#like how home with the ravens was a nightmare but it was familiar and he knew he would be punished for leaving

[purpleelephantsocks]

Oh god, oh fuck, oh no; the parallels between Jean at the beginning of tsc panicking and telling Wymack "I want to go home" and Jean at the end of tsc falling apart after finding out his baby sister has died, telling Neil the same thing.

"I want to go home."

He is only nineteen

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first rays of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

 A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart. 

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low. 

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses. 

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

**

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe. 

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness. 

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion. 

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

**

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone.

It’s Rhysand.

The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced ease, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your power to continue surging through your bones and veins. Your power is like a current, charged with vitality, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

 “Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening from the fond memory. And in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a shift occurs. 

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon surrendered its space to the rising sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips. 

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You take note of the relaxation manifesting into the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that now settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful look settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed room, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you." 

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well.

You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was. 

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by an ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and soft light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse. 

**

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You.

A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

 A flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves quickly. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

[yandere-wishes]

｡⸝❀Desert Rose ❀⸜｡

𐙚 Yandere! Paul Muad'Dib Atreides x Reader x Yandere! Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: You miss the desert. Miss the sun and the sand and the place where they buried your heart. So you run and pray that they won't catch you. 

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies blood and gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, injuries, Feyd being Feyd. Paul is high on spice for 60% of the story. Part two will be much more fluffy. 

The thing they don't tell you about the desert is that it's alive. A breathing creature with feelings and a beating heart.~💜

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. 

How terrifying it is to be betrayed by that which you love most. How terrifying it is when you've forgotten how to harmonize with that which love most. 

That applies to the desert.

That applies to people too. 

There's something about the sun that's never been more poetic. It's harsh in its lashes, a cruel master, reminding you of what you'd been born into. It beats down something terrible and you can't help but suppress the frantic giggle that escapes your dry lips."You're so mean" you mumble, the glimmers muddle your focus. You see silhouettes of blue-eyed warlords and tar-painted gladiators. Feel phantom kisses rummage across the hollow of your bones. 

All of this is too familiar.

It makes you sick. 

Back then your father had reveled in Muad'Dib's coming. Proud to meet a warrior such as he. He'd spent hours refining his war plans, polishing his battle tactics. It's always such a strange sight to see excitement in such a strict man. 

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Disheveled and dehydrated with curls coated in sand. He was the desert's golden boy sent to fulfill every prophecy you'd ever been told. 

And yet, to you, he'd simply looked like just another heartthrob.

Just another boy's name to whisper to your friends during blasphemous games under the starry night sky. He had been no different than any tribal leader or warrior's son. That was truly such a miraculous time, back when such an atrocious thing had been merely a girlhood toy. 

Your father hadn't proposed marriage or alliances. That's not the Freman way, not during war. That doesn't stop the renegade gaze you've felt since he arrived. There's something stalking the desert, something too powerful to contain. You feel its chill, like the space between breaths before the breaching of the shai hulud. 

"You can call me Paul..." 

Lisan Al Gaib

The desert is a cacophony of dreams and nightmares. Deadly once the blood-deep navigation atrophies from constant complacency. You try to remember the prom of each foot. When to straighten, when to bend. Each step feels like treading through a mirage, murky and viscous. Too thick, too loose, you think you might sink. Fall through a false bottom into something great and endless. 

There is no bottom, no end. 

Only darkness, vast and perpetual. 

You wonder if that's what it feels like to be swallowed by a sandworm. If there is security in its infinite stomach. If it's better than the Arrakeen Palace. Daunting, soulless structure, home to monsters and killers. 

The sand grows thin. 

It's always the thinnest nearest a Sietch.

You made it...

You wonder why it had all felt so gruesome, so unholy. Paul's cacoon of naivety was breached, its remnants nesting underneath his feet, their spines snapping with each ground-quaking step he took. Arrakis had given birth to something monstrous, something ravenous. Yet all you had seen was a youthful face that tells not of horrors or suffering. It only promises freedom. 

Freedom was supposed to taste sweet, satisfying. The first sip from a childhood oasis. And you guess it had, for a little while. Before the realizations set in. Anyone who so openly grants freedom can take it away too. 

Paul inhales the reverence of the crowd. Savors the saccharine taste of victory on his tongue, before he spits out the essence of his hatred. Watching the blood scorch away under the desert sun. 

He swears he sees the sand dunes bow from the corner of his eye, they're towering magnificently bestowing something lethal onto him. Something they've yearned for, something fragile, something ancient. He deems it responsibility, duty, divinity and spins it into an enamelware crown.

Paul had become king. Not emperor, not sovereign, not overlord. Not yet at least. He's not the boy-prince from a distant planet anymore either. There no longer exists a boyhood carved of temperamental weathers and jagged salt-covered rocks. No more fairy tales of great dukes fighting bulls by the seaside and young princes running off on fighter jets to save mystical witches. There is only the sand and the giants underneath it, only a prophecy cracked whose ichor covers him in gold and stardust. 

He is Muad'Dib, savoir of Dune. 

Paul's eyes rummage through the crowd. Hungry, desperate

seeking out something, someone whose devotion does not show. 

He memorizes the scowl on your face, the dip of your lips. How he longs to feel them under his thumb. 

Duels concluded in death. When the ground has been fed its blood depts. When Jannah and Jahannam are granted another soul. That is when the victor arises. Duels end in death, in a chipped knife and a broken body on the floor. 

This one did not...

The memory still haunts you. 

Not in its breach of rite.

Nor its contradictions to morality.

But in what comes after.

The fear of the thing that was allowed to live...

Paul hadn't killed Feyd. Beaten, mauled, tamed. But not killed.

There is a rostrum made of sand and burnt bones. It was meant to serve as a victory throne, a symbol of a war and a revolt. You aren't so sure about that anymore. Not when it's being desecrated, by a survivor of the very thing it vowed to eradicate. Atop the dias, Paul stands, fingers swathed tightly around a pale, maimed wrist. The crowd stares, speechless as the prophetic son appoints a battered and bleeding Harkonnen Na-baron as his aid, his duke.  

Feyd-Rautha is all jet blacks and blood reds. His eyes hold daggers, impaling anyone who dares to look into them. You can not fathom why Paul, the one who promised a paradise and an end to the Harkonnen oppression would do such a thing. You never thought him holy, you didn't consider him cruel either. 

Paul hands over the spice trade to Feyd. He speaks of concentrated zones away from life. Somewhere deep and forgotten. He says "virtuous" as if it's a sermon only he can comprehend. "We need the funds, we need to rebuild, to fight. The spice is valuable and it will not hinder the awakening of Dune. My cousin will oversee its harvest and trade. The finances will be brought back to Arrakis, back to the Freman."

Maybe it's sorrow, a slithering nuance that won't leave. Maybe it's guilt twice folded and misplaced. Desperation for a kinsmanship with a family, he had thought all lost. The way he looks at Feyd speaks of hope and trust and everything else a little boy feels when he's dragging his friend by the hand through a forest made of splendor and ideation. But Paul isn't a little boy anymore and Feyd has never been naught save a killer. And you, you can't help but notice how the Muad'dib begins to lose his golden hue. 

The Sietch is cavernous, domed ceiling that expands into the rocks and sandy tiles that stretch as far as the eye can see. Unaltered spice particles dance in the gentle filtered rays of the sun. It feels like home. Like freedom and paradise and everything else those two men had stripped you of. Your body slumps by one of the etched walls. Awaiting your fellow Freman to find you. 

There is a stiffness in the Freman, an elegance that must be mastered. You'd once thought it inherited, a mere bone structure passed on from mother to child. You're not so sure anymore. The stiffness reverberates off the Sietch walls, it's obvious now that it's never been about straight spines and high-held heads. It's the ideals, the loyalties that Fremen carve into their souls. Sooner or later someone will inform the king of where his darling hides. 

All of Arrakis knows who you belong to. 

One of the older women tunnels water down your throat, she cradles your head and shushes you when you try to speak. She spills advice, motherly advice, into your veins. Telling you of how blessed you are to be chosen by the Lisan Al Gaib and his blood. Her embrace is a vice, coddling suffocating and not at all unpleasant. There is a sleek comfort between the witherd silk of her chador. It heartens fatigue residing stubbornly between your bones. It causes your eyes to fade and your mind to race. You forgot the terrors that lay outside, the advancing menace carrying crystalknifes and a voice that shakes worlds. Darkness beckons, a welcomed change. For the first time in months, you feel safe...

You are still a Freman, born of sand and spice. There is a future somewhere with palm trees and rosa persica. You intend to find it, to hold it between your hands running tired fingers over soft cloud-light edges. Arrakis has stood for longer than most planets have existed. You refuse to abandon its fate to a spice addict and a manic.

It's obvious, isn't it?

Maybe it always was...

Arrakeen palace is shaped like a heart, something eternal ungraved. It was young when you first marched through its grand gates. It had felt no less threatening than the sandworms beneath your feet. The spice that flew through the halls was suffocating, a distant, permutated relative of the elixir that had raised you. 

Paul's chancery is something empty, a cut out of Kaahgel masquerading as a citadel of dominance and perspicuity. It, much like the rest of the palace is novice and new. Paul sits in an awkwardly placed plush parlor chair, one retrieved from Caladan no doubt. He squirms in his seat as if his body has too many angles to fit properly in the rounded chair. He's far too accustomed to soft sands and jagged boulders. To sitting cross-legged on something loose and malleable. This luxury is unwelcomed, uncomfortable. You only notice Feyd when his demonic eyes suddenly land on you. He's languidly draped on the carpeted floor. His back half propped up by a quarter-painted wall. He's feeding slices of fruit into his mouth, savering the nick of the knife along his tongue. 

They look so innocent. Sinless, carless little boys playing in a sanctuary fort. Hiding from life and its crushing expectations.

Paul follows his cousin's gaze, he's out of his seat and across the room before you have time to knock. You note the blackness under Paul's eyes, how the synthetic blue feels distant and sunken. Almost as if they're looking at you from meters inside a cave. He's wandering through the twilight of exhaustion. Paradying awakeness like a lost bat caught in the afternoon sun. He's only surviving on artificial energy from the spice he so readily consumes. 

There is an exhilarating lilt in the timber of his voice. A galvanization in the way your name spills from between his lips. "What brings you here?" Paul's fingers dance across your shoulders, gripping them as one does their favorite toy. His eyes hold a fragile reverence, something unstable, denating with the slightest breath. "Lord Usul..." you begin, eyes bouncing between the sandy beiges of the walls. "You don't need to be so formal. Just say my name, like the first time we met." His nails start to dig into your arms, a jovian strength only a divine may possess. You don't remember leaving a deep impression. 

"Paul, I-I need to talk to you about..." Your vision cuts to Feyd, a hidden flare penetrates his legs, you don't dare look the Harkonnen in the eyes. He's far too feral for such raw exhibitions of hate. Yet you want him to feel your abhorrence, your detest. Paul understands, he knows what you're going to say before you've even finished rehearsing in your head. "Feyd doesn't mind, you can talk freely in his presence, I promise you, he won't bite." You swallow the need to argue, to protest, he bites, he definitely bites, and lacerates and kills...

It's easy to fall between the crevices of his voice, to allow the gentle nudges to sway your decisions for you. You wonder if the words coming from your mouth are even truly your own. They had sounded so absolute in your head. So firm. Now they sound dented, feeble, like a child begging to remain awake. You tell the king of how you disapprove of the spice trade, that it should be ceased. Its termination can only benefit the war, hindering the galactical navigation of your enemies. Paul listens with a distracted sort of attendance. His eyes melt into you, tracing your features with a delicate precision. You feel like a map, laid bare, feeding him information. Information he ignores, opting to busy himself with tracing continents and oceans. "Paul please listen" you beg. "Please". You notice an ignited flicker in his eyes, snapping him out of his lucid trance. "You know, since you feel so strongly about...everything. Maybe, maybe you should stay here. With us. Be the queen or duchess or whatever. You can help us rebuild. You can-" 

"What?" Your body jerks back, his fingers don't leave your forearms, pulling you back, closer. "Lord Usual...Paul...what are-" Something slithers between your bones, your skin, your muscles. Pushing past the cracks and sliding inside you. His mind grasps yours, echoing his desire, mapping out its constellation between your crux. 

Paul feels in blues, blues that make up the nuance between worlds. 

The ocean behind the largest dune

The lake beneath the greatest mountain.

The lamination of spice over one's eyes. 

It somehow ends with you. Covered in a color that mimics ambitions and dreams and something practically attainable. 

You feel him reach out, pushing you back into the physical world. Away from the luminous tints and flickering landscapes. 

"I'm saying that everything I do reminds me of you. It's hard not to dedicate every single breath to your memory." Paul's eyes are blown wide, there's a lament carved into his voice. He's pleading, desperate, like trying to chisel rock with a pebble. You don't like where this is going, don't like the mania, the love that's painted so vividly on his face. Your stomach churns, false ecstasy pumping in agonizing doses. This is wrong, you shouldn't feel flattered, gleeful. This isn't a miracle or a blessing. It's a curse, you know this, you have to run to escape. But something in you freezes, a sickly silver of devotion, of habit, a tradition force-fed into your soul keeps your legs stiff and still. 

Devotion is such a slippery thing. Always so close to suffocating. Sometimes all it's good for is a knife that kills. Just a grain of salt in a pulsing wound. 

Your eyes flicker across the room, trying to look at something, anything but him, anything but the Muad'dib who could make you grovel at his feet like a doll without even opening his mouth. It's only in your frantic search for an affix point, that you notice the beast is missing. His dominion left empty. You feel a chill in the room. Something stalking closer, something lethal and rogue. You scream shriveling into Paul's arms as someone grips your waist from behind, encaging you. "You were right cousin, she's as beautiful as you described...and as brave." Your breath hitches, he's touching you. Your body twitches as a cold sweat breaks. "Paul" you plead looking up into his electric blue eyes. He only smiles, contorting his features into something they're not, something soft and arrogant. You see triumph shimmer through his mind. He's won a game you didn't know you were playing. Crowned victor by fate and circumstance and...

and prophecy.

Paul cradles your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up to look at you. 

 "The first time I set eyes upon you, I knew you were the girl in my dreams. The desert rose beckoning me to Arrakis, to Dune. Don't you see, we've been bound by fate?" 

No. 

Feyd slowly licks the shell of your ear, he hums in satisfaction, an action you didn't know could be laced with so much malice. He murmurs something into your jugular, something too violent to decode. 

No.

Please no. 

It's easier to love than to be loved. 

There's a jolt that rings you awake, something violent crawling under your skin. You feel it before you witness it, witness the cold and loneliness not viable in the desert temples. 

The halls scream in silence, 

Hollow, employed out. 

"Hello?" The eerie reverberation of your words leaves you shivering. Scraping along the walls, tumbling into doorless rooms trying to find someone, anyone. You can't remember the last time you'd been alone. 

Utterly alone.

You didn't notice it at first. Didn't notice the unnatural stillness and the deafening silence. there is no life here, but it takes a practically mangled corpse for you to look down at the floor. 

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. You turn and you run, back from that which you came, feet thundering across the sand-dusted floor. You don't know where you're going, why even run? Helplessness swells inside you, coiling in intricate knots. Only to snap violently when you cross the third threshold. 

The corpses lie at his feet. your frenzied brain tries to count them, only going up to eight before it forgets what comes after. There is more, more bodies, more blood...more bones? But you can't focus on anything else except the glabrous man standing over them, knife pointed downwards, dripping into an endless sea of red. 

Your father used to tell you tales of rivers made of blood. Of mad men claiming divine crusades as they fed bodies into the endless stream. 

You never thought you'd witness it.

It shouldn't feel as conflicting as it does. 

"Darling..." Feyd's voice is gravel on gravel. Rough and coursed. It grinds against your skin reawakening every half-healed scar. 

"no, dear maker, please no" Feyd's gaze rakes over you, lingering on every detail. Toying and probing, much like a predator sizing up its frightened prey. "I missed you" his voice is purely threatening, mocking, he wants you back, needs you back. You can't be forgiven for this deliberate offense.

You try to bolt passed him, it's like a gallon of adrenaline has been shot straight into your chest. There's a scream in the air, you're not sure who it belongs to. you make it to the hallway leading to the contraction arena. Where the bearers of the water of life are nursed. You can see the stone-carved stairs and someone sitting there...

The ground slips beneath your feet, the red liquid having leaked under your soles. In the next breath, you're plunging into redness, shrouded and engulfed and bathed in the blood of your own kind. It feels warm and safe and disgusting. Like watching the stars of your favorite constellation collapse within themselves. It's a destructive kind of comfort, one that only ends in pain and bruises and fractured bones in places you can never wholly identify.

You're drowning, 

the more you thrash the harder it gets to stand. 

You feel the blood entangling you, weaving around your body like a net. 

and then like a shadow, he's over you. 

Looming with the promise of pain, of the misery of the savagery only he can offer.

"Feyd..." his name is razorblades upon your tongue. Your eyes catch his, distant voids colliding. Since when did you start looking into his eyes? When did the torture become worth it? His fingers ensnare your jaw, pushing cheeks and bones together. Feyd straddles your body, knees splashing into the blood. He tugs your head forward violently, before pounding it onto the floor. You moan out in pain a mangled, distorted noise. He only chuckles. Before repeating the motion. "You ran from us, you left us. I should kill you here and now. Bleed you out with the rest of these traitors!" it's hard not to notice the pain his voice harbors, odd how even a monster like Feyd can have his feelings hurt. He lifts his knife, wrapping both hands around the handle before plunging it into your abdomen. You choke, on a shriveled scream or a throat filled with blood you do not know. The colors are dulling and pulsating, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. Everything feels like it's made of flowing water. Precious streaming water. You can feel the throbbing at the back of your skull, you feel the giddy patter of your heart, and the nervous ticks of your hips under Feyd. 

Feyd...

Has he always been so beautiful?

Your body feels so hot and your mind feels so distant. 

Everything feeds into his endless beauty. 

Why are your lips pulsing? 

your teeth sink in, trying to still the need to kiss. 

"What's wrong princess, trying to play innocent? I know your tricks."

Feyd traces your lips with his. Fingers snake into your hair, pulling at odd intervals. "my sweet stupid little girl" he whispers, a curse and a blessing. He sucks on your bottom lip biting it harshly. Slipping his tongue between your teeth. His kiss is possessive, and swallowing. You feel yourself sinking deeper, wanting him to consume you whole. When he pulls back you feel like you can't breathe, you only existed within his kiss. It's the last thing binding you to this world. 

But then his head dips down. Leaving open-mouthed kisses upon the gushing injury. Feyd drinks deeply from your open wound, ravaging the blood and pushing in silver of a forgotten moonlight. The way his tongue laps at the gaping hole and torn ligament sends a shutter up your spin. When he lifts his head again you watch mesmerized by the way your essence drips from his lips. He kisses you again ferocious and deep and all conusiming. 

You feel so lost and so found.

Grounded and afloat. 

It's only when a scream, a familiar one, in a distance distorted sort of way, rings across the hall that you start to pull away. You push yourself up, palms slipping on the liquid life. From behind Feyd, you notice a man and a women. Young, scared. There is revulse in their blue eyes, yet you can't navigate its direction. You're sure if you weren't bleeding out you could identify them, you're sure you knew them in this lifetime. You hear the blood gushing, hear the crisp whistle of the blade as it slices through flesh. 

Once

Twice. 

Only then does the alluring migraine sober. The metallic tang of blood wafting through the air makes you sick. It's odd how the repugnant scent had alluded you until now.  Even if you'd been lying right in it. You wonder if such a scent would bother them. You doubt it, they tend to revel in the red glory and its hypnotizing associations. 

"Took you long enough, cousin" Feyd's head is turned watching as Paul steps past the corpses. His eyes are vibrant, a sapphire blue that cuts through time and space. He kneels next to you, gaze devouring you in your pitiful state. "why did you run?" he is cold, hurt. His blue eyes betray a degree of relief hidden by a defrauding glower. "I-we love you, you mean everything to us." You look away too exhausted to put up an argument. "I missed being home." You mumble. You swore for a minute something akin to comprehension ripples through the air. You're too delusional to believe in anything solid anymore. But maybe Paul understands, maybe he yearns for the desert too. Maybe he'll go easy on you...

Paul's fingers glide across your stomach, scattering the dust particles that have landed on your still form. The light from the high windows glimmers off the three of you painting something holy, something right, in another world, in another lifetime. When he sees the wound Feyd created he chuckles. " Stars Feyd, at least try to keep her alive." Paul's nails gently rack across the torn ligament, idly playing with the loose skin. Feyd laughs deep and psychotic -is it wrong to say you missed it?- "I couldn't help myself, you should have seen her. Eyes blown wide covered in blood. Stars I just want-" you interrupt him with a low moan. Paul rubs his calloused thumb over your wound, soothing the cut before he presses down. Hard.  

 when he hears the moan he presses harder. Making you wither and hiss. "This is a punishment, (y/n), you're not supposed to be enjoying it." His fingers slither into the open wound, stretching out the ligament " You jolt and holler and cry, begging him to stop. "You're my oasis, the only thing I love in this world. But you ran. YOU LEFT US." His words glitch and crack, the voice shining through penetrating you with a knife seeped in guilt. "I'm sorry." you choke out, only to be rewarded by another harsh cut from Feyd's knife. "I'm the daughter of the desert..." you protest, tears slipping past your hooded eyes. "You're our lover" Feyd barks defensively, aggravated. When the tears begin to leak the pain stops. "Don't waste your water" Paul mutters, wiping away a tear and sucking it between his lips savoring your delicate taste. 

Paul cradles your bleeding head in his lap, lowering his to kiss your crimson-soaked lips, "I love you" he mumbles against you, trying to press the core of his words into you. Making you feel him, making you believe. Feyd tucks your hair out of your face. Slowly pulling you up by your shoulders. The thin smile he offers is such a rare sight it makes your heart explode.

Why did you run away?

Why did you leave the ones you love most?

Your heart is laying on a bed of nails.

Somehow that feels fitting. 

Feyd pulls off the top of his stillsuit, discarding the armor-like pieces. Slowly he lays in the gore, he pulls you over him. His motions slow, mesmeric. You follow just another wave trapped in the current. You're so torn and hurt, broken in ways that can never properly heal. You let it happen, it's easier this way. Slowly he licks his blade clean of your blood, he grabs your wrist places the hilt in your hands, and tucks your fingers over it. "Hold on tight," he advises as he draws your hand back and brings the knife down between his defined muscles. The moan he lets out is profane, it makes you feel euphoric, filled to the brim with the merriment of guilt. Feyd kisses you again, his tongue pushes past your teeth, his conquest of you feels Harkonnen in every way. His tongue down your throat feels like a heavenly bliss. From behind Paul breaks the back of your stillsuit, he licks a strip up and down your spine. You moan into the kiss with Feyd. Slowly Paul starts to whisper firefly kisses into each vertebrae. Sucking melodies into the frail bones. His teeth snick between the cartilage, all scorpion stings, and cobra bites. It feels so right.

Feyd is a cannibalistic star, relishing in the way your wounds bleed into his. He feeds off your pain, feeds off the pain you grant. He's delusional with a cosmic kind of lust. Pulling celestials from their homes to burn into his own body. He loves you, loves how you penetrate him with a knife clad in anathema and adherence too turbulent to understand. 

Paul is, in many ways Feyd's opposite and in many others his equal. The quintessence of the path to hell being paved with good intentions. His kisses are the desert's curse and it's love. He's an entire solar system revolving around the only two people he has left to love. 

Slowly the world grows dark. You feel it hard to remain awake. "Sweet dreams princess" you hear Paul whisper as Feyd shuffles under you. You fall into his expecting arms. Safe and strong. The day has been so long and bootless. so tiring. so vexing. 

Yet somehow, in the endlessness of the moment, it matters all so little. Paul is here and he can hang the stars upon the night sky. Feyd is here and he can slaughter the universe and call it entertainment. You are safe with them, safe and happy and satisfied. 

ngl this is the longest tag list I've ever gotten. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!💜💜 Let me know if you want to be added to future taglists

@deertaur , @fragileheartbeats , @yandere-romanticaa , @galaxyquirks , @feedmestraycats , @peachysunrize , @slytherinholland , @missbeeentertainment , @moonchild-artemisdaughter , @shiranai-atsune , @therealoutereffect , @frenchgirlinlondon , @purplefrogella , @yzuposts , @whiteoakoak , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @pomtherine , @goldenatreides , @sorianis , @howibecameabadassbitch , @sansaorgana

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

fall asleep, close my eyes, and disappear pt. 1

fandom: X-Men

pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader

summary: Charles Xavier is familiar with the weight of his students' past traumas, including yours. At least that's what he thinks, until a mission-related injury prompts him to delve into your mind, uncovering a deep-seated trauma you've repressed. Fearing he's caused more harm, Charles works with you to reveal this forgotten memory and heal from your past experiences.

tags/warnings: injury, rape aftermath/recovery (implied), anxiety, panic attacks, emotional hurt/comfort, charles xavier trying his very best not to invade someone else's privacy

word count: 2089

Charles Xavier is well-acquainted with the traumatic past lives of his students. It is easy to see how many of them had come from terrible circumstances, how many had been ridiculed or hurt or abandoned. He has seen his share of darkness as well, and he wishes to protect his students from any more of it.

Amidst all the sadness and despair that clouds the minds of the youngsters, there is you. Old enough to be a teacher, but new enough to your powers to still be a student. You are close with Charles due to your age, but keep him an arm’s length away. You, too, had been hurt in the past. You don’t want to trust your heart to anyone… yet.

Being surrounded by all the young students, you know you have to put on a brave face. You smile in the hallways and laugh and tell jokes. And things are fine – you enjoy your pseudo-parental role at the school.

But something is missing. A heaviness weighs on your mind, something dangerous that you subconsciously suppress. All you know is that sometimes you wake in the middle of the night gasping, and it feels like you’ve lost something.

Charles knows of course – Charles always knows – but figures you’ll come to him when you feel comfortable. He learned his lesson about prying into people’s minds long, long ago. And he doesn’t want to push you away the way he’d pushed away others (Erik, Raven, Jean – no, he shouldn’t think of these things). He cares for you far too much to lose you.

That being said, as time passes, Charles can't help but grow more and more concerned. He hears you lying awake at night, or even worse, in the throes of a nightmare. Yet in the morning, it seems all is well. You carry on as always, no worse for wear. It worries Charles. The temptation to just read your mind and see what plagues you is all too strong. But he respects your privacy.

But he can’t stay out of your mind forever, no matter how much he wants to.

The X-Men had been sent off to assist a crew of miners who had been trapped in a cave. A small mishap led to a few injuries amongst the team, nothing serious but certainly enough to warrant a visit to Hank after. You received the worst of it – your powers of telekinesis meant you were in the thick of it, pulling rocks off the imprisoned crew – when a section of the wall crumbled away on top of you. You managed to block most of the debris, but a well-timed drop of a boulder managed to clip you on the head, knocking you unconscious for a brief interlude. You woke shortly thereafter, already on the ship and headed home, but the team insisted you get checked out despite your protests.

When you arrive back at the school, Hank and Charles wait with matching anxious expressions. You stumble along with the help of Kurt, trying to look like you aren’t leaning too heavily on him.

Charles and Hank rush to you. Hank comes up on your left to support that side, while Charles sweeps his eyes over you protectively. You wave them off with a bloodied hand. “I’m fine, guys, seriously.” You aren’t – your head is pounding – but students are standing at the doors to the school, and you know you have to put on a brave face for their sake.

Hank side-eyes you. “You’re bleeding.”

“Hank, take her to the lab. I’ll be down shortly,” Charles says, barely keeping the worry out of his voice. You flash him what you hope is a reassuring smile. It doesn’t seem to change his expression.

Down in the lab, Hank runs a myriad of tests, all while you complain and insist that you are fine. Eventually, he lets out a sigh. “Well, everything looks okay.” You move to hop off the exam table when he holds out a hand to stop you. “But I want Charles to take a look to make sure you didn’t goof up your brain. I can’t see everything on a CT scan.”

You groan and settle back in. Charles, always with a talent for dramatic timing, enters at that precise moment. “How are you feeling?” he says as he rolls up to the table.

“Like I said before, I’m fine. Just a little bump, is all.”

Charles stares at you, as if trying to read your mind without actually doing it. His eyebrows furrow before he turns to his colleague. “Hank?”

Hank crosses his arms. “Her scans all seem fine. A bit of rest should take care of the residual ache. But I’d like you to see for yourself. Just in case.”

Charles nods and looks at you again. “Are you alright with that?”

You shrug. “Go for it, professor.”

Charles wheels himself a little closer. “Lay back,” he murmurs, positioning himself at the head of the exam table.

You do as he asks, and Charles places two warm fingers on your temple. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him enter your mind.

Charles weaves through the lanes of your conscious, seeking out any damage. He takes in your recent memories, watches the rock wall crumble on top of you. He digs deeper, searching further into your past. He watches as you come to the school, watches you trudge through the rainy streets as a homeless beggar, watches your family leave you. Charles breezes past those memories as quick as he can – no sense in dwelling on the things that cannot be changed. He races down neural pathways and connections, spotting nothing of note.

That is, until he slams into a mental wall, one so thick and aversive that even he might have a hard time getting through it. He is so deep into your mind that he isn’t sure you even know this exists. Concern courses through him as he attempts to break through the wall. But it won’t give, at least not without causing you distress. Already he can hear you – outside your mind, in the real world – whimpering in anguish.

Charles pulls away, mentally and physically, drawing his hands from your temples. Your eyes shoot open, and for a moment there’s a flash of fear in them. But it’s gone in an instant. Charles realizes how starved for air he seems to be and takes in a deep breath.

You sit up quickly. “All good?” you ask.

Charles nods, unable to speak, and you hop off the table. Before he or Hank can get another word in, you are out the door and on your way.

“Charles?” Hank looks at his friend in confusion. “What is it? What did you see?”

The professor stares blankly at the table. “Her mind… There’s something… I’m not sure.”

“Is it from the accident?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, this was… deeper. Further back. Something she’s repressed. I doubt she even knows it’s there.”

…

Upstairs, your fellow teammates greet you with sighs of relief and gratitude for making the mission a success. Someone proposes the idea of drinks, and all of a sudden people are putting coats on and discussing plans for the night.

“Um, I think I’m going to pass on this one,” you announce, wringing your hands together nervously. You’re afraid to miss out on the festivities, but your head is aching and you know you should probably rest.

Your team wishes you well and heads out, and soon you are left in the kitchen alone. You trudge up the stairs to your room, nearly ready to collapse from exhaustion. It seems fate had other plans for you though, for as soon as your back hits the mattress, there’s a knock on your door.

You groan quietly and twist your hand in the direction of the door. It opens with a soft click and soon you hear the telltale sound of Charles’s wheels on the floor.

You squint at him out of one eye as he makes his way to the side of your bed. “Yes?” you question when he doesn't say anything. “Did you need something?”

“No, no,” Charles reassures, his voice soft. “I just wanted to make sure you truly were alright.”

“Well, my head hurts something awful but I think I just need to rest,” you reply honestly.

Charles nods and you turn on your side to face him, pulling a pillow under your cheek. Again, the professor says nothing more, just gazes at you with those striking blue eyes of his. You watch him for a moment, before you feel your eyes begin to drift closed.

Just as you’re about to fall asleep, you hear him murmur. “What?” you grumble, slightly annoyed that your peace was disturbed.

Charles clears his throat and speaks up. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“You know you can ask me anything,” you yawn. Sleep pulls your eyelids closed again.

“Would it be alright if I looked into your mind while you were sleeping?”

You snort out a laugh. “I love when people ask before they violate my privacy.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You snap your eyes open, only to see him starting to wheel away. “No, Charles, it’s fine. I was joking.”

“Right.” He comes closer to the bed again.

“Did you see something wrong earlier?” Panic creeps into your voice at the thought. “Is there something wrong with my brain?”

“No, darling, of course not,” Charles rushes. “You’re… perfect. I just want to make sure. Sometimes things can be revealed in sleep that are not present while we are awake.”

That seems to make sense to you, so you settle further into your pillow, letting your eyes fall closed again. “Well, just… have fun digging around, I guess,” you mutter. “Don’t break anything.”

Before long, you’re out like a light.

Charles wastes no time in laying his fingers on your temples again. This time, he knows where he’s headed and he makes his way along the pathways quickly. He can feel a heaviness begin to weigh on him as he comes closer to the mental block. Perhaps this is what causes your nightmares, your occasional zoning out, your sad disposition that hid behind a cheerful façade.

Charles prepares himself as he approaches the wall, trying to get a sense for its depth and meaning. He can tell that this blockade was formed long ago. Perhaps not in your childhood – it isn’t that far back – but maybe as a teenager. And it’s so strong, it rivals his own mental walls.

Carefully, Charles begins to pick away at the wall. He pushes and pulls at the tenuous strings that make up the outer barrier, then chisels away at more cemented bits further in. The further he goes, the heavier the darkness seems to become. His own mind is beginning to feel fatigued, but he can sense he’s close. Whispers of this forgotten memory slip through the cracks that form, not enough to make out but he knows they’re there.

Finally, finally, he breaks through. And instantly, he wishes he hadn’t.

No.

Stop.

Please!

Charles forces himself out of your mind, his breaths coming in short gasps. The room has darkened with the approaching night, and your still-sleeping form is illuminated by moonlight. Charles runs a shaking hand over his eyes. What have I done?

As he looks on, your body begins to shake and tremble. You let out heart-wrenching cries as a nightmare overtakes you. Those same cries that he hears every night, those same cries he just heard in your subconscious. “Don’t break anything,” you had said. Has he broken you?

The wall. He has to put the wall back in place. This memory, this horror… He has to protect you. With trembling fingers, Charles re-enters your mind.

Already he can see the memory seeping out, its darkness spilling into the recesses of your mind. Charles feels his heart sink as he realizes the damage he’s caused. It’s like Jean all over again.

Except this time, he is determined not to lose you.

Brick by brick, string by fragile string, Charles rebuilds the barricade around the memory. He seals in as much of it as he can.

Not forever, no. Not like Jean.

He will help you reveal it yourself. And then he will help you heal.

But to let it all out at once… that would destroy you.

>>>

part 2

[justwinginglife]

After All This Time

Have yall seen the gorgeous man that is Howl Jenkins Pendragon? I had to make it NSFW, I just had to.

Howl leads Sophie out to the balcony for yet another romantic kiss, awash in moonlight.

You think you might barf. That, or claw out your own heart. You can’t tell what’s more distracting, the acid threatening to rumble up your throat or the aching in your chest threatening to consume you whole. You almost feel guilty for just how heartbroken you feel whenever you see them together.

They’re a cute couple. Much cuter than you would ever be with him. The whole time you’d known him, he’d been searching for her. He would repeat to you the same story about how she had appeared to him, almost like in a dream, asking him to come find her. She was all he’d ever wanted, even before he’d even known her. And why wouldn’t she be? She was kind, even to you. Made your favorite foods whenever you were down, taught you how to tie bows in your hair. And yet, all you could do was despise her. You felt like shit.

But some part of you, some wretched part you’d hidden deep inside your darkness, though apparently not deep enough, felt like Howl belonged to you. He’d met her first, but only for a few seconds before she’d vanished into thin air. It hardly counted as a meeting, in your opinion. You met him soon after; you’d run away to get lost in the meadows and the mountains after your family had renounced you, and that’s when you caught sight of his raven black hair fluttering in the wind as he picked flowers without a care in the world. That was honestly probably the moment you fell in love with him, though you denied it until it was too late.

You remember you laid in the field with him for hours that day, plucking petals, talking secrets and aspirations. You didn’t care that he was some stranger you’d just met, you were a kid, and he was your savior. He offered you a home and you offered him your life, said you’d help him find the girl he was searching for. Really, you would’ve done anything just to stay by his side.

Your most comfortable nights were when he snuggled in bed beside you, keeping your nightmares at bay with his sweet words and intoxicating scent. He’d read you stories to pass the time, and you’d fall asleep in his arms, listening to the familiar rumble of his voice in his chest as you snuggled up against it. Sometimes he’d tell you stories about his own life. Your favorite one was the day he met you. You’d beg him to tell you that story over and over, and though he’d laugh and tease you because you already knew the story having lived it, he’d cave in and humor you anyway, each and every time, without fail. He could never resist you (though sometimes he tried, because he thought it was cute when you pouted.) When he’d finally start telling the story, you’d smile the biggest smile and he’d wonder why he ever stalled in the first place, when he had such a sight to look forward to. Sometimes he’d change up details of the story just to make you laugh, say you flew in on a spaceship, say he was 10 feet tall the day you’d met. It wasn’t hard to make you laugh. Howl loved your laugh and you loved to make him happy. You gave every part of yourself freely.

You weren’t always the best influence on him, but you were his perfect match. One weekend, the two of you didn’t have enough money for food, so he stole a loaf of bread from a merchant he hated. When he sheepishly admitted his crime to you, ready to defend himself with his growling stomach as hard evidence, you smirked and uncovered a basket full of pastries you’d stolen from the same baker. He laughed so hard he fell into the fireplace and you had to rinse ashes from his hair. The two of you toasted your loaves of bread and munched on them together, giggling and nudging each other the rest of the night.

The “partner in crime” act continued when you decided to pursue magic together. You almost got yourselves kicked out of your training because the two of you would play pranks on the rest of the class. Sometimes they were justified and sometimes they were not, but they were fun either way. One time, a bully jeered at Howl’s jet black hair and you turned him into a worm. Unfortunately, that was also the day Howl had started to dye his hair blonde, though he claimed it was unrelated. You made every effort to tell him you adored the way he looked before, and it broke your heart that he wouldn’t listen. He’d say you were just like his sister and it was your job to lie to him and tell him he looked good. You didn’t have the guts to tell him that you’d always loved the way he looked, that you’d always loved him. You didn’t have the guts to beg him to see you as something different, to beg him to see you as something more.

When your first Christmas with him started quickly approaching, you used the only skills at your disposal to make him a pink coat with blue diamonds patched onto it. He loved it so much that he wore it everywhere, and when he finally started to outgrow it, he begged you to make him the same jacket a size larger. And then another size larger. And another, until he was fully grown, fully handsome, and still wrapped in the evidence of your secret love for him.

For the longest time, it was just you, Howl, and Calcifer in his castle. And for the longest time, you wondered if he could just let go of the Sophie thing. You were happy the way things were, why couldn’t he be happy too?

You even thought he might have started to love you back at some point. He’d blush when your shirt would ride up. He’d freeze when you’d brush up against him, even though you had spent many nights sleeping in each other's arms when you were kids. He’d compliment you more, every word carefully handpicked, like he’d spent time thinking about all the ways he adored you.

But then he found her. And he remembered the one thing he wanted.

He’d spent so long looking for her, it didn’t seem right to quit now, though you would’ve happily persuaded him otherwise.

And when you met her, when she was talented, when she was generous, when she was spunky, your heart crumbled to pieces. She was the perfect woman. His perfect woman. And suddenly the weight of your hopes, of your dreams, of your love, came crashing down on you, leaving you devastated in the aftermath.

So tonight, you choke back more “what if’s” as you gaze into the glow of the fire, wondering if you can just feed yourself to Calcifer. Of course, he’d never do that. He was rooting for you. He was the only one; you’d given up on having Howl, at this point.

You hear the door open but don't move from your spot. You think you vaguely hear Sophie mumble a shaky “goodnight” to you, but it’s in between panted breaths, and you almost puke again thinking about just how much oxygen he must’ve sucked from her lungs with that kiss. You say nothing, biting your lip until it bleeds. She goes to bed.

You hear the door open again, and find yourself increasingly more interested in the embers, not wanting to look over at him, not wanting to see his love-drunk expression.

He plops down beside you, sighing happily. There’s that puking feeling again.

You don’t say a word and he nudges you with his shoulder. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “And can I ask why you can’t sleep?”

You shake your head again.

“Can I at least ask why I can’t ask?”

“Nope.”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon. It’s me. You know you can tell me anything.”

“No, thanks.”

He sighs, exasperated. “You barely talk to me and when you do, it’s not more than two words. What is going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing. Just can’t sleep.” Then you smirk. “See- I said more than two words that time.”

He laughs, glad you’re back to joking with him again. “Gods, you’re stubborn, you know that? And a bit of a jackass.”

You laugh at that. “It’s a good thing you love me anyway.”

He blushes. “Bold of you to assume I love you.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “You better love me at least a little, we are best friends, you know.” You hope he can’t hear the tone in which you say the word love, like you’re not holding your breath, waiting for a confession after he’s just sent his girlfriend to bed.

“Right. Yeah. We are best friends. I do love you, of course I love you. Because we’re friends.” He stumbles on his words and you have the audacity to find it cute. His girlfriend is waiting for him to come to bed, and you’re sitting here, coaxing the word love from him, like you’re not going to purposely misinterpret it later, like you’re not going to go lie in bed after this, staring at the ceiling for hours, just dreaming about the way he says he loves you. You thought you knew better than this.

Apparently you don’t. You answer like an idiot. “And I love you too. As a best friend.”

The blush crawls up his face and tinges his ears red. “Yup. Friends. Best friends.”

The sight makes you choke on your laughter, and for a minute you almost forget just how serious this moment is. “Howl, why are you being weird?”

He scoffs at you. “I’m not being weird. I’m being normal.”

You pinch his cheek. “You’re being so awkward, what gives? It’s just me.” You nudge his shoulder as platonically as you can, but you know it’s just because you’re dying to touch him somewhere, anywhere.

He makes a strangled noise. “You’re being embarrassing, that’s all.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, ignoring the thumping in your chest. “And how am I embarrassing you, Howl?

He sighs, your close proximity to him somehow relaxing him and making him tense up at the same time. “You’re being so touchy… and you say you love me… but as a best friend.”

“And are we not best friends?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, we are. But somehow I get the feeling that you mean something else when you say that. When you say you… love me.”

“And what do you want it to mean?” You know this is a mess of your own making. You know you’re just daring him to confess. But you can’t stop now.

“Well. Just tell me what you mean when you say it.”

You go back to shaking your head and he groans.

“Why won’t you just tell me? I want, I need to know your answer. It’s driving me crazy.”

“What’s the issue? You have Sophie. You don’t need me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sophie has nothing to do with this. Right now, this is just about you and me.”

All your nerve leaves you when you think you might finally have to confess. “Howl. I’m going to bed.” You get up to leave.

He grabs your wrist. “No. You can’t. I’m not done.”

You yank your wrist away. “I’m done. Goodnight, Howl.”

You lock the door to your room thinking the conversation has ended, thinking you can finally let the depression swallow you whole. But he bangs on the door over and over, so much so that you start to feel guilty for Sophie who’s sleeping soundly a couple rooms away. You yank the door open and tug him inside, closing the door behind him. He had wanted to come in, but now that he’s standing alone in your room with you, he’s suddenly silent, the weight of this intimate moment sinking in.

You sigh and drag him over to the bed, pulling him down beside you, and snuggling up against him.

He freezes up.

“Stop acting like a stranger, we used to sleep together all the time.”

He coughs. “Yeah, when we were kids. It’s been awhile since we’ve done this.” He says that, but he slowly puts his arms around you anyway, resuming his usual position on your bed.

“Yeah well, that’s cuz you went and got yourself a girlfriend.” And maybe it’s because it was the middle of the night and you’re sleep deprived -if he asks, that’s what you’ll blame it on- but you suddenly blurt out, “And I’m offended, by the way.”

He huffs, amused. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well you know what, maybe I should go get a boyfriend then.”

He tenses up again. “Wh-why’s that?”

You shrug. “You have a girlfriend, why can’t I have a boyfriend?”

“B-because! You don’t know what men are like. They might take advantage of you.”

“So who should I date then?”

He swallows. “No one.”

You don’t actually intend to get a boyfriend, you’re too far gone for Howl, but suddenly his words stir some fire in you that you didn’t know existed. He has the audacity to not love you and then claim you can’t love anyone else? The balls on him.

He can feel the air shift because he suddenly tries to make light of the situation. “Besides, I don’t like sharing my best friend with anyone anyway.”

You glare at him. “Well that’s bullshit because I have to share you with Sophie. It used to be just the two of us, don’t you remember?”

He sighs, guilt creasing his face. “I know, I know. But you’re still important to me. She’s just… she’s my everything.”

You wince and pull yourself out of his arms, turning to face the opposite direction.

He groans. “Come on, don’t be like this. Talk to me. I don’t like when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset, I’m just tired, I want to go to bed. Go to your girlfriend, Howl.”

“Please. Please just talk to me.” He begs, desperation staining his voice.

Suddenly you snap. “She’s your everything, but that used to be me.” You hadn’t intended the words to sound bitter, but they leave a sour taste in your mouth on the way out.

He winces. “I… yeah, I know. I know things are different now, but the way I feel about you hasn’t changed.”

“That’s the problem.” You whisper to yourself so quietly he’s left straining to hear. When he doesn’t answer, you realize he didn’t hear you after all, and you don’t have the energy to say it again. You wrap yourself up tightly in the blankets. “Your girlfriend is going to worry if you keep her waiting much longer. Go to her.”

He sighs. He wants to keep talking with you but he knows you’re right. He doesn’t want to worry Sophie. He promises he’ll talk with you in the morning and takes his leave.

In the morning, he finds that all of your things are missing and you’re nowhere to be found. He panics and races outside in his pajamas, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He sees your head bobbing down the street, bags in your hands. He almost collapses a lung trying to chase after you.

“What are you doing??” He yells as he runs.

You flinch at his voice, recognizing it instantly, but you keep walking.

He catches up to you and wrenches your arm backwards. You drop a bag and he quickly picks it up but holds onto it.

“Why do you have all your things? Where are you going? Why are you going? You can’t just leave me like this!” His words are rushed, like they’re flooding out, like he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, just that he wants to say something, just that he needs to make you acknowledge him, to make you stay.

You reach for your bag and he yanks it back. “Howl-”

“You- you can’t leave me, damnit!” He snaps and you realize it’s been a long time since he was this mad at you. You almost smile at the thought that your departure causes him so much displeasure. It’s sweet.

“Howl, I need to go.”

“No, no, you don’t. You need to stay with me. What ever happened to best friends? What ever happened to I love you?”

“Howl.”

He doesn’t listen. He keeps rambling.

“Howl. Howl!”

His eyes snap up to yours.

“I love you, Howl.”

He shuts the fuck up.

“I’m in love with you.” You say again, letting the words sink in. He’s still reeling from the shock of it all.

You continue, “I love you, so I can’t stay. I can’t be close to you like this. I can’t keep third wheeling, I can’t keep lying awake at night, dreaming about you, listening to you sleep next door. I can’t. It’s time, I need to go.” You muster up your best smile for him. It’s much easier to grab the bag from his hands now that he’s frozen in place.

You hear him weakly mumbling things like “But I still need you” and “But you can’t leave me” and you wince, but you turn to leave anyway. He weakly grabs onto your arm again, but he’s so shaken, it’s easy to slip out of his grip.

You sigh as you take in the sad sight of him in this miserable state. “You don’t need me. You’ll be fine. You have Sophie. Everything will be fine. I wish you both happiness.” You don’t, but you say it anyway, you reassure him, because that’s what you do when you love him.

When he continues fumbling for you, his words a jumbled mess, you realize he’ll just keep coming after you, even in this weakened state, so you speak up again, “Old friend. Will you do me a favor?”

Life slowly flickers back into his eyes, as he thinks of how he can be of use to you. “Yes, anything. Anything for you.”

“Close your eyes.”

He bites his lip but hesitantly closes his eyes anyway.

You want to leave now. You want to bolt while he’s not looking. But your greed gets the better of you. You hesitate before finally making the decision to kiss him on the cheek, and you know you’ll keep that moment with you forever. You’ll hold on to the feeling of his cheek on your lips until the day you die, because you know you’ll love him until the day you die.

Then you walk away, picking up the pace as you continue down the street, hoping he doesn’t open his eyes, hoping you saved him the pain of having to watch you leave.

Many years later, you’re running errands, walking down the street at a leisurely pace, just enjoying the sun on your skin. You look up at the sky, taking in the fresh air and basking in the sunlight.

Not watching where you’re going, you crash into someone. You immediately think to apologize, but your words get swallowed down when you catch a glimpse of jet black hair.

“H-Howl?”

He blinks. And then he blinks again, this time trying to hold back tears. “Is…is it really… really you?”

A smile spreads across your face. “Hi.”

He reaches out to touch you and then he stops. You intertwine your fingers with his before he can pull his hand away. His fingers lock into place as he draws closer to you, sinking into your touch.

“You’re here.” He whispers.

You ruffle his hair. “You went back to your natural color. I like it.”

He blushes and he absentmindedly reaches up to touch the place where your hand just grazed his hair. “You… you always said you liked it better.”

You smile again. Then you let his hand go, much to his disappointment, and start looking around, looking for her. Your brows furrow in confusion when you don’t see anyone nearby. “Where’s Sofie?”

He swallows, looking down. “She, uh, she’s not… not here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“She… we…um. We broke up. Awhile ago. Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

You choke on your spit. “You what? Oh you poor thing, let me get you a drink.” You start dragging him away before he can properly process what’s going on.

He thinks you’re taking him to a bar, and he’s surprised when you lead him into your house, ushering him onto one of your bar stools. He looks around while you mix up a drink for him. He realizes this place looks oddly familiar, even though he’s never been here before.

You realize he’s trying to piece together where he’s seen this place. You crack a smile. “I modeled it after that house we stayed at, in the countryside. Seems you remember it well. You like it?”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Before he can make any proper commentary on the house, a child runs up to you and throws his arms around your leg.

You laugh and ruffle his hair. “Hey, sweetie. What’re you doing down there?”

Howl swallows, watching this interaction with bated breath. He wonders if that’s your kid. It has to be, it’s your house.

You hand Howl the freshly mixed drink and he takes a sip.

He’s about to comment on how good it is when he hears the kid say, “Mom! Up!” and he chokes on his drink.

You pick the kid up, resting him on your hip before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Silly. What would your mother say if she heard you calling me mom? It’s auntie, remember? Now go run along and help your mom out with the laundry, okay baby?” You set the kid down and he nods before running to the backroom.

When the kid is gone, you burst into laughter. “You should’ve seen your face. I thought I was gonna die, you looked like you just had a stroke. You thought he was my kid, huh?” You turn to Howl and poke him on the nose.

He rolls his eyes and swats your hand away, seemingly unfrozen now. “Well, can you blame me?”

“He doesn’t look a thing like me,” You tease, nudging him with your elbow.

“Well he could’ve taken after your husband!” He exclaimed defensively.

“Well I don’t have a husband.”

Howl blinks. “No husband.” He repeats.

“And… no boyfriend either.” You say slowly, watching him process this information.

“And no boyfriend either.” He repeats, each word softer than the next.

Suddenly you’re interrupted by your sister waving at you as she takes her kid and her freshly done laundry out the door with her. You wave back and when you catch Howl’s shocked expression, you explain to him that you reconnected with some of your family. He’s happy for you. He always is. Your wins were always his wins. You always loved that about him.You wonder if you can dare to love him some more. If you can dare to dream.

“So… do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” You ask nonchalantly.

He bites his lip. “N-no. Just kind of been… wandering aimlessly.”

You perk up. “Well perfect, I have spare rooms.”

He blushes. “You’d let me stay here? Even after all this time?

You hop into a seat next to him. “Well yeah, aren’t we best friends? That doesn’t just go away, you know.” You nudge his shoulder. Then you dare to rest your head on it.

He freezes but then he relaxes. “This drink is pretty good, by the way.”

“Better be. I put your favorite flavors in it.”

He sits up straighter. “You remember?”

“I remember everything.”

He goes silent, lost in his thoughts.

You want to cheer him up. “Bet I can drink you under the table.”

He snorts. “Like hell you can.”

You spend the next few hours chugging drinks, laughing, catching each other up on everything non-Sofie related. She’s not important right now. Part of you hopes she’ll never come up again. Actually, most of you hopes that.

Eventually it’s time to retire, and you say you’ll draw him up a bath with his favorite scents. He smiles at you, “I’ll toast to that!” and he lifts his cup to you as you disappear into the bathroom.

You reappear to tell him it’s ready and he flushes bright red when you tell him you’ll just be right next door, taking your bath, if he needs you. He begins to soak in the tub, his mind swimming with thoughts of you. He can’t stand you being so close and yet so far away. And taking a bath. Naked, no less. Just behind that wall. He gulps and sinks deeper into the tub, trying to drown out his thoughts.

Then you call out to him and he snaps out of it. “Howl. I forgot my towel in there. Could you bring it to me?”

His eyes widen and his heart thumps in his chest. Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? He pulls himself out of the bath and shakily grabs your towel before making the trip next door.

You think he’ll just leave it outside so you get up to grab it but then he opens the door right as you step out of the bath, the water dripping down your fully naked body.

His eyes rake all over your body and he almost drops the towel in shock. But he can’t stop looking. His blood is burning in his veins, but he can’t stop looking. His lungs feel like they’re ablaze, but he can’t stop looking. You look so perfect, so heavenly.

You break the silence. “I-I thought y-you’d leave the towel outside the door.” Your cheeks flood with red.

He lets out a strangled chuckle, as his eyes continue to roam. “I… yeah, I was just… I’ll just…”

You bite your lip and it shoots his heart straight into the stratosphere.

He takes a hesitant step towards you.

You swallow.

He takes another step, taking in every inch of you.

You can’t help but do the same, admiring his bare body.

He takes another step, finally finding himself directly in front of you. “I just…” He continues and then trails off.

“Yes?” You lean in closer to him, but that’s all you do.

You’re so close to him, your breaths begin to mingle with each other.

“J-just…” He finds himself staring at your lips. Of all the parts of you to be staring at, that’s what he’s settled on. He swallows. “Just… can I…?”

“Yes.”

It only takes a second for him to swallow up all the tension between you, closing the distance, and claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. His hands wander the smooth expanse of your body, memorizing every curve. His kisses are possessive, like he needs to make his mark on you before he wakes up and finds this all a dream. His tongue moves urgently through your mouth, like he might find heaven in the back of your throat.

“Howl…” You whine.

He groans at the sound, gripping your hips tighter and pulling you flush up against him.

“Fuck. Howl, don’t stop.”

Lust flares in his eyes at your words. “I wouldn’t dream of it, I can’t get enough of you,” He pants, eager to claim your lips again.

After a couple more dizzying kisses, you murmur in a daze, “You taste better than I imagined.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck. You imagined me?”

You trace the length of his bare back, your slender fingers eliciting shivers from him. “All the time. All the damn time.”

He pushes you against the wall and you gasp at the cold tile on your back. “Howl, that’s cold!”

He smirks. “I promise I’ll warm you up.” He traces hot kisses down your neck, down your breasts, stopping to suck on a peaked nipple, before trailing his kisses further down your abdomen. He kneels in front of you, eyeing your dripping cunt. He’s waiting for permission.

“Are you gonna gawk all day or are you going to taste me?”

He chuckles at your bold words. “I’ve never heard you talk like this before. I like it.” And without another word, he brings his head in between your legs, hungrily lapping at your wet heat. Every whimper and every whine he coaxes from your lips makes him eager to taste more of you. The rough strokes of his tongue dragging itself up and down your slit overwhelms you and you think you might just come on his face. Then he jams his tongue inside you, moaning as your depths envelop him, your slick drizzling down his throat as he swallows. And you do come on his face, fist in his hair, as you moan his name.

He groans as your orgasm floods into his mouth.

You’ve not even finished all the way, the evidence of your desire still trickling down your legs, when suddenly he pulls away from you; before you can complain about his absence, he shoves his bulging erection deep inside your swollen cunt, gasping as your slick coats his cock.

“Howl!” You dig your nails into his back as you adjust to the new sensation.

He sighs, the sound filled with ecstasy. “If you keep saying my name like that, I won’t be able to last much longer.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” You gasp out.

He shakes his head, grunting as he thrusts into you. “I do. I want to enjoy every second of this.”

His fingers carve canyons into your hips as he steadies himself against your skin.

“Howl…” You groan again, letting your head fall back against the wall. “I want you. I need you.”

His eyes darken as he soaks in the sound of your whines. “I’m right here, darling.” He picks up the pace, though still restraining himself.

“And you feel so good inside me,” You bite your lip, “I bet you’d feel even better pumping your seed into me.”

He swears under his breath, but he can’t muster up the strength for anymore words, all his strength has been poured into resisting you, into resisting the urge to let go. But his strength dwindles quickly at the sight of you flushed beneath him, at the sounds of your moans echoing against the tiled walls. He slams his cock deeper and then finds his release with his tongue in your mouth, swallowing down your pleasure as he fills you up.

You both don’t move for a moment. You just stand there, shuddering, panting, holding each other for support.

Then you start to laugh and he laughs with you.

“You may as well take a bath with me since you’ve already seen me naked,” You tease, jerking a thumb towards the tub.

He grins widely. “Well, if you insist.”

“Oh, I do.” You say devilishly, leading him towards the bath.

You both slide into the tub, sighs escaping your lips, as the warm water envelops both your bodies. You snuggle up against him, soaking in the beauty of the moment.

“You know,” He says thoughtfully, “I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

You lift your chin up to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you mean Sophie?”

He shakes his head. “I thought that’s what I wanted, but you were right there, right in front of me the whole time. I’ve only ever needed you. I…” He hesitates, but the feeling of you snug against him gives him courage, “I love you.” Then he grins. “And not just like a best friend.”

You laugh and kiss his chest. “Well how about that? I love you too.”

He beams. “Even after all this time?”

You kiss his cheek. You kiss his forehead. You kiss his lips. He sighs, savoring the feeling of your lips on his skin.

You nuzzle up against his ear and murmur, “Especially after all this time.”

[ireadyabooks]

Summer Full of Shivers ☀️☠️🩸

Summer scaries have arrived! This time of year is for spooky stories around the campfire and spine-tingling books that you maybe shouldn’t save for right before you go to bed. But hey, that’s part of the fun, right! We can never get enough horror in our lives and have some chilling reads for you to sink your teeth into in the summer heat! Check out some of our recent favorites below, and don’t forget to keep an extra light on at night! Or don’t . . . we leave that up to you . . .

The Getaway by Lamar Giles

Jay is living his best life at Karloff Country, one of the world's most famous resorts. He's got his family, his crew, and an incredible after-school job at the property's main theme park. Life isn't so great for the rest of the world, but when people come here to vacation, it's to get away from all that.

As things outside get worse, trouble starts seeping into Karloff. First, Jay's friend Connie and her family disappear in the middle of the night and no one will talk about it. Then the richest and most powerful families start arriving, only... they aren't leaving. Unknown to the employees, the resort has been selling shares in an end-of-the-world oasis. The best of the best at the end of days. And in order to deliver the top-notch customer service the wealthy clientele paid for, the employees will be at their total beck and call.

Whether they like it or not.

Yet Karloff Country didn't count on Jay and his crew -- and just how far they'll go to find out the truth and save themselves. But what's more dangerous: the monster you know in your home or the unknown nightmare outside the walls?

Start reading The Getaway now!

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Raven Boys, the haunting and original supernatural romance returns in a new edition

For years, Grace has watched the wolves in the woods behind her house. One yellow-eyed wolf--her wolf--is a chilling presence she can't seem to live without. Meanwhile, Sam has lived two lives: In winter, the frozen woods, the protection of the pack, and the silent company of a fearless girl. In summer, a few precious months of being human . . . until the cold makes him shift back again.

Now, Grace meets a yellow-eyed boy whose familiarity takes her breath away. It's her wolf. It has to be. But as winter nears, Sam must fight to stay human--or risk losing himself, and Grace, forever.

Start reading Shiver now!

The Deep Dark by Molly Knox Ostertag

From Molly Knox Ostertag, writer-illustrator of the New York Times and ABA Indie bestselling The Witch Boy trilogy and The Girl from the Sea, comes a darkly beautiful story of identity, family, love, loss, and magic.

Everyone has secrets. Mags’s has teeth.

Magdalena Herrera is about to graduate high school, but she already feels like an adult with serious responsibilities: caring for her ailing grandmother; working a part-time job; clandestine makeouts with a girl who has a boyfriend. And then there’s her secret, which pulls her into the basement each night, drains her of energy, and leaves her bleeding. A secret that could hurt and even kill if it ever got out -- like it did once before.

So Mags keeps her head down, isolated in her small desert community. That is, until her childhood friend Nessa comes back to town, bringing vivid memories of the past, an intoxicating glimpse of the future, and a secret of her own. Mags won’t get attached, of course. She’s always been strong enough to survive without anyone’s help.

But when the darkness starts to close in on them both, Mags will have to drag her secret into the daylight, and choose between risking everything . . . or having nothing left to lose.

Start reading The Deep Dark now!

A Darker Mischief by Derek Milman

The Honeys meets The Secret History in a work of dark academia like no other -- a boarding school thriller about a queer teen from Mississippi who finds himself swept into a world of old money, privilege, and the secret society at the heart of it all.

When Cal Ware wins a scholarship to an elite New England boarding school, he's thrilled to leave his past behind. Back home in Mississippi, he was the poor, queer kid who never fit in. But at Essex Academy, he'll be able to reinvent himself. Or so he hopes . . .

But at Essex, Cal's classmates only see his cheap clothes and old iPhone. They mock his accent, and can't believe he's never left the country, or heard of The Hamptons. Cal, at his breaking point, is about to give up and return to Mississippi when he learns about a secret society on campus -- the key to becoming Essex royalty.

Cal knows he's not exactly secret society material, but to his surprise, he finds an unlikely champion in the handsome, charismatic, and slightly dangerous Luke Kim. As they get swept up in the mystery and glamour of the Rush process, Cal finds himself falling in love for the first time.

But as the initiation rituals grow riskier -- and increasingly nefarious -- Cal must decide how far he's willing to go, and how much of himself he's willing to sacrifice, to save everything and everyone he cherishes most. Because nothing at Essex -- not even Cal's first love -- is quite what it seems.

Start reading A Darker Mischief now!

The Other Ones by Fran Hart

A beautiful and unputdownable story about love, friendship, and the ghosts that grief can leave behind, The Other Ones is a heartfelt, contemporary romance with a haunting twist . . .

Salem Amani is a world-weary sixteen-year-old living with his mother and older sister in a haunted house. But all Sal really wants is to be ordinary, which is hard to do when you live in a house full of ghosts. And when a strange boy arrives on his doorstep asking more questions than he’s at all comfortable with, Sal’s efforts to be ordinary are put under even greater strain. Until Pax makes his offer: “I could help you with the hauntings . . . I’m good with ghosts.”

But despite his initial dislike of Pax, Sal can’t help but find himself unexpectedly drawn to the boy. And as the two grow closer, and Pax offers to help Sal scare away his ghosts for good, Sal finds himself sinking deeper into a lie concealing the truth about his family.

When the true nature of the “hauntings” is revealed, Sal must confront reality – or risk losing Pax for good.

Start reading The Other Ones now!

[actuallyevilgay]

Hear me out, one of Tav’s parents went missing when he was very young. Later he finds out that the reason why his parent went missing was because Astarion lured them to Cazador.

I hope you read my about, Anon. This might go a little different than you expected. My first request :o I’m excited.

Oneshot: Daddy Issues

Astarion x male reader Content Warnings: Discussion of child abuse and child neglect. Mature language. Talk of Adultery. Notes: Tav gets a little unhinged from the doorframe. Tav is not a heroic person. Might not be lore friendly?

…..

The venture into Cazador’s palace was anything but easy, the smell of neglect radiated over the place. It made you wonder if the vampire lord even cared for keeping up appearances, but knowing how some vampires made their rule.. They probably cared more about causing fear than looking as good as they say in romance novels… There was nothing romantic about this place. The allure could’ve been a fantasy for the many victims Astarion was forced to lure into this damned place.

You wouldn’t lie, if this place was given a massive makeover.. It might actually make a nice home. Yet, it was better to keep that banter for after the upcoming battle. Astarion’s unease made your neck hairs stand on edge. You protectively placed yourself in front of Astarion whenever the party turned another corner. His undead lungs consistently caught a large breath at every stop. Like he was about to walk into another nightmare.

Certainly he would, and so would you. The dungeon’s elevator let in an air of absolute disgust. Not just the smell.. The sight of all the victims in cages.

After Sebastian lunged for Astarion in rage, you pulled him back. ‘’This is not your fault.’’ A part of you wanted to judge the poor noble for being stupid, on the other hand.. You didn’t have it in you to mentally process what this could mean. Being another one of Astarion’s victims? No.. No. Don’t you dare even think about it. This guy is already dead, walking into the trap was his own fault. You on the other hand, were here to help Astarion kill Cazador. He may have tried to seduce you under false pretences, but you fell for each other despite all that. You wanted to give him the world. You were not his victim.

‘’They’re all here.’’ He muttered. ‘’Gods. They’re all here.’’

You looked at him with a reassuring glance. ‘’Don’t think about it. Think about yourself.’’ The conflict in Astarion’s eyes remained briefly, pushing at the sides of his mind. He shook his head. ‘’..You’re right. There’s no use in lingering in the past.. Not now.’’

Confident, the party began to cross the room, ignoring the sights of all the vampire spawn in the cages. ‘’Maybe we should.. Free them?’’ Gale uttered, doubtful. ‘’And unleash a horde of ravenous vampire spawn?’’ Shadowheart spit back at the wizard. ‘’They look like they’ve never even fed!’’

Astarion shuddered, wanting to be out of here as soon as possible. He had to face this.

To your regret, as he turned to you once more for guidance, a familiar voice called out.

‘’Tav..? Son- Is that you?’’

You felt bile rise up in your stomach. You haven’t heard this voice since you were at least ten years old. ‘’My, so this is where you’ve been, after all this?’’ You started to laugh in amusement, making everyone around you raise their brows in confusion.

Astarion looked to you, then to the man speaking to you.. He blinked, unsure if this was one of his victims. You made eye contact with the vampire, your expression unreadable.

‘’Don’t worry, I’m not judging you.’’ You noted, before turning back to the man who had abandoned you. ‘’You.. On the other hand.’’

‘’Wait- Does that mean Astarion slept with your-’’ Shadowheart cut herself off as you glared at her. You did not want to envision that at all. Gross. 

‘’Oh I remember that night..’’ Your father’s voice sounded as drunk and hazy as when he left. Maybe that was simply his natural state of being, but you did not care.

‘’..Do you have anything to say that isn’t an attempt to insult me?’’ Your response sounded as bitter as you felt. ‘’Poor dear old dad, seduced by one of his many conquests into damnation. Absolutely perfect. Congratulations.’’

Astarion eyed you, remembering how little you spoke of your past. Maybe.. To distract him, you might as well indulge your loved one. ‘’This man, this man.. Is why my mother left. It’s why I grew up eating moldy bread in the streets.’’ You shook your arms. ‘’This is.. Amazing. I can’t believe he’s here. No- I can. This is actually a good thing.’’ You felt the spiteful laughter tugging your throat. You wanted to laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

‘’Darling..’’ Astarion looked at you with some concern in his voice, unsure what to say. 

‘’Damned little son of a bitch! Let me out of here!’’ Your father tried to reach for you through the bars, you looked at him with cold dead eyes. With one swift turn, you avoided his claws and grabbed him by the throat, smashing him against the prison bars. He coughed up whatever bit of congealed blood was left in his lungs. ‘’Ugh-’’

‘’Can you imagine? This pitiful man.’’ You sighed as you released him, he dropped to the floor. You turned to Astarion again, eyes softening.

‘’For as long as I can remember, this man abused me and my mother. He would leave her with very little, refusing to let her even get a job to provide for me.. Because all he did was drink, and drink, go out and sleep with strangers.’’ You sighed, looking back to the pathetic thing in the cage.

‘’I suppose he was handsome enough for your master to drink dry, maybe he just wanted to get drunk on his intoxicated blood.’’ You went quiet for a moment.

‘’One day, when he didn’t come back- My mother decided it was the perfect time to abandon me.’’ The spite and hatred in your eyes came flowing back. ‘’I had nothing but anger to survive on.’’

‘’You whoreson-’’ Your father once more spoke up, but you spit at him. ‘’SHUT UP!’’

‘’I should’ve beaten you more.’’

You decided to let him have his say, and thus the insults of decades came back around. You remembered them all, each little thing he knew would rile you up and cause you to run and hide. You wanted to slap the teeth out of his mouth, but patiently waited until he was finished.

‘’Have you nothing to say for yourself boy?’’ Your father held onto the prison bars again. ‘’Be a good little shit and do something right in your life for once. Let me out.’’

You stared at him, expression unreadable. Astarion grabbed your hand, he now too shared your rage. ‘’I don’t remember him, actually.. Pity.’’ He said, clicking his teeth.

‘’What? You don’t remember how you led me into this hell? You little-’’ He tried to lunge forward again, making pathetic attempts to claw his way out. ‘’You said all these little- recited lines! Sounded so dreamy. Corny. I was very into it. The sex wasn’t that great though.’’

He turned back to you, noticing you interlocking your fingers with Astarion. Your lover’s face contorted with disgust at your father. ‘’Don’t tell me- you’re into this man? Are you sleeping with him?’’ the deadbeat stopped and laughed at you. ‘’Oh.. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, boy. You’re just like me. Admit it.’’

For a moment, the childlike doubt overtook you again. Everything he said was designed to hurt you, to treat you like a punching bag. He would sometimes feign care for you, only to earn your trust and use it against you like a weapon. You were just a little kid.. This man, this man was a real monster.

‘’I don’t think so, Tav is nothing like you.’’ Astarion thought about it. ‘’If anything, it makes no sense for him to be related to you. Are you sure your wife didn’t sleep around? Hmm?’’ Astarion’s words clearly hit a nerve, because your father once more tried to claw his way out, screaming obscenities.

You didn’t care for either your parents, the idea of your mother sleeping with another man to conceive you wasn’t that far fetched. After all, as far as you were concerned.. You had no parents. You had to raise yourself.

‘’Don’t talk to me like that, you… You..  Manwhore!’’ Your father remarked, he started to look defeated, falling to the ground.

Both you and Astarion shared the same expression at the sight. Amusement. A little piece of justice had come from all this misery.

‘’There’s one little thing.. Just the thing. How do I put this?’’ Astarion thought for a moment. ‘’I think you slept with Petras, not me.’’ He then looked back at you, worried.  ‘’I may have been horrible enough to seduce people for… Cazador. But I never went for the already drunk ones.’’ That confession seemed to hit both Gale and Shadowheart as well. It was genuine.

From all the different kinds of people held captive in this place.. The stories of drunk people falling victim to some of the worst crimes imaginable was one all too familiar.

When he mentioned Petras, you recalled running into him at the flophouse. He recited some of Astarion’s lines in the corniest way possible in an attempt to seduce you. ‘’My dad slept with that guy?’’ You nearly choked. Then your laughter became a storm.

‘’I can’t-’’ You wheezed. ‘’THAT’S-’’ You coughed. ‘’I can’t breathe!’’ You nearly fell to the floor. Then it turned from joyful, into sadistic laughter.

You could see your father peer his reddened eyes at Astarion, narrowing them, making sure he was right.. Then he slowly realised. ‘’You’re.. An elf.’’ 

You laughed again sadistically, and Astarion joined you. 

Gale and Shadowheart awkwardly shifted around. ‘’It’s always like this with those two, huh?’’ Shadowheart mumbled. ‘’You know, I would laugh too if that was my father.’’ Gale shrugged. ‘’Let them, if anything.. The reprieve from the misery in this place is a good thing.’’ Neither the Wizard or the Cleric were as eager to run into a battle with a vampire lord. They were doing this for the sake of their friends. ‘’Well, my mother figure was terrible.’’ Shadowheart eventually added, accepting that this might as well be a good thing. ‘’I should’ve laughed at her downfall, perhaps it would have made things better..’’

You took one more look at your father in the cage as you came down from your high. Taking a deep breath, you examined his face clearly.

‘’Yes, gloat some more. Or are you actually pitying me now?’’ Your father remarked, his eyes begged for freedom. Surely you wouldn’t damn 7000 souls just because of him now, would you?

‘’No, I am simply burning this perfect picture of you into my mind.’’ You replied, causing the dread to sink into his form. ‘’No- No! Don’t let him do this! Please!’’ He turned to your allies, then to Astarion, putting on a different persona in an attempt to persuade him. ‘’I tried okay? He’s lying! I was drunk yes- But I’m not-’’

‘’Shhhh. Hush now, I think he likes it when you look so pathetic.’’ Astarion stared at him with a faked expression of empathy. ‘’Are you ready, my dear?’’ He turned back to you, seeing your smirk slowly fade. ‘’Oh, I’ve had my revenge. Are you ready to get yours?’’ You asked him back, he simply nodded.

Today was only just going to get better.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

8 Cadaver

DPR IAN LET'S GOOOOOOOO!!!!

this is gonna be interesting for sure :]

8. limbo - dpr ian

I left my heart down in the basement Where all the Ravens take their turns Picking at what's left of me

PROMPT: CADAVER

(cw: near death experience)

killer’s world is a jagged haze of familiar pain. the pit cradles him like an open grave, the damp earth pressing cold against his broken body, faintly smelling of buttercups. this isn’t the worst way to die, he supposes. his vision blurs, the edges smudged with black. from far away, he could hear unhurried footsteps – two pairs – crunching on the grass, accompanied by a whispered conversation.

“nightmare really left him like this, huh?” a familiar voice, low and raspy, with some hints of uneasiness slid into it.

“he does that,” another voice replies, almost gravelly and sprinkled with some amusement. “always leaves the trash for someone else to clean up. guess that’s us today.”

a brief silence. and then the first voice speaks up again, which now killer remembers belongs to murder. “you think he’s actually dead?”

the other voice, which must be horror, scoffs. “looks dead. smells dead. as far as i’m concerned – he’s done.”

killer wants to laugh. of course they’re here – who else would it be? he ignores the blooming pain in his chest and focuses on the conversation, letting it tether him to the moment.

“welp, we should check his body for anything useful,” horror suggests, almost too cheerfully.

“you mean loot his body?” murder echoes, clearly affronted. “he’s not some random body, horror.”

“no, of course not,” horror scoffs. a thumping sound suggests that he’s jumped into the shallow pit, walking closer to inspect killer’s body. “he’s our idiot. that means we got first dibs.” his tone turns lighter, as if teasing. “i mean… if you’re feeling sentimental, we can bury him afterwards. say some nice farewell words. give him some flowers. maybe cry a little.”

“i don’t cry.”

“sure you don’t.”

killer can feel their shadows looming over him, their murmured bicker getting louder now. his body may be a lost cause, but at least his vocal cords still work. when horror lightly taps his cheek, he can’t help but hiss.

“i… can still hear you… assholes…”

the silence is immediate, almost comical.

“shit,” horror breathes out.

right away, murder kneels besides killer, turning his head sideways. easy to assume he’s dead after all, with no apparent soul to be seen. but the black liquid from his eye sockets drip steadily, hissing when it hits the ground.

“well, well,” murder mutters, his hands shaking only imperceptibly. “seems like the corpse lived.”

“not… dead yet,” killer says, coughing. “can’t say… the same… for my patience though…”

horror snorts, but the grin on his face looks uneasy. “yeah, you look great, killer. real picture of health there.”

“not my fault… your face… is the… first thing i saw…” killer attempts a grin, but it’s a shaky one. “don’t worry… can’t die yet… who else gonna… look after you then…”

murder lets out a wet laugh. “yeah, that’s the spirit. let’s go home, shall we?”

home. that word sounds foreign to killer, but he can’t find it in himself to contradict murder for now. the other two argue with each other about how to carry him out of the pit, and killer tunes them out, just in time to suddenly find himself on horror’s back, as murder trails behind him, eyes focused on his battered body.

“thanks for… that shitty eulogy… by the way…” killer says between broken gasps of air. “if you drop me… i’m gonna haunt… your bony fuckfaces…”

“no one’s afraid of you,” murder says, a thread of relieved amusement in his voice.

“yeah,” horror chimes in. “you’d better survive this, or else.”

killer doesn’t reply to that, just closes his eyes and soaks in the warmth from horror’s body. it feels good not to be left behind for the first time in his life.

[gay-lien]

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑀𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒦𝒾𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝐼𝓃 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝒟𝓊𝓈𝓉 ; ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ¹

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Dickkory story , LOOSELY following the main 80s plotline to an extent, while mixing in a bit of my own lore. Very modern take on the Titans. Treating canon as a roughhhh outline if anything. Unlike in the 80s, the Titans haven’t been formed before. Koriand’r also canonically now has antennas, because I think they’re cute. More intimate than the og story, focuses heavily on character relations.  tags: cherry-picking canon ; they are university students ; dual pov ; dickkory ; pacifist Raven ; Romani Dick Grayson

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Koriand’r’s  POV

Stars. Is that what my life is reduced to?  What I am destined to be? A bright ball, drifting endlessly through space, until my time comes. Until I’ve been poked and prodded too many times, and I implode on myself. The days… they all seem to bleed together and I can hardly recall how long it’s been. 

Koriand’r is beginning to lose memories of home. Her favorite locations are little more than blurred memories, splashes of color amidst the metal of the ship. 

How strange, she can’t even recall the face of her mother or father. Has it truly been so long? Has she grown into them at all? Did Koriand’r  have my mother’s eyes? Or her father’s nose? Perhaps their spirit. How similar did she look to her sister? Koriand’r couldn’t even remember what she looked like.

Her eyes drift around aimlessly, and she waits… for the door to open. The only break she gets from the boredom of laying about, rotting in the hull of this floating chunk of metal. Sitting like cargo. 

A routine so familiar, it’s hard to recall days prior. Each the exact same, and perhaps that’s why her mind feels so empty. She’s not even making new memories, because what’s the point of taking note of when the floor began to become discolored from tears in certain spots? Or trying to separate today from the days they hauled her out to stick needles in her skin? 

And she feels so so weak. Longs to feel the sunlight on her skin again. Flexing her fingers inside of the restraints they have put on her. They’ve covered Koriand’r’s hands whole, and she doesn’t know what for. What affects their… “experimentations” have had on her. 

It’s so dark, the only light emitted is through the faint green glow of her eyes. And does her sister’s cell look anything like her own. Does she think about Koriand’r at all being locked up here. 

Long ago, Koriand’r had once foolishly used to dream of being rescued. Having her people storm the ship, her father teary eyed, while he fretted over his daughter. His princess. Terrified and apologetic of all that had happened. That he’d found a way to protect Tamaran from the Gordanians that didn’t require him giving up that which was most precious to him. 

And he’d hold Koriand’r the way he did whenever she  was consumed with nightmares. Whenever she’d scream in the night, terrified. He’d assure her that she  had nothing to be scared of, because he was right there. He’d always be right here.

Koriand’r bites the bottom of her lip so intensely at the thought, she can feel the peeling skin scrape off, the coppery taste filling her mouth. And her eyes get misty at the memory. 

I thought I’d been so safe with him… 

Sometimes… whenever Koriand’r manages to drift off, she can still hear her mother’s screams. Feel her hands prying into Koriand’r’s own, trying to fend off her father from giving her away. Like Koriand’r had meant so little. Could hear her mother pleading to find something else. Anything else. That she didn’t care if all of Tamaran burned, if its safety came at the expense of her child’s. 

But Myand’r couldn’t afford to think like that. Like a father. He had to think like a ruler. And a ruler puts his people first. 

That had been the first lesson he instilled inside his daughter.

Koriand’r often  wondered if he even mourned her absence. It had seemed like such an easy choice for him… and she grapples with understanding it. With that idea that she  would have nobly given herself for her people, and maybe she would have, if it had been her choice to begin with. But it wasn’t. 

Nothing had been Koriand’r’s choice since getting  discarded. Not until today. 

What made today different from the repetition of previous days was that loud alarm. It echoed in the hull of the ship, buzzing so loud, Koriand’r winces. The flash of the bright red light illuminating the room. 

Koriand’r squints,  until her eyes adjust, pulling on the restraints. Like she could cover her ears. A hiss of annoyance slips through her lips, and she  finds herself almost begging to crawl out of her skin. 

Something is different. So very different, and Koriand’r isn’t certain whether it’s worse or better. She can’t allow herself to have hope again, until a loud boom rattles the ship. A beam shooting right through the bottom of the ship. 

It’s… convenient. Creating a large hole in the door, just big enough… and maybe it’s the dimness of the light. Or her mind playing tricks on her from years of being locked away.

But for a moment, she sees the shadow of what looks like a bird, floating through the new exit of the room. Almost guiding her. Koriand'r’s  body is weighted, heavy,  but she finds her legs rising, albeit wobbly. And she’s making her way through the hole in the door. 

The outside isn’t any better lit up, but that bird… it’s still there. Drifting down the hall, the door to the stairs leading above flying open. 

Before Koriand’r could understand it, question it, her legs moved in the direction the shadowy bird had gone.. Believed it held all the answers she needed and that this was her chance to escape. However… she falters with each step, glancing around. The ship was in such a disarray, but… she had to try. Koriand’r had to find her sister. 

“<Kom?>”

She’s uncertain how loud she should be… uncertain how occupied the Psions were. Terrified of what would happen if they see she’s escaped. 

Koriand’r’s  voice echoes back to her in the bottom of the ship, and there’s so many opened doors down here, it’s almost impossible to tell which ones might have contained something once. Though… them being opened had to mean she got out… didn’t it? 

The Tamaranean  blinks a few times, eagerly making her way to the stairs. At first, there’s an attempt to float, but it’s been so long… so long since she’s tried. Since she’s felt the sun. Koriand’r  stumbles a little, clanging into the bottom of the ship. Her chin hits the ground, and for a moment she’s worried the impact has caused her to bite her tongue off, mouth filling with that coppery taste again. 

Alas, it’s simply just a small puncture in the bottom lip. Shakily, Koriand’r  rose to her knees again. Using the wall for support, she  made her way to the stairs. 

It’s almost… terrifying. Psions, dead as far as the eye could see. Were there any left? Who was manning the ship? 

It’s foolish to focus on such trivial questions, especially when escape was so close. Koriand’r was uncertain she wanted to divulge in the faint taste of freedom.

 Her green eyes glance around, studying the ship. the many damaged parts, tears in the walls and along the floor from shots and whatever else. Whatever had taken them out was very strong. 

“<Komand’r!?!>” 

The Tamaranean navigates  around the fallen with ease, a rush of adrenaline scouring through her at the realization. She  studies each corpse, keeping a lookout for golden skin among them. 

It doesn’t take a very thorough examination to conclude Komand’r wasn’t among them. It’s uncertain if that’s relieving or terrifying. The ship was so large and Koriand’r had  never had the freedom to explore it enough to learn its routes. 

Then… in the shadows, that dark bird appears again. Swooping down the halls with ease, and if Koriand’r isn’t  quick enough she’ll lose it. Koriand’r is agile enough to not stumble over the Psions, as she  calls out to it. Like it’ll hear or even understand what she’s saying. And maybe, Koriand’r thinks, "I’ve gone mad. I’ve finally lost it after years of being tossed around and kept away.” 

The shadow slips along the walls, guiding her further up, until she reaches  a room. It glows with a dozen different buttons. A few strange noises escaping. 

But what stands out the most is the Tamaranean woman standing in the center. Messing with the console. 

“<Sister!>” 

The voice causes the girl to turn, and when Koriand’r sees her face, she knows without a doubt who it is. Her dark hair pulled tightly back, peaking out of a… crown? Her outfit… it’s much more lavish than Koriand’r’s own. And she’s adorned in a long purple cape. Unscathed. 

On the console behind Komand’r, is a com system. Her sister was speaking to a Gordanian. 

“<Komand’r…?>” 

She grins, but not in a way that brings comfort like it should. It’s almost unsettling, as the older Tamaranean steps forward. 

“<My dear sister, I was wondering when you’d arrive.>” 

“<I… I don’t…? Komand’r what’s going on…?>” 

Just like before, Koriand’r finds her hope dwindling, and she wonders for a moment if it was foolish to even think that escaping would be this easy. It’s her sister… her own flesh and blood, so why was she not comforted by the potential rescue from her. 

Instead of answering, her sister simply raises her hand. A soft purple light glows from the woman’s golden fingers, before a bright beam shoots out, melting and reducing the metal to nothing. It breaks and drips down, almost like a candle, as another ship slowly fills the view of the hole outside. 

Koriand’r would recognize a Gordanian ship anyway, and she’s too stunned to speak. Her bottom lip quivers, her eyes darting from the hole to her sister. 

The older Tamaranean clears the distance, grabbing her younger sister by the chin. She smiles down at her, and it makes Koriand’r’s blood run cold. Her heart skipped a few beats, mind still on the bright purple beam that had shot from her sister's hand. 

“<Oh sister… you never were bright were you? Such a shame the Psions experiments will go wasted on you today… you’d have liked your new abilities.>” 

And before Koriand’r can question what she’s talking about, Komand’r drops her face. Her hand raises once again, hitting the console of the ship. It’s spinning, almost out of control, and realization dawns on Koriand’r’s face, her chest tightening. 

Komand’r wasn’t saving her… had never intended to. She was sending the ship crashing down, eager for it to take Koriand’r with it. She pushed Koriand’r back, before jumping to the Gordanian fleet. Being embraced by those… things, and it makes her sick. Koriand’r’s eyes widened, using what little of her strength was left to approach the hole in her ship, eyes narrowed. 

“<Working with slavers? You are scum Komand’r. Scum. And you better hope for your sake I do die in this ship!>” 

Even with her strength missing, Koriand’r speaks the words with an intensity that makes her whole body shake. Struggling in her restraints. It’s the only thing keeping her from jumping after her sister and tearing her apart limb from limb.

That and the way the Gordanian fleet grows distant, the more the ship descends. Koriand’r is tossed around at the plummet, eventually jumping out of the burning hunk of metal. 

X’hal be with me. 

And as she whispers those words to herself, her vision darkens, being swept away by the familiar shadow of the bird that had been guiding her before.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 

Dick’s POV

Dick Grayson glances around the room at the disarray of boxes scattered about, glancing up at his future roommate. Wally West was currently seated on what he decided would be his bed, on his side of the room, chewing on a twizzler and scrolling idly through his phone. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” a voice chimes in, carefully placing one box on top of another. 

A few mini cardboard towers were taking over a lot of the space on the floor, though they were careful enough to leave room for a path of sorts to walk through. 

Donna Troy flips up her sunglasses, her own eyes roaming around the boxes in the room. It was currently more disorganized than her own dorm room, but at least the two roommates knew each other. Donna still hadn’t even seen her roommate. 

“Thanks Donna,” Dick replies, running a hand through his dark hair, before leaning back against a desk on his side of the room. “Don’t suppose you wanna help us unpack.” 

The girl laughs in response, shaking her head. 

“Nuh uh, I still have my own room to tend to. You’re lucky I’m even helping you get settled.” 

“Well when our options are you or Gar…” Wally chimes in, giving Donna a knowing glance. 

“And what exactly are you doing right now differently from Gar?” Dick chimes in, before Donna can give an answer. 

“My point exactly, we can’t have two slackers. Besides, I gotta save my energy for when I need to dart between classes.” 

Dick scoffed softly in response, shaking his head. Thinks about reminding him classes don’t start until Monday, however he knows it’ll only garner Wally making some stupid joke about how he guesses that’s why they call him the detective. 

“So… what’d Bruce have to say about you moving out?” Donna asks. 

He knew it was only a matter of time until one of his friends brought him up, shrugging a little and staring out the dorm window. 

“You mean when he noticed?” Dick responds, shrugging. “He didn’t really have much to say. Alfred gave me a warmer goodbye. He… he shook my hand. Like you’d dismiss a client or… or end a business meeting. I don’t know, I guess that’s on me for expecting anything else.”

Really, Dick didn’t want to stay in the mansion another second. Even when Bruce was there, he was always occupying himself with work. Absolved in being the Batman.  Dick constantly felt like he was under surveillance. Like Bruce was just waiting for him to screw up, so he could be checked. And when things weren’t tense, Dick felt like a dumb kid showing Bruce A’s on his report card.

He just wanted… something for the man to be proud of. Dick wasn’t even sure why he was digging so hard for his approval. Their relationship was… all it needed to be. He was the Boy Wonder, his sidekick. 

Donna frowned softly at Dick’s words, propping herself up in the door frame. 

“I don’t wanna keep you too much, and Wally and I got a-”

Dick doesn’t get to finish his sentence, before someone comes tumbling down the hall.  Garfield Logan sticks his head between Donna’s side and the door frame, his eyes practically gleaming. The short boy can hardly contain his excitement, fingers twitching on the door. 

“You guys hear the news?!?  Girls are now starting to fall right from the sky! Well, girl, singular. Came crashing down Superman style. Whole school is raving about it. I mean she just fell right in the courtyard.” 

“Gar!” Donna hisses at first in response, pushing his head back, before moving out of the doorway. “Girl? What girl? From where? How long ago did she fall?” 

“Uh… I dunno, maybe like ten minutes ago. Just fell, right from the sky. Made a huge crater in the yard. I know where this semester’s tuition is gonna go.” 

“Kyptonian?” Dick asked, glancing up at Garfield, who only shrugged in response. 

Really, it had been quite some time since anything crash landed on earth. Wally is the next to speak, his eyes still not leaving his phone screen.

“Sounds like they initially thought it was a star, the girl fell in a bright ball of light. No protection. No ship. Nothing. Kids all around campus are posting videos, glimpses of her. She doesn’t look human.” 

“Should we inform the Justice League?” Donna asks cautiously, and Dick pulls his own phone out, studying Bruce’s contact name for a second. 

There’s an order in how to do things. Stick with what’s logical Dick. After a few moments of his thumb hovering, he pockets his phone, shaking his head. 

“No time, it’s only a matter of hours, maybe minutes, before the government rolls in or the press tries to spin the story. We need to investigate immediately,” Dick steps through the boxes, before settling on the one he’s looking for and quickly tearing it open. 

Donna nods in understanding, dragging Garfield out of the room with her, closing the door, and slipping into a bathroom just a little ways down the hall.. Wally tosses his phone, spins in a circle, and is quickly suited up, by the time Dick pulls his suit out of the box he had stored it in. Dick just hoped Bruce wouldn’t be too pissed about him going against protocol. 

But if this thing was a threat, he couldn’t take any chances. Didn’t have time to tell Bruce to throw together a small team and wait for them to travel from Gotham to here. 

After a few minutes, the group is reunited, each following Dick’s steps. Almost naturally. It felt… strange almost. Walking forward and doing something without their mentors, though it wasn’t like this was any major crime investigation either. It was simple…

So why did Dick feel like he was doing something wrong? Probably because he knew it would garner Bruce’s disapproval. 

No doubt he was already aware of the instance at the university. And it was just a matter of time until Bruce sent someone to investigate. It probably would’ve been Robin… if he had still been in Gotham. No… college was supposed to be his break. A step away for a moment. 

It’s hard to get outside, with a crowd surrounding the crater. Camera’s going off, phones shoved in every direction, as well as voices colliding talking over each other. It’s almost overwhelming and even Wally struggles dashing through the crowd. Going fast didn’t get you anywhere, if people refused to part. 

“Everyone please, step aside! Anyone commuting around or with is an accessory to crime. This is now an investigation scene,” Dick calls out, easily creating a pathway to the crater for his little group. 

It’s… smaller than he was expecting, but still large enough for the four of them to gather around it and peer inside. The crater is maybe about eight feet deep, it wouldn’t be too difficult to navigate in, however what’s nestled inside is far beyond anything Dick’s imagination had conjured. 

The girl is muscled… seemingly tall, and her golden skin sticks out almost effortlessly against the dark dirt. Her hair is a long mass of red curls and she has two antennas peaking out along her forehead, curling in a heart shape towards the end. What stands out the most though is the fact that her hands are covered and bound together by what looks like metal canisters and her clothes are hardly covering much. 

There’s little to leave to the imagination, the girl wearing little more than thin purple straps almost. 

Dick isn’t close enough to tell if she’s breathing, but he knew Bruce would tell him to use her being unconscious as an opportunity. Neutralize her before she could become a threat. But gazing at her it’s… hard to imagine her as anything. 

“Her hands are restrained… could mean she’s dangerous and was being transported,” Donna comments, floating down into the crater to stand beside the girl. “Wonder where the ship she was on is if that’s the case.” 

“She’s got antennas in the shapes of hearts, yes, very menacing,” Garfield is quick to tease, turning into a bird to fly a little closer. 

Donna retrieves something from her utility belt, it looks like a piece of glass, holding it under the creature in the crater’s nose. 

“She’s alive, but her breaths are shallow. Whatever occurred, it’s taken a lot out of her. Got a cut above her forehead. Could be the reason she crashed here. Could also indicate that she’s got a concussion.” 

That would be the case if she were human but… Dick narrows his eyes, studying the alien. 

Even in his times with Batman, he had never seen anyone quite like this. Wonders if Superman might have any idea. Or was that racist to assume because they were both aliens? Dick feels his cheeks flush at the thought, thankful no one could read his mind. At least not anyone around. 

“I… think we should’ve called the Justice League, let them handle this,” Wally speaks up softly, glancing down for a moment. 

Dick knows he’s probably only saying that because he was ready to hang up his super suit. How easy that would be… but Dick enjoys being Robin. He likes investigating and helping people. What he doesn’t like is feeling inadequate. Incapable. 

“They’ve got bigger stuff to deal with,” Dick responds, his shoulders tightening a little. “I can handle this.” 

The girl shifts a little, the more they carry on, and Dick’s eyes widen in surprise when she opens her eyes. They’re bright green, no pupils, yet they’re just as expressive as human ones. They dark around first at him, then at Wally, Donna, Gar, and the crater she’s in. 

She lets out a series of noises that are foreign to Dick’s ears, her mouth opening and closing quickly, before pulling herself into a seated position. 

Donna jumps back, as the girl swings her covered hands around. Though it’s not in aggression it’s… desperate. Wonder girl’s voice is gentle, holding her hands out in front of her in an attempt to sooth the alien’s nerves. 

“Hey… hey… slow down, we’re not gonna hurt you, we just wanna talk.” 

“ठीक है🕉!” 

Dick and Donna exchange uncertain glances in response, realizing she probably didn’t have a clue what they were saying. 

While distracted, the alien shoulder checks Donna, soaring out of the crater. Her head whips around frantically, shaking her restrained hands, before letting out what almost sounds like a cry. Her movements are shaky, uncoordinated almost, bobbing up and down in the sky. 

It’s almost sad to watch. Like an animal that’s been caged. Moving with that… sad desperation. She hits her restraints against one of the school buildings a few times, causing the bricks to crack and cave in against her force. It’s almost startling how strong she is, which makes Dick wonder what had managed to capture her. 

“Robin, contact the Justice League, now,” Donna orders, reaching for her lasso. “This is clearly beyond us.” 

“Wait! Don’t do that! She’s just scared, she’s not a threat,” Dick insists, watching as she flails against her restraints, eventually giving up on the building and resorting to hitting them against her knees. “You know as well as I do what happens if we bring them in.” 

The girl looked young, probably no older than them. Protocol be damned, if this girl had just gone from one cage it didn’t feel right to put her in another. 

“I don’t know Dick… I don’t think it’s safe to let her roam the city like that, they could help,” Wally insists, eyes flashing from the alien in distress to the boy wonder. “Maybe the database has more information.” 

“Yeah, we don’t know if she’s a threat or not,” Garfield chimed in, landing beside Dick after flying out of the hole. “She could be once she gets those things off.” 

Donna shoots Dick a look and he knows she’s thinking he’s only being stubborn due to the current strain on his relationship with Batman at the moment. It’s almost infuriating. Like he were some petulant toddler who would let his petty pride get in the way of keeping citizens safe if it really boiled down to it. 

The second Wonder Girl reached for her lasso, however the alien girl seemed to sense her intentions. Within seconds she’s zipping off across the skyline, leaving little to track her down with. 

Dick lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. The last thing he needed was Donna giving him a lecture to involve Batman. If he wasn’t already aware of the situation himself. 

Several pictures were being taken. Of the alien, the destroyed building, the crater, and the sidekicks. And suddenly Dick is annoyed that everyone and their mother seems to have a phone, photos so easily captured. He was gonna get an earful from Bruce later, he just knew it. 

“We’ve got to find her again,” Dick comments, though he’s not quite sure who he’s talking to. 

“Robin seriously…?” Wally asked, crossing his arms. “Nuh uh, I think now is time to let the professionals do their work.” 

I am a professional. 

Dick bites back the statement, shaking his head. The second the Justice League gets involved, things are going to get worse. He knew from experience that Batman was the last thing a traumatized and scared individual needed. He may get information, but he knew nothing about comfort. Not that Dick knew any more, but he knew enough to know what not to do. 

“And I’m telling you that’s a terrible idea, she’s not a threat. She’s just scared. And they’ll only spook her more.” 

“I think we did just that,” Donna responds bleakly, crossing her arms. 

“No… she was crowded, surrounded, as well as seeing you reach for your lasso.” 

“So it’s my fault?” 

“No… No, that's not what I’m saying. I’m just saying everything together probably wasn’t the most comforting thing to wake up to. As well as being on another planet.” 

“Which is exactly why we should have Superman or one of the others take over. Who’d better understand her than him?” 

Dick pauses for a moment, debating if that would be preferable. He knew Superman would be a lot more tactful and gentle than Batman. There was still the issue of not having a clue of what she was saying… would he know? 

While contemplating it, Dick swears he spots something in their shadows, something almost seeming to loom around them, listening in. It’s like a shadow but it’s in the shape of a bird. as quickly as it comes into focus, it blurs out, and their shadows look normal once again. And Dick wonders if his recent nightmares were making him lose it. 

Find her. 

That voice… it sends the hairs on the back of his neck rising, and he glances around, half expecting to see a woman standing beside him. However no one was around them. 

“No,” Dick insists, his tone holding no room for argument. “Just… just one more try. No weapons. No aggression. No Justice League. No crowding.  We don’t immediately turn on something just because we don’t understand it.” 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 

Koriand’r’s  POV

Koriand’r flies with no particular destination in mind. She flies, finding comfort in being among the clouds, in watching the building grow smaller, and the crowds becoming less daunting. She flies to distract herself from how alone she feels, her fingers wiggling in her restraints. Her hands burn, it’s an unfamiliar feeling, and she’s terrified of what she’ll see underneath. 

The Tamaranean isn’t sure what’s fueling her harder at the moment. Her fear of being somewhere so strange, being so lonely, or the seething anger at her sister’s betrayal. Watching her so effortlessly side with those… monsters. 

Koriand’r shakes her head, as if she can free herself from the thoughts. The memories, flying so fast until everything becomes a blur. The clouds. The cities. The people. 

The girl feels her eyes become misty, eventually running out of steam, and floating down on the sidewalk. Exhaustion takes over her the second her feet touch the ground and her head is spinning. Walking on solid ground makes her legs wobble. 

It’s… strange, after years of getting used to the gentle shake of the spaceship. With the loss of the sun, she suddenly feels a little cooler. 

This planet was nothing like the tropical and warm planet of Tamaran. She missed the golden skies and the sweet smell that once lingered in the air. Here… well the scent almost hurt her lungs. It was strong, pungent. 

And those people… the ones dressed so brightly. That woman wanted to lock her up again, she was certain. She had tried to express she meant no harm. 

It was clear these people didn’t know her language. They might not even be aware of Tamaran. It was impossible to tell where she had landed in the solar system without the ship’s console and the stars looked foreign here. 

Koriand’r felt like she was a million miles from home, however, catching her breath. She leaned against the walls of one of the buildings, trying not to succumb to her exhaustion. 

Her bound hands flitted to her stomach, the cool metal pressing against her warm skin. Damn things were nearly indestructible and she can’t recall ever feeling so hungry in her life, even when the Gordanians had reduced her food down to scraps for a few months once.

And even if Koriand’r wanted to return home, that would be impossible. The truce would be broken. 

The girl is so swept up in wallowing in her own self-pity, she doesn’t notice that someone had been following her. Approaches her exhausted form. 

Koriand’r blinks tiredly a few times, before following the sound of footsteps. Her eyes widen, recognizing the man in the costume from before. With bright green shorts. He had been with the woman that wanted to tie her up. 

The Tamaranean immediately tries to sit up, though her weariness makes it difficult, legs wobbling, as she falls back down into the cold concrete. Hates how weak she sounds in response. 

The man speaks once again, holding his arms out, however it all sounds like nonsense to Koriand’r. His blue eyes scan her, while she sits up, resting her back against the wall. Koriand’r holds up her restraints defensively, eyes narrowing in warning. 

She’d used the last of her strength to beat this man to death with the hunk of metal attached to her if she had to. 

Koriand’r is surprised when the man responds by holding his hands up in surrender, slowly backing up. That’s a first. But still he runs his mouth. The noises are becoming most intolerable at this point to the young Tamaranean. 

The man in the green shorts frowns at first, studying her, before finally just… sitting down on the ground. What really sets her off however is when he starts patting the ground. 

Calling to her like she’s some sort of animal. Koriand’r snorted in response, rolling her eyes. Though she’d never admit it… the man does have a certain charm to him. Inky black hair falling in delicate ringlets around his face. Seemingly smooth tanned skin. It reminds her of the warm sands back on Tamaran. 

He points at her hands, then holds up something foreign in his hand. Koriand’r responds, staring at him skeptically, which only results in him pointing towards her restraints again. 

She holds them up, and he beckons her over. And Koriand’r decides she’s got little else to lose. What could he possibly do? Restrain her more? She’d like to see him try, scooting over until she’s sitting in front of him. 

Green eyes study him curiously as he takes her restraints, using some sort of… gun? It dispurses gel onto her restraints and he puts it in the shape of an R, before dropping her hand and backing up a little. His green gloved fingers are held up and he starts counting down starting from three. 

At least numbers were universal… but what was he counting down from? Koriand’r frowns for a moment, shaking her head, however he doesn’t stop counting. And once he gets to zero, she feels the restraints split open along with the sound of a small boom echoing in the alley. The metal falls down on the concrete in four pieces with a soft clang. Two from each hand. 

The Tamaranean stares down in awe, flexing her fingers. And it feels so amazing to have her hands breathe. 

When Koriand’r glances up, the costumed boy looks rather proud of himself, grinning widely. And she can’t help but smile back. Despite his help however, Koriand’r still can’t help her skepticism, pulling her hands back to herself. 

What’s even stranger is that the costumed man doesn’t seem offended. He’s still smiling warmly at her. And his eyes are such a pleasant blue. It makes her miss the waters back home. 

She wonders what he thinks looking at her eyes. However the thought is cut short as she hears the sound of approaching footsteps. The small rest seems to give her enough strength to gather herself to her feet again. 

Koriand’r gives the beautiful boy an affirmative nod, hoping it’s thanks enough, before zipping off once again.  　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　        ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶   ✦　　

ᴹʸ ᴬᴼ³ ; ＮＥＸＴ ＰＡＲＴ

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Chapter 14 |

Chapter 15: Forget Me Not

TW: some awkwardness, confusing visions, Daniel makes an appearance, mentions of major character death and spoilers for the comics, a bit of Dark!Munin, The Fates, some intense memories and mentions of violence, pain, and allusions to assault, a bit of trickster god energy (I'm not super familiar with Puck and Loki from the comics, so please don't crucify me if they're not great!), threats, some cryptic shit from Destiny, a pretty big revelation, and finally, some soft fluffy goodness to give our story a happy end before the rewrite.

I really struggled with this last chapter! 😅 I think because I already know I'm going to rewrite it the words just didn't wanna cooperate with me and I'm overall not super thrilled with how it came out. I do really hope y'all still enjoy it and are looking forward to getting the rewrite whenever I have the time to get that going. Thank you all so much for your love, support and patience with this series!

Awkward felt like an inadequate word to describe the stiff silence that now consumed Hector's home. You quietly took a sip of your drink, eyes darting back and forth between the two men as they stared one another down across the living room. You’d quietly hoped that the two would use this time to let go of the strenuous circumstances they’d previously met under.

Hector finally leaned back and spoke, “Make any pregnant women cry today?”

Or not…

Dream’s face tensed slightly, but his voice was steady as he replied, “No.”

“You could’ve given us a minute to say a proper goodbye, you know,” Hector insisted with a sneer. “She had to go through so much all alone… we didn’t even get a chance to talk about baby names. I don’t… I don’t even know how they’re doing.”

This made Morpheus soften, and for a moment, you wondered if he was thinking about his own son, that had been long lost to him. “Daniel. Your son's name is Daniel, and he is doing well. I’ve had my raven check in with them on occasion.”

Your friend smiled and looked out toward the trees. “Daniel. What about Lyta?”

“She’s been more…” Morpheus chose his word carefully. “Restless as of late. A just reaction, I suppose, after learning all she has.”

“Couldn’t you help her with that?” Hector asked. “Isn’t that your job or something?”

“I could, but she does not wish for my help.”

“Sounds like her,” his smile was soft and sad but filled with a restfulness you’d not seen in him for a long while. “Lyta was always the stubborn one between us.”

Morpheus glanced at you, an invisible smirk plain to your eyes. “A struggle I understand too well, spirit.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me stubborn?”

“I said no such thing,” he insisted with a wicked gleam in his eyes that answered the question for him.

Turning your head away, you smiled at Hector. “Apologies for bringing up such painful memories. It was not my intent, my friend.”

He shook his head and waved your concern away. “It wasn’t so bad.”

Morpheus allowed the man to show him the home he’d built, taking in details he’d missed the first time in his haste, and, you thought, the two seemed less at odds with one another by the time you departed. Your beloved remained as long as he could, spending time with you to tell the children stories while you held Sirius and got lost in the sound of his silken voice. A loud screech and a string of curses echoed from the wood, bringing you and the Dream Lord to your feet, shielding as many ears as you could reach from the vile things being shouted.

The Corinthian stumbled out of the woods with Kat hot on his heels, talons bared and clawing at him with every swoop. Her feathers were ruffled, and the noises she made were ones you’d never heard before. “Kat!”

She heeded your voice, halting her attack on the nightmare to settle on a branch beside you. The Corinthian shook his clothes off, looking at the deep tear in his suit. “Your beast owes me a new suit!”

Kat’s eyes burned. “The only thing I owe you is a slow and painful death, nightmare.”

“What is the meaning of this?” You demanded as Morpheus distracted the children.

“Is this not the nightmare that betrayed you, my lady?”

“It is,” you answered honestly. “But he has been remade now. He will not hurt me again.”

“Once is more than enough,” She bit back. “This was something you knew once.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you tilted your head at her words. “What do you mean by this?”

Kat shook out her feathers. “Nothing, my lady. If you say the nightmare means no harm, then I shall trust you.”

“Thank you, Kat,” you answered, her words still rattling around your mind, but the golden owl took to the skies before you could question her further. 

The Corinthian bared his teeth at the shredded suit jacket. “Daunty, love the new realm and all, but you gotta get a tighter handle on your greeters.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head at him. “Relax. I’m sure your maker would happily repair your suit if you asked nicely.”

He scoffed. “I’d rather live with the tears.”

“Stubborn.”

“Always,” he replied with a grin. “So, you gonna give me the tour, or are you too busy for little nightmares now?”

Linking your arm with his, you smiled at Morpheus, who continued telling the children stories beside the fountain. “I always have time for you, dear Corinthian.”

*

It had been a few days since you’d spoken with Hector, but the sad look in his eyes when he’d mentioned not being able to see his son had stuck with you. You approached the young tree with a gentle touch and kind gaze upon the face carved into the trunk. Hector's son was still quite young, and his tree of memory reflected such. It was smaller than his mother's that stood beside it, but the roots were strong and ran far deeper than any mortal. Daniel, you quickly realized, was special. Different. Like you.

The face seemed to stare back at you, white leaves peeking out from beneath the lush green canopy. You approached slower, urging the roots to lift and open the young one's mind to you. His memories would be few, but there was no doubt much you could learn within them. Veins of white stood out in the darkness. Some roots, the ones that borrowed deeper, were pale and sung with power and immortality. The song of The Endless. But, the tune wasn't Dreams, or Deaths, or Desires. It was its own song, still unfinished.

You walked through the light, lush still forming along the walls of his memory, focusing on the memories he found joyful. You intended to share them with Hector, a gift to show your gratitude for his hard work and kindness. That, however, was not where the tree led you.

Stumbling into the blinking light, you found yourself kneeling in deep sand. Sand scratched your palms, sticking to you like sap, just as it had the first time. Except now that sand, once a deep void of black, was white. It sparked like tiny perfect crystals in your palms as you stood and looked out at the miles of glistening sand and bright cerulean waves.

You knew this beach better than any save its creator. You knew the placement of each stone and the feeling of the sand as it molded to your steps. This place felt different… All at once, the beach you knew and not. It was old and new and entirely confusing.

The fragile ground beneath your feet seemed to remember you as you walked toward where the Gates of Horn and Ivory should have been. The sand didn't swallow your feet or try to slow your steps. It felt as though you were walking on nothing at all. Before your eyes, the entrance stood, an entrance that was not the gates you knew at all.

Glossy white marble caught the light and cast an ethereal glow all around you. An aura of both light and color, beautiful and bright. The gates stood open, revealing a sight you'd grown to know well. "The Dreaming."

As you passed through, you admired the fine craftsmanship of the carvings in the marble gates. A story familiar and also not… Something that had not yet been told. Familiar things were more abundant here as you walked through the town and admired the dreamers. Dreams and Nightmares, old and new, greeted you like a friend and wished you good fortune as you made your way to the palace.

The regal and beautiful palace of The Dream Lord was quite similar to the one you’d known. Only some small changes in the stone and the statues caught your eyes, but as the doors opened to the throne room, a wave of unfamiliarity washed over you at the sight. The white marble of Dream’s palace was pristine in every sense of the word, reflecting the array of light and color that swirled around the room, drawing your gaze to the tiny crystals that hung in the air like drops of frozen rain. It was beautiful, marvelous, but not what you knew to be.

The stairway leading to the throne was wrong as well, far more winding and long, a path of almost transparent crystal. The stained glass windows above the throne shifted to reflect you, a perfect vision of white mist and black dogs and golden leaves. It was as if The Dreaming was trying to welcome you… trying to lull you into a feeling of peace or comfort at all that was not as it should be. And there, in the place of the throne, you knew Morpheus to have was something entirely not his. It looked far more organic, like a split geode holding an uncontainable cosmos of stars and cosmic clouds inside it. And sitting on that throne was a being that was not Dream of The Endless. Not your Dream.

The pale being lifted his head, and not a single strand of his cloudy white hair strayed. His black eyes consumed you entirely, two small slivers of starlight shining brighter as they looked upon you. The robes he wore were white, adorned with golden designs, and there, sitting proudly upon his chest, was a glowing emerald dreamstone.

“It is a great honor to meet you at last, Munin of the Emerald Wood.” His voice was silken and light, Dream’s but not his. 

“You are not my Dream… are you?” You asked with tears building in your eyes.

With a soft sigh, he rose from his throne slowly, almost as if he thought doing so any faster would scare you. “No, I suppose I am not.”

You didn’t dare look away from him as you asked, “Then who are you?”

“The name you would likely know me by is Daniel. Daniel Hall.”

Lies. “Daniel Hall is little more than a child. You could not possibly be him.”

“Not as you know him to be,” he said, slowly descending the winding staircase. “But, as you’ve already noticed, none of this is as it was. A future carved in stone, written in Destiny’s book of things, a future only you can stop.”

“Future?” You questioned, looking around at The Dreaming. “You mean to tell me I’ve stumbled into the future?”

“No,” Daniel replied with a light chuckle. “More of a vision.”

You watched him carefully as he stood before you, hands clasped and a soft, childlike smile on his lips. “So this is what is to come then? You mean to steal this realm from Morpheus?”

His brows furrowed. “I’ve stolen nothing. The Dreaming and the title Dream of the Endless was given to me by he who came before.”

“Morpheus would never just give his realm or his title away,” you insisted. “Unless…”

“He did all he could to stop it, but The Kindly Ones were relentless in their attack. His sacrifice saved The Dreaming and those that remained.” Daniel could see the pain in you, and with a sigh, he added. “He did not suffer. Death greeted him and showed him the way. He was at peace in the end.”

You shook your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. “And what of me? I did nothing while he perished?”

“There were… things complicating your involvement.” He shook his head. “It matters not. You are here now.”

“You’ve been expecting me?”

He smiled, chuckling softly. “No, more… hoping you would find a way here so we could speak.”

“Speak of what?”

"If the love you bare him is even a fraction of the love that lingers in me still…" he lifted a hand to your cheek. "Love he bore for you. Then you'll save him. You’ll ensure this future never has to be.”

With narrow eyes, you asked, “You would give up his power… his title, and his kingdom?”

Daniel nodded. “All I ever wished for was a normal life with my mother. Plots larger than me… Larger than him made that impossible. But you, you could change it.”

“How?”

“Seek out Loki and Puck. The end of your Dream Lord began with their plot and… my mother’s misguided actions.”

Loki and Puck - two tricksters that you’d only met in passing. Gods that were notoriously difficult to track down. “And how do you suggest I find them? They’re not known for making such easy.”

“Visit my mother,” he urged. “And myself, I suppose…” he chuckled again. “The two should be close by.”

You paused, listening to the faint sounds of The Forest calling you home. “What happens if I fail?”

Daniel only smiled, reaching out to lift your hand to his lips. “Then I hope this is not the last time we meet, Lady Munin. And that the next is under better circumstances.”

*

Lyta Hall lived in a modest apartment in a bustling city. Though you’d ventured into the mortal world before, it looked vastly different from what little you could remember. She was surrounded by those she loved, Rose Walker and Ged, and many familiar faces - faces you knew from memories alone. And while the apartment wasn’t large or lavish, she appeared to be happy aside from the large bags that hung beneath her eyes, telling you she’d not found any peace in her dreams.

For a while, you simply watched them, searching for some sigh of Loki and Puck’s coming mischief, but the longer you looked in, the more you felt compelled to venture closer. You wanted to speak with her, to reassure her that her husband was safe and loved. And so you found yourself in her apartment, standing in the kitchen and admiring the little notes, photographs, and memories each held. Lost in your own examining, you barely heard the sharp gasp and the sound of wood scraping against the floor as Lyta hurriedly rose from the table at the sight of you.

Suddenly you were reminded that it was not normal for people to appear in mortal homes simply, and you bashfully bowed your head to her. “Apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”

“Who are you?” She demanded, forcing her voice to sound firm and dangerous.

“We have met before,” you answered softly. “In a dream.”

Her face softened slightly. “You… you’re the one that took Hector.”

Nodding, you answered the question she had not asked. “He is safe. He misses you,” your eyes drifted to the small child in his high chair. “Both of you.”

“What do you want?” She demanded, wiping her eyes. 

“I simply wanted to apologize for my coldness that day. I was… I was not myself.” You sighed. “Were it within my power, I would have let him remain with you.”

“But it isn’t,” she answered bitterly. “It’s his power, isn’t it?”

You realized Morpheus was the he that she spoke so sourly of. “It was out of his power as well. The Dream Lord means you no harm, Lyta. This is why you’ve not slept, isn’t it?”

Lyta looked at Daniel and shook her head. “I don’t want him to come for my son… not while I’m under some spell and can’t defend him.”

“Dream of the Endless would not steal your son,” you said gently. “He means neither of you harm.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied bitterly.

“I do,” you assured her. As you watched her move to the child's side, you felt an odd power humming around her. The song of the Endless echoed from the boy, swirling around her, but beneath his song was power. A power that you knew. Lyta and Daniel froze, time halting as mist rolled in from unseen places, and their power engulfed the apartment.

"You are meddling in dangerous things, lost one." Their combined voices sent a chill up your spine, but not one of fear or anger… A feeling of familiarity.

The Mother tutted softly as she moved around the frozen figure of Lyta Hall. "Fate is not something easily changed, dear sun."

The Crone lifted her head, glaring at the babe in Lyta's arms. "And this fate is one you should not even attempt to alter."

"I won't let you do it," your voice was cold as mist rushed beneath your feet. The Forest bled into this illusion they thrust you in, dark, twisted trees casting long shadows over the three. Black engulfed your fingertips, and you could feel the darkness, the daunting power of it bending to your will. "Morpheus is mine. And none shall have him while I draw breath."

The Maiden tilted her head, eyes shining back at you in admiration. "You always were so determined."

"So headstrong and unafraid," The Mother continued, her eyes bearing a deep sorrow that surprised you.

"It is what led you to your doom the first time." Though The Crone's eyes were stiff, guarded, and unwilling to bend beneath your steady gaze, her voice trembled, lips quivering as she uttered a single word. "Mneme."

All at once the darkness vanished. You felt your power stripped away, leaving you trembling and bare before The Fates. Breathlessly you fell to your knees. Sparks of golden light and a searing, unbearable pain engulfed you until all you could do was scream.

Not a word. Flashes filled your vision, swarming like molten gold in water. A name. Fire blazed, and a burst of sickening laughter echoed in your mind. Your name.

Their hands offered you some comfort, albeit temporary. The Mother smoothed your hair back. "Do not fight it."

The Maiden stroked your cheeks. "Let it come."

The Crone looked down at you with tears in her eyes. Her palm pressed to your forehead. "Remember."

*

The first thing you saw once the blinking light faded from your vision was the orange hues of the sun setting over the ocean. You sat upon the edge of the cliffside, wind combing through your golden locks of hair, and a peaceful feeling settled in your chest. You were home.

"Mneme!" The Fates’ voices called out as one. 

Turning your head, you smiled at them. "Not too close to the edge, I know!"

The Maiden offered you a smile back. "The fall would be terrible indeed, even for one such as you."

The Mother waved, gesturing to you to come to them. "Come down from there, sweet child!"

The Crone rolled her ancient eyes and scoffed. "She won't fall! Our Mneme is far too surefooted to do something as foolish as that."

"Accidents still happen, sister self." The Mother reminded.

You squeezed her hand. "I'll be more careful."

"More careful!" The Crone laughed. "She's been careful since the day she was born, I doubt she's capable or more."

The Maiden lovingly braided a strand of your hair. "There's no harm in having fun every now and then."

The sky above had begun to shift to the deep star-filled night, your favorite. "I have to go."

"Back to that tree of yours?" The Crone asked.

"Back to the humans?" The Mother's question was far more bitter.

You kissed all their cheeks. "I'll be home before the sun rises!"

More light flashed, more voices echoed in your mind as your body felt like it would burst apart. You saw it through the slightly golden haze. The Great Tree standing tall amidst a bustling village. Its trunk was a rich reddish brown with golden leaves glistening in the low light of the fires the humans had lit to illuminate their festivities.

In the blink of an eye, you were in the tall branches, looking down at the bodies that moved below, watching the humans with wonder. You and the tree had been linked from the moment of your birth. A tree with roots that spanned across realms and lifetimes and a little spirit born of fate and memory. 

A rather simple pair when compared to the billions of other supernatural and immortal beings and creatures that existed. But, you were fine with simple. You enjoyed your time spent on Mount Helicon and watching the humans, quietly gifting them with long memories and thus making their marvelous stories last forever.

It had been centuries since you'd heard the lovely tune for the first time. The first song ever made. A simple and beautiful thing that planted a seed deep inside you. A longing for something real… Tangible… Something wholly yours. You had no idea what it would be, this thing, but some nights you could hear The Fates whispering. They must've known. There was little they did not see. So, you waited, hoping that it was something marvelous.

The memories raced by, quicker and more painful than before. You could feel the raw ache in your throat, a result of your screaming, but you could only hear the voices. It was all still fragmented, flashes of a happy life with The Fates that all shifted… The sour smell of decay stung your nose. These flashes were darker, the fragments blurry and hazed. 

You felt fire cracking under your skin, nails clawing at the wrong flesh that caged you. A laugh… A wide and villainous grin letting down at you. Unfamiliar hands touching you… Defiling you… The human's bright beauty slowly diminishing before your very eyes. You could taste the salt of your tears and feel the ache in your knees as you bent to the floor and begged. "Harken to me!" Your voice sounded so broken… Desperate. "Please, I beg of you! Deliver me from this place!"

The gentle hands that touched your head bore a somber tinge that answered the question you did not even ask. "Enough, dear one."

"You should rest," The Maiden said.

"You will need it for what is to come," The Crone finished.

"Help me," you begged them, lifting your drowning eyes. "There must be something you can do… Someone to intercede on my behalf."

The Crone's eyes turned cold as she sighed. "Foolish child. You are awfully bound. There are none that can deliver you from this place."

The Mother's eyes were filled with tears. "Not now, at least…"

The Maiden braided a strand of your dull hair. "Not when so much of you has been spent."

"I am so sorry, dear one…" The Mother pressed a kiss to your head. "Your prayers were wasted."

"No!" You cried out, rising to reach for them, but they were already gone. The chain binding you to this place scratched against the stone floor. "Do not leave me…"

The pieces fragmented further. Shattering like glass when you tried to hold onto them. All you could truly recall was a knife, blood, screaming, and fire. Darkness that felt warm and safer than what you'd known for so long and then breathlessness. You could see a rippling surface, bubbles floating away from you as the air abandoned you. 

As you sank deeper into an unknown abyss, you could see the golden strands of your hair fade to white, and a voice echoed in your mind as all else began to fade away. "You will never be rid of me!"

*

"Mneme," The Maiden's voice called out to you.

"Stop," you begged, voice raw and hardly understandable. This wasn't true… This was a trick. All of it. Their hands, cradling your head, felt too heavy. "Don't call me that."

“Mneme…” The Mother cooed softly as you shook their hands off you.

“Do not call me that! I… I cannot deal with this now. I… There’s…” You wanted nothing more than to sob, to let the information you’d just regained swallow you whole. 

Morpheus needed you. The events Daniel spoke of could still be years away, but you’d not risk it. Especially not now. Forcing your body upright, you looked into the eyes of The Fates. “I am going to change what is written. Morpheus will not perish, least of all at the hands of you.”

The Maiden’s tears were like diamonds upon her cheeks. “We take no pleasure in this.”

Your sound of disbelief caused The Mother to sigh, “Not much pleasure in it.”

“You cannot change this,” The Crone said, cold as ice once again. “Try as you might, what is will be and what will be is.”

“The only one you shall harm is yourself,” The Maiden replied.

"You will spend your power," The Mother warmed. "Spread yourself thin until all you are withers."

"Lost again to Lethe," The Crone finished.

“If anything happens to him… anything at all, it is you that I shall harm. Consequences be damned.”

You didn’t give them the chance to speak again, vanishing from the apartment and from their presence with a mere thought. The world felt both heavier and lighter, and with it, you felt both more powerful and less. Forcing the memories… the past from your mind, you put your plan into motion. It was just as you’d told The Fates. None would have Morpheus.

The meadow was quiet. From what you’d seen of the human world, there were few places like this that remained. Calm and untouched, reeking of old fairy magic and buzzing with godly power. Two tricksters lurking in the shadows. The combination of their power was dizzying and stunk of mischief. A warning to any that drew too near to turn back and hope you’d not caught their eye. You, however, would not be so easily deterred.

“What have we here?” An old and giggly voice purred from the shadows.

“A little witch?” Another chimed in, smug and prideful and filled with echoing laughter.

You showed no emotion as you addressed them. “I am Munin, Queen of realms of memory.”

A figure appeared a greenish beast with scales and fur and long pointed ears. Sharp teeth gleamed back at you as the deep red eyes of the spirit Puck glowed. “Queeny, Queeny, Queeny… why are you so far from your castle?”

Bright hair and an angular face examined you closely from a safe distance away as Loki grinned back. “Come to play with the old tricksters, have you?”

“More like come to talk sense into you,” you replied calmly, urging the wood around you to slowly shift.

The two laughed loudly, clutching their guts as they looked at each other. “Sense? Oh, we’ve not had sense in ages!”

“So I’ve been told. But, kidnapping a dream-touched child is a new sort of stupidity I thought even you two would be above.”

“Careful now,” Puck growled. “I’d surely hate to have to get blood all over that pretty white dress, Queeny.”

“It would be quite the shame,” you agreed. “Though the dress could be a trophy of sorts stained with your blood.”

Puck giggled, deranged and gleeful. “I like you!”

“Focus,” Loki insisted as he languidly stalked forward to circle you. “What’s this about a kidnapping?”

You followed him for a moment but chose to keep your eyes on Puck; he was the one you’d have to be most mindful of. “Your little plan to kidnap the boy… Daniel Hall.”

“How would you know about that?” Puck questioned.

“I have my ways.” That was the only answer you offered them. “The how is hardly the point. I’m far more interested in skipping it all together so we can focus on the bit where you both use your brains and forget about this half-baked scheme.”

Mist slowly began to seep between the trees, a low groan echoing in the air that signaled your plan had worked. Loki shook his head. “We aren’t exactly known for listening to threats from little girls.”

You smiled. “I’ve not even threatened you yet, Odinson.”

“Do not call me that!” He hissed, pointing a long elegant finger at you.

“I’ll call you whatever name you see fit after you’ve agreed to leave Daniel and his mother alone.”

Puck tutted, clawed nails digging into the branch he leaned on. “Greedy, greedy. You’re getting boring, Queeny! Perhaps we should just be done with you… After all, you look so tasty!”

Sirius dove out of the mist and snapped at the spirit. “Mind your tongue, beast. Though I shall gladly rid you of it should you insist.”

Loki pulled two daggers from their sheathes as The Corinthian appeared somewhere off to the side of you, calm and collected as he casually leaned against a tree. “Naughty puppy!”

Rolling your eyes, you lifted a finger, calling forth the tree roots to bind them. “Enough of this.” The trees wound around their limbs, squeezing hard enough that were they not immortal beings, their limbs would have snapped. Loki sneered while Puck laughed. “It’d be in your best interests to leave the child alone.”

“Best interests,” Puck laughed harder. “I care little for interests.”

“You may not care,” you began, eyes turning to the god. “But he does.”

Loki shook his head, chuckling at the notion that he cared about anything at all. “You think you know me, little wood witch?”

You shook your head and walked along the tree roots. “I do not care to know you, trickster. But, I see more than just your eyes…” Memories swirled inside them, good and bad, joyful and not. “We may not have met more than in passing, but make no mistake, Loki, I know you.”

Puck was the wildcard, the mischievous being that none could reason with or bribe unless he so sought, but Loki was a god. He was shrouded in golden pride and a deep-rooted desire to make Odin love him. Loki was the one you needed to convince. Puck would follow, or he would die, a choice you’d not have to spell out for him, especially with Sirius’ watchful eye and menacing teeth gnashing in the sprite's face.

“Why do you care so much for this runt?” Loki pondered with a wide grin. “Have a soft spot for dream-touched mortals?”

“Why does not concern you.” You sat down on a high-up branch and stared the god down. “No more questions, Loki. Will you leave Lyta and her son alone, or will you die here in my little woods?”

He attempted to shrug against the branches that held him. “It’s not me you need to worry about.”

Puck rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t need to fear me! This game has gotten boooorrrriiinnggg! One little mortal, dream-touched or not, isn’t worth this kind of fuss.”

Loki glared at the sprite, clearly displeased by his so-called partner in crime's words. “Fine then. We’ll leave the kid alone. Happy now?”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it,” he sneered back. “Now let me go.”

You waved your hand, and the roots released. Puck was gone in a blink, no promises made or extra words exchanged. Here then gone, just like you’d expected from the trickster. Loki remained, anger and some ugly, wounded pride shining in his eyes as he glared at you. Sirius growled. “Leave this place, trickster. And pray you never return.”

Suddenly all emotion drained from the god's face, and he laughed. “You know, I don’t much like being humiliated, especially not by insignificant little girls. Do you think you're suddenly untouchable just because you have some new realm and a bit of power? Well, you aren’t.”

Lunging for you, Loki found himself face to face with The Corinthian, who smiled as he brandished his blade. “I believe my lady released you. That means you leave.”

“I’m not scared of you, nightmare!” The god shouted.

“You should be. Hold him down for me, pup.” Sirius surprisingly heeded the nightmares command and pulled the god down while The Corinthian worked with his blade. The screams were drowned out by the trees cheering and laughing at the now mutilated god. You stood high above it all as The Corinthian finished his work and turned, presenting you with the eyes he’d plucked from Loki’s skull. Bowing his head, he chuckled. “Any other body parts I should take, my lady?”

You accepted the eyes and shook your head. “No. Kat has already sent word to Odin. Someone will be here to collect him shortly.”

The Corinthian glanced at you. “You alright, Daunty?”

Your mind was plagued with the past that you’d still not fully regained, a thing you now had broken and confusing fragments of. “Yes. There’s just something I need to do now.”

“Need a nightmare?”

Smiling at him, you shook your head and placed a loving hand on his cheek. “Not this time, dear Corinthian.”

*

Upon Mount Helicon, a secluded cabin stood overlooking the sea. The cabin was not what you’d pictured when you thought of The Fates. You’d imagined they’d live in some large palace or a winding maze, like Destiny, but there the three stood, looking out at the sea as you quietly approached. “Such a lovely sunset.”

The Mother smiled at you. “It used to be your favorite part of the day.”

The Maiden laughed softly. “You’d sit here until the yellow faded from the sky entirely.”

“One sun,” The Crone said. “Watching another.”

"Whatever the reason for this… Fondness, you bear me…" you stopped yourself, pain that you could not yet confront boiling within you like the fires in your vision. Shaking your head, you met their gaze again. "I urge you to cease these schemes against the Dream Lord."

The Maiden nodded, "Painful as this may be, you cannot run from the truth forever."

The Mother took a step closer with a sad smile. "Oh, dear one… Is this truly your wish?"

"It is."

The Crone stood before you, cold eyes slightly less so as she wiped your tears. "Very well. If it is your wish, we shall honor it. So long as Dream of The Endless does not bring harm upon you, then we shall not harm him or his Dreaming."

“Thank you… my mothers.”

The Three smiled sadly and watched you go. The Forest greeted you as it always had, offering you soft handing leaves to dry your eyes and a melodic rumbling to ease the ache in your heart. You did not know when you would be able to accept what you now knew fully, nor did you know if you’d ever be strong enough to remember the full brunt of the pain your past life had lived through, but you did know that The Fates had spoken at least one truth. You would not be able to run from it.

A dark figure emerged from the trees, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of you. “There you are.”

“Morpheus,” you breathed, the pain easing as air filled your lungs.

His eyes narrowed as he took a step toward you. “Where have you been?” His arms wound around you, pulling you into the embrace you’d fought so hard to preserve. You buried your face into his chest and breathed in his scent. “I’ve been worried.”

With a soft noise, you smiled. “Forgive me, I did not mean to worry you. There were some things I needed to take care of.”

“Is all well?” His breath hitched at the mere thought of something being wrong. 

You smoothed your hands down his chest and smiled. “All is well. I… I learned many things these past few days and have many questions that need answering.”

Morpheus nodded, soft hands caressing you. “I trust you will tell me your meaning when you are ready to?”

“Of course,” you answered. “It would be rather cruel of me to keep you in such suspense.”

“Cruel is not a word I’d use to describe you, my love.”

You wanted nothing more than to tell him of all you’d learned and everything that had happened in your time apart, but instead, you simply smiled. “Would you walk with me?”

He seemed to understand the gentle gleam of tears in your eyes and quietly offered you his arm and a kiss upon your head. “Always, my love.”

The two of you walked through the misty forest until you found the cave of crystals and the lake that you’d once danced upon. Without needing to speak any words, he stepped out onto the water and swept you away into a starlit dance. With your head laid against his chest, listening… feeling the steady beating of his heart, you finally spoke, “Do you think we will remain together in whatever existence comes after this?”

“I should think so,” he answered with a soft laugh. “We’ve found one another against impossible odds thus far.”

"Well, if it should come to an end, this immortal coil we find ourselves in..." You pulled away from his chest and gently held his face in your hands. "I should like it to end by your side, that we might turn to stardust together or be bound in the roots of the earth as one. I shall not pass to whatever existence awaits us in The Sunless Lands without you, my dearest Morpheus."

With the software of smiles, he pulled a small thing from his cloak and held it between you. A ring. The stone in the center was an ethereal array of thinking stars with a branch-like band of roots twining around it. He lifted your hand to slide the ring on your finger, kissing it and whispering a soft oath, "I vow that no matter what comes, nothing shall ever part us again. I am yours, Lady of The Forest, Distress, Discourage, Daunt… Munin. In every existence, every realm and lifetime, I am yours."

"Just as I am yours, Prince of Stories. Always."

Beneath the starry skies and amidst the groaning echoes of your realm, you and the Dream Lord shared a kiss, soft and bright and beautiful. For that one moment, the past didn’t matter. Not Daunt or Mneme… you were Munin, and you were here. You were loved. And as you stared into the eyes of your lover, you knew you always would be.

[corruptlight]

Oh, My Love - A SWTOR Story

In which the Commander gets stabbed on Nathema instead of Theron Shan.

Its me back on my bullshit instead of sleeping (help) and I've been in SWTOR brainrot for a long while now and I keep thinking and creating stories based off my silly little swtor characters.

This isn't edited by the way

"I love you Theron, please, come home." Lana shuts off the holo and Sylvi begins to leave the room. Not saying a word as Lana watches sadly, knowing it was better not to say anything.

"I'm going for a walk in the woods, clear my mind." Was all she said before leaving, and not even going towards the woods. Sylvi heads for a secret shared apartment that no one knew off except her, Theron, and C2-N2.

It was for her to stop Theron being a workaholic and sleep and for her to get away from the alliance and being its commander. She lazily opens the door, before walking towards the lounge and slumping onto it. Too lost in her mind, the only thing keeping her going had ceased to exist and she finally tumbled down into a dark abyss of depression, shame, and self-loathing.

><><><

"I swear when I get my hands on him-" Trygve starts while Ingrid and Víðarr stand with him in the field where the former Cipher Nines ship resides.

"Trygve..." Víðarr starts but Trygve swirls to face him with a firm finger pointed at him.

"HE WILL FEEL EVERY AGONY, EVERY FORM OF TORTURE POSSIBLE FOR WHAT HE DID. I WILL SEE HIM BREAK FOR WHAT HE DID TO HER!" Trygve yells, making Ingrid flinch to hide behind Víðarr making the male twin sigh and calm himself slightly at her behavior.

"Brother, we will find him. I promise you, and we will make him pay," Víðarr assures, "But, you cannot deny something about this is off."

Ingrid moves from her position slightly behind the Sith, opening her mouth to say something before her comlink goes off.

"Ingrid here," She says while answering it.

"Its Hylo, we've found the pirate that keeps raiding the transports." Hylo Viz explains before disconnecting, making Ingrid close her eyes.

"I'll go, I sense something about this that's... familiar." Ingrid says to the brothers.

"Sense what?" Trygve quizzes, making Ingrid smile slightly.

"I sense someone that I'll love until the stars go cold." The Zabrak then turns on her heel and walks away with haste.

"Andronikos revel." Víðarr whispers with a small smirk.

"That pirate that helped her recover Tulak Hord's artifact on Tatooine?" Trygve asks.

"How do you-- another time. Lets go find Lana and figure our next move to find Theron."

"Vaylin! You have too stop her!"

"It is a tainted world."

"The Force is... wrong here."

"There are things in there even I cannot protect you from."

Sylvi shoots up in a sweat, another nightmare plaguing her sleep, however, this time it felt like a warning from the Force.

"Nathema..." She whispers before springing to her feet, half consciously, half on auto-pilot.

She needed to leave Odessen, without anyone knowing, following or finding her. Suddenly feeling like she was in a jail, she checked her armor before clipping her dualsaber to her belt. She walks to her wardrobe and finds a black cloak, heaving it over herself she pulls her hood up and leaves the apartment.

She blocks off all her bonds and shrouds her force signature, suppressing it from the force users all over the planet. She knew she had to take a ship without a tracker on it, or land then use the auto-pilot to send it adrift in the galaxy.

'That would throw them off my scent.' Sylvi realizes before maneuvering to the hanger. It was midnight and no sane person would be up unless they were on patrol.

The raven haired Jedi peeks around the corner, seeing an officer on patrol. Though she hated it, Sylvi forces them into a sleep before gently having them fall to the ground and running across to the fighters. She looks around before force leaping onto a fighter, once she does she hears voices coming towards the hanger before they notice her sleeping soldier.

"Over there!" Admiral Aygo calls out before getting onto the comms and shouting orders for flight control. Because the group couldn't identify Sylvi, they figured her to be a spy, saboteur, or assassin and that was a means for capture at any cost.

"Sithspit." Sylvi curses under her breathe before getting the ship fired up and getting ready to fly out.

In her quarters, Ingrid stirs feeling a heavy and firm arm around her waist. The Zabrak hears her comm beeping and uses the force to bring it to her.

"This better be important." Ingrid hisses.

"Ingrid! We have a situation in the hanger with an unknown assailant attempting to flee in a fighter. Their intent is unknown and they appear to be a force user!" Aygo explains making her groan, feeling the person behind her start to wake.

"I might not be able to get there in time." Ingrid replies, while attempting to move but the arm around her waist keep her flush to the persons chest.

"Understood, we will attempt to detain them." Aygo tells her before she turns off her commlink.

"Andronikos..." Ingrid starts but the pirate wasn't letting her go.

"Forget them, they've got it handled." He tells her lazily, planting kisses on her shoulders and gently taking the commlink and throwing it somewhere.

"This is important."

"So? You've skipped out on dark council meeting for less." Andronikos argues, not letting her go after getting her back. The pirate moves towards the Zabraks neck slowly, knowing it would help his argument for her to stay.

"Yes... I... I know this, but..." She keeps trailing off, finding it difficult to speak, and Andronikos smirks knowingly.

"But, Sith?"

Sylvi gets the fighter moving and knows Aygo and attempting to comm her, but she left it in the staging area so he wasn't getting an answer. She watches as he sends men to go find her in what most assumed were her private quarters.

Once she finds the opportunity she flies out of the hanger and into the atmosphere while getting the hyperdrive ready and finding the tracker at the same time.

Eventually, finds two wires she remembers her brothers telling her were for the tracker and weapons.

"Blast, which one was it." Sylvi asks herself before deciding to pull them both out.

What could go wrong?

As she pulls the wires an alarm start blaring to tell her weapons were disabled. She groans before glancing to see if she was clear to jump.

"Flying is for droids." She grumbles before entering hyperspace.

Leaving her with only her thoughts and the stars.

[theweirdestroller]

Headcanons Pt 3 - Sorting

So, this is how it's going to go; I'm gonna list a Sans, their Hogwarts house, and why they're there and not elsewhere. I know houses are subjective, but I don't care. It's a fun activity I do with fandoms to familiarize myself with the characters. What traits would place them where, and which would make them seem out of place. How would relationships work across houses? How would they react to being sorted? All that jazz. Starting off with the Gang

Nightmare's Gang:

Horror: Hufflepuff

Was so close to being sorted into Gryffindor. He would have been uncomfortable there, but reckless abandon and pure determination are practically the only two things you need for that house. Both of which he has. He would take a bullet for his friends but would struggle when being put in a situation as a leader. This house also sits closer to the kitchens, so he'd feel right at home. I feel his character too soft and squishy to be sorted elsewhere. (Yes, I am aware of his past, but in a sympathetic Nightmare's Gang, where he'd be allowed to grow and recover, he just becomes a giant teddy bear, leave me alone!!)

Killer: Ravenclaw

Despite his stunning lack of awareness or book smarts, Killer would likely be sorted into Ravenclaw. I find that most of my sorting activities have a prankster character or two in this house. There is a level of cunning needed to pull off more elaborate pranks. He would not like this. Ravenclaws are nerds, he is not a nerd. That aside, he is still somewhat into science like most Sanses seem to be. As much as he is to rush into battle, he tries to at least have some semblance of a plan.

Dust: Ravenclaw

This sorting takes advantage of Ravenclaw stereotypes, Dust being book smart and skilled enough to be Nightmare's right hand. A strategist. He teetered on the edge of ending up in Slytherin, but his lack of wanting to lead on his own keep him out. As well as the fact that he prefers to be quiet, not speaking up even when it might be more necessary. He also has the makings of a Hufflepuff, with his unwavering loyalty and general friend-shaped-ness, as prickly as he may be.

Cross: Gryffindor

The Hufflepuff-iest Gryffindor to ever exist. Sir wants to be a side character but the world won't let him. He wants to follow Nightmare, protect his friends/found family, and will do anything to make that happen. As it is, he's also fairly ambitious, a great leader when the need calls for it, and so self-sacrificing that that one trait alone would have landed him here anyway.

Nightmare: Ravenclaw

A Gryffindor-leaning Raven if you will. Again, he falls into the traditional book smart category of this house. His wit allows him to lead, but he's not dumb enough to run into a battle unprepared. He has a right hand to act as a second opinion, making sure everything is tactically sound. He would kill and die for his found family and they are the only people who would make his reckless enough to make him a Ravenclaw-leaning Gryffindor. He has a handful of Hufflepuff traits, being loyal to a fault and a bit more trusting than one might expect for someone with his past.

Error: Slytherin

The first and only of the Gang sorted here. Despite not being the most morally bankrupt character out there, he finds his sorting helps with his job. He obviously keeps the people he cares about close, but anyone beside them can rot. It's his job to destroy things so the world doesn't collapse on itself, he can't afford to care about much. He is also incredibly ambitious, but not stupid enough to think his goal is an easy one.

Star Sanses:

Ink: Slytherin

The main reason for this sorting is the lack of emotions. Even with them, he is chaotic. He has a small group of friends that he keeps close. His goal is a lofty one, creating to maintain the balance. But he oft creates too much, leaving Error to deal with it. Quite impatient, but also silly and cunning. Cannot look before he leaps and refuses to try, a trait that is scarily common in Slytherins and Gryffindors.

Dream: Hufflepuff

Despite the lack of side character vibes, this man does not want the spotlight. He's Cross if Cross ended up in Hufflepuff. Slightly Gryffindor-leaning. He's a charismatic leader type, but his strengths are in his loyalty and friend-shaped-ness. He's also not as reckless or brash as Gryffindors or their scaley counterparts. Prefers to stay out of the action when possible and would only fight for others.

Blue: Gryffindor

As stated prior, Blue is the only Gryffindor of the Stars. He has all the makings of a classic Gryffindor hero, minus the reckless abandon. He is great at leading and properly motivated. Perhaps a bit self-sacrificing, but that's par for the course. He tends to get drawn into battle whether he likes it or not and will not stand very any injustice. He has a rigid moral compass and is very honest. Since Blue is also a model friend, he also is quite Hufflepuff in design. Love this guy.

If I didn't make it obvious through all that, Gryffindor and Slytherin are houses that lack the ability to fear. And that's not a good thing. Perfect for heroes, but anyone else? Not so much. I'm a Huffpuff, and the more I favor a character, the more likely they are to end up in that house. I think it's just because I like those kinds of characters, but Dream is an outlier in this situation. I feel like all the Slytherins and Gryffindors are somewhat interchangeable, given how close those two houses seem to be. I also refuse to change my stance on Ravenclaw Killer. The lack of braincells that he has active at any given time makes the sorting funny, but he does use them sometimes, which is why he's there.

If you want to see what I have to say about certain Sanses, you can always request them. I'm likely going to stop after Pt 4, in which I'll be covering the remaining CQ bros, Ccino, Crop, Reaper, and maybe TK and Lust.

[voraciousvore]

Bucky's (34/44)

Chapter 34: King Richard

The next morning, a Giant man walked into the Big Corp building whom everyone knew, but few recognized at first sight. He was an older man with graying hair, but his hair was styled in a strange and unsightly way, shaved close to his head. His face had changed as well. The hollows were deeper under his eyes and cheekbones, contrasted by faded skin that hadn’t seen the sun. The furrows in his forehead and the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth were darker and more defined, as if carved into his mien with a knife. His chin and upper lip were grizzled and unshaven. His body was harder, cut with muscle, the body of a man who had labored through the hottest, darkest pit of hell with fantasies of violent revenge. He looked weary and haggard, yet there was a sadistic gleam in his pale blue eyes that made anyone who fell into those icy pools shiver. 

He knew exactly where to go. He felt like he was coming home, a twisted and backwards version of the prodigal son returning to the fatted calf. When he exited the elevator to his old fiefdom on the third floor, he was the king coming to reclaim his usurped throne. He moved with purpose to his rightful place, the private office that should be his. He carried in one hand a drink holder containing two fresh coffees and a plastic bag with two breakfast sandwiches: ostensibly, offerings to the current steward of his realm—or perhaps something more sinister. 

Before he entered his office, he stopped at the cubicle directly across the hall, standing at the entrance with a devious leer. He watched the familiar miniature denizen within dance at her keyboard with practiced skill as she labored to type with equipment that was too big for her to use. His eyes shined with a disturbing combination of fondness and hatred, his pursuit of lustful pleasure battling with his thirst for revenge. Above all, however, he had the toothy, drooling maw of a predator, and he prowled into her workspace with ravenous intent. 

Candy stopped and bristled with the natural instincts of a tiny prey animal. She sensed immediately that something was wrong, before she even glanced behind her to see who was shadowing her desk. She turned around and threw her head back to behold with abject horror the Giant towering into the sky above her, making her feel as small as an insect. He was the colossus from her worst nightmares, made harder and rougher by his time in prison, the Giant who had terrorized her even worse than Ronny, and had come dangerously close to changing her life forever for the worst: her old boss, Richard Hardon. 

“Miss me?” Mr. Hardon teased, closing in on her with a cruel sneer. Candy’s eyes rolled in her head like a spooked animal and she opened her mouth to release a bloodcurdling scream, but Mr. Hardon was ready for this response. He clamped his titanic hand around her like a straitjacket, muffling her screams so she couldn’t cry out for help. He raised her up the dizzying height to his mouth and brought her in close, so he could speak to her without anyone else overhearing. Candy convulsed in his hand, reliving her worst memories as she was bathed in the familiar odor of his warm breath. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, Candy! I’ve obsessed over you all this time I’ve been locked away, you know. You have no idea the things I’m going to do to you. This time, I’m not going to let you get away from me,” he whispered, tightening his grip around her. He licked his lips ferociously. Candy was unable to make a sound, but the rivers of tears running down her face betrayed her terror. Mr. Hardon smirked darkly. “Before we do anything else, though, let’s pay Mr. Griffin a visit.” 

He opened the door to his former office and shouldered his way inside, closing the door behind him. “Hello, Leon,” he uttered in a frigid tone.  

Leon looked up and his blood ran cold. “M-Mr. Hardon!” he stammered. Mr. Hardon sat down, set the food and drinks on the desk, and carelessly tossed Candy next to them. Candy scurried away, whimpering with fright. Leon scooped her up in his hands and held her protectively, away from the monster that he knew had abused her. His chest tightened as he felt her trembling in his hand. 

“Let’s have a chat, Leon,” Mr. Hardon began, the barb of a sharp threat underlying his words. “Here, take a coffee and sandwich, as a gesture of goodwill.” Mr. Hardon grabbed one of the disposable paper cups full of coffee and drank a healthy draught. “I want you to understand, I’m not here to take your job. No hard feelings here.” 

Leon wasn’t particularly hungry, but he took the other coffee to be polite. He sipped a small mouthful and prepared himself to listen to whatever Mr. Hardon was proposing. His former boss was a cherished member of Mr. Wolfe’s inner circle, so it couldn’t hurt to have him as an ally when he felt himself to be in such a vulnerable position. As much as the man before him disgusted him, he knew he was here to stay, so he should play nice. 

Mr. Hardon didn’t speak, however. He kept his coffee up to his mouth, a foreboding smirk gracing his lips, as if expecting something. Waiting. Leon stayed quiet and looked back at him, puzzled. With increasing discomfort, he took another sip of his coffee and averted his gaze. He felt strange. His stomach was starting to burn. He set his coffee on the desk and placed his free hand over his belly. The burning sharpened into stabbing cramps that spread through his insides. 

Leon grimaced and doubled over, groaning in pain. His stomach contracted and he belched loudly and uncontrollably, forcing air out of his innards. Candy stared up at him with concern. His skin suddenly felt stretched and tight, like it was squeezing around him. His limbs crumbled inward, as if folding in on themselves. Leon sank below the desk in agony. He stared up at Mr. Hardon’s face, plastered with a mocking grin. 

“W-what did you do to me?” Leon gasped, but he couldn’t say anything else as his throat and lungs constricted. His bones felt like they were bending and cracking under the pressure. His vision grayed to static and he cramped up involuntarily with a squelching pop into a fetal position with another loud groan. He blacked out for a second, but when he came to he was very confused. He was smothered in darkness and what felt like heavy blankets. He struggled to get out until he found an opening, poking his head out and gasping for air. 

He was very confused. He didn’t know what happened or where he was. He freed his shoulders and bare torso from the fabric and sat up. For some reason, his clothes had been stripped from him. His surroundings were unfamiliar. Mr. Hardon was gone. Instead, there was a woman standing next to him who looked vaguely familiar, staring at him and covering her open mouth with horror. Leon looked at her blankly. Even though he was sitting, her head came up to about the same height as his.  

“Who... what...?” Leon struggled to make sense of it all. He looked closer at the unknown woman, processing the details of her face. His eyes widened. It wasn’t possible. He hadn’t seen her in such detail before, but he still recognized her. “C-Candy...?” She was genuinely too stunned to form words, but she gave a small nod. “How did you get so big...?” 

Her face scrunched up and she shook her head. “No, Mr. Griffin...” Leon surveyed his surroundings and felt a jolt of frightened electricity in his gut. The impossible reality of his situation began to dawn on him. He recognized the heap of fabric he was sitting in as his own clothes, blown up on a vast scale. He was sitting within his own shirt collar, but the diameter of it easily exceeded his entire body, not just his neck. The wooden wall looming above him was his own desk. The chair he was sitting on had turned into a massive platform. Candy wasn’t big; he was small. Not quite as small as a human, perhaps double the size, but still very small. He gulped. 

A colossal silhouette blocked out the light above, and Leon craned his neck back in horror to discover just how terrifying a hostile Giant looked from a human’s perspective. Mr. Hardon was inconceivably massive as he planted one hand on the desk and the other on the back of the chair, leaning over the helpless little people with a crazed look in his eye. He laughed, a booming, unhinged sound that resonated throughout the room. Leon flinched, not expecting the loud volume, like movie theater speakers turned up to their full level. He could literally feel the vibrations of the sound waves through the air and the wood of the chair. 

“It worked! It actually worked!” Mr. Hardon thundered in his deafening voice, like a subwoofer. He reached his enormous hand down and Leon cried out in fear as he was snatched up. His stomach heaved as he ascended a staggering height at a rapid enough pace to give him vertigo. Mr. Hardon’s gargantuan face filled his vision. He could never have imagined, in his wildest dreams, just what it was like in reality to be so small. He had always felt sorry for humans around Giants, but he couldn’t comprehend the jarring perspective until it was made flesh before him. He trembled, feeling small, vulnerable, and naked before the Giant. 

“You-you drugged my drink!” Leon stuttered in disbelief. His voice sounded small and squeaky, even to his own ears. Mr. Hardon grinned, and the massive wall of slick white teeth, easily large enough to chew him up or bite him in half, made Leon recoil. He realized he hadn’t even begun to comprehend the horrors of being so small and helpless, and his shaking became uncontrollable. He was in serious danger. Mr. Hardon wouldn’t have shrunk him without the intention to torture or slaughter him in a horrific fashion. Suddenly, his job didn’t seem that important anymore. 

“P-please don’t kill me!” Leon begged. Mr. Hardon belted out a laugh. Leon, up close to his face, found himself staring into the Giant’s gigantic mouth as the teeth opened. He could see his huge tongue swimming in slobber, and the dark void further back, rimmed in deep red—perhaps the entrance to his grave, where he’d be buried in living flesh. He struggled, but he couldn’t budge the fingers crushing around him. “No!” 

Candy screamed far below, on top of the seat of the chair, but Mr. Hardon ignored her. “I’m so lucky!” he gloated. “I have the privilege of being the first Giant to find out if shrunken Giants taste like humans! And oh boy, am I famished!”  

He stuck out his tongue, a mammoth fleshy blob. Leon pulled away as the enormous tongue slapped his chest and ran up his neck and face, slicking his hair back on his scalp with saliva. Mr. Hardon boomed with laughter, hurting Leon’s ears. 

“I don’t believe it! You taste like a marshmallow! I knew you were a soft wimp, but damn! Not what I expected!” He guffawed again. “If I had known, I would have brought graham crackers and chocolate instead of sandwiches, to make you into a s’more!” Leon’s eyes popped out of his head when Mr. Hardon pulled one of the breakfast sandwiches out of the plastic bag. “Oh well, this will have to do...” 

Leon yelped, but there was nobody to save him as Mr. Hardon opened the bread and slapped him onto a spread of egg and cheese. Candy shouted obscenities down below, trying to distract the Giant as he reassembled the sandwich and trapped Leon underneath a sausage patty and a slice of bread larger than a mattress. Mr. Hardon smacked his lips, savoring the man’s cries as he flailed uselessly in the sandwich. 

“I think you’re a little bit too large to go down smoothly if I try to swallow you whole,” Mr. Hardon remarked. “So I’ll probably have to take a few bites...” He ran his tongue over his teeth and raised the sandwich up to his mouth, cracking his jaws open. Leon shrieked with a primordial wail of pure terror as he stared into the dripping red abyss before him. He was going to die. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable crunch of the gigantic teeth demolishing his fragile bones. 

Outside of the boss’s office, Ronny was in the break room with Tanya, refilling his coffee and chatting lightly with his love as she perched on his shoulder. As he returned to his desk, he heard strange sounds and voices emanating from the boss’s office. He paused, setting his cup down on the desk and collecting Tanya in his hand. He was getting an uneasy pit in his stomach, a disquieting sense of déjà vu. He had been through this before. He could swear he heard the familiar rumble of Mr. Hardon’s voice, accompanied by Candy’s desperate and furious exclamations. Perhaps even Mr. Griffin’s voice, but fainter and squeakier than usual. What the hell? Was he having some sort of weird flashback, or imagining things? 

“Do you hear those voices?” Ronny asked Tanya. He peered over the cubicle walls and noticed Candy was not at her desk. His heart started to throb. 

“Who is that?” Tanya asked. “Doesn’t sound good... Candy sounds like she’s in distress! You need to help her!” She clutched Ronny’s finger with her delicate hands. The Giant felt his stomach drop. He was reliving this terrible scenario again, but this time he had Tanya to protect as well. He couldn’t just charge in there with her in his hand; she might get hurt. Yet, he couldn’t leave her alone either, where an unfriendly Giant might grab her up. He was torn. 

“Hide behind the monitor, Tanya, and don’t let anyone see you,” he instructed her, placing her on the desk. “I’ll see what’s going on.” Tanya obeyed, staying out of sight while Ronny hurried over to the boss’s office. His stomach did a flip as he put his hand on the door handle. He didn’t know what to expect, but he assumed it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. 

Ronny opened the door, and the strange sight that assaulted his eyes confused and baffled him. He was shocked to see the grizzled, transformed form of Mr. Hardon, in the flesh, standing before him, jaws wide open, about to take a tremendous bite out of a sandwich. Ronny couldn’t see where Candy was, but she was screaming somewhere in the room. Upon closer inspection, Ronny was even more horrified to see a small man squirming in the sandwich, about to be bitten into. 

“Mr. Hardon!” Ronny exclaimed. The evil Giant didn’t hesitate to respond aggressively, catching Ronny off guard. He dropped the sandwich onto the table and rushed at Ronny, knocking him to the ground. His strength was more than Ronny anticipated for a man his age. After his stint his prison, he had increased physical strength and a rougher, more feral edge to him than before. He pinned Ronny to the ground and forced his jaw open, shoving something into his mouth, and clamped his hand over Ronny’s head. Ronny choked and felt something akin to a collection of pebbles slide down his throat. He coughed and struggled to breathe, finally managing to push Mr. Hardon off him. 

“What the hell was that?” Ronny shouted in a huff, scrambling back to his feet. Mr. Hardon sat up and pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket with a smirk. Ronny glared at him. “What are those?” 

Mr. Hardon didn’t bother to respond, or even stand up.  He just sneered menacingly at Ronny. He knew he had already won. Ronny rushed over to the desk to check on the humans, but he never made it. His stomach lurched, burning with fire, and his legs buckled underneath him. He contorted with acute agony, writhing on the floor. His limbs cramped up so hard they felt as if they were being pulverized in a vice. 

Mr. Hardon stood up, looming over Ronny, seeming to grow larger and larger above him in a warped perspective. “Let’s just close this up so nobody else tries to interfere,” he said, shutting and locking the door to the office. Ronny’s vision flashed and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. He heard his joints, muscles, and bones popping and cracking. His organs seemed to be smashing inward, expelling the air out of his lungs and stomach. He curled into a ball in agony. What the hell did Mr. Hardon give him? 

Chapter 35

Chapter 1

[gust-jar-simulator]

Hot Girl Shit AU, with the respective versions of these characters. Shadow is a weird little guy and I enjoy him immensely.

TW: nightmares, some uncanny valley, mentions of murder, gore, brief thoughts of self harm, maybe dysphoria if you squint. Mother issues if you squint.

Characters: Dark, Shadow

~🌒⚔️🐈‍⬛⚔️🌘~

Because he’s made of them, Dark wakes up from a nightmare.

He’s a woman, voiceless and nerveless. Her home is poisoned and her husband is dead, but she doesn’t know it, because something has come back wearing his skin. It’s kind, to her, with familiar music and familiar hands, but the look in its eyes is all wrong- if she holds her tongue and stares at the sea, she imagines it’s the wonder of love. Her husband moves like he’s unused to the length of his legs, the number of his fingers, and his charming smile is a little too wide and careless as he draws her in to dance.

There’s none of the weight of love in his eyes. Just that strange, shallow, uncanny wonder, and he asks her if she wants to sing again with a hand laid too-loose on her bicep, like touching her is a strange thing. She leads him into the start of their wedding duet, and he smiles and claps and tells her she’s wonderful without joining.

…

Dark snaps awake like a curse rather than a person, and the typical hedonism of taking a breath like living things do is choked by the burnt-carbon scent of moon dust.

He died, he died in that temple like a cow in the stall, born for slaughter. Why does he remember?

It’s the closest he gets to feeling either reverence or blasphemy. Nayru bore him. Nayru served him. Nayru bid him be carved and consumed, learned from like a book and burnt like an offering. He should feel something other than deep, abiding apathy. He can almost feel the shape of it, before the feeling slips from him like water.

He’s still choking on moon dust.

Reflections don’t have organs, kept chaste under false skin and phantom clothing. He can’t actually choke, or smell, or breathe except in the way of squeezing and releasing an octorok to watch it bulge and contort. He doesn’t have sweat to despise or real hair to brush. He learned what a dick was by tripping into a man by the latrine ditch outside a bar, drunk on music and strangers’ laughter and the heady buzz of being human.

He’s still not entirely sure how coughing works, but he wishes he could do it to clear the madness in his head.

Don’t sleep too close to the window, Link. The lady in the moon might see you and kiss you in the moonlight, and then you’ll never be yourself again.

Lunatic.

Moon mad.

Alone-

The boiling magic under his armor hisses like oil as he jerks in a painfully human startle. There’s a cough, wet and ugly and ripping out of Shadow’s throat like its own beast. Dark stares, and Shadow’s slitted carnelian eyes flit his way with a watery grin, buckled over with a wrist halfway to his mouth. “Hi.”

“…hi.” Mimicry is easy. He sits up, tries to make a throat-clearing noise, and ends up somewhere in the realm of particularly low humming. It’s not satisfying. “News?”

“Not really.” Shadow leans back against his tree with a noise of idle, casual comfort that digs under Dark’s skin like a rock wedged in his armor. The shorter reflection stretches a little, toes pointing and wrist rolling a bit, tossing his trident to his other hand like a river rock rather than an artifact of darkness. The dappled daylight catches at his purple hair, brings out the jeweled pink-and-blue highlights in it like a raven’s wing.

He’s beautiful, in the way sunsets and mountains are beautiful. It’s… disconcerting, to realize all over again how much color there is in the world. Shadow somehow manages to make purple look warm. Dark’s eyes somehow get stuck on the way Shadow’s lashes fan against his cheek when he blinks, delicate like grass seed and dandelion fluff.

One of those purple brows arches at him, and Shadow gives him a look. “Something on my face?”

“No.” Maybe. Dark can’t tell if he’s feeling his own feelings or just reflections, so he looks Shadow in the eye and decides to move past it. “How did you do that?”

“What, wake up hot?” The other brow ticks up too, the sharp edge of a grin pulling Shadow’s expression into something with too many teeth. “I thought I taught you shapeshifting.”

He’s not an artist. “You did.” Remembering how a tongue should connect to a throat was harder than it should be, considering how many times Link has beheaded something. Dark tried, but it was harder with the… fiddly bits. Chaste wasn’t an entirely inaccurate term for the way Nayru had poured him into shape- he was to be clever, and effective. He didn’t need taste or color or the animal pleasure of scratching his nose to do either of those things. Shapeshifting an approximation of nerves into his magic was difficult, with so many different kinds of touch.

He’s been thinking too long. Thankfully, Shadow doesn’t comment on it with a bizarre patience only reserved for explaining things like bread and milk and the merits of getting a hobby.

Trying to clear his throat again just results in a slightly different hum, and Dark’s mouth twists unpleasantly. “How do you do that? Make… noise, like a Hylian?”

The other reflection blinks at him. “I just… do?”

He’s got a horrible feeling he doesn’t want to confirm, and yet. “So you have the parts for it, then? A trachea, lungs?”

“Well…” Something very near embarrassment colors Shadow’s ears slightly darker, black at the tips of otherwise Gerudo-dark cartilage. He glances off towards the blue horizon, away from their little pocket of grove shadows. “I mean I had some of it, but I didn’t know how any of it was supposed to work until I got a good look at some blown-up people. Sometimes their bits twitch a little, when they’re bleeding out, and I kinda pieced together the idea.”

Hm. He hadn’t considered that. Dark gives Shadow another searching once-over. “So do you really breathe, then?”

“I mean I can? It’s more of a habit than anything.”

“Then,” he sits forward a little, suddenly fascinated, “you can really talk? With the breath through your throat?”

“Dark below, no, who the fuck knows how voices are supposed to work.” Shaking his head with a mildly disgusted noise, Shadow taps his own neck. “Nothing in there, I talk the same way you do as far as I know. Magic vibrations and lip syncing like a washed up bard.”

He frowns, but lets it go, subsiding against the roots of his own tree. It’s easier to exist, lower, pressed against the earth like the sky against the horizon. Shadow always looks half a breath from floating off into it, and sometimes he does.

The shadows are cool enough, Nightmare’s magic signature more of a humming coil burrowed into where erosion scooped hollows beneath the old roots. If he concentrates he can almost taste it, the sharp-tart prickle against his tongue like potentially poisonous berries, a glittering feeling just on the edge of unpleasant. Nightmare’s colorful in his own way, too. His hair doesn’t have the depth of hue that Shadow’s does, despite the color. It’s all in the presence, the static discomfort of him like a storm paused politely in mid-whirl. Poison berries and the clack of shoes on marble and the discomfiting temptation of a daymare flashback, a familiar pain to fall into like a homemade quilt.

Dark resists the urge to scratch at his arms. He can feel a little. He still wants his hero.

He wants a sword through his gut and living breath against his lips and salty fear thick on his tongue like ozone, wants the visceral pull of the Hero of Time’s ligaments dragging bone into violent motion. He wants, in that moment, to carve Link open stem to stern to see what his organs look like, how they’re supposed to work, what he’s eaten and how volcanic ash clings to the frantic, fluttering insides of his lungs, turned out like socks over the endless moon-mad waters of his holding cell.

He takes a deep, deep breath, and it tastes a little less like moon dust. A little more like blood.

That’s workable.

“I’m going to scout,” Dark murmurs, half thinking of their aimless journey and half thinking of the way his hero quailed when he learned how animals were slaughtered. A bear might be fun. It would get him out of his head.

Shadow cocks him a lazy salute with the Trident of Power and gauges its center of gravity, trying to balance it on one finger. “Have fun, don’t burn up and die.”

Dark doesn’t dignify that with a response, but he doesn’t have to. And, for once, he doesn’t compare Shadow’s rough edges to the warmth of someone else’s memories- he simply takes the come back safe as it’s given, because that’s what you do when strange fey men kidnap you from the creche of a goddess and ask if you’d like to commit arson.

He would, and he can, so he does.

He’ll figure out the mysteries of color and touch eventually.

[reanishimia]

Panic Room Tengen Uzui

(Song: Panic Room – Au/Ra – Uzui Tengen x Wives – Angst – normal AU)

WARNING: sexism will be spoken in here.

It was so silent it made his ears ring from the silence that frighten him. He felt like his world stopped at that moment. Nothing made sound around him not even the commands thrown to him from the elder. His head was tilled down as rage came.

It rose as tears came overflowing as water flowed from his body due to the droplets that fall over him.

Blood smeared over the dirt and his hands. He felt like a failure for what he had done.

He never thought the elder would go so far with his own blood! It made him feel sick!

The boy didn’t dare look back as he grabbed the metal Shinobi head band ripping it off his head and ran off jumping over the fences into the forest his ears didn’t hear the shouts of the man and some others. The rain wasn’t heard by him either.

He ran over to his home where three woman he cared for lived with him and let them pick everything they needed before running away avoiding death, he didn’t care if he did, but his wives. . .

No they were too nice and kind for that.

Surely little Suma that was only twelve.

He was in the panic room, the horrifying place in his head that was made when his life went to the dumps.

***

“Tengen-Sama,” the man looked up his fuchsia colored eyes empty as usually even if he tried to show the most cocky attitude he had.

He curled a proud smile he mastered to make, “Yes?” he nightmare was still very lively as that day, it was silent that it made him try to remember what was happening.

“you were zoning out again.” Suma the youngest of his wives spoke her blue eyes reflecting her worries as she tiled her head. Suma was young when they had gotten wed and he was very guilty for it. But he loved her as his other wives.

He sighed and blinked and turned his head away and spoke out, “Suma, do you maybe remember when we fled?” he questioned his hearing sharp that he could hear her sudden worry, after all she was the most emotional in them.

She brought her hand up to her lips in a light fist as her eyes started to glimmer with tears, “yes I do, so much blood.”

Suma was only twelve and was there was it happened when he shed so much blood, human blood, his own blood, it still haunted him after six years Suma was a curious girl that wondered around and was at the training grounds holding a bento for him.

Hina and Makio weren’t there that day since they were dragged to training and Suma stayed back to make them bento. She went to the field where the training was.

When she did she was so scared, her legs shook with fear and horror as she saw blood all over. The bento fell from her small hands.

The husband freaked out seeing her eyes and crawled closer and cupped her cheek, “it’s over okay? Its over were far away from them okay?” he whipped her small tears away as she let a sniff.

If Makio that was the toughest in them cried Suma was the softest and weakest mentally she easily would cry over the smallest things. For others she would have been annoying but Tengen liked how unique she was.

“who made Suma cry?”

Tengen flinched when the harsh feminine voice of his third wife entered his ears, he turned around seeing Makio who’s hair was loose over her shoulders and crossed her arm over her chest waiting fro an answer.

“Memories, Makio.” Suma sniffed softly as soft tears rolled down her cheeks – it was a rare sight to see her crying like that. She normally cried comedic-like tears that made Tengen himself want to laugh. But now they were heart wrenching tears.

Tengen blamed himself – again – for asking her that bloody question. Even after so long she still – just like him – carried guilt and nightmares from that day.

“CAW!” a familiar crow stood on the branch of the tree Tengen leaned on, a thin layer of raven feathers swung felling down slowly, “CAW! Message for Master of the Corpse! Head north there are demons roaming that area!”  like that the crow started nagging avoiding any question sent to him. “Uzui Tengen and Uzui Suma!”

It was rare for Master to send Suma to any mission after what she did to the last crow. Suma literally killed the crow for sending her to a mission due to fear. But there they were going on a mission.

Tengen grabbed his swords and Suma her kunai and bombs before heading out waving a swift bye to the other wives.

****

Suma was very scared of the mission but was a bit relieved Tengen was there. Her hands shook a bit as she walked with him deep in the forest up north following the crow that flew gracefully in the air.

Suma was oblivious of the state of Tengen that time due to her own angst she carried in her mind. They followed a bath that was man made with rocks and direction as night slowly fell. For some reason the place looked familiar but who knew.

Her blue eyes looked down not to trip on any over grown plant or rock.

Meanwhile mister not-so-flashy-for-the-moment Uzui Tengen was feeling dizzy as he knew where he was going, the anxiety was over the roof as he remembered where he was heading. He knew because he helped make that path when he was younger.

Then the couple reached a tall wooden gate that was filled with overgrown plants on the walls, but the door itself was seen of being used still due to the lack of plants over it and the dirt that hat some small mountain showing that the door was still moved open and shut.

Suma squeaked when she saw the words over the wooden board at the top of the door.

Uzui Clan

It was a huge hell no for both but they had to finish the mission due that the night had already fallen. It was over six years, no one was there to end them right. . .

Right?

The older man used his hands to grip the metal handle and pulled it open with his strength it wasn’t so heavy as before when he was younger.

When it was fully opened to fit him and Suma his heart dropped as he saw his nightmare. The place didn’t change after all. It was like people still lived there. The place was taken care of. If rain poured he would have a cardiac arrest with no hesitation and go to hell.

No, he couldn’t, Suma was there.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her small hand and lead them deeper their steps silent as they got deep in the village that once belonged to the Uzui Clan that was Shinobi.

As they walked to get the demons someone appeared behind them midair, their body was swirling with a kunai in hand.

But before they could stab the young woman a sword slammed into their side sending them away with a deep gash.

Since it was night Tengen couldn’t see who it was, but he did figure it was a demon due to their aura and sound that was odd as always.

“it’s been six years,” the demon spoke getting up their eyes glowing a familiar fuchsia color that made his stomach turn in horror as he recognized the voice.

Suma hid behind Tengen with fear as she too realized who it was. her small hands held the cloth of her husband’s uniform as a sigh of comfort – both her and him needed that comfort.

“You two grew very healthy, how is Hinatsuru and Makio?” the demon continued with a hoarse and raspy voice, “did you abandon them and kept this good-for-nothing maggot?”

It made Tengen’s blood boil at those words, “don’t call my wife that!” he snapped his jaw clanked after those words were told.

“I never taught you to act by emotions,” he – no, it – taunted with a very disappointed tone, “and woman, why defend them, they are just tools to make powerful heirs for this clan, where are they?” the demon tilled it’s body around to see where the heirs were.

The demon saw Suma’s choice of clothes that revealed her hip and chest making a tint of green cloth to spread on its cheek from disgust but before he could offend her Tengen moved in high speed to attack the demon.

Just as fast as Tengen moved the demon too reflected the attack, after all the demon had a large amount of experience from when it was a Shinobi. It was going to be a heavy battle.

If Tengen killed the demon he could be free from horror.

“how dare you!” the demon snarled and they started to fight it didn’t take long for Tengen to finally cut the head off. Suma was in a shock of fear before she felt someone behind her and jumped back to see another demon. This one had raven hair and fuchsia colored eyes.

“You can’t do this! I’m your father! A supreme Shinobi and I raised you to be who you are!” the demon yelled as it turned to ash before vanishing its words harsh and stabbed him in his heart.

“AAAAAAH, TENGEN-SAMA!” Tengen turned expecting his happy go wife, but she was on the floor with a large gash on her lower abdomen as familiar blood red liquid tainted her blue yukata.

Her hand grasped her abdomen as tears rolled down her cheeks from pain and shock. The one that stood over him was the man that was just like his father, another demon.

“how sad,” it taunted, its voice was filled with ego and cockiness, “the old man couldn’t survive from a wimp like you.”

Tengen crouched before Suma his hands holding her body as his swords fell beside him as her body fell numb on his arms, she was still alive by her breathing and her blood that still pumped in her body. Even if was weaker.

“why did you become a demon?” the pillar asked as his hands pressed onto her wound with a bit of strength to hold it there.

The demon let a mocking laugh, “we need to live to let the name stay alive.” He – it – spoke his short raven hair swayed with the wind, “while you left, me and the old man stayed, we were the only ones of the Uzui family that stayed. All our other Shinobis that where around were very much useless to the family if no daughters were around and no woman was as strong as your wives.”

“why not become a demon instead.”

It doesn't make sense, Tengen thought, after all since the Edo era Shinobi were already instinct that man was just obsessed to remake the clan that died so long ago.

With a flash the Sound Pillar cut the head of the man that once was his brother clean off his head.

***

The way he ran to the Butterfly mansion was faster than ever the crow already informed the owner of the place to prepare for the injured woman’s arrival.

Her breathing was getting shallow and uneven making him more worried, why did he have to suffer like that!

Why did Suma have to suffer!

He knew he killed his siblings that night. He knew he was a coward to run away from reality just to live a better life.

Rain started to pour down as the cloud started to form on the skies. The wind picked up as he held her closer and speed up reaching the manor he barged in and Aoi was there to take her to try and heal her the best he could.

He was phasing around his hair now loose and humid from the hair outside. He was given a dry and clean kimono to change into so he couldn’t get sick.

The door opened and froze seeing his second and third wife who looked mortified seeing his tear covered face, his eyes were red and puffy and around his neck was covered his light scratch wounds. His ears were red maybe that he tried to rip them off.

If the sleeve of his yukata wasn’t long they would have seen how to scratch his wrist from anxiety.

“Makio, Hina please come outside I have something to tell you.” Shinoubu spoke as she opened the door a bit. But Tengen wasn’t mentally there anymore to seven pay attention or ask for him to know too.

His aura wasn’t so ‘flashy’ anymore.

He was I the panic room inside his head, filled with horrors and anxiety, it was overbearing and what made it worse was how silent it was. it was dead silent. It was frightening.

His skin crawled as the silence grew loud for some reason.

Welcome to the panic room

A voice in the back of his head taunted it echoed, even if he heard it, the silence didn’t falter for a second.

Where are your darkest fears are gonna come for you

Many didn’t believe him when he spoke of what happens in his head they wouldn’t believe him when he cried and swore what happened to his wives aside from Suma.

You know I wasn’t joking when you see them too.

***

“Suma was pregnant.” Shinoubu confessed her head tilled down with a sad expression. “she sadly lost the baby.”

Makio looked away with a frown as tears filled her lower eyelid from sadness.

Hina placed a hand on her lips as her eyes widened as she let a gasp. “how can we tell Tengen-Sama?”

“I already know,” a whispered filled the hall from the man who had a pale expression with heavy bangs under his eyes that were red from crying. “she told me two days ago when she found out, we wanted to tell you tomorrow.”

“why did she go to the mission!?” Makio yelled out his voice wavered with rage and sadness her small calloused hands grabbed his yukata pulling him down to her eye level.

He trembled his eyes looked away in shame, “she wanted to, she couldn’t defy the words of master.” He explained, “she thought it was safe due to me being there.”

“well surely it wasn’t!”

“I’m sorry!” he cried out tears once more rolled down his cheeks, he barely let his emotions take over like that moment. After all his youngest wife lost a child and maybe was unable to have kids again. “I am weak and pathetic! A coward I should have been stronger for Suma!” like that he fell down to his knees his forehead pressed against the wooden floors.

He begged for forgiveness at the gods the more he could feel the world press their rage at him at the glare of Makio. The way he begged made him look like a few ranks lower than the Hashira he was.

His voice was so loud and booming as tears dropped to the floor.

Hina sighed and mouthed to Shinoubu to please let them alone as she crouched before him. Her small hands caress his silver hair as Makio scoffed with tears in her eyes, “Suma is alive and well, she is unconscious until the medication passes away.”

***

A few weeks passed and Suma was back home healthy but she also mourned for the death of her unborn child. Their ashes were in a small vase on a table beside the family picture. Tengen felt so much guilt and self-blame over the weeks before a new mission came to him.

And that time only to him. The master explained what it was about and that he couldn’t give another pillar the mission if he didn’t want to due to the past accident. The master personally asked for forgiveness feeling like it was his fault of sending little Suma with Tengen.

Suma was kind and told him off saying that she didn’t blame anyone but herself that was weak and naïve. But she was going to stay being a slayer for one more mission.

When the news came Suma begged Tengen to send her too to the Red Light District where all the other two wives and the man himself denied harshly.

She frowned deeply and argued back making her point across that after that mission she was never fighting again.

***

Blood was everywhere and the place was a chaos with everywhere ruin and scent of flames that already died down.

She cried as she begged him to stay with her, with them!  Tengen just laid there, as Suma hastily ripped the end of her yukata not caring how short it ceased to be as she tied it around her dismembered arm while Hina was busy with his eye.

Makio used all poison antidote they had to cure him, some made from wisteria but all was for nothing. It made them cry from sadness, they just have gotten their husband back, they just got reunited.

Emotions clouded Tengen as he felt life slowly leave him, but he just accepted his death and fully relaxed his body.

��No antidote is working what do we do? What do we do?” Hina started to tremble as she lost her cool her hands moved uncoordinatedly fuming with her hair and with the floor as if some miracle could happen.

“Tengen-Sama don’t leave us!” Tears rolled down her eyes as she held his arm close carefully blood was smeared on her face but she was still a beauty. “I still didn’t tell you that I forgive you! That it isn’t anyone’s fault!”

Tengen had to hear that as a smile came to his lips, “Suma, Makio, Hina, I have a last wish for you.” He spoke his eye closed slowly as he internally winced from pain, “I wish for you too—. . .”

But before he could dare speak he was cut off by the loud cries of Suma, “God no please! Don’t take him from us! If you do I’ll never pray to you again!”

The dying man stopped and turned his head to her his brow twitched but then he understood she was genuinely begging for him to live like he did when she was at verge of death.

Then he felt a light tap on his forearm that was purple with overflowing vein-marks on them. And pink flames busted from him, he closed his eye accepting death and thought that the Kamado girl wasn’t as good as he thought, but in place of pain it was calming and soothing feeling.

And the pain subsided as the poison was slowly burned off him.

Suma’s yells together with Hina’s hectic breathing was drowned by the found of flames that covered him. When it died down he realized.

“wait. . .” his still intact hand came to his face cupping it with amazement, “the poison is gone.”

Makio hugged his carefully crying with the girls too with him.

Life was going to change after that night, now he would retire and change his life. Maybe he could try and give his wives the love and attention they needed rather than working so much as he did.

He could try and get over his past and finally exit the Panic Room.

END

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Action Masterlist

Alliance (ao3) - kcanwrite

Summary: Almost a century ago, the world was demolished by nuclear war. The few survivors thrived and now live in small villages dotted across the harsh and erratic landscape. Their lives are dominated by survival and petty land wars with neighboring clans. Their only enemies were the Earth and each other, until a new enemy descended with weapons both ancient and futuristic. Can two opposing clans join forces to defend their home, or will their century-long rivalry get in the way? When two young men from each clan meet in the wake of an outside attack, they’re forced to form the first alliance or face certain death.

Butterfly (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: Phil Lester, a lonely writer, finds a dying boy with beautiful black wings on a cold, rainy night in a dingy alleyway. He recognizes the boy as one of the winged men hated by human society. They are considered to be wild, ferocious beasts, but Phil's sympathy forces him to help the boy.

What happens when the boy, considered to be a wild beast, gets too attached and follows him home with an innocent, dimpled smile?

But What Was Right Anyway (ao3) - FoxyAtlas

Summary: Third book in the 'But Love Is Overrated Anyways' series, behind 'But Love Is Overrated Anyways' and 'But Who Was It For Anyways'.

dimensions taller (ao3) - seasonwon

Summary: Phil, an agent of the MI-6, is obligated to work with criminal Dan Howell to steal a device wanted by the British government. However, trouble ensues when they have competition Dan is all too familiar with. Phil learns the hard way of trusting the unpredictable, and also of an unwanted broken heart.

Open Sea (ao3) - CanYourDan

Summary: When fisherman Phil accidentally gets a merman caught in his net, decides to nurse him back to health. The new science facility has other ideas, however...

Paradisal (ao3) - rcsyphan

Summary: phil wants the universe at dan's fingertips *:･ﾟ september, 2018

Six Ravens (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary: Dan meets Prince Philip at a cyberbullying campaign, but what starts as a working relationship grows complicated when Dan realizes he’s falling for the prince and maybe, just maybe, he’s not alone in his feelings. (Part One is complete and is a full story on it's own. Part Two is still in progress)

the demons that bring us together (ao3) - itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)

Summary: Dan knew he should be doing his patrols of London, especially with Valentine still on the loose, but he gets sidetracked and when he goes to a downworlder cafe, he meets Phil. The warlock isn’t like most downworlders. He is kind and caring, and weirdly enough, attracted to Dan.

the mighty fall (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan and Phil are detectives whose biggest problems are each other. That is, until they get caught up in something bigger.

There's Love in Power (ao3) - janest

Summary: dan howell always knew he was special from the moment his hand went up in flames without him even thinking. he never thought twice about it. after an accident that kills his parents, dan is sent away to a school to help him control his powers. there he meets a boy, phil lester, who can create steam from his fingertips and manipulate any body of water in front of him. the two go on an incredible journey of friendship and love, fighting to save lives and possibly the world itself.

Think About How to Think (ao3) - JulyIdes

Summary: AU Phan. Dan Howell is a YouTuber; therefore, Dan Howell is also an enemy of the State. Arrested on a job, Dan suffers the horrors of becoming a State prisoner. After being rescued, he faces PTSD, nightmares, and self-hatred. To make matters worse, Phil is pushing for a break-out of all State prisons. Dan's stuck between his own fear and the freedom Phil wants him to have.