighter.”

“Link…” she muttered, clearly unsure what to say, but then she giggled, bubbly and emotional as it was, her eyes glistening with tears. “I…”

Link suddenly felt insecure, suddenly felt like maybe he shouldn’t quite have said everything he had. But he’d… she deserved to be comforted, if nothing else. But maybe he shouldn’t have said…

“I love you too,” Mipha finally replied.

…Oh. Oh.

Oh.

Did he… did she… they…

She actually said it?!

Mipha having some sort of strong feelings for Link had been somewhat apparent for a little while now. Her tripping over herself around him had been downright endearing, honestly. But given that she’d never admitted it, Link had figured it was because it was entirely inappropriate, or that perhaps her feelings were not the same as his. But her—she actually—

He… he really wanted to kiss her. Instead, he just felt himself blush.

A heavy sigh resounded from behind them, and both teenagers nearly jumped out of their skin.

Whirling, they turned to see Abel staring at them under heavy lidded eyes, looking exhausted and exasperated at the same time.

“Papa!” Link gasped, rushing to his father’s side, and Mipha was quick on his heels. “Are you alright?”

“I’m about as well as you appear to be,” his father replied, and he could sense the judgment from the man. He sucked in a cheek and bit on it, sheepish at being called out, but it wasn’t as if he’d had a chance to rest quiet yet. He’d wanted to check on Mipha, and then all this had happened.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Abel, I didn’t finish healing your wounds,” Mipha hastily said, moving to the other side of the bed to get a better view.

“Your Highness, that’s unnecessary,” Abel waved her off as respectfully as he could in his state. “I appreciate your singular resolve to heal everyone - you are a good person, and a testament to the Zora’s compassion. But I… have a favor to ask of Your Highness, if you’ll allow me this.”

“Yes, of course,” Mipha nodded eagerly, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was an automatic gesture, born from a kind heart, always eager to soothe, even if it was a little odd for her to be doing it to the seasoned knight. “What is it?”

“Rest,” Abel replied. It was disguised as a request, kind and gentle, but there was the slightest heaviness to his tone, one that Link knew intimately. This was a command, in the only way that the quiet knight could offer to a princess far above his station.

Mipha swallowed, mirroring Link’s sheepish reaction, and let out a small laugh. “A-ah. Well. I—I suppose I could use a little more rest, but the others—perhaps I can do so after I help—”

“You would be disregarding my request, then, princess,” Abel noted carefully.

Mipha’s mouth snapped shut. Link almost laughed - his father got her.

He’d have to remember that trick

Sighing heavily in defeat, Mipha bowed her head. “Well, I—yes. I’ll just—I’ll go back to the palace, then. Sir Abel, I—I’m sorry I wasn’t able to heal you fully before I go, but I—”

“Mipha,” Link interrupted pleadingly. “Please, don’t be sorry. You’ve done more than enough, I promise.”

His dear friend watched him before smiling gently, genuinely, lovingly. He smiled back at her, heart warming. They exchanged a quiet promise to continue their conversation later, and Mipha excused herself.

Abel sighed heavily again. Link glanced at him, worried. “Papa?”

“You two are ridiculous,” his father grumbled. “If Tilieth had been just as shy as me, you would have never been born.”

Link felt his cheeks scald with heat. “P-Papa!”

His father didn’t comment further, respecting his privacy, but he did yank him into a hug, holding him hostage in the bed with him until the Hero of Hyrule settled in his embrace. Zora’s Domain quieted as evening came, and everyone settled in to rest for the war to come.

Despite the dread hanging in the air, Link smiled, feeling lighter than he had in ages, heart full as Mipha’s words repeated in his mind, as he was safe in his father’s embrace.

I love you too.

[protagaster]

Part 6 of the Warrior!Penelope Swap AU

Sigh.....

These vignettes tend to average around 3,000 to 4,000 words. Not bad, if I have to say so myself. After all, Blue and I put a lot of work, time, and effort into trying to make these fics as amazing as we physically can.

But, this one...

Do you know how long it is!? 7,000 WORDS!

AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!

...

You're all lucky we love you guys so much! Here's an extra long chapter, just for being the amazing readers you are!

Editor/Co-Author/Sister in Sin: the one, the only, @somereaderinblue (GeminiWillow on Ao3)! Gods, how lucky I am to have you by my side!

(Cross-Posted on Ao3)

Keep Your Friends Close

Penelope and her crew try to navigate the waters back to Ithaca, but a devastating storm threatens to capsize their fleet. In order to get through the storm safely, Penelope decides to take the chance and ask for the Wind God’s assistance. 

While Aeolus agrees to help, trapping the storm in a bag and tasking Penelope to keep it secured, the Ruler of Winds does not plan to make the task an easy one. Penelope is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep the bag closed, no matter what Aeolus tries throwing at her.

Little does Penelope know, Aeolus was not whom she needed to worry about… 

~

Penelope knew she didn’t have much time. 

The raging storm blocking her fleet from progressing toward their desired destination had momentarily calmed. The waters may have quieted, but the dark clouds and surrounding mist still obscured practically every view and path within their line of sight. 

Penelope knew that her only chance to get past the storm and make it back home with all her remaining women intact was to enlist the help of the divine, regardless of how well that turned out, or rather, ended last time...

Specifically, in this case, the God of Winds, Aeolus. 

Looking at the flimsy rope ladder that led to the Wind God’s cloudy kingdom, Penelope couldn’t help the tidal wave of emotions that flooded her heart and mind: determination, excitement, and ever-present anxiety.

Determination, for Penelope knew the only way to make it past the storm was with the Wind God’s help. The mortal was nothing if not resolute, willing to do whatever it took and say anything she needed to ensure the God lended them the necessary aid to make it back home. 

Excitement, because Penelope knew they weren’t far from home. With the Wind God’s assistance Penelope would soon be stepping foot on the moist, golden sands of Ithaca’s beaches, relishing in the comforts of a shelter supplied with a warm bed springing with life and delicious food with smells so delectable they could already be tasted, none of it comparing to the way she would melt in the very real embrace of her loving husband and beautiful daughter. 

However, much as she loathed to admit it, there was also that tiny sense of dread that threatened to overtake Penelope’s beautiful fantasy… 

Anxiety, taking into account all of Penelope’s past experiences involving the Gods during the past ten years. Hera, who ordered her to do something horrible under the pretense “lesser of two evils”, and Ares… 

Nope, Penelope thought to herself with a quick smack to her forehead, she couldn’t think about that right now. 

At this very moment, Penelope needed to focus on her crew and making it back home. As long as she remained focused, vigilant, and resolute, Penelope’s fantasy would soon become reality. She didn’t need immortality or even fame. Just her home, family and safety.

Letting out a deep breath, though not as steady as she would have preferred, Penelope took hold of the long rope ladder that led to the entrance of the lofty cloud domain. 

Unwilling to waste even a second, Penelope began to climb her way into the floating island that housed the ruler of the winds. 

Before she got too far up though, Penelope took the time to look down and give her sister a reassuring gaze.  

Meanwhile, back down on the deck of the main ship, Ctimene watched anxiously, arms wrapped around herself, as her captain climbed higher and higher toward the isle of clouds. From a god condensed into the feathery constraints of a vulture in disguise to a giant wooden horse and now this. Oh, what stories she’ll have to tell!

She was still held up about her and Penelope’s argument from moments ago, not at all a spat but certainly not something that would be considered a “friendly disagreement”. Ctimene knew it was wrong to publicly question the woman who was her captain, queen, sister-in-law, and best friend. Others who held even one of those stations have screamed treason and unforgiving betrayal for less.

Right here, out at sea, away from the comforts of Ithaca and outside the bounds of their husbands’ embrace, Ctimene and Penelope were all each other had. Especially now, with Circes no longer in the picture… 

Sure they had their crew, women who showed only the utmost respect and unwavering loyalty despite the difficulties they faced during the last ten years; first as a homemaker, then as a soldier. Sisters-in-arms, who all accepted their lives would no longer be their own upon accepting a God’s permission to bear arms and still choosing to learn the ways of the warrior to fight for their futures. 

But there was something different, something special, about the bond Penelope and Ctimene shared that couldn’t be emulated with the rest of the crew. 

Upon her arrival to Ithaca, the very first woman Ares and Penelope taught the ways of a warrior to was Ctimene, with Circes following shortly after. Heck, it even got to the point where Ares began to grow fond of Ctimene! Or, well, as fond as a timeless embodiment could be for a being who won’t experience even one-tenth that they have. Not as much as he did Penelope, mind you, but enough to where the God allowed Ctimene to accompany their personal training sessions and even let her see him when other mortals couldn’t. 

The point was, amongst Ares’ band of Ithacan female warriors, Penelope and Ctimene were the very first. She daresay they were mavericks even. Would it be hard to believe then, that the bond the two women shared grew to be much deeper than with any of their comrades? 

But now, after the deaths of those 72 women, Penelope had lost Ares’ favor. The crew wasn’t stupid, they noticed right away when Penelope lost her divine luster and ironclad confidence. Sure she still had her rigorous years of training, above-average physical prowess, and devastatingly cunning mind, but how long would they aid her until she was out of her depth? 

How long would Penelope be able to rely on her own mortal strength and wit, before her luck ran out and it cost them all? Before it cost them everything-

No.

Stop.

Ctimene exhaled a long, heavy sigh that left her body no lighter than before. She shouldn’t let herself linger on this, she scolded herself. 

Penelope is a good leader. 

That first year of war she led the kingdom well, better than Ctimene’s parents would have even without Odysseus by her side. Later, when the men returned so damaged that everyone thought they were beyond repair, it was Penelope who guided them and their loved ones toward a steady recovery; Ctimene remembered how thankful she was to her sister for this, for her brother and husband were slowly returning to their former selves, physically and emotionally. 

Even when it was revealed that the eligible women of Ithaca would be forced to fight in their husband’s steads, Penelope did not weep in fear as Ctimene and others did. No, Penelope raised her head high with her spear held proudly, declaring that as long as her female warriors listened to her they would have no need to worry for their lives. How easy it’d been to believe her, their queen who’d been born a Spartan princess and taken under Ares’ wing before she was a woman.

And she was right. 

Penelope led all 600 of her women through almost a decade of war with their lives intact. There were many scars and even more injuries, but not once was a pyre lit for an Ithacan soldier. Those 72, they were a devastating accident no one could have predicted. As long as they continued to listen to Penelope, the remaining 528 would be able to give them as proper a funeral rite they could given the circumstances. 

… 

Right. So long as the crew listens. 

So long as Ctimene listens.

~

After a few minutes of climbing Penelope found herself at a dead end. There was no more rope for her to cling onto, for the ladder ended underneath a giant white cloud. 

Squinting at where rough fibers met condensed vapor, Penelope noticed the ladder looked as if it were connected to the fluffs of wind themselves. 

Tentatively reaching a hand out, Penelope’s suspicions were confirmed when her hand reached into the cloud and grabbed hold of even more rope. Continuing her climb while phasing through gusts of wind Penelope soon found herself at the true end of the rope ladder, which was held down by a rainbow nail. 

Pushing herself up, Penelope was almost surprised to feel her feet land on a sturdy, swishing ground made entirely of cloud. Looking around, the mortal noticed several strange pieces of cloud-architecture building and toppling themselves after every few minutes, as if their creator was not satisfied with their appearance. 

Wait, their creator! The owner of this floating isle of clouds!

Penelope cleared her throat, a couple puffs of cloud flying out, before calling out her plea in a regal voice reserved for war councils and battlefields. 

“Great Wind God, Aeolus, I don't know if you know this but our path to home is blocked by an impenetrable storm.”

Penelope turned left to right, this way and that, hoping to find the enigmatic ruler of this island.

…

Nothing. 

Well, legends did account that Aeolus was one of the more… playful Gods, one of the many tricksters to grace the heavens. Perhaps they were waiting for Penelope to look for them, sort of like an every-day game of hide and seek?

If so, Penelope would just have to oblige. 

“I ask for your assistance, so we at last can go the distance,”

Penelope searched every corner of the cloudy isle, running to search through fluffy white architecture before it was toppled and gently parting large tufts of soft fog in search of the God. 

So far, still no luck. 

“Can you cast the perfect winds for us and aid our journey home?”

From the corner of her eye Penelope noticed one of the nearby clouds gently shake, as if something was hiding inside of it. Carefully, Penelope parted the foggy white clumps in hopes of it held the one she was looking for-

… 

Nothing? 

Penelope tilted her head, confusion evident in her features. She was so sure that she saw- 

POOF!

Penelope jumped back, startled when someone appeared out of nowhere inside that same parted cloud. 

The person looked as if they were one with the clouds themselves, their body made of the same airy substance. However, unlike the various clouds surrounding them, their body, robes, and waist-length hair would fade from white to a very light blue. Their eyes, glowing in place of pupils, were also colored this same shade. 

They had a triumphant smile on their face, like they were pleased with having “won” this little game of hide-and-seek.

“Ha ha ha!”

The deity sprung out of their hiding place, playfully flying around Penelope like a hummingbird.

“I am the wind, twisting and turning, I give the fire enough to stay burning.” 

This was Aeolus, God of the Winds. They looked Penelope up and down, scrutinizing every detail both physical and spiritual. They grinned, tapping thier cheek with a finger as an idea came to mind. 

“Let's play a game.”

“A game?” Penelope tilted her head. 

“That's what I'm serving.” Aeolus shrugged nonchalantly. “And if you win, you will get what you're yearning.” 

A game? Really? Is that really all Aeolus wanted in exchange for Penelope and her crew to safely tread the stormy seas? 

No, the Gods were never that straightforward (and she would know). Penelope just knew there had to be more to it than that. However… 

She DID vow to do and say whatever she needed to in order to secure the God’s assistance. The captain would just have to ensure she remained extra vigilant to this God’s antics. And, should Tyche be merciful, perhaps Aeolus would find better entertainment sooner or later.

“Deal.” Penelope said, holding her hand out to seal the deal. 

Aeolus reached out to shake the mortal’s hand, only to fake out at the last second and pull their hand away. Judging from the mortal’s reaction, she had not planned on the God committing such an action. 

Aeolus smiled, ecstatic to have tricked the human woman for a second time, before manifesting a plain brown bag into their hand. 

“Take a look right here at this bag.” 

The Wind God flew toward the ocean’s horizon in a blur of their namesake. They collected every single dark and gloomy cloud both nearby and in the distance as though they were naught but scattered drachmas, throwing them all inside the brown bag. Soon, the only clouds visible were those that were beautiful, light, and gentle. 

The God returned to float in front of Penelope, playfully shaking the now full brown bag. 

“It has the winds of the storm all trapped!”

Aeolus sealed the bag with a rainbow tie, plopping it right into Penelope’s hands as if it were nothing. 

“All you gotta do is not open this bag.”

Penelope tested the weight of the bag in her hands. Physically it was surprisingly light, as a cloud or gust of air usually is, but the weight of what it represented made up for its lack of density, turning into a heavy burden on Penelope’s shoulders. 

Something wasn’t right about this. 

The seal on the bag was secured nice and tight. Even if an accident occurs where she is forced to drop the bag or leave it outside of her hands, it wouldn’t be enough for the bag to open by itself. It needed to be opened willfully, by a pair of hands purposefully unsealing the rainbow tie. That was an easy enough task to accomplish simply on its own. 

Was the game Aeolus proposed truly meant to be such a straightforward one? 

Penelope looked up, masking her internal suspicion with a cockiness fueled by false courage.

“Sounds too easy, what's the catch?”

That mischievous glare in Aeolus’ glowing eyes sharpened, proving Penelope’s initial theory correct. 

“Ha ha ha!” 

Aeolus snapped their fingers, summoning a group of tiny adorable creatures that looked strikingly similar to the lotus eaters from before; these one though, instead of being covered with fuzzy dark fur, looked like they were made of little fluffy clouds ranging from the white of winter to the light blue of skies. 

These creatures collected individual puffs of clouds, stacking them atop each other and shaping each one into the rough form of a human woman. 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!” Aeolus replied with a little teasing “boop” to Penelope’s nose. 

“Never really know who you can trust…” Their little cloud creatures chorused in unison. 

Chillingly, Penelope couldn’t help but notice how each one looked almost exactly like one of her crew members back on the main ship. The cloud-women ran simultaneously to ambush her, each one trying to grab hold of the wind bag. 

“If they wanna get the bag open, you gotta say ‘no, sir’.”

“Sometimes killing is a must.”

Penelope, after dodging each cloud-person and striking them to evaporation, paused and stared at that little tidbit. Suddenly, the cool air of her cloudy surroundings grew chilling.

“What?”

“'Cause the end always justifies the means.” Aeolus took Penelope’s hands and spun her playfully, deliberately ignoring her question. 

“Friends turn into foes and rivalries…” The creatures echoed in the background, almost mockingly. 

“So keep your friends close and your enemies closer!” Aeolus gently pet Penelope one final time, akin to how a child would an adorable new pet fresh off the teat of its dame. 

The touch was not rough, but it made goosebumps shudder across her skin. Mortals were not meant to touch the clouds and vice versa it seems.

“Never really know who you can trust…” 

The combined words of Aeolus and their little cloudy companions echoed in Penelope’s mind as she returned to the rope ladder, continuing to take over her thoughts even while she climbed down those coiled fibers and inched closer to her waiting ship.

Whatever it was the God and their little minions tried to insinuate, Penelope hadn’t the faintest clue yet.

Never really know who you can trust…

Quicker than it took to climb the swaying ladder, Penelope soon felt her feet ground themselves from rope step to wooden floor.

The first to notice their captain’s reappearance were the two youngest crew members aboard the main ship (and even in the entire fleet): Pelagia and Erato. 

Pelagia, the shorter, slightly older, and more assertive of the two, was quick to notice the strange brown bag attached to Penelope’s hip, its rainbow string a shiny lure.

“Captain, what's happening?” Pelagia asked with a pointed finger. 

Erato, the tallest, slightly timid, youngest member of the entire crew, followed her best friend’s pointed finger and in turn noticed what she was staring at.

“What's trapped in that bag?” The two youngsters asked in unison, their combined interest bringing it to the entire main ship’s attention. 

Penelope had prepared for this on her way back down. 

The rules of her and Aeolus’ little “game” stipulated that they were to keep the bag open at all costs. As long as she informed her crew of this, of how important it was to never have it opened, they would be alright. 

“Something dangerous, friends,” Penelope took hold of the bag, trying to emphasize her point. “We mustn't lag-”

“It's treasure!” Aeolus’ little minions interrupted, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and floating aimlessly near the bag. 

The two words they spoke struck the entire crowd like thunder.

Penelope’s eyes widened as she slowly turned her head to glare at the cloud creatures. 

“What?” 

“Buh-bye!” The creatures disappeared, just like that. 

Of course… 

She should’ve known, she should’ve expected this…

Penelope could feel her heart quicken, every heartbeat rapid and faster than her blood and breath could follow. A cold sweat dripped from her forehead to the back of her neck, her occupied hand and throat closing instinctively tighter. 

This is what the Wind God meant by turning her plea into a game.

THIS is what Aeolus and the cloud creatures were warning her about with their cryptic words.

Proving her point, many crew members already began to approach Penelope about the mysterious bag. Pelagia and Erato, already in close approximation, tried to take hold of the bag kept in their captain’s rigid grip. 

“Open the bag.” Pelagia said.

“Let's see what you got.” Erato added.

Breaking out of her stupor, Penelope clutched the wind bag closer to her chest. 

“No, do not!”

Every crewmember approaching her halted, confused as to why their captain would react in such a manner. She clung to the bag more insistently than a newborn babe to their mother’s breast.

“Everybody listen closely-” Penelope’s entire demeanor was a serious one, her expression, tone, and posture as assertive and commanding as it would be back on her throne; if one had to specifically describe it, the closest comparison would be a mother scolding her children to keep them in line. 

Penelope lifted the bag high enough for everyone to see, pointing specifically at its rainbow string keeping it tightly shut. 

“See how this bag is closed? That's how it's supposed to be!”

She then gestured toward the horizon, forcing the crew to look at the clear blue skies and gentle ocean waves. 

“This bag has the storm inside! We cannot let the treasure rumor fly!” 

Aeolus’ little trick complicated things, a lot. Still, even with this wrench thrown at her, Penelope’s original plan had some standing! 

Her crew was a loyal one; they had proved it time and time again by heeding each one of her commands no matter how ridiculous or outlandish they may have seemed in the moment. They fought together, killed together, kept her and each other safe from men twice their size and thrice their strength with nothing more than cunning, stealth, and effective leadership. 

So long as they remembered this, so long as they continued to heed Penelope’s words, then Aeolus’ little “game” would end in victory. 

The crew seemed to have agreed, for the most part. 

“We'll try.” Pelagia, Erato, and some of the other women affirmed, albeit not too surely. 

The majority of the women returned to their positions, though some of them allowed their eyes to linger on the bag far longer than Penelope would have liked. The only one who didn’t was Ctimene, for she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the brown bag… 

~ The fleet of 12 ships continued to set sail and stay their course. Night after night, day after day, the weather stayed sunny and breezy whilst the water below remained calm yet strong. 

Aeolus and their wind minions (winions, as Penelope began to call them in her thoughts) continued to tread closely behind the Ithacan ships, eager to keep track of how the mortal and her retinue were faring in their little “trust exercise”.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!” Aeolus would coo from above, taking note of how weary and restless the women aboard the main ship were beginning to grow. 

“Never really know who you can trust…” The crew chanted as they rowed, this growing feeling of discourse spreading amongst them. 

“Never really know who you can trust…” The winions would repeat, as if affirming this feeling inside the crewmembers. 

Aeolus observed the way Penelope stood at the edge of her ship’s helm, looking over the ocean’s path and her sailing crew in timely intervals. As days continued to pass with the ships traversing closer and closer to Ithaca, not once did Penelope allow herself more than a couple minutes of shut-eye. 

Despite her earlier words, Penelope knew the dangers of temptation far too well. She just couldn’t risk letting herself fall into slumber, lest one of the others try and open the bag whilst she slept, if not out of greed then curiosity.

She couldn’t let herself grow compliant when they were so close to home yet still not there.  

“Now they wanna get the bag open so they can have closure…”

Aeolus, watching all of this go on from above, noticed how one crew member in particular would inch closer and closer everytime Penelope dozed off longer and longer…

“Sometimes sneaking is a must…” “Sometimes sneaking is a must…”

A few more days, a few more nights. The women would all take turns rowing, resting, completing the litany of chores a ship needs to stay afloat, rowing, sleeping and repeat the daily cycle. The only woman who did not allow herself the luxury of sleep or rest was Penelope, who still held the bag close to her chest. She barely even ate, unable to stomach anything and unwilling to risk having either hand occupied on the off chance another’s tried to touch the bag. However, it was clear to the crew how exhausted their captain was growing based on her sluggish movement and bagged eyes.

Aeolus couldn’t help growing excited, for they could feel the scales of their and Penelope’s “game” tipping in their favor with each time the sun rose then set. 

“Cause the end always justifies the means,”

The crew looked at their captain, unable to keep themselves from thinking of how much she’s changed since the conflict in Troy came to an end. 

Ctimene herself was the most critical of this change, especially considering the time in which it prominently began revealing itself. 

“Everything's changed since Circes, so-”

Aeolus relaxed against their bed of clouds, gazing into the horizon a few dozen klicks away from where the ships currently sailed. From where they lay in the sky they could see a beautiful island filled with sandy beaches, luscious greenery, and a stunning palace waiting not too far in the distance. 

Still, the Wind God wasn’t worried. This right here was the climax of their little “game”, and everything exciting always happens near the end. 

Doubt, wariness, exhaustion, and the need to satiate always made for one delicious recipe of disaster.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Never really know who you can trust…” 

“Never really know who you can trust…”

Back down to the ocean, on the main ship leading the other 11, the captain of the fleet definitely looked like she had seen better days. 

Penelope’s hair was frazzled, tangled and sticking up from where it was tied back. Her modest sailor’s tunic and skirt, fitted in consideration for her feminine physique, was wrinkled haphazardly with no consideration for appearance; even her sandals were not tied as neatly as they should have been. Worse of all was her face, for her beauty turned haggard under days worth of neglect and dark eye bags weighed her once keen eyes. 

Penelope, despite her obvious need for sleep, did all she could to keep herself awake. Everything ranging from pacing and slapping her cheeks to talking to herself and singing to the waves like a madwoman. Some of the phrases she said here and there were coherent enough for the others to hear, but Penelope was so deep in her fatigue that she couldn’t even discern half the things rolling off her tongue at that point. 

Right now, inside this liminal state of paranoid awareness and sleep-deprived tiredness, it was curiously the moment Penelope found herself to be completely conscious despite her exhaustion. 

“For nine days I've stayed wide awake, trying to make it home with no storm or tidal wave,” 

Penelope looked down, just in case her body’s sensation of touch had betrayed her. Sure enough, the bag of winds was still tucked safe and securely inside her arms. From an outside perspective, it looked like she was hugging it. 

“I remain unopposed, the bag is still closed, and I'm getting closer to you…”

Penelope shut her eyes. Only for a second, she told herself. 

While her eyes were shut Penelope felt a familiar warm breeze, the gust smelling of sand and freshwater, caressing her cheeks; she could smell Ithaca’s signature foods and hear the island’s melodious tunes, so close and detailed it practically felt like she was already there. 

Reopening her eyes, Penelope found she was no longer leaning against the mast of her ship. Instead, she was standing before the entrance of one of her most favorite places in the entire kingdom: the royal bedchamber’s outside balcony. 

The handmade wooden doors, bleached white and carved lovingly, opened on their own to display what was outside. 

There he was, only an arm’s length away, leaning against the balcony’s railing.

His back was turned whilst he looked out over the ocean’s horizon, donning the casual robes he only wore for private lounging and sporting the leather brace meant to bring relief to his shoulder, something he only put on in the presence of those he trusted. His dark wavy hair swayed with the wind’s breeze; his tanned skin, slightly darker than his wife's, shined warmly against the sun’s golden beams. 

He turned, his earth-toned eyes meeting her watercolored ones. 

“Odysseus…”

Her husband’s name was music to Penelope’s ears, sounding like a soothing lullaby.

Penelope couldn’t help but let herself get lost in his eyes, deep browns that displayed an intense combination of intelligence, kindness, and adoration. Those eyes, the very first thing that drew her to Odysseus back when they were only teenage acquaintances, had the same effect on her now as they did 16 years ago. 

His lips split into a smile, small and soft and comforting with everything it offered. It was just like Penelope remembered it, exactly what she longed to see after being so cruelly taken away from him for almost a decade. 

There really was no doubt about it; even though he had inevitably aged, the same as any mortal after such a long stretch of time, Odysseus would no doubt be even more gorgeous now than he was 9 years ago…

Penelope slowly let her guard down simply because of his mere presence. 

“I can't wait to resume our happiness…”

A little girl suddenly appeared by Odysseus’ side, one whose hair and eye color strikingly matched his. She shyly held his hand while looking up at Penelope, her bashful smile somehow a perfect combination of the husband and wife’s. 

Penelope knew right away the identity of this little girl. It was her baby, no longer an infant of one year but a child of ten. 

“Telemachas…”

Penelope let out a serene sigh upon hearing her daughter’s name, her heart soaring with utter bliss. 

Telemachas’ little details, like her facial features and the length of her hair, would change shape every once in a while. Sometimes she would adopt more of Ody’s characteristics while other times she took more after Penelope’s attributes. However, this did nothing to frighten or deter Penelope; if anything, it did the exact opposite. 

After almost an entire decade of being torn apart by order of the Gods, Penelope would finally be reunited with her greatest and more precious treasure. No more would she have to fantasize about the face her little girl grew into, for soon enough she would be able to see and memorize every real detail with her own two eyes. Would she have moles? Freckles from the sun? Scars from accidents? Dimples on her cheeks?

Soon, they would be able to do everything Penelope fantasized about doing with her daughter: navigating the trials of womanhood, teaching her to fight as a warrior, simply doing what they enjoy, whether it be weaving, swimming, singing, or some other lovely activity, as long as they were by each other’s side…

Oh, how lovely it all sounded.

“Time for me to be the mother I never was!” 

Odysseus and Telemachas approached Penelope, her husband wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a steady, gentle embrace while her daughter carefully pried her clenched fingers open and placed their hands atop each other’s.

‘Just keep your eyes open…’

Penelope tried to lean into Odysseus’ embrace, tried to intertwine her and Telemachas’ fingers, only for her family to slowly distance themselves from her presence.

Penelope’s heart sunk as her family moved farther and farther away from her at such a fast rate. She tried to run back to them, wanting nothing more than to return to that embrace. However, Penelope suddenly felt her body, heart, and even her very spirit grow heavy with… something.

Whatever it was, it turned her into an anchor, slowly sinking to the bottom while her husband and child disappeared out of reach like driftwood.

“Why are my eyes and my heart and my soul so heavy?”

Looking back up at them, Penelope saw that the contentment on her Odysseus and Telemachas had been replaced with worry, unease, and bone-deep anxiety. 

But of what, Penelope wondered nervously.

‘Just keep your eyes open…’

What is it, Penelope thought raggedly as her breath grew short and her lungs burned, what was making them so nervous that they moved farther away with every step she took to reach them? 

What was keeping them so far away even when they were already so close to each other? 

“I keep on trying to embrace you both, why won't you let me?”

‘Just keep your eyes open…’ Her family answered in response, concern so very evident in their tones.

But of what?

…

Wait …

Peneleope felt her thoughts quickly derail; bated breath, welling eyes, and a cold sweat quick to follow. 

Was… 

Was it Penelope herself? Was she the thing they were so afraid of…

But-

That…

That can’t be it! It just can’t!

They didn’t have anything to worry about! Penelope is still the same woman she was before that fateful day 9 years ago!

Even if Penelope has done things over the last decade she was not proud of, things that will haunt her to the Underworld, said things she wished she could take back, and watched helplessly as others who didn’t deserve to lost their lives, none of it defined who she was! 

She was still Penelope, strong yet wise, stubborn but patient, daring and still careful! The very same woman who stuck by her ideals no matter how hard it was at times.

“So much has changed but I'm the same!” Penelope cried desperately, believing wholeheartedly in her words. Because they were true…

Yes, yes that’s right! Her words did ring true!

Right now, at this moment, this one single instance that marked the possible end to her journey, Penelope, exactly as she was the moment she left Ithaca, would be the same one to once again set foot in her home!

And this Penelope would never let herself become a monster. 

“Yes I'm the same!”

Penelope, with brand new resolve, was able to take the steps she needed to finally be within reaching distance of the two loves of her life. Just one more step and they would be in each other’s arms once more…

‘Just keep your eyes open…’

One. 

More.

Step… 

Just keep your eyes open…

Penelope collapsed, that last step impossible to take on her own. However, she did not fall to the ground. Instead, she landed inside the firm embrace of Odysseus’ arms. 

“...wake up…” 

Penelope’s vision grew blurry. Looking up, she was just barely able to make out Odysseus’ face.

Wait a second… 

Penelope squinted her eyes, unsure if they were deceiving her. Why were his eyes so wide and full of panic-

“Wake up!”

Odysseus suddenly gripped his wife’s shoulders, his expression frantic and voice filled to the brim with raw desperation. 

“Penelope, they're opening the bag, WAKE UP!”

Penelope’s eyes, her real ones in the real world, snapped open. She threw herself up into a sitting position, no longer laying against the mast…

Wait. Closed eyes… laying against the mast…

Oh no…

No. No. No. No. No. No…

BY THE GODS NO! 

She- she let herself sleep! Penelope let her guard down!

She looked down at her hands and arms, praying by some miracle that it was still in her possession. But it was just as she feared…

The wind bag was gone. 

Penelope looked up. A crowd of 6 women had gathered themselves in a circle. 5 of the women Penelope could tell right away. The 6th, though, had hidden herself in the center, away from the line of sight of anyone outside the circle. 

The only thing Penelope could see, in between the wall of 5 women, was the sixth holding a very familiar brown bag. The mystery crewmate used two fingers, her index and thumb, to gingerly take hold of the rainbow string keeping it sealed…

“NO!”

Penelope threw herself to her feet and tried to run toward them. There was still time, she could still make it home if she just kept them from- 

Something yanked Penelope back. Looking down, the captain saw that one of her hands was tied to the ship’s mast. It was right then and there when Penelope realized, with a deep sense of dread, that they had planned this.

Every single woman looked in the captain’s direction once they heard her cry out in agony. This included the circle of women currently in possession of the bag. 

But it was too late. 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!” 

The rainbow tie came loose.

Within the very next second, Pandora’s box had unleashed upon the crew. 

Never really know who you can trust…

Never really know who you can trust…

Clouds, big and wet and stormy grew, spilling instantaneously out of the bag to return to their rightful place in the aegean. The soft gentle winds from before became harsh and heavy. The waves below grew rapid and restless, becoming even more perilous as the rain spilling from those dreary clouds added to the strength of the ocean below. 

Storm…

The combination of high winds and treacherous waves forced the fleet to halt their movement forward. And then, with no warning, the 12 ships began to sail backwards.

That’s right. At such high speeds that the fleet would have appeared as a blur to anyone on the outside, the ships sailed further and further away from home and headed to an unknown destination. It would not have been too unreasonable, at that moment, to assume the ships could compete in a race against the Messenger Gods themselves. And win. 

Full speed ahead…

Aeolus, for the first time since they issued the challenge nine days ago, descended upon the fleet of ships. They wore a smile, an eerie, menacing, foreboding one. 

Despite her difficulty maintaining balance over the uncontrollable swaying ship, Penelope managed to steady herself just enough to make her way over to her ship’s top deck and stare face-to-face at the Wind God.  

“Where's the storm taking us?!”

Aeolus giggled, cruel and childish, as they stared down at the mortal being trying desperately to regain control of the situation. 

“I said to keep the bag closed, but you weren't compliant,” Aeolus blew a kiss at the fleet, the addition of their personal winds forcing the ships to somehow go even faster than before.

“If I had to guess? You're heading to the Land of the Giants…”

Soon, it did not take long for even Aeolus and their winions to no longer be within sight. 

Storm…

At the speed they were going it would have been impossible for any of the women to point out or distinguish any landmarks that would have helped them find their way back. 

Storm…

Immediately, Penelope realized it was the cannibalistic Laestrygonians that Aeolus referred to as the final destination of their strom-fueled ships.

If they ended up arriving at their intended destination, there would be no doubt the lives of her entire crew would be lost.

Penelope needed to stop the ships from getting there! But how… 

Penelope looked around frantically, trying to search for something that could help. 

No islands or land anywhere nearby that could block the ships’ paths, she doubted their anchors were strong enough against a God’s handmade storm, no amount of rope, whether it be the numerous amounts of brown coiled thread stacked against each other in the corner or rainbow string, would do anything against the sto-

Wait, rainbow string?! 

Penelope immediately returned her eyes to the ship's floor. Right there, laying discarded against the ship’s wooden floorboards, was the rainbow string that held the power to keep the bag securely tied in the first place. 

Whoever opened the bag had not realized its importance, evident from how they tossed it aside once it no longer appeared useful. 

Penelope grabbed the string before making a run for the bag, which was still spilling its windy contents into the sky and adding more clouds to the barrage. 

Ctimene, who was trying to steady their ship’s sails, who just so happened to be only a few feet from where the bag had opened , watched as Penelope forced herself to inch closer to it using all her mortal strength. 

Despite the bag’s winds trying to keep her away, Penelope managed to successfully get as close as she needed to. Kneeling down to better reach the bag’s opening, all the while devastating winds threatened to rip her face off her skull and her hair from her scalp, Penelope wrapped the rainbow string around the flaps of the bag and tried her damndest to close it once more. 

However, trying to close the bag alone only ended in failure with each attempt. The captain, knowing she couldn’t do this alone, looked around for something or someone that could help keep the bag steady enough to close. 

No one could have missed the quick sigh of relief she let out when meeting Ctimene’s gaze. 

“Help me close the bag!” Penelope ordered her sister. 

“But ma’am, it's too late.” Ctimene answered instead of acted. 

Penelope, while still trying to close the bag with her own meager strength, glared at her second-in-command in response to her question.

“We can save whatever wind is left to use another day! Come on!”

Ctimene, finally realizing her captain’s intention, wasted no time and sprung herself to action. 

The sisters worked together to quickly close the bag: Ctimene used her immense strength to keep it steady despite its overwhelming power while Penelope wrapped the string tightly around the bag’s opening. Once she was sure it was nice and secure, Penelope pulled on both ends of the string. 

The open flaps of the bag shut in unison with the rainbow string’s pull. 

Just like that, no more were the winds stronger than their sales. The ships halted in place, no longer driven by the forces of nature. The dark, stormy clouds that had infested the skies quickly dissipated. Though not as blue and clear as it was moments ago, as light-gray clouds still littered the sky and continued to spill a light drizzle of rain, it was definitely an improvement compared to before. 

However, there was something still off with the waves below; they weren’t as treacherous as they had been whilst in the middle of the divine storm, but something was still making them uneasy, raging… 

None of the women noticed this yet. 

Every single crew member, both on the main ship or one of the other 11, let out a much needed deep breath. She would either have a hand placed over herself, hovered over the body part of a nearby friend, or was performing a combination of the two. 

Penelope and Ctimene were no exception to this. 

The captain and her second in command had not parted from the other’s side since completing their objective. Penelope had one hand over her knee to maintain balance, the other placed carefully in front of Ctimene’s torso to keep her sister from toppling over while the ship immediately steadied. Ctimene, in turn, had a hand placed over her chest to forcibly relax her breathing, with the other placed firmly on Penelope’s shoulder to keep the other secured after everything that just happened. 

While catching the breath escaping from her lungs, Penelope assessed their surroundings to devise a quick game plan in her head. Things obviously didn’t go as planned, that was for sure, but hope hadn’t died just yet!

The first thing they would have to do is figure out where they were! Though nothing looked particularly familiar in any direction she gazed, it was likely that with a little sailing they would be treading recognizable waters in no time!

Next, Penelope would have to find a way to gather resources that served both as sustenance and maintenance (no doubt the ships took quite the beating after being navigated purely by wind and wave). She would need to be careful, especially considering what happened last time they looked for sustenance, but as long as she remained vigilant and logical it should all be okay! 

Sure the “plan” barely counted as a plan to begin with, not to mention the “simple” tasks were anything but. Still, even if it sounded daunting at first, Penelope knew as long as each of the 528 women worked hard and did her part they would have nothing to worry about. 

As long as nothing else happened, they would be able to set course back home as if nothing happened in the first plac-

“Penelope of Ithaca!” A woman’s voice, deep, angry, and very much powerful, yelled out from the deepest depths of the sea herself. 

Penelope’s breath stilled, her blood running so cold for a moment she thought herself to be a corpse. 

That- that was her name, wasn’t it? 

Her and more than 500 pairs of eyes turned towards the direction of that voice. Penelope saw a pair of glowing blue orbs hidden within a cloud of foggy mist. 

The unnaturally choppy waters were much more noticeable now… 

“Do you know who I am?”

[cupidb]

Guess who woke up from the dead… haha 😅

- The Intruder

Vampire!Yunho x Fem!Vampire!Reader

☆Genre: Fluff??/Smut (18+ content, MDNI!)

☆Summary: Yunho finds a badly wounded vampire in his territory and takes her home.

Enjoy!

Yunho was stalking the woodland. His domain was peaceful, and the moon was full. He rushed down the trails, his fangs protruding and his gaze acute in the dim light. He wasn't starving. He was simply bored.

He was the clan's area enforcer, and it was his responsibility to patrol at night, check recurring problem sites, and ensure that violators in their territory were apprehended and dealt with.

He would be regarded as gigantic inhuman proportions. In human terms, he was 6ft 2 tall. Others might conceal their fangs and stroll amongst humans in the dead of night. Yunho, not so. His skin was as white as the moon and glowed with the same ethereal radiance. His eyes were bronze in color. He could never stroll among others. He was far too beautiful.

He could smell something. It was an intruder. He moved lower to the ground. Moving on foot. Moving slowly. Unusual and risky. The intruder wouldn't be hard to find. Why would a rival vampire be in his territory, moving slowly on foot, unless something was wrong.

He could only detect one scent. A vampire who was alone was usually a vampire who was at risk. Vampires felt that there was safety in numbers. Yunho was the only one who preferred to walk by himself. He clenched his fists and braced himself for the fight. He sniffed the track once more before heading north through the woodland towards the lake.

He noticed it when he broke through the woods and entered the clearing. The trespasser. It was little, curled up, and smelled strongly of dread and hunger. Yunho was nearly certain he wouldn't have to fight tonight, but he kept his guard up nevertheless. Being careful paid off.

He approached it cautiously. As Yunho neared, it groaned and grabbed itself, its breath coming in short bursts and its eyes wide open. "I'm no intruder." It cried in pain. "Check with Hui. My maker was from this clan." That altered everything. Yunho became concerned at this point. He scooped up the small being. She weighed next to nothing.

"Why are you here?" Yunho asked quietly as he headed west to a safe place. The voice that came out was small and strained. "My maker. Did the wrong thing. They killed him. I had to escape." Yunho didn't want to know anymore. Vampires were unfortunately intrinsically tied to the actions and whims of their maker. She would have had no choice but to follow the maker's instructions. It must have been terrible for her to run and end up in this condition.

Yunho went swiftly through the night air, the darkness relaxing, his cold skin soothing the nearly lifeless creature in his arms. Vampires required very little to live. Vampires enjoy blood, darkness, and the company of other vampires. He had no choice but to keep her alive. Just five minutes more. He yanked her shirt buttons open and shoved the small vampire into his skin. Her breathing instantly slowed. Yunho exhaled a sigh of relief and continued walking.

"Mingi. Open up." He yelled as he pounded on the old farmhouse's door. When the human opened the door and saw the gigantic vampire clutching the tiny lifeless creature in his arms, his eyes widened in terror. "No time to explain." He shoved the human aside and marched into his living room, where he placed the vampire on the couch.

"Mingi. Come here." Yunho commanded. His bronze eyes burned with power as the human followed his instruction. He silently commanded the human, who was strong and bursting with vitality, to sit on the floor beside the couch.

She was almost gone. She was too weak to bite or suck. Yunho was well aware that he would have to feed her. He held Mingi's wrist tightly in his huge hand. As the vampire enforcer bit down and drank, filling his mouth with the delicious warm liquid, the human breathed deeply. He leaned over the dying vampire on the couch, pressing their lips firmly together. He opened his mouth and let the life fluid in his mouth run into the other's mouth. He held the reviving kiss for the fluids to transfer. It tasted fantastic. Mingi has recently been eating well.

He interrupted the kiss and wiped his lips with the back of his pale palm, leaving a red smear. "What happened to her?" When Yunho glared at him while disregarding his question, Mingi immediately regretted asking.

Mingi's veins were sucked again and transmitted to the little vampire. Yunho massaged their h/c hair and felt her revive as the second mouthful flowed into the other. She was going to live.

He drank another deep, rich swallow and passed it to the small vampire. The third bite was enough to wake her up. She groaned as Yunho peered over her as she recovered awareness and her sensation of pain.

"I need to see." Yunho said as he ripped her shirt open. Deep scrapes disfigured the flawless s/c chest and stomach, which were already exhibiting indications of infection. Yunho inhaled deeply at the sight before him. Inside his pants, his erection was already growing. He only fucked humans because he needed to be in power, and other vampires weren't typically willing to be completely dominated. But this one was a little different.

"Who are you?" Yunho inquired as the smaller one became lively. "My maker named me Moon. But he's gone now. "I'll go with Y/N."

"I can heal you Y/N." Yunho spoke into the vampire's ear, making her quiver at the feeling of his breath on her skin. He stroked the deep gashes on her chest with his hands. He stabbed his thumb with a fang and delicately wiped his blood into the cuts. Y/N writhed in pain as she let the massive vampire hovering over her perform his healing ritual.

Yunho sucked another mouthful of Mingi's blood and pressed his lips against Y/N's. Honestly, the small vampire was restored enough that she could bite and suck for herself, but Yunho was having too much fun with this.

His tongue followed the blood into Y/N's mouth this time, and the other welcomed it in. She pushed back with her own, and the taste of Mingi's blood lingered between them. Yunho licked her wounds as he lowered his mouth down her neck to her chest. His healing saliva instantly began to close the wounds and relieve Y/N's discomfort.

Y/N finally felt her head clear. The world came to a halt as life returned to her. Yunho's relief from her wounds was pleasant, and she relaxed as she began to appreciate the feel of Yunho's thick rough tongue on her body. She felt better every time a wound healed. Her writhing, groaning misery gradually turned to pleasure as she relished the sensation of the massive vampire looming over her.

"Let me thank you." The h/c vampire reached down and started unbuttoning Yunho's pants. Yunho quickly assessed the situation and determined that he would approve it. He had already become hard, so why not take advantage of it? As the other withdrew his erection from his pants and began to work it with her hand, he proceeded to lick at the small vampire's wounds.

Mingi muttered something about privacy and turned to walk away, but Yunho grabbed his wrist and stopped him. "We're not done with you yet." As the vampire underneath him pumped his erection faster, he muttered and sucked another mouthful from his wrist.

He leaned in and gave Y/N another mouthful of Mingi's blood, this time with his tongue, the thick red liquid coating their lips, teeth, and tongues.

As life surged back into Y/N's body, she felt herself resurrect. She had been so close to death when she was rescued by this huge imposing being whose eyes glowed with their fire.

"Can I drink from your human?" She asked quietly and politely as she continued to jerk him off. "If you say yes I'll let you fuck me." She added. Yunho smirked before nodding. She released her hold on his erection.

She grabbed Mingi roughly and went for his inner elbow, moaning as she bit down, her eyes closed as she sucked hard causing a low whimper to escape him. Just like his blood, she drank the sound up. She released the frightened human and gave him a flirty wink as she turned her attention back to Yunho, not catching the possessive glint in his eyes.

"He's delicious!" Y/N grinned. She was alive again.

"I know." Yunho smirked and barely noticed as the terrified but flustered human took off out of the room. "Now give me what you promised." He tore at the small vampire's muddy trousers and smirked again at the sight before him when they hit the floor.

With her painfully thin body and glittering e/c eyes, this petite yet powerful creature was truly beautiful. Yunho was bored with fucking Mingi. He sought the thrill of battling another creature as powerful and wild as he was.

He delighted in running his hands over the smaller's chest. He hadn't felt another vampire under him in a long time. It was unbelievably sensual. He crushed his lips on hers and forced his tongue inside. He rubbed it against Y/N's newly protruding fangs. He could tell she was excited as well.

Yunho ran his fangs lightly down the s/c flesh of Y/N's neck, causing her to moan beneath him. His manhood rubbed onto the small vampire's exposed skin. Y/N got the clue and started jerking him off again.

"Stop. Let me inside you." Yunho commanded and the smaller conceded. She knew she had to do what the other wanted. He was twice her size and could easily destroy her.

Y/N opened her legs and allowed Yunho to feel for her entrance. It was tight but she would enjoy the pain.

"Go straight in." Y/N had taken a drink from his human. She had requested a favor, and now it was her turn to repay him. He pulled her knees up and she winced when she felt Yunho’s erection push inside her. The pain was nearly as energizing as the blood.

But she felt alive once more. She hadn't felt anyone other than her maker inside her in a long time. Her maker had been selfish, possessive, and jealous, and now that he was gone, Y/N was enjoying the first act of her newfound freedom. "Ah- More" She whined as she clutched Yunho's back. She desired to feel him deep within.

Yunho was accustomed to the delicacy of humans. He had forgotten what it was like to sink himself deep within another vampire without hesitation or reservation. He yanked almost all the way out, snarled deep inside his chest, and pushed in deeply, causing her to softly whimper. As Yunho found a rhythm and began to pound against her, Y/N bucked beneath him, her hips rising to meet the violent thrusts.

He didn't dare say it out loud but he loved the size difference and how huge he looked compared to her. It made him feel even more powerful in the moment. Looking down at where their hips meet he increases his speed watching how well she takes him.

It felt good. Too good. His orgasm built quickly and he found himself trying to hold on. Her moans and whimpers weren't making it easy for him either. If it was a human he wouldn't care, he would just finish and pull out and leave. But another vampire deserves respect and pleasure at the least.

Y/N's body responded to the belly full of blood and her body full of the bigger vampire. She luxuriated in the hedonistic pleasures of delicious food and a good fucking. She knew she had made the right decision to come back to her maker's original territory. She wondered if all the vampires around here were so tall and beautiful. She thrust her hips up to meet Yunho’s driving down into her earning a low moan from him.

She could see him clinging on, not wanting to be first, and was touched that the other vampire thought of her in that way. She wouldn't have to hold on for long. Yunho filled every inch of her body, and she was overdue for an orgasm. As she got closer, her insides twisted, and she came in hard, her fangs out in bliss, her nails and fangs dragging down Yunho's beautiful glowing skin.

Yunho noticed the small vampire beneath him arch and twist and ultimately moan in delight. Yunho's exposed skin was riddled with sharp nails and teeth. It was incredible. He allowed himself to climax, and his thrusts became more chaotic as he snarled deeper, beat harder, and eventually groaned. As his hips rode into the small body under him, he bit down hard on

Y/N's neck. Both catch their breath before helping the other stand up.

It wasn't until Yunho got off and they both started dressing that they noticed Mingi, horror on his face, motionless next to the couch. After what he had just witnessed, he was locked in a bizarre limbo halfway between shock and arousal.

"Still hungry?" Yunho questioned, ignoring the other male. Y/N raised her head. "No, thank you. I'm feeling great right now." He nodded at her response.

The moon was still full when they walked away from the house. "What are you going to do now?" Yunho inquired. "Not sure." She responded. "I'll have to go to Hui and ask for work and a place to stay."

Yunho couldn't believe what she was saying and scoffed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at her as he turned to face her. "You can stay with me."

"Really?" The small vampire looked up at the big one with big grateful eyes.

"Sure, why not? He'll probably assign you to me anyway. Everyone else is already partnered up, and you appear to be determined. I need someone to assist with the patrol."

Not waiting for an answer, Yunho began to sprint as the moon descended lower in the sky. He turned his head to see Y/N, who had fully recovered and was following him through the woodland. He smiled to himself and accelerated his pace, but Y/N kept up. His boredom could be coming to an end. Finally, someone was able to keep up with him.

since I'm alive again I will reopen my request box, yay! feel free to request!

[thevanillerose]

MASTERPIECE | STEFANO VALENTINI x READER | TEW2

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

“You are...quite magnificent...”

The ropes that bound you felt like claws digging into your skin. You seemed limbless, tied to that chair with your arms and legs all wrapped up in rough fibers, and you only felt all the more helpless when you saw the way he was looking at you.

In his eyes...or eye, rather...you were not a human being. No...you were like...clay. Like a canvas, upon which he would paint a bloody masterpiece. Something malleable, from which he would carve something monstrous. All the while he would be smiling in that sinister manner, maintaining that look which he was currently giving you, as you sat there in the center of that dimly lit room. Alone, with him, under the spotlight.

“...What is it you want from me...?” Thankfully the grueling aftermath of whatever he'd stunned you with in the first place had started to wear off, enough so that you were able to form some weakly spoken words. And you were weak. Outwith all this, outwith Union and this entire STEM nightmare, even away from all the dreadful monsters and gutturally croaking zombies, you were weak. That was just your personality. Tender and soft, certainly not someone who could look lightly upon the sight of a dead person. Yet they must have seen something in you, to send you in here. Surely you weren't just a...distraction.

Right?

“So innocent...” Or perhaps that really was the case. Perhaps you really had been sent in here only because MOBIUS felt you'd be a fitting form of bait for this madman. Someone who would definitely scream how he wanted them to. Someone who would shed tears and only look more tragically picturesque in the process. Someone who would make a fine piece of art. “...You wonder what I want? Well...I would have thought it was clear by your surroundings.”

Stefano, the tall blue-eyed bastard that he was, gestured with gloved hands to the darkness, as if you were somehow supposed to see the room you were situated in. You were glad you couldn't. No doubt it was no different from the rest of this horrible place. 'Quaint little town'? Hardly. “-Did you not see my art as you wandered this place? Did you not lay eyes upon my perfect pieces?” Stefano questioned, and with a smooth motion doubled over and brought his face to your level.

You weren't particularly tall in the first place, but this 5'11” male seemed like even more of a giant what with you being tied to a chair and all. Though you wished he hadn't come so close to you, for now you stood no chance of escaping that cruel gaze. Nor his touch, which graced against your left cheek, trickling down until his fingers were dancing under your jawline. It made you tremble, and those little shakes of yours only served to bring him more pleasure.

“Yes...” he breathed out, lightly dusting your face with warmth in the process. He slid his digits deftly under your chin, keeping it tilted up, although the edges of your face and the majority of your neck still felt so numb that you doubted you could have looked down anyway. Tying you up seemed like nothing but a garnish when you were already practically paralyzed.

And where would you run to anyway? This was his domain. His all-seeing eye, his lens would catch up with you soon enough. You could run and run and hide and hide, but in the end, he'd capture you.

“...This is exactly what I sought. This...this...fear. Ah...you fear a lot of things, don't you?” he spoke as if he could read you like a book. His hand turned so the back of it now stroked your skin, an oddly comforting motion considering what was likely to come next.

“I can tell you are not particularly strong. Of mind, perhaps, but not of will. I will enjoy this...” Stefano inhaled with anticipation and suddenly pulled away, straightening up and venturing out of the light to fetch something. Panic suddenly wracked your body, and you tried desperately to free yourself. The feeling in your nerves came back like lightning, the sheer adrenaline pushing the wooziness aside. This was something you had never experienced before. The sensation of truly being on the precipice of death. Yes, the creatures in here with you both were terrible, sure. Yet you had been able to avoid them thanks to your quiet and careful approach. That approach couldn't save you from this situation though. All you could do was beg.

“P-please! Please, please don't kill me! Please, I don't want to become art!” You started to sob, hot tears spilling from your eyes and falling down your cheeks as you bumped the chair against the floor a few times with your efforts. Still, it wasn't enough to help snap the thick threads he had tied you up with. You remained in place, and eventually he returned, looking all too happy about commencing the next steps of his creative procedure.

At first, you almost didn't notice it. You were busily scanning his body for signs of scalpels, razor wire, a gun- anything and everything that could be used to give you a gruesome yet 'beautiful' death. You hadn't expected this though. Those same gloved hands that had touched your skin before were now clamped firmly to a crossbow, upon which a bolt was already loaded. The smirk on his face said it all, and instantly your body was sinking into the wood it was sat upon, hopelessness swallowing you up and keeping you prisoner.

“There is a nuisance...a man who has come in here to stop me, yet cannot appreciate my art in the same way I'm sure you do. Well...assuming you bothered to pay attention to any of it-” For a brief moment, the man seemed bitter, but he swiftly carried on as he drew closer, “-Regardless...he has quite the penchant for using this kind of device. So I decided I would try it out myself. It does seem quite capable of killing quickly...” His eyes glazed, as he came to a standstill several meters in front of you. “And that moment, that instant where death occurs, though quick...is by far the most mesmerizing part of it all. That second-” he raised one hand to snap his fingers, then set it back on the weapon again, “-where you see the light leave the eyes...is breathtaking.”

Suddenly, with that final word, he wasn't wasting time anymore. Stefano stopped talking and started raising the bolt point until it was level with your head. You could tell where he was aiming for. Your eye. Your right eye.

“Please!” That pained beg came again, a choke emerging afterward. You didn't know what to say. What could you say to a man like this? This was no fairytale. Stefano wasn't a misunderstood soul who could be softened with tender words. He was detached, the epitome of cruelty and selfish desire. All he cared about was making art. Your screams, your cries for mercy would only add to the enjoyment.

That certainly seemed to be the case. And yet...something suddenly happened which you did not expect. No, what you had expected was that Stefano would plunge a metal bolt through your eye, splattering matter against the wall behind you. He'd be so sure and certain with his aim that he wouldn't miss, not even if you squirmed. When that was done he'd finally untie you, and carry your stunned and dead body to whatever place he intended to frame you. This set-up did seem a bit dull after all...

You were wrong though. Stefano did none of that. Instead, the artist brought the device down again, a moment of clarity coming to his eye. Not innocence, mind you, never that. However, it was definitely a change of thought. He sucked in his bottom lip before breathing out again in a long sigh.

“Ahh...perhaps this is a bit quick. After all, you aren't like any of the other projects I've had. The Core is an exception to everything of course, but you...you certainly are intriguing...” Stefano purred, his lips curling up and teeth showing as he walked toward your shocked figure.

“Wh...why...you...? Why did you...?” The words didn't come out right. He seemed to grasp what you were saying though. “I've devised other plans for you my dear.” Stefano's voice became slightly obscured as he crouched down at the back of your chair and sliced the rope apart. He'd freed you, and somehow you were alive when it happened. Baffled, you couldn't bring yourself to even attempt a quick getaway, only sitting there obediently until he pulled you up himself. With weakened legs you stumbled forward and ended up against him, to which the sinister man only smirked. His palm met your back and pulled you closer, while his lips moved down and by your ear. His soft low voice spoke in a whisper against it, tickling the shell.

“You...will be my greatest work yet.” Stefano smirked again, as his lips left a chaste kiss upon your cheek. “You...will be my masterpiece.”

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[jujutsukgojo]

Boy on the throne

gangster sukuna x reader

Chapter One

Summary:

I told you before, didn’t I?” An intense feeling of dread enters the room. Your heart is beating furiously. All you wanted was to watch Shrek, not see this. Not see this dim room with a weeping man on the floor and two of Sukuna’s men behind him.

“I don’t give second chances.”

a/n: A oneshot follow up! btw, what would you do or think? Do you agree with the MC? tw: death, torture (?), fear, depression (?), if anything else let me know!

 

 You do one last swipe of the red polish on your toe. Lately, you’ve been trying to perfect your nail polish skills. It's not like you have much to do lately anyways. You groan as a little bit gets past your nail and onto your skin. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door of your bedroom.  

  “Come in!”  

Your little sister enters with stride. There’s a big smile on her dimpled face. She sports the new colorful dress she just got and has been showing it off. Ever since you’ve been under Sukuna’s protection, the two of you have been lavished with gifts and luxury. Clothes that are the latest trend, jewelry that fits your tastes and then some, and of course, all of the art supplies that you can think of. The only problem? No one is biting for your art. 

  Once again, you’ve been completely blacklisted. Not only that, but you rarely see Sukuna anyway. He always sends his lackeys to get you things or watch you. How many times did you suddenly turn around and see some guy making extreme eye contact with you. It’s unnerving and just…you can’t put your finger on it. What was the point of all of this? 

  You care about Sukuna; you appreciate what he’s done and continues to do. But this feeling won’t go away. Are you unhappy and are missing the boy in your art? You hope it’s not you believing that Sukuna, the boy that graced your canvas at any given moment, is gone. He’s not! You wake up and see him sometimes. His kisses are gentle and passionate. A testament of love that is still so foreign.

  “I want a movie.”  

You sigh and get off the bed awkwardly. Walking, you have your toes lifted up so nothing smudges. “Go to the room, I'll be there in a second.” 

“You don’t know what I want to watch!” You turn around to see the little hands on her hips.  

  “Yes I do, trust me.” She looks at you suspiciously. “Alright...”  

She squints their eyes and walks away slowly. You push her along. “Goofy.” 

You sigh and look around for Shrek. It seems to be the current favorite in the house. Opening the case, you don’t find the disc. Well, you’re sure it’s streaming somewhere. 

“Crap…” Now you remember why you bought a CD. It’s because you couldn’t find it anywhere, surprisingly. “That’s fine, I’ll just ask him.” 

If anyone can find anything, it’s Sukuna. He’s got the nose of a bloodhound. 

  You sneak past your sibling who has their arms crossed, impatiently waiting. If you don’t hurry, you’ll never hear the end of it. You exit and go to the floor that you could have sworn you heard Sukuna mention today. It’s that floor. The floor you’re not allowed in at all. It’s his workspace, his domain, he says. It’s not something for you to worry about. Well, surely he can stop doing some papers or something for a second to help you. 

  You don’t see anyone in the hallway. As you approach the door, you get a heavy feeling. Like something trying to weigh your feet down so you don’t move another inch. You want to turn away and run like a rabbit before it’s too late. To run for your life and pretend you were never there, just like he said to. 

  No, it’s fine. It’s just paperwork, you repeat. 

Without knocking, you open the door slightly to see someone on their knees in front of your boy. The guy looks so familiar to you. He has grey hair that is sectioned with rubber bands at the end. You spot the faint scars and what looks like staples on his wrists. 

Sukuna sits on a chair that can’t be called anything less than a throne. It’s antique looking, grim and built with stones. He has his head in his hand and a devilish smirk on his face. One that you haven’t witnessed before. 

  “I told you before, didn’t I?” An intense feeling of dread enters the room. Your heart is beating furiously. All you wanted was to watch Shrek, not see this. Not see this dim room with a weeping man on the floor and two of Sukuna’s men behind him. 

“I don’t give second chances.” The man is dragged closer to him. No longer around the two other men, he desperately looks around and avoids Sukuna’s stare. The knife Sukuna was playing with slices the man’s chest so hard, he flies back. Blood pours out of the wound. You’ve never seen Sukuna’s strength like this. He’s lifted things for you but to be able to send a man flying with a flick of his wrist is crazy. 

  “Know your place, fool.”

 Sukuna waves two fingers and the other men pounce on the injured. You hear screams that will never leave your ears. 

I don’t give second chances. 

I don’t give second chances.

Which one are you on now? Everything in you is telling you to run. But, if it were you, wouldn’t you want someone to save you? To at least attempt to? Shit, you don’t know what to do. How to even save this person. Call out Sukuna’s name and pray he’d tell everyone to stop isn’t possible. Since he doesn’t give second chances. 

 Suddenly, there’s a face in front of you. At the sudden appearance, you shriek and run. The elevator can’t come soon enough. Literally. Because right before it opens, you are dragged back to the room. 

  “Boss, look.” You are brought before Sukuna. He rubs his face with his hand. His very, very, scary hand. “What are you doing, (Y/n).”

You force yourself to look up. “I-I-I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?”

The man stops screaming. You aren’t facing him, just Sukuna who sees your horrified expression. 

“Do you want me to take care of her like the rest?” The man who caught you asks. The rest?!

“No. I don’t care what happens to them, only her. Take her back. She better not have a scratch.”

  When you enter the house and see your little sibling with their hands on her hips, looking at you accusingly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk! You left without me and didn’t bring Barbie as Rapunzel!” 

  That was the other movie you had in your hand. You could have avoided all of this if you picked Barbie as Rapunzel or with Rapunzel, whatever. 

“Yeah, hold on.” You quickly get Shrek and place it in the player. She begins to protest at the movie. “Wrong one!”

You leave the room and don’t answer her questions. You shut your art room door and look around for any blank canvas. Tears stream down your face as you mix the paints. A dirty red, a fake white, and the darkest black spread along the canvas. You don’t know what it is yet. You’ll find out when you're done. 

  “What are you doing?” The voice cuts in. The brush stops mid stroke, not knowing where to go. You turn around to see Sukuna. 

“Painting.” You whisper. You should’ve never left your sister! What’d he do? You didn’t hear anything at all, not even him coming in. You start to heave at the thought. Why couldn’t you have stayed with her? Better yet, grabbed her and got the hell out of here? 

  “Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Ha! Easy for him to say. After what you witnessed, you’re scared. The danger that Sukuna held wasn’t new to you. You remember the store, the deal that occurred right in front of you the day you first met. 

You remember perfectly. So, you’ve always known. But seeing it firsthand is a new beast. You can’t stop hearing the man’s screams. Or the violence that was right outside the store on that fateful day. 

  Sukuna’s hands are over your ears and cover the sides of your face. He looks down at you softly. “Trust in me, sweets.”

  “I’m scared.” He coos and brings you into his chest. He’s warm and broad. Welcoming, strong, and you want to believe this, safe. He smells like something warm and a little like his cologne. 

“You’re safe with me, remember?” He lifts your chin and stares in your eyes. “Sweets-”

“You don’t give second chances,” He pauses. “How many chances have I used up?”

Much to your confusion, he laughs. “Oh love,”  He places a chaste kiss on your lips. “Never change.” Sukuna shows you Barbie as Rapunzel and walks out the room. “I got the movie!” 

Your little sister laughs so cutely at Sukuna’s find. You follow and see your little sister snuggled up to him. He beckons you over with his fingers. Nervously, you sit next to him. 

Sukuna sighs and places your head on his chest. “Never worry when it comes to me, understand?”

“Even at the doctors?” The little one pops her head up and looks so worried. “Okay, at the doctor’s yeah. But everything else, don’t worry. Capisce?”

“Yep!” She goes back to her spot. He wraps his arm around you. “You?” 

  You nod. Still, he looks concerned. “You know you’re my girl, right?” You begin to soften at the words he’s spoken to you before.  Much to Sukuna’s liking, you cuddle up to him, relaxing in his embrace. “I know.”

 “Ahem!” The two of you look at your little sister whose arms are crossed. “Shush!”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “So-rry, sheesh.” 

  You smile at the sight before you. He’s so kind to her. She adores him too, always has. He kisses the top of your head. There’s a deep fluttery feeling in you, it happened before. When he’d let you put him on your canvas. Despite him being uncomfortable at times, he trusted you. 

You take a deep breath and release it slowly. Yeah, you’ll be okay for now.

[cilil]

Crossroads of the Fallen King: The Sundelions of Arien

❁ Verse: Silmarillion x Legend of Zelda Totk/BotW ❁ Pairing: Mairon x Arien ❁ Synopsis: Mairon has a favour to ask of his former lover. ❁ Warnings: / ❁ Oneshot (~1.4k) | SWG

AN: Here's my contribution to the Crossroads of the Fallen King challenge! This oneshot takes place in my TotK/BotW AU and deals with the Sundelions, Arien as their caretaker and the key role they play in healing wounds dealt by Void creatures like Ungoliant and her spiders. For a more detailed explanation, see the end notes down below.

"Arien."

The sound of Mairon's voice is pleasant as always, and she listens before she knows it, ignoring the dread and anger welling up within her chest. Many times has Arien imagined what it will be like when he finally  decides to show his face again, how she will confront him for his betrayal, how she will be wiser and not let him fool her ever again. 

She doesn't have to look at him. She knows he's standing there, smiling as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't broken her heart. 

And she knows that these days he only comes to see her if he wants something. 

Arien has no patience for it. 

"What do you want?" she asks as coldly as she can and refuses to face him. Stubbornly, she keeps her gaze on the black and golden flowers she's tending to for her lady, the miraculous Sundelions that can produce the only known cure to the Void's Gloom; and suddenly she has an idea why her former lover chose to appear in a domain where he's not welcome. 

The fact that Mairon was able to reach her without being seen or detected worries her, though less for her sake and more for the Maiar of Vána and Yavanna who cannot match his fell fire. 

He has taken a step closer, and Arien feels an uncomfortable heat surging through her veins. Is it his gaze on her that she feels, she wonders, or is he already looking at his prize. 

She caresses the Sundelions' fragile petals as if in reassurance, and she knows his eyes follow her movements. 

"Look at me." 

Mairon's request, uttered softly and without the edge of command that so often accompanies his speech, startles Arien so much that she does. She sees the same face she knew many years ago, yet marred by a blackened wound across his left cheek, as if struck by a poisoned blade. Similar wounds are on his neck, chest, arms and hands, and pity overcomes her before she knows it. 

"What happened to you?" she gasps and rushes to his side. "Did the Dark One...?" 

For a moment Arien hopes that he will answer yes. If it was Melkor who hurt him, maybe he would finally see the error of his ways and come back to her. But as quickly as that thought has crossed her mind, she begins to abhor it. She knows well how dangerous the Dark Vala can be and doesn't want her fiery kin, fallen as they all may be, to face the wrath of his freezing storm. 

"No. I was hurt while fighting monsters from the Void; with his help, if I may add," Mairon says, holding up his hands and looking at his damaged palms. 

Arien takes his hands into hers. He remains eerily calm and composed, and the lack of any wincing or flinching makes her hope he isn't in too much pain. 

"Are you sure this is what happened?" she asks gently. "Are you sure you are not blaming something else to cover for him?" 

"He hasn't hurt me and would never do so. It is as I said." 

There is no anger in Mairon's voice, but his tone is firm. Arien isn't sure if she should admire his conviction or think him a fool for trusting and defending Melkor. 

And even if he didn't hurt him himself, he let him get hurt, she thinks, nodding to herself as if to reassure her conscience that the Dark Vala is indeed to blame for this mishap as well. 

Gingerly, she examines his wounds and finds that Mairon hasn't lied to her. Injuries from Void creatures have unfortunately become more common in recent times, prompting her lady Estë to instruct her Maiar accordingly and request a steady supply of Sundelions. The pervasive decay infesting their once thought unbreakable weapons must cause him as much ire and stress as his former lord Aulë, she muses. 

"You want me to heal you," she says. It's not a question; she is certain that she knows the reason for his visit now. At least he was wise enough to come alone and not bring his miserable master with him. 

"Ah, you don't have to." Mairon looks up at her, an amicable smile on his lips. "A few of these lovely flowers would already suffice. I can handle the rest myself; after all it would be rude of me to ask for too much from you." 

His words seem fair, his voice is smooth. It's all so perfectly easy and reasonable that Arien pauses, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Why would he not take the freely given help of a Maia serving both Vána and Estë, he who has never been a healer. 

Unless... There is a reason why he wants to take the flowers himself. 

"Is your lord hurt as well?" Arien asks sharply. 

There is a flash of something unreadable in Mairon's eyes, gone before she can see it for what it is. 

"Of course not, why do you ask?" He laughs lightly. Too calm, too serene. It doesn't ease Arien's worries in the slightest. "You would not feel very inclined to help him if it were the case, no?"

"Are you lying to me because it is in fact the case and you want to use my compassion for you to take my flowers so you can help him?" 

At last mild annoyance clouds Mairon's fair features, and the ancient familiarity of seeing him thus makes it strangely comforting. Endearing even. Yet Arien keeps her guard up while trying to glimpse past his. 

"You have seen for yourself that I am wounded as I told you," he says. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards again as if to regain his smile, but it's more akin to a haughty smirk this time. 

Arien finds a strange sort of pleasure in breaking through Mairon's barriers and ripping off his carefully crafted masks, even if what she finds is less fair than the faces she remembers. 

"It is not like I fail to understand the thought," he continues, "deny me in order to deny Melkor, just in case. That is certainly something he would think to do to spite former lovers as well." 

Her own control slips, her hands sizzling against his as her fána heats up. To imply that she would stoop to Melkor's level — and yet, even though Arien knows full well the intent behind such a well-placed comment, she cannot deny that Mairon has a point. 

"We wouldn't have that problem if you just agreed to let me heal you instead," she snaps. 

"Perhaps, though I did tell you why I didn't feel it was appropriate of me to ask for that." Mairon has regained his calm, controlled composure with infuriating professionalism. 

It's not the first time that Arien has wondered if speaking to her is some sort of task or game for him that he completes with the same excellence as his other work. 

"You are going to come with me," she orders, still fuming. "We will go to my house and I will heal you properly and you will stay as long as it takes."

"If that is your wish, I shall." 

Mairon's smile is as bright as Arien's fury. She lets go of his hands and links their arms; he knows the way to her house, yet she feels the need to hold on to him lest he slip away too soon. At least his wounds will make him stay with her for a while, even if his powers and strange new magic seems to be mostly unscathed and only his fána is damaged. 

There is a strange sort of triumph in taking her wayward former lover home. She even begins to enjoy herself once she takes a few Sundelions to brew a healing potion, applying it to every inch of blackened skin and adding a few spoons to a bowl of hot soup that she feeds him. 

Thus absorbed in this brief moment of reconciliation with the Maia she once wished to spend eternity with, Arien remains blissfully unaware of the shadow that comes over her meadows at night, cruelly rips out a handful of her beloved flowers and disappears with his prey. 

End notes: In Zelda TotK, Sundelions are a plant ingredient used to cook healing items that can restore damaged caused by Gloom, an evil and harmful substance that essentially drains the life of its victims. It causes decay in weapons and permanently reduces Link's health, making him unable to heal himself fully until he can get rid of the Gloom damage. I felt like Void and Void creatures like Ungoliant would be an excellent fit for Gloom and Gloom-affected monsters, as well as Arien as a servant of Vána and Estë growing and maintaining Sundelions.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-defense-attorney @numenhore @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Lemot Sediam Juste

Domain: Scaena Domain Formation: 732 BC Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ Sources: Domains of Dread (2e), Islands of Terror (2e), VRGTR (5e)

Lemot Sediam Juste is the Darklord of the traveling Domain known as Scaena, which means “stage” in Latin. However, this failed playwright and has-been actor may have missed that obvious reference to his eternal prison.

A tall, skeletal-thin man with greasy black hair, Lemot was a renowned actor and writer of the stage known for his dramatic and comedic roles. As with many overinflated egotistic performers, this was not enough for him. He wanted to be known for all styles of writing and acting. Type casting was decidedly NOT for Lemot.

However, he could never portray tragedy without it coming across as melodramatic or unintentionally hilarious. His writing and direction was no better and he deceived himself into believing that it was entirely his troupe’s fault. They enjoyed heightening the comedic aspects of his plays and, to Lemot, they ruined his visions.

A rational man, Lemot decided to seek vengeance for this affront. He wrote a play with countless, horrific death scenes in which the bodies of each victim would lay on the stage for the entire production. The night of the play’s debut, Lemot replaced all of the prop weapons and poisons with real ones.

He joined the audience, watching gleefully as his troupe unknowingly killed one another on stage. It is odd that not a single actor noticed anything amiss that evening. No one, and surly not those that acted under Lemot’s direction, is that good of an actor.

Lemot’s play, which was just a bloody mess, ended with a chorus of boos from the audience. This infuriated the playwright who wanted nothing more than to bask in his revenge. Being the overdramatic has-been that he is, Lemot snuck outside and as the audience waited the final bow, he barred the doors of the playhouse and set it ablaze. Once the constabulary arrived to quell the fire and locate the cause of it, Lemot, in a rare moment of clarity, skulked away and hide in another theater. He fell asleep within and when he came to, he was alone and a thick Mist, in which he could not venture, surrounded the theater. Scaena is one of the smallest Domains in Ravenloft, made up of only a single theater. It can travel to any other Domain as well as any other plane of existence, typically forming over the location of an existing theater. A feat wasted on the showboat Darklord who does not realize where he is. Within Scaena, everything Lemot writes becomes reality upon the stage of the Scaena Theater. Because of this, he believes that every single being that appears on his stage is his creation and are only there to act out his visions. Despite Lemot being nothing more than a spindly writer forever unsatisfied with his creations, he is difficult to defeat. Those that wander onto his stage are forced to enact his visions without seeing Lemot writing behind the scenes, for he is engulfed in layers upon layers of illusions. In fact, Lemot can create an illusionary version of Scaena over the real, making his “creations” believe they are fighting him when they are not. The only limit to his creation is his own imagination, which makes him not only a powerful individual but an entirely annoying one to deal with. Like Lemot himself, many who visit his Domain find themselves constantly questioning reality.

In the “good” doctor’s latest guide, Lemot is now Lemont and instead of replacing the props in his play, he joined the stage after his audience grew bored and demanded blood and gore, which he delivered by brutally murdering the entire cast before their eyes. Here, Scaena was once part of Dementlieu and became its own Domain after Lemont’s bloody debut. It does not appear that this new version of Scaena has the ability to travel through planes of existence.

[tyrantisterror]

It struck me that my little fictional world didn't have its own take on the Eldritch Abomination trope, and that felt like a big oversight since it is one of my favorite monster archetypes (even if I'm annoyed at how often the label gets thrown onto monsters that don't really count these days). So I tried to figure out where in my cosmology I could fit something that counts well enough, and eventually came to a solution that satisfied me.

In my setting, magic comes from the astral plane, i.e. the dimension between the mortal world and the afterlife, which is limitless like the latter but shaped by the imaginations and minds of creatures that live in the former. Magic leaks out into the mortal world during the Lost Epoch, strengthening the connection between the astral plane and the mortal world, giving even more substance to the concepts that have been developing in the astral plane.

While some mortals wander into the astral plane and colonize it, creating fairylands within it, there are depths of the plane that are too divorced from reality for mortals to enter safely. This is where the true Fae come to be - creatures not made of matter mutated by magic, but of pure magic itself, which is to say, creatures of pure imagination. There as as many of these beings a there are normal mortals, but the strongest of them are the Eldritch Dream Lords, who represent recurring dream motifs that mortals have. They include:

The Lord of the Chase: a primal source of dread made manifest, it is the Thing That Is Going to Fucking Get You.

The Lord of Anxiety: a more complex, existential dread, focusing on humiliating horrors like the loss of hair, teeth falling out, or being naked in public at inopportune moments.

The Lord of Beauty: all that we find lovely and attractive, often exaggerated to impossible extremes and so compelling that we hate to leave its side.

The Lord of Flight: the rush of being able to escape the confines of gravity and the limits of one's mortal form, and to soar high into the splendid unknown with newfound power.

The Lord of Falling: the sensation that one is plunging deep down and fast to an inescapable doom.

The Lord of the Depths: a vast and cavernous space that one is falling into, enormous, inescapable, dark, and lonesome.

The Lord of Comfort: the sensation of being at ease, at home, with what is familiar and pleasant.

The Lord of the Labyrinth: the uncanny and endless geography of the dreamscape itself made manifest, an infinite procession of buildings and locales all sewn together in a ceaseless maze that mortal minds wander through without purpose or end in sight.

There is no death in the domain of the dream lords, for they are so far from the mortal world that death holds no meaning. Everything in their realm is endless, nothing is impossible, and yet they desire to escape it. Without mortal imaginations, they will lose shape and substance, and the individuality they've developed will fade away, which is a prospect they despise. They want nothing more than to fuse their realm with the mortal world, to make imagination real, and to walk among the mortals who shaped them into what they are. The consequences of this could be disastrous for mortal kind, because if imagination became real, then every horror mortals have thought up would become real in an instant. It would quite possibly end badly for the Dream Lords too, as they would now be prey to death, a force they have never understood. So perhaps it is best that, so far at least, their desire to become one with the mortal world seems quite impossible.

But impossibility, like death, is something they can't comprehend.

[thekingofthenameless]

Drops 2.4K of Unforgivable. and runs away

Merlin: He wakes up in an unfamiliar room. He forces the panic that threatens to drown him in its ocean down, (it’s still there, making his body hot, but at least he can think somewhat clearly) focusing on his surroundings. He squints in the dim light, hoping his eyes will adapt quickly. It… seems like a dungeon. A nasty, pungent one, at that. The scent of urine and feces combine to make a horrid smell that makes him cough and wrinkle his nose in disgust. More than likely, it's what woke him. He’ll definitely have to bathe and wash his clothes once he gets out of here. But why is he being held captive in the first place? He hasn’t been blindfolded, and no clothing has been taken off; his piercings are still in as well. (Thank the other gods for that mercy.) However, his hands are bound behind his back, and his ring is gone. They must have known it's his weapon. But how? They know you, the voices say, unbidden. He brushes them off. Who would know him and want to capture him? He shifts a little, trying to get more comfortable to alleviate the pain in his back- There’s something on his wrists besides the ropes. But what…? Magical suppressants. He’s cut off from his domain. He frantically begins searching for any sort of sharp object that would cut the ropes, but there’s nothing, only stone walls and floors, a few torches here and there. Of course they wouldn’t leave anything, with however they captured him. He struggles in vain to remember something, anything of what happened. His memory is shit, (and it had been even before his madness started, because apparently, being the god of magic doesn’t mean being granted a good memory) but it’s never been this bad. Did they give him some kind of mind wiping spell or potion? If they did, it had to have been a spell; no taste of anything foreign is in his mouth. And Charlie’s gone. The literal pain in his heart is proof of that, and it's all too obvious now that he's noticed. Does he feel it too? Where is he? Did he avoid being captured, unlike him? If he didn't, is he somewhere else in this dammed place? All right, calm down. A god cannot panic. Think. Why would they have wiped your mind? They must not want him to know the journey here. A cold sense of dread grips him, replacing the panic. He’d easily admit that he gets paranoid thoughts often, but there’s nothing good about taking someone captive and wiping their mind so they won’t know where you took them. He forces himself to take a deep breath. In through the nose, (at least he’s already getting used to this terrible air, and that lets him focus more) out through the mouth. The first thing to do would be getting his hands unbound, so he can take off these magic suppressing cuffs. The sooner, the better. Just because he feels fine now doesn’t mean he will later. And no matter what they captured him for, (questioning? Blackmail? Something else?) he’s not going to let them get hurt if he ends up not being able to control his magic. He tries not to think about the damage he could cause. (Of the lives he could end.) Footsteps alert him to someone’s presence. His brow furrows as he listens, turning his head so that he can hear better. He could swear that… he recognizes them, but that doesn’t make sense. Does it? Either way, with a little bit of luck, they’ll at least release him from the cuffs if he acts like the perfect, docile captive. When their guards are lowered, he can escape, find his companion, and forget this ever happened. Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for the stranger he’ll have to face.

Instead, Mordecai steps out of the shadows. He doesn’t seem to notice the stench down here. Confusion replaces his trepidation (and panic), but at least he doesn’t have to put on a mask yet. “Mordecai? What are you doing here-” He did this. They were right about your captor knowing you. That’s how they knew your ring is your weapon. He’s seen you use it, seen you fight. No, he wouldn’t do this. …That’s true, isn’t it? He isn’t surprised to see you captive. Of course he knows you’re captive, idiot. He came down here. Unless he hadn’t known who the prisoner was before. But he does seem to. Mordecai stares at him silently, watching the different emotions flickering across his face. He resents his expressiveness for a moment, wishing he could hide under a layer of indifference. “You brought me here,” he says quietly. He could be wrong, but he highly doubts it. His acquaintance laughs. “Oh, that was quick. If you keep figuring out things at that speed, this could get boring.” He glares at him, futilely attempting to ignore the ache in his chest. (It’s there for two reasons now.) Someone else betrayed him. So what? He still has Charlie. Wherever he is. Taking a moment to clear his mind (or attempt to), he sends a message to his familiar. “Charlie, where are you? Are you all right?” He waits anxiously, trying not to get his hopes up but not give into despair at the same time. So instead, he demands answers. “Why? What do you want from me?” Before the man can reply, he continues, “Where is Charlie? If you’ve hurt him in the slightest-” “Calm yourself, wizard,” Mordecai interrupts, and if his hands were free, he’d give him a certain gesture. With both hands. “We only have… a few questions for you.” “Well, depending on what they are, maybe you could have asked them before you decided to capture me. And who else is here?” Suddenly, a white woman, with red hair braided over her right shoulder, and brown eyes (who he hadn’t even heard, because he’s been so focused on Mordecai) walks up beside the latter, putting a hand on his shoulder and caressing it. Ugh, are they courting? Married? “You have someone angry with you, wizard.” Her voice sounds soft, but it carries a dangerous undertone that makes him stiffen. Amidst wondering who the person is, and why they’re angry, it’s incredibly clear that she doesn’t even bother looking at him. And like Mordecai, she shows no signs of caring about the awful air. He studies her. His facial recognition is as shitty as his memory, but he’s almost certain he’s never met her before. Almost. Finally, she glances at him; her expression changes into disgust. “What’s wrong with his eyes?” She asks her suitor? Husband?, turning to him.

“Have you ever heard of something called being born with magic?” Merlin replies, raising an eyebrow. “It’s incurable.” Most know about them, even if seeing their color in person still surprises them, sometimes. It makes sense, even if he does get tired of being on the receiving end of the same reactions over and over. Reading about bright blue eyes, with orange rings near their pupils, against dark brown skin isn’t nearly the same thing as being able to stare into them. …Does she not know who he is? She glowers at him, and he returns it. “Of course,” she says haughtily, “but they’re still unsettling. They should be brown.” Mordecai suddenly laughs, and they both look at him. “I don’t think you should talk to Merlin that way, whether he’s currently tied up or not.” The woman’s mouth drops open in shock, eyes widening; she stares at both of them, unable to believe it. “That’s Merlin? He’s Merlin?” All right, suspicions confirmed. But why would Mordecai not have told her his name? “I wanted to surprise you by having the most powerful wizard alive in our dungeon, my love,” is his reply. Oh. Our dungeon. Do you even know him at all I… thought I did. He still hasn’t said what he wants from you. And Charlie hasn’t… “Charlie, please answer me.” There’s still silence. Not even a flicker of his telepathy being received. The ache in his chest becomes worse, harder to ignore. Why isn’t he answering? He notices Mordecai taking her hand and kissing it, but he’s unable to feel disgust like most of the time, even with pet names. “Are you?” Smirking, she reaches up to stroke his cheek. “Very.” Somehow, he keeps his face neutral, despite being divided between fear, anger, and laughing at the sheer irony. If you’re this happy now, imagine knowing you actually captured a god. She removes her hand from Mordecai’s cheek, walking over to him; she stares at him the whole time, assessing, and he has to fight the urge to twitch under the weight of her eyes. Once she reaches him, she roughly grips his chin, tilting his head up. She smells like sandalwood, soft and warm, completely opposite to how she’s treating him. “You’re not what I expected Merlin to look like at all.” He just stares at her, face unchanging. Inwardly, confusion and annoyance are simultaneously present. What does she want him to say to that? What does anyone who tells him that? “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. Is it a compliment in this case?” He questions, putting on a fake smile. And get your hands off me. “No,” she says bluntly. Ignoring his smile changing to an insulted expression, she continues, “Do you know how you got here?” He shakes his head mutely. He’s been able to begin suppressing some of his emotions, and now he has to play his part of being weak, compliant, no matter how much he hates acting like this. “I don’t remember. What did you do to me?” He asks, pitiful and pleading. Mordecai laughs a second time, and the sound grates against his ears. “Docile so soon? I thought you’d put up more a fight. I’m a little disappointed in you.” When you kidnapped me? Fuck you. He lowers his gaze, which is easy, because he refuses to look into their eyes. “Fighting when captive only brings punishment.” The woman, who he still doesn’t know the name of, hums in agreement, finally releasing his chin. “You’re right. You seem smarter than some give you credit for.” He keeps his gaze lowered, even as the backhanded compliment gets under his skin. “Do you have Charlie?” “Now, why would we tell you that?” Mordecai replies, tone condescending under a veil of faked gentleness.

Fear and hopelessness constrict his heart. He manages to keep his shoulders from stiffening, but his emotions are exposed, raw, and they both know. It’s in their eyes, on their faces. They must be showing on his own, his façade of suppression shattered, because he still doesn’t know if his dragon is all right, if he escaped, and Mordecai’s betrayal still hurts- The man laughs a third time, reveling in seeing him like this for some reason, and anger rises in his chest, the different emotions swirling around in him bringing tears to his eyes. “Why do you care so much? He’s just a pet, even if he can speak.” “No, he’s not!” He cries, the anger burning hot and bright now. His bonds feel tighter than ever, his magic aching to be released, so he can teach them to never call his familiar a pet again. “Tell me where he is!” “Hmm, you were right, darling,” the woman says calmly, unfazed by his fury. “Right about what?” He demands, done with their condescension, their evasiveness, their kidnapping him just to have him answer a few questions. Mordecai smiles, and it’s a sharp, dangerous one that he’s seen from Gunnar, and his mouth goes dry, heart pounding as he remembers his father, who’s always soaked in blood, the battlefields, the bodies- His lips move, but Merlin doesn’t hear what comes out of his mouth. “What?” He mutters dumbly past the rising lump in his throat, feeling like he’s drowning, even with his smile gone. Mordecai’s brows furrow, seeing the terror on his face, wondering why since he has no way of knowing, but he answers anyways: “The way to get to you is through the dragon.” With that, he smiles again, smug this time, and he wants to punch it right off the man’s face. Theres no way for him to refute his statement, but he doesn’t care. “Mordecai, where is he?” He only clicks his tongue. “Goodness, Merlin. You can’t even deny it.” His tears begin falling, slipping down his cheeks despite his efforts. He glares at both of them through his blurring vision, wanting his companion more than anything. “Already in tears, wizard?” The woman mocks, smirking, and he hates both of them, and he wants Charlie to respond, and escape and find him and forget this ever happened- “We haven’t even gotten started yet.” “Unsurprising, really.” Mordecai moves closer, and… strokes his cheek, uncaring of him not wanting his touch, or the tears still streaming down his face, refusing to stop. “He’s so softhearted.” “What did I even do to you?” He sobs. Despair begins to settle over him, suffocating him, no matter how much he’s trying to stay strong. “Charlie, please. Please let me know you’re all right.” Silence. He sobs harder. “Shh…” Mordecai murmurs, not stopping his motions. “It’s not what you did to us. It’s what you did to a friend.” “Who?” The panic returns, gripping him in a vice, and he can’t remember who he could have slighted, only able to think of his family, of Charlie, and why- “I suppose it’s time to get them now, isn’t it, darling?” The woman asks. He can’t see her expression. His vision is blocked from Mordecai’s body in front of him and his tears. Another sob tears from his throat, his body becoming hot, stomach twisting into knots, breaths becoming harsh and ragged.

Mordecai nods and steps away, and he can’t even be relieved at the fact that his hand is gone because he’s terrified of what’s coming. Who are the other people? What did he do? What do they want to do to him? Where’s his dragon? He can’t be unconscious. He has to either be asleep or too far away to hear him. When has he ever been that far away? (He hasn’t.) No, he’s fine. He’s fine. He can’t be captive like he is, muzzled so he can’t use his jaws or fire, wings tightly tied in ropes or clipped-

[unepetitecorneille]

Gender dysphoria and Smirke's Fourteen

So, whatever this ends up being, it's about the different aspects of gender dysphoria as domains of the different entities. All of it is just headcanons and personal bullshit, but it will have a more serious side, and some sillier bits as well. Disclaimer: It's largely based on my own experience, not everyone may relate to it. Also, there isn't just one way to dissect dysphoria and categorise its flavours based on what fear power they fit, so if you don't agree with me, that's fine.

CWs/TWs: canon-typical CWs + discussion and themes of: gender dysphoria, gender perception based on biological traits, alienation from one's body, body modification, shifting of bones, self-harm, transphobia, intrusive thoughts - This stuff is quite explicit, and there's a reason certain topics weren't present in the podcast. Some parts could induce dysphoria about things you aren't dysphoric about, so be careful. Read at your own risk. Stay safe.

The Flesh: The more physical aspects come here. Wanting to change certain parts of your body that are commonly associated with a different gender. Wishing you could chop off some of you in some places, maybe even bone or that your bone structure would morph into a more fitting form. (In my case it's wanting broader shoulders, narrower hips.) Now this is just for the funsies, completely unserious: the Flesh could be such an ally. I think it would absolutely support medical transition, any changes you make on your body to make yourself feel more at home in it. It would feed more on the horror of transphobes at the 'audacity' of trans people being happy in their bodies whether or not the way they look aligns with their views about what they 'should' look like, whether or not they underwent any medical transition.

The Stranger: Yayyy, fun one. /s Basically feeling like a stranger in your body, feeling like it is not yours, at least not fully, not truly. Voice dysphoria definitely comes here (for me). This is a very ftm point of view, but the feeling when I look at my hips and I <know> they should be narrower. My shoulders should be broader, my lungs bigger, my ribcage more spacious, my torso longer, my waist fuller, not so narrow.

The Spiral: The more obsessive parts, all the extreme self-consciousness go here. Worrying that the tiniest details would 'give you away'. Generally the 'Am I manly/womanly/androgynous/... enough?' kind of thoughts. Overthinking small bits like how you sit, or use gestures, how you speak. Also, putting too much emphasis on things you cannot do anything about (for me my hips and how high the waist of my trousers goes up). This feels very niche, but the obsessive thought of 'Do they percieve me as a boy or a girl?' in dangerous situation. Like, really? That's not the biggest problem, couldn't we just focus on the more pressing matters? Anyway, the Spiral could be an ally, too. Like come on, Michael. The Distortion would totally come for transphobes and eat them and drive them crazy.

The Web: Not being in control. The hopelessness you feel when no matter what you do, people keep misgendering you and deadnaming you, just generally treating you like what 'they' think you are.

The Eye: The awareness that people are constantly percieving you. Them percieving you is inevitable, and you dread they percieve you as a gender you aren't. Or knowing it's a day you don't pass. Knowing they see you as a gender you aren't and you can do nothing to change that.

The Dark: (This is very closely connected to the first half of the previous one, I wanted to put this there originally, but well, this is about <not> knowing and uncertainity, so it fits the Dark better.) Not knowing what little box people put you in in their heads. You don't know how to present to be safe and only as uncomfortable as necessary at the same time. It's exactly like being in the dark and not knowing what is in it. Anything could be lurking there. Even another human being. With malicious intent. With the intent of hurting you. But this, not knowing how you are percieved can be even more stressful than simple worry about your physical safety. There's even more uncertainity because you can't know how they'd react if they knew you're trans/queer.

The Lonely: Being othered by society. Being an outcast. Self-isolating to keep yourself safe. Choosing to be alone instead of the company of those who look down on you/ hate you/ don't accept you/ might hurt you. Difficulties making friends because of who you are.

The Buried: Having to play a role to be safe or to find community. The suffocating reality that you practically don't have a choice but to put on a facade. (Even if you don't have to actively pretend to be someone or something you aren't, but you can't be fully free and your authentic self.) The hopelessness of being stuck in a nightmarish situation, you can't escape it for a good long time yet. (I Saw the TV Glow very much reminds me of the Buried.)

So that's about it. There are some overlaps, but the same can be said about the fears themselves. I hope you enjoyed reading.

[leo-interactive-fiction]

since its the occasion, ROs reaction to being under a mistletoe with mc by accident?

Haha let's see..

E: As if by some set of miraculous happenstance, you find yourself for the fifth time caught underneath the hanging ornament with E, their shock just as apparent as the flustered red in their cheeks, "I-I swear it's not me! How does this keep happening? Do you think it's...er, nothing!" They retreat as quickly as they can, releasing what you can only describe as an inhuman squeal from underneath their breath.

---

R: They catch you by surprise as you both attempt to enter the doorway. As you pantomime your offer to let them through, they chuckle and gesture to the mistletoe hanging over the doorway, "Unfortunately, tradition will see us at an impasse. Unless you're one to disregard such a time-honored tradition? That would be a crime to my heart."

-----

L: They glance up curiously as a leaf brushes the top of their head, taking in the sight of the mistletoe. They perk up in recognition, "Ah, I've heard of this! It was a common tradition in the pre-collapse Era. Did you know they considered it a poignant rule that you had to exchange, um... some kind of intimacy when underneath one? I wonder what instigated such a thing?" They explicate theories to you, unbeknownst that they themselves have caught themselves underneath the mistletoe themselves.

----

V: They glance up at the mistletoe you hold over the two of you, taking in the unbending rules of the tradition as you explained them. "I have to kiss you?"

"That's the rule," you insist once more as V takes the fig and inspects it. After a long pause, they give it back. "Alright. Close your eyes."

You do as they say, and a moment later you feel something warm and metallic press against your lips. Opening your eyes, you find V staring at their gun with a shallow smile, "Remember the feeling. Silvy is the most important part of me."

-------

P's furrowed brow only deepens as you end up blocking the doorway where the mistletoe hangs. You chastise them as they try to slip past, "Hey now, that's no way to honor tradition!"

"Fine, lets both honor it," P kisses one of their knuckles and winds up for a swing, fire flickering in their eyes, "You ready to kiss the dirt, dumbass?"

-----

M: A finger catches your collar, gently pulling you back through the doorway you walked through and into the immediate domain of M. Their angelic smile belies the desire that drips from their voice. "You missed...a mistletoe...silly..."

"A-Ah, I didn't think there was one..." you stutter embarrassingly, attempting to get another look at the doorframe before M stops you with a playful chastisement.

Ah-ah...No...peeking..." They murmur before closing the distance, claiming your lips.

-----

Ra: At first you thought it a series of coincidences, but it began to feel like a targeted assault after the 15th instance of a mistletoe mysteriously appearing above you, followed by Ravens ravenous pounce onto you. You've now locked yourself in one of the academy's bathroom stalls. You scoured the facility thoroughly. There's no signs of mistletoes. You're absolutely sure. You're safe here. At least, you thought you were, until you spot a hand slowly creep over the stall wall, the dreaded fig hanging from its thin fingers.

------

S: You bump into S just outside the dorm, though your apology ends up catching in your throat as you spot the mistletoe hanging above the two of you. S spot it as well, then looking back to you. You can't help but be conscious of the heat growing over your face as a silence passes between the two of you.

S clears their throat for a moment attempting to find the right words to say, "Hey, so, ya know..."

"Y-Yeah?!" You direct them to continue, if maybe a bit too forcefully.

They scratch the back of their head awkwardly, "Ya got any idea who keeps puttin' nuts on all the doors? I thought it was hilarious at first, but they're damn near everywhere. Is this what that shitty Corp means by aggressive marketing?"

------

F: "A kiss. Is that what you're expecting?" F questions you as you stand your ground against their critical gaze.

"That's the tradition, isn't it?"

"And here I believed you ignorant of cultural considerations. Though perhaps you forgot the small detail that such a tradition has not been mainstay for several centuries. Nevertheless, I'll applaud what effort it took for you to do some research." F kisses their fingers and presses them against your forehead, tapping it lightly, "Consider this an investment. Make yourself of use, and you may be worth a real kiss, hm?"

-----

Thank you for the ask! I hope ya enjoyed, even though the holidays have passed haha

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part IV

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 4,428

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part four of seven. Takes place sometime around/between seasons one and two.

The series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden; @vi-er

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

—————————————————————————————————

“Sweet creature!” said the Spider. “You’re witty and you’re wise!

How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!

I’ve a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf.

If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”

You have gone to two more sessions with Leland and you dread them so much that you’re starting to lose sleep over it. You haven’t had a fight after that first official session, but your attempts at being silent and stubborn are failing. He has a way of worming under your skin and getting you to talk, no matter how hard you try not to. To make matters worse, he’s continually bringing up how nice it was to try and hit him, how much you enjoyed it, how much fun it is to lash out like that. And when he does that, he praises you for such a visceral reaction, encourages you to try it again.

He’s fucking Pavloving you, training you to want to hit him if only to receive that compliment, that glimmer in his eyes that says he’s proud of you. You know it and you hate it and there’s nothing you can do about it because, shockingly enough, being aware of such a thing doesn’t mean you can resist it.

What adds to your frustration is that he seems to know you so well, and all you know about him so far is that he absolutely despises being defied. He needs to be in charge, he needs to be the one in control of the situation, or else he gets upset. You’ve tried taking advantage of that, but it’s hard when he’s on his home turf. There’s only so much you can do within the confines of his office. After that first day, he’s never made you wait again, and you always have to sit on the couch or the chair across from him.

There must be something you can do. But you don’t know what it is yet. 

At least Betty is gone, so you don’t have to worry about Leland’s threats towards her. When she gets back, you’ll deal with them, but for now, you can focus your energies on resisting this emerging violent urge you have that wants to manifest at the worst times.

You’re off work tomorrow, which is excellent because you need to recharge, and what better way than by drinking canned margaritas and watching your favorite true crime videos. Hailey Warian is excellent at keeping you hooked, and more importantly, she takes the time to look into the circumstances of the murderers and psychopaths that she discusses. Sure, a lot of it is conjecture, but it’s interesting and you love peering into the potential elements of a troubled psyche.

Plus she usually does cute makeup looks as she talks, which is a bonus. She’s not like that stupid Malindaz that all the kids are obsessed with, who spends all her time making herself look pretty and perfect and hiding her flaws. Hailey fucks up on camera and admits it to her audiences. 

You’re on your second can of margarita when your phone buzzes. You glance at it and don’t recognize the number, so you ignore it. Who the hell’s calling you at 8:15 in the evening, anyway? The call ends, no voicemail. You finish the second can and have just grabbed another out of the fridge when your phone buzzes again. It’s the same number. You frown at it as you pop open the tab with a soft hiss and take a sip. This time, almost as soon as the call ends, the number dials back a third time. You continue to ignore it. If someone wants to get ahold of you, they can just leave a voicemail.

You flop onto the couch with a contented sigh. When this video ends, you’ll switch to one or two of your favorite scary movies before you finally go to bed. It’s gonna be a wonderfully relaxing night.

Hailey Warian is halfway through this video when there’s a rap at your door. You pause the video and turn to the door, your eyebrows furrowing. Who the heck is here this late? I don’t have anyone coming over. You turn back to the screen and press ‘play’. Maybe if you ignore the person, they’ll leave.

No such luck. The knocker is persistent. You sigh as you get up from the couch, making sure to take your sweet time in the hopes that whoever is at the door will give up.

The fast knocking continues until the moment you yank the door open, ready to tell whoever it is to kindly fuck off, and upon seeing who is standing there, you freeze.

“Leland?”

He’s wearing his suit jacket, a tan one with matching khakis, and underneath he has on a red vest and white button-up. His tie matches his vest. One hand is raised as if he’s ready to knock yet again, but now that you’ve opened the door, he lowers his hand and peers at you through his glasses. “(Y/N)! I was beginning to think I’d be out here all night long!”

“The hell are you doing here, Leland?” you demand. Leland pushes past you into the apartment without answering, and you regret asking him. You should’ve slammed the door in his smug face the moment you saw who it was. “Leland. What the hell are you doing here?”

He steps into the small hallway that branches into the living room and the kitchen. His eyes are trained on the TV screen. “What’s that?” he asks, lifting his chin in that direction.

You’re so confused, you forget to be annoyed. “Uhhh, Hailey Warian? She does true crime while she does her makeup?” Leland doesn’t seem to recognize the name. “You’ve seriously never heard of her? She’s, like, pretty popular.”

“Can’t say that I have,” Leland replies.

You close the door and step towards the man. “Why are you here?” you demand again. “I’m guessing it’s not to watch murder and makeup videos with me.”

Leland doesn’t look away from the screen as he responds, something that makes a small flicker of irritation surge. “Hmm? What’d you say, (Y/N)?”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here,” you say through gritted teeth.

He gives you a look that attempts to seem sheepish, but you don’t buy it. “Oh, right! Something’s come up and I need to reschedule our appointment tomorrow.”

You narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. “And…you came to my apartment to tell me this…why?”

He shrugs. “I tried calling you.”

You think back to the phone calls you’d ignored. “Oh. Well maybe you should’ve left a voicemail, then.”

Leland doesn’t seem inconvenienced by this trip to your place. In fact, he’s looking around around with far too much interest, his eyes skimming every little detail of your residence. You know he’s looking for more things to use against you, more facts that he can use to control you. 

You clear your throat. “When were you thinking of rescheduling?” you say in an attempt to deter him. 

“I was thinking right now,” he replies, pausing in his examination to look at you. 

“Absolutely not,” you retort with a scoff. “It’s nine o’clock at night. Don’t you have a life?”

You see his eyes flick back to the canned margarita in your hand. “Don’t you?”

You take a long sip in answer, which earns an amused huff from him. “Get out,” you say, but it’s not wholly angry; there’s a tinge of playfulness there, possibly brought on by the drinking. 

“Not until we talk.” 

You have no intention of having a therapy session in your own home, so you stride past him and sit on the couch. Maybe he’ll leave when he realizes I’m not doing this now, you think.

As if he’s read your mind, Leland sits on the opposite end of your couch. You’re mildly annoyed, but you can wait this out. Surely he’ll leave you alone once he gets it through his stubborn head that you’re not doing this tonight. “I’m not leaving until we talk, (Y/N),” he repeats, this time in a firmer voice.

You ignore him and click ‘play’ on your remote. Hailey resumes talking about the serial killer she’s discussing.

“(Y/N), are we really going to do this?” he asks, raising his voice over Hailey’s.

You respond by turning up the volume. Leland huffs, but relaxes into the couch. You’re keeping an eye on him with your peripheral, but he seems at least intrigued by the video. At one point, you catch him snorting in amusement.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

He nods towards the screen, where Hailey has posted a picture of the serial killer at his trial. “I know him! Used to be one of my clients,” he says, and you probably should be a little more concerned about that off-hand comment than you are. Instead, you give him a confused look, which he returns with a small shrug. “Such a shame what happened to him, though.”

“What happened to him?” you ask, perplexed.

Leland doesn’t respond, but there’s an amused lift to his lips that has you noting, not for the first time, just how handsome he is. You blink in annoyance.

Gotta cut back on the margaritas, (Y/N). Your judgment is getting a liiiiiiittle cloudy.

You sink back into the couch and fix your eyes on Hailey, who explains how this killer had converted to Christianity while in prison. You peer at Leland, but he’s not reacting to this little tidbit other than a slight downward tilt to his mouth. Hailey continues, talking about how the killer went through a special rehabilitation program and got out on probation.

Euugh, I hate when that happens. Lemme guess, he kills again?

You wait, eager to see if your prediction came true. Your fingers drum against the couch armrest while Hailey fixes her mascara. She blinks at the camera, then smiles and reveals what happened next:

The killer had attempted to kidnap a celebrity’s dog and gotten shot several times in the process. He’d died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

“What the fuuuuuuck?” you exclaim, genuinely surprised by this plot twist. “That’s so fucking dumb!”

Leland sighs loudly in agreement. “That’s what I said! Really such a shame—I quite enjoyed our sessions together. He was going places, too.” He shakes his head, his voice full of bitter regret. “Waste of talent.”

You whip your head at him, a frown forming on your lips. “What the—the fuck, dude? He murdered three people and you—you—you know what, I don’t think I wanna know.”

He’s back to smiling now, and the sight is unsettling enough that when the video ends, you immediately stand up so that there’s no room for him to talk. “I’m gonna watch a movie,” you announce. You cross over the room to your shelf of DVDs, feeling Leland’s eyes on you the whole time. “I’m thinking either The Grudge or The Descent. You got a preference?”

Leland doesn’t reply, but there’s an amused lift to his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Why am I even asking you? You just decided to barge in on my movie night without a word. Your opinion doesn’t count.” You look at the two DVD covers. “I’m feeling caves.” With that, you return to your TV and pop the DVD in. 

“(Y/N), would it really be so difficult to just talk to me for a bit?” Leland asks as he crosses his legs. He doesn’t seem bothered at all by your unwillingness to participate. He probably thinks it’s hilarious, the smug bastard. “I think our conversations have been making some real progress, you know.”

“Shut up,” you snap, but it’s still more play than actual anger. He’s not actively trying to get under your skin at this point; he’s just trying to unsettle you. Well, joke’s on him. Maybe you can watch him for something you can use against him—a fear of some kind that you can prey on.

It’s a bad idea, but you get two more margaritas from the fridge and offer one to him. “No popcorn?” he asks with a grin.

“I don’t cook for psychos,” you reply easily.

Oh, god, are you flirting with him? Must be the booze. You hate this guy. You hate his disregard for boundaries, you hate how well he seems to understand you, and more importantly, you hate that he makes you feel…feel what? Not just rage. He’s a creep and a pervert and an asshole who’s provoked you to violence, but…

You may or may not have wondered how much fun hate sex would be with him.

We’re not going there tonight, you think to yourself as you make yourself comfortable on the couch. He’s still on the opposite side, which is great because proximity will only make your treacherous brain worse.

You just had to have the cute psycho therapist, didn’t you?

You watch him during the movie, but he doesn’t give you anything useful. If anything, he’s as amused by what’s happening on-screen as you are. The moment the characters start encountering the creatures and getting killed, he’s relaxed and smirking. He doesn’t seem scared at all, though almost everyone you’ve watched this movie with has had some sort of reaction to the jump scares. He drinks his margarita and for some stupid reason you give him another one before you put The Grudge in. If he wants to stay for your movie marathon, that’s his business.

This is the closest you’ve come to enjoying your time with him. It’s probably got something to do with the fact that he doesn’t talk during the movies, oddly enough, though he does laugh out loud and snicker several times (usually during the gruesome bits).

The second movie ends and you yawn. You’re ready to go to bed, ready for Leland to leave, but when you turn to him to tell him to GTFO, he tilts his head at you. “Are you ready to talk yet?”

“Uhhhh, no? I’m going to bed.”

He waggles an eyebrow. “Room for one more?”

You flush, even as you shake his comment off. “As if. Go home, Leland.”

He doesn’t move, and you’re a little concerned that he might be serious about staying over. 

“Leland, I mean it. Kindly get the fuck outta my house.”

“Not until we talk, (Y/N).”

You go into the kitchen, the empty margarita cans in your arms. You let them clatter into the recycling bin and hear him come up behind you. “Go away,” you tell him without looking. “I’m not having a therapy session at midnight in my own place when I’m tipsy.”

“But you’ll watch scary movies?”

“Scary movies are fun. I like watching them and getting scared. I like watching other people get scared by them, too.” You move to wash your hands off—the cans had been a little sticky. 

“I bet I was a disappointing person to watch those movies with, then. They weren’t scary at all.”

You snort to yourself. “I’m sure there’s something somewhere in the world that you’re scared of, Leland,” you say amicably.

“What are you scared of, (Y/N)?”

You snort again, this time louder. “Like I’d tell you.”

There’s a pause as you grab a dishrag and dry off your hands. You’re about to turn around to him to once again tell him to leave when he talks. “We could talk about Samantha,” he suggests, and all of the buzz from the alcohol vanishes. A cold feeling stabs you in the gut and starts to spread, and you just know that Leland has been waiting to spring this on you when you least expect it. You’re the idiot for letting him lull you into letting your guard down, and now he’s got you caught in his web like a tiny fly.

“Samantha?” you repeat, and you’re proud of how stable your voice sounds. “Who’s Samantha?”

He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends the coldness shooting into your heart. “Oh, so now you wanna talk,” he says, and there’s a seductive, ominous lilt to his voice. Oh, yes. He planned this entire fucking thing. “I think you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

You can’t bring yourself to lie again, for some strange reason. The truth is being pulled out of you, one word at a time. “How do you know about her?” you whisper. Maybe if you’re quiet enough, he won’t hear your admission. You haven’t spun around to look at him. You don’t want to see the triumphant gleam you know is in his eyes, that self-satisfied smirk. You can feel him watching you, his blue eyes burning into your back.

“A friend of a friend,” is his vague answer. “Did you know she killed herself?”

Your breath hitches in your chest, and the room is filled with stillness. You sense Leland’s glee radiating from behind, but you’re lost in memories and guilt.

And then he keeps going, driving the knife deeper into your gut. “Is it really because of you?”

“No,” you choke out. It’s a lie.

“That’s not what I was told.”

And just like that, you’re thrown back into your memories of middle school and high school. You can picture Samantha the first time you met her, with her long blonde hair and bright green eyes. She’d been so vivacious, so filled with confidence. You were drawn to her, and as you two had become best friends, you’d learned that she didn’t like scary things too much. You, on the other hand, loved horror, were fascinated by it. You spent hours rewatching the movies that scared the shit outta you just to try and understand what it was that made it so scary—lighting, music choices, special effects. And when you’d learned that Samantha hated horror, well, naturally you’d wanted to do a little prank. You’d convinced her to watch a movie—The Ring, and she had come away absolutely terrified.

You asked her why, but she wouldn’t tell you. Just that it was scary and she was gonna have nightmares.

Well, what does any scientist do when given no explanation? They experiment to find out the cause.

And experiment you had. She was a perfect subject, and you were a creative scientist. You designed a series of tests, each one more elaborate than the last. Things like creating fake emails to spam her with macabre images, embedding creepy music into the CDs you burned for her, changing out the lights in your room for dimmer, darker ones on the occasions she came over. You filled her life with horror and documented the results in multiple notebooks. After all, some day those could be definitive proof of human fear and what causes it, right?

By the time you’d gotten to your junior year of high school, Samantha was no longer the bright, outspoken girl she usually was. She’d become riddled with anxiety, afraid of the world. She didn’t trust anyone but you and a few others. She never got over her paranoia of emails and phone calls, courtesy of you and your ongoing innovation in that area, and she was too afraid to bring it up to any adults.

Then she’d come over one day. You’d had to do something—take out the trash? unstack the dishwasher?—and when you came back, she’d been reading the notebooks, her eyes wide. You had no clue how she’d found them in the first place. You were so good about hiding them where no one could see them, but somehow she had discovered them. Samantha had looked you in the eye, her green eyes stinging with tears of betrayal. “You did this to me?” was all she had said.

There was no way to explain it to her. Not that it would’ve mattered, anyway. She’d left without another word, and from that day forward, you two were no longer friends.

She’d gone off to college in Florida, which was where she was still residing, the last you’d heard. Her social media was pretty locked down, but you checked in on her occasionally. She’d posted on her Insta that she’d started seeing a therapist for her anxiety, and you were kind of proud of her for working to undo everything you’d done to her. Kinda.

You’d never apologized, though. Not once in ten years had you bothered. How could you? How did someone apologize for that kind of thing?

But to learn that she was dead…and from Leland Townsend, of all people. How the hell had he learned about her? As far as you knew, she never told anyone what you did to her!

Without meaning to, you turn around. Just as you’d expected, Leland is watching you with glittering eyes and a smile on his face. His head is tilted at a curious angle, his glasses reflecting the tiny light over the stove. “You wanna know how I know about her, dontcha?”

You give him a slow nod. Dammit, you’re curious. Intrigued, you might even say.

He shrugs. “Her therapist was a friend of a friend.” 

“What about patient-therapist confidentiality?” you as kin a hushed voice.

He’s already shaking his head before you’ve finished asking, his smile never once wavering. If anything, it grows. “I can’t believe that you did all of that to her! It’s—it’s—wonderfully awful.” 

Why the hell does he sound so cheerful about this? Is it because he’s got more intel on you?

Or is it something worse?

“Tell me, (Y/N), how does that make you feel, huh? To know that you pushed someone to the brink of madness to the point where they’d actually off themselves?” He chuckles. “It’s amazing! That kinda handiwork is exactly why we’re so interested in you, you know.”

The coldness has spread to your arms, causing them to break out in goosebumps. “It’s not impressive,” you say, and your voice has a flatness to it. 

Leland gives a half-hearted shrug. “Okay, you’re right. It’s not impressive.” He’s standing there, watching you closely, curiously. “Do you still have the notebooks?”

You shake your head, and he quirks an eyebrow. “Come on, I’m your therapist. You can tell me anything, (Y/N).”

“No, I don’t have them.”

Leland clearly doesn’t believe you, but you have nothing else to add. Samantha is dead because of you.

You should feel worse, shouldn’t you?

Again, as if he can read your thoughts, Leland leans his face closer. “Do you feel bad?” he asks, and his voice has taken on a mocking tone. “Is someone wrestling with guilt over the trauma they caused?”

You shake your head rapidly, but there was a moment of hesitation and Leland, naturally, noticed it. 

He grins. “Stop lying to me,” he says as he takes a step closer. “I know you better than that.”

You look away from him, away from those all-seeing eyes. 

“And you don’t even feel guilty.”

“No,” you breathe, and you bite your lip hard after admitting it. You shouldn’t have said that, even if it’s true. You don’t feel guilty about what you did. You feel guilty that you don’t feel guilty.

Maybe you’re just as fucked up as Leland is. Why the hell are you telling him these things, anyway? You don’t trust him at all.

“You wanna talk about it?” From anyone else, that statement would be a kind one. From Leland, it’s a taunt. A taunt that tints your vision with red.

“Get out of my apartment,” you hiss.

He gives you an exasperated look, but that stupid grin is still plastered there. “Now, (Y/N),” he begins, but you don’t let him get any further. 

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” You punctuate each word with a shove and a step that pushes him towards the door. He stumbles, but in retrospect, he’s probably allowing you to push him out.

“Fine, fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He sighs sadly, like it hurts his feelings that you’re kicking him out. He reaches up and you ready yourself for an attack of any kind, but he’s just pushing up his glasses. “I’ve already gotten everything I needed, anyway.”

You follow him closely, unwilling to let him get more than a foot away from you. He reaches the door and as his hand goes for the handle, he turns his head to look at you, blinking like he’s attempting to bat his lashes at you. “You know what, (Y/N)? This was a really fun date! Do I get to pick the movie next time?”

You reach past him and pull open the door with one hand, the other shoving him on the back. “Get out.”

He takes a tiny step before he turns his whole body. “Don’t I get a goodnight kiss? Something to remember our first date by?”

The red is getting darker. “Get out or I’ll give you something to remember,” you snarl. Like a slap to the face that won’t miss this time.

Leland raises his eyebrows like he’s insulted and lifts his hands in surrender. “You’re right. You were the hostess, I should be the one saying thanks. Do you like flowers?”

You give him a final shove, this one harder than any of the previous ones. Leland stumbles for real this time, but you catch the smirk on his face as you slam the door shut. 

“Maybe next time!” he calls through the door, his voice muffled but still intelligible. You wait there, pressing your forehead into the wood of the door. 

Go away, go away, go away, you chant mentally. You repeat the chant over and over again until you hear his footsteps retreat, and even then, you wait until you hear his car drive off before you let loose a sigh of relief.

I should never have let him in in the first place, you think miserably. Fuck me for that.

You raise a shaking hand to your face. “This is bullshit,” you whisper. “I need to find out who this motherfucker is.”

You’re completely sober at this point and wide awake, so you make a pot of coffee and a plan. You have nowhere to be in the morning, anyways. And if even you did, well, you’ve got more important shit to do.

You’re bringing Leland Townsend to his fucking knees.

“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,

And bidding you good morning now, I’ll call another day.”

Part Five

[thescions]

LIGHT THE WAY.

It was likely due to how high emotions ran throughout Ultima Thule, but nearly all of them had completely forgotten about the teleportation devices. The Warrior of Light, however, had not.

"What -- what happened?" G'raha Tia's voice was bewildered and groggy. One moment, they had all been lifted off their feet and hurled into the abyss -- the next, they were on the bridge of Ragnarok, surrounded by all manner of equally bewildered Lopporits.

"The teleportation devices!" Livingway exclaimed. "I can't believe you really had to use them! Although, where is --?"

"They threw it away!" Alisaie sobbed. She had only just managed to push herself up into a sitting position, her eyes red. "I saw them -- they hit the button and, and --!! "

"And made sure we were safe," Alphinaud finished. His tone was bittersweet: shame at being unable to stay with the Warrior of Light to the end, but acceptance of their gesture. After all, hadn't they all made similar sacrifices while in Ultima Thule?

He wanted to stand. He wanted to return to his friend's side, but there was an unspoken truth that all of them knew: the path to the Endsinger's nest was likely no longer accessible. Even if they did make it all the way back there, it would need to be done at a full, constant sprint. None of them were in condition to do any of that.

"Well," Livingway said after a moment, noticing the heavy atmosphere. "It's good to know that the devices worked at all. And... well, our friend is known for felling gods of all kinds already, aren't they? There's not quite any reason to assume the worst. Yet." She glanced at the monitors as if to double-check. Nope. No catasrophe just yet!

Although, as if on cue, the Ragnarok and all of Ultima Thule seemed to tremble and shake. The monitors blared red and alarms went off -- but only for a moment. Still, something had changed, and the Lopporits were suddenly very preoccupied with the ship's systems.

Alisaie bit back a sob, a balled fist slamming into the floor in frustration. Thancred was silent, calculating just how pointless it might be to try and make their way back towards the nest. Estinien was forcing himself to stand, driven by the discomfort of feeling so helpless. G'raha Tia was torn between his faith in the Warrior of Light and his own dreadful anxieties. Urianger was alarmed but trying to place his focus elsewhere, glancing at the others to see if they needed healing themselves. And when Alphinaud looked to Y'shtola, he found the sorceress' brow furrowed in thought, as if trying to rapidly solve yet another riddle of the universe.

Suddenly, she turned to Thancred and Urianger.

"This domain is ruled by dynamis, is it not?" she confirmed.

Thancred perked up, his own mental wheels spinning. Urianger affirmed, "That is correct."

"Louisiox." Thancred leapt ahead in logic, catching up to Y'shtola's conclusion.

"What?" Alisaie looked up. Estinien waited, because he was equally confused. "What about grandfather?"

"Of course!" G'raha Tia leapt in, ready to fill in the gaps for the others. "In a place so where reality is dictated by emotions, our prayers could help them! Like the prayers that helped deliver Eorzea from Bahamut!"

"Well, why didn't you just say that?!" Alisaie demanded. Shaking her head, she sat upright and clapsed her hands together. "If this is all we can do...!"

"Aye," Alphinaud curled his fist and closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears as his comrades did the same. "We'll do everything in our power."

LIGHT THE WAY!

-- After what felt like an agonizing couple of minutes, the silence so tense one could slice through it, there was a shift in the world around them. And then, a voice:

"They felt your words. And so did I."

Thancred reacted first, gunblade drawn despite how he stood on somewhat shaky legs. Meteion, looking apologetic and lighter and brighter in hues of sky blue, did not flinch.

"There is nothing I can do or say to make up for the horrors that my sisters and I have brought upon the world, nor any of you. But take heart in knowing that the Warrior of Light has won, and our song has ended. I have walked a path for them to follow back to you."

Before anyone else could react, she was gone, fading with a soft gigle and wave goodbye.

G'raha Tia reacted first, relief rushing through him as he just barely caught himself from collapsing onto the floor.

"They're safe," he sighed, arms trembling. "Oh thank the Twelve."

"Yes...if Meteion is to be trusted," Y'shtola commented, although she, too, was smiling.

"My thoughts exactly." Estinien had pushed himself up to lean against the wall. "That girl appeared out of thin air. I see no path upon which our friend could walk."

"But they won," Alisaie insisted, relief also drowning her features. "They won -- I can feel it. Can't you?" She looked to Alphinaud, who nodded slowly.

"I do feel a certain weight off my chest has been lifted," he agreed. "For now, let's operate under the information given to us until we have reason to prove otherwise."

Urianger rose.

"If that be the case, then our friend will like want for healing," he stated. "I shall head to the Lopporits' infirmary to retrieve any additional medical supplies that may be needed."

"I'll help," Thancred offered, finally putting his gunblade away. A quick glance exchanged with Estinien communicated his faith in the Dragoon to assist if Meteion suddenly decided to have a change of heart while he was gone.

Y'shtola, in the meantime, was looking around -- trying to seek out what path Meteion may have conjured up for their friend to take. She couldn't see anything, but the world outside of the ship did seem to feel less oppressive...

--

A few minutes passed. Thancred and Urianger returned with the supplies. Livingway and a few other Lopporits excused themselves to check on the rest of the ship, as they presumed they would be returning to Eitheryis regardless. Alphinaud lingered by the windows, trying to discern a difference between Ultima Thule now and how it had been an hour ago.

Nobody spoke for a long time, until finally, Alisaie burst:

"Where are they? Didn't Meteion say they'd be right behind her?" She stood up, hands clenching and unclenching as anxiety wracked her petite form.

"Alisaie..." Alphinaud frowned, trying to reach for her. She shrugged him off.

"I don't want to hear it, Alphinaud! We're all worried! And we're allowed to be!" she snapped. Her anger quickly gave way to tears, which she rubbed away in frustration. "After everything -- after all we did, after all they've done -- why aren't they here?!"

Urianger spoke up. "Mayhap the journey requires one to traverse the length of Ultima Thule," he suggested, although his doubts were clear in his tone. "If that be the case, it may yet be awhile…"

He looked to Y'shtola, as if she could confirm. She merely shook her head. Out of all of them, she appeared to be the most content to wait. Estinien, too, remained quiet and withdrawn. Although, that was more due to his feeling the least included in the Scions, who had been together for far longer than he.

"It won't do any of us good to get worked up," Thancred said in agreement after a moment, placing a comforting hand on Urianger's shoulder briefly. As if he wasn't contemplating grabbing Meteion if she returned once more. As if he wasn't also contemplating heading out into Ultima Thule again himself. "We'll wait. And see."

G'raha Tia, in the meantime, swayed on his feet. He could feel Y'shtola's gaze on his back, watching him -- or perhaps warning him against suddenly collapsing. He wasn't going to, although he did feel clammy and lightheaded. He couldn't possibly make this moment about him when they were all waiting for the Warrior of Light's return.

Still -- They had won. They had won the day, just as they had in the First, so why...?

Where were they?

"Um, Meteion?" he called out suddenly into the nothingness, drawing everyone's attention. "If you're still there, somewhere -- could you possibly tell us how far our friend is away right now?"

He was met with silence, of course. Meteion wasn't there anymore. She wasn't anywhere.

Alisaie let out a scream of frustration, "I can't take this anymore! I'm going out to look for them!"

Alphinaud winced. Part of him wanted to stop her, but then he wondered why. Why wouldn't they go searching? What would be so bad if they tried?

"I'll go with you," he started.

But then there was a flash -- a brief burst of light, and the sound of a body settling against the floor. The Warrior of Light had returned: bruised, bloody, and still. The next few moments erupted into emotional and physical chaos.

But they were back.

[asciidot]

11 for laz I need more lore

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

Fear is a tangled concept when you're a functional immortal whose been alive for two millennia, but aside from Aurum's "Death" and the underlying dread of eternity, it would probably be the first time he "broke" one of its own hard set rules. Long text because there is ...context! needed!

cw minor character death

For anyone who hasn't been trawling my blog for scraps of lore over the years, or seen me in the wild back when I used to roleplay and join JSaB servers, Lazureus is the shape who is the head of the "Watchers", one of the four main sectors in Paradise, Utopia. The Watchers is basically their iteration of "defence" that our countries have, covering general policing, warfare, "peacekeeping", punishment and some other odd jobs. They do not have good optics, even in Paradise, and Lazureus is presently a pretty hated public figure, even though some argue his necessity.

Lazureus does not enjoy his line of work, nor deem it necessary, but has developed a numbness towards it because he doesn't have a choice in it. To hold some semblance of morals to keep himself sane once this position was given to him, Laz set himself a few rules, one of which being is no matter what: he cannot directly cause a death that was not on the field, or trialled beforehand through the Wayfinders ("Humanitarian" and Legal sector, Aurums domain). That means the person for which his hand was responsible for death was either deemed guilty or had "agreed to the risk" by stepping foot in a battlezone.

On the field, Lazureus is barely deployed because he is a walking natural disaster. All the siblings have their specialties; Amael can manipulate inorganic matter and metals (things of noise) with precision, Protham is fantastic with what can best be described as telekinesis (manipulating the space between noise and sound), and Aurum is exceptional with plants and life (things of sound). They all have their practical applications. Lazureus on the other hand, can reduce sound and noise to nothing. The only exceptions are Pink shapes with their unstable sound, and deities who are instead of Light, not sound.

All that exposition to get to the actual answer to the question!

Lazureus had been deployed by the King in order to clear out an area, as the meaningless skirmish against the Backlands had started to lose momentum and was causing more trouble than it was worth to their own people.

It was a pretty desolate area, and the evacuation order had been given, so Laz was more haphazard than he usually was. It didn't scout the area, and even at the end razed a run down building in the vicinity too, even though it wasn't quite in the designated zone, just clipping Paradise land-- because he had always hated churches. One broken old tribute to his creator couldn't hurt to erase, spite fuelled or not. It was half caved in anyway, so he was doing the place a favour.

Well, he thought as much until there was shrieking in the priorly silent battlegrounds. It was all the more chilling because there was only that. There was nothing to tune it out. No background noise, no people beside him droning on about patriotism, no wind, no gunfire, just the desperate cries of a singular living thing, alone and in agony.

The next hour he acted practically on autopilot, finding the person in a few panicked minutes, dragging what was left of them out from the debris, teleporting them both to Aurum and begging xem to fix it, because Laz himself couldn't, he wasn't designed to.

They survived a few lucid-ish days before succumbing to having half their body destroyed. They were writing an article on historical architecture, and the building had interested them, even though it was so close to a no-go zone. She finished writing it then died, like it was some sort of final duty. She had no family, and she took it in her stride. She said it was all coincidence, really, and even said she forgave Laz, that it wasn't really his fault. That Laz was a nice person and just happened to be in a bad position. She was one of the few people Laz ever brought himself to be completely truthful with in those few days, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of something else, he didn't know.

When he went back to the site, the mural of his creator was still intact.

It felt like Vie was laughing at him.