#left me once again thinking everything is horrible and nothing will ever be good again

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur made a soft sound as Kane leaned in, feeling it deep inside his chest. A small shift of weight, a tremble beneath his hands - this was the most human thing he had ever known. There was no data, this wasn’t observation, this wasn’t a recorded log or something to go on a chart - this was just a man who wanted to be held, who deserved it, burying his face into the crook of another’s neck in an effort to make the pain stop. 

Arthur wished it would.

He wished that his arms could undo everything that Six did; he wished he could take every blow, every horrible word, and just return it to the man who had given it in the first place. Six deserved to suffer for this, he truly did - but Arthur couldn’t do much. He couldn’t do anything but hold the other man tighter, rocking him gently, wishing that he could do more. 

Kane’s voice was muffled, barely there. Suggesting that Six was right, asking if he wasn’t a man; Arthur’s throat ached as his breath got caught yet again in it, his eyebrows pinching further as he shook his head, holding the man even closer. 

His hand kept moving, rubbing over Kane’s back, just hoping to sooth. Hoping that he could undo the harsh actions against the man with gentler ones; wishing that things had ever been that simple. 

“No,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the top of Kane’s head. “No - no, Kane. Listen to me.” His own voice was trembling, cracking in ways that it hadn’t in over a decade; and yet still, he rocked them, ran his hand over the man’s back.

“Listen. He’s not right. He’s a cruel man. He’s always been a cruel man - there’s nothing in him. Nothing at all. He just did what he did because it made him feel powerful - it has nothing to do with you. It’s him. He doesn’t have enough… enough inside of him, so he wanted to steal something from you. That’s it. That’s all.” 

He didn’t know if now was a good time for metaphor. He didn’t care, almost - he didn’t know how else to explain it, how to explain complexities like that to someone like Kane. 

It never should have happened. Kane should be learning the way the rain felt on his skin, the way the outside air felt in his lungs - not this. Never this. 

Arthur turned his head, just pressing his cheek more against Kane’s temple. Instinct, sheltering, protecting - he wanted to do more. He wanted to do a thousand more things - and he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. 

“You’re here,” he reminded - grounding. Grounding could be useful. 

Every second of his training with situations like this had long since left his mind. 

“That’s not weakness, Kane. That’s not proof that you’re a thing - a thing wouldn’t feel like you do, right now. Okay? You feel, you think, you choose. And even with what he did, nothing was erased. You didn’t give him what he wanted, because you know what belongs to you. You.” It belonged to something, it was led by something. 

There was a soul here, Arthur was convinced. Maybe one that was different - but a soul, all the same. 

“You’re a man,” he said again. “Even if you can’t trust him, and you can’t trust yourself, then trust me. I see you. I know you. You’re someone, and you’re good. You are someone. And I-"

Arthur’s voice faltered as his breath hitched, caught once again in his throat. Were it not for the cloudiness in his brain, he likely wouldn’t’ve continued. 

“I’ve missed you. Very much. I didn’t know this would happen - I didn’t know they’d do it. I would’ve let this happen, if I did.” He’d known that he would be scolded, sure - but he didn’t think they’d go after Kane. He hadn’t expected that level of cruelty - though he understood why they’d done it.

They’d already decided that Kane wasn’t a person. Arthur was only there so it’d look good on the paperwork. 

Arthur closed his eyes, exhaling, jaw clenched. “I won’t let it happen again. Never. I promise.” 

He pressed his lips again to Kane’s hair, continuing to rock them gently. It wouldn’t be so simple, he knew - Arthur couldn’t control anyone. But he could still act upon his own free will - and he’d do whatever it took to take care of the other. 

Kane has never been held like this, has never experienced closeness in such a way - knows of the concept, touch as a whole, was embraced by Lena before and had embraced her back, once she'd made it back out of the shimmer and back to the facility.

But this?

Nothing can compare to what this is - the way Harrow's arms curl around his body, pull him in, even lift his legs so that the whole of his weight comes to a rest on top of the man's lap. Nothing can compare to the feeling of safety that floods him in return, of being cared for, protected, secure. It triggers an emotion to rise inside Kane, not-Kane, it, that he would describe as outright primal - a deep need of sorts, pure want for the shared connection, the touch of another living being that is offered to him in such a personal, almost intimate way.

Where Kane had felt violated and dehumanized before, he now feels the exact opposite, despite the other being even closer than that security guard had ever been in the first place; He feels seen in a way that's hard to put into words, acknowledged beyond anything that has ever been given to him...

Even though those hands feel cool against his body, his scalp, there's a shared warmth existing that seems to soak right into his skin - through tissue and bone, reaching his heart to wrap it into a blanket of sorts, soft and gentle, loving, adoring. And Kane's arms wrap around Harrow in return, do so out of reflex, his instinct making him act and seek out what he craves to have, what he needs to keep breathing, to keep existing, to stay alive.

His bruises hurt because of the way Kane bends his upper torso, chest expanding with every shaky breath and every sob that's leaving him - but he doesn't care, doesn't think about it; This embrace, this hug, is everything he could ever need at this very moment - cancels out the pain inside his bones, inside his lungs, on his face.

You didn't do anything wrong, is what Harrow says with his voice so quiet and low - so beautiful and kind, so gentle and nourishing - and Kane lets out another sob, another hiccup, as his face presses into the crook of a neck. He says he's sorry, and, once again, Kane, not-Kane, it, shudders with the cry that pushes through his body, forced from a set of sore lungs.

You're not a thing - another sob. You're not something - a hiccup, a little softer, close to a whine.

You’re a person. You’re a person, Kane. Alright? You’re a man. A very, very good man.

Fingers hurting from how firmly they're curled against Harrow's back, holding onto the fabric of his shirt, Kane breathes - inhales, exhales - as he takes it in, soaks it up, his heart aching with how much he's longing for it - to be a man, a living person rather than a thing. Despite it all, even though this has happened, Harrow didn't change his opinion about him; Kane swallows, takes in the scent of skin and laundry detergent, of something that's just so purely Harrow...

It comforts him in the same way as that cup of chamomile tea did, two days ago.

He had missed the other. Kane had missed him so, so much.

"---I don't know..." A whisper breathed to that neck, followed by a sniff taken through a stuffy nose - lips move against the bare tissue as he speaks, eyes closed, body twitching whenever an involuntary gasp shakes him to the very core. "...What if I'm not? Maybe he's--- maybe he's right..."

For the briefest moment, a mere fraction of a second, Kane's head pushes up, subtly so - not to get away, to get distance between them, but rather to deepen the connection of that mouth to his hairline instead. Just because the act of it feels so... deep. So... human. So utterly, unmistakably human.

[patchworkofravens]

As much as I wish I understood Lily Chou Chou....I don't think I do.

Like it's probably a great film and allow me to say I love. I love the cinematography but the story felt kinda forgettable? In a while. Idk maybe my brains just rotted too much to Get It.

It DID give me that consuming tired dread that Extracurricular did where it's all oh my god that's fucked up oh that's worse oh that's downright disgusting oh thisis. Cruel and unforgivable. But that's about it 🤷‍♀️

[sunflower-author]

Yandere Bonten x Reader

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The reader is Gender neutral in this!!

TW: Sewer slide attempt, attempt drug use,

Bonten Timeline, where Bonten has kept you in the penthouse for a LONG time, and out of spite from every horrible thing they have ever done, you decide not to speak to them out of resentment Bottling up all your emotions. Hoping that they will eventually grow bored of you and either let you go or finally end your suffering.

One day, in particular, everything that you had been bottling up has finally reached its breaking point...

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“Y/N, go grab your hairbrush from the bathroom counter. Please, I can tell you didn’t brush your hair this morning,” Kakucho said, sitting down on the couch right beside you.

Ever since Mikey mentioned he prefers your hair long, you’ve been forced to grow it out. You can’t say you like it, but at least it hides the ugly marks they’ve left on your neck and body...

Everyone else just goes along with it—whatever Mikey says, goes. You’re not sure if the others actually like your hair as much as he does, but they definitely act like they do...

You got up and made your way to the main bathroom everyone used. As you spotted the black hairbrush and reached for it.

That was when it caught your eye.

A small orange bottle with a white childproof cap sat on the counter. Slowly, you picked it up, and it didn’t take long to realize—it was one of Sanzu’s many drugs. He must’ve left it behind in a rush this morning, hurrying to make it to his mission.

Bad day for him, but amazing for someone like yourself.

There is a good amount of pills in this container, and knowing Sanzu, only carrying around the ‘best’ (strongest) ones on him. He could drain this dry, and it still wouldn’t be enough for someone like him.

This would be enough to kill any normal person, especially someone clean for over a few years.

Slowly opening the cap, pouring the rest of the bottle into your hand. Then quickly raise all of it to your mouth, only to have a hand grip your wrist.

You don't need to turn to know who it is.

“I can’t even leave you alone for a minute before you do something dangerous. Put it down,” Kakucho said with a sigh. Physically, you know there’s no chance against him

You lowered your arm slightly to put the pills back in the bottle, and as you did, Kakucho’s grip gradually softened.

Once the cap is closed, you turn to look at him, feeling dazed.

“I won’t tell anyone… but if I catch you doing that again, I’m telling everyone,” he said, taking the pill bottle from you. You nodded, grabbed the brush, and the two of you walked back to the couch.

After settling down, he starts to brush your hair. “Honestly, what were you thinking? Did you just want to be on drugs or something, or was that a serious attempt?” he asks, sighing again.

“Listen, I know that you hate your life here. But is it truly that bad? You can have whatever you want. Having Kokonoi and Takeomi buy you anything you could dream of, Sanzu would literally do anything for you. Mocchi would always listen to your rants when you talked. Ran and Rindou, well, they argue a lot, but are fun to watch too. I try my best… even if you don’t see it…” His words are slow and cold.

“I admit I’m just as guilty as the rest of them, and everything we do is for your safety… even if you don’t think it is. That’s the truth. You may despise us for the rest of your life, but as long as we can keep you safe, that’s what matters.”

At this point, he seemed to be pouring his heart out.

Saddened, he asked, “Do you hate me…? For doing all of this?”

Shocked, you shook your head no. Kakucho did nothing wrong—he was just following orders. Even if he hurt you and others, he’s not to blame. You know he feels guilty for everything he’s done. After all, you’ve always felt a slight empathy toward Kakucho; he’s the kindest of all of Bonten.

“Will you please talk to me again?” he begged more than asked. You just shrugged, leaving it at that.

“Is life better now than when you first got here?” he asked. You replied with a simple nod.

“That’s good, at least. Although I can imagine the first few days felt like hell,” he said.

Try the first few weeks…

After asking a good handful of questions, he paused for a few seconds, as if he was thinking. Confused, you tilted your head and looked at him. Suddenly, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head.

“Would you be willing to respond with more specific answers if I have you write them down? That way, you wouldn’t have to speak,” he asked. You nodded. Then he rushed out of the room to grab something.

When he returned, he had an iPad in his hand. Pulling out the stylus, he handed it to you as he sat down on the couch. The iPad was already in drawing mode.

“Now… why don’t you talk?” he asked.

'I wanted to punish you all for everything you ever did to me. I thought that if you believed I was broken, maybe I could find a way to stop living like this. Even a peaceful death would’ve been ideal.'

As he was reading this, you could tell he was stunned, unsure of how to respond. He just asked another question: “How long are you going to keep this up?”

You write, ‘Until I can be free, or at least have some freedom’

“I can talk with Mikey…” You both know the conversation will be a waste of time for Kakucho and Mikey, but he can still try if he wants to.

'You’re a good person, Kakucho. Compared to everyone else, you have the most empathy. Plus, you only follow orders out of loyalty. I know you mean no harm to me, even if it’s for better or worse. Truthfully, if it were just you and me, I would talk to you,' you wrote down.

“What do you mean? We’re alone,” he said.

You wrote down just two words: security cameras.

After reading them, he said, “Oh, I forgot about that…” as he looked around the room, glancing at the cameras.

“I know you think we’re being excessive with everything, but you have to understand—we’re doing everything we can to protect you. We know everything about you… there are no secrets between us.”

He pauses, and it lingers longer than it should. He’s quiet… too quiet.

Shit. You have a bad feeling about this.

He sighs, deep in thought, then turns to you.

“Y/N… you know Bonten made a pact—no secrets, and to take care of you. And today… You tried to overdose on Sanzu’s drugs. That’s not a small secret I’d be keeping from them. This is your life. You could’ve died today if I hadn’t been there to stop you.”

He pauses, guilt heavy in his voice.

“I’m sorry, but I have to tell them. I care about you and your safety… and this is something I can’t keep from them.”

He looks down, ashamed.

Shit… you begin to think.

If he tells them, you’ll be on a tighter leash than ever. Things will go right back to how they were when they first took you.

There’s no way in hell you’re starting from the bottom again. You’ve worked your way up—first by playing nice, then by going silent, which they all hate.

If you’re thrown back to the bottom, it’ll take months before you can even walk freely around this building again.

You know what… fuck it. You’ve already told him too much. If you’re going out, you’re going out with a bang.

This is just… a lot to grasp.

You expected this kind of thing from Sanzu. From Ran. From Mochi. But Kakucho?

Kakucho is too loyal for his own fucking good.

Blinded by rage, you shoot to your feet and yell, “You’re just as fucked up as the rest of them!”

But the moment the words leave your mouth… something feels off. Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours—it's weak, strained, not nearly as loud as you wanted it to be.

Fuck…

You messed up your vocal cords.

You glance at Kakucho for a brief second—he’s taken aback. The sound of your voice shocked him… and it shocked you too.

All you want now is to leave and disappear into the bedroom.

However… as you turn, you see the rest of the Bonten members standing by the door, frozen in pure shock.

That’s all the information you need to know—they heard you.

Well, fuck…

A few moments of silence hang heavy in the air before you finally dare to move. You only manage a few steps when a voice breaks through.

“Hold on, Y/N. Come over here.”

Great. That was Mikey.

You're quick to make your way in front of him and the others, heart pounding.

“You talk to Kakucho, but not me?” he asks, his voice laced with hurt.

Should you dig yourself deeper into this mess?

“I’m sorry, Mikey…” you manage to whisper, your voice weak and hoarse. After yelling at Kakucho, your vocal cords are shot—it hurts to speak, and the others can tell. Some even flinch at the sound.

But it doesn’t matter. You could be in the worst pain imaginable, and as long as you’re alive and breathing, they’d be fine with that.

“So what? That’s all you have to say?” Ran scoffs. “We heard you talk. Drop the little tantrum and speak to us. I knew you’d break eventually… Took longer than I expected, but here we are.”

It’s clear—by the look on their faces—they all want to hear it again. Your voice.

Did this bitch not just hear me talk? What more does he want me to say? Is he really such a fucking sadist that he wants to hear me struggle to speak? You think, rage simmering beneath the exhaustion.

Well, in that case, you plan to say something to him—loud and clear.

“You know what? Fuck you, Ran. I’ve been wanting to say that for so long. You’re such a manipulative shit. You really think I didn’t see through all your bullshit—how you act like a god, like you’re so great. But you’re just a sadist who cheats and contributes nothing. It’s only because of your so-called ‘respect’—beating up kids younger than you—that you’re feared. Without that, you’d be nothing. You’d still be at the bottom of Roppongi, rotting in jail with all the other failures.”

You clutch your throat, trying not to breathe too hard.

“Calm down, Y/N. You know it’s just Ran being Ran.” You’re not sure if Rindou is sincere or just trying to shut you up. At this point, you don’t give a fuck—you’re already pissed.

“You think you’re any better, Rindou? The only reason people see you as nice is because they’re comparing you to Ran. Since I can remember, everyone’s been blinded by Ran, overlooking just how cruel and cold-hearted you really are.”

“You’re nothing but a follower, doing whatever Ran tells you, blindly trailing behind him. So much so that all you’ll ever be… is your big brother’s shadow.”

Your voice grows softer and softer.

Shit, you worry. How much longer can I keep talking?

“Your voice is getting worse, stop talking, Y/N,” Kokonoi says, concerned.

“You wanna be next?” you ask. “Because you—”

But you don’t even get to finish before a coughing fit takes over.

After catching your breath, you realize just how sore your throat is—burning and raw, the aftermath of overusing it. Every breath feels painful.

Your vision starts to blur, tears welling up without warning.

You have no idea why. Is it the pain? Or are you just suddenly overwhelmed by emotions?

Why do they all have to be here? Do they think you’re weak now?

What’s wrong with everything? How did it all end up like this?

You feel arms wrap around you. At first, you freeze—then you recognize it’s Kakucho.

Even when you curse at him, he’s still here, comforting you.

You can’t hate him. But you can’t love him, either. All you can do is accept him—and that’s exactly what you do, in that moment.

You exhale without even realizing you’d been holding your breath.

Your shoulders and body relax as you lean into his chest, unable to bear their cruel stares any longer.

No matter how hard you try, the tears won’t stop falling.

You can feel their eyes burning into your back.

“What are you all staring at? Acting like children watching a movie,” Akashi snaps, breaking the silence. “Y/N hasn’t shown any emotion for over a year, and now that they finally do, all you can do is just watch? They’re breaking down in Kakucho’s arms.”

Always count on Akashi to be an adult when situations become grim.

“We’ll all talk together on the couch,” Mikey says.

You hear his footsteps fade away, followed by the others.

Kakucho gently pushes you away from him.

“Ready to follow?” he whispers.

You nod slowly and make your way to the couch.

Everyone is already seated, and Mikey motions for you to sit between him and Akashi—the only two who can keep a calm mind, no matter what happens.

By now, you’ve stopped crying, but your eyes and nose remain red and swollen.

The moment you sit down, all hell breaks loose.

“I think that Y/N should get punished for talking to me like that,” “They are hurting enough, what they said was nothing, compared to what your victims say to you,” “And I kill them for it,” “Stop being such a big baby Ran, just man up,” “Oh I know you did not just tell me to ‘man up’, being the only one that doesn’t even get their hands dirty,” “Oh? Do you want your little allowance cut?” “I swear to God, Koko, if you-”

“Enough,” Mikey says, his voice firm.

Everyone falls silent—no one dares to disobey their leader.

Mikey then glances at Akashi, signaling something. Akashi turns to you.

Confused, you wait for him to speak.

“Y/N, I know you’re in pain,” Akashi begins carefully, “but what you said to Ran and Rindou was uncalled for—completely immature. You knew those were their weak points. You need to apologize to them.”

“I’m sorry… Rindou… Ran,” you say softly, eyes cast downward, your voice still scratchy.

“What was that? Hardly sincere—and he could at least speak loud enough for me to understand,” Ran complains.

Seeing Akashi shoot you a warning look, you let out a knowing sigh.

You look up at Ran, meeting his eyes with hatred. “I’m sorry… Ran,” you say louder, your voice rough with anger and strain.

Then, turning to his brother, you calm yourself and softly say, “Sorry,” with genuine sincerity.

Just as the older brother opens his mouth to respond, Akashi cuts him off with a sharp, “Ran.”

Ran rolls his eyes and leans back further on the couch.

“Now, Y/N…” Mikey’s voice cuts through the room, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Do you—or Kakucho—want to explain what happened today? Especially what made you lose your temper like that?” he asks, his tone unusually curious. He hasn’t shown this much emotion in a long time, making everyone even more on edge.

You glance at Kakucho with a silent, pleading look, begging him not to say anything.

Kokonoi, always observant, notices immediately. “Oh? Must be nice, seeing you look at Kakucho like that…”

The moment Koko says this, all eyes snap to you.

Fuck… just great, you think.

Looking down, ignoring their stares, waiting for Kakucho to say something.

“Today, Y/N went to the bathroom to grab their hairbrush… but they were taking longer than usual. So I went to check on them,” Kakucho begins, hesitation creeping into his voice. “And when I looked in the room…” He pauses, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well, hurry up! What happened?” voices chime in. “It can’t be that bad… can it?” “Just spit it out already.”

Kakucho looks to Mikey, who responds softly, not demanding, but reassuring, even manipulative. He knows how to be gentle when he wants to.

Finally, Kakucho pulls out a pill bottle and tosses it to Sanzu, who fumbles—only for Akashi to catch it.

“I found them about to take the rest of the pills in the bottle,” Kakucho says at last.

Sanzu pales, realizing he’s in deep trouble.

Everyone’s eyes lock onto Sanzu, glaring like they’re ready to tear him apart. I wouldn’t be against that, you think.

“The rest of these, you say, Kakucho? Sanzu… just five at once could’ve killed them,” Akashi says coldly, staring down Sanzu. Then his gaze shifts back to you as he continues,

“Almost got Y/N killed… But then again… who knew?”

”They would be so suicidal,”

(IDK HOW TO END THIS... IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS, PLZ FEEL FREE TO WRITE CHAPTER 2!!! JUST PLZ TAG ME!! I WOULD LOVE TO READ WHAT ANY OF YOU GUYS MAKE!!)

HOPE YOU LIKED READING THIS.

PLZ LEAVE NOTES IF YOU DID<3!!!

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 11 (The End)

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

I could write more, but quite frankly, I think I would kinda drag it out and the first major arc is tied up with a neat little bow! There are definitely be threads left dangling for me to pick up whenever I want to write more about Sky and Azriel, but I think around 50k is a good place to stop for now ❤️

Even the Spymaster of the Night Court paid taxes.

That was the only reason why Rhysand even found out where exactly Azriel‘s home even was.

Azriel’s home was in the outskirts of Velaris, near the mountains. A little lake cabin. Rhys hadn’t even known that Azriel owned it but apparently he did.

Rhys shouldn’t go there. He knew that.

Rhys should be giving his brother space. That was probably the least he owed him. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to know Azriel was alright. That he was happy.

Rhys needed to apologise. He needed to make amends…

And Azriel was ignoring him. Mental shields as shored up as they ever had been, shoving back at Rhys at every opportunity…

He had never seen Azriel's mental shields like this before, and it concerned him. He knew Azriel was angry at him, had ever right to be angry,  but Rhys hadn't expected his brother to shut him out so completely.

Reports were still arriving on his desk punctually as always. But Azriel seemed utterly uninterested in actually talking to Rhys. 

It was a small comfort, knowing that Azriel was still working, but Rhysand couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt that had settled deep in his gut. He knew that he had hurt Azriel deeply, and he couldn’t blame his brother for shutting him out.

Rhys wished he could turn back time and fix things, but he had messed up terribly. He knew he had to give Azriel space, but the silence between them was deafening . It was a constant reminder of just how much damage he had caused.

As the days went on, Rhysand found himself consumed by thoughts of what he could have done…should have done… He tried reaching out to Azriel mentally, only to be rebuffed each time. 

Cassian showed up alone for debriefings and if Rhys showed up at the House of Wind for Valkyrie Training, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

So finally…Rhys had enough. So he showed up at that house. 

It was a nice house too, a secluded cabin at a mountain lake. Rhys knew that he wasn’t welcome, not after everything that had passed between them, but he had to see Azriel. 

Rhys raised a hand, knocking gently on the door. He could hear the faint sound of movement inside. Rhysand sighed. He should leave. He knew he should leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

And then suddenly, to his surprise…the door opened. 

“…C…Can I….can I h…help you?“

She was brown haired and short… with deep blue eyes and freckles smattering over her nose.

Rhysand looked at the woman in front of him, taken aback by her appearance. He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't a small, curvy, freckled brunette.

"I, uh..." Rhysand stammered, his mind blanking. "I was looking for Azriel." he finally brought out. 

The small female studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Az…Azriel's n…not h…here," she stuttered.

Rhysand's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show. "Do you know where he is?" he asked, desperate for any information.

The female hesitated, biting her lip slightly. She seemed to be contemplating her answer, her brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, she finally looked back up at him, her expression unreadable. "He…He's...o…out f…for t…the d…day," she said finally, not giving him anymore than that.

Rhysand tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was so close to his brother, and yet so far away. "Do you know when he'll be back?" he asked sharply.

She nearly flinched away from him at that tone of voice.

He opened his mouth to apologise, but he didn't even get to that. Because some thing with wickedly sharp claws, launched itself at his head with a hissing sound.

Rhysand yelped as the mysterious creature swiped at his face, growling all the while.

"HECTOR NO!" The female shrieked.

Rhysand stumbled backwards, trying to dodge the sharp claws.

Just at that moment, he felt more than he heard his brother's arrival.

Azriel materialized between them with a loud flapping of wings, his siphons blazing. He stood protectively in front of the small female, his expression murderous.

"Hector to me," he snapped. The thing, a cat ...an incredible ugly , murderous looking cat let off Rhys with another growl and slunk back to Azriel's side, heeling like a dog. The woman quickly scooped him up in her arms.

Cassian's laughter washed over him, at that moment, as Rhys was still laying on the ground, bested by a cat .

"Taking down by a cat now, Rhysie?" Cassian asked him with a snort, offering him his hand to gain his feet.

Rhys already knew that he was never going to live this down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Azriel hissed, his voice filled with anger. His wings were spread wide, and Rhysand could see the barely contained ferocity beneath his brother's cold facade.

Rhysand winced at Azriel's harsh tone. He knew he had messed up, and he didn't blame his brother for being angry with him. "I just wanted to see you," he said, feeling small under Azriel's penetrating glare.

Azriel's expression didn't soften at his words. "You had no right," he said sharply. "You can't just show up here unannounced, Rhysand. This is my home, and you're not welcome here. You terrified Sky!"

Sky. Sky. That was the name of his brother's mate...of the pretty brunette that was standing behind him, fussing over her murderous cat.

Rhysand glanced over at Sky guiltily. "I...I'm sorry," he said to her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sky hesitated, before nodding stiffly. Her face remained guarded, her arms still wrapped protectively around the mangy cat. Rhysand couldn't help but notice how small she looked compared to Azriel's imposing form…and the absolute massive cat. 

"I am sorry," he turned to his brother, swallowing. The apology wasn't enough. he knew that. And it wasn't going to fix the fact that Azriel didn't trust him anymore or... *Az. Please.*

"How did you find this house?" Azriel demanded.

"I checked the tax reports," Rhys admitted with a grimace.

Azriel's expression darkened even further, and Rhys braced himself for a reprimand. Instead, his brother let out a harsh, bitter chuckle. "Of course you did," he said flatly. "Just can't stay out of my business, can you?"

Rhysand felt a pang in his chest at the hostility in Azriel's voice. He knew he deserved every ounce of resentment his brother felt, but it still hurt deep to hear it out loud. "I...I was worried about you," he said lamely.”I just needed to see you." he added. "To apologise."

"You don't even realise the lines you keep crossing, do you?" Cassian asked him flatly. "Ever thought about the fact that maybe you should have waited until Azriel was ready to hear you out?

Rhysand winced. Cassian's words struck a nerve, and he knew his friend was right. He had been rash and insensitive in coming here unannounced. "I...I wasn't thinking," he admitted softly.

Cassian shook his head, his expression still stern. "That's the problem, Rhys," he said bluntly. "You never seem to think these days. It's like you're so caught up in your own head that you don't consider how your actions affect those around you."

Rhysand's gaze dropped, shame washing over him. Cassian's words pierced straight through him, and he struggled to find a response. He knew he had been making mistakes, but hearing them laid out so bluntly still stung.

"What do you want?" Azriel asked him flatly. "Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to apologise," Rhys said weakly. "I...fucked up. I know that. I want to...fix things."

Azriel's face remained impassive, his eyes hard. "You can't just fix things with an apology, Rhys," He said curtly. "You crossed more than one line, and you shattered my trust. Do you really think saying sorry is enough?"

"Az," his mate said softly, her voice quiet. "H..He's blee..bleeding all over our front lawn after my cat at..attacked him. At least let him sit down and give him a healing salve…"

Azriel turned to look at his mate, his anger softening ever so slightly at the concern in her voice. He let out a heavy sigh, before nodding stiffly. "Fine," he said gruffly. "But no more than that."

Rhysand nodded gratefully, relieved that Azriel was willing to let him in, even if only slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I...I really am sorry."

Azriel didn't respond, turning away from him and herded Sky and the murder cat into the house. Rhysand watched him go, feeling a pang of sadness. It was clear that his brother's anger was far from abated, and he knew it would take a lot more than just an apology to mend their fractured relationship.

"Come on," Cassian prodded him up.

The first thing that Rhys realised about the house Azriel shared with his mate was that it was absolutely stuffed full with books. The second was, that Azriel clearly doted on the Murder Cat that got a crystal dish with tuna on it put on the floor before Azriel even went in the direction of the healing salve, which he slapped down on the table in front of Rhysand. .

"I…I am so…sorry," Sky apologised to Rhys, bright blue eyes apologetic. "H…Hector has nev…never done anything like that before, I swear."

Yeah, somehow he doubted that. But he also doubted that it was going to help his relationship with Azriel if he was going to annoy his mate about her beastly cat. The thing had a worse personality than Amren . 

"Don't worry about it," he said, with what he hoped he was a gracious smile. "I think your cat and I just got off on the wrong foot." He looked over at the cat, who was now happily devouring the tuna as if it hadn't just tried to claw his face off.

"Good Boy, Hector," Azriel said warmly.

Rhysand could just stare.

Azriel, the feared Spymaster of the Night Court, was cooing at a mangy cat like a proud parent. He never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"Who knew the Spymaster had a soft spot for cats," Rhysand remarked with a faint smile. Azriel shot him a warning glare, but the sternness was lost at the tender way he was petting the cat. "I am really sorry," Rhys apologised again.

"You said so. Numerous times," Azriel shot back.

Rhysand sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew Azriel was still angry with him, but it was hard not to feel the guilt weighing down on him. "I know," he said softly. "But I want you to know that I mean it. I am sorry, Azriel. For everything."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but Rhysand could see the flicker of sadness in his eyes. He knew his brother was struggling to forgive him, but he hoped that with time, Azriel would be able to find it in his heart to do so.

"I just want to make things right," Rhysand said earnestly. "I miss you, Az. I miss my brother."

"You'll need to decide one of those days," Azriel said sharply. "Am I your soldier or am I your brother?"

Rhysand flinched at the words, feeling the weight of the accusation hit him hard. 

He had always tried to balance his role as High Lord with his relationship with his brothers, but he knew that…that he hadn’t been fair to Azriel for a long time. "You're right," he conceded quietly. "I have been treating you like my soldier instead of my brother, and that's not fair to you."

"You have been treating him absolutely deplorably," Cassian cut him off.

Rhysand hung his head, feeling the weight of his mistakes settling heavy on his shoulders. "I know," he said quietly. "I've been so caught up in my own problems and responsibilities as High Lord that I lost sight of what really matters. And I've hurt Azriel because of it."

"And you stuck your nose in things that are none of your business," Cassian continued. "I get it that you are tired of fighting, Rhys, we all are, but you can't keep conflict out of our family by ordering Azriel to behave in the way you would like him to."

Rhysand winced, knowing Cassian was right. He had been trying to control things, to make sure everyone was safe and happy, but in the process, he had driven a wedge between himself and his brothers. "I...I know," he admitted reluctantly. "I was…I was stupid. I am tired of war. Of fighting. And I was just trying to protect him, but I went about it all wrong."

" Protect me?" Azriel asked him, his voice dripping with disdain. " Protect me from what ?"

Rhysand looked away, feeling the shame rise within him. He knew he had overstepped, and he knew that Azriel was angry with him. "The consequences that would have arisen," he said delicately. He didn't know what Azriel had told his mate...didn't know how much she knew, but she was watching him with an expression on his face, he couldn't quite place.

"Well, I am an adult, Rhysand," Azriel snapped. "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

Rhys knew that. He knew Azriel was more than capable of taking care of himself. But he still felt the need to protect him, to shield him from harm.

"I...I know that," Rhysand said quietly. "I just didn't want to see you get hurt." He glanced over at Azriel's mate, who was still watching him warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being evaluated, judged for his mistakes.

Azriel let out a dry chuckle. "Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" he said bitterly. "You've seen to that already." Rhysand winced at the accusation, knowing that he deserved every ounce of Azriel's anger.

"I know," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I am sorry for that. I see now that it was the wrong way to go about it." He looked into his brother's dark eyes, pleading for understanding.

Azriel met his gaze, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Protecting me by making decisions for me is not protecting me, Rhysand," he said quietly. "It's...it's suffocating. It's demeaning."

Rhysand nodded, knowing that Azriel was right. He had been trying to control everything, trying to make sure that nothing went wrong, and he had lost sight of what was truly important. "I understand," he said quietly. "And I am sorry for making you feel that way. It was wrong of me."

Azriel studied him for a moment, before finally sighing. "Just...stop it," he said simply. "No more interfering in my personal life, no more giving me orders like I am one of your soldiers."

Rhysand let out a shaky breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I promise," he said earnestly. "I won't do it again, Az. I...I'll respect your boundaries, and I'll never overstep again."

Azriel snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he said gruffly. "And if you do...if you try to control me like that again, I swear Rhysand...it won't end well."

"You'll ha…have He…Hecctor to contend with," Sky said, her voice even.

Rhysand looked over at Hector, who had finished his tuna and was now licking his chops.  Rhys swallowed. "He does seem to be a force to be reckoned with," he said carefully.

Sky gave him a small, tight-lipped smile. "You could say t…that," she said, her tone neutral. Azriel snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he watched his mate. It was the first genuinely carefree sound Rhysand had heard from his brother…in a long time.

Despite the earlier tension, Rhysand found himself smiling too. There was something about the way Azriel looked at his mate, the way he looked...happy, that made Rhysand feel like maybe everything would be alright.

Hector chose that moment to let out a loud meow, his voice sounding like a rusty hinge in the otherwise quiet room. Azriel looked down at the cat, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll get you your second helping, spoiled brat," he said, a hint of fondness in his voice.

Rhysand chuckled, feeling the tension that had been weighing him down lift just a little. Things between him and Azriel weren't repaired yet, they had a long way to go, but for the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful.

“They do say the pen is mi…mightier than a sword,” Sky said suddenly. “You treat Azriel like that again and you’ll see just how mighty my pen is.”

Rhysand's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Sky's unexpected threat. It was clear that she wasn't messing around, and Rhys couldn't help but admire her boldness. He glanced over at Azriel, who was trying to suppress a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," Rhysand said, trying to hide his amusement. "Though I have to say, I can’t imagine a pen being as terrifying as Hector."

Cassian snorted. “Oh you have no idea,” he muttered

Rhysand's eyes widened in curiosity at Cassian's comment. What on earth did that mean? But before he could inquire further, Azriel's voice broke through.

"Don't worry about it," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Let's just say that you don't want to get on Sky's bad side, especially when she has her writing instruments within reach."

"Duly noted," Rhysand said, nodding seriously. He had a feeling that Azriel's mate was not someone to be trifled with, regardless of how harmless she looked, and he had no intention of finding out first-hand just how mighty her pen truly was.

Hector, having finished his second helping of tuna, let out a satisfied meow before padding over to Sky and rubbing against her leg. She reached down and scratched him behind the ears, smiling as he purred contentedly.

Rhysand watched the scene. He had never seen Azriel so relaxed, so happy, and it made him realize just how badly he had missed his brother. It was a reminder that family was more important than anything, and that he needed to cherish the people he cared about.

“Seems like you aren’t Sky’s favourite,” Cassian drawled.

Azriel snorted. “Nah, I come a distant third behind Hector and the shadows.”

Rhys watched with a swallow as these shadows that he had seen torturing people came over to Sky and twined around her hands. Azriel's words were said in jest, but Rhysand could hear the fondness in his voice. It was clear that Azriel adored his mate, and that the shadows had taken a liking to her as well. Rhysand tried not to let the slight sting of jealousy show on his face.

As he watched, the shadows danced around Sky's fingers, like they were alive and had a mind of their own. Rhys had seen the shadows in action, had seen how Azriel used them to fight and spy, but he had never seen them act this way before. There was a tenderness in the way they twined around Sky that was almost...beautiful.

Rhys turned to Azriel, who was watching his mate with a soft expression on his face. "They seem to like her," he commented, keeping his voice neutral.

"That's an understatement," Azriel said drily. "They're obsessed with her. They won't leave her alone."

Rhysand could see that clearly, but what surprised him more was how comfortable Sky seemed with them. She wasn't scared or even bothered by their presence...

It did make sense he supposed. The shadows were Azriel's weapon, his most trusted companions...that they would like his mate.

Rhysand watched as Sky looked up from where the shadows were wrapping around her fingers, a faint smile on her face. She seemed completely at ease with the strange entities, as if they were just another part of Azriel that she had accepted and embraced.

And it was also a sharp reminder of how much trust Rhys had destroyed through his actions. It was very clear who Azriel preferred, who he trusted more. Who he gravitated towards. Who even his shadows doted on, these strange, creatures that Rhys was quite sure would stop at nothing to keep their master safe.

The realization stung, but Rhys knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had caused this rift between them, he had pushed Azriel away, and now he was paying the price for it. But he was determined to make it right, no matter how long it took.

As he watched Azriel gently brush away a stray strand of hair from Sky's face, Rhys made a silent vow. He would do whatever it took to repair their broken bond, to regain Azriel's trust and respect. No matter how hard it was, no matter how long it took, he would make things right.

***

"You want to talk about it?" Sky asked him quietly, after Cassian ad Rhys had gone. 

She was fine now. Content. No more pulling at the mating bond so harshly and pushing all her fear at him. It had shaved at least a century of his life, to feel that from her when Casisan and him had been sparring and he knew that she was supposed to be safe at home.

He had expected near everything…but he hadn’t expected to arrive to the view of Hector scratching Rhys’s face with all his might. 

Azriel took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on him. He wasn't sure if he was ready to put his tangled emotions into words yet, but he also knew that he couldn't keep it all bottled up inside.

"Rhys gave me some orders that I didn't agree with," he said drily. "Stuck his nose in things that he had no business to interfere with. He treated me...treated me like my feelings didn't matter. That I didn't matter....It took a really bad fight on Solstice for this apology to occur," he said with a grimace.

"You don't think he means it?" Sky asked him curiously, turning to look at him.

"No, he does mean it," Azriel said with a sigh. He did believe that. “He wants to fix things. to rebuild trust...And I do want that too. Regardless of how much of an asshole he can be on occasion he is still my brother ."

Sky was quiet for a long moment, watching him intently. Azriel felt the weight of her gaze, knowing that she was analyzing the situation, trying to understand what he was feeling. Finally, she spoke.

"You're worried that he'll disappoint you again," she said softly. "That he'll make promises that he can't keep. That he'll go back on his word and hurt you worse than before."

Azriel's throat felt tight. The words hit him hard, because Sky had put a voice to his deepest fears. "Yes," he admitted. "That'sexactly what I'm afraid of. I want to believe him, I do."

But it was hard to trust Rhys right ow. Especially with Sky. Trusting Rhys with the most important, the most precious part of his life...

"I can loan you Hector whenever he pisses you off again," Sky offered him seriously, and Azriel couldn't help but laugh.

"Thanks," he said with a small smile. "I might just take you up on that." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. The scent of caramel and hazelnuts enveloped him, calming his racing thoughts and easing the tension in his shoulders.

"I love you, he whispered into her skin and she hummed. "Regardless of what happens, you  have me," Sky promised him. "I'll be behind you, every step of the way. regardless of whatever you decide."

Those words were like a balm to Azriel's soul. The fear and doubt that had been plaguing him since Rhysand's unexpected visit receded, replaced by a sense of safety and certainty. He held onto Sky tightly.

"I love you too," she murmured, the words barely audible even in the still apartment.

They stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding onto each other.

*I don't think I ever thanked you.* he told the shadows softly as he held his mate in his arms.

The shadows fluttered around him, wrapping around his arms and shoulders like a comforting embrace. They didn't say anything, but Azriel could feel their response. They had been with him through thick and thin, protecting him, guiding him, and never once asking for a word of thanks. And yet, he knew that they understood his gratitude, that they could feel it…

*Thank you for finding her.*

[tan1shere]

Her Favorite - Pt 2

Teacher Billie Eilish x student female reader

A/n: this has taken forever my apologies babes, but I hope it was worth it ? Again there will be links to the outfits on certain words 😁

Summary: you're the teachers pet. Her. Favorite.

Warnings: smut mdni ! Soft dom billie, sub-but slightly bratty/naughty reader ??, you ride billie, jealous billie ? Lil possessive but not in a horrible way.

Masterlist - pt 1 , pt 3

It took a few days plus the weekend to recover from what had happened. Your brain still processing it all. Until you got a random text on Sunday.

'Hey angel, just want to check on you.'

Your heart flutters, having a smile light up on your face. The things she made you feel were insane. But it was the best feeling ever. Despite how wrong that was.

And that was the start of what seemed to be a secret relationship. Naughty right? But you just couldn't resist one another. And you were just so glad that you were over with it all, that year. So it wouldn't be as secretive. It was a Wednesday yet again, and you were making your way over there with Claudia. You hadn't told a soul, not even her. But she wasn't stupid. She knew something was going on. Today's outfit was yum. If you did say so yourself. She had her hair up in a bun, which you found out to be one of your new favorite things. And ofcourse an old favorite, the glasses. God they sent something animalistic through you.

You take a seat, ready to stare at your girlfriend. Wow, that was so incredibly odd to say. Even if you did say it in your head it sounded very strange. You had never referred to one another as 'girlfriends' everything just kinda happened. You were dating, but never once uttered those words. The class was almost over, which you were glad about so when everyone left you could say a quick hi to her. Lips to lips. As you get up your clumsy self had knocked over your books from inside your bag. "Fuck sake." You mumbled, you really needed a new bag. When someone goes to help you. It was a girl, slightly taller than you.

"Thank you." You give her a sweet smile. "That's happened before I noticed." She then says returning the smile. "Yes, this bag is old and ratty. I should probably get a new one when I get the chance." She nods at your statement. "I always see you around, I'm Silvi." She says offering you her hand. "Y/n! Nice to meet you Silvi." You watch as she goes to leave. "I'll see you around." You nod, giving her that sweet smile. Your eyes turn. "What?" You notice her eyes on you. "Nothing, that made you really smiley." You approach her. "Don't even, she just helped me with my books because of this stupid bag-" You hold it up, careful so things don't spill out again.

"Think you need a new one babe." She says going to kiss your cheek, but you grab her by the collar of her dark blue shirt, smashing your lips against her own. Her hands rest on your waist, kissing back with such passion. "I've been wanting to do that all morning." You admit, pulling away and smiling like an idiot. "Oh yeah?" You nod at that, going to sit on the small desk she sits at in the room. But you soon get off as you hear the door open, looking over to see Claudia. "Left my jacket." She looks at the both of you. Landing on you, giving you a suspicious look. Claudia was smart she knew what you two were upto.

But she wanted you to confirm it before anything. And you would in time. She then leaves again, causing you to look at Ms O'Connell. Even tho she insisted you call her Billie you just felt off about it. "You look so good today." She says to you. You blush slightly. "So do you, I love the glasses." She just smirks. "Oh I know."

Friday. It came around quickly but you didn't mind it at all, you use to. But ever since you got with, Billie. You've been enjoying that class way more. All because of her. You happen to be the first person in there today. You smile at her. "Hi baby." She says softly. You give her a giddy smile. Going to sit down. You tried not to make your glances obvious, if anyone found out that wouldn't go good for her and you did not want that happening. So you both had to be careful. But oh man was it tricky. All you wanted to do was pounce at her.

Weeks has past and your secret relationship is growing each day. You were currently over at hers, laying in her bed. Her apartment was nice, it was spacious, comforting. She was having a quick shower, getting ready for the day. Then your brain clicks and you immediately went to go join her. Getting up and heading in there. You strip off your clothes and step into the misty shower. "Hi." You say with a smile. She smiles back at you. "Hi beautiful, glad you could join me." Everytime she spoke to you, you feel your knees buckle. So soft, so sultry in her tone.

Her hands make contact with your face, going to kiss you passionately. Most kisses with her were like that. And you craved them, especially when they heated up. "How are you going with that work I gave you the other day?" She asks, putting some shampoo into her hands. Getting you to turn around so she can massage it into your hair. Your mind eases. "Good." You sigh out, closing your eyes in the process. "Good, I'm glad. You seem to be doing sooo good, baby." Your eyes open, brain shutting off.

It's as if she knew the exact effect she had on you. Your body goes to turn around, but her hand grips your hair, pulling you back so your head was on her shoulder. "Isn't that right my love?" You bite your lip, she was forever teasing you. She knew damn well of it. "Y-yes." You stutter out, still in shock at the grip she had on your strands. Her eyes roam your face features intently. "And." She begins, getting you to face her again. Coming really close. "You're just so good at listening." She finishes, reaching behind you to grip the flesh of your ass firmly.

Hearing the slight smack echo. You wrap your arms around her neck with a slight squeak. She smirks at your reaction, enjoying how easily you'd fold.

Wednesday. Yes you always wear skirts, long, short. But never this short. And guess who's attention that got first. Her eyes linger over your body, your thighs. You just wanted to look extra good for her today. Although it did catch the attention of a person who sat behind you. Billie, was wearing a white t-shirt and a black tie, she had her hair down and she just looked mouth watering. You stare for a moment as she talks about what you'll be learning today.

When you feel a tap on your shoulder, you silently look back at who did it. Silvi. "Hey, you look really good, you wanna maybe go out later." You freeze. "Oh uhm- I'm a bit busy today." You lied, she was nice. But you were literally with- someone ... Who's way older and is literally your teacher. You thought for a moment. Maybe you should, so it doesn't look weird. "The offer still stands if you free up." She finishes. You turn back around, seeing Billies back is facing you. Hopefully she didn't see.

Oh but she did. She saw enough before she turned back around. Why was she jealous. Was she worried you'd realize that this was all a mistake and that you'd want someone your own age. I mean it's not like shes old or anything. She was most definitely overthinking this but she's grown to have a true liking towards you. Maybe even love which is something a little difficult for her. So you really were special.

As the class ended and everyone leaves you go over to her. "Hii!" You say cheerful. She turns to look at you. "Hi babe." You could sense the hostile behavior. "Everything ok?" She looks you up and down. "Well one, that's very short no?" Your brow raises. "What are you my mo-" But she shuts you up by slapping her and on your mouth. Letting herself continue. "Second I saw Silvi talking to you, what'd she want?" You remove her hand. "What's with you today?" Her hand meets her hip. "Fine, she just asked to hangout. Was kinda thinking about it." Her brows furrow. "And why?"

You go to sit on her desk that was in the room. "I dunno, maybe so it doesn't look strange that I'm not with anyone." She sighs, she gets it and she doesn't. She hates the idea. "Still don't get why." You get off going to look at her properly. "You don't seem like yourself, maybe I should go." She immediately reaches out for your hand. "No, wait." She sighs. "I'm sorry, I- the idea doesn't sound good." She softens her look. Making you fold. "I, don't have. To go. I just- I think it would be best." She sighs, again. "Ok well, atleast don't wear that again." She points to your skirt.

"Ms O- Billie. It's just a skirt-" Then you got the sudden urge to mess with her. Maybe she had pissed you off slightly with the other stuff. So you get a wicked idea. "What? Don't like me being on display for everyone?" You give her an innocent look but she saw way past it. "Don't start with me." "Or what, whatcha gunna do." You say, biting your lip. "It won't end good for you." You grab her tie. Causing lust to arise in the both of you. "You're playing with fire." She growls. "You should play with me instead." She was so feral for you, her movements were speedy as she grabs you and picks you up. Heading into that smaller office on from the huge room. She closes and locks the door.

She gets close to you, making you look at her. Her face goes closer to your neck, moving up. "I want to fuck you on my desk." She says against your ear, keeping you from falling. "P-please-" and this woman wasted no time, clearing it instantly and making you lay back. She takes her hands and touches every limb on your body. You shiver, wanting to watch what she was going to do. You sit up a bit to see, watching her hands come down to your skirt. They slither against your thighs. "Even tho it is incredibly short you looked so good in it. So it stays on." Her fingers then grip your underwear pulling them off.

"Yes ma'am." You reply, biting your lip. She chuckles ever so slightly. That fucking chuckle. It made you go nuts. "You always make me feel so good." You breathe, leaning back on the table. "Yeah? Good baby, this is going to be even better." Her hands fiddle with the belt on her pants going to pull them down to reveal the fake dick attached to her. Your eyes widen as you hadn't expected her to be wearing that. It messes at the entrance of your hole, making your head lay flat on the surface behind you. Back arching to feel it more. "Please B-" But she pounces ontop of you before you could finish. "I want you to call me something else during this. Think you can?" You nod with a hum.

"Starts with an M." She says, running her finger along your jaw and your body. You caught on right away. "Mommy." She smirks. "Good girl." The tip slides in slowly as her lips move to your neck. You suck in a moan, something you tended to do. Sure you made noise but for some reason you tried not to. "Come on baby, don't shy away." She says near your ear. Your eyes shut feeling incredibly small under her. "Bi-" But she swiftly grabs your face. "Uh uh." You gulp. "Mommy, please. More. Please." You were a complete wreck. Feeling every sane thought slip away. Going entirely into sub space. And that's when she heard the prettiest noise coming from you.

"That's it baby, good fucking girl." She purrs into your neck, satisfied with what she had been wanting. Her strokes grew more powerful and fuck was it amazing. You were still worried you'd get caught and she knew of this. "Imagine one of your friends walking in. Your face would be so red huh?" You squirm slightly, feeling her cock going deeper, causing another sinful moan to escape you. "Mommy." You whimper. "Hmm, don't like the thought?" She laughs. "I think you do. Enjoying it invading your brain. You want someone to catch this naughty act don't you sweet girl?"

Your pussy clenches tight around her sucking her in. "You're gunna make me cum!" You moan out. "Good, that's the goal baby girl." Your breathing gets uneven, feeling your brain fog over. Her face coming close to yours. "Relax my girl." And you do exactly as told, you always listened to her. "F-fuck." You breathe, calming down a bit and giving into that intense pleasure. Spasming around her as you came hard. She looks down to where the plastic dick disappeared, watching you leak all over the brown table. "You're so perfect to me." She bites her lip. She was truly. Inlove with you.

"P-please.. need more." You go to sit up shakily, grabbing the tie yet again. "W-wanna ride you." You say hastily kissing her lips. Her hands make way into your hair scrunching a bit, causing more moans. "Mmm, ride me baby." She moves to sit on her chair. You coming to hover over her lap, her hands gripping the silicone to line it up for you. "Go on sweetheart. Let it consume you-" "There you go, good girl. Feels good?" You bite your lip as you sink down. Letting out a slight gasp at how deep it was. "Know it does huh." She then ruts up into you, making you grab her shoulders to stay stabilized.

"Mm, mommy." You say near her ear, moving your hips at a slow pace. Her hands move to speed things up, this new angle hitting her clit deliciously. "Come on baby, know you can do better than that." She grabs your face so you look at her. "Wanna make me feel good too?" You nod fast. "Yeah?" She smirks at you. "Move faster my girl. Because the way you're moving." She pauses coming close to your ear, breathing against it. "It's making mommy's clit twitch. All for you." You whimper, such a dirty one too. She smirks again, going to bite your ear. Your hips pick up pace.

"There you go, that's it." She moans into your ear. Making your eyes and thighs shut. "P-please." Her head tilts, knowing exactly why you said that. So her mouth comes to your ear again, making a louder more prominent moan escape her. Your mouth hangs open as you continue to move. "S-so close." Her teeth sink into your lobe again, making your grip on her shoulders tighten. "Me too baby, keep moving the way you are, youre being so incredibly good." You do just as told, like always. Keeping up with the speed. And within seconds your both cumming.

You're immediately exhausted, falling into her as her arms wrap around you. Tiredness taking over. Billie couldn't be more happy about this situation. Your eyes shut, falling asleep soon after in her arms. She's making sure you're asleep before her next words and once you truly are.

"I love you."

[pineconepie]

Yan king???👀

I had a little fun with the worldbuilding because it gave me an excuse to use one of my old ideas.

I'll explain it briefly because I didn't do much explaining in the writing: there are five major kingdoms in the nation of Lepidoptra - Rosy Maple, Atlas, Luna, Death's Head, and the one where reader is from: Comet Kingdom. Everyone has wings that resemble a moth, along with antennae. (yes moths are a huge hyperfixation of mine)

Just thought I'd get that out of the way lol. Anyway, this is probably one of the most yandere characters I've written mwehehe.

TW: Attempted murder (kind of but not really), parental yandere, manipulation, implied gaslighting, infantilization

...

Ever since you could recall, your father had been very protective over you. He homeschooled you, didn't let you leave the house much, only allowed a few select friends, but those friends were also friends with your dad, and just getting paid to talk to you.

Your father would hold you as often as he could, making sure he was the first and last thing you'd see daily.

He had told you, ever since you were just a young mothling, your wings had been cut off by a robber who attempted to kidnap you, and thus, your father had to be extremely cautious in regards to keeping you safe at home.

You never left the house alone, and even if you did, you were monitored.

Sometimes, you'd get strange flashbacks. Almost like deja-vu, but these felt more vivid in your mind.

Once when you saw Castor, your father's, sword, you had a vision of yourself getting stabbed in the chest. Or when he'd look angry at you, you'd recall seeing that exact expression on his face before. But those thoughts went away as soon as they appeared.

Sometimes you'd get horrible nightmares of him. You dreamed he hurt you somehow. And yet, you'd always wake up feeling fine. Nothing hurt physically.

But mentally? Something just wasn't clicking right.

Recently you began sneaking out of the castle, not wanting to alert your father, and you began going to this little tavern at the edge of town to spend time with your village friends, ones you know for a fact your father would never dream of approving.

"Calliope, Osmond, hey," you greet warmly, walking over to their usual table in the corner, sitting down beside them.

"Hey," Calliope says, leaning her head against her hand. "How was escaping the palace? Almost got caught again?" Her bright golden wings flutter slightly as she grins.

"Nah, Dad doesn't suspect anything at all," you proudly state.

"Good, because he would have our heads," Osmond sighs. He shares an uneasy glance with Calliope, then glances back at you. "We wanted to speak to you about something unsettling we found. About your father."

You hesitate. "If this is about him and the Atlas Kingdom again, I told you already—"

"It's not about that," Calliope mutters. She pulls out a huge book from a satchel, one that barely even fits in it. "Okay, I'm about to warn you, this is weird as hell. Even Oz was weirded out."

"Well if he was unsettled by it, then I'm scared to see what it even is," you say with a breathless chuckle.

"We found it in the royal library," Osmond tells you quietly. "And well, this should explain it." He opens up the book and starts flipping through pages and pages until he lands on one in particular, pointing down at it for you to read.

It has your name and picture on it. Your full name, everything.

At first, you find it slightly strange, but think there may be some kind of explanation. Most of the pictures on the book show you when you were younger, being held on Castor's hip while he made speeches at ceremonies. He looks the same as he does now, except maybe with a bit longer hair.

Then you start seeing yourself getting older...

There's one of a memory you don't even recall, of a headline saying the "(Y/n), Child of King Castor of the Comet Kingdom, joins Arkema Mittrei, Academy" in which you're being handed over to the kingdom's most prestigious academy.

You were homeschooled, that never even happened!

Another one shows you using magic abilities, and you look older than you currently even are. And you have... wings?!

"That was our expression when we read it too," Calliope anxiously says. "We weren't supposed to be in the Royal Library since its always locked and guarded, but we managed to get in with Oz's magic. We were looking for more evidence to prove to you that your father is terrible, but instead we just stumbled upon this."

You don't know what to say. "This doesn't make any sense. I never went to any academy, and my wings..."

"And you look older in these photos," Osmond observes. "I don't know what is going on, but this is just further proof you can't trust him. I know he raised you and you love him, but he's controlling your life and clearly keeping things from you. I knew he caused a lot of meaningless wars and was incredibly paranoid about you, but this?"

"I'm at a loss for words, here," you murmur, shaking your head as you feel tears stinging in your eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do?! Just confront my dad and hope for the best?"

Calliope puts a hand on your shoulder. "Run away with us," she proposes. "Oz's mom is in the Atlas Kingdom, we can find sanctuary there."

"No way am I just abandoning my dad with no warning," you argue. "Besides, he'd try burning down all of Atlas if he knew I was there! I'll just ask him for an explanation. I'm sure there is one."

"And risk letting him know you've been sneaking out of the kingdom?" Osmond scoffs. "Your death wish, not mine."

"Just give us at least a month or two," Calliope says. "Please. That way we can come up with a game plan."

You exhale quietly, your antennae twitching. "Okay. But no longer."

...

"Uhm, hey, Dad? I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Hm?" He peers his eyes away from the newspaper he's reading and smiles at you. "Of course! Come sit." You hesitate as he pats the seat next to him on the couch, and you reluctantly plop beside him. He hugs you closer to his chest. "So," he hums, kissing the side of your head, "what is it?"

"...have I ever went to Arkema Mittrei Academy?" You watch as his smile drops.

He glances off, contemplating a response before returning his gaze to you. "Oh, sweetheart, where did you hear that? Of course not! I think you'd remember something like that." His laugh sounds nervous. "Have you been having those scary dreams again?"

You bite your tongue. "No. I came across a book in the royal library. I know you don't like me going in there unsupervised, but I did. And I saw pictures of myself at the school, and another one where I'm older, and have my wings. Why do I have no recollection of those moments happening?"

His smile drops even more so, and now, his expression is unreadable. "Where did you get the book, baby?"

"I... uh, I got it in the royal library. I told you that," you stutter.

"How did you get in there unsupervised? There's always guards patrolling the library," Castor explains, narrowing his eyes. "Did someone help you sneak in?"

"What? No!" you lie. You start trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he holds you still.

"Baby," he soothes, almost condescendingly, "just tell Dad what he wants to know. I'm not mad."

He's lying. He's angry. You can't see the expression on his face because he's holding you so closely, but you can feel his rage boiling beneath his skin.

"No, I'm not lying. It was just left unlocked! But that's not my question, I wanna know what I saw in those! Why is there evidence of me doing and experiencing things I have zero memory of?!"

"I knew I should've burnt that damn book," he grumbles under his breath. "I thought you were doing so well this time."

"What do you mean 'this time'?!" you nearly cry, flailing so hard out of his grasp you fall to the floor.

"Oops!" Castor chuckles, standing over you with a cold grin. "Gosh, it feels like yesterday when you could hardly walk without tripping over your feet. Always so wobbly and unstable." He stands up and contemplates on something. "Alrighty, kiddo, since I'm so nice, you have two options. Bedtime and we'll forget about this, or you keep pushing me and we'll see where this takes us."

"What does that mean?" you rasp. "What will you do?"

Castor's bright wings spread out widely, as a show to intimidate you and make you feel smaller. "I really would rather we both just go to bed."

He's never hurt you in the past... "I just want to know what's going on."

"Well, for starters, all that information you think you know is irrelevant, it's been rewritten now," Castor replies nonchalantly, looking down at you. "All those things you saw happened, but you didn't experience them because that wasn't you. Not this you. The original you was too disobedient, so I had to reset and start all over again."

"Reset?!" you repeat incredulously. "What are you talking about?!"

Castor runs a hand through his hair. "Fine. Since you think an explanation is worth it. You can't die. You're immortal, just not in the same way I am. This is like..." He pauses. "...your nineteenth life or so, I believe? Once you die, you turn back into a baby. No injuries, no sickness, no memories. A clean slate. I try to avoid it, but whenever you start rebelling or growing too independent, it has to be done all over again."

"Nothing has to be done! You're killing me, just so you can what?! Watch me grow up again, exactly the same way?! What kind of twisted logic is that?!"

"Don't raise your voice at me," Castor scolds. "I'm not killing you, at least not technically. Besides, I love watching you grow, trying to find the perfect way to raise you. But it seems like no matter how I do so—whether I give you your freedom or make sure I'm the only face you see, you always end up leaving."

You shudder at his cryptic words. "Were you the one who cut off my wings?"

Castor waves a hand dismissively. "Only because you kept trying to run away with them. But they always regrow back once you're reborn." He pulls out a dagger, one you now understand why he always carries it with him.

"Dad, please..." you quietly plead, scrambling back in an attempt to stand up. "I'm sorry. We can let this go."

His eyes darken. "Not an option anymore, sweetie. You asked for answers, and you got them. Hey, maybe the twentieth time is the charm." He lunges for you, holding you down so he can lift his blade. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I promise it'll just feel like a pinch, and then you'll wake up good as new!" His expression is sweet and adoring, but also crazed.

Just as he brings the blade down and you squeeze your eyes shut, all your hear is Castor's groan of pain.

"(Y/n)!" Calliope yells, grabbing onto your hand and yanking you up.

Castor wipes the blood running down his nose, glaring at the two of your friends. "(Y/n), you made some friends, huh? Must've been sneaking out behind my back for a while if they're jumping in their own graves for you." He gets back to his feet and starts approaching. "Step away from my child before you really regret it."

"Let's go!" Osmond demands, opening up a portal in front of Calliope after she pulled you to your feet.

The three of you tumble in, right before Castor tries attacking you as well.

Then suddenly, you're back outside, standing in the forest where your kingdom stood tall. You can hear him scream in frustration from all the way out here, likely calling for guards and barking out orders.

"He knows magic too," you whisper. "He won't be too far behind."

"I can only make portals so far," Osmond murmurs. "We need to run. Now."

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

You Promised You'd Come Back

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

requested? yes

kaz brekker masterlist

She arrived with a bloody knuckle and a sharper smile.

The newest member of the Dregs. A good thief. Quiet, smart, even charming when it counted — and, to Kaz Brekker’s growing dismay, familiar.

At first, it was nothing.

A gesture. A laugh. The way she tied her sleeves too tight at the wrist, like she was bracing for cold that wasn’t there.

He didn’t realize it until Jesper called her name across the Crow Club one night, and her head turned just like it had in the streets of Lij.

Not Ketterdam.

Lij.

Kaz Brekker hadn’t remembered that name in years.

~

Her name used to be spoken with sun-drenched laughter. On a tiny dock by a muddy riverbank, where three children had built a fort out of crates and dreams.

Kaz. Jordie. And her.

She had been the scrappiest of them all — wild-eyed and clever. She always stole two extra apples and said they were for luck. Kaz had rolled his eyes. Jordie had kissed the top of her head.

“Someday we’ll take you with us,” Jordie promised once, fingers brushing through her hair. “To Ketterdam.”

“You better,” she’d grinned, knocking Kaz with her shoulder. “You two are all I’ve got.”

They left three days later.

He’d never seen her again.

Until now.

And Kaz knew it was her. There was no doubt — just time between them like fog over the harbor.

She didn’t remember him.

Why would she? He was different now. Bones built from grave dirt and rage. The boy she knew was long drowned.

But Kaz remembered.

And the longer she stayed, the worse it got.

He watched the way she treated Wylan — soft and encouraging, like she couldn’t help being kind. The way she argued with Jesper, fast-talking and fearless. The way her eyes sparked when she was proud of herself.

The same way they used to.

It made something dangerous curl in his chest.

He couldn’t stand when she volunteered for risky missions. He snapped at her twice in a week for no reason. Jesper called him out, but Kaz ignored it.

He was unraveling. And no one knew.

Until the night she didn’t come back.

She was late from a mission in the Staves — just a quick trade, supposedly — and Kaz was trying not to pace when Inej returned alone, eyes dark with worry.

“She’s alive,” she said. “But she’s hurt.”

Hurt.

That word splintered through him like glass.

She was carried in an hour later, blood soaked through her jacket, unconscious and cold.

Kaz barely heard Jesper explaining how they’d gotten ambushed.

All he could see was her. Pale. Still. Bruised. The same girl he’d left on the dock all those years ago.

He snapped.

“Get Nina!” he barked. “Get her now!”

Jesper flinched. “Kaz—”

“NOW!”

He stayed in the corner while Nina worked. Hands in fists. Knuckles white. His gloves felt suffocating. His breath burned. Every horrible memory clashed with every new one, and he couldn’t hold them apart anymore.

She woke a few hours later.

“Hey,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking.

Kaz stood frozen.

“Did we… finish the job?” she asked, trying to smile.

And something inside him broke.

“You nearly died,” he growled. “Do you ever think before you throw yourself into fire?”

She blinked. “I’m fine, Kaz. It’s just a few—”

“Don’t say it,” he said sharply. “Don’t say you’re fine.”

She stared at him then, confused and a little hurt. “Why are you so—?”

“Because I knew you.” His voice shook. “Before. When we were children. In Lij.”

Silence.

“I knew your laugh. I knew your favorite stories. I promised—” his breath hitched. “Jordie and I promised we’d come back for you.”

Her eyes widened. “Kaz?”

He nodded, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t breathe. “I failed you once. I let us get on that boat. I left you. I never meant to.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I thought I made you up. After everything… I thought you died with Jordie.”

“I nearly did,” he said hoarsely. “But you—being near you again—I don’t know how to be… me with you in the room. But I can’t lose you. Not again.”

She reached for him — and to her shock, he let her fingers brush his.

“I waited,” she whispered. “For years. You promised.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was a boy. And then I became something else.”

She smiled through her tears. “Then let’s start over.”

He didn’t say yes. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he sat beside her bed that night, hand resting near hers. A silent vow.

Not a boy. Not a ghost. But Kaz Brekker.

And this time, he wasn’t leaving.

[cultofcola]

okay so im aware youre veeeeery probably going to answer this with “youre not persisting” which. fine. but i think its still worth giving a shot because im losing my mind and youre the only shiftblog i understand: ive been affirming and persisting in the past few weeks right? and i dont mean listening to subliminals or robotically affirming (i relate these things with slow results ......... yes ik the true power resides inside me but im still working on my self concept) but just. saying every now and then “im in my dr, i alr shifted to my dr, im living in my dr” and so on. and i would wake up here in my cr be like “oh wow i just came back from my dr thats so amazing!” just to convince my brain right? but the thing is that its been a hooooooot minute and im slowly starting to be more and more frustrated. im deadass when i tell u i havent been wavering for more than three weeks, just persisting and keeping the vibes high, and yet im still here. ik that writing and sending this whole thing could make me go back to square one but i just dgaf if i have to do it all again as long as i get some kind of advice because i really, really, really, really need to shift. i wont mention them because these are personal things, and i apologize if you feel like im guilt tripping you because these arent my intentions—i only say this because i need you to understand my desperation; there are many horrible, awful things going in my life rn and ive been living with hope thanks to the idea of shifting and shiftblr in general, and for that i thank everyone, but i might need one more push to keep going.

thank u for answering if u ever do.

you probably already heard about the housewives of the 50s, but i’m still going to use them as an example. to others and in magazines and ads, all they showed was a perfect life. something that inspired young girls to be. they were happy and loved taking care of the house. the 'don't worry darling' (if it was a good movie) kind of uncanny lifestyle. but, in reality, half of them were talking antidepressants. the fake positivity was taking them nowhere.

now, think about this in relation with what you are going through it. you are persisting (so you were wrong, i won't tell you to do this wink wink) but, you are persisting with the law of attraction.

law of attraction: positive thoughts bring positive results into your life, while negative thoughts bring negative results. that's the generic. i see nothing wrong with it (debatable) buuuuut, how about you convince yourself instead of your brain? how about you truly believe what you are persisting? like, fake positivity will only bring a crashout. which sometimes is okay because it can make you understand a few things about yourself. but not the point here. "just persisting and keeping the vibes high" is not law of assumption.

you don't have to affirm every morning, listen to subliminals, keep the vibes high. telling yourself "oh i just came from my dr ahahaha!" is helping you or you are doing it because that's what you think you are supposed to do? are you treating shifting like a performance?

"and yet im still here" and that’s the thing. this is the root of everything. the whole point. once you decide where you at, it’s over. like. over. you are not trying to convince your brain, you are not asking the universe or god or yourself to let you shift. it's not hoping, it's not positivity, it's not a contract you sign and then regret later. you are not skipping the terms & conductions, you are the one making them. you are the one writing the contract. you are the supervillain of the movie that smirks while looking at the camera because you are four steps ahead.

but don't twist my words: i am not saying that what you are doing it's wrong. someone persisting??? we love to see it.

but ….. reality obeys to you, you don't obey to it. you didn't come back from your dr, you never left that reality in the first place. everytime you think you are actually here you are accidentally biting your tongue, and not in a "oh be positive!" way, in a ….. the chosen one just found a way to burn your contract and now the horcruxes you created are fighting against you. like, you get what i mean ?????? being frustrated, mad, crashing out, all those are valid feelings and im not saying to you that you shouldn't feel them, but i am saying to not let them dictate you.

[angelxsturns]

PERFUME - M.S.

IN WHICH… reader still thinks about matt, and matt still thinks about reader, even after they break up.

WARNINGS - angst, cursing, use of y/n

“i can’t fucking deal with this anymore, y/n.”

“how the hell do you think i feel, matt? can you not see that this is hurting me too? i stay up every fucking night, waiting for you to come home. you’re always working!”

“what do you expect from me?! you want me to quit my job for you?! god, you’re so fucking clingy! i can’t get a second of peace. i get home from work and have to deal with this bullshit.”

“matt, it’s not bullshit. you don’t even care about me anymore. you say you’re gonna come home and spend time with me, but then i get a text saying you’re gonna be working late and you don’t come home until, like, one in the morning!”

“maybe i don’t care y/n!” he screams. tears well in your eyes, and you feel a lump form in your throat as you try and stop them from streaming down your face. you watch as a wave of guilt washes over matt. “wait, baby, i didn’t mean it like tha-”

“don’t, matt. if you didn’t care, you could’ve said something instead of wasting my time. this isn’t working anymore, i’m done.” you start walking towards the door.

“wait, y/n, don’t do this-”

the door slams shut behind you. you finally let go. tears stream down your face as you get in your car. you can’t process it. he isn’t yours anymore. he isn’t a part of your life anymore. you try to collect yourself before you drive to your apartment. you’d been staying with matt the past few months, only going back to yours when you needed space from each other. as soon as you step foot in the door, you call your best friend, amelia.

“hey y/n, what’s up? it’s like, 1:30 in the morning”

“sorry, were you asleep?” amelia instantly knows something’s wrong, just by the sound of your voice.

“no i’m awake, what’s going on? why are you crying?”

“matt and i broke up.” you break down again.

“i’m on my way, and im bringing ice cream.”

now you’re here. two months later, living on your own. it’s weird not having him around. you miss being able to just call him whenever you get good news anymore. you miss being able to go to his place when you need someone to hold you and tell you everything’s gonna be okay. but more than anything, you just miss him.

you’ve been trying to move on. you’ve been on two dates, but both have been horrible. you know that nobody’s gonna beat matt. he set the bar above the moon. how the hell are you supposed to move on?

while you’ve been trying to move on, so has he. he’s been going on dates too, but all he can think about is how badly he wishes he were on the dates with you. he still keeps your photos in a folder in case you come back.

you didn’t expect to miss him the way you did.

you thought you were prepared for the silence, the empty space in your apartment, the quiet mornings without Matt’s humming in the kitchen. You thought that walking away would bring relief.

but grief doesn’t always show up in obvious ways. sometimes, it smells like your own perfume on someone else’s skin.

the first time it happened, you were standing in line with amelia at a corner café, reaching for your wallet when a woman brushed past you. the familiar scent hit you like a bullet train—the perfume you would always wear. your knees nearly buckled.

back then, you’d worn that perfume for him. you’d never say that out loud, but it was true. you picked it because matt once said the scent reminded him of wildflowers and rain—it also reminded him of you. you used to love the way it lingered on his pillows, on his hoodie after you borrowed it and forgot to give it back for weeks.

when you left, you left the hoodie behind. you told yourself it was just a hoodie, but some part of you knew better.

you wondered if he ever wore it again. if he noticed the way the scent faded, week by week, until there was nothing left of you but fabric and static. maybe he washed it. maybe he threw it out. maybe he buried his face in it and tried not to break. you would’ve done the same.

some nights, you’d open your closet and pause, catching the faint echo of that perfume on your coat sleeve. it made your throat tighten. you hadn’t worn the perfume since you left. you switched brands. something cooler, sharper. less like love. less like him.

but forgetting isn’t about changing bottles. it’s the way his name still sits heavy in your mouth. the way you sometimes dream of him sitting at the foot of your bed, smiling like nothing ever broke. the way you wake up reaching for him. and the way you never go near that café anymore. you tell amelia it just changed owners.

but really, you’re afraid the scent will be there again, waiting in the air like it always is, proof that some pieces of love never leave clean. some stay lodged deep, soft and cruel as perfume on someone else’s skin.

it was raining the day you saw each other again. not the cinematic kind of rain. no thunder, no storm, just a soft, steady drizzle that made the sidewalks shine like mirrors. you hadn’t planned to be in that part of the city. you were cutting through old streets on autopilot, avoiding the busier blocks. you didn’t even realize where you were until youpassed the bookstore, the bookstore you and matt would always go to.

you slowed, heart lurching like a reflex. the display window hadn’t changed much—same old wooden shelves, the occasional handwritten recommendation taped beside a spine. your hand hovered near the door. you almost walked away.

but just then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him.

matt was standing under the awning of the coffee shop next door, shaking rain from his hair. he was wearing the hoodie. the one with your perfume. he hadn’t noticed you yet. he was staring across the street like he was looking for something. you watched him breathe deep. and that’s when it hit you.

he still wore it. the hoodie. the one that smelled just like your perfume—faint, but there—lifted on the rain-heavy wind between them like a ghost coming home. his eyes found yours just as the memory did. he didn’t smile. neither did you. but neither of you looked away.

a moment passed. long and delicate, like holding a fragile thing in trembling hands. you stepped forward, uncertain. he didn’t move. his hands fiddled in the pockets of the hoodie absentmindedly, as if he only now remembered why he’d never been able to let it go.

you both stood like that. silent, soaked in the weight of something unfinished. no dramatic reunion. no apologies. just two people staring at a mirror of the past in each other’s face.

eventually, the light changed. a car passed. the moment broke. you gave the faintest nod. he returned it. then you turned and walked on, the scent of wildflowers and rain following you down the street. he watched until you disappeared around the corner, and this time, when he breathed in, it was just the rain.

your perfume no longer lingered.

a/n: this is my first story so let me know how i did! i promise ill have less angsty stuff out soon, i just felt like writing this one today 😀😀😀

[devil-howl]

something something dante trapped in a dreamscape having to talk to his child self.

Dante is in a small room, only cracks shining in. A single wrong move and the place falls down. A small boy stares at him, eyes same as his. They don't talk. Their hearts hurt, without saying it, they know what happened. Dante sits down, and asks the child things. What's going on? How are you?

The child isn't receptive. Closed off, and any response is noncommittal. Deflective. Muttering. Already, his heart is locked up tight. Dante is gentle,

"Hey," He says, gently, "You know, it hurts when you won't talk to me," He said, the boy looking up at him, "I know you don't mean poorly. But do you know how it hurts? When you're trying to love someone, but they won't let you? Imagine you made them a whole cake, just for them to not take it. Maybe say it's nice. But if you don't take it, they're gonna think you don't like it. Don't like them."

The boy is quiet, but he becomes a little more receptive. Talking.

"My mama... is gone, isn't she?"

"... She is."

"Did she save my brother?" He asks. Dante wants to wail and scream.

"No."

"... She didn't?" The boy asked. Immediately, he's shutting down again. Dante doesn't need to ask to know what the boy was thinking.

"... I'm sorry," Dante says, but apologies are nothing, "... I was in your situation," Dante says, as though the boy is not just him, several decades younger, "My momma saved me, but not him," He said, "But... We weren't really saved. At the end... momma still left us behind. Not that she wanted to, she just... death is a cruel thing, isn't it?"

The boy is troubled. "... What's going to happen to me?"

"Life is going to be hard," Dante says, honest, "Really hard. Hellish. And... it's going to be a long time until you get your brother back. And... you're going to think he hates you."

The child, with teary eyes and a choked voice, "I'd hate me, too."

"No, nonono," Dante had thought the same thing- he still does, but- hearing a child, not even ten years old, say something so horrible- "Don't say that. That's awful. And... life's hard. And it's not fair. But do you really want to be miserable, hating yourself, when your brother is fighting for his life, too?" Dante asked, "It's hard, hating yourself. It's hard being alone. Don't you want to do that for yourself?" Dante asked, "Just... be kind, for a little while?"

The child shakes his head, "... I don't want to be happy."

"... What if you break your happy-bone, though?" Dante asked, trying to figure how to explain it to a child, "If you don't use it, you lose it. It becomes weak and squishy. Isn't that bad?" He asks. The child stares. Listening, but... unsure. "... You're going to get your brother back. And it won't be easy. But don't you want to be happy, once you're back together?"

"... Of course I do..."

"Don't you... want to make him happy? Wouldn't it break your heart to hear that Vergil hated himself, every single day, because he felt like he wasn't good enough?"

The boy is appalled, "No! Vergil's the best!" He cried,

"Easy... I think Vergil is the best, too." Dante confirms, "But... if you... hate yourself, send yourself through all this misery... if you don't let people love you, how do you expect Vergil to love you, when you're older and your heart has changed?"

Blank, the child stares at him, "... so things will change."

"They will," Dante said, "But... it's okay. Because... everything changes. Just... be forgiving of yourself. You're going to make mistakes. You weren't lucky. You weren't... You didn't fail. Life's just hard. Never, ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You did your best...and you always will, if you're... if you're anything like me."

Dante goes quiet, the child looking at him, desperate for a little more comfort.

"Be kind to yourself. For your brother. He can't do it for you. He won't be able to, for a long time. So make it easy for him to love you, when the world decides to be kind."

The child is quiet,

"How long?" He asks, "How long do I have to go missing Vergil?"

"... A long time, little guy," Dante says, soft, "Be strong, okay? Be strong, and... when people come by, they won't be your brother. Let them love you, so when your brother comes by, you don't have to re-learn how to be loved. It's okay to cry and not be okay."

"I wouldn't be okay, either, after all this."

The child nodded.

"... I miss him already."

Dante frowns, and he reaches over, hugging the boy.

The cracks in the wall grow,

"Be strong, little guy. I promise,"

He watches as the edges fall to pieces,

"Everything will work out in the end."

As he jerks from the dreamscape, he wakes. Staring at nothing. He sits up, his chest- pounding.

He looks at his hands. Calluoses. A few scars that even he can't heal, but they're faint.

It's hard to remember, that's how all this started.

Heh, don't... don't they say... hindsight is 20/20?

"... I'm sorry, Vergil. For... for making this so hard on you. I'm trying. I'll... I'll try harder. I promise."

But no one was there to listen, to things Dante wasn't sure he'd be able to say again, as he thought of that little boy, the heart that beat in his ribs being the same, wounded heart that the little boy wore, locked deep inside of ribcage bars of steel.

It's hard looking at yourself as a child, and still hating yourself the same way, without acknowledging what turned you into what you are today.

[princessofghosts-posts]

Have you ever talked about Hazel and Nico before?

Because I was reading your post where you talked about parallels between Nico and Percy and I realised he also sort of parallels Hazel but in an opposite way.

Despite, being siblings every single thing in Hazel and Nico’s life have been opposite.

Hazel was raised poor and her family was shunned while Nico was raised rich and he came from an aristocratic family.

Hazel never had a relationship with Pluto while Nico regularly interacts with Hades (though not always in a good way).

Hazel had a bad childhood but a wonderful adolescence (after she came back to life) while Nico had a wonderful childhood but a horrible adolescence (till BOO at least).

Hazel’s mother explicitly chose riches over her. Nico’s mother explicitly chose him (and Bianca) over riches and rejected Hades’ offers.

Hazel’s mother had a horrible relationship with their father whereas Nico’s mother had a loving relationship with their father.

Hazel felt alone since she was raised an only child while Nico and Bianca always had each other.

Hazel remembers almost everything about her past but wishes she didn’t because it haunts her. Nico remembers almost nothing about his past but wishes he did because it could cheer him up (I mean he had a loving mother and family).

Hazel was accepted by the seven and was close with them. Nico was not.

Hazel wanted to continue living after she came back to life. She tried to make the best of her second life and didn’t want to die again. Meanwhile, Nico wa sort of suicidal. Rather than straying away from the line between life and death, he just waited for a gust of wind to push him one way or the other and was ready to die for the Athena Partheos.

I think it’s very interesting how exactly opposite their lives are. Like parallel lines that run in opposite directions and how it may affect their relationship or maybe how it doesn’t affect their relationship

What do you think about these two and their relationship?

I actually did a post similar to what you asked in the earlier days,but it doesn't go so much into it because I actually never realized there where so much parallelisms between the Underworld siblings. (I'll attach the link here,so if you want you can check it out):

ANYWAY! It's a know fact that I love their siblings relationship,even tho there are moments that made me go "wtf–" from both sides (almost calling her Bianca after a year of closure??? ; telling your boyfriend that your brother is weird???). Even with those,they are still my favorite pair of siblings in the franchise.

I already knew some you pointed out but most of them completely flew under my radar even with how much oblivious they are,you are kinda opening my brain with so many realizations right now.

I think that Nico and Hazel complete each other: Nico is and had what Hazel isn't and hadn't and viceversa. They aren't like Percy and Jason (two sides of the same coin) or Percy and Nico (same sides of same coin but under different type of light),they are different in their own category.

Like you pointed out,Nico was raised in a good home and in his early days I'm pretty sure that he had a good relationship with Hades,since he was around and he and Maria were good. But Hazel? Pluto left them after warning Marie,he wasn't around and only saw Hazel once (before she literally was sent to her death and slavery in Alaska). I never thought of the parallelisms between their mothers: Maria choose her children while Marie wanted the richies. Another one is the fact that Hades offered Maria to live with him in the Underworld,so that she could be safe,while Pluto didn't do the same for Marie (and she was already being manipulated by Gaia here).

Hazel was raised without love only to have a good adolescence with people that loved her,while Nico was raised with love only to have his life full of people hating him. I know they were both shunned away by their own camps,but Hazel at least was still included in their activities and had Frank to endure with,before Percy arrived and changed things. Nico didn't had that for a long time,and even with Percy it wasn't enough to change CHB perception of him. (Another parallelism :D ).

Hazel also was more easily accepted by everyone (both romans and greeks) than Nico ever was in his life like you pointed out too. Which is a bit insane for me because they are both Underwold children,and if one is shunned away like the plag,and you say that another is also living the same siuation,then why isn't she having the same treatment??? Not to say that Hazel should have had the same things people pulled on Nico,but it's strange how people are more open to Hazel than to Nico. Idk,maybe it's their powers influence on their persona –Nico has an aura of death all over and Hazel doesn't,so that's probably why they are more wary of him than her.

Hazel being an only child while Nico had a sibling (that later died) solidified for me the fact that they complete each other: they are what the other need. Also,another parallelism here is the fact that while Hazel was raised alone,she had Nico as her brother later on,and while Nico was raised with Bianca,he had to endure years of being alone before he found Hazel.

Hazel wanting to live and Nico being suicidal can also be "swapped" here –Nico become suicidal after Bianca's death,but before of that he was pretty fine with living; while Hazel's childhoon was full of death and pain and she couldn't take it enough (especially during Alaska). Hazel died when she wanted to live,Nico continue living even after trying to die. Poetic,isn't it? (also tragic like their lives)

I kinda of like that Hazel can remember everything about her life but Nico will probably never have the full picture on his. Because while his life was a certainty (especially with Hades involved during Maria's death),Hazel's wasn't and she ended up sacrificing herself without a Pluto trying to do anything. And it's Hazel that remember her life,even with how much sadness there was,and not Nico that had probably one of the best childhood in the universe (rich aristocrat with a loving family,a dad that tried and his mom even brought he and Bianca travelling during holidays) even tho his historical period wasn't the best one for Italy.

And one would think that with so many differences they would be cold to each other,distant,maybe even hate each other since Nico had what Hazel never had,while Hazel has what Nico never could have (untill later). But here's the thing– while at the start Hazel couldn't believe that he was her brother because of how different they were,and Nico fucked up with almost calling her Bianca,they still love each other.

It's true that they were close because of a camaraderie feeling at the start (both children of the same father that got shunned away because of their heritage and powers),but they actually grew closer to each other untill they can actually see the other as a siblings. Nico probably didn't had an hard time loving her as one (I refuse to believe anything else other than Nico almost calling Hazel "Bianca" because he missed having a sister,and their bond for him was similar to the one he had with her) while Hazel had to adjust because she never had one. The struggle is there at the start,but even during SoN you can see how she start to see her as her brother and not brother as in "we have the same dad".

Hazel tried everything to get Nico back once Gaia revealed to her that she trapped him,and even before that she was worried for him after he told her of his trip. And she succeeded. And that is something I will never shut up about because Hazel almost lost the brother she was finally able to love,and had the constant reminder that he was dying while they were miles away to help him. Not to talk about the gods that went like "you needs to free him because he is important to your quest,be quick cause he doesn't have much time left" when she meet them,and Percy telling them his dream that made her more worried. Hazel avenging her brother (and dad),because they made a joke out of her father temple,is everything for me.

And I love how Nico was there for her after she come back to life. Even after he brought her to Camp Jupiter,he still visited her regularly (otherwise Octavian wouldn't be so casual about him being around with his personality) and helped her to understand better her powers. He also knew enough of her flashbacks,so some of them happened while he was around,and it's not like he was jealous or anything (since Hazel was remembering while he couldn't),but he was worried for her. In HoH,after Hazel came back from hers and Hecate's conversation,he wisked her away to talk. Hazel was the only one to know what was going to happen in the temple because Nico had full trust in her (and also because it was her fight against Pasiphaë,so she kinda needed to know). Nico putting Hazel as priority,after Hades talked to him in the chapel and he started to worry about them,even with Percy there,is everything to me.

They are so precious to me.

Nico and Hazel relationship could have be horrible,since there are so many differences that would make them feel bitter towards the other,but they don't because they understand each other. It doesn't matter that they are different,that they had different families,that they grew up separately and never found out about the other untill later in their life,they are still brother and sister and that's enough for them.

I know that in the second book of the Nico's serie he and Will are going to CJ to help Hazel,and I really hope we could see more moments between them. That was one of my many nitpick during HoO,there are few moments between them even tho they spent a lot of time together (before the start of the quest and also on the Argo II).

Another funny little parallelism is the fact that while Hazel is extremely seasick (the romans also aren't fond of Neptune) she doesn't have trouble flying in the air with the Argo II. But Nico is the complete opposite since he suffer more flying than going via sea 👀👀👀

Also,I do have a couple of posts on them,because I love them,but they aren't enough 🥹. I'll probably do more once I'll read the other books of ToA (she appears in it from what I remember) and the serie on Nico. We need more Hazel in the books.

[moon-browed]

The monster is dying.

Sometimes I call to it, try to get it to escape my ribs, a twisted sense of melancholy. I feel its heavy feet dragging, I feel its breath hollow and labored. It crawls at my feet and I look at it and for a moment I consider it to be a good thing. And the next, I am on my knees, sobbing, screaming, scratching at it, fur and dry blood underneath my fingernails.

A God is nothing without their believer. (I find it harder and harder to bring it back.)

The monster whimpers and cries out, and I join it, "I know, I know" I whisper to it and our voices are indistinguishable. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore.

I Google how to bury a dead animal in a concrete city, and I know that there is poetry to be found in that but I refuse to look for it. My phone's autocorrect doesn't predict "love you" after I type "I" anymore, and I try to ignore what that means. (It predicts "don't know" now.)

I parade my belief, "I am here to love as much as I can" while biting my tongue when the monster says that I don't even know how to do that.

The monster howls and screams in bitter triumph when it gets proven that flowers thrive once they get ripped from my garden. The soil is poisoned, sterile, and a kid cries in the distance about the flowers slowly dying.

I ask the monster how to be happy that they are blooming, even if away from me, and it softly opens its jaws, its mouth perfectly shaped to hold my heart in it. ("let me eat it" it says "let me eat it and make my stomach a museum. You won't feel it - you won't feel anything - but at least something will remember")

It is a scary thing to swim in the dark of night, I scream and beg for help as I drown and they tell me it's not their fault nobody taught me how to swim.

The monster is dying.

With each lost tooth and broken nail, I feel myself slipping away, deeper and deeper in a lake of everything soft and sweet. I shake at the weight of the will I wrote in December, sitting heavy in my box of memories. I know that nobody will think to look for it there, and the monster whimpers at the reminder that nobody would risk ever actually knowing us.

(He uses every weapon I've ever given him to poke the monster, and it works, and the muzzle is about to break, and I fear what I will become once it's off.)

The monster is dying and it sounds more and more like my father as it does.

I think the most horrible of things and I fear that I am something far worse than him (his daughter).

The monster is dying with your hands around its throat (I had a dream about this). I told you months ago I had a dream where you killed me and I died with a smile. Would that be enough to convince you that my dreams are warning signs?

Every person that cried out love for me keeps biting and tearing at any tender flesh that has remained, and all I can muster is an apology for tasting so bitter.

There is violence in every kind of love I've laid eyes on, and I fear that one day I won't have any bones left to withstand it. How can love birth such hate? It is an unfair trade, isn't it? Love for one person, hate for so many.

I don't hate her, per se. I only hate the way your eyes light up when you speak of her, how your voice softens, how I can feel your heart skipping a beat. I hate how you stabbed me with one hand and held her with the other.

I hate how she's perfect. Her fingers are not yellow from the nicotine, her skin is not pale from lack of sleep, she doesn't reek of alcohol and cigarettes and decay, she is witty and smart and beautiful and I am a monster (howling howling howling) and I am afraid one day I will open my jaws and devour everything in sight and it will be out of love but does it even matter?

Does this even matter? How many poems will it take? How many well crafted words and metaphors, how many hours spent thinking of monsters and empty beds?

How many rotten flowers will I have to cough up before I can finally put the monster to sleep again?

The monster is dying and I refuse to bury it.

Is that what love is? To hold onto things suffering and stroking their fur and singing them lullabies? Is that what my love is? A broken garden full of maggots? A wooden bench infested by mushrooms singing a eulogy?

[leah-lover]

Meeting again. Alexia x reader part 3.

Reader is confronted by her friends.

Saying that tension was in the air would be an understatement. After the hellos, hugs and kisses the whole team went back to the changing room and took Leila with them. So there I was standing in front of Alexia, mapi, ingrid, parti, claudia, and aitana.

The silence was loud and their glares were unforgiving. All i thought to myself was that i didn't belong in barca anymore, i was cursing myself for ever choosing to leave city before Ingrid said “ We cant talk about this here how about we go to a restaurant and have a proper conversation.”

The rest of the girls seemed to agree with her, then Parti jumped and said “ okay then we will meet at our usual spot in about an hour, you still remembered no ?” she asked me with a sarcastic tone.

Confused, I only nodded and waited for them to all get inside before I breathed again. This encounter was harsh but I had a feeling it wasnt gonna get any easier.

After an hour I found myself at a table in my favorite restaurant with feelings I buried three years ago. All the anger, shame, and sadness came back with it. I waited a little before they all came together except alexia who was running late.

“ So how do you want to start this? Maybe with an apology for what you have done.” started Patri as soon as she sat down, which earned her a jab from Claudia who told her to be nicer.

“ i don't know what had gotten into you these past three years Patri but i don't this i have anything to apologies about.'' I replied with a defensive tone.

“ yes you do carino. You let us, no goodby no nothing we had to learn the news from instagram like everybody but we are not everybody we are your family and we felt hurt. Plus you didn't talk to us for 3 years. You denied every try at contacting you. You abandoned us you……” said mapi softly so as to not sound angry because she wasn't. They all went angry; they were just hurt.

“ Look, we don't have to do this. I came here to do my job and play good fucking football. I did this for my career not to rip my insides out again.'' I replied, trying to hold back my tears.

“ Darling, we are not trying to hurt you, we are trying to understand you. We are just curious why our best friend left us. ” explained ingrid with a concerned look on her face.

“ there is nothing to understand that your bestfriend is dead. She died three years ago. I have been a walking corpse since I left. I don't feel anything i am numb to everything.'' I managed to get out before a few tears left my eyes.

I then got up and went out. I was overwhelmed and all the feeling came back rushing. Which led me to hyperventilate. Suddenly I felt a hand on my back.

“ I am sorry about our reaction. We didn't know this would happen. We acted out of love for you. We missed you. We just are so very sorry just come back inside.” said aitana before pulling me into a hug.

I then started crying, all the tears i have been holding back decided to go out all at once.

“ i love her tan, i still do, i abandoned her, i gave up on her i didn't fight for her.'' I said while crying into tana’s shoulder.

“ I know darling, I know. She loves you too. She has been suffering without you we all have. Now just come back inside please.” she added running her hand through my back.

“ i dont think it's a good idea, I just want to go home now.” I said after we separated.

“ okay. Call me when you are ready to talk, okay.” she added before going back in.

When I got home Leila was already there. So as soon as I saw her on the couch I went straight to her and laid on her chest.

“ How did it go?” she said, running her hand through my hair.

“ fucking horrible.” I answered.

“ Do you want some ice cream?” she asked. “ I will get you some ice cream.” she answered herself after looking at me.

When Leila was gone the doorbell rang so i went to answer it.

And there she was in front of me, beautiful as ever. “ I know you want space but we need to talk.” she said and I ushered her in.

“ I miss you and I want you back.” she started after sitting on the couch. “ I know I was shitty to you, you didn't deserve what I put you through. I changed carino. You motivate me to get my priorities straight. You are my number 1 priority. You matter more than football more than le and more than life itself. Please give me a chance again. Please mi amor.”

Her words left me speechless. I was too tired to start over. I just want to be comforted and loved.

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 1: Blow out all the candles

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 6,010 rating: T13 warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and gore, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing outright spoken about, if there's anything else to be tagged please let me know

a/n: it's here! and it's proofread! i'm very excited to put this out because i've been working on it for actual months by now. i think about this when i go to bed at night and i look forward to the weekend to keep writing. i don't know that there will ever be smut—there might be, i just haven't properly considered it yet—but there will be a lot of self-indulgent soft moments with the bastard.

please let me know what you think, and comment if you'd like to be tagged for future updates!

You feel like shit.

You feel like shit, there are burns all over you, and the whole of your party smells like soot, death and disappointment. Well, at the very least, you, Lae’zel and Astarion do. Karlach seems to be managing perfectly fine if her boasting is anything to go by. And she tends to smell like smoke most days, to begin with.

Shadowheart, bless her, manages most of the minor wounds on her own. Chastises you gently for running into a burning building again—this time literally. Her lecture has no bite though; she can see on all your faces that this latest encounter has left an extremely bitter taste. In all of your mouths, not just yours or hers, and not just because of the smoke.

Once you no longer look like more of a corpse than your actual undead party member, you drag your feet back to your tent. Grab a change of clothes, pull a bucket from by the fire—with a promise to a whingeing Gale to bring it back, clean and preferably full of equally clean water—and thoughtlessly head towards where you’d last seen running water. It would suck, it would probably be freezing, and the idea of being mostly unarmed in any state of undress makes you want to curl in on yourself and disappear into the Underdark. Maybe let the monsters there take you, while you’re at it. At least then you wouldn’t have to worry about an uninvited guest in your fucking skull.

But there is work to be done. Horrible, dreadful work. You know you’ll sleep… maybe not better tonight, but at least not as miserably, you hope. All that physical exertion has to be good for something.

You try not to think of the people at Waukeen’s Rest as you walk. Conveniently—or supremely inconveniently—there’s already someone in the clearing you’ve wandered into. The shock of white hair lets you know it is, in fact, Astarion who’s sat at the water’s edge. You figure the only reason he hasn’t noticed you yet is because he seems very… aggravated. His back is turned to you, but you can tell he’s violently trying to scrub something out of his hairline.

Probably the same blood, gore and soot that’s dried into yours.

You raise the bucket in your left hand and knock into it with your right. The vampire flinches and spins around so quickly you wonder if secondhand whiplash is a thing. There’s a moment where his face displays what you’re almost certain is fear, before he controls his expression into something more akin to familiar annoyance.

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

You wrinkle your nose at his almost pouty tone. Lately, Astarion’s been especially bitter with you. No idea why; maybe it’s because you turned him down those two times he propositioned you? You hadn’t figured he was serious. He flirts all the time with nearly everything with a pulse—probably things without if given half a chance—how would you ever know if he was being genuine?

…or maybe it’s the whole conversation with Raphael. Hm. Well it’s not like anyone—except Astarion, apparently—could fault you much for not wanting to trust a devil. At all. Ever.

You’re thinking too much about it.

Instead of offering an immediate answer, you approach Astarion with a not insignificant amount of caution.

“I can…” you start, but trail off. If you offer help—which he clearly needs, what with being unable to see his own reflection and therefore see his own face to wash the dried blood, soot and grime off of it—he’s going to refuse you. If you try to impose yourself, you’re probably just… not going to make it to see the next morning, actually.

So you hedge your bets and, after taking a few more careful steps forward, reach your hand out, palm up.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing vaguely at the washcloth Astarion’s holding. He predictably narrows his eyes at you. His gaze flickers between your outstretched hand and your face as though there’s some form of deception there that he should be able to see.

His right leg shifts, just barely. You already know that’s the side that has a small dagger hidden in the boot. You do your best to pretend you don’t see or know.

You’re not sure you do a terribly good job of it. Astarion sighs—a terribly loud, put-upon sound that just reminds you of a child being told to clean their room.

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

You’d sigh yourself if you didn’t think it would set him off even more. So instead you approach, carefully and slowly as you can manage without looking too terribly awkward. Once you’re a foot or two away, you grab the washcloth and give it a quick rinse in the river. Once you’ve wrung it out, you maneuver the bucket upside down to sit on it and scoot yourself a bit closer to the… very obviously displeased vampire.

You barely catch yourself; when your right hand comes up to his face with the washcloth, your left immediately follows. It hovers by his cheek and you freeze, for a moment, and try to remember to breathe under Astarion’s extremely judgemental stare.

“Can—do you mind?” you ask, barely over a whisper, quickly glancing at your left hand. You’re already curling your fingers to pull it away.

The vampire spawn rolls his eyes like your antics are truly the most boring thing in the world before answering.

“Whatever gets this over with the fastest, if you don’t mind. I would really love to stop wasting time on a face I can’t even see.”

You nod and try not to swallow thickly. But you don’t think any effort matters. The sound of your thundering heart would probably bury any other sound your body would make anyway.

His skin is incredibly soft, but you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying so. You focus on what you’re meant to be doing, focusing on a spot above Astarion’s left brow. Then the right brow. You do your best to remember to breathe through your nose the whole time. No talking. No fast or twitching movements. You pray the smell of death and fire are enough to overpower whatever your breath smells like.

You don’t realize when he closes his eyes. Maybe after the second or third time you gently push his head this way and that. You run the washcloth around his ears, along his jaw. Meticulously avoid the two puncture wounds on his neck.

“As good as it’s gonna get,” you whisper, quickly casting your eyes down before Astarion opens his, and busy yourself with folding and refolding the washcloth. Take a deep breath and look back up while you pass the cloth back over. “Still gonna want to dunk your head, though. Hair’s still…” You gesture vaguely at what should be a shock of pure white.

It’s… well it’s not entirely white anymore.

There’s a moment where you catch an unusual expression on Astarion’s face. It doesn’t last long enough for you to be able to figure it out. And where maybe you would’ve asked, any other time, today doesn’t—the timing doesn’t feel quite right.

“Well then,” you start, grabbing the bucket by the handle and quickly moving to the river to scoop up a decent amount of water. You pretend it’s not heavier than you think it was. You’re trying to figure out what you should say as you leave—if anything at all—but your companion makes the choice for you.

“Thank you,” he says, not quietly, but not with the usual bravado you hear from him. It’s enough to make you pause. “I would hate for my slovenly appearance to ruin vampires’ prim and proper reputation,” he continues, and you can’t help but let your mouth twist into the smallest grin. “Even though red is my colour.”

You snort in amusement, but quickly shake it off. There is something you want to be saying, actually, and you open your mouth before you can lose your nerve.

“When you’re done, can you—do you mind passing by my tent?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as he wrings out the washcloth. He doesn’t move, despite the fact that you’re pretty sure he wants to slighter back to the water’s edge. You cut him off when he opens his mouth; you’re not sure you’re ready for whatever biting one-liner he’s got ready for you.

“Actually nevermind, I’ll just—I can see you tomorrow morning. It’s not that important.”

You beat as hasty a retreat as the weight of the bucket of water lets you.

You help Gale for supper. Wash, peel and cut various vegetables, fetch more water by the riverside—Astarion has blessedly left by the time you crouch back down by the bank—and take the time to throw the ball for Scratch a few times. By the time the sun begins to sink into the horizon, the smell of deliciously spiced duck, stewed in with a mouth-watering variety of vegetables, wafts over to you and lures you by the fire where your companions have assembled.

Your local vampire is, predictably, absent. You find yourself wondering if the smells that are so tantalizing to you now would be repugnant to you if you had survived on the blood of pests for two hundred years.

Supper is generally a calm affair. You catch up with whomever was absent from the adventuring party for the day, offer Gale some praise for the meal, indulge Wyll with a few dances—kept at a very polite and respectable distance—and eventually settle by the fire.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart seem to have made peace, for now. They watch each other from their respective tents. There’s not as much contempt and disdain as there was a few nights ago when they’d tried to kill each other. You’re relieved they no longer feel the compulsion to ask to the rapidly mounting pile of absolute bullshit you have to deal with. As if mindflayer spawn in your brains and the looming threat of annihilation weren’t enough to sate their need for excitement.

Well after the sun has set, Wyll rests a hand on your shoulder before sitting himself next to you by the fire. You nod in acknowledgement and quietly retreat to your tent. You’ve set yourself up far enough from the campfire if only just for some solitude after a day surrounded by other people and death. Close enough to the water that, when you return to camp at the end of the day, you’ve an easy time just shrugging off your armour and clothes and just walk into the water after sliding into a well-loved, black cotton slip.

You’ve sat yourself behind a makeshift low table—really just a few planks of wood, scavenged from a damaged dock, atop a pair of crates you’d emptied—and open your journal to begin writing. You were never an avid diary-keeper before being abducted by the nautiloid. Never saw the relevance of it. Not that you could remember to keep track of your daily activities, either way.

But now that so many things happen in only the span of a handful of hours, and so much planning to do, and so many people to remember... you find it easy to sit down at the end of the day and write down everything you saw. You write about Halsin’s release from the dungeons in the defiled temple. Write about how conflicting he seems as a man, and as an elf—so incredibly large, and his speech is so incredibly gentle and soft until it suddenly is... not so much.

You take a moment before writing about your encounter with Abdirak. You keep it brief; the only person reading this journal should be you, after all, and you trust yourself to remember how you felt, beneath the mace, and how you feel now, trying to untangle those feelings.

You omit Astarion’s interjection, much as you do spend a minute thinking about it.

You’re flipping to your fourth page of daily notes when you hear a gentle knocking on one of the wooden poles holding up the canvas of your tent. You don’t look up from your writing but call them in, anyway. You gesture vaguely in front of you, motioning in what you think is the general direction of the cushion set in front of your makeshift desk.

“Sit,” you command. “I’ve just got to... finish. This sentence,” you add haltingly. You have to cross and rewrite a word, spend a few more seconds completing your sentence, before finally putting the quill down. When you look up from your notes, you hastily shut your journal, still-wet ink be damned.

There are... probably too many things written down that you wouldn’t want Astarion to see, especially if his current smug expression means anything.

“What, too caught up in waxing poetics about my boundless charms?”

You scoff at the play of arrogance before pulling one of your smaller packs into your lap and stuffing the journal back inside.

“If you must know,” you start, tossing your back near the back of your tent. As far out of reach of a rakish rogue as you could manage in such a small space. “I was writing down my expectations for the day tomorrow. Which includes going back to the grove to collect our reward from Rath.”

Astarion raises his chin and you and narrows his eyes. “Suspiciously selfish of you, bard.”

You shrug your shoulders and lean back on your hands, letting your legs stretch out in front of you. “I’m not as tooth-rottingly sweet as you seem to think I am. My altruism is also self-serving.”

Astarion shifts and pulls a knee up to rest his arm against and leans in. There’s a glint in his eye you recognize. Your heartbeat flutters, for a second; you could say that you don’t like it when he looks at you like a roast to carve, but closer to the truth would be to admit that you’re terrified of it for lack of knowing how to respond.

You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve got too many people relying on my decision making, besides. I can’t afford to extend a hand if I can’t be sure we won’t all get bit. I very much intend on having us all get to Baldur’s Gate in one piece, and live to see our brains roommate-free.”

Astarion scoffs and leans back. You breathe a little easier now that he’s back to being more aloof and judgemental rather than overly-observant.

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” he replies, feigning interest in the cleanliness of his nail beds. “The fact that you’ve assumed that kind of responsibility for... what, exactly?” He turns his gaze to you, and you can feel more than see the derision in his eyes.

You look down and take a moment to think. The obvious answer, the first one that comes to mind, is that you feel you have the moral obligation to help when you’re able to. It’s how you were raised.

Another answer, just as true as the first, is that you hope that if you treat others with kindness, maybe they’ll allow you mercy when you need it. Self-serving altruism, just as you’d said.

“Safety,” you eventually respond, lifting your eyes to Astarion’s and tilting your head. “Same as you, I figure.”

Astarion bristles at this, but only barely. You can see it in the tension appearing in his shoulder and the way his face seems to become a little more taught, a little more rigorously controlled.

“Safety, you figure?”

You hum in agreement. “I’m the one you chose to bite that night.”

Again, he scoffs. “Because you were the one least likely to stake me, darling. Not because I thought you’d keep me safe.”

“You thought I’d keep your secret safe, though” you say, pulling your legs back towards you and lean in to rest your elbows on your desk. “I was the safest risk because somehow, all of you with the brilliant exception of Wyll, think I’m a bleeding heart with no sense of self-preservation.”

“You quite literally wandered into a room full of smokepowder barrels with a torch in your hand. A lit torch.”

“I didn’t know there would be smokepowder there, come on!” you exclaim in defense. You compose yourself almost immediately; you know Astarion’s just trying to rile you up. Looking at him, he’s not quite smirking, but there’s the pull of an expression there that feels like it could be satisfaction.

You sigh and run a hand down your face. It feels like a cold shock to have him speak so casually with you now when he felt so unapproachable by the river, earlier. Maybe it’s the fact that he chose to come see you, come into your space, makes it feel different. You feel more in control, if only a little.

In here, you still have the pretense of being the leader of your eclectic group. By the river, stripped of armour and excuses, you felt untethered.

“Whatever. Is there a reason for your visit or were you just bored with getting under everyone else’s skin?”

Astarion fakes hurt and offense, a hand to his chest. “You wound me! You’re the one who asked me to come to you, or has the tadpole knocked the memory loose?”

You lean back a little. You had forgotten. In the midst of the food and the dancing and the writing, you had completely forgotten that you’d asked for him to seek you out. You had, however, figured he would actually wait until the morning. Or maybe another week, if you survived that long. Or never at all.

You were never quite sure what Astarion thought of you at any given point in time, nevermind how seriously he would take your words.

“Right. I just fi—it’s. Right.” You trip over your words, before leaning off to one side to grab at a small pouch. You pull at the drawstring as you right yourself, and plunge a hand in to pull out its singular content.

You hold it up in front of your eyes for a second. It had started as a peculiar stone, but with some time and effort and possibly too much polishing, had revealed itself to be a particularly beautiful opal. Clear nearly all the way through save for a single starburst of vivid colour in the center, tendrils of refractive colours reaching out for the edges.

It had reminded you of sunlight, when you had first held it up to a candle after the final polish. And then, unbidden, you thought of Astarion, and his complicated and upturned relationship with the sun.

You slide the pendant, carefully wrapped in looping metal wires, strung on a simple braided leather cord, over the desk to Astarion.

“I found this in the village,” you explain, trying to calm the panicked thrumming of your heart. “It reminded me of you so I... well, it’s yours if you want it.”

This felt like a good idea at first. While grinding down the rough edges and sanding the surfaces smooth, it felt like a kind gesture. Currently, it feels like maybe you might have given Astarion even more to relentlessly tease and bully you with. Like perhaps you’ve found something that would add another weight to you both.

You keep your eyes on the table. See Astarion slowly reach for the pendant to hold it up in front of his own eyes. You swallow thickly and motion to the candle at the edge of your desk.

“If you hold it up to the light, it looks better.”

He wordlessly nods and follows your directions. The stays motionless for several seconds, and you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. His expression doesn’t change at all, and that makes you even more nervous.

This feels like the riverside all over again. You never know how Astarion will accept kindness, you realize.

“...I don’t understand why you would give this to me if it reminds you of me,” he eventually says, though his eyes are still riveted to the flame-like starburst of the stone. “Why would I keep it?”

You flounder for a second and do your best to try and remain composed. I just wanted to isn’t going to be an acceptable answer. When Astarion turns his gaze to you, otherwise unmoving, you hold a hand up.

“Give me a second,” you rush to say, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down at the wood of your desk to think. There has to be a string of words you can put together that will make sense, even to someone like Astarion. Surely.

Some bard you are.

“I suppose,” you start slowly, placing your palms flat on the desk. Astarion brings his arm down. You don’t see what he does with the pendant. “I wanted you to have something that meant someone thought kindly of you.”

You expect to see a sneer on his face, or something akin to disgust, maybe revulsion. But, no, he’s returned to examining you again. You feel the tadpole squirm behind your eye and squint against the discomfort. Is he trying to...?

Well, fair enough.

You hardly have any control over the tadpole—not that you want to control it, you only want it out of your skull—but do your best to try and let him see you finding the stone. Try and open the door just wide enough for that single experience.

Astarion, of course, pushes his luck. Though he’s about as skilled with using the tadpole as any of you likely are at this point, and gets pulled into your mind like a receding wave. Your mind shows you sharp, white teeth and crimson eyes. A shock of silver-white hair under moonlight just as his face comes into view. Teeth at your neck and the feeling of uncertainty of what any of this means for you. The flood of relief when you realized your campmate was just a vampire, and that he was never intending to do anything worse than taking a sip.

Astarion withdraws suddenly and violently from your mind. The absence of him feels like the bleeding gap left by the removal of a particularly large splinter. There’s a headache beginning to drum just behind your eyes that has nothing to do with the illithid parasite. You rub at your eyes with the butt of your palms to try and ease the soreness there. When you pull your hands away, the expression you see on Astarion’s face is indescribable. There’s horror there, but understanding and a non-insignificant amount of apprehension.

“Next time,” you croak, clearing your throat and rolling your shoulders. “I would appreciate if you just asked.”

“I did, and you let me in,” Astarion answers, uncharacteristically soft and quiet. He says nothing else before standing up and turning to leave your tent. You feel aloft in the wind before he turns around to add, “Thank you, for your gift.”

The canvas of your tent moves back into place. Your candle keeps burning. The quiet of the camp is only broken by the habitual night time sounds of nature, the occasional sound of Scratch’s collar, and the crackling of firewood when Wyll throws in another log.

You whistle sharply, two tones, and you hear Scratch eagerly making his way over to your tent. He pushes the canvas out of his way with his snout and quickly comes to sit in front of your desk.

“Is something bothering you, friend?” the dog asks, tilting his head to the side. You smile when one of his ears flop over.

“I’m alright, boy,” you answer with a relieved sigh. “Mind spending the night here with me?”

Scratch stands back up excitedly, tail wagging. “Of course!”

You make short work of moving the planks of wood to the side and stacking the crates out of the way. Unfurl your bedroll and pull some salvaged sheets for some extra padding. When you lay down, Scratch curls up at your side. You put an arm around him and distractedly scratch at his back.

When you trance, you try to keep your mind as clear as possible. You need to be sharp, alert and aware for the day tomorrow. You need to clear the rest of the goblin camp, prepare yourself for the brutality of it. And then report back to the grove and Zevlor once you’re done.

This does not prevent ruby eyes shining like stones from appearing in the shadows every now and then.

You walk to the grove with everyone in tow. You, Astarion, Lae’zel and Wyll are covered in blood and probably viscera. Karlach seems mostly untouched, and though Gale and Shadowheart look exhausted, they seem perfectly fine. Nothing a nice, long rest won’t fix. Probably.

In front of the large wooden gate, you call out to Kaldani.

“Let them know it’s done,” you shout up. “The goblin camp has been cleared!”

There’s shouting as the gates open, and immediately the tieflings begin to swarm you. Zevlor appears out of practically nowhere. Alfira even makes an appearance to interrogate you about the goblin camp, the defiled temple. You end up following her deeper into the Grove to sit and regale her with your... well, you suppose they are heroic endeavours, but you take a moment to sincerely let her know it was horrible. Yes, you whole group is competent, yes, all together you make for a terrifyingly effective strategist. But slaughtering people who don’t know any better because it was kill or be killed isn’t something heroic. It is not magical or fantastic. It is brutal and it is bloody, and when you say that, you wrinkle your nose.

You’re still covered in blood. And gods know what else.

Alfira makes sure to convey her understanding, lets you know that she won’t be composing something wonderful and fantastic. She tells you she wants to make it a cautionary tale; being influenced by powers you cannot see and compelled to perform acts of cruelty yet unmatched. The grit and resolve it takes to prevent such a thing, and the knowledge that sometimes you must choose means for ends you cannot promise. It’s a bit much, but you appreciate it.

You don’t bother letting the rest of your crew, swarmed as they are, know of your departure. You slink off to go collect from Rath, as you had mentioned. Leaving the inner chamber and escaping unnoticed, however, was a significantly greater challenge. As you’re attempting to make a quick escape, you get held up by Zevlor. He offers to pay you for your help—the word makes you grit your teeth—and given that you’re alone and no one else can complain about your decision making, you refuse. Looting the defiled temple had provided you all with more than enough tradeable materials to make for a sizable amount of gold.

And you have a feeling the tieflings are going to be needing whatever they can get their hands on far more than your lot will.

You accept Zevlor’s offer to celebrate your party tonight, if only because you don’t have the heart to turn him down. And maybe also because the idea of drowning your sorrows in several bottles of wine and ale sounds like an amazing idea.

Shadowheart is the only one that spots you trying to make a hasty getaway. She smirks at you before looking away, back to whoever she was conversing with. You let out a sigh of relief and trudge your way back to camp.

By the time you make it by the extinguished fire, you’ve already taken off your breastplate. You feel better already, without the weight of it on your shoulders. Make your way over to your tent and make quick work of the rest. Staring at the pile of metal and leather, you find yourself wishing you knew any transmutation spells. Prestidigitation would be very useful right now.

You disrobe, piling your clothes into a wicker basket, before slipping into your cotton shift. Grab the wicker basket and make your way to Astarion’s tent. You pilfer one of the six bars of soap the man has before making your back back to the waterside. You’d at least like to be clean of blood and dirt and have the possibility of wearing clean clothes if you’re going to be up all night drinking to what you suppose is a job well done.

You let your face screw up in disgust while you scrub at your face with a threadbare washcloth. Evil as goblins may be, you’re still unsure about the near-thoughtless slaughter of the children you found in the dungeons. There’s something off-putting about anything resembling genocide. You let yourself get angry, in between scrubbing your hair with soap and dunking your head in the water to rinse it out. Angry about being in the horrible position of leading a group of people with different ideals, angry about the stupid fucking worm in your head, angry about everyone looking to you for the correct path to take.

“Correct path my left fucking nut,” you spit, flattening your wet hair away from your face. “Like a bard’s supposed to be a moral fucking compass.”

“Well, isn’t that unusual,” you hear from the riverside, and take a moment to close your eyes and brace yourself. You take a deep breath before turning to face Astarion.

“I hardly think bathing is unusual,” you retort back, twisting and wringing the water out of a tunic particularly roughly. “Did you also escape ahead of the tieflings, then?”

Astarion leisurely kicks a log—probably one that was by the fire—before taking a seat a few feet away from the water. He looks... alarmingly clean for someone that emerged from the same hellish depths you have. You don’t listen to his reply, but instead try to remember whose face you remember seeing in the grove. His was not one of them.

A twig hits you in the forehead and stuns you out of your thoughts.

“What in the world was that for—”

“I was asking you a question,” Astarion says, leaning an elbow on a knee and cradling his chin in his hand. “But it seems someone was too preoccupied with my shoulder to properly pay attention to me.”

“I realized you didn’t follow us to the grove,” you trail off, turning back around to continue washing your clothes. You freeze, for a moment, realizing he very well could have seen you sneaking the bar of soap from his belongings. You resume your scrubbing, determined not to bring it up if he doesn’t. Not like Astarion hasn’t pilfered some of your own things before.

“I did,” he replies with all the drama of someone being called a liar. “I simply left once the news had been given that we’d been successful.”

You hum to yourself. “So you left before they even opened the gate to let us in, then.”

You hear a scoff, then, “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“You’re the one who was saying I wasn’t paying attention,” you say with a bit of a huff, twisting and wringing out your trousers before slinging them over your shoulder. “What was the question?”

There’s a long enough pause when you’re scrubbing and rinsing your undergarments that you wonder if Astarion’s just left. You let the clothes fall back into the wicker basket you’d wedged in some tall grass and turn back around.

He isn’t looking at you. You don’t think you ever quite understood the concept of someone looking through you until this moment. Astarion’s gaze is, technically, you suppose, on you. But he seems far away, like recalling a memory he isn’t quite sure how he feels about.

“Well?” you prompt, grabbing the wicker basket and making your way to ground.

“When we spoke, last night,” he starts, and you find he sounds a little unsure of himself. Hesitant, maybe? “When you... let me in.”

You’re not sure if you shiver because of where the conversation is going or because your dripping, waterlogged shift is making you cold. You don’t say anything and wait for Astarion to continue.

“The first night I—when I bit you, what...” he trails off and looks away. His face contorts into something like disappointment, but you’re not quite sure what with. “What is it you were scared of?”

You busy yourself with finding a nice, wide rock, exposed to the sun, to lay your clothes out to try. Do your best to make sure everything is flat and won’t wrinkle.

“I was scared of the same thing any woman would when she wakes to a man looming over her.” You try to keep your voice level and not let the vitriol—the result of equal parts rage and terror that Astarion couldn’t possibly ever have had any hand in—out of your voice. “It wouldn’t have been the first time,” you add quietly.

You turn around to wring the water from the bottom of your shift. You keep your eyes down as you twist the fabric, but catch Astarion standing in your periphery. When you do look up at him, after he’s taken a few steps toward you, something horrible and expanding twists in your stomach.

He looks ashamed, somewhat, but there’s something else in his eyes that takes you a moment to place. It’s understanding, it’s knowing that he had put you in a position that he, himself, is intimately familiar with. It’s the kind of look you seldom ever see on a man. It rends your heart, a little bit.

“Right,” you say suddenly, moving to shake and wring the water out of your hair. “Glad we’ve got that out of the way, so if it’s all the same t—”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion blurts out. Like the impulse to apologize for his transgression was stronger than the need to preserve whatever image he’d constructed himself. “I wouldn’t have—if I’d known—”

“You could have,” you interrupt him in turn. When you look down at your hands, you can see your veins honeycombing in a familiar pattern. You still the shaking in them by picking up the hem of your slip. “I’m not being fair to you, sorry. I can understand why someone in your position wouldn’t have been asking for everyone’s personal circumstance.”

“How—what do you mean by that?” Astarion asks, frowning like he thinks you know something he doesn’t. You shake your head.

“The expectation would have been for you to share your own history,” you explain, making your way to your tent. You pretend you don’t loathe the feeling of dirt and grass stuck to your feet. “Even if you’d lied, that would’ve all been blown away as soon as we got to Bladur’s Gate, wouldn’t it?”

Astarion looks down and away. You shrug your shoulders as he follows you. Busy yourself rolling and tying up the fabric that served as a door to your personal space. You turn your head just in time to see him open his mouth to speak, but whatever he starts saying is lost under Gale’s booming greeting.

“There you are! We were wondering where our fearless, valiant leader had gone!”

You glance over Astarion’s shoulder, where you can see Gale leading your merry band of misfits, before looking back at the man in front of you. He already looks detached and aloof again.

“Suppose I’ll leave you to your social duties then, darling,” Astarion says as way of a parting greeting, and ambles over to his own tent and disappears inside.

You let Gale fill you in on the plan—wherein the tieflings will pack everything up and, on their way out of the grove tonight, will come celebrate their ‘liberation’ with the camp. You sit on the small stool you have set in front of your tent and only half-listen while coming through and braiding your hair.

You don’t see Astarion again until well after the sun has set.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

The Axe - Chapter 3 (Part 3)

It's the final piece! Enjoy some fantasy medieval ages/early common era au with local executioner!König. Since this is chapter 3, there's no real point to adding my KoFi but I'll do it anyways because why not.

KoFi Here

Tw: Discussion of torture, discussion of virginity and related topics

Wordcount: 1.9k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Behind The Dew You Sing To Me

You hurried home as quickly as you could, racing against Brak-Hah’s descending eye and the rise of Luit and Lui as they tumbled through the sky. You managed to scurry inside just before Densis’s watch settled in and hurried to the kitchen to find your auntie measuring out cups of buck flour into bags.

“There you are!” she cried as you walked through the door, “I was worried you’d be late!”

“Worried?” you asked with a smirk.

Your auntie rolled her eyes, “Always with the mouthing off, aren’t you? I really should take a sandal to you one of these days…”

“Auntie, I’m a bit old for that,” you laughed as you rolled up your sleeves.

Your auntie huffed and shook her head, but at the very least she didn’t say anything until you sat down in a stool beside her and set to work.

“So,” she said warily, “how was it?”

You grimaced, “Horrible, Auntie.”

Your auntie raised a thin brow, “Horrible you say?”

“Just horrible,” you said again, “the man spat in Father Kim’s face when he was given his final redemptions. They choked him to death in the end.”

Your auntie shivered, “Oh that’s just disgusting. I mean really, a choking? Those are just the worst ones. Nobody likes those.”

“It’s better than some other deaths,” you offered.

“Just because it’s better than a grinding doesn’t mean it’s a good death,” your auntie grumbled.

You shuddered at the thought.

“No, not at all,” you admitted, “but it was awful. I could hardly stand the smell of it once it was done.”

Your auntie shook her head, “I’m surprised you stayed around long enough.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “I was handing off the rations to The Axe.”

Your auntie snapped her eyes wide in alarm, “Your uncle left you alone with him!?”

“Um… Well…” you shrank down into yourself, “I sorta just stayed behind?”

“What in the realms was he doing!?” your auntie hissed, “I told him to keep you both-You know what, nevermind. I should’ve never let you go in the first place.”

“But Auntie, he’s not as bad as you think,” you tried to say, “he’s not a monster.”

“Any man capable of putting someone through a grinding is a monster, if you ask me,” your auntie sniffed.

You clenched your teeth together.

“I’m telling you Auntie, he’s not that bad,” you tried again, “you just have to give him a chance.”

“Why should I?’ your auntie scoffed, “it’s not like I’ll ever meet him.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Well, I like him well-”

“Oh so you admit it!” your auntie snapped, “you do like him! Now I know for sure I know what’s going on here!”

You huffed, “And what’s going on?”

“You’re going to try and marry that bastard!” your auntie growled, “that lowlife nothing! You’re going to take everything we’ve given you and you’re going to toss it away to run off with that sick, disgusting, evil-”

“I keep telling you he’s not-”

“Oh there you go again, defending his ‘honor’! What honor does a man like that have?” your auntie whirled on you, “he was born of a cursed line, he’ll die a cursed line. Any son from his loins will have a black cross painted on their head from the moment they leave your womb!”

You paused momentarily. You drummed your fingers on your knee before carefully turning to your auntie.

“So you’re saying I’ll have his child?”

“That’s what you’re focussing on!?”

You shrugged. Your auntie sighed and set the measuring cup down to rub at her dark temples.

“I swear, you’re just like your uncle,” she grumbled, “there’s something in you both that makes you want what you can’t have.”

“Well, Uncle chose to love you, right?” you offered, “I’m sure if he didn’t love what he couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have gone after you.”

Your auntie sighed, “I was a merchant’s daughter, at least. A merchant. Not an executioner.”

“But you see my point?” you asked.

“I see your point and I think it’s ridiculous,” your auntie huffed before she scooped up another cup of flour and begrudgingly added, “but I see your point.”

You smiled hopefully, “Look, I know he’s not your ideal choice-”

“Oh that couldn’t be more of an understatement.”

“He’s not your choice, but he’s my choice,” you finished.

“I think you have terrible taste,” your auntie grumbled, “of all the cursed lovers you could have, you chose an executioner. You could be with a plumber, a street sweeper, even a mercenary might’ve been better!”

You gave your auntie a knowing look.

“Okay, well, maybe not the last one. But Jakob down the road is a perfectly good plumber’s apprentice!” your auntie spluttered.

“Jakob Braun? The boy who used to pull my hair and throw beetle muck at me?” you pulled a face.

“If he just ate a bit better he’d look good enough,” your auntie offered.

“Last I heard he visits the whorehouse every other watch,” you raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone has their vices.”

“He smells of the very shit he cleans,” you tried again.

“Wear perfume,” your auntie shrugged, “it might help cover it up.”

“My children would still be considered undesirables,” you scowled.

“But they wouldn’t have a murderer for a father!” your auntie proclaimed, “oh how would you go about the village if you married that brute? You have such good friends around. How would you handle losing all of them?”

“I think my friends could tolerate my choices,” you huffed.

Your auntie rolled her eyes, “Tomorrow I’m going to start looking for a marriage for you. This is getting out of hand.”

You stilled your movements.

“You… You’re not serious, are you?” your voice shook slightly.

Your auntie scowled at you. Her dark eyes hardened briefly, but soon she sank back with a weary sigh.

“No,” she admitted, “I just don’t want you getting hurt. And if you go off with this man… I can’t help you if you get hurt. You know I can’t.”

“I won’t get hurt Auntie,” you assured her, “I promise.”

“Maybe not by him, but what about everyone else?” she tried to reason with you, “I can’t stop the rumours. You know I can’t.”

“Everyone always has rumours about them,” you answered trepidatiously, “I’m sure I’ll be alright in the end.”

“But will you?” your auntie frowned as she went back to her work, “I don’t know, I can’t be sure. If I can’t be sure you’ll be safe, how can you expect me to support you? You can’t! I just… I can’t.”

You let out a sigh and sank your elbows onto your knees, “You can’t, and neither can I. But I can at least try.”

“You know there’s no going back if anyone catches wind of you two together,” your auntie warned you, “nobody will want to be with you if they know he’s touched you.”

You pursed your lips into a line, “I know.”

“You’ve never had a man before,” your auntie clucked her tongue, “he’d be the first one, and he’d ruin you for anyone else.”

“But I don’t want anyone else,” you said.

“But what if he doesn’t want you?” your auntie pointed out, “he might like you now, but you know how boys are. They’re wild things that want new toys until they’ve used them up, and then they throw them away. They’re horrible beasts, boys are.”

“But what about you and Uncle Mattias?” you asked.

“Your uncle and I found each other after being with others first,” your auntie explained, “we weren’t firsts to each other. We found each other through trial and error. Your uncle was a wild man in his youth, and I was worse than him. We went through a few before we found the person that worked best for us.”

“So you’re not just opposed to him because you think he’s evil?” you asked.

Your auntie rubbed her temples again, “No, you silly girl. It’s because I’m worried for your future!”

“But what if he’s what’s right for me?” you asked.

“Then you’d be winning the lottery,” your auntie snorted, “if you want to play that sort of game, I can’t stop you. Just know that once he’s been with you, nobody else will want you.”

“Because he’s taken my virginity?” you asked.

“No, stupid girl! Because he’s an executioner, and nobody wants a woman who’s laid with an executioner!” your auntie snapped.

You winced at her words, but helped fill the flour sack regardless.

Your auntie worked hard beside you, slowly filling one bag before moving the next and filling it just the same. She took care to line each filled bag along the wall so she could sew them shut later to sell them. She was always a wonderful seamstress, something you could never be. She said you didn’t have the practise, but something told you she was just being nice about it. It’s not like you were incapable of the work, it just wasn’t what you were best at.

You kept shoveling the flour in the bags beside you. It’s a shame you missed the miller; he’s always been the friendliest face to grace your shop. He was a jolly snow tredder that stopped by every now and then to deliver the flour he’d ground that day. You didn’t know how he did it, but his flour was always the best quality in the whole village. None of the other farmers had anything like what he had. At the very least, Dimitri Muller was the best wheat and grain farmer the region had ever seen. At most, possibly the best farmer in the entire kingdom.

You smiled at the thought of Dimitri and his silly northern jokes. You wondered how he got along with Nikto. The two came from a similar region, that you knew for sure.

As you worked on measuring out the flour, you heard your auntie sigh beside you.

“I'm sorry for being so harsh,” she whispered, “I’m just afraid for you.”

“It’s alright,” you tried to say without your voice shaking too much.

“I…” your auntie groaned, “I don’t even know his name! Haven’t you thought of that? Do you even know his name?”

You paused. You’d been calling him ‘The Axe’ the entire time you’d known him. You’d given him your name, but you’d never actually hear his own. The thought had your heart turn cold as stone.

“I actually don’t,” you admitted.

“Well, before you go gallivanting off with this boy, do get to know his name,” your auntie huffed as she poured the final cup of flour into the bag. She dusted her knees off and got to her feet. She looked at all the bags and gave it an affirming nod before she turned to you, “You’ll help me with the sewing, won’t you?”

You smiled, “Of course I will.”

“Good,” your auntie sniffed, “otherwise I wouldn’t be done until Brak-Hah’s watch next watch.”

“No, I won’t abandon you here,” you assured her, “just pass me a needle and I’ll start.”

Your auntie smiled and patted your head with a warm, leathery hand. Her smile faded as a wash of grief flooded her features.

“What’s wrong auntie?” you asked.

“You’re growing up so fast,” she mourned, “and now you’re off doing all this. I’m scared, my dear. I’m so scared. I’m worried about this man, and I don’t know what I can do to help you.”

You stood up and gripped your auntie in a crushing hug.

“I won’t get hurt,” you promised her, “I’ll be okay. I’ll come and visit too, alright?”

Your auntie sniffled into your hair, “You’d best keep that promise. I won’t ever forgive you if you don’t.”

“I will,” you said as you rocked each other warmly, “I promise I will.”

23. Grinding: A form of execution where a criminal is strapped to a round stone. Their body is slowly eviscerated starting from the feet up. The body can either be crushed to a pulp or the flesh torn off of it with pliers, or is in another way ‘eviscerated’ until there is nothing left. Considered a worse death than the other punishment in its bracket which is breaking. Like in grinding, the body is strapped to a round stone, but in breaking each and every bone in the body is methodically broken before the body is hung up on display. Contrary to grinding, in breaking you can either be broken from the feet up or the head down, depending on how merciful the judgement is. Because you can be broken from the head down, many say it’s a more merciful punishment. Victims in both breakings and grindings normally pass out from pain soon after the execution has begun.

24. Snow Tredder: A species of sentient mushroom that typically live in the far north, near the poles. They are known for their intense bonds between their communities and their hardiness. Many are very large, both in height and in weight. Ones that move away typically only do so in cases of colony collapses or if the colony is in dire need of financial support.

Part One

Part Two

KoFi

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[theresistanceneverquits]

List of small Garmadon details/moments in canon that I feel define his character, in approximate timeline order:

Garmadon attempted to be the voice of reason and didn’t want to disobey their father (“Never Trust a Human”)

When Wu’s sword was lost over the wall, Garmadon acted as the responsible older sibling to retrieve it (“Rise of the Snakes”)

His father and brother both speak of a “darkness” in Garmadon while he’s a teen, but this refers mostly to mood swings and impulsivity, and Garmadon felt as if there was nothing truly wrong with him (The Curse of the Cat-Eye Jewel)

“I know what it is to feel rejected by my father.” (The Curse of the Cat-Eye Jewel)

He is enthusiastic about traveling the world moreso than finding a “cure” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

Wu is uncertain whether Garmadon really is different, or if it is merely a placebo effect: “We can’t seem to agree on anything lately. Then again, Garmadon and I have never agreed on much!” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“We make a great team!” “Yeah!” Garmadon agreed, but a flash of doubt clouded his brain. Does he really mean it? Wu hadn’t looked at me the same ever since that dumb snake bit me. And as for being a team…he’s always trying to tell me what to do. How is that teamwork?” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

Garmadon looks into a magic mirror and sees his future form, as well as “two figures in silhouette next to the terrifying figure, with their backs turned to him. One looked like a kid[…] Is my father right? Is there really evil inside me?[…] A feeling of utter loneliness and despair swept over him.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

Had intrusive thoughts to abandon Wu in the maze, but went back for him after realizing those thoughts would lead to that horrible future (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“Somehow, he felt in his bones that he could not escape his destiny.” He gives up a wish to cure himself by saving their new ally, but keeps up the facade that he thinks he’s fine even though he now has doubts. “Besides, I keep telling you, I don’t need saving.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“I did the right thing, he told himself. That’s all that matters.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“Maybe I do need that tea. I just hope… I hope that when we find it, it’s not too late.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“I know he thanked me, but did he say anything about how good it was of me to save him? I mean, he and Father are convinced I’m turning evil. Would an evil guy bravely save his brother from plummeting into a deep abyss? Why doesn’t anybody give me credit for the non-evil stuff that I do?” (The Chroma’s Clutches)

Wu’s thoughts: “On that day in the monastery, years ago, when I lost my katana, I was too afraid to retrieve it. But Garmadon jumped over the wall to get it for me, and got bitten by the snake that may have infected him with evil, as Father expects. I often wonder what would have happened if I had been the one to get bitten that day…” (The Chroma’s Clutches)

Only Garmadon hears the hopeless voice of the Chroma in his head: “There is no hope[…] All is lost. There is no point in continuing your journey, because nothing will change[…] Nothing will change. You are who you are, Garmadon. Deep in his bones, Garmadon knew the Chroma was right. When he wasn’t pretending everything was fine, he could feel the evil inside him, like a poisonous ball in the pit of his stomach. No tea was going to cure him. He knew it. Wu had hope, but why? What was the point of—” (The Chroma’s Clutches)

Garmadon didn’t want to sign the letter Wu had written for Misako, only doing so when his eyes turned red and the Venom took over (“Spellbound”)

He left his training with Chen to help lead the Elemental Masters against the Serpentine War (“Spellbound”)

Garmadon resisted giving into the Venom for centuries before he caved and attempted to steal the Golden Weapons (“Battle Between Brothers”)

“I never wanted [Lloyd] to [be like me]” (“The Royal Blacksmiths”)

Garmadon, once corrupted, is happy to overtake the world, but all those thoughts leave his mind as soon as Lloyd is at risk (“The Royal Blacksmiths,” “The Green Ninja”)

Lloyd: “I’m gonna do everything in my power to stop you.” Garmadon: “I wouldn’t have it any other way[…] You're a good boy. Soon, you'll be a great man. Although we're now on opposite sides, I'm still very proud of you.” (“All of Nothing”)

“Lloyd doesn't want to fight—uh, I mean, so Lloyd doesn't want to fight? [Laughs]” (“The Last Hope”)

Became a pacifist and a teacher (“The Art of the Silent Fist”)

Takes responsibility for his harmful actions (“The Greatest Fear of All,” “The Corridor of Elders”)

“I yearned to make the world in my image. I never realized I already had, in you.” (“The Corridor of Elders”)

Oni Garmadon does not recognize his predecessor’s human form, and has zero memory of those times, but he remembers being married to Misako (“The Fall”/“Big Trouble, Little Ninjago”)

“People ask me: ‘Do you think Lord Garmadon is disappointed in Lloyd, like would he have wanted to see a chip off the old block?’ Well, I think Lloyd could very well have gone that route. We may never really know the exact nature of the disappointment that shaped Garmadon’s path. But I think that no matter what, even—even—in his most deranged state, Lord Garmadon still has abiding affection for his son. And you know that he would trade it all away if he had to safeguard Lloyd. So I think that there’s always going to be the embers of deep affection for his son, no matter what.” (Mark Oliver, “NINJAGO ZANE INTERVIEWS GARMADON part 2/3”)

Garmadon misremembers the incident of when he was bitten. Out of guilt and the weight of his fate being seemingly meaningless, he wishes that Wu had warned him of crossing the wall and he had simply acted defiantly. Regardless, he feels he was “destined for evil” (Garmadon #4)

The Overlord orchestrated the Great Devourer biting Garmadon so he could be the perfect puppet for the Overlord (“Dragon Form”)