#like he pinned all his hopes for his redemption on her and now the only way he'll see himself as good is if she forgives him for everything

[dark-night-star-light]

Breaking my silence to say: Shane and Abeke were never romantic to me.

[heartlessvirgo]

No Saints Left

Summary: You hesitate too much, too naive for your own good. And Joel can’t stand it. He’ll make sure you learn.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. DARK!JOEL. Blood, Gore, Death, Murder, Unprotected sex (PxV), raiders, language, assault, weapons. Please read these warnings.

word count: 9.4K

a/n: This was dirty, filthy, and I hope you like it.

The nights in Jackson were quiet—so much so that it felt wrong. Joel wasn’t used to quiet. Quiet was dangerous. Quiet was the breath held before the crack of a gunshot. The lull before the wet thud of a body hitting the dirt.

But here, in this town where fools believed in redemption, the quiet wasn’t a warning. It was real. And it clawed at him, sharp and relentless, prying him open and leaving him alone with the wreckage of his mind. With every single goddamn thing he’d done.

He didn’t dream much anymore—not the way he used to. No hazy glimpses of Sarah’s face lit by sunlight, her laughter bouncing off the walls of a life that had long since crumbled to dust. Those dreams were gone, suffocated under years of blood and bone.

What came now were nightmares. Brutal, unrelenting things that clung to him like the reek of gunpowder and rot. They didn’t fade when he woke—they stayed thick and heavy in his chest, like a hand pressed over his mouth, forcing him to swallow it all down.

In his sleep, he saw flashes of violence, red and raw. The swing of his fist, the crunch of cartilage beneath his knuckles. The glint of a blade catching light before it plunged deep. The sound of a man choking on his own blood, gurgling as Joel turned away, cold and unflinching. Sometimes, he’d watch closely and savor the way they died in his hands. 

And then there were the eyes. Wide and wild, reflecting fear and something worse—recognition. That moment when they knew he wasn’t going to spare them. When they understood that mercy had no place in him. Not anymore.

Tonight, he dreamt of a girl. She couldn’t have been older than Ellie. Her hands trembled as she pointed a gun too big for her grip, the muzzle wavering as Joel stepped closer. He’d told her to drop it, his voice low and steady, a predator’s calm. But she didn’t listen. They never did.

The shot rang out, a deafening crack that lit up the night. It missed. They always missed.

And then he was on her. His hands around her throat, her small frame pinned beneath him. She fought, nails raking his arms, legs kicking in panic, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The sound she made—wet gasps, desperate and animal—rattled in his ears long after she went still. Deadweight, dead eyes, death that followed him everywhere he went. But sometimes, Joel wondered if he brought it with him on purpose, like an old friend.

He woke with a gasp, his chest heaving like he’d been drowning. The room was dark, shadows pooling in the corners, but the dream still lingered, vivid and consuming. His hands ached, curling into fists against the mattress, phantom blood slick on his palms.

Joel sat up, dragging in shallow breaths that barely scratched the surface of the hollow inside him. The air in the room felt too thin, pressing down on him as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. The quiet of Jackson surrounded him, warm and safe, but it felt like a fucking lie.

Because in the dead of night, when everyone else in this godforsaken town was dreaming of brighter tomorrows, Joel Miller didn’t dream.

He remembered.

And it was worse.

You were one of those people. Consumed by the good, too naive for your own good. Joel hated that. He hated you. And he despised his younger brother for pairing you two together for patrols. He didn’t need to carry extra weight anymore; his bones had enough pain, fused together in a fucked up way that reminded him of all the times he’d snapped them back together. 

Joel didn’t know why he deemed you naive. Maybe it was because you were half his age or that you had a little sparkle in your eyes that he wanted to stomp out, crush it beneath his worn boots. He wanted to smother the goodness from your body with his battered hands, and what little humanity that was left in him was scared for you, of what he would do when you were alone with him. 

So he kept to himself on your first patrol together. 

You didn’t think much of Joel Miller, not at first. Just another broken man, old enough to remember the world before it fell apart. You couldn’t imagine what that did to someone—what it carved out of them, what it left behind.

So, you tried. Tried to be kind. Tried to bridge a gap that he didn’t seem to care about closing. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe it was habit, maybe hope. 

You didn’t mean to be so hopeful—it wasn’t something you chose. It was instinct, like breathing. You searched for the good in people, even when it was buried under layers of filth. You looked for light in the cracks, no matter how faint, and clung to the belief that dawn always came to shatter the dark.

You swallowed the looks he gave you, sharp and cutting like he wanted to dissect you with his eyes alone. You learned to read the grunts he gave when he wanted your attention, when he needed to show you something, or when he was about to warn you in that low, gravelly tone that left no room for hesitation.

Being near him felt like walking a tightrope over broken glass; every word and step was a risk you couldn’t afford to miscalculate. You never knew when the silence between you would break—whether it’d be his voice or his violence that shattered it. 

Out there, beyond Jackson’s walls, the infected were mindless. Predictable. Joel Miller wasn’t. And you couldn’t decide which one you were most scared of. 

Joel pounded on your door before dawn, his knock sharp and insistent, like he was trying to crack the wood. He always came early—always fresh from his nightmares, his face shadowed by whatever horrors had dragged him from sleep.

“You’re up,” he’d mutter when the door creaked open, his voice rough, scraped raw by whatever hell had played out behind his closed eyes. “Time to ride.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He never did. Out there, beyond the walls, the world didn’t wait, either—not for you, not for him.

By the time you stumbled out, the day had already started for him. Patrols to begin. Horses to saddle. Mistakes to point out before the sun even dared to rise.

“The knot’s wrong,” he’d mutter, jerking the reins from your hands like you were a goddamn rookie. “Gate wasn’t shut right,” he’d add, his voice a low growl as he tested the latch with unnecessary force. “Bag’s too heavy,” he’d snap, shoving it back at you without so much as a glance, as if your failings were as predictable as the cold morning air.

“Mistakes like that’ll get us both killed,” he growls, his voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. He doesn’t even spare you a second glance—he doesn’t need to. His words cut deep enough without it.

What stings more is that he’s right, and he knows it. That’s the part that gnaws at you.

“You’re not steppin’ outside those gates again ‘til you fix this,” he snaps, the finality in his tone hitting harder than any shout ever could.

So, you obeyed without question, silently cursing your luck and wishing for a partner who didn’t wear indifference like armor. But deep down, you understood—this was necessary. One wrong move could be the slip that sent everything crumbling. So, you swallowed the fear that knotted your stomach and followed his lead, even though he unsettled you in ways you couldn’t fully explain.

Now, your horse moved ahead, its hooves landing softly on the mossy gravel, the rhythm muted against the damp earth. The air was thick with the sound of the river—a rushing torrent that swallowed your steps and left the world hushed. This path was deliberate. You chose it because stealth was your only true ally. You were always going to be smaller than your enemy. 

This was a test—your first patrol where the choices were yours to make. And Joel? He wanted you to fail.

The trail slithered through the forest like a vein under pale skin, narrow and treacherous. Each twist and turn pulled you deeper into its grip, leading toward the stretch you’d been assigned to patrol. You’d studied it obsessively, tracing every jagged curve on the map, committing each blind spot, every lurking shadow to memory.

Out here, familiarity wasn’t just an advantage—it was the only thing standing between you and a knife in the dark. Joel had made sure of that, drilling it into your skull until it felt less like a lesson and more like a scar carved into your mind.

“Rest here.” Joel’s voice cuts through the stillness, more command than suggestion. You glance back at him, perched on his horse, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical thing. You nod, trying to salvage some scrap of control. You’d wanted to stop here anyway, you tell yourself. Not that it mattered.

Swinging your leg over the saddle, you drop to the gravel with a jarring thud, the impact shooting up your legs. The sound feels too loud, too exposed, in the vast, empty quiet.

Your eyes flick around the clearing, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. Shadows stretched long in the morning light, shifting with the breeze but revealing nothing. Still, you nod to Joel, your throat tightening as he dismounts with ease. His rifle hangs heavy on his back, a constant reminder of what he’s capable of. What he’s always prepared to do.

He doesn’t speak again; he doesn’t need to. The air between you is thick with unspoken expectations. It didn’t matter if he let you take the reins today. This was his call, his pace, his world—you were just moving through it. 

You eat in silence, chewing mechanically as the cool air presses against your skin. Spring in Jackson is deceptive—the thaw feels like a promise, but the nights still bite, and the mornings cling to the kind of cold that sinks into your bones. Behind you, Joel disappears into the treeline, his pack slung over one shoulder, rifle in hand.

He never ate with you. Never waited. Never said anything unless it was necessary. Lately, even the necessities have felt strained, like pulling teeth from a wolf.

Your horse snorts softly as you give him the scraps of your meal. You pat its mane and glance toward the direction Joel had gone. He wasn’t one to wander aimlessly. If he left, there was a reason. And yet, the silence around you feels off—too hollow, too still.

You grab your rifle and sling your pack over your shoulder, boots crunching against the damp ground as you follow the faint trail he left behind. Twigs snap underfoot, and the smell of wet earth fills the air. The woods are coming alive with the season—patches of green breaking through the gray, shoots of wildflowers curling toward the light.

Still, you don’t find him. The trail vanishes into the dense brush, and frustration creeps in. He wouldn’t have gone far.

Your fingers graze the bark of a nearby tree as you pause to catch your breath. That’s when you see them—small, scattered patches of wild strawberries, bright red against the muted earth. You crouch down, brushing away a stray leaf, plucking one, and rolling it between your fingers. The smell is faint but sweet, a strange comfort in the middle of all this quiet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

The voice snaps through the stillness like a gunshot.

You barely have time to turn before Joel’s on you. His hand clamps around your arm, dragging you to your feet and shoving you back against the rough bark of a tree. The impact knocks the breath out of you, your back stinging where it scraped against the trunk. A ringing clouds your thoughts before Joel’s voice pierces through it.

“Out here pickin’ berries like it’s a fuckin’ picnic,” he growls, his face inches from yours. The bark digs into you through your jacket, his forearm pressing against your collarbone, pinning you there. His eyes are dark and furious. “You think this is a game? You think the world gives a shit if you stop to smell the goddamn flowers?”

Your chest heaves, but the words catch in your throat. He doesn’t let up, his grip firm, his presence overwhelming. The smell of leather and sweat clings to him, sharp and suffocating.

“I could’ve been anyone,” he snaps, his voice low and venomous. “You wander off like that again, and I won’t bother comin’ after you.” 

“I wasn’t—” you start, but his arm digs into your throat just enough to cut you off. You can taste the blood in your mouth from where you bit your tongue.

“First mistake,” he growls, leaning in close, his breath hot against your cheek. “Second mistake was not keeping your head on a swivel. Thought I taught you better than that.”

The air is thick with the taste of metal, your lungs screaming for a breath that doesn’t come. You can’t see much—everything is blurring, the world dimming at the edges. Your hands flail uselessly, but it’s useless. His arm is a vice, a wall you can’t scale, suffocating any defiance before it even starts.

“Joel, I—” The words catch in your throat, swallowed by the tightening of his arm, choking the air from your lungs.

“Gonna get us both killed,” his voice low, cold, like gravel scraping across exposed bone. “Maybe I should just end it for you now, one less mouth to feed. Do everyone a favor.”

The bite of his words cuts deeper than the grip on your throat. His eyes—those eyes—aren’t just cold anymore. They’re something else. Something dangerous. Like he’s weighing your life, watching the fear play across your face with a detached curiosity. A hunter deciding if he’ll kill his prey now or later. There’s something raw about the look. Something savage.

Just as the darkness starts to close in, when the world begins to slip away, he finally lets go. You gasp for breath, your chest heaving, but his eyes never leave you. They watch with a strange, detached satisfaction as the life slowly filters back into you.

It almost seemed like... he wanted it. Wanted to see you shatter. Wanted to know if you’d fight, claw, beg for your life.

He shoves himself off you, turning his back without a second glance like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just threaten to carve your life out with his own hands. You feel the burn of his grip still, the imprint of him on your neck, and the bruises linger long after he’s gone.

You rub the tender skin, the faint pulse of pain a reminder of how easily he could’ve ended it all. You don’t question him again. You don’t ask. You just do what you’re told, stay out of his path.

Of course, you begged Tommy to switch you out of Joel’s patrols and pair him with someone more capable of handling his... rage. Someone more his speed. But Tommy wouldn’t hear it. Said someone gentle was good for his brother. You never told him what happened in the woods. You didn’t speak of it ever again. 

There was something wrong with you recently—something in your head that didn’t quite fit anymore. Maybe it was the blow to the skull, that crack against the tree that left you gasping for breath. Whatever it was, it twisted you. Rewired you.

It was the dead of night, the kind of darkness that crept under your skin, suffocating in its silence. And there you were, hands searching places they shouldn’t. Fingers tracing a path down your body, touching with a desperation that was as violent as it was uncontrollable.

Your mind wandered to him—Joel. The way his body felt pressing into yours, the weight of him suffocating you, his heat seeping into your bones. His hands, rough and unforgiving, find your throat. He wasn’t gentle. Never was. It was slow, the pressure building, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe—until you didn’t want to. Every breath, a struggle, every second a rush of power, his dominance a dark, intoxicating force.

It wasn’t love. God, no. It was death. The kind that burned, that crawled under your skin, settling deep in places you shouldn’t let it. The type of death that made you burn in ways you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because you knew he could kill you and didn’t, and that made you feral. 

And then the release—the moment when everything shattered, your body betraying you, desperate and uncontrollable. Slick, burning heat on your fingers, streaking down your thighs, staining the sheets with every desperate, filthy inch of it.

But it didn’t matter. None of it did. Not the fantasy, not the sick thrill that came with it. All that mattered was the ache that lived inside you—an ache that would never be filled.

“You don’t sleep, you’re not in control, you’re not in control, then you’re dead,” Joel says, the words coming out like they’ve been chewed and spit out a hundred times. He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, his gaze fixed ahead, scanning the horizon with that hard, unblinking stare. The shadows under your eyes are deep, and he noticed without even so much as looking twice at you. 

The smell of damp earth rises around you, clinging to the cool spring air. The soft squelch of your horse’s hooves in the mud seems deafening like a beacon giving away your position. The morning sun filters through the canopy of budding trees, its warmth streaking the ground in golden patches. But it doesn’t reach you. There’s a chill in the air, one that creeps up your spine and settles at the base of your neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

Joel sways with the rhythm of the horse’s stride, just enough to betray the tightness in his every move—like a coil wound so damn tight, it might snap at the slightest touch. The tension’s crawling in his shoulders, the muscles under his shirt flexing with its weight. His fingers are locked around the reins, his knuckles pale, and his grip is so savage it’s a wonder they don’t snap in his hands. The leather groans under the strain.

And you—you can feel the sickness stirring in your gut, that sick, twisted hunger. You wanted to be those reins, wanted that grip on you so hard it’d leave marks, bruises you couldn’t hide. Something about the way he holds everything in like he's just waiting for something—anything—to break makes you want to be the thing that breaks him.

You notice then, suddenly, when Joel’s horse halts abruptly. The birds, which had been chattering just moments ago, have fallen silent. Their absence feels unnatural like something has swallowed their songs whole, leaving behind a silence so dense it presses against your ears.

Joel senses it, too. You can tell by the way he stiffens in the saddle, his back straightening ever so slightly. His horse stops, and you stop yours beside him. His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing beneath the uneven scruff of his beard. His eyes flicker toward the treeline, scanning the shadows, searching for something unseen. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, but his fingers drift toward his rifle anyway.

"Silent," he mutters; his voice is quiet but seems so loud in the space. 

You nod, gripping the reins tighter, though your palms are already damp with sweat. The weight of the quiet grows heavier. Every creak of your saddle and snort from your horse feels amplified, each sound bouncing back at you from the tangled trees.

It feels like eyes. Like something is watching, hidden just beyond the edges of your vision. The kind of feeling that prickles along your skin, primitive and raw, whispering to you that you’re being hunted.

You glance toward Joel, hoping for reassurance, for him to tell you this was another test, and you just failed. But his face is hard and carved from stone. He doesn’t look at you. His focus is ahead, unwavering.

Your heart slams against your ribs, a frantic, erratic beat that drowns out everything else. Fear and adrenaline twist together in your chest, cold and electric. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, just your mind playing tricks, but the feeling won’t leave. It’s real, as though the woods themselves are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing moves. Nothing happens. But its weight doesn’t lift.

So you press on, hooves sucking at the mud left behind by last night’s rain, each step dragging like the earth itself wants to swallow you whole.

The town comes into view in fragments—weathered rooftops tilting under the weight of age. It should be a relief, a sign that the unease crawling up your spine was just paranoia, but instead, the sight twists something in your gut. The houses are scattered and quiet, their windows hollowed out like staring eyes. Like every shadow has teeth.

A chill brushes the back of your neck, light as a whisper, and instinctively, you glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Only the trees swaying softly in the breeze, their leaves trembling against the stillness. But the feeling lingers—the prickle of being watched, the sense that something, or someone, is just out of sight.

Somewhere ahead, there’s a faint crack. Just a shift, subtle but sharp, like a twig snapping under a deliberate step. Then, a rustle. It’s soft, barely a sound, but it’s all wrong. 

And then you see them.

Four figures slip from the edge of a tattered home, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators testing the range of their prey. They melt out of the shadows one by one, their shapes cutting sharp and jagged against the soft spring light.

They don’t bother hiding. They don’t have to. The way they move—languid, assured—screams of dominance. Like they’ve been watching you for miles, circling just out of sight, waiting for this moment. One of them shifts slightly, armed with a glint of metal catching the sunlight. A dull machete. 

One man slinks forward, tall and skinny, a shotgun slung over one shoulder like an afterthought. Two of them circle around you like sharks that smell blood.

His face is filthy, streaked with layers of grime so thick it’s like the dirt has become part of his skin. The sun catches in the cracks of his skin, highlighting the deep, gnarled lines etched into his face like a map of pain and neglect. His eyes, though—they're the actual weapon.

They’re wide, bloodshot with a sheen of madness that makes the back of your throat tighten. There’s something feral about them—dark pits that seem to draw you in, colder than the death itself, slicing through you with a hunger that goes beyond survival. And the way he looks at you—like he’s already measured you up, already tasted your fear. Like he’s made his decision. You can almost feel its weight as if it were a decision carved in stone.

You’d heard of the people who resorted to cannibalism out here—sick, desperate souls that had been chewed raw by this world. But hearing about it and seeing it are two different things. You never imagined it would leave such a mark. His lips curl back, exposing broken teeth that make your stomach turn. You can’t help but notice the faint, sickening smell that follows them—something rancid, like the last remnants of human decency had rotted away years ago, leaving nothing but a shell.

They’re all scrawny, the bones in their faces jutting out sharply. But it’s the way they surround you. You can see the monster lurking beneath the skin, the beast that’s waited for too long to feed.

Joel’s hand drifts toward his revolver, the movement fluid, but he doesn’t draw it.

The man tilts his head, the hint of a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth to reveal broken teeth. “Told ya I heard somethin’,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes flick to you, lingering too long. “Didn’t think anyone’d be out this far. Lucky us.”

The others chuckle softly, a low, rumbling sound that ripples through the still air. 

“Got yourself a pretty little partner, huh?” the man continues, his gaze crawling over you. “What’s she good for? Bet she’s—”

Joel’s voice slices through the air, low and venomous, like a predator of his own. "Don’t."

"Don’t what? You gonna protect her, old man? You think you can still play hero?” The man bristles but doesn’t back down. Instead, he steps closer, his boots grinding against the dirt, dragging his posse with him. Your horses start to stir, their breaths heavy and sharp, restless under the growing pressure. They can sense it—everything about this feels wrong, off. You can feel it, too.

The world narrows until all you can hear is your pulse in your ears and the low, dangerous hum of Joel’s silence, the weight of his restraint. You could run. You could get away if you had to. But you don’t know if you can get through them without blood spilling. Without—

The man makes a cold, humorless sound. “Those are fine horses." He raises the barrel of the shotgun so it's pointed at you. Only you. 

“Off,” he spits, his voice low and rough as if he’s talking to a dog. He jerks his head toward the man next to Joel, who has his own rifle trained on him.

Your eyes flick to Joel, trying to read him, searching for any sign of what he might do. His gaze meets yours, but there’s nothing there. Just emptiness, like the void behind his eyes, swallowed everything that ever mattered. You swallow the knot in your throat, but it doesn’t help.

He dismounts slowly, his movements stiff, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him with each deliberate step. Below you, the men loom larger, their bony frames stretching unnaturally tall, like dead trees in the winter. Their faces are gaunt and hollow-eyed, stretching skin tight over bone. The shadows twist around them like something alive and hungry.

The man gestures with his gun, the barrel cutting through the air toward Joel. "Hands up," he orders, and you both do, watching as he takes Joel’s weapons.

Joel’s eyes flick up, but there’s no surprise. No fear. Just that cold, unwavering look that always sits behind his gaze. His mouth pulls into a thin, sardonic line.

“Big talker for a small guy like you,” Joel says, the words thick with disdain, a flicker of sarcasm that rings far too loud in the silence between them.

Your head snaps to Joel, disbelief flooding you. Why the hell would he say that? Did he want to die?

Before you can even react, the blow lands. It’s brutal—an unforgiving hit with the butt of the shotgun that sends Joel stumbling down, falling to his knees from the force. His cheekbone erupts in a burst of red, blood splattering like a twisted painting, dripping from his face in thick streaks. The sickening sound of metal meeting bone rings in your ears.

Joel grits his teeth, his breath ragged, a low groan of pain escaping his throat, but his eyes—they don’t waver. His gaze is locked onto the man with a quiet fury, like the blood running down his face doesn't matter. It’s just another fucking wound.

The man steps forward, his grin splitting his face, sharp and cruel. “You think you’re tough?” His voice is venomous, each word spat out like poison. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Joel spits on the man's feet, blood splattering against the cracked asphalt and his boots. 

“Take the horses,” he commands to the other two behind you, the two sneering and grabbing the horses by the reins. You watch them take them away, your heart sinking every step. 

”Please, we don’t want trouble.” you beg, trying to be the voice of reason here. Since Joel seemed incapable.

“Seems to me he’s already asked for it though,” 

“No—I swear, let us go; you can keep the horses,” you beg. 

"Shut the fuck up, or I’ll give you somethin’ to beg about." the man snaps, so close to your face you almost gag. 

Joel’s eyes flicker to you for a second, so quick it’s almost nothing. But it’s enough. There’s no word, no sign, just a flash of something desperate. He’s telling you to run. And you know it’s not a suggestion, it’s a fucking order.

When the other two men disappear into the distance, leaving you with the last two, Joel moves. He’s a blur of muscle and force, using their hesitation to slam one of the men into the other, the three of them falling to the ground with a sickening thud. The crack of bone, the wet sound of flesh hitting dirt— a sound you’ll never forget.

But you don’t think about that. You don’t think at all. The guilt claws at your insides like a poison, but the fear is worse. You run.

Tears burn down your cheeks, hot and shameful, but you don’t have time to care. You run, legs pumping, every muscle in your body screaming at you to stop, but your feet won’t obey. You charge through the mud, slipping and sliding, the cold air ripping at your lungs like shards of glass. Your chest burns with the effort, and you push yourself harder, faster, your body on fire.

But then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. Heavy, fast, closing in. Your heart thunders, adrenaline surging, and suddenly, you feel him—the wind knocked from your lungs as he tackles you down into the muck. You crash to the ground with a sickening thud, pain blooming through your body. Your head rattles against the dirt, your vision blurs, and for a second, all you can taste is blood.

Then his weight is on you.

“Be good— for me,” He says in the struggle. He’s grinning down at you, his breath hot, fetid, mixing with the smell of sweat and rot. His hands are everywhere, tearing at your clothes. The desperation in his grip, his hands slick with grime, slides over your skin like the feel of a predator’s teeth sinking into flesh. He doesn’t want to kill you first. No, he wants to break you.

The thought makes your stomach twist, bile rising in your throat, but you can’t let him win. Not this. Not ever.

“Fuck you!” You fight back, not with hesitation but with pure instinct. You headbutt him hard—your skull connects with his nose with a sickening crack. Pain explodes in your forehead, white-hot, blinding, but the blood that splatters across your face, his blood, makes you want to spit. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roars, hands coming up to clutch his face, and that’s when you see your chance.

Your fingers rake through the air, finding purchase in his eyes. His scream is feral, a guttural, panicked thing, and you push harder, gouging into the soft, vulnerable parts of him. He’s stronger than you—bigger, more powerful—but he’s not faster. You’re smaller, quicker, and you use it to your advantage, sliding beneath his grasp, slipping out of his grip, making him chase you.

“Get back here, you little fucking cunt!” You’re on your feet again, lungs burning with the effort, but your legs don’t want to carry you. Still, you fight. You turn, every ounce of strength pulling into your fist as it crashes into his throat. The force behind the punch is brutal. His Adam’s apple caves in with a sickening crunch, and he stumbles back, gasping, choking, bloody eyes wide with shock. He claws at his neck, gurgling, but it’s too late. You strike again and again until the fight leaves him entirely, and all that’s left is a ragged body collapsing into the dirt.

Your hands are slick with his blood, the crimson staining your skin, thick and tacky. It clings to you like a sickening reminder, seeping into every crack, every groove. Your whole body shakes—nerves on fire, muscles trembling from the raw, jagged shock of it all.

“Fuck,” You whisper to yourself. Your blood, hot and wet, trickles down from your forehead, coating your face and dripping into your eyes and mouth. The taste is iron and salt, foul and sharp. You spit, your teeth gritting, but it doesn’t help. It’s everywhere. It burns as it slides down your throat, coating your lips with something worse than just blood—something... savored.

The ringing in your ears grows louder, a high-pitched whine that drowns out the rest of the world. You stand there, trembling, staring at the mess you’ve made. Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms as your pulse hammers in your veins. Adrenaline’s a rush, a sick, sweet flood that courses through your body, making everything feel alive.

You felt the pain—raw and gnawing, a fire that burned through you. You felt the anger, deep and savage, boiling up from somewhere darker than you thought you knew. But underneath it all, in the twisted wreckage of your mind, there’s something else. Something ugly.

You felt... good.

Joel felt the pain radiate through his limbs, the ache setting in as the adrenaline wore off. His body throbbed, but that was nothing new. He'd earned every bruise, every wound. And the fight had been nothing but instinct. He'd killed the three raiders quickly, just like he always did. Their blood soaked into the earth, staining the ground beneath him with a crimson that could never be washed clean.

Gripping the machete by its handle, Joel shoved his boot against the skull of the nearest raider, pressing down hard. The sickening sound of bones cracking was almost comforting. He twisted the blade free from the man's head with a wet, sucking sound, his machete covered in blood and grey matter. The stench of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but Joel didn’t flinch. He wiped the blade off on the raider, the fabric catching a streak of viscera.

The horses whined quietly, tethered nearby. Their quiet snorts and twitching ears as they witnessed the carnage caused by Joel. 

Joel’s mind was already somewhere else, locked on the next threat. The raider who’d gone after you. His gut twisted with certainty—the bastard was still out there, lurking in the shadows, maybe covered in your blood. The thought didn’t churn up guilt, just a sour pit of dread. Dead or alive, you were his responsibility now. And if you didn’t make it back to Jackson, the blame would land squarely on him, just like everything else.

The machete felt heavy in his hand, slick and sticky from someone else’s blood. He followed the faint trail of footsteps stamped into the mud, his boots squelching with every step. Eyes scanning, ears straining for the faintest sound. A misplaced breath. The snap of a twig. He couldn’t afford to miss it.

Then he saw it. The churned-up earth where a fight had broken out, the mud streaked red. Blood, fresh and still shining in the sunlight. So much of it. Joel crouched, running his fingers through the dirt, smearing it between his fingers. You’d bled out fast or close to it. He shook his head, swallowing the bitter weight that came with the realization. Deadweight was heavier, and he could already feel it in his shoulders, the drag of carrying your lifeless body back to Jackson.

A pair of grooves marked where they’d hauled you away, your boots carving lines into the mud. Joel followed, his steps methodical, dropping the machete as he withdrew his pistol. The trail led to a house, and the door cracked open just enough to show the yawning black inside.

Joel stops short, his breath hitching, sharp as broken glass in his chest. The bastard was in there—waiting. He could feel it in his bones, a sixth sense honed. The tension pressed against him, thrumming like a live wire.

The rusted hinges scream as Joel nudges the door open, his pistol raised. Inside, the scent hits him like a punch—rotting wood, stagnant water, the sour tang of mildew baked into the walls. 

His boots scrape against the floor, the sound muffled by the filth beneath them, as his eyes follow the trail of blood. Dark and glistening, it streaks jagged lines further into the house, smearing the warped floorboards like a cruel breadcrumb trail.

And then he sees you.

His sharp inhale is reflexive—because, for a moment, you look like another corpse. There’s a wildness in your eyes that’s unrecognizable. You're crouched, your hands tangled in the dead raider's limp arms, dragging him inside. The body’s throat is mangled, caved in with such force that bone and cartilage poke jaggedly through torn flesh. 

Joel's grip loosens on his pistol, dropping his arm to his side. Your head snaps up at the sound, eyes blown wide like a cornered animal. Your chest heaves, breaths tearing out of you fast, and for a second, Joel can see the adrenaline surging through you—hot and primal. For a moment, all he can do is stare. Joel was confident you were dead. Hell, he’d been ready to write you off. But here you are, standing in front of him, smeared in gore like something dragged out of a nightmare.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless huff. “Well, I’ll be damned.” His voice is low, gravelly, but there’s a sliver of something in it—surprise, maybe, though it’s buried beneath the usual roughness.

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” Joel steps further into the room, holstering his pistol with a casualness that feels deliberate. Like he’s trying to downplay the moment. 

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t show a hint of surprise as he steps closer to the body, nudging the lifeless arm with the toe of his boot. His eyes flicker across the mess, his jaw tightening as he surveys the ruined throat—just another death. Just another moment. The cold, detached look in his eyes makes your stomach twist like he’s seen this so many times it doesn’t even register.

“Messy work,” he mutters, his voice flat, void of anything resembling emotion. “But it got the job done.”

You swallow, your throat tight with the residue of rage and disbelief. You don’t know why you say it—maybe it’s the blood, perhaps it’s the tension gnawing at your insides—but you find your voice rough and raw. “Thought you died.”

The words are a bitter mix of relief and frustration, still edged with that wild energy from the fight. The animal instinct that drove you to act.

Joel turns his back, scanning the room, his eyes taking in the sight of this abandoned house. It’s a shitty place to stow a corpse, but you did what you could.

“Can handle my own,” he mutters, and you want to roll your eyes. Of course, he could.

“That’s not what I mean,” Instead of replying, he crouches beside the body, pulling a knife from his belt and inspecting it before taking it. 

“Guess I should be grateful I don’t have to drag your ass back to town,” he says, the words more of an observation than a concern.

“That’s all you got to say? He’s dead.” You swallow, avoiding the body in the room, your eyes still on Joel. The blood on his face—on his hands—isn’t so different from your own, but his expression remains stone cold. You know he’s seen worse, lived through worse. To him, this is just another day. Just another body, just another death. But for you, it’s different.

It’s your first.

"You think feelin’ bad’s gonna bring ‘em back? Grow up. They were gonna kill us. Doesn’t matter either way. What’s done is done.” His tone is flat then, low and cold, and he adds, “Get used to it.”

And somehow, despite the weight of the horror pressing down on you, despite the reality of what you've just done settling into your bones, you can’t look away from Joel. Not now, not when he's standing there—bloodied, indifferent—and yet still so... there. His presence, his stoic stance, even with all that carnage around you, makes that sickness stir. 

“I’m not like you,” You say, trying to fight it. For a moment, there’s a flicker in Joel's dark eyes—maybe it’s annoyance, maybe it’s hatred. It’s gone in an instant.

“No. You’re not like me,” he growls, voice jagged. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in my shoes. You’re a goddamn fool. Draggin’ that body in here like you wanna die. Anyone could’ve cornered you. You must be real fuckin’ stupid. If it weren’t for me following your trail, you’d be a corpse already.” His tone bites deep like he’s daring you to argue with him.

"I didn’t drag him in here for fun. I did what I had to do." You narrow your eyes at him, voice cold now. "Maybe you're too old for this shit, but I’m still breathing, so I guess I’m doing something right.”

“Ya think you’re doing somethin’ right?” Joel steps closer. “You’re still here because I’m letting you breathe. Ya ain’t smart; you’re just lucky. Don’t get that twisted.”

“What, you gonna kill me? Do it, then.” you wager; the anger in you bubbles up, thick and heavy, like blood sputtering. You cross the room, shoving at his shoulders, but it’s useless. He’s like a goddamn rock—sturdy, too damn big, too hard for you to move.

“Know what, maybe you are like me,” he says as he studies your eyes.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you spit, pushing again, harder now, but it only makes him take a step back. He doesn’t even flinch. His eyes flicker with something like amusement, but there’s a darkness in them that makes your skin crawl. The gash on his cheekbone is still bleeding, slow and steady, and it churns something sick inside you.

So you push again, and this time, his hand snaps out to grab your wrists, his grip like iron. You don’t even have a chance to fight it. “Ya done yet?” he growls. His face is close now, the sweet smell of his sweat thick around him. 

His eyes bore into yours. His grip on your wrists tightens, bones creaking under the pressure, and he shoves you back against the wall with a thud that rattles your teeth. You barely have time to gasp before his hand clamps around your jaw, forcing your face upward and locking you into his stare.

He presses into you hard—every inch of him a dead weight, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His body is a cage, but it’s not just about dominance. This is a test. Another one of his twisted games.

There’s no escape, no help coming. Just him and the sick thrill in his eyes as he waits for you to snap. How far will you go before you claw, before you scream?

But you didn’t care anymore. Thoughts weren’t yours to hold—excessive blood, too much death. For once, the silence was the only thing that felt real. But even that was poisoned. You hated him. Joel. The way he made you feel small.

But the hate… it was thick, slow, like tar. It oozed between your legs, crawling until it reached places you never wanted it to. Making your pussy clench around nothing. Your body twisted in response, involuntary, as you arched your back, hips grinding into his in the chaos. You hoped that it would go unnoticed. But Joel noticed everything, down to the slightest shudder of breath.

And against your hip, you felt him heavy and hard through the worn denim, like a brand in your flesh. The weight of his cock is solid— and just a slight shift and you feel him stir behind the confines.

Your shock didn’t stand a chance against the gravity of the moment. But in this instance, there is no room for shame. No room for anything but the hunger, the violence, the inevitable collapse of everything you’d tried to be.

“Fucking filthy…look at you,” Joel growls, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. His hand that cages you brushes away the tangled strands of matted hair clinging to your face—strands that once might’ve been soft, now hardened by the soft pulse of blood still trickling from your head. 

Your eyes—those eyes—narrow at him, blazing with hatred, slits of fury cutting through the haze of the room. There’s no fear in them. Just rage.

“You like that?” Joel’s hand drops to the column of your throat, pressing hard enough to choke the breath from you. He leans into it, staggered breaths, each one trembling with the same anger that’s boiled over in every kill he’s made, every life he’s ended. 

“Like when I can fuckin’ feel your pathetic life in my hands?” His words hit like a slap, but they only made the gnawing emptiness inside you worsen. “No one’d notice if you didn’t come back.”

That dull ache deep in your core twisted, something dark and instinctive rising in response to the violent tension between you. You felt it low in your stomach, a heavy pull as your arousal pooled. Joel's face, the roughness in his eyes, stubble on his jaw, now covered in filth. It should’ve disgusted you. Should’ve made you pull away, retreat to whatever small semblance of dignity you had left. But you didn’t.

The pressure was a fire. It burned, it scorched, but it also made you want to dive deeper into the wreckage. The ache was something you couldn’t shake. It pulsed deep in you, and you wanted—needed—a way to release it. The anger, the fear. You wanted him just to feel the friction of all the ugliness between you two collide in some twisted outlet.

The world outside was cruel, and the one inside you wasn’t much better. So, you nod, and Joel’s eyes burn before narrowing. By your throat, he pushes you around the room, shoving you until you’re up against a dilapidated couch. 

“Am I wrong?” Joel questions darkly. 

“No,” you answer, and that satisfies him. His rushed hands find the waistband of your tight jeans and drag them down with your underwear. You’re completely exposed to him. And he is brutal, grabbing your shoulders, turning, and pushing you onto your knees on the cushions. Forearms against the head of the couch, you arch, pushing your bare ass against the front of his jeans. 

“No, what?”

“No, no one would miss me.” You can’t help it; you rub against the rough material, and you're already so wound up. It would only take a few more seconds, and you’d be coming all over the front of him. You were like a feral cat in heat, and you preened knowing he was watching you. Exposed, arching into him, rubbing your pussy until you were raw. 

“Knew it,” he rasps, his words dripping with grim satisfaction. “Pussy this wet? You’re just as fucked up as I am.”

“I’m not—” The words falter, sticking in your throat as his hand presses against the curve of your back. Rough, calloused fingers, stained with a violence that never washes clean.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’.” His voice is low, guttural, a growl pulled from the depths of something broken. “And I’ll let you have it.”

You flinch, squirming as his hand drags upward, slow and deliberate, the scrape of his palm a warning in itself. The grip tightens, tangling in your hair, pulling hard enough to sting. It forces your head back, exposing your throat.

“Fuck—I am, I’m fucked up… and I want it, please.” you plead, pulling against his grip on your hair to look at him with hooded eyes. Joel responds with the rustle of his jeans as he unzips and drags them down enough to pull his cock out. 

Joel can feel the blood rush to his head as he watches you beneath him. Begging for him, needing him— your wet lips parting with a sigh as you feel the fat head of his cock pushing against you. 

“Dirty little thing, turned on by fuckin’ death.” Joel breathes out, almost a gasp, as he runs the tips along your soaked folds. Joel hadn’t been fucked in ages, and your young tight cunt before him made his balls tighten. He didn’t know how long he’d last, but still, he slammed into you with one fell thrust. 

“I know ya can take it,” You cry out at the way he splits you with his cock, giving you no time to adjust to his length. You search for purchase with your hands, but the fabric of the couch disintegrates as you pull on it. So, you push back against him, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your cervix. A jolt of pleasure fuses with the pain as you feel his balls against your clit.  

“Joel—oh my god.” You whine, your skin overly sensitive. 

Joel fucks into you, the stain of blood on his hands as he clutches the flesh of your hips savagely. 

“Should fuck the innocence outta you for your own good.” Joel feels your pussy clench around his girthy cock—stretching you, filling you completely with each thrust. 

A pathetic cry slips from your lips as his hand tugs at your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, tightening their grip. He drags you closer, your back flush against his chest, the weight of him pressing against you as he thrusts into you. His fingers slip around your throat again, finding their hold with familiar, bruising ease.

“Said ya could take it, so shut the fuck up,” he threatens, squeezing at your throat. Your pussy swallows him, and every time he withdraws, she sucks him back in. 

"I can—I can take it," you murmur, a sigh slipping from your lips. Your head falls back slightly, lost in the haze of numbing pleasure, the world around you fading into the background. The sensation builds, all-consuming, and you find yourself craving more. "Faster," you breathe, the words slipping out before you even realize you’ve said them.

Joel wanted you to suffer, just as he did when he felt that knot in his stomach every time he looked at you. To endure the hurt, he squeezes your neck as he thinks about it. He wanted to give you pleasure, to completely control you, to ruin you. His cock spears you with wet squelches, your pussy gushing with how fucking wet you are. You completely drench him, the hair at the base of his cock now coated with your arousal. 

“Always makin’ too many mistakes, too fucking stupid—fuck.” Joel pounds into you now as if he were driving his point into you with every thrust. 

"I'll be better," you whisper, the words heavy with meaning, though you’re not sure if you believe them yourself.

"Not for you to decide." Joel huffs, a hot puff of air against your tender skin. His lips brush against the side of your neck, teeth grazing before sinking in. 

The pressure tightens in your stomach as his teeth sink deeper, his grip on your throat tightening with an almost suffocating certainty. The tip of his cock pushes and grazes the spongy spot inside you that intensifies your pleasure. Joel can feel it when you suffocate his cock as he rams into you sloppily.

You look down at the arm circled around you; the blood splatters like paint on his skin. You feel the sickness tangle inside you, but the feeling unravels more and more as he continues. Like Joel was the one who had planted this inside you, and he was the only one who could fuck it out. 

A throaty moan vibrates under Joel’s grip as the thoughts consume you. It eggs him on, your silent cries, your loss for words—and he chases his release selfishly. His fingers slide from your neck to your face, the pressure firm as he squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout.  

Your lips part instinctively, soft and eager, but Joel is quick—he twists your body in his grip, tilting your head back so that your mouths collide in a rough, open kiss. It’s sloppy, fervent—slick, so desperate. The heat of his mouth burns against yours, his tongue sweeping in to taste you, hot and hungry. The scrape of stubble on his jaw drags across your cheek. As he thrusts against you, his lips slide messily, reaching for you—again and again, leaving a trail of wetness behind. His teeth graze your bottom lip, pulling at it hard enough to draw blood.

The smell of his sweat overwhelms you, the weight of his body pressing against yours, and without warning, the tension snaps. Your walls tighten, pulse racing, and you feel every inch of him as your body reacts instinctively, urging him deeper. Pulsing, as if your pussy wanted—no needed to milk him inside you. It’s almost as if your body itself is begging for him, claiming him. The thought spins you into a daze, making you cry out his name, imagining him taking you completely. Your eyes roll back as your body loses itself, pliant under him, molded to his will. With a rough shove, he presses you down again, your arms against the couch.

Joel fucks your swollen pussy relentlessly until he’s on the verge of coming. His balls tighten, a warning he fights to suppress. Joel holds off, biting down on the need to release, but it doesn’t last. With a growl, he pulls out, gripping his cock as his hand pumps in quick, tight strokes. The surge hits hard, and he comes—hot, creamy spurts splattering against your bare skin. He paints you with thick, molten heat, groaning low, biting back the sound that follows as he watches you, chest heaving.

You pant, throat dry, your breath shallow and quick as a shudder rolls through you. Slowly, you twist your sore neck, casting a glance back at Joel. He’s a mess—blissed out, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, he’s completely still. No biting remark about how you could’ve done better. No gruff comment, no criticism. Just silence. It's not the kind that hangs heavy with something else, but it's a quiet one you almost don’t know how to read.

"Don’t be expectin’ anything from this.” His voice is gruff, as if the words were meant to warn you and distance yourself from him. Like you didn’t already do so. Watching him, he tucks himself back into his jeans, fixing his belt before straightening up with a quiet sigh. 

"You’re too old for this kind of shit anyway." You lie with a smirk, a tired but almost amused glint in your eyes. You pull your jeans over your ass once you clean yourself off, pulling your shirt down.

"Don’t get cute.” He grunts, his jaw tightening, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—exhaustion. 

“Scared I’ll make you feel somethin’?” you quip, standing from your kneel on the couch cushion. 

He shoots you a glance, his eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet edge, but his lips twitch—just slightly, a nearly imperceptible shift that betrays the bite in his words. “I ain’t scared of you. Just tired of your shit.”

You laugh softly, not backing down. “Sure, Joel. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

"Quit fuckin’ around, let’s go.” He replies, his movements stiff, like he’s already mentally moving on. You can hear his boots hitting the floor as he heads for the door, his back to you. 

He doesn’t need to say anything else. There’s no need to explain what just happened. No need for words. You know you’ll never speak of this—never speak of the violence and pleasure, of the heat between you, of the power his hands had when they were all over you. You’re too young, too naive, too goddamn full of life for someone like him. But he still finds you. Back in Jackson, he finds you when he wants, when he needs…

You know better than to expect anything more—this was what it was, nothing more. So, you mount the horse, the leather of the saddle creaking under your weight, and without another word, you both head back home. Bloody. Battered. And thoroughly fucked out.

Back to Jackson. Back to survival.

masterlist!

[tswhiisftteedr]

Hiya!! I was wondering if I could ask for some nsfw fem reader x husk (hazbin hotel) where husk basically just eating reader out, face sitting etc.

Also keep up the good writing!! I love your writing from what I’ve seen and i hope you do well with your other requests too!!

Don’t worry, I’m right here with you. ☆ Oneshot

Soft Dom!Husk x Sub!Hotel Resident!Fem!Reader:

After spending quite sometimes getting to know each other, you and husk finally begin dating. Anyways, today Lucifer came to the hotel for the first time and that was a super, but it wasn’t the main event of yours and husk’s days. So after an altercation with Alastor, husk seek solace in you for comfort, which you give, and he decides to thank you in his own special way for it.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, that scene where alastor uses husk soul chain and threatens him, Unspecified Vices, Mutual Pinning, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Soft Husk, Sorta Bad Written Comfort.

Words: 10567

Note: There is smut, BUT, beside the intro which is just suggestive, the smut will be at the end, so If you don’t want smut and just fluff you can just not read it. It’s the same with my last Zestial work, it’s like 3/4 sfw and 1/5 smut. Btw Antonio Esfandiar aka "The Magician" is a professional poker player and former professional magician, known for his elaborate chip tricks. That’s the only reason I mentioned him if you were curious about that lol.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Honestly, you had attempted to question how things had ended up like that—

“Ah, fuck, Husk, it's too much!” You cried out in overstimulation.

“Shh, it's okay, baby, I know you can handle it,” he reassured, softly stroking the underside of your right thigh to offer comfort.

— But truthfully, every train of thought you’d tried to start would derail quicker than the previous one. Without doubt, that man, Husk— he would be the end of you.

Yet, no need for worry as, I, your illustrious ‘historian,’ am here to recount the tale of how you found yourself in this predicament; as you're obviously too preoccupied getting your brains fucked out by Antonio Esfandiari over there to form any sort of recollection, or even a coherent thought for that matter.

Now, let’s backpedal four months ago, shall we?

You had been in the infernal realm for a little while, precisely half a year. You managed to secure a job and a place to stay, but ‘living’ down here was anything but easy.

To survive, you had to stretch your earnings, rationing food and water to make them last longer than they should, leaving you hungry more than once.

And when you were really desperate for cash—well, let's just say you had to resort to some unsavory means to get your hands on it.

Additionally, it had been a month since Princess Morningstar introduced her hotel to the public of the hell on 666 news. As expected, the masses of sinners inhabiting the pride ring ridiculed the princess and her redemption-themed endeavors.

Initially, the idea seemed far-fetched, as if redemption were truly an option — Why hadn't anybody else proposed it before?

That's what you and your friends had agreed upon when first watching the interview. But as time passed, you began to reconsider your friend group's shared consensus. Perhaps, just maybe, ‘redemption wasn't such a crazy concept after all.’

That's why you now found yourself standing in front of the princess's Hazbin Hotel, formerly known as Happy Hotel, nervous and with slightly sweaty palms.

Summoning all the courage you could muster, you knocked on the large, stained glass-filled windows, as ‘it was now or never’.

After waiting patiently for about five minutes, just as you were about to turn away—possibly never to return—as the building seemed vacant. The large doors swung open, revealing the princess herself standing before you.

"Um, is this the redemption hotel from the news?" you inquired, even though it was plain as day from the building's illuminated 'Hazbin Hotel' sign and the fact that the princess, the one who pitched the hotel on 666 news, was literally standing in front of you.

With the brightest and most joyful smile you'd seen down here, she opened her mouth to speak. "Oh mygod!Ohmygod!Ohmygod!Areyousomeonewho’sactuallyinterestedinthehotel???likeyougenuinelywanttotryandgiveredemptionashot???!!!Holyshit,thisisthehotel’sgreatestsinceSirPentioushasjoined!!!!" Princess Morningstar blurted out in a rush, as if she didn't deliver the information fast enough, you would leave.

As you tried to make sense of her rapid jumble of words—something about 'actually wanting to be redeemed' and someone named 'Sir Righteous' or was it 'Sir Delicious'?—you also noticed a crowd of individuals walking closer to the doors.

The group consisted of six people: A woman with an X over her eye, wielding an angelic weapon—'Delightful,' you sarcastically thought.

A grumpy tuxedo cat man with a red bow, his fur acting as some sort of substitute for his lack of shirt; he was also 'sort of handsome, y'know?'.

Then there was a snake man that screamed steampunk; he seemed sort of familiar, but you didn’t remember where you’d seen his slithery mug before.

There was also a tiny woman with one eye; she seemed full of energy and sorta stabby.

Then, second to last, we had—Unholy hell! It’s the porn actor Angel Dust! You remembered the princess mentioning him as a patron here, but you hadn’t expected to encounter him in the flesh and fur.

He seemed to notice the starstruck gaze in your eyes caused by his presence, so he shot you a wink. With a bit of internal fangirling along the way, you finally managed to get your heart rate to go back down.

You then shift your attention back to the rest of the crowd and notice the final person standing there, and HOLY SHIT, THE RADIO DEMON IS THERE—!

Your heart rate shoots back up, and you take a step back in fear, causing you to stumble over a pebble and fall on your ass. You curse yourself for being too engrossed in the sight of a celebrity to ignore the immense danger that is literally right there in front of you.

"Why, hello there, and who might you be, you wayward soul? It’s not often that we see sinners seeking out redemption." the Radio Demon inquired, accompanied by what you could only assume was his ‘iconic smile’.

You obviously didn’t know firsthand, as, for one, you hadn’t met the demon before, and for another, he was apparently in the sixth year and a half of his seven-year getaway when you manifested.

But you had heard the stories, and they were enough to make you absolutely petrified at the sight of that grin plastered on his face.

He seemed to rather enjoy your pitiful display, while you only grew more terrified.

“Oh no, are you okay? Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” The princess asked, breaking you away from your scared state and extending her hand.

With a bit of hesitation, you took it. “Uh, no. No, I’m okay, it was just a little fall.” you told her.

“Oh, okay, I’m glad it was nothing. Anyways, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, we are so glad to have you here!” She said as she began to lead you inside, and the others followed, each finding their place within the hotel;

The cat man heading to the bar, Angel Dust lounging on one of the couches, the little woman chasing bugs around, and both the radio demon and the spear-wielding woman following you and Charlie.

Once she had you comfortably seated on one of the lounge's couches, she began to introduce herself and everyone present. “Sooo, hi. I’m Charlie, the owner and founder of this hotel.”

“I think she already knows who you are, princess” the cat man interjected. “Oh, right,” she realized.

While all you could think upon hearing him speak was, 'Fuck. Even his voice is sexy.'

“Anywho, this is Alastor, our gracious facility manager.” Charlie said, pointing at the Radio Demon. “Your pleasure to meet.” he told you.

“And this is Vaggie, the co-founder and my girlfriend.” Charlie continued. Vaggie approached you, and you shook hands. “Nice to meet you.” she said. “Likewise.” you responded.

“Next up, we have Husk, our bartender, and Niffty, our cleaning staff.” she gestures towards the bar. “Nice to meet you.” Husk offers, while Niffty chimes in with a big, eccentric “Hello!”

“And lastly, we have our residents and your potential fellow guests if you decide to stay.” she adds with a slightly unsure chuckle. “Angel and Sir Pentious!”

“No offense, Charls, but the broad probably knew who I was, no need for an intro.” Angel quips teasingly before approaching you. “But anyways, it’s good to see a new face around here, so welcome, toots.” he says, extending his hand, which you shake. “Thanks for your hospitality.” you reply.

Feeling a little less on edge, you approach the final resident. “Sir Pentious, right? It’s nice to meet you.” you say, extending your hand. “Oh, no, darling, the pleasurrre izzz all mine.” he replies, shaking your hand. Just as you finish, you hear a small gasp from Charlie.

You turn to look at her, and she says apologetically, "I totally forgot to ask you for your name! I am so sorry for that." With a comforting smile, you tell her, "It’s no worries, really. I’m Y/N, Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you again, I guess."

“Nice to meet you again too, Y/N,” she says with a giggle. Then she adds, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what brought you to the hotel? I mean, what led you our way?”

“I saw your interview on 666 news with Katie Killjoy a month ago.” you tell her.

“Oh, you did? Um, did you see alllll of it?” Charlie asks, momentarily shocked and a little nervous afterward, but you understood why.

“If you’re talking about the fist fight and the news anchor on fire, yes, I did. It’s probably the thing most people remember from that news segment.” you answer her, confirming her assumptions.

“Oh, right.” Charlie says, a little embarrassed.

“Well, if you saw that, then why are you here? Are you trying to mock us in person?” Vaggie asks you, getting slightly defensive as the interview was not the best display of the hotel.

“No, nothing like that.” you reassure at first. Then you continue, “Well, actually, at first when I saw it on the news, I definitely laughed at the idea of a redemption hotel. So did my friends. Actually, I think everyone did. I heard from one of my imp friends that even in the other rings, people were making fun of it.” You say, deflating Charlie further and further with each word.

"But," you begin once more, bringing back some sort of hope to her,

"The more I thought about it, the less crazy stupid it all seemed. I mean, at first, I was like, 'If it's such a good idea, why didn't anyone think of it before?'.

Then, with more reflection, I realized that even if someone had pitched something like it before, there wouldn't be a big trace of it anyways.

I mean, you saw how people reacted when you presented it; it was made fun of and forgotten by most.

Also, considering the fact that the powerhouses of our ring profit from the fact that there are people down here to exploit, even if someone had the same idea and people to back them up, it would definitely have been shut down and covered up.

Because if people get redeemed and get out of hell, the big fishes don’t make as much profit anymore." You explain, and this seemed to reason with Charlie and the others around.

“Honestly, I think the only reason you don’t have people directly targeting you and your hotel is because you’re the princess. I mean, sure, people can make fun of you, but actually attacking you, well, that’s a no-go territory,” you add on.

And everyone, even Charlie, who seemed to like staying in the delusion that ‘in every demon there is a rainbow,’ couldn’t help but agree. If she wasn’t the princess, there was sure to be some people coming by and hurting everyone here, ‘just because.’

“Anyways, when I made peace with the concept, I thought, why not me when it came to redemption. I mean, sure, I did some unsavory things to end up down here, but I wasn’t some serial killer or sex trafficker either,” you explain further.

“Plus, I have all eternity, well, unless an exorcist’s blade or some Carmine weapon-wielding freak comes my way—“ you slightly deviate but remember to get back on track,

“Anyways, the point is if I can do whatever for ‘basically forever,’ why not give redemption a shot. I mean, worst-case scenario, I just avoid doing bad stuff for nothing, but at least that simultaneously keeps me out of trouble, so it’s not ‘that bad,’ you know?” You finish your explanation and look back at Charlie to see the immense joy in her eyes caused by someone actually taking a full interest in being part of her project.

“Well, I am so glad you think that way, Y/N. And the fact that you decided to come here even though your entourage still thinks, well, that the hotel is a joke, was very brave of you.

Also, just letting you know, as you may not be aware since it was not mentioned during the interview you watched, but here at the Hazbin Hotel, we offer free rooms, food, electricity, and if you're feeling like it, from time to time alcohol, though moderation is more than encouraged.” she informed.

“Well, that’s great. I mean, I didn’t really think about the fact that you may have asked for cash for staying here, but as it is some sort of a ‘nonprofit,’ it does make sense that you don’t.” you tell her in a relieved manner.

“Of course, we want to help people here. It wouldn’t be fair for us to ask money from our guests. Anyways, why don’t I go over what would be your weekly schedule, hotel-wise, as a resident, and then I can show you to your room?” she asked.

“That would be wonderful.” you tell her.

It had been a couple of weeks since you joined the hotel, and you would say that things have been going ‘alright.’

I mean, Charlie’s ‘activities’ were more often silly than not, but they didn’t necessarily do any harm. The hardest part was staying away from your vices—‘that was the real kicker’.

Which brings us to why you were currently seated on a bar stool, gradually drowning yourself in alcohol as Husk poured drink after drink at your request.

"You know, if you keep pushing away your vices but then return here every time instead, you're just fostering a dependence on booze," Husk cautioned, sliding your fifth Midori Sour over to you. "And when you finally have to cut out drinking altogether, you'll likely revert to your old habits. You're turning this ‘rehabilitation thing’ into a sort of yo-yo diet, if you ask me.”

You stared at the drink after finishing your previous one.

— You had first tasted something like it when you went out for your first legal drink at 21, asking for something sweet with a bit of a kick alcohol-wise.

The bartender had recommended it to you, then as you drank it, he went on a rant about how it was "made with Midori melon liqueur, lemon juice, and simple syrup" and that "It's sweet, refreshing, and has a medium alcoholic content" — the “perfect drink for you”.

He was good-looking, like the current bartender in front of you, so you had let him talk—just like you let Husk talk.

Sure, having spent a considerable amount of time down here and living well beyond his twenties, you could acknowledge that Husk did have some wisdom to himself.

However, there were moments — particularly when he embarked on his tangents about how "you won’t find your answers at the bottom of a bottle,"— then, you simply wanted to shut him up.

Whether it was by pointing out that while he might be correct in his assessment, he failed to offer real advice on how to find those answers. Saying shit like "don’t do that, there are better ways to deal with your issues" yet always neglecting to explain what those "other ways" might be — frankly, it was all quite frustrating.

But each time it occurred, you chose to keep your mouth shut to avoid any conflict. After all, from what you had observed, you genuinely liked Husk as a person and didn’t want any tension between the two of you.

Nevertheless, despite your growing frustration with the men, your mind couldn’t help but entertain the other option that would allow you to ‘catch the cat’s tongue’; wondering how quickly he would stop talking if you pressed your lips to his.

Yet, ultimately, it remained a mere fantasy, something confined to the realm of imagination, one never to enter reality. —

“Thanks, Husk,” was all you said as you took the glass and downed your goddamn Midori Sour.

Several hours had passed since your fifth drink, and more than one other had entered your system by now. You and Husk were now discussing on a more personal level.

“It’s all so weird, you know. It’s not like my soul is trapped in a contract like yours or Angel’s,” Husk’s face slightly winced at the reminder that he, in fact, didn’t own his own soul. However, he stayed quiet and let you talk without interjecting, as he respected you and you were pouring your heart out. “Yet, I can’t help but feel like it is,” you told him. “I try to be better, I really do, but it’s so, so hard not to do the bad things I’m not supposed to do when they all feel so fun and right to me in the moment. I mean, I do regret them afterward, but I keep wanting to do them anyway.”

You take a sip of your drink, and Husk follows suit. “You know, you would think the moment I feel the most trapped is right after I’ve done what I wasn’t supposed to,” you muse, contemplating the complexities of your situation. “I had my fun, and as I suffer the consequences, I feel encaged. But it’s not. It’s actually right before I even do it. I feel it in my whole body—a feeling that this is the only way for me, that I can never let go of this high.

No matter how hard I push myself to get better, to be better, I’m not really leaving the cage. I’m just pacing around in circles, pretending that the loop isn’t there and I’m actually getting away.

I just want to run, but I’m afraid that if I actually try, I’ll probably just hit my head against the cage’s bars,” you confess, tears of anxiety welling in your eyes as you begin to sniffle.

With that, Husk grabs your hand and begins to rub soothing circles on it with his thumb, offering comfort in his touch as he speaks up. “Listen, I can’t say that everything will be alright. That's bullshit, and that saying has always been bullshit, but it’s even more full of holes down here,” he pauses to take another sip of his drink, collecting his thoughts. “And I personally know firsthand how it feels to be where you are right now. And I mean it, even without the whole Alastor thing, though it is a big part of it.”

Pausing once more, then taking a big breath, “You know, I used to be an overlord once,” he reveals, capturing your attention even further. “Yeah, and it was nice to have that power. But when you’re dealing with souls while also being a gambler, the stakes are pretty high. And losing a few hands can be more than a little dangerous. So when you’re down on your luck, you turn to anything to keep you afloat, even making deals yourself.”

Husk continued his story, delving into his past life before he was sent to the underworld. “But even before that shit show, I had another for me up there. Back when I was alive, I was a magician, a pretty big one at that. But at some point, I got into booze. It wasn’t a big issue at first, but it soon spiraled out of control after some other bad choices.

You see, a buddy of mine, another magician, had a gig at Caesars Palace. Being the good friend he was, he invited me along to party with him after his show. And party we did. It was one wild night—we drank, got plastered, enjoyed the company of some lovely ladies and fellas, and, most importantly, we played games.

That night marked my first taste of gambling, and it was exhilarating. I decided to play it safe and not bet too much, but it turned out Lady Luck was on my side. I won big, about two thousand dollars, while only betting twenty bucks.”

Husk paused, reflecting on those memories. “After that, I couldn’t help but come back the next day. Call it beginner's luck or whatever, but I was on a roll. In the span of two weeks, I had made enough money to last me two lifetimes.

But back then, it didn’t satisfy me, and it still didn’t when I first got down here either. Anyways, even after hitting such a big jackpot, I didn’t stop. I actually stopped magic altogether and fully transitioned to being a full-time gambler.

And for a while, it worked. But money wasn’t the only thing I got greedy with.

The amount of alcohol became too much for my body to take, and one day, I just dropped dead. A cardiac arrest was all it took to end me, while at the time it happened, I was convinced I was on top of the world.

Then I ended up down here. So, after spending quite some time just drowning myself in alcohol, only to make my alcoholism worse, I sort of got back on my feet. I became powerful and an overlord, but you already know how that went.

The both times I thought I was indestructible were also the both times when I was the reason behind why I got destroyed.”

You took hold of Husk's hand back, no longer content to simply let him hold yours.

“So now, every time I'm about to take a swig or play a game, while I may be confident in my skills, I can't shake the feeling that if I wanted to seek something else out, a different career path or way of life, I just couldn’t — that I've already burned those bridges for myself for all of eternity.

I feel trapped by my own actions and technically am too, but the worst part is that I don’t know if I’ll ever break free. But you, as you said, still have your soul. So maybe, even if it feels insurmountable right now, you can find the key to your cage and finally step out of it. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, you can come by and try to find mine with me.”

Husk's way of speaking offered a different kind of comfort compared to Charlie's approach. Yet, it somehow brought you closure. It was honest and reliable, two things hard to find down here.

You gently squeeze his hand in a gesture of support before speaking up, "If I manage to find that key and finally step out of my cage, I promise you'll be the first person I’ll help find theirs, Husk." Your words are accompanied by a warm smile, which he reciprocates.

"Well, if you're the type to make empty promises, then I'm afraid to tell you but you're stuck with that one now, sweetheart. I'll hold you to it.” he teasingly responds, lightening the mood. "You wouldn't back out after giving a poor old soul like myself hope, now would you?"

"Never!" you assure him, the tears now long gone.

Following that evening, you and Husk grew closer, engaging in deeper conversations with each other than with the other residents.

It proved surprisingly effortless to open up to him once he shed his ‘old wise bartender’ persona. Despite the decades that separated you, both of you felt understood by the other.

Thus, when you began suggesting to Husk that you hang out together outside of the hotel, it didn't take much persuasion to get him on board. You believed it would be beneficial for him to step outside the confines of the hotel, considering it was in some part the physical manifestation entrapment.

Additionally, you planned to avoid places like casinos or bars to help both of you steer clear of your vices.

You envisioned a delightful day filled with laughter and happiness, far from anything that could potentially cause harm to either of you.

That's why you found yourselves in the fourth clothing store of the day. While you had picked up a few items from each previous store after some browsing, Husk had merely glanced around without finding anything to pique his interest.

As you perused the winter section, you stumbled upon the perfect ensemble: a charming white knitted skirt adorned with two small fluffy pompons, complemented by a matching top and a white bubble coat trimmed with fur.

Knowing you already had the perfect shoes to complete the look at home, you approached Husk with the outfit in hand.

"Soooo, what do you think of this one?" you inquired, prompting him to turn away from whatever had captured his attention to inspect your find.

"Hmm, well, it doesn't seem like it covers much. Are you sure you found it in the ‘winter section’? You'd probably freeze your ass off wearing that in the winter cold," he teased with a playful comment.

With an exaggerated sigh and a playful hip pop, you quip, "You just don’t understand, it's all about the 'aesthetic'," adding a fake tone of disdain that prompts both of you to burst into laughter at your absurdity.

Returning to a more serious tone, you inquire, "But really, aside from the fact that it's not exactly suitable for cold weather, what do you think of it?"

"Well, if we overlook the fact that you'd freeze solid walking outside in this, I have to admit the outfit is pretty nice. I think it would suit you," he replies earnestly before adding with a teasing voice, "and your aesthetic," eliciting more laughter from both of you.

You then notice something in his hands and ask, "Anywho, what do you have there?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a little trinket that caught my eye. I probably won't buy it, though," he says, showing you the item—a watch with a roulette pattern on it. It was a bit pricey, but not overly extravagant. It looked cute and suited him well.

"It looks really nice. It would suit you very nicely," you tell him, and he smiles sheepishly in response.

"You think so? Thanks. Well, I'm going to put it back. You seem to be done with this store, so I shouldn't keep it in my hands. Wouldn't want to walk out of the store with it without paying," he says, trying to act nonchalant, but it's obvious he's a bit disappointed.

As you consider his situation, you realize that the hotel doesn't really pay Husk to work there, and all the money he used to make was based on gambling.

By staying away from it, he's basically broke now. With that realization, you make up your mind;

"Oh, wait. If you're not going to buy it, you won't mind if I do," you tell him, the gears turning in your head.

"Oh, yeah, no problem," he says as he passes the watch in its box to you.

You then proceed to the checkout and pay your dues. You ask for a separate bag for the watch, which earns you a slightly confused glance from Husk, but you don't mind. As you step out of the store, you suggest going out for ice cream to finish your outing, and he has no problem with it.

As you both enjoy your dessert, you pause to retrieve the bag containing the watch. "Here, this is for you," you tell him, offering the gift.

"Gosh, Y/N, I can't accept that. It's a very nice gift and all, but I can't just take it for nothing. I really appreciate it, really, but I don't deserve it," he rambles to you. Before he could delve further into why he possibly 'didn't deserve it,' you stop him.

"Listen, Husk, it's no problem. I have the money, so it's no big deal for me. Plus, you've become a dear friend of mine by now. Is it that bad for me to want my friends to have nice things?" you ask him.

"No, but I don't think such pricey things should be handed out to anybody just because 'you have the money,'" he states.

"But Husk, you're not just anybody, you're someone dear to me, someone I care about. When I saw the watch, I could only picture it on your wrist. I bought that watch for you and you only.

Also, before you mention returns, that store has a no-return policy.

And lastly, if you feel that bad about it, telling yourself you don’t deserve it, which is not true, you’re a wonderful man who deserves to have nice things— anyways, I interjected, my point is if you feel bad just take it as; this is a gift from me to you, for spending the day shopping around with me even though you weren’t interested in the stores we were going to,” you tell him kindly. As you see him still hesitating, you add one more thing, “Also, you can just not keep it and sell it if you really don’t want it that badly.” That breaks him away from the self-loathing he was internally building.

“Of course not, I’m not going to sell it. It’s a gift from you, a very nice gift at that, and I would never think of selling it,” he tells you, a bit protective of the gift now, which is what you wanted.

“So, looks like you’re keeping it after all.” you tell him, noticing a slight pout on his face as he realizes his words, but then he playfully rolls his eyes and now has a grin on his face. ‘Looks like he has finally accepted the gift.’

"Anyway, thanks for the watch. I’ll make sure to start wearing it as soon as we get to the hotel.” he tells you with that charming smile of his.

"I told you it was no problem." you reply, your face mirroring his.

"Also, if you're comfortable with buying me watches out of the blue, does that mean you would be into being my full-time sugar mommy—" he jokes, which you quickly shut down with a "Not even in your dreams." making both of you laugh once more.

Hangouts like this one continued, ranging from outings to different venues like theaters and restaurants to engaging in activities at the hotel.

For instance, Husk took it upon himself to teach you poker once you mentioned your lack of knowledge in the game.

It was a fun experience, filled with laughter. Turns out, you were quite good at it, although never as skilled as Husk, which occasionally led to moments of rage on your part. However, these instances always ended in laughter.

Currently, you were enjoying a drink with both Husk and Angel at the lounge’s bar;

“You’d think with all that money, he would be able to buy prescription glasses that looked like his current sunglasses,” you commented after Angel mentioned his boss, Valentino's poor eyesight.

“That's what I said! Like, if you're going to be a horrible piece of shit who literally built his empire off being one, you could at least get custom glasses so you could stop looking like an absolute moron when you read or count money. He quite literally spent half an hour counting three bills! How ridiculous is that?” Angel exclaimed, his voice fluctuating in pitch due to the alcohol.

In fact, all of you were a bit tipsy. Each of you displayed it differently—Angel was very excitable and giggly, you felt more sleepy, inclined to lie down, and Husk was more tactile, currently holding one of your hands while using the other to pet your head between sips of his drink.

That last part finally seemed to dawn on Angel, and he couldn’t help but point it out to both of you.

“So, did y’all fuck?” The effeminate fellow inquired.

“What?” You and Husk asked simultaneously, both of you pulling away from each other, visibly flustered.

“I mean, you’ve been getting cozy since we sat down, and I get that you two are ‘friends,’” Angel sarcastically emphasized the word 'friends' with air quotes, “but honestly, every time we get together and drink, you two are always holding each other. Sure, you're not openly cuddling and all, but I can’t remember the last time you weren’t holding hands when drinking. So, I think it’s reasonable for me to ask if you two are fucking” Angel explained his logic, leaving both you and Husk to face the current situation.

Despite Husk initiating the physical contact himself and you allowing it, as well as both of you holding hands, neither of you were aware of how intimate your actions appeared until Angel mentioned it.

It seems somewhat unbelievable, but it’s true.

Neither of you were consciously planning it; your bodies simply expressed your subconscious desire to be close to each other without either of you realizing it.

“Um, no, we didn’t,” you tell Angel, your voice quieter than before out of embarrassment.

“Yeah, we haven’t done anything like that,” Husk admits, matching your tone. Usually, even when talking to Angel, who was a dear friend to both of you, Husk would be more closed off about the sexual or romantic aspect of his afterlife. But the alcohol and the close proximity to you—his comfort person—seemed to have helped him be more open.

Taking a gulp of his drink and finishing it, Angel then speaks up once more. “Then do y’all wanna hook up?” he asks nonchalantly, to which both of you reply with a simultaneous “Angel!”

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," he says, accompanied by a laugh. The conversation is dropped, yet both you and Husk couldn't help but still glance at one another throughout the night, sometimes even making eye contact, which left both of you further flustered.

After Angel's comment, the next few days between you and Husk were awkward as both of you became more aware of each other's thoughts.

Neither of you outright rejected the idea of sexual attraction, and to be honest, you both had a feeling that the other felt similarly when it came to romance.

It was just awkward to actually express it, so for about a week or so, you avoided each other.

But soon the awkward tension began to dissipate. You were just more aware of each other's and your own actions, so if someone did something that crossed the lines of just being friendly, both of you would be aware of it being intentional.

For example, just like now as Husk is teaching you how to play pool;

There's nothing wrong or inappropriate about teaching your friend pool. Even when your friend corrects your form, it's still an innocent action to help you enjoy the game further as you learn the proper way to play.

However, Husk didn’t just show you how to score and watched what you did then correct your flawed form.

No, no, no, Mr. Husk over there didn’t even bother showing you beforehand how to score. He just directly positioned himself behind you, grabbed your hands, and guided you to grab the cue stick, all the while softly whispering in your ear as he directed your movements, explaining what he was doing and how it affects gameplay.

As to why Husk became so bold after a week of avoiding each other, you weren’t sure. And truth be told, he was just tired of burying his feelings deep down to avoid ruining your friendship, especially now that he knew you felt the same way he did.

That day, when you first opened up about your struggles, he felt a deep connection to you.

And when you bought him the watch, it struck a chord with him. Although he wasn’t usually one to focus on material possessions, the fact that you had spent so much on him so effortlessly meant a lot.

Especially when you insisted on him keeping it, expressing that you wanted him to have something nice.

In that moment, he felt deeply cared for, his heart racing as you assured him he deserved it and that he was dear to you.

So today, he decided to take matters into his own hands. If he had misinterpreted your signals and you rejected him, at least he would have tried, rather than spending eternity wondering ‘what if?’

"Then you do it like this," he says as he guides your hands through the motion, and you score. "You’re doing so good.” he murmurs softly near your ear. You'd like to think about the fact that praise wasn't necessary since he was literally guiding your movements, but all you could think about now is; how nice it feels to be so close to Husk. The warmth of his body against yours, how good his voice sounded so close to your ear—it's overwhelming.

Feeling like you might lose yourself if you don't act, you release the pool cue and turn to face him. Well, by facing him, I mean doing so while nearly touching faces due to how close you were to begin with. It stuns both of you for a moment, but you refuse to back down.

Leaning against the pool table for support, you muster the courage to address Husk. "Husk, um, you're really close right now..." you start, but instead of moving away, he questions, "Do you not like it?"

Feeling even more nervous, you realize lying won't work. You couldn't keep up a falsehood when it would be so obviously untruthful, and you didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "No, I like it," you admit.

"Is that all you like?" he probes further, his boldness surprising you. Before you can formulate a response, he adds, "Because I not only like being this close to you, but I also absolutely adore you." simultaneously softly caressing your cheek.

You're left breathless, muttering a quiet "fuck.." because what else could you say in this moment, besides confessing the to the man you've been attracted to since day one of meeting each other and felled in love with only a couple of months into knowing him.

But before Husk could misinterpret your use of a swear as you not being into him, you summoned all your courage and spoke out, "I also like you, Husk. Like, a lot. I found you hot since I first saw you, and soon after, I started falling for you, it’s an ‘in love-type’ of like you."

"Shit," he exclaimed, covering his mouth in disbelief. "I've also found you attractive since day one, and I think I've been in love with you since you gave me that watch," he continued, lifting the arm wearing it to showcase it. "More specifically, how you were acting towards me when you did it."

You paused for a moment, unsure of what to do next. "So, what do you want to do now?" you asked him.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Right now, all I want is to be as close as possible to you, which is far from my usual way of behaving; I'm usually more planned and collected, but when I'm with you now, I feel like I've lost my compass. Yet instead of being anxious, I feel safe and comfortable. Isn't that weird?" he mused.

"I'm not sure if it is, but if it were, would it be weirder if I felt the same way?" you asked him, to which he chuckled.

"No, I don't think it would be weirder," he replied, his hand still resting on your cheek, which you leaned into it, almost resting your head's weight completely on it.

You gazed longingly at each other for about a minute or two until you broke the silence. "So, do you want to make out?" you asked, with ‘that’ slight goofiness in your voice that Husk had come to love.

"Fuck yeah!" Husk exclaimed, mirroring your tone of voice.

His hands transitioned from holding your face and the cue stick to one of them softly gripping your hair from the back of your head —pulling you in— while the other rested on the small of your back for support.

Then your lips finally connected:

As your lips met, you felt an explosion of passion and chemistry that you had never experienced before. Your heart raced, and your pulse pounded in your ears as your mouths danced.

You couldn't believe this was happening. Husk, the gruff and often apathetic demon you befriended, was kissing you with so much intensity and desire. It was as if all his pent-up emotions and feelings were released in that single moment.

His grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling you even closer to him, and you could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. You kissed hungrily like your (after)lives depended on it, your tongues entwining in a dance that made you shiver — especially the texture of your companion’s.

His tongue was in between one of a human and one of cat, it wasn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite actually. It did make you wonder how it would feel on other areas of your body. Also, something else to note was that he tasted like whiskey and smoke and honestly —you couldn't get enough.

Continuing on your movements, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting every inch of him. He groaned softly against your lips at that, breaking the kiss for a moment, and you could see the ‘need’ and ‘want’ in his eyes. They were filled with passion and affection, just like yours. He moved to kiss your jawline, trailing kisses down your neck, and you gasped softly, feeling his warm breath against your skin.

After a quick swipe at your collarbones, Husk's lips returned to yours, this time with even more fervor.

His kiss was deep and intense, as if he was trying to consume every part of you.

Your hands slid down his back, feeling his soft fur under your fingers. You could feel his muscles through it, and you loved the feeling. His hands shifted from the small of your back to my waist, pulling you closer to him, your bodies pressed tightly together.

The heat from your bodies mingled, creating an intoxicating warmth between you — a warmth you never wanted to ever quit.

As the intensity of the kiss lessened, your lips started to meet in smaller, delicate pecks. These little kisses were just as passionate as the previous ones, but they carried a different kind of emotion—endearment and love.

Each kiss was more intimate and loving than the last, sealing your connection in a way that words could never explain. Your hands still roamed each other, exploring, but with a gentleness to them.

Husk's hands moved from your waist to your sides, and you could feel his thumbs softly tracing circles on your waist. One of your hand still rested on his back, stroking softly, feeling every muscle, while the other was somewhat on his shoulder.

Finally, breaking the sweet pecks, you pulled away slightly, both panting and slightly out of breath. Your eyes locked, filled with a feelings so profound it was evident you had fallen hard for each other.

Husk gently grabbed the hand that was in his shoulder, pressing it to his lips with a soft kiss. His gaze met yours once again, and you could see the love and adoration shining in his eyes.

"You're so beautiful." Husk whispered, reaching out and gently cupping your face once more.

"Thanks, Husk. You're quite handsome yourself," you tell him with a smile. Then you add, "Anywho, does that mean we're dating now?"

"I'd like that, if you'll have me," he responds.

"There isn't anybody else I'd rather be with." you assure him.

After placing one last kiss on your lips, Husk says, "Same here."

It had been around two weeks since your mutual confession of feelings. Initially, you attempted to keep things low-key by staying in your separate rooms.

However, the amount of time spent together and the display of affection made it evident to everyone in the hotel that you were now a couple.

So, after just a week of attempting to maintain the facade, you both gave up and you moved into Husk's room.

Fast forward to today, the morning had been bustling with preparations for the arrival of Charlie's father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, after she received a call from him.

You pitched in with baking cookies and tidying up, alongside the other residents, to ensure the hotel looked presentable.

Unfortunately, given the hotel's initial state, it wasn't entirely surprising when the chandelier unexpectedly crashed from the ceiling.

What did caught you off guard was the sudden musical performance by the King of Hell, which Alastor swiftly joined, leading to an impromptu song battle between them. Though, the outcome remained undecided, as the duel was interrupted by Mimzy —apparently one of Alastor’s acquaintance— as she introduced herself.

Later down the road, after bothering your boyfriend at the bar, calling him ‘whiskers’, etc., Mimzy then engaged Angel, Pentious, and you in conversation about Alastor and her relationship with him.

But you found yourself more focused on your boyfriend slipping away than on her anecdotes. Consequently, instead of remaining there to listen to her babble, you decided to discreetly follow your boyfriend.

And now, you found yourself hiding around the corner, eavesdropping on the ongoing conversations;

"So once we have proof of redemption as possible, this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into heaven. We just need a little more time to prove it," you overhear Charlie say, but the voices grow distant, making it hard to catch the rest.

What you do clearly hear is a "Hey boss" from Husk, followed by a questioning hum from Alastor. Then Husk adds, "Can I have a word?"

"What is it?" Alastor responds.

"You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs something, that bitch is trouble. And who knows what kind of demon she fucked with to come running into you this time." Husk points out.

"It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry, Husker. Who in their right mind would cross me?" Alastor replies.

"I mean, you've been gone a while, and it's not like anybody knows why," Husk states.

"They don't need to know, and don't you worry your fuzzy head about it," Alastor dismisses.

"You may own my soul, but I ain’t your pet," Husk asserts.

Following a giggle, Alastor tells Husk, "But you are."

You're about to jump out to defend Husk, but after husk retorted with “Big talk for someone who is also on a leash.“, the atmosphere shifts, with lights flickering, leaving you petrified, especially after hearing a threatening "What did you say?"

You hear the sounds of chains and a thud, and you can only assume Alastor has dragged Husk to the floor.

"Nothing, I, um," your heart sinks at the panic in his voice, but it drops deeper once you hear Alastor's venomous words: "If you ever say that again, I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to question me."

Husk lets out a very quiet "Understood," and Alastor replies, "Lovely," then some subdued show tunes music starts playing, then Alastor added a "Good talk, my good man. Always nice to catch up."

After the radio demon's steps fade into silence, you finally step out of your hiding spot and rush to a trembling Husk on the floor. The first thing you do is give him a tight hug and whisper softly, "It’s going to be okay, baby. I’m here with you, Husk."

In that moment, you feel a plethora of emotions—concern and worry for Husk, fear because of Alastor, and guilt due to the fact you had stayed hidden while Husk faced Alastor alone, which makes you feel really shitty. But before guilt can consume you, you focus on getting Husk to somewhere secured, like your shared room. Once he's in a safe place, you can apologize.

With your help, Husk manages to stand up, but he's still too shaken up to walk alone. You guide him to the room, and once inside, you help him onto the bed, both of you holding each other tightly.

You softly stroked the back of his head while placing gentle kisses on his forehead. As you do, you can hear him slightly sniffle, holding back tears. It's obvious he's scared, and it's completely understandable.

You kiss his closed eyelids, and finally, the dam broke. He buries his face into your chest, and by the sounds and the wet feeling of your top, you can tell he's crying. He usually handles Alastor’s antics well, but having his soul threatened like that was just too much for him. You squeeze him tighter, whispering sweet nothings and comforting words.

“You’re going to be okay. I know it was terrifying, what you had to face. It would be for anyone. But it’s going to be okay,” you assure him, stroking his fur. Then you speak out once more, “I am so, so sorry, my love. I should have faced him with you, but I was too much of a coward to do so, so I just stayed hidden.” you apologize, and for the first time since burying himself in your chest, Husk peeks his head out. His face looks puffy from the tears, but what stands out is the empathetic look in his eyes.

“It’s… it’s okay, Y/N. Alastor—that guy, he’s terrifying. I don’t blame you for not jumping in when he got all crazy like that.” he reassures, but you can't rid yourself of the remorse.

“But I should have! That's my duty as your partner, to stand by you! What if he had snapped, and… and,” you say, strong but full of guilt. As you reach the last part, you start to stutter as thoughts rush into your head, and quieter you say, “and he had acted out on those threats.”

As Husk listened to you apologize, he couldn't help but pull you closer, his heart aching for the pain you knew you felt. His fingers traced gently along your soft skin, trying to soothe the distress within you. "Y/N, it's alright... I understand why you didn't intervene," He whispered, trying to make you feel better. His gaze fell upon your damp eyes, and he felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. "Alastor has a way of intimidating even the strongest of us, and you're no exception."

"I've been dealing with him for years, and it's taken a toll on me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t expect you do anything in that moment, it would have potentially put you in harms way if you did. But know this, I appreciate that you came to comfort me when I needed it most." He could feel your heart pounding against his, and he held you tighter, hoping to ease your anxiety.

"I won’t get into that creepy smiling freak’s way, so he won’t do anything to me, I promise," Husk added, offering a small smile.

As you and him embraced, you felt your hearts beat in sync. Your love for each other was strong, and you knew that together, you could weather any storm.

"Mm, I guess you’re right, Husk," you said softly, your hand stroking his back in a comforting motion. "Despite my guilt, I know we’re both doing the best we can, and I'll always support you no matter what." Your words filled him with a sense of security, knowing that you were there for him through thick and thin.

"I'm glad we're in this together," he replied, his tone soft and grateful. "Even if I wasn't there for you when you needed me today, remember that I'll always have your back, no matter what Alastor throws your and our way." You tell him.

Slowly, you began to ease the tension between us by changing the subject. "Hey, do you remember that time we went to that haunted carnival in the outskirts of Hell for one of Charlie’s activity? And we got stuck on that horribly broken down Ferris wheel?" you chuckled, thinking back to the ridiculous adventure we embarked on. "We were both terrified, but we laughed our asses off, eventually.”

As he recalled the haunted carnival adventure, a soft smile formed on his face, and you couldn't help but join in his laughter. "Oh, that was a nightmare! The way we clung to each other while trying to escape that damned Ferris wheel, and we still ended up covered in cotton candy," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I thought we'd never make it out alive."

"And don't forget about the ghostly fortune teller who told us we would be together forever," he added, giggling. "I mean, look at us now – ‘living’ proof that she was right!"

Your shared memories brought a warmth to your hearts, and tou continued to laugh about your past misadventures, pushing away the shadows of your current worries. Together, you found solace in the lightness of laughter and the strength of your bond. As you reminisced, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his heart overflowing with gratitude for this moment.

"You know, Y/N," he said, my voice warm and filled with love, "I wouldn't want to face any challenge with anyone else by my side.”

The warmth of his words washed over you, and he knew that he wanted to show you how much he appreciated your unwavering support. Leaning in, he whispered softly, "I'm glad you were here to comfort me. To show my appreciation, I want to give you something in return – a little treat for being there when I needed it most."

“Husk, baby, you know I didn’t do it for a reward.” You argue

“But I want to.” He tells you, with a look full of passion, his eyes drifted lower, taking in the sight of your delicate shorts, and he knew what he wanted to do next. And that made you weak, and you sorta blanked.

Gently, he untangled the fabric from your legs, revealing your soft, inviting skin. "Please, let me make you feel loved and appreciated too," he said, his voice low and full of desire.

As he next removed your underwear, he could feel your protests beginning to fade under the intensity of my gaze. With a determined smile, he leaned in close, pressing his lips to your skin. "I want to reward you, Y/N," he explained, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh. "Let me show you how much your support means to me."

Husk, typically recognized for his gruff exterior, revealed a tender side as he concentrated on satisfying you. His lips delicately trailed along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, eliciting shivers down your spine.

Understanding the necessity of getting your mind off things if you wanted to get better —as dwelling only exacerbates the pain— he found solace in showering his beloved girlfriend with feelings of desire and appreciation. In his view, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, serving to uplift both of your spirits, a win-win per say;

Gently, folding your legs and pushing on your thighs to stabilize you, Husk then parted your folds with his free hand, his eyes locked on the sight before him. He took a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent, which only intensified his desire. With a purposeful hunger, he removed his hand and opted to substitute it with his tongue.

He leaned in and licked you, his tongue exploring every inch of your folds, the sensation was supreme, especially with that unusual tongue of his. As the wet muscle adventures further in your nether’s, its odd texture only becomes more pleasurable.

Especially when he would suck at your clit and let the tip of his tongue dance around it as he did. Every stroke, every caress; they spoke volumes of his appreciation for your unwavering support.

Your breath hitched as pleasure slowlybegin to build into something bigger. The intensity of Husk's actions were overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan in response.

"Husk, I..." you murmured, uncertain if you should continue, your voice trembling with a mix of lust, love, and ‘the obvious fact that he was making you feel too good to speak normally’. But before you could protest or anything like that, he silenced you with another expert stroke of his tongue, his eyes meeting yours with determination and love.

As Husk continued to pleasure you, he knew his actions were doing more than just giving you physical gratification; they were conveying his appreciation for your presence in his life—and that sentiment was mutually understood. And he loved that he could do it that way and you would both comprehend it.

Bringing back his hand into the mix , his skilled fingers—carefully used not to scratch you— and tongue worked in harmony, driving you towards a climax that mirrored the depth of his feelings. Your moans grew louder, filling the room with the sound of your pleasure, and he couldn’t help but relish in ‘those lovely noises of yours’.

With a final flick of his tongue, Husk drew you to the edge, your body arching in response. "That's it, baby" he whispered, his voice low and seductive, yet still comforting. "Let go for me, let me see you shine."

In that moment, you surrendered to the sensations coursing through you, your body trembling and your last scream of pleasure echoing in the room. Husk watched as you reached your peak, his heart swelling with pride…

As you begin to come down from your high but not quite over it yet, Husk couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful state your real ease had caused. His heart continued to race as he regained steady breathing after momentarily being out of air while devouring you, he couldn’t help but want to experience it again. Softly, he lifted your legs and placed them on his shoulders, giving himself better access to your glistening hole and folds.

“Wait, husk I-“ you begin after realizing the change in position but you were promptly cut off as husk begin to lap at your essence directly from the source.

"You deserve this, my love," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. "I want to make you feel good, as much as you've made me feel supported."

With renewed vigor, Husk dove in once more, his tongue tracing familiar paths and exploring new ones. Your breath jiggered, and your back arched as he took you on another sensual journey that started in overstimulation. His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, taking full control—you couldn’t run even if you want to.

He aims directly at your weak spot, and way he was sucking at your clit was just driving you absolutely mad. You gripped at his head, still unsure if you wanted to pull him away or bring him closer. He was precise and targeting but there was some hungry sloppiness to his technique.

As your second climax approached, Husk could feel your body tense, and he knew that he was about to witness something truly beautiful once more. Your cries of pleasure grew louder, and just as promised, the way your body convulsed and your face contorted was marvellous, what was not expected but still welcome was the fact that you had squirted, causing your arousal to coat his face and chest.

His eyes widened in awe, and he couldn't help but smirk at the sight. "Damn, you're something else." he said, his voice filled with want but also a little teasing tone to it.

Even as you settled back onto the bed flat, Husk couldn't shake off the image of squirting. His eyes locked on your glistening skin, and he knew that he wanted to see it again. His hand travel to your face, thumb brushing lips sensually, a longing look in his eyes "One more, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "I want to taste you again and see that beauty of yours unfold once more."

With a hunger that rivalled the one he had when bringing you to your first two climaxes, Husk dove in for the third time, his tongue seeking out your sensitive spots.

He craved the taste of your essence, the sound of your cries, and the sight of your strong release. You soon begin to trembled beneath him, quicker than previously but it was understandable, two orgasm in a row was about to make extra sensitive.

“Ah, fuck, Husk, it's too much!” You cried out in overstimulation.

“Shh, it's okay, baby, I know you can handle it,” he reassured, softly stroking the underside of your right thigh to offer comfort before getting his strong grip back on it.

As Husk continued to stimulate you, drawing you closer to nirvana, you found yourself liberated from all worries. In that moment, there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

As your third orgasm of the night peaked, you let out a final cry, your body convulsing with overwhelming euphoria. Once more, you squirted, coating Husk's face with your essence. This time, however, he caught most of your fluid in his moth and swallowed them, and the drops that didn’t make, he licked them off of you, his eyes close for an instances as he savoured your liquid arousal, then his eyes locked back on you.

"Oh, Husk," you breathed, your voice ragged with pleasure and emotion. "That was incredible."

He wiped the remaining droplets from his face with a satisfied grin and licked at it to make sure he gotten everything, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, his voice filled with love and satisfaction.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, Husk pulled you into his arms, his heart beating in his chest. Regaining back some of your sense, this scenery confused you a bit:

“What about you?” You inquired as he had yet to get release himself.

“Honestly the emotions and the time I spent between those sexy thighs of yours got me to tired to want anything more than to cuddle you right now.” he admired with a tired smile, which made giggle.

Your bodies still entwined, Husk leaned in and pressed his lips gently against yours. The kiss was soft, filled with love and appreciation, and it left you both feeling even more connected than before. Right here and there, you knew that despite the challenges you faced further down the road, you were in this together.

Slowly, Husk wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you felt safe and loved in his arms. "Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "The cuddling, reassuring words, and this; they really help me calm down and feel better. I know I can rely on you when you do these things, and I strongly hope you can on me."

You nestled your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Of course I do, and don’t forget—I'll always be here for you, Husk," you promised, your voice filled with reassurance. "No matter what comes our way, I'll have your back, just like you do for me."

As the two cuddled and basking in the afterglow of your shared euphoria, you knew that your bond had grown stronger. Nothing could bother the two of you right now—except perhaps the fact that you would have to get up to bathe and change the sheets soon, but that was a problem for the ‘30 minutes to one hour future yous.’

Thanks anons for requesting!

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Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

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[psycheetamore]

Feyd-Rautha oneshots - up to date overview

Link to pinned overview post

18 March 2025

One-shots (with summaries) categorised as follows:

Feyd-Rautha the hunter

Feyd-Rautha the teacher

Feyd-Rautha the leader

Feyd-Rautha the romantic

Feyd-Rautha the family man

Feyd-Rautha the playboy

Feyd-Rautha the human

Other

MDNI / Mind the tags - smut & gore heavy

Feyd-Rautha the hunter

A final dance part 1 / answer to question on song

Unable to do anything else, you watch Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen dance. Eerie, as if mimicking humanity. Shadows carve his perfect, lethal form, while his movements are hypnotic, controlled and unnatural. This isn’t indulgence; it’s preparation, as if his body is taken over by an alien being. While the music fades, his trance shatters, allowing his predatory eyes to lock onto you. The dance is over, making place for the final hunt. Inspired by this little dance from Babygirl.

Desert game, or when the hunter becomes the hunted

Our lord encounters a Fremen warrior, and she will not leave his mind. After she has an intimate encounter with him, he hunts her down.

Another escape, another hunt

Our lord has managed to get his Fremen prey into his palace. But she will not succumb to his desires so easily, even if her body wishes to do so. How he loves his game.

Feyd-Rautha the teacher

Piercing through invisible armour

Our lord not only wants to catch his game physically, but also mentally. And he still needs to clarify what the exact relations/hierarchy is on his planet.

Oral lessons by our benevolent lord na-Baron

After our lord has succesfully catched his prey, he now gets his reward. Being the benevolent leader that he is, he will teach his new pet how to accommodate him best.

Feyd-Rautha's benevolent teachings for his favourite soldier

You are the favourite concubine of the na-Baron. After a gruelling day of battle on Arrakis, he wanted to wind down. But one of his most prized soldiers, Ivan, had again saved his life, granting him one wish to be fulfilled. And again, he chose to have you, or in any case tried to do that. The young lord tried to settle with offering entry to his annual underground rave, and one of his other concubines, not wanting to share you again. But Ivan was not having any of it. Where initially the men started to quarrel over you, it ended with them examining who could fuck you best.

Punish me (part 1 of 3) – learning how to succumb to Feyd-Rautha’s process of redemption / Punish Me (part 2 of 3) - Feyd-Rautha’s lessons for virgins / Punish me (part 3 of 3) - the story on how you became one of Feyd-Rautha’s concubines / post note 1 / post note 2 / AITA question

You, a young Fremen woman, have not adhered to tradition. As punishment, your tribe sends you off to seek penance with Arrakis governor Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Since his rulership started, he has been all too happy to take the role to help redeem Fremen, as it has allowed him to create a symbiosis with the local population (and also sooth his own urges). Not really knowing what to expect, but having heard some stories relayed, you decide to follow through, in the hope of being accepted by your tribe again. But the process of redemption does not go as anticipated, not being kept as a mere slave for manual work. The na-Baron has taken interest in you, and decides to see how far he can push you, break you and rebuild you to his own corrupted liking through manipulation and deprivation. Split in 3 chapters as it got too long.

Feyd-Rautha the leader

His, or how Feyd-Rautha will protect those loyal to him

You are a concubine of the youngest uncle of the na-Baron, but those days are count as you catch the eye of the young lord. Although you are visited several times by a man, you are initially oblivious by which man exactly (just imagine the emotions when finding out…). His uncles will not accept this change of ownership without a fight with their nephew. Or: how you become a pawn in the rise of Feyd-Rautha to Baron, with loyalty (which you though secretly) pledged by exchanging bodily fluids.

Sharing his most precious darling

Feyd's trainer saves his life in battle, allowing him to request everything from the young lord. He requests you, the favourite concubine of the na-Baron himself. After a brawl, his fighter gets you for a night. Despite Feyd's acceptance of this settlement, he seeks to overturn it, only to be convinced by you to join both of you, rather than fight. 

Feyd-Rautha the romantic

Never gonna give you up - two piece

You have sacrificed yourself to protect your family, offering to become a concubine for the Harkonnen family after your parents refuse the Baron’s demands for their spice refineries. You are taken to an isolated, luxurious stone-carved apartment, hidden in a gorge on Giedi Prime, unaware that the man behind your capture is Feyd-Rautha, the Baron’s manipulative nephew. He has orchestrated this to keep you hidden and safe, intending to deceive even the Baron about your fate.

Never gonna give you up - part 1 - collab with @austinbutlerslovers Being a play on the classic story of Eros et Psyche, you are visited by Feyd-Rautha in the nightly darkness, and kept from truly knowing his identity. To protect his identity, the na-Baron even lies to you, by tricking you into believing he is the Beast Glossu Rabban. Over many nights, through long conversations and immersive intimacy (put to paper by the skillful fingers of none else than the famed @austinbutlerslovers), you develop love for this man, who turns out to be vulnerable and layered. The exact reason why you were not to learn about his true name: nobody can know he has this side to him. Yet, you continue to struggle with the limitations of your confinement, causing you to take the one step that will destroy everything you have created here with the na-Baron. Never gonna give you up - part 2 - collab with @austinbutlerslovers As your relationship deepenes (expressed through physical encounters flowing from the experienced fingers of @austinbutlerslovers), your desire to see your visitor grows even faster. Until you cannot contain yourself, and learn the true identity of your Harkonnen lover, causing everything to crash down. Not willing to abandon him, you are forced to endure trials designed to have you fail, that test and grow your strength, cunningness and resolution. Cleaning the sands of the Giedi Prime arena soaked in blood by the na-Baron, removing your family's sign from your body and carving the Harkonnen sigil into your own flesh [macabre / very gore heavy].  You refuse to acknowledge defeat, unbeknownst to you, helped by Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen who has received his own humiliating punishment. Until it accumulated into a single, unbreakable vow: I was never going to give you up.

How Feyd-Rautha learned to love an idle embrace 

After being forced into the employ of the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his covert smuggling operations, you quickly rose through the ranks due to your exceptional skills and intelligence. Despite your initial resistance, you found yourself in his bed, providing warmth and companionship during the cold nights of Giedi Prime. However, Feyd-Rautha's manipulative nature led to a betrayal of your trust, causing a rift between you. You refuse to share his bed, causing him to fall into a spiral of sleep deprivation. How the fallout from his betrayal, your subsequent punishment of him, and the first tentative steps towards his redemption, cause him to cherish an idle embrace rather than to take more as you decide to grace him with moisture after drought.

Feyd-Rautha the family man

Scarring Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen into matrimony

After securing a coerced marriage to Khalida, a formidable Fremen leader, Feyd-Rautha awakens, covered in scars. Wounds she inflicted as proof that their union is not just political but a showcase of survival and hardship. Bound by Fremen customs, Khalida forces him through a rite of passage: a fortnight of endurance where pain and pleasure determine his worth. Feyd-Rautha, believing he can control her, quickly realizes she is playing him instead, drawing him into a battle of strength where suffering is the price of acceptance. In surrendering to the pain, he loses himself, only to be saved by his new wife.

Cleansing of the soul - part 1

Our lord Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has managed to entice his Fremen pet, but this has not gone unnoticed by his brother, who - after having lost Arrakis to Feyd - wants revenge. How better to get revenge, than to snag the favourite pet of his baby brother, esp. if Feyd is not watching.

Cleansing of the soul - part 2

Glossu Rabban failed to capture the pet of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and now needs to repent for his crimes. The question is whether his brother will save him. Weirdly, Feyd is the fluffy one here, sort of, although he has zero respect for family ties

Feyd-Rautha the playboy

Three piece on a Giedi Prime Party

Feyd-Rautha has been enraptured by the fearless Fremen leader (f) while fighting on Arrakis. After she decided not to kill him, he has managed to capture her as he decided to make her his. After some initial struggles on both sides (as he understands she will never truly become his if he forces her), she is starting to be more comfortable in his presence, and is rising in Giedi Prime ranks. He is set on unlocking parts of her she did not know existed, and showing her everything (... this is as suggestive as you can interpret it - see the tags) his planet has to offer.

Preparing for a Giedi Prime Party Kinktober/Fangtober for day 3 (ejaculation) / teasing, vaginal everything (f in v, t in v, p in v), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, power dynamics, domination (m), implied non-consensual drug use, dubious consent, spoilers, and of course: ejaculation New territories at a Giedi Prime Party Kinktober/Fangtober for day 3 (ejaculation) (and a bit for day 4, bondage, 8 (submission) and day 28, exhibitionism) / pandemonium/drug laced orgy, play in public, bondage/submission (but it is not like anyone can truly keep our lord submitted), multiple orgasms, attention to feet, power dynamics, domination (m and f), dubious consent yet explicit consent, spoilers, and of course: ejaculation An encore after a Giedi Prime Party - claiming her entirely Kinktober/Fangtober for day 3 (ejaculation) / teasing, focus on anal (f in a, p in a), also vaginal (f in v, p in v) and oral (f receiving), Feyd's hattrick (claiming 3 places with his black cum on 1 day), multiple orgasms, sensitive and careful Feyd, dubious consent yet explicit consent, spoilers, and of course: ejaculation

Feyd-Rautha the human

Feyd's humanness

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen craves pain and humiliation. A headcanon on what happened during the gom jabbar test of Feyd-Rautha. What occurred between the young lord and Margot. 100% Feyd PoV. non-con/rape, pain, self-harm, angst, power imbalance, breeding, humiliation, a weird form of praise

Alienating Austin

Austin Butler’s transformation into the imposing na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was meant to be a prime example of method acting. However, the thin line between actor and character starts to blur. A punishing preparation consisting of a physical metamorphosis combined with intense psychological preparations through immersing in the books and relentless coaching of director Denis Villeneuve, start to strip Austin of his identity. The essence of Feyd-Rautha vests itself inside the heart, mind and body of Austin. His warm smile and disarming presence making place for cold, calculated power. How far will Austin allow to lose himself against the alien force that Feyd-Rautha is, in the name of art?

Other

Don't touch his blanket

No plot only smut, dominant Austin, some bondage, some spanking, smelling panties, toys (for V and A), repaying naughtiness by cuming, talkative Austin, cock-denying Austin, masturbating Austin, suggestion of after-care

Link to pinned overview post

[localaceken]

Ninjago DR S2 Part 2 thoughts, spoilers ahead.

First few episodes were...rough.

- Rody was kinda annoying at first, but I grew to like him as the episodes went on. I'm glad Wildfire found someone to match her Freak. I like that he is geniunely into her too.

- I can't believe Bolobo fucking died lmao rip in piss.

Nero, Chamille and Shade cameos were nice. I like that Tox and Mr.Pale actually had dialouge AND WE FINALLY SAW WHAT MR.P LOOKS LIKE YES.

Ily Geo <3 The Goblinnnnnnnn

Zeatrix was annoying lmao I get why Beatrix hated her ass

Otherwise liked all the new elemental powers and masters introduced. [I can hear Legacyverse screaming already. Rip.]

[Elemental Master of Balance is a thing...welp. There goes the 'Riyu will become the Source Dragon of Balance' theory I suppose]

- I really hoped they would do more with Jay, not only because he's my fave but he could have been more. I think revealing his identity and making him lose his first round immediately was a mistake. Also the teams reactions to him??? Being there??? HELLO?!?! HES BEEN LOST FOR YEARS!?!?! AND YALL ARE LIKE "oh hey Jay is here."!?!? YALL ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FAMILY?!?!?!?@?@?@ BROTHERS?!?!?!?!

Istfg only Nya actually gives a shit about Jay at this point.

Sigh...at least his voice is deeper now...it was kinda getting annoying how high pitched it became over the years...

Being a Jay fan is suffering.

[Anyways, go read Lightning Pin by @taddymason for peak DR Jay content.]

- I like that Ras had no idea what was going on with Nokt and I like that The Forbidden Five, mostly Nokt, and Ras ancestors had something going on [the something was hating eachother, probably]

Kinda not buying Ras' whole 'unmerging the realms' thing though.

Also what the fuck is up with Cinder and immediately betraying Ras lmao bootlicker behavior.

I'm glad Jordana made it out and Sora realized. Well. Everything. I hope we get to see her again so she can get a proper redemption arc.

- I'm loving Arin's arc so far. He's not evil. He's morally grey at this point. I would be too if I was in his shoes. He just wants to find his parents, but he always had to put ninja business up first, but decided that enough is enough and he will find his parents, without the ninja.

I wouldn't be surprised if he and Ras try to manipulate eachother next season. It would be fun to watch. [Bonus points if Ras backstory and redemption. Pls. I want tiger dad]

Welp. This is it for now I guess, feel free to ask about my opinions on specific stuff.

7/10 Good season. Could have done much more on certain places but still a good and entertaining watch.

[especiallyhaytham]

The Mystery of Hope and Gist in Rogue

So, here's the backstory. I always thought it was odd how Hope Jensen's character design is so... Victorian. No, actually. As someone mildly versed in Georgian fashion, her clothes are quite literally from another time, and she looks nothing like the other characters in the game. It's such an anomaly, not to mention ugly (subjectively), and it's bothered me for years.

First of all, I happily recognize that Assassin's Creed is allowed to take liberties with fashion history. In any historical entertainment piece, there's usually a few good reasons why the clothing isn't 100% accurate. I also recognize that certain design choices might be made to convey a character's personality, which is a whole other kind of analysis that isn't going to be relevant here. We're purely talking about the physical style components from now on.

While Ubisoft can sometimes go a little crazy with character designs, they aren't in the habit of bouncing completely off-the-wall. They do know the rules, and they know how and when to break them. Many of the designs in Assassin's Creed are actually quite clever in how they play with fashion history. Connor's look seems inspired by military uniforms. Shay is clearly partial to greatcoats. If it was possible to be "sensibly Rococo", Haytham is.

But Hope is another story. Her dress isn't a well-researched artistic interpretation of the 1750s; her silhouette is from another century. Puffed sleeves absolutely do not belong here, and neither does that frilly brooch or layered nightmare skirt. Nothing about her evokes Colonial New England, except for her lace cuffed sleeves (it should be said, that's the only part of her outfit that I like). She looks far more like a Frankenstein amalgamation of the late 1800s.

At first I thought this might just be some weird one-off on the developers' part, since Assassin's Creed doesn't have the best track record visually designing female characters compared to male ones (Like Élise? Not as diabolically out-of-place as Hope, but still pretty bad). But then recently, I found myself taking a good look at Christopher Gist. "What in the world?" I thought. "There's another one?"

His design is also very oddly Victorian. The waistcoat is what tipped me off, since pinstripes and decorative lapels were very much not a thing during this time. Lapels hardly existed at all in the 1700s, and only ever functionally (essentially an extra piece of fabric on your coat that could be pinned back in summer and buttoned up when it got cold), and pinstripes didn't first appear until much later, during the Victorian era. Perhaps Gist stands out a bit less than Hope, since his hat, cravat, and overcoat are pretty ambiguous when he's standing next to other 18th-century characters, but alone he looks like he'd be more at home in Red Dead Redemption.

So now there are not one, but two Victorian characters in a game that takes place over a hundred years before. Now I'm thinking that it's likely that they both came from the same source. The funniest thought I had was that maybe there was a junior developer who was really into Victorian fashion, and with the time and budget constraints, no one bothered to revise the designs. A less entertaining explanation is that maybe they were scrapped characters from Syndicate, which would have been in early development stages at this time.

Syndicate is the most plausible explanation, but at the same time Gist and Hope don't strike me as "Victorian England". I really don't know enough about 19th-century fashion to say for sure, but after making the comparison to RDR, they certainly seem to be leaning more American Western. It is the same time period, but styles varied slightly across the continents.

After doing some research, I found a game published by Ubisoft in 2013 titled Call of Juarez: Gunslinger, which is set in *drumroll* the Old American West. Considering Rogue was released only a year later, as well as Rogue being infamous for borrowing so much from Black Flag, I would not be surprised if assets from other projects also found their way into the game.

The thing though, is that Call of Juarez was not directly developed by Ubisoft, while Rogue was, and I don't know how feasible it is that they would share assets. Again, maybe they were stolen from Syndicate, since I can't pinpoint any part of their designs that would say otherwise (other than Gist generally looking like a cowboy). A third explanation is that perhaps Ubisoft was developing their own Assassin's Creed Western game which was scrapped early, though I haven't found anything solid on this.

It's a mystery that we can't really solve without directly speaking to someone who was on development (which believe me, I have so many questions about Rogue I would sell my soul to interview someone). But in lieu of that, even though I can't parse over every single detail, I think I've come up with some reasonable speculations. If you're like me and ever wondered why Hope and Gist look the way they do, hopefully now you know a little bit more.

[thatgayoctopus]

Wrote a quick thingy about Otto dealing with Chronic Pain from the accident!! This takes place during his redemption arc, just before or at the very beginning of the goblin war arc.

1.1k words, no warnings as far as I'm aware.

Enjory!

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

Otto had hoped that once those wretched mechanical arms were detached from his body, that would be the end of it. The knee pain, the cramping, the aching that the odd distribution of weight caused. That heavy piece of machinery was stuck to him for months on end. By the time he used the power of the neural cortex to separate it from him, he’d grown sick of only being able to lie on his side and stomach, constantly standing with a shifting center of balance, not to mention the way the melted metal tugged on his skin where the mechanism was fused to his back and neck. Now it was months later. He’d been through a lot since then: trapped in a robot, spending time as Spider-man, remaining comatose for several days after returning Peter's body, turning a new page and trying his best to fight on the side of “good.” 

Now he sat sulking in the Spider’s nest like usual, however when normally he would be fiddling with some of his or Spider-man’s gear, he was instead resting his head on the counter, face buried in his crossed arms, and biting back the pain in his lower body. The sharp throbbing originated in his back and spread down through his legs, flaring up on days where he was more physically active. He mumbled a quiet curse under his breath, remembering how he’d worked on the new surveillance center longer than he knew he should’ve. He was so distracted by the shooting pain and his own thoughts that he hadn’t really registered when the door to the lab opened, and a familiar set of footsteps made their way into the main room.

“Otto? Are you here?”

Anna Maria’s voice called out near the front as she switched on a light. Otto, who had originally turned them off to help fight his growing headache, let out a complaining groan, squeezing his eyes shut. While he normally relished her company, he was… rather embarrassed to be in such a state, not to mention unable to socialize properly with the looming threat of a migraine. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you in the dark. You alright, slick?” She set down her purse as she approached him, tentatively setting a concerned hand on his upper back. He flinched slightly, letting out a hiss of pain when he moved, and struggled to relax once more afterwards.

“Y- yes, I am just fine Anna Maria, thank you…” He lied, voice obviously strained and laced with irritation. He would much rather blatantly deny the truth than admit defeat to something he’d been putting up with for months now. Anna Maria eyed him skeptically, taking her hand off his back after noticing his uncomfortable reaction.

“Really..? You don’t seem to be doing too well. Is something wrong?” She leaned over the counter, tilting her head to try and get a look at his face. He refused to reciprocate, sensing her presence there and turning his head away just slightly, nose buried in the crook of his elbow.

“No, Anna Maria. I am fine.” He warned, shifting in his seat slightly to try and dispel the pins and needles feeling in his legs. She pursed her lips, furrowing her brow. 

“I don’t believe you. Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re feeling okay, then I’ll leave you alone.” Crossing her arms, she waited expectantly for a response from the young man, who’d fallen silent. He finally heaved out a sigh, sitting up slowly with a look of pain drawn tight across his face. He refused to look her in the eye as he quietly spoke.

“... I am simply dealing with some… joint pain. That is all.” Otto’s gaze remained trained to one of his many projects on the counter nearest him, distracting himself as he crossed his arms and leaned back. Despite his desperate attempt to look casual and unaffected by the woman’s commanding presence, he still sat stiffly and winced with each miniscule twist and lean of his torso. Her face softened when she could see his expressions, and while she would never say it out loud, she was proud of the way she managed to make him open up so consistently. 

“Seems pretty intense for your average aches and pains. Can you tell me what's wrong…? I might be able to help.” She asked gently, reaching up and putting a hand on his forearm. He finally looked her way, glancing between her hand and her eyes as he debated on whether or not he should be honest. Eventually he caved with an indignant growl, rolling his eyes. 

“I have been dealing with this pain since I first had my mechanical arms fused to my nervous system. Apparently having several kilograms permanently attached to your back for a year is not beneficial for your skeletal structure.” He gave a rushed, sarcastic answer, as per usual when he was upset about whatever situation he currently found himself in. It's funny, as much as Anna Maria felt she understood Otto, she often forgot about his criminal past, and had never stopped to think about the physical effect it may have had on him. 

“Have you seen a doctor about it?” She asked, tilting her head.

“You know as well as I how sick of hospitals I have become… not to mention-” he cut himself off before entering his usual spiel about “medical professionals” being clueless dolts, since Anna Maria had already scolded him on that sentiment. She'd made him aware that when he felt powerless his first instinct was to blame everyone else for their shortcomings, and now any time he resorted to that mentality he noticed right away, attempting to redirect as per her instruction. He eyed Anna Maria, carefully resuming his sentence after restructuring the thoughts in his head.

“... Not to mention I have deduced that the injury and associated pain is not severe, as well as easily avoidable.” He finished cautiously.

She scoffed, a little dumbfounded by his belittlement of the situation.

“Not severe? Otto, you can't even stand up. Please take this seriously. I won't make you go to the doctor, I suppose, but I'll be damned if I don't do anything at all to help. Excuse my language. What can I do to help?”

“Anna Maria, I don't-”

“What can I do to help, Otto?"

She repeated, much more insistently. He pressed his mouth into a line, chewing on his lips as he regarded her. His eyes lowered, and he drew in a hesitant breath.

“... I keep a few ice packs in the freezer. You will find them in the room adjacent to this one.” He finally mumbled, giving up trying to fight her. She gave a content smile, and patted his arm appreciatively, if not a little smugly. 

“Thank you, Otto. Would you like some painkillers?” He went quiet, refusing to give her more ammunition against him. 

“Otto.” She restated sternly, to which he grumbled with frustration. 

“... Third cabinet from the right.”

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 36 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: As Aemond learns, the road to redemption has a toll that will cost him the ultimate price. Word Count: 7343 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of child neglect and violence amongst kids, an unnecessary amount of bird puns.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by V6que pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I'm worried Aemond may be a little bit ooc here, just cause he talks a lot in this chapter at length. But it's also a bit of a unique scenario, so idk.

There was a storm passing through King’s Landing, so loud and powerful that the cavernous Throne Room echoed with the sound of the pitter-patter of raindrops drilling the roof and the windows behind the Iron Throne. It was empty this time of the night, dark with only the soft distant orange glow of the braziers that weren’t powerful enough to chase out the shadows.

Aemond stood before the Iron Throne, the sharp spires of swords that melded together casted shadows over his face, right over his left eye. His left eye, which now was gone, and all that was left was a gaping hole that he was told to stuff with cotton to avoid it from festering. The pain was dulled down with dreamwine, but he could still feel pin-pricks along the ridges of the slash down his brow and cheek. 

All his life, the Iron Throne appeared like an impossible dream, something that he was not destined for at all. Sure, he imagined himself sitting upon it, much like how many others imagined themselves on it as well. Though Aemond understood the impossibility of this dream, even as a Targaryen Prince, even as the second born son of the King, there was no way for him to reach the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra was its intended, and then after her, Jacaerys. And if Jacaerys had no heirs, it would pass to the undeserving Lucerys, and then Joffrey and then, if rumour was true, Rhaenyra and Daemon’s newborn son. Aemond was so far down the list of heirs, that it almost seemed like an act of masochism for him to even daydream about it.

Then there was Aegon, his mother’s heir. There was always the possibility of usurpation, even Aemond was aware of this at a younger age. Otto made it abundantly clear he wanted Aegon to swoop in and take the crown when Viserys inevitably passes. His health wasn’t getting any better, even though Maester Orwyle apparently was testing out new methods to reduce the decay. 

Aegon was wholefully undeserving of this responsibility, constantly dragging his feet about it for as long as Aemond remembered. The idea of him marrying Helaena repulsed Aegon, and he often emphasized how little he had in common with her, how weird she was. Their mother, wanting to change the dynamics between them, had Aegon spend more and more time with Helaena against his will in hopes to change that, even by a fraction. 

Aemond couldn’t help but lament that he would’ve made a far better candidate to marry Helaena, and to be his mother’s heir. Especially now when he had made a great sacrifice to be more than worthy of the title. An eye for a dragon… And not just any dragon, but a Conqueror’s dragon; the largest and oldest dragon in the world. 

The idea of marriage though, even to Helaena, stirred something uncomfortable in his stomach. A feeling that he had tried and sometimes successfully pushed aside and ignored. How long had it been? Six years? No, it was more, possibly seven. Aemond was turning seventeen soon, a man grown. And yet whenever those intrusive memories came creeping up on him, he felt like a child again; scared and nauseous and filled with an unwanted feeling of regret.

Another intrusive memory invaded his mind as he gazed up at the Iron Throne. One of her.

She stood at this very same spot next to him, a mischievous little glint in her eye as she turned to him with a smirk. 

“We should sit on it,” She told him conspiratorially. 

Aemond looked at her shocked, but slightly amused, “Are you mad?”

“A little,” she grinned cheekily, but rolled her eyes at his hesitancy. “C’mon, no one is around to see.”

“The Throne see’s,” Aemond pointed out.

She fixed him with a deadpan stare, “The Throne isn’t a person, Aem.”

He grins despite himself, shaking his head, “Obviously, no. But it’s said that the Throne cuts anyone who sits on it and is unworthy.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, “Is that so?” Before Aemond could say anything, she was already climbing up the dangerous stairs up the dais that led to the royal seat. 

Aemond’s eyes flashed wide, “What are you doing?!” He tried to grab on the back of her dress to stop her, but it was too late, she was settling onto the Iron Throne like it was just any old armchair. 

She placed her hands on the armrest and adjusted herself in the seat, eyes darting around as she contemplated sitting there, on the greatest seat in the world. Aemond eyed her with almost eagerness and trepidation that they might be caught. He even looked over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. 

When he turned back towards her, his eyes bounced from her face to the Throne itself, “Well? How does it feel?”

“Uncomfortable,” she shifts in her spot again, “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Uncomfortable,” Aemond repeats dryly, his head tilting. “You’re sitting on the Iron Throne, a chair made out of swords, and you’re complaining it’s uncomfortable.” 

“They really ought to throw some furs on. Your poor frail father has to sit on this thing? Gods…” She shifted again, this time moving flush to the side to give more room. Lifting her hand, she gave a pat on the empty spot she made, “Come, join me and feel for yourself.”

Aemond was hesitant, but also excited. He climbed up the stairs carefully, and turned to sit down, squishing himself between the armrest and her side. Once he settled, Aemond looked around the Throne Room with a new perspective; he could feel the power emanating from beneath him, from the swords of fallen kings, lords and soldiers during the Conquest. But, more overwhelmingly was the heat radiating off of her body pressed against his side. 

The Throne hadn’t cut Aemond then, nor had it cut her. 

Shaking his head, Aemond rid himself of the bittersweet memory, his attention focused on the presently vacant Iron Throne in front of him. His fingers curled into his palms as his muscles became taut with determination, with desire and ambition. He strode up the dais, climbing up the narrow stairs of iron swords until he made it to his destination. The young prince turned around and slowly descended onto the Throne, his back slowly rested against the regal back and his posture relaxed as he eased himself into it. 

This… This right here, it felt right. It felt like he was–

“Fuck–” Aemond hissed as he sharply retracted his hand from the arm rest. He looked down at his pointer finger, seeing a red slice going down the digit from one knuckle to the next. 

The room was so silent, you could hear a fly fart. Valeana’s eyes flickered between her parents to Shyla several times. Every once in a while she would share a look with her brothers and even Floris. Breaking fast began late that morning, since everyone was predictably reluctant to face Bartimos Celtigar’s wrath. Shyla, however, seemed fearless in her unconvincing innocent pretense, acting as if she had not been caught with Prince Daeron balls deep in her at all. 

Ursula shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clearing her throat as she pushed around her food on her plate. “We will have to take a trip into the city for more fabric,” She spoke, breaking the deadly silence with her gentle, placating voice. “I did not factor in a wedding gown when I packed the fabrics we have.”

Shyla beamed, the mention of shopping for her wedding lighting her up like kerosene soaked brazier, “I would like a beautiful lavender dress, mother! To match Daeron’s eyes.” 

The mere mention of the offending prince’s name causes Bartimos’ eye to twitch. 

“As long as it isn’t white,” Arthor muttered, making Valeana choke back a giggle when she took a sip of her juice. 

Bartimos shot them both a sharp glare, instantly wiping the smirks off their faces. 

“You will wear what I choose, Shyla,” Ursula sighed as she picked up her tea. When Shyla made a noise to protest, the older woman gave her a sharp glare of her own, instantly shutting the girl up. 

There was a brief moment of heavy silence before Floris ended it by clearing her throat, thus bringing everyone’s attention to her. 

“We may as well buy extra fabric, Mother. For a second wedding dress.”

Valeana paused midway with a spoonful of porridge, the utensil hovering just above her tongue. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as everyone looked at her with equal parts surprise and mortification. 

Floris gave a loud scoff, “Not Valeana. Me.”

“You, dear?” Ursula asked, just as bewildered as she was skeptical. Blinking widely at her eldest daughter, she looked over at Bartimos, who seemed to be in the same state as she was. 

“I–” Barty cleared his throat, battling with his shock and the residual anger from earlier. “I was unaware you had a suitor.”

“Wel, I do,” Floris prickled under everyone’s skeptical tones, her face heating up at her cheeks and ears. 

Valeana leaned back into her chair, looking around the room as if searching for something or someone. When her attention returned to the table, she gestured in a short circle in front of her as she asked, “Is this a suitor… We can see?” 

Arthur made a noise that was a cross between a sputter and a snort of laughter, but he quickly covered it up by slapping his hand over his mouth. Then, Valeana felt Clement smack her with the back of his hand underneath the table, followed by his pointed look of disapproval.

Floris bristled; feathers ruffling like a disgruntled pelican. Her eyes were wide and heated as she fixed her eagle-like glare onto her step-sister. “He is very much real, I assure you. And he is a lord of a noble and ancient house,” Her beak-like nose raised haughtily as she turned towards their parents.

Ursula’s eyes were still wide with skepticism as she tried to digest this new information like it was a chunk of very dry steak.

“Well… That is wonderful news, dear, but…” She shared a look with her husband. “We were unaware that you were even courting anyone.” 

“Yes, you’ll have to excuse our shock, Floris. We just haven’t seen you with any suitors since we arrived,” Bartimos added, his voice carefully controlled as if he was treading through lands unknown.

Floris clearly did not like the incredulous reaction she was getting. She was hoping – no, expecting – excitement and elation, not dubiety.

“Yes, well that is because my lord is a man who prefers subtlety and values his privacy,” She defended, her hackles still raised. 

Clement – bless him – cleared his throat and tried to at least sound engaged and supportive. “He sounds like quite the mysterious character. If he treats you right, sister, then I am happy for you.”

Floris smiled and preened under Clement’s approval, “Thank you, brother. My lord does treat me very well.” There was an implication in her words that went over everyone’s heads. 

Valeana, though, was staring at Floris with a shameless look of doubt. She shared a look with Shyla, who was doing a better job at concealing the same feeling. Slowly, Val turned back to Floris, “And who exactly is this… ‘mysterious lord?’ You have yet to tell us a name.” 

Floris shifted in her seat as if she was purposely stalling, which only deepened the table’s disbelief. However, a new type of disbelief took over the Celtigars when Floris finally opened her bill.

“Lord Larys Strong.”

There was a very brief pregnant pause before it was broken by the on edge father of 5. 

“L-Lord Larys?! The cri—” His agogged sputtering was immediately cut off when Ursula placed a hand on his arm, coupled by her mute look of warning. Barty closed his eyes and gave a deep exhale through his flared nostrils.

He was trying to keep his cool. The events of the last twelve to sixteen hours had already aged him by ten years already, and at this point, he was on the brink of madness. He had seen Larys recently, a few times in fact in small council meetings. The clubfooted lout had failed to mention his interest in his step daughter, and being that Lord Larys is of advanced age, Barty would have expected the man to have approached him first to ask for his permission to marry Floris. A man his age should know better!

Bartimos ran his hands over his face, inhaling deeply as he tried to calm his frail nerves. “And… How long have you been courting… Lord Larys?”

Floris fidgeted uncomfortably, suddenly apprehensive and regretful for bringing this up. “Since Maiden’s Day,” her voice was weaker then, betraying her crumbling confidence. 

“Since Maiden’s Day?” Surprisingly, Arthor was the one to speak, his tone thick with confusion. He had not seen her at all with Larys that day, nor any time after that. Well, there was the moment when she got up and left, but he had assumed she went back to the apartments. “That was nigh even a sinnight ago, Floris, how is it you already have achieved a marriage proposal from him?”

It was a good question and judging by everyone’s expected looks, they were also curious at how that could possibly happen in a short period of time. As it happens, it was the wrong question—at least to Floris— because she sputtered and flustered in her seat, suddenly not liking being the center of attention. 

“Well–” She began with a struggle, her hands fidgeting on the table where her food sat long forgotten. “He hasn’t… proposed, exactly. But he has shown keen interest–”

“So he has not asked for your hand?” Bartimos interrupted her so he could get clear answers. 

“No, but–”

“Oh, Floris, my darling,” Ursula interrupted, her fingers pressing into her eyes. “You mustn't make such quick assumptions, especially this early. Especially when your father’s nerves are frayed enough as it is.”

Floris huffed and crossed her arms firmly across her chest, her lips pinched and her chin dimpled. Her eyes shift off away from the table, her cheeks pink from both agitation and embarrassment. For she knew that Larys fully intended to have her as his wife; after all the sweet things he’s said, all the… tender touches. Floris will be Lady of Harrenhal, she could feel it in her bones! 

There was another moment of silence, thick with unease and tension. And immediately ended by Shyla’s hoggish interjection. 

“I was thinking, if possible, could the wedding be held in the Dragonpit, and I can ride in on a–” 

“No!” Came the unified voices of both Ursula and Bartimos. 

With Bartimos’ undivided attention fixed on Shyla, and his mind still reeled with the news regarding Floris and Lord Larys, Valeana no longer was his priority— or rather, not his number one problem child. This made it easier for her tip-toe around him and his overbearing presence. Now, her being pulled between two princes wasn’t that much of an issue, not compared to Shyla debasing herself and getting caught, not compared to Floris admitting to secretly courting a man that was not only old enough to be her father, but was a colleague of her step father. 

Not to mention, and more importantly, the news about the hasty betrothal between Prince Daeron and Shyla Celtigar spread fast. By the time the sun set for the day, the rumours and conjecture were whispered at such frequency, the name ‘Valeana’ was all but forgotten. While it was paramount to keep Daeron’s… “crime” under wraps, it still somehow leaked through the grapevine that the betrothal and hasty wedding was in due to them fornicating and being caught. Which was true of course, but the Crown, the Celtigars, and above all else, Otto Hightower was trying to make it seem like it was a marriage out of love.

No one believed it, clearly. Hasty betrothals and weddings generally do not mean there is love, only lust.

Valeana was walking through the corridors of Meagor’s Holdfast with her brother, Arthor, when they passed by a couple of whispering ladies, and the words “Stormlord”, “Lady Floris”, “Heartbroken”, and “livid” were heard. As they passed them, Arthor craned his neck to look back, as if straining to hear more tidbits of their conversation. 

“I do not think even the most seasoned seer could have predicted a war between the Celtigars and the Baratheons,” Arthor spoke, his voice only above a whisper as they continued their promenade. He turned back around to lean back against his half-sister’s shoulder.

Valeana deeply frowned at the word ‘war’, because it made her head fill with the worries that she fretted over with Aegon last night. He had successfully dodged the topic, but her anxieties were not eased, especially now that she was reminded, especially now when civil unrest was stirring between houses… And her house was one of them. With the Stormlord, of all bloody people too. The most prideful man in the Seven Kingdoms, and head of one of the Seven Great Houses. Picking a fight, even an indirect one, with Borros was a foolish one for a lesser house, like house Celtigar.

Arthor noted the frown on her face and gave her arm that was laced in his a little squeeze, “You may very well be the one to save us from such a fate, dear sister, if you choose to marry Prince Aegon over Prince Aemond.” 

Valeana liked the thought of her being burdened with the outcome of the future of her house much less than a war with Borros Baratheon, or even a war of succession. She casted her brother a withering look and sighed when she returned her gaze to the flagstone floor.

“I know you are pulling my leg–”

“Only the lame one,” he quickly quipped, his tone dry. 

She sighed, trying to contain her smirk at his dark joke, “But, I really do not want to have that burden.” 

“So, I take it that you still haven’t picked?” The question sounded rhetorical, especially how he lifted his head up in contemplation, “What’s making you so indecisive?”

That was an interesting question, one that she wasn’t really expecting from her younger brother, and one she didn’t entirely know how to answer.

“I have feelings for both, I suppose,” Valeana started only to pause when she had to wait for a few courtiers to pass by; they looked rather curious when they caught Arthor and her eye. When they were out of earshot, she picked up again, though now her voice was just above a whisper, “I am afraid of breaking someone’s heart or ruining a friendship.” 

Arthor seemed to consider this of all of three seconds before he responded, “Then choose both?”

Her dream from the other night flashed in her mind again, making her slow down her pace and look at her brother. Shaking her head, Valeana dismissed this notion, “I cannot marry two men.”

“Yes, you can,” He turned to her as he stated this matter-of-factly. “We are Valyrian, not Andals. Aegon the Conqueror took two wives, Maegor had six–”

“Maegor was insane.”

“I’d be careful saying that in his own halls, Valeana,” Arthor chastised un-seriously. 

She rolled her eyes at him, deciding to rein the conversation back before they digressed. “Even if your hair-brained idea of a polyamorous marriage was approved by father, or the Queen for that matter, Aegon and Aemond would not agree to it.”

Arthor made a sound that conveyed he agreed with her, his head tilting as he did. “Fair point. They are far too competitive, and honestly, I can see Aemond murdering Aegon in his sleep…”

Valeana hummed in agreement. 

Speaking of the devil, when Valeana lifted her gaze from the floor, she saw Aemond down the corridor. His silver hair flashing as he walked past a loggia where the dying sun shone through. When she slowed her gait, so did her brother, forcing Arthor’s gaze to follow hers. 

“Ah,” he gave a small smile of knowing, then tilted his head in her direction. 

Valeana looked over to her brother with an expression conveying her silent plea, “Please do not tell father.”

He gave a sigh as if he was considering his options; truthfully, he would rather be at the pavilions with his lovers, than be chaperoning his sister and talking to her about her tragic love life. “I won’t. Only if you don’t tell father that I left you to go to the city.”

“Deal,” she nodded. 

Arthor unlaced their arms and gave her a brief ‘have fun’ before departing. 

Aemond’s gait also slowed down when he caught sight of her. though he waited until Arthor walked away to make a move. He stood in the shadow of a pillar at the loggia, just out of sight to those that walked by outside. Then, Aemond nudged his head to the side, signalling for her to follow him.

Valeana watched him turn a corner, then she looked around to make sure the coast was clear before moving to follow his trail. He was walking languidly, like usual; Aemond tended to occupy a space as long as possible, but this time it felt like his slow strides were meant for her. So, she followed him from a safe distance, just in case someone was watching or caught a glimpse. Her heart thudded in her chest at the anticipation of speaking to him. After the disaster of the dinner yesterday, she knew that Aemond had questions about her mood and heated departure, much like Aegon did. And knowing this conversation was to be had, her anxieties about a civil war amongst dragons came bubbling back up to the surface. Aegon did nothing to ease it last night, and she felt Aemond would have more of a stubborn opinion about it. 

Aemond turned another corner where she knew would end at a set of spiral stairs. While it was not the set of spiral stairs, the idea of trekking up any of the like (particularly when it was narrow) made her uneasy and nauseous. When she turned the corner shortly after him, she hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, her vision tunneled as she looked up, and her throat went dry. Just when Valeana swallowed down her nerves and made the first step, the door to the utility closet under the stairs opened. 

“Valeana,” the sound of her name in a rushed whisper made her head swivel.

“Aemond…” His name was a small cry of relief. 

He gave one look down the hall before reaching out and gently taking her wrist to guide her into the closet with him. It was a narrow space, with the stairs lowering the ceiling, but light was provided through the small arched window along the curved wall. The only things in there were a few brooms, mops and wooden buckets, and the smell of vinegar and lye soap. However, Aemond’s scent was all-encompassing; leather, hearthfire and cedar wood. 

Before Valeana could say anything, his hands were cupping her face and he’s kissing her brow and cheek bones fervently. 

“I am sorry for upsetting you, my friend,” he spoke with feverish desperation between his kisses. His large hand migrated to the curve of her neck as he leaned his forehead against hers. 

“I have no excuse for my arrogance and my petulance, but know it was not my intention to involve you or your family in our feuds.” 

It would be a lie if she said that his words meant absolutely nothing to hear, that her opinions on the matter were greater than any excuse or apology he had to offer. But it did matter, because she could hear the sincerity of his words and taste the repentance on his breath. Perhaps he will be more understanding than Aegon after all. 

“Aemond,” She spoke his name a second time, putting her hands at his wrists. “I need to…I need to explain what upset me.” 

He took in her serious expression, the way her eyes were half-closed, not looking directly at him, but not avoiding his eyes either. It seemed like she was collecting her thoughts, organizing them before being spoken. He kept his hands on her for a moment before nodding, because he wanted to hear her, to listen to her, and hopefully he can ease this newest transgression. 

“Of course, please,” He turned away briefly to grab the wooden buckets and then turned them upside down.

It was a bit awkward, given the small space, but Aemond sat his bucket at her side, taking her hand in his and letting them rest on his knee. Valeana leaned back against the wall, shifting a bit awkwardly on her ‘seat’, hoping it would not break under her weight. She still looked contemplative as she looked down at their conjoined hands, so Aemond patiently waited, his eye examining every muscle of her face, trying to read her thoughts.

“Yestereve made me realize how perilous the position I am in is,” She started finally, her brow had a small crease as she carefully worded out her mind’s tempest thoughts. “The feud within your family is not just a squabble between siblings; it is about the line of succession, and when the King passes and Princess Rhaenyra takes his place, there will be contention and civil division. Half the Realm has already decided that she is not what they want, now that his Grace has three sons, now that she has a reputation for…” The implied reputation hung in the air, one she didn’t want to speak of, even in the privacy of this cramped closet. She just didn’t agree with it, the label of ‘whore’ and insinuating Rhaenyra was loose, when the reality was that she had only one lover during her marriage with Laenor… who also wasn’t faithful for different reasons. 

Aemond slightly pursed his lips a bit, but nodded and remained silent, allowing her to continue. His hand gave hers a light squeeze, though as her mind buzzed, she could not tell if it was him comforting her, or him conveying he has much to say on the matter. 

“The point I’m trying to say is… no matter the position I am in, it will not end well for me. If I marry you or Aegon, it will make my family my enemy in war. If I choose to marry another, it will make you and Aegon my enemy, that of which I do not want either. My father will side with Rhaenyra, he will be on her council, and because of that I will be involved regardless of where my heart lies. And just… even thinking about the possible casualties; the thought of losing my brothers, of you, I just–” Valeana was quickly getting emotional, evident with how rapidly the words were coming out. When she felt the pressure behind her eyes, she pressed her hands onto them. Val inhaled sharply and her breath came out stuttery; a physical portrayal of her frail nerves and troubled thoughts. 

“I just never thought about all of this until now, when I saw how much animosity still remained between you and your nephews, and your sister. Even when…even when your father is so desperate to sow peace amongst you, you and Aegon still resist. I just– I don’t… I just don’t understand—” 

Aemond gently cut her off by wrapping his long fingers around her wrists and pulling her hands away from her eyes. When she blinked against her tears and the invading light from the window, she could see his expression: the sharp lines of his angular face were soft, his eye filled with sympathy and concern, but she could see how he avoided looking at her eyes directly, that he must be conflicted. 

“I will not say that your worries are not valid, Valeana, because they are. Our family’s dynamics are complicated and messy, and it will inevitably leak into political affairs,” his honesty felt validating in a way, especially since Aegon had tried to dismiss it entirely. But Aemond also seemed to be carefully choosing his words, each one coming out as slowly and methodically as his signature stride. “But I wish you to understand… The reason for my and Aegon’s feelings towards our nephews and Rhaenyra are more personal than simple ambition.”

Aemond had her hands folded in both of his own, laying down on her lap and that is where he focused on. His eye stared at her small digits, running his thumb over her knuckles and relishing in the warmth they provided. Speaking about his half-sister, and the strained relationship he had with both her and his father was difficult, because he’s never spoken them out loud before. He barely even allowed himself to think too closely on it either. 

“Father married my mother out of obligation and a mild, distorted version of intrigue. He did not love her then, but rather valued her presence and purpose. He loved his late wife, Aemma, more than anything; that is something I know because I’ve heard him on multiple occasions, when he was still ill, call my mother her name. I had to watch my mother’s heart break every time he did, and could not say anything, because he was not only the King of the Realm, but my frail-bodied ailing father. 

“He loved Rhaenyra more than he ever loved us. You were not always there, when Aegon and my nephews were together, whether it was training or in the dragonpit. Father praised Jace and Luke as if they were his own sons, his true legacy, and was ever more critical over Aegon, no matter how hard he tried–” hearing Aemond actually defend his estranged elder brother made Valeana feel a certain way. She had assumed that Aemond’s dislike towards Aegon was just as strong as it was for Jace and Luke, being that the trio had all partook in his teasing over not having a dragon. Though perhaps she had been seeing things from a narrow point of view, that there was a broader image in this tapestry, and she was focusing too much on one corner. 

“As for me, he barely looked in my direction. Daeron… He was not even on the forefront of his mind, not even when he was born. As for Helaena, he always saw her as too fragile for this world, and never believed she would be more than what she is now; simply a princess, not a bride or a queen. Sometimes I wonder if he ever saw her as a daughter at all,” There was an edge of resentment in his voice that he immediately recognized, but he tried to rein it back before it digressed his thoughts. 

Viserys was trying to make amends, that was for certain. His conversation the other day with him did not go unforgotten, and he would not deny his father’s aid and help, especially when he needed it most. But it was difficult to just get over 20 years of neglect, it was difficult to ignore the favouritism he gave Rhaenyra and her bastard sons.

His face hardened, his eyes still casted down at their hands as he couldn’t help but grip her fingers a little tighter. 

“It became apparent to Aegon and I, and our mother, that Viserys had little concern for us. We had this revelation when we went to Driftmark to attend Princess Leana’s funeral. That is when I lost my eye, and… Luke, being responsible, got away with it without so much as a reprimand.” 

Valeana watched the muscles in his cheek, namely the one on the marred side of his face, twitch. She had not been at the funeral, but heard the stories through her father when he and Clement returned from Driftmark when it happened. 

Valeana furrowed her brow thoughtfully, her eyes trailing down to their hands, at the way his knuckles turned slightly white as he gripped her fingers. “I thought… I was told that it was self defence. An accident in the middle of a childish fight.”

Aemond’s face twisted in disapproval at her apparently misinformed assumption. His grip tightened again, but for a moment, just when he shook his head vehemently. “No, no… That is an oversimplification,” he tore his eye away from her for a moment, his blindside facing her. 

Valeana stared at the scar going down his forehead, brow and cheek. Though it had been years since it happened, and since then the skin had healed as much as it could, there was still a pink line in the grove. This could indicate just how deep the slash was, possibly even grazing and marking his skull in the process. And even though Valeana had not been there to witness it, she can somehow see it in her mind’s eye. Her fresh-faced Aemond, still soft with youth and budding puberty, screaming in agony as he clutched his damaged eye, blood pouring through his fingers and mingling with the tears from his remaining eye. The image her imagination painted made her frown deeply and her stomach twist in knots. She knew it wasn’t her fault, nor was it something she had control over, but Valeana couldn’t stop herself from feeling a deep sense of remorse and shame that she wasn’t there for him, like all the times she had been in the past. 

Before she could say or do anything, however, Aemond continued with a firm jaw and the skin around his eyepatch twitching, “The evening of the funeral is when I claimed Vhagar. It was the happiest I have ever been in a while…I was on the top of the world,” the neutral tone he was trying to maintain wavered into a bitter one, and his jaw clicked at the sheer pressure he was gritting his teeth. 

“When I returned, they were waiting for me in the cavern entrances at the base of the mountain. All four of them, immediately hostile. Rhaena accused me of ‘stealing’ Vhagar, as if she was property… I am not proud of it, but I might have said some things to provoke her. When Rheana came at me, I pushed her, then Baela came after, and I responded in kind in my defence. That is when Jace and Luke got involved, and the real fight began.” 

Aemond slowly turned to her, but his head was bowed, still guarding himself by keeping his one eye downward; the only window to his soul he had left.

“I don’t remember much of the details, but there are some things I knew for certain. They had me on the floor, all four of them hitting me at once, and all I could think about was to fight back. To do everything I could and say to protect myself, especially after the feat I had just achieved. I was not going to allow these children to reduce me to a pile of nothing after I just claimed the largest dragon in the world. 

“I was unarmed, but Jace wasn’t. He had come prepared, and pulled out his dagger when I called him and his brother bastards. It no longer was a fight amongst squabbling children, it became a fight of pride and ego. Not long after that, I was blinded with a fist full of sand. Luke found the knife on the ground after Jace dropped it and sliced my eye before I could do to Jace what he had intended to do to me with that blade.

“I was the one defending myself, Valeana. They attacked me first.” 

Aemond’s head bowed further as he lifted up one of his hands, freeing her fingers so he could ghost the tips of his pads over the ridge of his scare. His face made a slight grimace as if even talking about it brought up the phantom pain he had felt that day, and every day after as it healed painfully slow. 

“But what happened after was far worse. When all the adults gathered to question what had happened, my father focused more on my use of the word ‘bastard’ than he did on my injury. Rhaenyra demanded that I be sharply questioned; me, a boy, who had just been maimed by her own son. There was no apology, there was no reprimand, there was no punishment. The legitimacy of the children of his golden daughter was far more important than the health of his own son.

“That is when Aegon and I realized that our father had no love for us, not in the same ways he had for his daughter from his first wife. He would do everything to protect Rhaenyra and her brood of Strong sons, and they shamelessly basked in that privilege. It did not matter if mother spent half her life caring for a decaying husband, loyally doting on him and allowing that corpse of a man to penetrate her, just to give himself more children for him to ignore. All that ever mattered was appeasing Rhaenyra, out of his own guilt for being the one responsible for killing her mother. And my family suffered for it.” 

Valeana was left in silent tears. This was the most she had ever seen Aemond open up about his feelings, particularly about his family, which he had always been so guarded about. She always knew at baseline that Aemond didn’t have the best relationship with his family, though she had assumed it was mostly because Aegon was a twat, and his father was so ill, he could barely make out half his mind. But the wound was deeper than she ever imagined, and she realized right then that Aegon was right… It was far more complicated than she originally thought. While she still staunchly thought that her situation with her leg was far more black and white, and what had happened at Driftmark was more grey, she had no choice but to acknowledge that the picture was broader than a simple accident amongst kids. The added revelation that Luke didn’t even get a slap on the wrist made her feel almost guilty, because when Aemond had been deemed guilty for pushing her down the stairs, he was given five lashes as punishment. And she was merely the daughter of a lesser lord. 

Jace and Luke were entitled; spoiled by the protection of both their mother and grandsire. At least, they were at the time. Jace seemed to have matured since then, but Luke on the other hand, seemed more keen on reaping the benefits of being in his mother’s light. And while the consequences of their birth were not their fault, it was still not fair that they would inherit things that did not rightfully belong to them. Driftmark, Dragonstone, the Throne… By rights, the first should belong to Vaemond’s children, the second to Viserys the younger, and the last should belong to Aegon the younger. 

A brief thought runs through her mind, and it was if Daemon was bitter that his own full-blooded sons were set to inherit nothing. 

Valeana was pulled out of her thoughts when she felt his warm hand on her cheek, his thumb running over it to wipe away the tears that free falled. 

“Do not cry for me, my friend. For what I’ve done to you, I do not deserve your tears,” he continued to wipe her cheeks, his voice low and gentle, a contrast to the tight bittered inflection he used when speaking the story of how he lost his eye. “I would pluck out my remaining eye if it meant restoring your leg to you.”

“Oh, Aemond,” Valeana sniffed heavily as her hand reached up to place it over his where it lingered on her cheek, where she moved her thumb over his knuckles. Perhaps he does not realize it, but this show of pure vulnerability from Aemond was worth more to Valeana than a thousand eyes or a thousand legs. 

“I forgive you.”

Those three words echoed in that small little closet as if it was a grand chamber. It felt like honey poured into Aemond’s ear, and for a moment he thought he was imagining it. Did she just say what he thought he heard? Stunned in disbelief, Aemond felt his lungs cease to work in the wake of her blessed, undeserving statement. His eye widened, the glossiness of it strengthened as the pin-pricks of his tears finally corroded his shields.

With a hitch in his throat, Aemond asked tentatively, in a voice so small it almost sounded like he was a child. 

“What?”

Valeana gave a heavy sigh, feeling her shoulders cave in as if a great burden had been dropped from them. Her other hand moved to join her first, bringing him to her lips where she kissed his knuckles and the pads of his fingers, “I forgive you, Aemond.” 

He sharply inhaled, like a man who had been deprived of oxygen for far too long. It sent a ripple of tremors through his body, and before he even registered it, a single tear rolled down his cheek. Aemond grasped at her, pulling her face close so he could press his forehead against his. 

“Valeana, I–” He found that he could barely speak, his emotions far too strong and thick. It was overwhelming and unfamiliar, having spent his entire life swallowing them down, telling himself feeling anything other than anger and pride was a weakness. But, here he was, feeling as if he was bare and as defenceless as a newborn babe.

The self-loathing part of him felt so undeserving of those words. He almost wanted to deny her, to tell her that he was not worthy of it, no matter how many times she may say it. And perhaps he wasn’t, and he never will be, but he knows that even with her spoken forgiveness, he will not stop making it up to her. For the rest of his life, it would be his only quest worth purpose. 

When words failed him, Aemond met her with a kiss. He poured all his gratitude and affection into it, everything he could not convey verbally. Valeana responded immediately, her hands finding purchase on the back of his neck, trying to pull him as close as their positions would allow. They might have been in a broom closet, the air pungent with the smell of lye, vinegar and mildew, but for the two of them, it felt like their own heaven, where nothing and no one existed beyond the small space. 

When they at last pulled away, their noses were pressed together, their lips parted as they deeply inhaled each other’s air. Valeana’s eyes were tightly closed, the tears had stopped flowing, but what remained clung to her eyelashes.

“Aem… There is just one thing,” She closed her mouth just to lick her lips. “One thing I need you to do. For me, please. It’s the only thing I ask of you.”

“Anything,” Aemond’s answer was immediate. He would give her anything; his one eye, his own leg, he would give her a thousand and one sapphires, he would fly Vhagar to Valyria and risk his life in the toxic wasteland just to find a bauble to bring back to her. She merely had to ask, and he would do it without hesitation.

“It was no easy feat to forgive you, Aemond. After all you’ve put me through… and that is why I need you to do the same. I need you to forgive your father; I need you to retire your resentments towards Rhaenyra and her sons. I need you to do what you’ve been wanting me to do for you. Aemond, please.” 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN SNEAK PEEK “Oh, I remember what you said, Prince Aemond,” she spoke with an air of nonchalance, of innocence. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder where she spotted her sisters rounding the corner. “But I elected to ignore it.”

Notes: Ahem. [Singing] And I will do anything for love, but I won't. Do. that. Oi, I wasn't gonna have Aemond just be forgiven, he still has to work a bit for it, y'know? C'mon. Also, where's Aegon? What happened after last night? Well, hold on there feller, a lot is about to happen these next couple of chapters. All that will be revealed in the worst (or best, depending on how masochistic you are) way possible. Now, a heads up, Ch. 41 is taking longer than I expected. The scene I wanted it is gonna end up having to extend into a second chapter, so I MAY have to take another 2 break hiatus after next week just to catch up on my schedule.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[rat-n-atty]

MEET MY SMG4 OC CLOVE!

(fucking finally)

(Also a bit of a redesign since I kinda changed my style a bit lmao)

Meet Clove! (Enid) a 22-year-old "mad" scientist who has made the poor decision to be Smg3's assistant but who exactly is she? What's her lore? What are her goals? Why is she an Ex-villain? and all the other amazing questions you might have (or don't idk) will all be answered here!...hopefully...

"Enid Gadd" (Backstory)

Enid comes from a long line of talented and successful scientists (like her grandpa, E. Gadd more on that in a bit) but she was always seen as a black sheep of the family in short.

Ever since Enid could even talk, she has always aspired to be a great scientist just like her family but it seemed like everything she did, it meant nothing so she became E. Gadd's student when she was young (considering she was practically raised by the guy damn)

It seemed like everything Enid did though was still not enough for her parents so she said "fuck it" and decided to become someone else's assistant in hopes that she could be a better scientist than all of them and that is when Smg3 comes in...

"Clove" (assistant days)

Now, Bowser was a terrible assistant so Smg3 decided to get a new one instead so one day while Clove was just walking around the Mushroom Kingdom city; she saw a purple Mario recolor next to a stand on the side of the street with a sign that said LOOKING FOR AN EVIL ASSISTANT (WILL NOT GIVE VACATION DAYS) (why would look for one in broad daylight you dumb bitc-)

So she took her shot, lied to 3 about being "inherently evil" but she also added that she was pretty good at making bombs (which was also a half-truth) so she became Smg3's assistant from that day on.

She didn't really know what to expect at first and she thought that Smg3's main goal of being a villain at the time was kinda dumb but it was better than home so she stayed and she stayed for a long time.

She eventually became evil and she got better at her inventions and her scientific studies all for the goal of ruling the world with Smg3 and telling her entire family (not including E. Gadd) to suck it...which now brings us to the YouTube Arc...

YouTube Arc (this is where shit goes down)

Smg3 and Clove had just started on their goals of making Snitch Productions but after Smg4 destroyed it all for no damn reason (like wtf man?) they wanted revenge and they wanted it bad (Smg3 more so than Clove)

So they came up with the anti-cast and got to work but after that failed Clove said "fuck it" and started her own projects again but she found out about the YouTube remote while she was doing her research ("The World's Cursed and definitely Powerful Objects that would destroy the world if laid on the wrong hands" (great title I know) ) So they all came up with the plan to steal it.

Things had started to take a toll after they had successfully stolen the Remote per sae because now Smg3 was drunk with power to the point where it was kinda concerning Clove a bit and this is the part where Clove found out Smg3's true intentions of using the YouTube remote; It was so much more than taking over Smg4's channel, it was deleting Smg4's and his crew's entire existence. Clove knew it was too much, even for 3 but she kept quiet about her conflicting feelings (but put a pin in this later )

A big-time skip later where Clove had actually caught Mario trying to steal Smg3's phone (to hopefully get everyone out of the graveyard, you probably watched the Arc lmao) but she betrayed Smg3 by giving it to Mario anyway and freeing the entire cast out of the internet graveyard in order to stop Smg3; Everyone was confused why but they didn't ask.

WOTFI 2020 (redemption arc begins)

The final battle was here and after Clove was revealed to be a traitor and helping the Smg4 crew, it's no wonder that Smg3 lost but he was never expecting his assistant, no...someone closest to him like a friend to betray him like that.

Since Clove was the only one who really knew how to work the remote (and she was the one who had it in her hands at the time) she was the one who sent Smg3 to the Internet Graveyard for the greater good of everybody else but now that 3 was gone...she felt like she had no meaning...no purpose anymore...

After she had gotten forgiveness from Susan, Smg4 offered Clove to stay with the rest of them at the castle but she declined and said she would just lock herself up in her lab instead.

Clove's lore goes on for ages...so I'll have to make a part 2

BI GUYS!

(update: there is a part 2)

[evangelineshifts]

OH MY GODS, YOU’RE RUTHLESS

Pairings: book!percy jackson x black!fem!reader

Word count: 5.3k (oops?)

Warnings: angst, mentions of death (literally in the underworld :/), hades being a dick (SORRY I LOVE YOU HADES), swearing (like one word), mentions of throwing up, pet names (angel, sweet girl, little dove)

a/n: this is kinda my first fic (?) so be kind! This is completely self indulgent as it’s literally a scenario for my desired reality so keep that in mind. If you want some back story visit my dr list on my pinned post! Have fun, stay super freaky, have great vagina I LOVE YAAA

I never considered the Gods to be enemies to myself. Of course, I could understand where the animosity the other kids held towards them came from, I just couldn’t find it in myself to share it.

I’ve always seen myself as quite the lover and I’ve always known that it was my undoing. Holding out till the very last minute to toss out hope for redemption. I’ll love until the ability is carved out of my sternum.

I hate it.

The pain that comes with being such a tender-hearted individual is nefarious. But that recurring pain that plagues the minds and souls of those who are cursed to live a life of love and loss is what tortures the poets; and makes for a dam good book.

I hope to be able to transfer my heart from sleeve to page one day. But for now, I’m forced to keep dwelling on the feeling of dread and despair as I march my way through the dreary entrance hall of Hades’ palace.

Truth be told it’s not that dreary, it’s incredibly well-decorated. I'm just determined to be a hater. After fighting monsters, dealing with death traps, and arguing with temperamental Gods, I'm ready for the quest to be over and done with. It’s not as glorious as everyone made it out to be.

I looked over at Percy as the four of us reached the big set of doors at the end of the hall. He looked to be struggling with the weight of his backpack but I couldn’t understand why. Unless Oreos had suddenly gained weight in the day or two that it took us to get here he should be just fine. He wasn’t that scrawny.

“Well, guys,” Percy said. “I suppose we should… knock?”

As if on cue, a hot wind blew down the corridor and swung open.

“I guess that means entrez-vous,” Annabeth said in an exaggerated French accent. I giggled at her pronunciation and she sent me a playful glare as we all tentatively walked into the room.

"You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon," Hades said in an oily voice. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish. And you legacy child, well, I expected better of you.” He seemed almost saddened as he uttered the last line.

My three quest mates looked over at me with varying levels of confusion plastered on their faces, I had half a mind to shrug bemusedly as I tried not to show my growing guilt so plainly on my face. What did I have to feel guilty for? Why did I care what Hades thought?

Percy stared at me a few seconds longer before facing the god again with renewed vigor, “Lord and uncle, I come with two requests”

Hades looked toward me and lifted his eyebrows in a “Is he serious???” sort of way but truth be told, I was too in awe of Percy's sudden diplomacy to give him a reaction. I fully expected him to at least glare at him but maybe I underestimated his desire to get his mom back. Hades leaned forward on his throne, a subtle incredulity painted on his sculpted face,

"Only two requests?" Hades said. "Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me not to strike you dead yet."

Spoken like a true older sibling. Christ.

I looked over at Percy in time to see his throat bob with trepidation. My heart gives a twinge of empathy, poor kid has only been in this life for a little over a month and he's already facing the god of the dead.

“Lord Hades… Look, sir, there can't be a war among the gods. It would be…bad.” smooth, fish sticks.

“Really bad,” Even smoother Grover, thank you.

Annabeth and I share an exasperated look as I think over every action I've ever made in my life to land me here.

“Return Zeus’s master bolt to me,” Percy pleaded. “Please, sir. Let me carry it to Olympus.”

Looking at Hades I'm getting the feeling that was not the right thing to say. His eyes grew glaringly bright as his face crumpled in anger,

“You dare keep up this pretense, after what you have done?” He spat.

I'm getting sick of the vague accusations thrown at us, “Percy hasn't done anything. I don't know if you’ve noticed but he's very new to this whole thing. I mean look at him, he's like a baby fawn,”

Percy looked mildly offended but he looked more concerned at the fact that I was practically mouthing off at an already very angry god.

Hades fixed me with a furious glare and I was sure I was sure I was going to be smoted. But then he did the strangest thing, he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath and when he opened them again the rage that had previously engulfed his irises seemed to lessen. Only a tad but it's still strange.

“Do you think I want war, child?” He said in an eerily calm manner.

I looked at the others utterly perplexed and when my gaze landed on Percy I had to fix him with a warning glare just to be sure he didn't try to be a wise guy at the wrong time. The last thing we needed was for fish Jesus to be filleted.

“My lord, I’m afraid I don’t understand. Wouldn’t a war expand your kingdom?” I said carefully.

His eyes widen a tad as he look on with absolute disbelief and frustration, “Did my brothers tell you that?? Fucking typical. Do you think I need more subjects?! Did you not see the sprawl of the asphodel fields??” Hades said, his voice risen an octave.

I hesitated to reply but I found I didn’t need to as Hades took it upon himself to continue his rant, "Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone, how many subdivisions I've had to open?"

Percy opened his mouth to respond, but Hades was on a roll.

"More security ghouls," he moaned. "Traffic problems at the judgment pavillon. Double overtime for the staff and the mortals just. keep. dying. You know, I used to be a rich god, godling. I control all precious metals under the earth. But my expenses!”

I was suddenly overcome with the fear that I was gonna have to comfort this emo god on his economic problems. And then Percy spoke and I was saved, “Charon wants a pay raise,” He blurted. I just had to laugh.

Hades went on to gripe about Charon and his troublesome discovery of Italian suits. He insisted that a war is the last thing he wanted and I wish I could say I was surprised.

“But you took Zeus' master bolt.” Percy said.

"Lies!" More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne, towering to the height of a football goal post. "Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan."

"His plan?" I questioned.

"He was the thief on the winter solstice," Hades said. "His father thought to keep him his little secret. He directed him into the throne room on Olympus,”

Before I could even open my mouth to object and say that I was at the winter solstice and Percy wasn’t even a member at camp yet, Hades steamrolled on,

“You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon's thief, and I will have my helm”

"But..." Annabeth spoke. I could tell her mind was going a million miles an hour. "Lord Hades, your helm of darkness is missing, too?"

"Do not play innocent with me, girl. You and the satyr have been helping this hero-coming here to threaten me in Poseidon's name, no doubt-to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him? And you girl!" He directed his attention back to me and I was left to wonder what was so special about me that he felt the need to keep addressing me individually.

“This betrayal is disappointing but not unseen. I would think you would know better.” He glared heatedly at me, apparently abandoning his attempts at civility.

"No!" Percy said. "Poseidon didn't-I didn't- (y/n/n) had nothing to do with this- none of us did!"

"I have said nothing of the helm's disappearance," Hades snarled, "because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you."

"You didn't try to stop us? But-" None of what he was saying was making any sense. Not according to what we knew anyway. Did we really know anything?

"Return my helm now, or I will stop death," Hades threatened. "That is my counter proposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson-your skeleton will lead my army out of Hades."

The skeletal soldiers all took one step forward, making their weapons.

At this point the smart thing was to probably be scared out of my mind, but with Hades threatening Percy, fear seemed to be the last of my worries. This boy who I had made fast friends with in the short time that I’d known him. The boy who had lost his mom and his old life all within five minutes and was just expected to be okay with it. Percy Jackson, the dork who watched teen titans with me during the uncharacteristic storm at camp and convinced me to make blue Shirley temples. My very own guppy.

Yeah me and Hades were gonna have words.

“Stop this, now.” I said in my sternest voice. Hades halted and looked at me with intrigue and… slight fear?

“He didn’t steal anything, Hades, enough with the unfounded claims. We didn’t even know your helm was missing until 2 minutes ago and up until then we thought you had the bolt.”

The other 3 went stock still with shock. I’m guessing they were saying their goodbyes to me in their heads but I’m not one to go down that easily. Even if I did want to cry from the confrontation.

Hades looked at me with unbridled fury but when he spoke you would’ve thought he was simply telling me not to steal from the cookie jar again,

“I have tried to be kind to you child. I have tried to treat you with respect as you have done for me in the past but your foolishness and insolence will be your undoing.” He paused for a moment seemingly cherry picking his next words, “What would your mothers think? Hm? How would they fare if they learned of your impertinence?”

I froze. My blood ran cold and my stomach was churning something awful.

“….what?” I said, trying my hardest to steady my voice but it was a lost cause at this point. Grover and Annabeth looked on with pity that could shrink me with a glance but Percy? Percy looked furious. He glared at the god with the fury of a thousand suns,

“Don’t talk about her mothers, leave them out of this- leave her out of this. This is between me and you-“

“SILENCE!” Hades bellowed, as the throne room shook but Percy didn’t even flinch. “You have said quite enough godling.” He spat out the word like poison on his tongue.

Hades turned back to me, a new smugness hidden in the depths of his eyes, “How about we see what they would think? Would you like that legacy child? Would you like to see your parents?” His lip curled in a smirk.

I could’ve thrown up at the thought. What did he mean? Surely he wasn’t going to bring them here? My head was like a circuit, thoughts lapping around my brain like race cars. In my periphery, I could see Percy physically shaking with rage. Grover and Annabeth looked like they wanted to reach out for me but thought better of it, fearing Hades’ next move.

Hades surveyed all of us, taking in the horrified silence as he grinned almost sinisterly. He lifted a hand to the far left wall of a throne room and the surface of it rippled like a disrupted pool.

All of a sudden colors and shapes flew into the frame and found a place on the wall. Almost as soon as it started an image came into focus. A dining room with light pink walls filled with pictures and portraits of hand painted flowers. Most of the pictures were of one woman, a ginger with deep brown skin, gorgeous amber eyes, and a blinding smile. She looked like the personification of the earth and everything good. She looked warm, safe.

In some pictures she was joined by another woman, a more stern looking one but beautiful nonetheless with her honey blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes a stark contrast to her tawny skin. She held a smaller smile than her auburn counterpart but it was no less happy. The way they looked at each other in some photos was almost baffling. I didn’t know you could capture such tangible emotion on camera but they made it happen.

As for the portraits, I would’ve guessed the paintings were professionally made if it wasn’t for the cute little smiley faces and hearts surrounding the flowers in almost every portrait. They were mature and yet so childlike at the same time. Precise strokes coming together to form stunning flowers of bright color. Lilies, gardenias, and orchids filled every frame. It was captivating how real they looked. I could’ve stared at them all day but my attention was drawn toward the dark oak table as a giggle erupted from one of the occupants.

My heart sank.

The same woman in the photos sat at the table seemingly working on another floral piece. My breathing quickened as I put the pieces together. As I stared at the ginger woman’s dimpled smile and traced the slope of the blonde's nose it clicked.

These were my moms.

The women who died when I was just a baby in an effort to protect me. And they succeeded but at what cost?

I ran over to the wall ignoring the calls of my worried friends. Tears clouded my vision as I tried to push all the words I wanted to say past the lump cemented in my throat.

“Mamma?” I said timidly, worried this was an illusion or they wouldn’t be able to hear me.

All of that faded away when the bubbly lady whipped her head around at the sound of my voice and her lover not far behind.

“(Y/N)…?” She called, voiced thickly coated in awe.

The dam broke.

Tear rushed down my face faster than I could process as I nearly yelled out for my mothers, “Mamma! Ma!”

They came rushing over to where I was and knelt down at what I’m assuming was a projected image of me to wherever they were, “Baby angel! What are you doing here??” My mamma, who I’ve deduced is the child of Artemis, Davina, wailed as she went to reach out for me before retracting her hand. Probably figured the image would fade if she did and I’m grateful for that.

“You shouldn’t be here little dove, it’s not your time you must go home.” My Ma, Alexandra, said. A crease firmly placed between her brows that contradicted the wobbling smile that was growing on her lips.

They looked at me with a type of adoration that had my knees wracking. This is the type of maternal affection I thought I would never get to receive in my life. Of course, I had Aunt Go-go but that wasn’t the same.

Before I could respond Hades cut me off, “We can get to all the loving pleasantries in a moment. We have more important matters at hand. Your daughter has aided a thief.”

I glanced at him quickly before I quickly tried to defend myself, adamantly denying his claims.

“He’s lying! She didn’t steal anything and neither did I!” Percy erupted, his stare burning into the god's own, “"You're as bad as Zeus, you think I stole from you? That's why you sent the Furies after me?"

I drowned out the rest of what they were saying as I could only focus on the fact that my parents were looking me in my eyes, “We believe your friend, angel. We know our sweet girl would never do anything to cause harm.” Mamma told me as she looked on with kind eyes. “You’ve gotten so big! I remember when you were just a little raisin”

We shared a watery chuckle as I tried not to bawl my eyes out.

“She’s got your eyes,” Alexandra said fondly as she looked between her daughter and her wife.

“And your nose,” Davina giggled, “What a gorgeous girl you’ve grown into.”

“Thank you,” I managed as I felt my face heat up, “Are you guys in Elysium? Could I come see you?” I said hopefully.

They both glanced at each other warily and I felt dread pool in my stomach. I whipped around to face Hades as the words tumbled out of my mouth, “I need to see them! Please let me see them, I’ll do anything” I begged.

“Anything?” I nodded fervently as the trio voiced their protests, “Return my property and I’ll allow you a visit with your mothers!”

I choked out a sob as I looked helplessly at the others, “We-we don’t have it. I swear, I swear we don’t have it! We came here for the master bolt. They-they told us you had the master bolt, that’s why we’re here. Please I’m begging you, just let me see my moms” I rushed out, desperately trying to convince him of mercy.

“ENOUGH WITH YOUR FALSITIES GODLING!” I flinched back at his booming voice, the throne room walls rumbling and the image of my parents warbling. I panicked. “You already possess the master bolt, you came here with it, you insolent fool. You think you can try to deceive me?!”

I’m reduced to wails and gargled pleads as I try to bargain with this clearly unhinged man, “Please I don’t know, I don’t know. P-Percy tell him, please tell him, please”

“We didn’t steal the bolt! We’ve already told you-“

“Then open your pack!”

I looked at Percy in desperate confusion as his face fell. I can practically sense his panic as he slung his bad off his shoulder and unzipped it. Time stopped.

Inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy. I could’ve fallen to my knees right there. I turned back to my mothers begging for them to understand. This was one of the worst realizations I’d ever made. We’d been framed.

'Percy," Annabeth said. "How-"

"I-I don't know. I don't understand." He said, his gaze flickered towards me as a tortured sound ripped from my throat.

"You heroes are always the same," Hades said. "Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus's master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now ... my helm. Where is it?"

I was speechless. Percy was speechless. Annabeth was speechless, and I’m quite sure Grover passed out like 5 minutes ago. We had no helm. The world turned sideways and I didn’t deal well with vertigo.

"Lord Hades, wait," Percy said. "This is all a mistake."

"A mistake?" Hades roared. Quicker than I could process Hades lifted his hand and the image of my parents faded before my eyes.

Oh my gods.

Oh my gods.

“No- no, no, no, no, no, no, NO,” I gut-wrenching scream pierced through the air as I tried to conjure up the image again uselessly, “NO BRING THEM BACK, GODS, PLEASE BRING THEM BACK HADES PLEASE!” He didn’t even spare me a glance as Annabeth ran over to hold me back from slamming my fist into the stone. My fingernails were reduced to stubs as I clawed at the wall like my mother was going to be standing behind it waiting for me. I was wailing, calling out for my mommies. Usually I would scold myself for such a display of weakness at a time like this but at the moment all sense of self control was out of the question. I was inconsolable as Annabeth tried calming me down, cooing soft assurances in my ear that I couldn’t hear over my own gasping.

The skeletons aimed their weapons. From high above, there was a fluttering of leathery wings, and the three Furies swooped down to perch on

the back of their masters throne.

"There is no mistake," Hades said. "I know why you have come- I know the real reason you brought the bolt. You came to bargain for her."

Hades loosed a ball of gold fire from his palm. It exploded on the steps in front of Percy, and there was who I could only assume was his mother, frozen in a shower of gold.

In my panicked state at the renewed loss of mothers, I had almost forgotten about his.

"Yes," Hades said with satisfaction. "I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my helm, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know. Not yet. But if you displease me, that will change."

Someone, or something, was growling. I think It was me. I was so angry. He already took my mothers away, he wasn’t about to take Percy’s.

I went to charge for him when I realized Annie was still holding on to me. I struggled against her hold as she dug her heels into the ground.

"Ah, the pearls," Hades said, and my blood froze. "Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson."

Percy’s hand moved and brought out the pearls.

"Only four," Hades said. "What a shame. You do realize each only protects a single person. Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms." Percy looked at me and Annabeth and then Grover.

"We were tricked," He said. "Set up.”

“No shit,” I muttered bitterly, tears still tracking down my face.

"Yes, but why?" Annabeth asked, as she side eyed me. "And the voice in the pit-"

"I don't know yet," Percy said. "But I intend to ask."

"Decide, boy!" Hades yelled.

"Percy." Grover put his hand on Percy’s shoulder. "You can't give him the bolt,"

"I know that." He replied, though his stare was focused on me.

"Leave me here," Grover said. "Use the fourth pearl on your mom."

"No!" Percy exclaimed, his eyes darting towards the satyr.

"I'm a satyr," Grover said. "We don't have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won't get me forever. I'll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It's the best way."

"No." Annabeth drew her bronze knife, finally letting go of me and I returned back to the wall trying to see if there was some sort of passageway. "You three go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy and (y/n/n). You have to get your searcher's license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I'll cover you. I plan to go down fighting."

"No way," Grover said. "I'm staying behind."

"Think again, goat boy," Annabeth said.

"Stop it, both of you!" Percy yelled, and the two quieted.

I realized I had been silent through this whole ordeal and knew what I had to do.

“I’ll stay.” I croaked.

“What?!” Percy said, his head turning faster than I could process. “Absolutely not.”

“Percy-“

“No.” He strided over to me so he could look me in the eyes, “I’m not leaving here without you,”

“You don’t get it!” I exclaimed, on the verge of collapse. Gods, I’ve never been so tired. I’ve never done this. I know the stakes. I know how serious this is. But still, at the end of the day, I’m just a little girl who had gone her whole life without parents. Never knowing their faces or voices. Just to meet them and have them taken away within the same hour.

“What don’t I get (Y/N)? Hm?” Percy said frustratedly as he grappled my shoulders. I know he didn’t mean to be harsh but I couldn’t help getting upset.

“I want to stay here, Percy.” I said defeatedly, looking up at him through my lashes. “I ha-have to meet them. I just have to. Please just let me stay here. I need to stay, just let me stay,” I begged him, grasping at his arms to let me go.

He looked at me with a devastating amount of empathy that I couldn’t help breaking down again. He pulled me into a one armed hug as he turned towards Annabeth and Grover,

"I know what to do," Percy said. "Take these."

He handed them each a pearl.

Annabeth said, "But, Percy ..."

I was rambling incoherently into his shoulder, begging him to leave me there. He took my face into his hands and forced me to look him in the eyes,

“Hey-hey! Look at me!” I did, “I know.” And by the gods, I knew that he did. My knees went weak as he pulled me back in and held on to the back of my head as he wrapped an arm around my waist, “I’ll get you back here one day, ang-” he paused, realizing his mistake but continued on, “Even if I have to breakdown the doors of Olympus myself and force them to make it happen, you will see your moms again. Okay?”

I hesitated for a breath before I nodded reluctantly. There’s nothing else I could do.

Percy held me in his arms as he turned his head and faced his mother.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'll be back. I'll find a way."

The smug look on Hades's face faded. He said, "Godling ... ?"

"I'll find your helm, Uncle," he told him. Again with this uncle thing. "I'll return it. Remember about

Charon's pay raise."

"Do not defy me-" Hades tried.

"And it wouldn't hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls."

"Percy Jackson, you will not-"

Percy shouted, "Now, guys!"

He smashed the pearls at our feet. For a scary moment, nothing happened.

Hades yelled, "Destroy them!"

The army of skeletons rushed forward, swords out, guns clicking to full automatic. The Furies lunged, their whips bursting into flame.

Just as the skeletons opened fire, the pearl fragments at our feet exploded with a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind.

We were encased in a milky white sphere, which was starting to float off the ground. My head was still buried in Percy’s shoulder, sobs racked my body as we floated up, Annabeth and Grover were right behind us.

Hades yelled with such rage, the entire fortress shook and I knew it was not going to be a peaceful night in L.A but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

"Look up." Grover yelled. "We're going to crash!"

Sure enough, we were racing right toward the stalactites, which I figured would pop our bubbles and skewer us.

"How do you control these things?" Annabeth shouted.

"I don't think you do!" Percy shouted back.

Is it bad that I kinda wanted to be skewered? Stop.

The trio screamed as the bubbles slammed into the ceiling and ... Darkness.

No, I could still feel the racing sensation. We were going up, right through solid rock as easily as an air bubble in water.

That was the power of the pearls, I realized- What belongs to the sea will always return to the sea.

For a few moments, I couldn't see anything outside the smooth walls of our sphere, then our pearl broke through on the ocean floor.

The two other milky spheres, Annabeth and Grover, kept pace with us as we soared upward through the water.

We exploded on the surface, in the middle of the Santa Monica Bay, knocking a surfer off his board with an indignant, "Dude!" I wanted to hit him.

Percy grabbed Grover and hauled him over to a life buoy. I caught Annabeth and dragged her over too.

A curious shark was circling us, a great white about eleven feet long. Maybe I’d get my soul surfer moment. Stop it.

Percy said, "Beat it." And the shark turned and raced away. New Yorkers.

The surfer screamed something about bad mushrooms and paddled away from us as fast as he could.

Somehow, I knew what time it was: early morning, June 21, the day of the summer solstice.

In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right, and it was Hades's fault. He was probably sending an army of the dead after us right now.

But at the moment, the Underworld wasn't my biggest problem.

Annabeth and Grover shared a glance as they muttered something about getting a headstart to shore. Percy and I were still treading water as he analyzed me.

“What?” I snapped. I can’t say I didn’t mean to but I did feel bad.

“I’m sorry.” He said and my face softened. “It’s not your fault, nothing you could do.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile but I’m sure it looked more like a grimace.

He was starting to gain a real habit of hugging me as he pulled me into his chest. I couldn't tell the difference between the saltwater and saline on my face anymore.

He didn’t say anything, just sort of awkwardly petted my hair. He pulled away to look me in the eyes and some sort of understanding passed between us.

I gave him a nod and gestured for him to catch up with the others. He looked hesitant for a second but ultimately nodded and swam to the duo who were treading just a little ways away.

I looked down at the water as if I’d be able to see the underworld below my feet. I gave a kiss to my fingers and swirled them in the water in the shape of a flower, “I’m sorry Mamma, Ma. I’ll come back for you.”

I start to slowly make my way towards the others thinking over everything that just went down. I realized with a sharp ache in my chest, that I felt more despair than I did hatred when thinking of Hades. I wanted to despise him. To think that he was evil and want to plot some sort of revenge. But I couldn’t. Somehow that was worse.

He was uncaring in his dealings with us. I knew his intentions with the words he spoke to me, burning a hole through my chest till I was left spiraling searching for some sort of reprieve. And yet compassion still had a hold on me. I felt sorry for him but oh my gods, was he ruthless.

✧ dividers by @hitobaby !

[juniette13]

Can you explain your reasons for not liking Scaramouche's redemption? I'm also not a huge fan of how he was written.

Of course!

One of my biggest reasons is it comes off to me as if Genshin is too scared to make characters who are blatantly evil and against the traveler playable

Which to me…honestly I don’t understand their mentality with it

IMO I think it’s perfectly fine to have characters who are evil and/or against the traveler to be playable! It brings a contrast, a flavor of sorts to the playable cast of characters

I was hesitant at first to say Genshin was too scared to make morally questionable/wrong characters playable, but considering La Signora’s dead, Ei’s EGREGIOUS redemption arc, and Scara’s redemption arc, I’m seeing a very blatant trend here, one I’m not a fan of

Now I know Arlecchino got released and is playable, I, however, stopped playing the game awhile back, I honestly don’t even feel like returning to it because all the content is wearing me out, along with the writing decisions and how I personally think the writing is just getting extremely convoluted, so I can’t really speak on Arlecchino’s matter because honestly I don’t know if her personality was watered down or not

My biggest issue is I feel like the redemption arc not only butchers what could’ve been a great character, I remember the days of when Scaramouche was just an asshole and that’s all he was, just an evil person, and not when he was some uwu little guy who does nothing wrong, but the arc also honestly ignores all the things Scaramouche has done and would rather pin the blame on other characters Like traveler why on Earth are you teaming up with the guy who killed Teppei??? You know, the NPC that died in the Inazuma arc, the NPC who’s death enraged the traveler so much that the traveler just ran headfirst into a dangerous situation without a second thoug-Ohhhhh right his death was just for shock value and doesn’t really hold any weight on the traveler! Right!

Scaramouche was also responsible for getting La Signora killed, however this is never addressed and just swept under the rug It’s writing decisions like that that just makes me so frustrated

I think it would’ve been fun if Scaramouche was just some blatantly evil guy, not every character needs some sob story, a whole plot point where they just whine and whine, and then some half-baked redemption arc where now he’s completely woobified and just an entirely diff character, minus the sass

Like he’s just sassy now, he’s not even mean anymore 💀

It disappoints me because there was so much potential to him and I would’ve been perfectly fine with him just being plain evil, I’m at that point where Dottore, a character who is just straight up evil, has no reason behind it, has no remorse for his actions, is a breath of fresh air and the only harbinger I enjoy because of that I do hope Pantalone also just ends up being a blatantly evil character, albeit not as extra as Dottore, and it would be fun if he monologued like Bedman from Guilty Gear XRD (I might even draw him to some of the monologues LOL)

But anyway yeah, just to sum everything all up in short bullet points

-Characters doing heinous things and then turning around, spewing a sob story, and becoming completely watered down woobified versions of themselves is overdone and tired in Genshin

-Scaramouche would’ve been great if he just stayed as an evil character, not every character needs to be morally in the right or on the traveler’s side, let the traveler have more significant enemies instead of nameless NPC #928291 ISTG 😭

-Scaramouche’s redemption was not earned

I know people are going to disagree with me, that’s fine, just make sure to keep it civil if/when interacting with my post

Anyways thanks for the ask! I can also do a post on Ei’s botched arc if needed or anything of the sorts, I like ranting about this stuff!

[rubyfoxfyre]

What did you base Alastors Nox Magia off of? Why type of magic is it and where did you get the ideas for a good ass fanfic?

Thank you for the question!

The answer is sort of a long story that I suppose begins with my first exposure to Hazbin Hotel in general, during a particularly doomed D&D campaign where my character basically acted exactly like Charlie did in the pilot:

Granted, Fianna is not anything like Charlie at all, but the DM found it funny enough to send me the gif above and then everyone got distracted for about 5 minutes while they started meming.

The next day I watched the show and was completely hooked!

I started looking into the Wiki to get a greater understanding of the world shown, read the comics (like all 20 pages hahaha), and listened to Addict while working on prompts for Charlastor Week 2022, taking a break from my regular manuscript I'd been working on for a few years (stay tuned for updates soon on that one!). I had about a month so I decided to try my hand at smaller short stories, since some of the authors I idolize are so good at short fiction, and conveying strong emotions in just a few thousand words.

I watched and rewatched the Pilot, studying the characterizations there as well as thinking about funny and unexpected scenarios the characters could get into while dealing with the concept of redemption and how to make it work (needless to say that the fact that they already had it happen was... unexpected. I have thoughts on that but will put a pin in that for now to avoid getting too distracted from your question!).

I can't remember which rewatch it was that I picked up on an interesting exchange between Charlie and Alastor that turned into a whole mess that would consume me to this day:

She tries to put a limitation on his ability to do too much, and I wondered if that could lead to a sort of interesting power-play between them (because in the end this is the part of their relationship that is fundamentally interesting - they're both powerful people with opposing moralities, having to work together to acheive a common goal). Basically, because Charlie's not precise with her language, she ends up basically not controlling Alastor at all. Which works out in its way, because she hides from her deeper wellspring of power with the aid of a gentle persona.

I liked the idea of something deeper between them and within themselves - and with them being opposing forces, I wanted to work with the idea of Alastor being associated with "night" and "dark", versus Charlie being associated with "sunlight" and "rainbows".

Shadow and Flame, only a bit less Lord of the Rings and a bit more sexy.

Nox Magia , the "night" magic, follows basic arcane principles that I've picked up on through the long and involved process of being a massive nerd and reading a lot of stuff.

For writing magic, I like looking at basic logic structures and hovering somewhere between harder and softer magic. My other manuscript that is premiering this year will be discussing some differing types of magic systems as well, if you enjoy reading Riddle and my other works, I hope you enjoy those as well!

But as for the story itself, it wasn't meant to be a story about a man falling in love... it's the story of a man being dragged into love, kicking and screaming about it. 🦌🌈

To Alastor the Hotel is about control, and his experience there is just a game not to be taken too seriously. Charlie is also about control, or rather, trying to find a way to control without breaking everything with her terrible strength.

Alastor embraces his strength, while she hides from it, and he finds that contradictory instinct in her interesting, so he comes up with the idea of a game to teach her some magic that might help her. But as with all magic, intent governs everything (even when you don't realize), and the spells he's teaching are telling a particular kind of story - you can preview what's happening in the chapter titles that have the runes' names! 🍷

❤️ Thanks so much for reading! ❤️

[itjazzbicch]

Escaping False Fate PT. 2

Pairing:  Shang Tsung x Fem Reader 

Summary: Escaping False Fate PT. 1

Making arrangements before putting their plan into effect, the reader is found by Lui Kang, who tries to offer her a chance for redemption, which only angers the reader, so much to the point that she goes through an awakening after returning to Shang Tsung, learning why Lui Kang offered her that redemption, and the feelings that she shares with Shang proving to be another piece of evidence that they can defy their fates...

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI) Unprotected sex, creampie. The reader gets into a fight with Lui Kang, and the reader also goes through an awakening with her powers (won't immediately spoil the story, but I also apologize if I didn't nail down the whole deity thing, lol). A small flashback that is italicized and colored purple!

Word Count: 3.2k 

Taking careful steps in our new plans to take the realms, Shang and I had to stay in the shadows, but even that came with its dangers.

We needed something important, and it was in his old laboratory that Mileena now had on lockdown.

Getting in wasn't an issue. It was a relatively easy task between my stealth and the shapeshifting abilities Shang taught me. The one issue?

Godly powers.

"Y/N. I was hoping to find you. Just not here."

"Lui Kang," The source of all the hatred in my heart, was right in front of me, the last thing I expected, but I wasn't afraid, concealing the scroll I came for in my pouch, "Helping Li Mei to put me back in Le Chin?"

"You disappoint me, Y/N," My blood boiled at his tone, like I was some child whose parent expressed their disappointment, "I had hoped you would redeem yourself since Li Mei said you were well-behaved in Le Chin."

"Well behaved?" I laughed, my eyes beaming into his, "I was only patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape."

"This is not what I had planned for you." This caught my attention, and I was confused as he continued to explain, "The power that you were given was not meant for the evil intentions that Shang Tsung and his titan counterpart lured you into. You and Shang Tsung never should have met. I'd never imagine that Titan Shang- "

"Excuse me?" I had to interrupt him, laughing at the fact he didn't know, "What? I met Shang Tsung long before his doppelgänger came along."

"That should not have been possible," Seeing shock and fear on a Titan's face was a priceless scene, that fear making him ramble, stepping up to me and, like others, trying to pin me against Shang, "Nonetheless, Shang Tsung only cares for himself and having a power like yours in his hands is deadly, not only for the realms but for you. He is using you-"

Before he could finish, a deep rage lit my heart with hellfire, a loud smack echoing as the back of my hand found his face.

"Using me?! Shang is powerful as is, and the only reason that you still live is because of the oppression our enemies tried to keep us down with! I've always stuck by his side, even when we were living like bottom feeders! Thus, I am the only person who's earned his trust and loyalty as he earned mine. We're more than just partners. I know he's no saint, but he has earned my undying loyalty, and I refuse to listen to this!"

All Lui Kang could do was stare off into nothingness, but listening as my anger kept spilling out through my words:

"I lived in the scum of Outworld for ages as a child, no family, nothing till I found Shang! You call that greatness?! Tell me about this 'greatness' that you destined me for!"

Only staring into my eyes, my rage grew more potent, and I began to laugh madly:

"Nothing? Some Titan you are, Lui Kang. How could you let something as important as shaping time as we know it be foiled so easily?"

"It is not an easy task, Y/N-"He breathed in deeply, "Like many others, you can be upset with me about how your life has played out, but I will offer you the opportunity for redemption one last time. Sometimes, we are guided down the wrong path, but it's not too late to get back on track."

"You're serious?" I laughed once more before taking a deep breath, taking stance and glaring into his eyes, wielding my khopesh, "I was destined for greatness, you said? I'll prove that by bringing Shang your head! "

"Just know, I truly wish that things did not have to be this way," He was soft-spoken with his words, but taking stance and with a simple gaze, our hands started to collide in combat.

There was no denying his formidable skills. I was barely dodging his attacks, but one kick was all it took to send me over a table, glass breaking and cutting me as I hit the floor hard, his hope for me still strong:

"Y/N, please reason with me. I do not want to kill you-"

It wasn't that I feared losing to Lui Kang; I remembered Shang explaining that we needed him alive until we got our hands on the hourglass. Needing to think quickly and plan, it struck me.

"Lui Kang-"Panting in the darkness that I was hidden in, there was a sinister smile on my face as I shapeshifted into his lover.

During the scuffle with that other Shang Tsung, I learned of his love for the Kitana from his original timeline, his face pale and drained, stunned by her face.

"Lui Kang?" Even her voice was perfected with my shapeshifting; he was frozen in place, and with a quick jump, my smile flashing, I kicked him; my magic powered into my foot, sending him flying through two walls, unable to help my laugh, "You fool!"

This was my opportunity to escape, and I did so, opening a portal and disappearing before he could recollect himself.

Escaping to where Shang and I were hiding, I needed to sit and think about everything that occurred with one thought circling my mind.

First, Li Mei tried to stray me from Shang, but now Lui Kang found the courage to do so. I didn't understand what they saw in me or why Lui Kang wouldn't tell me.

Lost in thought, I jolted at Shang's voice behind me:

"You returned with the scroll, yes?"

"Of course," I swallowed, handing it to him:

"Good job, my-"Looking at my hand, he noticed the scratches that the shards of glass left on my skin and how I was panting, "What happened while you were gone?"

Already concerned, his pupils grew more as I explained:

“Lui Kang came for me.”

"You're kidding- "

"I am not," I breathed in, "Much like Li Mei, he was trying to offer me 'redemption,' but something he didn't know blindsided him."

"And what was that, something?"

"He thought your doppelgänger brought us together, and for some reason, the thought of that scared him," Growing emotional again, tears formed in my eyes, both of pain and anger, "He tried telling me that you're using me for my power, that having my power is dangerous for us all."

"Hehe, honey," He wasn't laughing at my feelings, but at Lui Kang's proposition, caressing my cheek and smiling, "He fears the fact that you and I are an unstoppable force. If anyone were to use you or feed you lies, it'd be him."

"I know that," I breathed, still lost in the one question I had, "I let my anger best me and was ready to kill him. Every time he stared into my eyes, it wasn't that he feared me, but something that involved me. What is it that I saw in his eyes?"

"Oh no," He shook his head, placing his forehead against mine, "He fears you. He fears your power, and it's already been proven that even Titans can be defeated, which is his inevitable fate."

Nodding softly, I felt more content when he gave me a soft kiss, "How about you take a moment to yourself, and I'll handle the scroll?"

"Thank you, dear," I kissed back, genuinely appreciative, but I wasn't going off to relax.

Going to a dark room, I sat with my eyes closed, retracing my steps in my fight with Lui Kang. There was this feeling that I couldn't explain, but when I was angry, it got stronger.

Could it have something to do with Lui Kang wanting me on his side?

There was only one way to find out if this feeling had more behind it than I thought. Squeezing my eyes closed even harder, I thought of everything that made my heart burn with rage.

As those memories ran through my mind, that feeling started to come around, and then suddenly, my heartbeat turned into a pounding drum, a decisive strike of pain in my head, so unbearable that I held the top of my head, screaming.

"I'm so sorry that I have to leave you, my dear daughter-"

What were these memories? I had no recollection of them, the intense migraine pounding in my head stronger, my cries making it hard to breathe as the memories kept flooding my mind.

"Never be afraid, my child. Your powers may be dormant for some time, but someday, you will be the most powerful goddess the realms have ever known."

Goddess? Despite the pain, I tried to make out the face and voice that was playing in my memory, but it was hazy. Was I an infant when this happened? I never knew my family.

"Y/N?" I could hear Shang's voice, but when I opened my eyes, I couldn't see. I tried to call out for him, but nothing would come out of me; seeing the figure in my memory one last time:

"I know you won't remember me, but know I love you."

"Y/N, let me help you," Shang tried picking me up off the floor, getting me to my feet before I started to stumble over my feet.

Something was overwhelming me, this strange, powerful feeling flowing through me like a drug in my veins, and the more it flowed, the more I felt the need to set it free.

"I d-don't know what's happening to me," I cried, my whole body pulsating, not able to see, but my instincts led me outside.

The wind was cold as it flew past me and felt so reliving, making me notice that my body temperature had skyrocketed.

"I said, let me help y-" Shang was only trying to help, and my denial was annoying him, but everything went silent, and a crack of thunder roared in the sky as I let out a throat-straining scream, that power I was feeling started controlling me, my hands raising to the sky.

"S-Stop this pain," I began to cry harder, clenching my fist at the dark, clouded sky, screaming out, "I SAID, MAKE IT STOP!"

In a swift woosh, all the clouds disappeared, the sky dark as it was the night but clear, revealing countless stars soaring with colors past the moon whose light glistened against me as I dropped to my knees, finally able to breathe, but so drained that new power in me still there, but flowing easily as if it were always a part of me.

"W-What-" Shang was left speechless, just as clueless as me, "What did you just do? The sky-"

The pound in my head was still there, and my vision blurred, but I could see Shang, puzzled and astonished. I had no idea what I had done, but when I yelled to the sky, I could feel this connection, as if I could bend it to my will.

"Shang-" Reaching out for him, I was going to try and explain somehow, but as he approached me, the world seemed to be spinning, falling to the ground as everything went black.

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

I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious, rubbing my temple as the migraine from before lingered, thinking of those faint memories again, the power I released to the sky.

"What was that?" I whispered to myself, hearing Shang coming to my side:

"You're awake."

He must've brought me to bed, feeling my temple and noticing, "Your fever seems to be going away already."

"I don't know what happened to me," I whispered, explaining, "I felt strange when I faced Lui Kang. So, I tried to bring back that feeling, and I got this migraine, these strange memories-"

"Strange memories?" Only wanting to know the truth behind this, I tried to picture it perfectly in my head.

"I think it was my mother," I could sense that he was puzzled yet again as he knew that I never knew my parents, "It was a woman talking to me, apologizing that she had to leave me. She called me daughter-"

All this happening to me so suddenly brought me to tears, shaking and staring off into space, trying to find the belief in the words of that figure in my memories:

"She told me never to be afraid; that my powers would be dormant, but I would become a-a-"

"A what, dear?" My eyes kept squeezing harder, but the tenderness in his voice made me open them softly, scarcely whispering:

"A goddess."

"Lui Kang's proposition to you," Slow in his words, he stared at me strangely, swallowing down, "It all makes sense now."

"What makes sense?" I cried out of confusion, having to pick myself, "And why are you staring at me like-"

Midsentence, I glanced at a nearby mirror, and my eyes were glowing. The shakes I already had grew stronger, the shock making me spit out:

"I need to find Lui Kang. I need answers now."

"That is the last thing you need to do," He said quickly, laying me back and trying to calm me down, "You will get your answers soon, but if you return to him without any control of this, it can lead to the end of us."

That was a good point, but I was still confused, not sure what to do, covering my face as I cried:

"My whole life, I was a goddess of some sort?"

"If I had to guess, one of your parents was a deity, the other a mortal," Shang's assumption could be the only sort of insight I'd see till we took the hourglass for ourselves, making another good point, "And given Lui Kang's power, he could have surely delayed this awakening thus why he kept trying to tempt you. More than likely, he wanted you on his side before your true power came to intuition."

"We must end him-" I gasped, beginning to hyperventilate. I still had so many thoughts racing through my mind. If I was a goddess, what was I a goddess of? How had I lived my whole life not knowing this?

"And we will," Shang's confidence never died, but he pushed our ultimate ambitions to the side, pulling my hands away from my face, helping me ease down, and cooing, "Just breathe, sweetheart."

"I'm trying-" Taking in a shaky breath, the next few were deeper, and once I was breathing right, he wrapped my arms around him, knowing that I needed the comfort that his hugs brought me.

"That's it. Nice, deep breaths," He whispered, petting back my hair, helping me with another outlook on this situation, "And think of it this way: you're a goddess, sweetheart. That'll make our goal even easier to achieve."

"Once I fully understand this, there is nothing Lui Kang can do," I whispered, hugging him tighter. Shang placed a kiss on my temple:

"Exactly."

I knew that with this turn of events, things were bound to become even more twisted, but I didn't want to think about that, shyly asking Shang:

"Can you lay with me for a while, please?"

Fixing me on my side to make room, he slid into the bed beside me, keeping me against his chest, fingertips running through my hair. I felt at ease as we laid together for some time, clinging to him as I went to speak, but hearing him whisper:

"We were never supposed to meet. That baffles me, but in a good way."

He must've felt my eyes on him, smirking down to me:

"Yet again, another sign that we can defy what that fool calls destiny." 

"Undeniably," I smiled back, picking my head up to kiss him, cooing, "No matter what he says, I just know, deep in my heart, we were meant to be."

Kissing and guiding me to my back, we kept looking at the bright side of things, Shang breathing in against my neck:

"To think I've had a goddess in my arms for so long."

"There's no other who is worthy," I whispered, the need for him strong, sitting up and taking off my shirt, offering myself to him, "Only you, Shang."

"Your loyalty never ceases to amaze me," He smiled more and stripped out of his clothes along with me, a bit teasing with his words as our warm skin met, "How could I ever repay you?"

I knew he couldn't help his ways, his free hand stroking his cock before gliding his tip through my slick, nudging my clit, then circling my entrance, whispering in my ear:

"I think I know the perfect way."

"So perfect," I gasped, his kisses down my neck in a slow, matched sequence with his girth stretching me, thrusting slow and deep as his lips trailed down to my breasts, his tongue flicking across my nipple along with his tip grazing my sweet spot having me squirm and whine.

As good as his pleasure was, something was different than the other times. Not only had it been so long, but it was more intense in passion.

We had never gone for so long before, switching from slow and sensual to quick and pugnacious, earning an orgasm from me in each series.

He showed his actual durability, but even he had his limits. I was clinging to him as if my life depended on it, his name being the only thing to come out of me besides moans, whining at how tight I was around his cock, feeling how he was beginning to throb against my walls.

"No one will take you from me. Never worry again," He was panting, so close to his own high that profound words started spilling from him, our noses together as his tongue rolled into my moans, "My goddess."

I tried to find his eyes, the pleasure making mine roll, only seeing his lower half shining with my sleekness, the pressure against my clit making that shine grow.

"N-Never," I moaned against his lips, clinging to him tighter, rattled by his hips smacking into mine harder and harder, the knot in my stomach beginning to crack and make me drool out, "N-No one!"

My jaw hung with beautiful, silent moans as my walls clamped around his cock, tighter than ever before, eyes wide open, the ceiling swirling above me, his groans flooding my ears as his hot seed streamed as deep as he could reach in my cunt; slow but still thrusting as he finished, keeping himself buried to keep me full of his seed as a little seeped out of me.

His hair was falling towards my face, but it didn't block the passionate look in his eyes. No words. Just a smile, sweat beading down his temple.

"My goodness-" I couldn't seem to catch my breath; between that look in his eyes and the lingering feeling of having all of him for the first time, I whispered, "You're going to get me addicted to that."

Chuckling at me, he was just as serious as me, keeping our hips pinned as we melted together, my heart fluttering rapidly with happiness as his hand rubbed my stomach in soft circles, "It's not like we'll have to worry about it here soon."  

2023 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome 

[astarionsknife]

MLB season 6 thoughts so far. Breaking it up per episode.

Some episodes I've only seen subbed so far and I'll def rewatch them all once it's all out. So these are just my initial thoughts on the new season.

Before getting into the episodes themselves, I want to talk about the new animation and redesigns. Personally I am a fan of them. While as stills the designs looked a bit meh on some characters, in the show themselves they actually look pretty good. And I'm definitely a big fan of the animation upgrade. The movements still make it clear that the team is inspired by anime, which makes it look a lil silly in 3d still but it's def better with the new models and upgraded lighting.

The illustrhater

It sure is a start. I guess. The episode didn't stand out to me but it did give us a good look at how the new villain works. Idk if we aren't supposed to know it's Lila or if they plan to make us think it's her and then dump something new on us. But the way they work is certainly interesting. More manipulative. I do enjoy seeing how everyone has their own respective miraculous with them now. I hope we can see them bond with their kwamis too.

Sublimation

This episode was rough... Marinette acting jealous over a new girl was a choice... But I suppose it is good to make her have flaws still? It just felt really cringe. I was a bit iffy on Sublime at first, as she was shown as this perfect girl, but showing that it's because of the pressure her mom has been putting on her def made her better. Also love getting some Belgian rep 🇧🇪💕 (I hate my country).

Daddycop

Probably my fav so far? Finally we get to see Chloe! Sadly she's in London and the writers clearly don't intend to ever give her the redemption arc she deserves. But she really slayed her new design. Seeing an actual pride pin on Millène was also a cute touch. And idk if they intended the words "but I loved her" to be sounding so gay, but it did. It did feel a bit weird how the other girls were so against Sabrina? Especially Alya. We all know Sabrina did things wrong, but even in previous seasons, she has been showing growth. Also Marinette was a tad bit too creepy with her 100th kiss. She's lucky Adrien matches her freak.

Werepapas

Finally seeing more of Adrien's past and meeting his grandparents on both sides???? Amazing! Marinette was also a great gf in this episode. I hope she gets to act more like she did here. Nathalie's new design is also so cute ngl. Best part was Johnny mentioning Bicky sauce and making me crave a bicky burger. At first I thought they might be Belgian too, but they are from Lille. Which is very close to the border of Belgium, which makes sense as to why he would give me that idea.

Final thoughts

So far I'm excited for this season. The writing is still much to be desired, but it's getting a bit better. Can't say I care much about the new hawkmoth atm as it just feels like a bit of a side plot so far. Just something going on in the background while other things are happening. Which idm.

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Raicheille Lhorulgois Triggers/Content warnings: Child abuse

Takes place one year after Silenced.

"Stand still," Mother snaps, swatting Raicheille's shoulder as though she's an insect in need of a good squishing. "And stop slouching, girl! You've no figure yet to speak of; we must pin all of our hopes on your face. Gods help us."

I inherited it from you, you old sow, she doesn't dare say, straightening her shoulders even further, stretching her spine until it creaks. Her new dress clings in uncomfortable places, telling earnest but unconvincing lies about the shape of her beneath it. As though anyone would believe it. Her betrothed-to-be will be a fellow wildwood, of course, and everyone knows elezen don't begin properly growing until their twentieth year, give or take.

At fifteen summers, she feels like a dodo pretending to be a chocobo.

"You will be gracious," Father says. His voice is cold, stern, as though she's one of his hired lances. "You will speak only when it is required of you, or you will suffer the consequences of your disobedience."

She fights the urge to shudder.

There's every reason the new dress covers her from the neck down, hiding the bruises and welts she's earned over the past year.

Nourval wouldn't let them do this to me.

"Do not bite your lip," Mother snaps again, seizing Raicheille's chin between cruel fingers, not quite hard enough to bruise. "Do not sulk at your father, you ungrateful trollop; were it not for your interference, none of this would be necessary! Your uncle had it all well in hand!"

"Yes- yes, Mother."

Had it all well in hand is, Rai thinks, a very diplomatic way to describe the attempted murder of an officer of the Twin Adder, in an effort to frame visiting Ala Mhigan diplomats for the crime - it'd been her interference, yes, that'd alerted Captain Smyth to the plot. But she'd only ever wanted her brother to be freed from prison; beyond that, she hadn't really cared what became of it all. Not really.

She hasn't seen Nourval since. Her last memory of her brother is of him lying half-dead in the tall grass, and Captain Smyth sending her dashing off for a healer.

He's alive, at least. She knows that much. If her parents would let him see her...

But no. They'd told the Adders charming lies, pleading their ignorance, pleading their innocence, and so Raicheille was returned to the loving arms of her parents. If only someone had thought to ask her what her parents might have known... but who ever cared what one scrawny girl knew?

Captain Sanson cared, she thinks, idly, fighting the urge to rub her throbbing jaw while her parents aren't looking.

Today is her chance at redemption, her parents have told her, endlessly, for the past week. Marriage is a time-honored contract, sealing alliances between the families of Gridania's oldest families - those who long for the old ways, before Gridania opened her gates to outsiders; before Ala Mhigo brought war to her doorstep and pushed Gridania to the brink. Before Vainchelon's death. Rai has known all her life that she'd be handed over into the keeping of some tradition-minded man or other...

But that was before she knew the truth about it all.

Now she wants to run screaming into the Shroud, hopefully to be eaten by some wild beast - better that than being married off to some other hateful bastard who who only wants to rekindle old wars.

The one they've picked for her is nearly thrice her age: a grizzled veteran of the Old Guard, known to have a firm hand with his servants. The Matron knows he's likely to see her as little better than a servant; she expects she'll be lucky to see the sun more than once a moon - she'll be kept under lock and key, seen but not heard, her value proven only in the production of sons to bear arms-

I'd rather just get eaten.

"Come, girl," Father says, snapping his fingers like she's one of his hunting hounds. Mother places an ungentle hand on her back, guiding her forward like a prisoner who can't be trusted to follow obediently.

It's more apt than it ought to be.

[echoedcrosshairs]

Dark Redemption: Kamino Lost - Part I

Summary: After Crosshair joined the empire you went looking for him and eventually found him but he wasn’t the man you remember, temporarily free from the empire Crosshair has to figure out whether he’s staying to make amends or rejoin the empire 🖤Smut with an Angsty Plot🖤

Warning: Cannon typical violence, Order 66, Pinning, former established relationship, emotional turmoil, eventually smut

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist ~ part I ~ part II

Shots wrung out in the distance and you felt the platform shake. Staring out the window of the Havoc Marauder dark black plumes cascaded into the air ushering the beginning of an era without clone troopers, the beloved home of hundreds of thousands now a watery tomb in the depths of Kamino. Taking your feet off the dash you went to the ramp door, your legs threatened to buckle when you reached the platform looking out for any sign of your squad. Seeing the green streaks in the distance continuing to fire you knew there couldn't have been a chance and you probably the only person left alive. Your hand went to your mouth covering to try to contain the sobs trying to rip out of your chest. Please let me they got out. Minutes felt like hours ever slicer of hope fading but they finally arrived all of them safe.

Your eyes found the familiar stranger, gone were the colors of his upbringing replaced with the mourning color of the reaper. Every connection to his prior life erased hollowed to the creature of death the empire had created to take his place. Once bright eyes matching the pigment of his daily coffee now flat and lifeless. Crosshair, the name associated with one man who pick off enemies from ten klicks or better now stood as a weapon of the Empire.

Desperately you want to hold onto your animosity towards him for what he's done, part you of clung to the hope that it had been the chip. You saw the moon cratered scar the side of his head and the empty expressions on his brothers faces, you knew he was gone. Your stomach twisted, electing to sit on the ramp as they all turned their backs to you staring at the ruins of their long ago home.

"We should leave before the Empire's scouts show up," Tech said looking out and up towards the skyline.

"You comin' with us" Wrecker asked optimistically turning to Crosshair.

"None of this changes anything," Crosshair said looking at his former brothers as he coaxed calm into his features burying his rage and betrayal for pointing their weapons at him for saving who they cared about more than him.

"You offered us a chance, Crosshair, this is yours," Hunter offered hoping he would change his mind or at least appear to consider it for a moment but he had always been the most bullheaded and unrelenting person.

"I made my decision," Crosshair's rough voice cut you from your thoughts forcing you to stare at him.

"We want different things, Crosshair. It doesn't mean we have to be enemies," Hunter said trying to give him an understanding look before the four of them headed towards the ship finding your broken expression, guilt riddling their features.

Echo grabbed your shoulder jerking his chin towards the ship, "I'm sorry," he said letting go following his squad up the ramp.

You stayed their watching Omega still standing behind him, silently observing him without a fear in the old about what he was capable off.

"What?" Crosshairs lip twitched turning around to look down at her.

"Thank you for saving AZ," Omega said standing alone staring at him.

"Consider us even," Crosshair said looking up at Hunter knowing he meant between them before his eyes found yours. His stare lasted for a split second before he couldn't bare to see the pain in them, it destroyed him that you didn't understand and that you saw things just like them.

"You're still their brother, Crosshair, your my brother too," Omega said gloomily turning around joining you on the ramp, "She loves you," she added quietly.

Tech called your name, "I can not shut the ramp until you are inside."

You stared at his back, he wouldn't even look at you. You marched off the ship putting your hands on your hips glaring at him. "What," he said still staring out at the smoke, a piece of him crashing down into the ocean to be forgotten forever.

"Get your farking ass on that ship or I am staying here until we either die or the empire picks us up. I don't care if you stay with them afterwards or not."

"Why do you care?" he said flatly.

"I don't know who you are, but Crosshair and I use to mean the stars to each other," the tears tried to choke you as you pointed at the no longer standing city, "Crosshair died on Kaller but now I'll never get the answers to what they did to him afterwards. I can at least honor his memory by making sure whatever they did with his corpse breaths another day," the tears staring following by the only thing in your voice was pain and rage, "Get on the ship." He didn't look at you but he spun around and marched on board. You whipped your face on your sleeves as you straighten your back and followed after them. The pained expression on Hunter's face told you he heard every word and personally felt every cut of the words. You saw the darkly armored figure sitting in your usual seat. Fingers ghostly over the seat remembering when you first met him and how it felt like life time ago. Tech called your name again a few times before you blinked and looked up at him, "Corellia," you responded to his question of now what.

"What's on Corellia?" Omega asked once you finally sat.

"CT-9904 can safely make it back to the Empire if he chooses, it wouldn't be hard to falsify that pirates came looking for salvage, picked him up and dropped him off looking for a reward. There's plenty of them and bounty hunters there. It's logical," you responded letting your hands continue to skim across the seat remembering the banter and snide remarks before looking at Omega's seat where you use to sit in because it was a perfect line for both of you to flick toothpicks at each other. A smile trembled on your face before noticing the shadow in the corner studying all of you, your face flat lined over his scrutiny.

"Why didn't you say his name?" Omega inquired curiously.

"She is referencing that our or specifically her Crosshair is not the Crosshair sitting with us therefore making a distinction between the two, at least that is what I am assuming," Tech offered.

Hunter nudged you to follow him, you stood up following the sergeant out of the cockpit, "Are you sure about this? What if he turns you in to the Empire?"

"I've already been captured by the Empire and didn't break, but this time don't come for me."

"Oh?" you heard Crosshair voice ask.

"I went looking for trouble and found it," you swallowed before heading into the bunk room.

"She went looking for you, she found the regs instead," Hunter stated once he heard you climb into your bunk, "You may think we abandoned you but she never did. Not for a moment, Crosshair."

Hunter sighed and headed back to the cockpit leaving him to stand there. He heard Crosshair walk into the bunk room, pulling out his vibro blade playing with it eavesdropping.

Crosshair found you tucked into his bunk holding onto one of his old shirts staring at the wall that was now littered with photos of the squad especially ones of the both of you, various missions to when he was giving you shooting lessons. His eyes narrowed at the semi intimate one of the both of you kissing in 79's on a date, he'd never seen the photo and saw how it pulled out suggesting it was usually tucked behind the photo in-front of it wondering who took it.

"I know your there," you breathed taking your eyes off the memories to look back confirming his presence lingering against the wall, tucking the last photo of both of you together on shore leave right before order 66. You climbed out of the bunk pulling the privacy curtain shut feeling to emotionally exposed while folding your arms over your chest, "Something you need?"

"You looked for me," it wasn't a question but a statement, he put a tooth pick between his teeth, "Didn't like what you found," another toneless statement, "Why not let me go?"

You slumped against the wall of the bunk shaking your head, "Tech said you let them live on Ryloth faking trying to shoot them down, I wanted to know if there was anything left of him in there."

"And?" he hand went to his hip waiting watching as you went toe to toe with him staring into his eyes.

"You have his mannerisms," your hand fluttered to his hip, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth next to his tooth pick then up to his eyes, "but I don't recognize the person in your eyes anymore," your hand flopped to your side, swallowing fighting the urge to touch him any further or try to recognize him in this creature, "I don't know what hurts worse wondering how much of it was you or the chip making you or remembering how long I have left until I hopefully get to see him again," you turned crawling back into the bunk, the tears no longer able to be held back, "Hunter.. can you grab me a water?" you whispered knowing it was going to be a bit before the tears were going to stop.

Hunter grabbed one of the canteens from storage slipping pass Crosshair has was just standing against the wall of the bunk room. He pulled back the curtain putting his body between you and Cross's eyes handing you the water and a package of tissues, "We're a couple hours away from Corellia depending on the Empire's movements through the sector, do you really want to go through with this?"

"I have too."

Hunter nodded, smiling when Omega wormed her way between him and climbed into the bunk yanking the curtain closed. She looked at all of the photos, "You know he's out there right?" she whispered.

"Someone is," you whispered back pulling one of the photos so both of you could look at it closer, "Did you meet him before the chip?"

"As a baby, I was in the lab where they were enhanced."

"So your older then them?"

"Yeah. What was he like?"

"Snarky, humorous, witty, banter at every turn. A little short tempered."

"He seems the same to me."

"He's not," the smile on your face died as you put the put the photo back, "I barely recognize him."

"He barely recognizes us too."

You looked at her, for being so young she was always so insightful, "Go hang out with your brothers," you nudged.

You followed her out of the bunk staring at him sitting on the floor with his head down gnawing on his tooth pick. You sat a few paces away on the floor in front of him, "CT-9904," he looked up squinting before relaxing, "Yes?"

"Who are you?"

"CT-9904," he squinted not understanding the meaning as you told him, "Crosshair."

You sighed frustratedly before tapping the side of his side with the scar and asked again. "Crosshair." You nodded and got up, "That's what I needed to know." Walking into the cockpit it fell silent as you took his seat as he silently shadowed you placing himself in your chair. Your fingers tapped on the chair's arm rest, "What happened on Kamino?"

"Well Crosshair lured us into a trap in the training room, killed his squad to what I assume was to approve the point of his sincerity then asked us to join the empire and then the empire opened fire on us and with Omega's insight we navigated our way out as the building started flooding," Tech summed up.

"You forgot almost drowning," Wrecker asked.

"Ah, yes and then running into the aquatic life while running through a lift tube. Now I believe that is everything."

You eyed him, "Imp killed imps to try to make more imps, interesting backward strategy," you mumbled.

"I was showing loyalty," he snarked back.

"Not to the squad you had," you countered.

Omega watched as it slowly turned into a shouting match, "Is it always like this?" she whispered to Hunter who was also watching intently, "unfortunately." Hunter took out the ear plugs from his bag and handed them to here, "put them in," he waited until she put them up before getting up, "Go fight in the bunk room, Omega is a child."

Both of you argued all the way to the room about loyalty, "Loyalty? Where was your loyalty to me!" You shouted, "Not once did you ever look for me, ask for me. Where was your loyalty to me, Crosshair!" You shouted. Your throat fell raw, rawer then you realized you said his name. Your jaw clamped shut and you couldn't look at him, "Where was your loyalty to me CT-9904," you correctly, "Your loyalty was ever only to your brothers, I always knew that deep down. It was always them," you sat on the lip of your bunk looking at the pictures, "Crosshair died on Kaller," you whispered hoping one day that if you repeated it enough you would finally believe it, "I'll get you home and then we're even." One by one you plucked the photos off the bunk wall in the heavy silence. You grabbed the small photo box with so many more memories and placed them inside. You packed all of your belongings in your weapon kit leaving the tiny box of pictures on the bunk and put it back against the wall, his weapon kit that you shared. You returned to your bunk looking at the forlorn expression on his face. I wish your decision would have been me. He was bred for war, sculpted out of ice for combat and the fires of bell for survival... this is who he is. I don't think I was ever truly an option after seeing him now but after this I don't think I can stay here, to many memories in these walls whisper their secrets in the dead of night reminding me of what I lost. After this maybe I'll join Rex's group, it'll put my skills to use and maybe I can help some other poor soul going through what I am. The thought started the tears, but this time no sound escaped besides the barely audible thunk of them landing on the durasteel floor.

"I did ask," is all he said. Your eyes shot over to him, he was back against the wall using it to support himself, "I assumed you died defending the Jedi, you always had a soft spot,"

"My only soft spot was for Crosshair, you kriffing Hutt spawn."

"Stop talking about me as if that isn't my name," he snarled, "I didn't die on Kaller either, I am right here."

"You did too me," you snapped back breathing trying to collect your thoughts, "You didn't even try to come back after having your chip removed, you started following orders, you became everything you hate. A reg. When have we ever followed orders especially so blindly without thought like the unthinking droids we fought against?"

"I am superior then a reg, I'm not going to waste my life running from my purpose-"

"Your purpose? Killing whatever innocent you get pointed too like a droid? You were a soldier of the Republic! Fighting for freedom and democracy not fear and tranny! If your purpose is being a monster you already accomplished it."

"This is who I am."

You stared  at the box with half the mind to blast it to bury the past once and for all, "is it or is it who you got told to be?" The calculating on his face not changing nor words sprung from his mouth in answer, "I could have spent Crosshair's whole life pretending he loved back but.. I don't know about the husk of him before me."

In a few swift footsteps Crosshair bridged the gap between both of you grabbing your hands holding them in your lap as he knelt, the gesture wasn't aggressive but he saw Hunter out of the corner of eye his hand resting on his holster trying to stay out of sight purposefully failing. Crosshair's lip twisted upward before returning his attention back to you, letting himself stare at you further then he previously allowed letting himself to relax even if it was a temporary moment. He saw everything in your eyes the pain, the loneliness, the honesty, the sincerity of your words but also the fear of him. He dropped your hands, "His brothers had his loyalty but only you ever had his heart," he whispered, standing up forcing the softness to fade back into the collected demeanor of the ruthless soldier of the Empire, "Stop saying I'm dead." He walked back into the cockpit shoving Hunter into the frame making sure you heard that he was there. Crosshairs mind was swimming with questions and rage as he felt the prickling eyes of brothers as he tried to figure out what he wanted and what he needed. I was created for a purpose to bring peace to the galaxy once and for all, the clone war is over but the war for peace is not. After a while of debating his purpose and what he's been order to do his mind drifted to you. The words may have cut him down piece by piece, it was the tears that had effected him the most. He summoned the photo that tried to hide in his mind the memory of his old life fuzzy, you had just finished teasing him about his choice in scarfs on cold days when he was in his basic and he wanted to silence you the sensation of you ghosted his lips and hands. He made a small strained growl before putting a fresh toothpick in his mouth ignoring the stares or that Tech had even swiveled in his chair to look at him. "Stop gawking," Crosshair snipped turning his attention to the door away from them.

"You're angry," Omega appearing at his side forcing him to remember what happened when his chip activated before they had experimented on him.

"How perceptive," he said not looking at her, "go away."

"You only got on this ship because of her, show her that," Omega said before taking her place leaning against Gonky playing on Tech's datapad.

Crosshair took off his glove to stare down at war callous blood tainted hand, his eyes trailed the familiarity of his hand the scars his thin fingers remembering battles but how gently they love in moments of privacy. He slipped the gloves back on, the weakness made him feel sick; a sickness his training yelled at him to eliminate. I’m not ‘Crosshair’ anymore just CT-9904, the thought made his hands clench, She is right, where was my loyalty. He found Hunter leaning against the outdoor wall of the bunks waiting to see what he would do.

"We'll be reaching Corellia shortly."

I guess it will have to wait, Crosshair sighed thinking to himself.

~ Before Kamino Lost ~

Hope had a way of twisting the reality of a situation. Your leg drummed against the durasteel floor processing what Tech had told you about their most recent encounter with the formally known brother named Crosshair. You've broken bones before but that was nothing compared to breaking in your chest. You stared at the squads partially shaved heads, your eyes lingered on Wrecker as you fully understood the dangers of the chips.

"I'm going after him," you announced, it's not Crosshair it's the chip, you told yourself, Wrecker the big excitable softie wouldn't dare hurt his brothers or Omega, that's how much of an effect the chips had. It had to be the same with Cross.

"Crosshair-."

"He's expecting the rest of you," you said your eyebrows knitting together, "to him it's like I no longer exist maybe it'll shock him enough to give me an in."

Hunter and Tech exchanged glances knowing damn well you were going to do this with or without their permission, "What are you suggesting?" Tech asked breaking the silent conversation about whether they should aid or not.

"Drop me at a base, I'll cause enough chaos to get their attention and hopefully their dumb enough to bring him to me."

"That is a ridiculously stupid plan," Echo scowled, "Even Wrecker makes better ones."

"Stupid enough it might just work," Tech replied, "However you are aware we may not be able to get you out and there is a possibility of being killed in action before you even get to see him?"

You laughed awkwardly, "I know, I accept those risk for him."

"Why didn't you join him and the empire?" Omega asked.

"Crosshair would never have joined the Empire unless he was forced too, for that I am sure."

"Would you have?" Tech considered, "If he had of his own free will?"

"I don't know," it was the honest answer but it was one all of them seemed to accept, besides Tech knew you were the closest to the aloof sniper and had the sneaking suspicion you would have to keep Crosshair safe. Even being partners he didn't often publicly treat you any different besides the latest hours of the night and morning when everyone was supposed to be asleep or microscopic shore leaves. Echo hadn't been fond of the plan but was the first one to hug you as you landed in the Imp hot zone and Omega being the last.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Hunter said putting his hands on your shoulders, you patted his hands with a grim smile, "I'm absolutely sure, Hunter," his grip released on you as you walked down the ramp quickly hearing it close behind you.

You didn't even bother with a weapon just a small explosive, you primed it as you got closer to the gate. Heart was speeding as fast as pod racers trying to survive the death course, possibly even putting light speed to shame. Tossing it after your shoulder, you saw the approaching Regs letting them get up close and personal, "You're going to take me to CT-9904 or else," the shock of the explosive set you all flying and that is the last thing you remembered before waking up in a ceil with a brown haired man replying your capture on a holo.

"Ah you're awake, welcome back to the land of the living," the man said looking at the half conscious person in the cell across from you, "More or less, I'm Admiral Rampart."

That's when the truth finally started setting in. The gruesome truth about what had happened to Crosshair, who he had become and what he was capable of. It was sick but Admiral Rampart enjoyed watching you break down as he showed you holo after holo of Crosshairs missions from the probe droids watching him. Day or night it no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things, it was almost round the clock torture. Admiral Rampart came back for his usual update videos of Crosshair trying to get you to divulge where Clone Force 99 was, except this time he was silent as both of you watched the familiar tall and lean form walk pass, glistening from a fresh shower paying neither of you attention.

"See he walks by without even realizing you are here or cares," Rampart laughed cruelly playing a holo of another one of Crosshairs missions and the carnage at his feet, "Tell me where Clone Force 99 is and I'll order him to talk to you, your eyes say so much more then your mouth," he added gripping your jaw, "especially when you look at him."

You stared at him in silent defiance, he sigh tossed your face away and your body followed it crashing into the wall next to the toilet, "At this rate you'll die long before him," you heard Rampart say excusing himself from the cell, "Maybe I should order him to execute you himself." Your stomach mangled itself over the poor excuse for a refresher, whether it was because the drugs, the lack of food or seeing the horrendous things he did you couldn't tell, maybe knowing that who he had become would, could kill you. Crosshair could never... but this isn't Crosshair this is CT-9904, whatever horrible things they did him after the chip activated. Spite kept you alive. After surviving longer then they anticipated they made the mistake of letting you catch a glimpse of him in his full black entire, helmet on, fire puncher slung across the back then they made the mistake of transporting you to a different facility. You knew the true meaning of love but the Empire had shown you what hate truly was and that was going to be there last mistake.

"Thought you could use a hand, not that I have a free one to spare anymore," Echo chuckled but his face remained solemn as he took in your beaten shape.

"We have to go," you heard the familiar smooth candace of Tech's voice around the corner, "I assume you didn't learn anything valuable but I did after we encountered him on Ryloth."

~