#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 site to see excitement in such a strict man. 

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Dissolved 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

[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.”

[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

[hanluex]

comic!jay having a bad dream about your death and not being able to shake it so he all but breaks down your door one night to make sure you’re alive. you’re in the kitchen getting a glass of water before bed and he pretty much just tackles you with how quickly he pulls you into his arms. doesn’t let go of you for the whole night

♡ JUST A NIGHTMARE — JASON TODD

bf!jason x gn!reader | wc : 0.7k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, established relationship, angst, mild fluff, mentions of what the joker did to jason in form a nightmare, kisses

“it’s just a nightmare. please, just be a nightmare.”

jason todd uttered the words under his breath like a mantra, sitting on his bed as he dialed your number.

but alas, you didn’t answer.

one call turned into two. two turned into five. and five turned into twenty. but you never answered — not even one.

suddenly, the nightmare seemed so much more real. the colors, the sounds, the pain — everything replayed vividly in his head, forcing him to relive the nightmare he just woke up from.

jason sat tied to a chair as the joker stood over your bruised body, holding a bloodied crowbar in his hands.

he was helpless as he watched the man who once killed him do the same things to you, not a sound leaving his lips no matter how much he screamed.

tears rolled down his face as jason realized he couldn’t do anything but watch the psychotic villain repeatedly whack the love of his life to death. 

despite having a big build, the raven-haired male remained restrained to the chair as you reached out a bloody hand towards him, your busted lips parting ever-so-slowly in an attempt to say something.

with a final stab, the joker towered over you, laughing manically as your body went limp, the quietest of gasps leaving your lips as the crowbar sank into your chest.

without another word, he rushed to find you, knowing there was no way he’d be able to go back to sleep without checking if you were okay.

please prove me wrong, y/n. please be okay.

you stood in your kitchen, sleepily rubbing your eyes as you opened a bottle of water to drink from.

after a long night of work, you came home exhausted, not even bothering to have dinner as you took a shower and went straight to bed.

it was past two in the morning when you finally woke up, oblivious to your phone (which was on silent mode) that had been ringing nonstop for the past half hour.

the pin-drop silence in your apartment came to an end as you heard someone banging against your door, making you freeze in your spot.

“y/n! please tell me you are here!”

the familiar voice snapped you out of your frozen state, and your feet quickly rushed to open the door.

jason todd, your boyfriend, stood in front of your door, panting as if he had just run to your house.

which, considering the situation, he definitely had — no doubt.

you watched as a look of relief graced his face, not wasting any time wrapping his arms around you.

you remained confused as you fell into his muscled embrace, returning his touch as you processed what was happening.

jason felt his knees give away, absolutely relieved to know you were unharmed as he held you in his arms.

you gently guided him to the floor, surprised to see your ever-so-stoic boyfriend look like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“jay,” you gently spoke, rubbing his back. “i'm here, my love. i'm right here.”

you had absolutely no idea why your boyfriend almost broke down your door just to hold you in the middle of the night, but you knew there was a reasonable explanation behind his actions.

“i'm here, and i'm not going anywhere.”

the two of you remained on the floor, just wrapped in each other's embrace, until jason finally spoke up.

you listened as he quietly confessed about the nightmare he had, your hands intertwined with his as you two sat on the floor.

“i'm sorry. it was stupid and i should've just let it be and—”

“it's not.” you shook your head, smiling gently at the raven-haired male. “i'm really sorry for making you worried.”

“don't be sorry. i barged in—”

you shrugged. “you almost broke my door off its hinges and calmly walked inside. i wouldn’t call that barging in,” you joked, bringing a smile to your boyfriend’s face.

“that i did, yes.” jason nodded. “i’m really sorry about that.”

you leant forward, capturing your boyfriend's lips in a chaste kiss. the raven-haired male smiled against your lips, sighing in contentment.

“you don’t have to apologize for caring about me, jaybird.” you pressed another kiss on his lips, smiling. “i love you.”

jason felt at ease as he looked at you. “i’m glad you are here. alive and unharmed,” he mumbled, shaking his head at the thought of the nightmare.

you pulled yourself into his arms, getting comfortable in his hold as you gently cupped your boyfriend’s face in your hands.

“it was just a nightmare, my love. i’m right here in front of you, and i’m not going anywhere.”

taglist : @maverick-wingman (to be added, please send a dm or ask!)

[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.

[writingforatwistedworld]

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, imprisonement, death, unhealthy relationship

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

Vil Schoenheit-Sweet Poison (Sneak peek pt. IIX)

Being trapped in a tower was nightmare material. There were exactly three activities you were able to do. The first one was to look out of the window. Seeing the servants scurry around like ants made you remember your time when you were one of them. Oh, how you wished to return to the days on which your greatest concern was if the bread in the oven was burned and if you had to eat burned crumbs that day. How simple-minded you were. Laughable. Safe to say the curtain covered the window after the first two days.

The second activity was staring at the door and waiting for a familiar face to appear. Two out of three possible visitors were always met with pure joy and the wish to hug the living daylights out of them. Your friends the hunter and Epel weren’t allowed to enter through. Only a muffled conversation through the door was possible.

The third but also only person who was allowed to enter was one who you wished to see never again though. Whenever Vil decided to grace you with his oh-so-gracious presence you wanted to hide in a corner. But alas, you don’t bite the hand that feeds you so that was out of the window. Hours were spent sitting in silence in front of the blonde king. Vil didn’t seem to mind though, being more than just content with you listening to his ramblings, most of the time talking about court business and how he wished you could be there. Then a rant about your safety would start.

The last activity was reading. Being oh so kind Vil left some books in the many bookshelves lining the walls. Nothing too interesting though. The books about poisons and other subjects that could be seen as dangerous more than just apparently having been taken out leaving gaping emptiness on some of the shelves. But you took what you could get so you read.

It was a neverending limbo. Every morning you asked yourself when this torture would stop. At some point, you even asked yourself if this was all a dream and if one day you would wake up in your bed back home. Your real home, the one in the other world. But of course, things couldn’t be so easy. Day after day after day after day you watched the sun rise and fall through small slits in the curtain. The violet all over the room started to hurt your eyes.

And you most likely would have forever been a prisoner in this golden yet also so mind-numbing cage if it weren’t for a bird. A raven. Most curious little thing. Hearing something tap against the window you had ripped the violet piece of fabric, your gaze falling onto the black bird. From that day on the small thing was your best friend. Maybe that was the case since you had been starved of interaction with the outside of maybe because someone always tied small letters to the claws of the bird. A month earlier and you would have run in panic to Vil, now you literally showed him metaphorically the middle finger and accepted the pieces of paper with joy.

At first, the conversations were light and not too scheming. The person on the other end told you that a certain friend of yours, Rook, told them that you were living in the tower and had little to no company. Over time things started to circle more around how you could possibly escape and to be honest, you wanted to leave this place. If your tortured state of mind wasn’t reason enough then you didn’t know what would be.

But of course, things were never that easy. Vil started to visit you more and more. The last few days he even brought little trinkets for you… although it was arguable how something could be called “small” if they could feed an entire family for an entire month easily. It was like he was trying to compensate for something. Of course it didn’t though.

Today Vil once more visited you. This time he had handed you a comb, made out of gold and made with the best handcraft that you had ever seen in this world. Sitting behind you he combed with calm movements through your hair, stopping sometimes to look at how it shone in the light. All whilst doing that he hummed a small tune. You had to admit, it was a nice feeling. Being starved for social interaction, even if it was getting your hair combed, you were desperate for the tiniest bit of it. Closing your eyes you allowed yourself to drown in the soothing movements.

“You seem to get used to this place. I am glad that you are capable of understanding that you can not leave.” And that was it with the calm atmosphere. Although you didn’t react in any way that could be interpreted as unease you could still not calm the feeling stirring in your chest. It was not a good one.

“Did you like your meal yesterday? I noticed that you had been eating more.” No. You didn’t. The only reason why you forced yourself to eat although it felt like stones were in your stomach was because you didn’t know how you were going to live once you escaped your cage. What if you would need to hide in the woods for a long time and didn’t have enough to eat? No, you could not risk that.

Nodding nonetheless Vil let out a happy chuckle. “You made me worry. I thought you would never forgive me.” Hearing his words you suppressed a wince. Partially due to no, you had not forgiven him but also because his grip on your hair tightened, the comb being stuck in your hair. Vil had let go of the piece of gold, now being lost in his own thought process. “I guess I can count myself as a lucky person…”

Huh. Interesting. Usually the young king was someone who knew what he wanted but now he sounded so uncertain. Looking at the reflection of a mirror in the room you watched how he reached up once more to the comb, carefully untangling it from the strands of hair. After finally holding it once more in his hands he stared at it. “I will try to get you something bigger next time. Maybe some accessories…”

Accessories? You could sell those! Nodding a bit too fast to appear natural you agreed with his proposal. Thankfully, he seemed to be so happy about your reply that he didn’t notice. Hugging you from behind the blonde buried his face in your shoulder. “I am glad that you are here.”

Ouch. Why did you now feel like the bad guy of you two? How unfair. You were the one caged in a tower! Feeling him snuggle against you, you asked yourself how he would react if he found out about your plan. It took everything within you to stop yourself from shuddering, your imagination running wild. Remembering how his sharp fingernails buried into your skin, how he looked with your blood on his fingers, not even noticing the red liquid all whilst having an unhinged look in his eyes you hoped to never be in a situation in which you would experience that again. Sadly, your acting skills seemed a bit rusty. Halting his movement Vil threw you a look that said “their reaction is weird.”

“Everything alright, dear?” Nodding once more you hoped that you were more convincing this time. To your luck he took your reaction and didn’t question it… though he did look at you questioning for a second longer. “If you say so…”

Lifting his fingers to your hair he tangled them into it, gently running those claws through the strands. Fidgeting a bit with your fingers you felt questions prodding at you once more. Since the moment you were trapped here you had nothing but riddles in front of you. Heck, you didn’t know why you were even here. The rambling of Schoenheit was certainly not giving you answers. He did tell you that you would be trained to be a regent by his side but until now nothing of that nature had happened. Taking a deep breath you calmed yourself down before finally daring to ask him the question. “If you allow me to ask, why am I even here.”

Vils movement halted. The temperature in the room dropped intimidating fast. Swallowing you looked at the blonde on your shoulders. He was staring at you. Immediately you wished you had continued to look into the mirror, at least your gaze wouldn’t have crossed his. His cold gaze made you feel like you were sitting outside during a very cold winter. Rubbing your hands together you hoped to ward off the cold that was slowly creeping into your bones. “How curious of you to ask.”

Standing up from his position the young king made his way over to the window. With a sneer, he opened the curtains a tiny bit before he, dare you say violently, closed them again. “Let’s just say that I need you here.”

With that he turned around and made his way toward the door. His heels clicked with a sound against the marble under them that could only be described as “cold”. Lowering your gaze you looked onto the floor, not being able to continue looking as he put the key into the keyhole. The key, your freedom, in his hands. You despised it and if you could you would make him dance in hot iron shoes till his end, just how the evil queen in the original Snow White died.

[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.

[twistedtummies2]

Natural Predators (Trade; Implied Vore)

So...this is something a little different. I'm labeling this as "Implied Vore" because...no ACTUAL vore occurs. This was an interesting challenge: @hooter-n-company and I were chatting about an idea involving her OC boi, Taoka Latronis (who may be remembered as the antagonist of the four part story "Glamour"), encountering the Octavinelle Trio. Taoka, of course, is based on Tamatoa from "Moana," and is a crab person. I remind you that octopi and eels are very, VERY noteworthy predators of crabs. You can guess where the conversation went from there. ;) Anyway, the challenge of this was writing a story where the implications were there, and I could have fun with a lot of voracious TEASING...but to NOT actually include the act itself in any way, shape, or form. That, to me, sounded like something unique to attempt, and the concept of Taoka meeting these three scheming louses and the fun one could have with the issue was very appealing and funny to me. So, I agreed to write it, and sort of squeeeeeezed it in-between comms, since I didn't think it would be too taxing or take me too long. The story ended up almost 8000 words in length, which...is actually the cap I put on commissions, meaning it was QUITE long. Go figure. XD I finished it all in one day, which is very unusual for me. I usually don't get THAT much work done in just one day, so it shows how much juice there was flowing for this concept. ANYWAY...hope you all enjoy Taoka meeting three of his worst nightmares at Night Raven College. ;) P.S.: If you recognize the song Taoka sings at one point in the story...good. LOL

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A cheerful, peppy whistle came from a lone figure, who stalked through the unusually quiet halls of Octavinelle. The figure in question was a student of NRC…but closer inspection of the young man’s uniform quickly indicated he didn’t belong in the undersea dorm. The indigo-hued vest, accompanied by a red-and-indigo-striped arm ribbon, showed that he was a member of Pomefiore. The glamorous makeup, golden pieces of jewelry, and highly-stylized, strange purple hair, all certainly lent credence to his participation in a dorm largely devoted to fashion and spectacle. With that said, Taoka Latronis mostly felt quite at home in this dorm. He smiled as he peered out through the glass walls at the ocean beyond. While currently in his humanoid guise, the crab boy in disguise felt a certain familiar warmth in his chest as he gazed out at the vast expanse of coral. Unlike some decapods, he very much liked the water…but then again, just “some decapod” had never exactly described him, or so he proudly believed. “I could get used to bein’ around here,” mumbled Taoka, nodding to himself as he swaggered along with an easy-breezy sort of stride. The guitar case strapped to his back bounced slightly as he went. He felt his posture straighten with almost every step as he drew nearer and nearer to his chosen location. “Feels like I’m back on top o’ the food chain…right in my natural habitat…heh. Bet I could show some o’ the seafood here who’s boss, if given the chance…” The mention of the word “seafood” ushered a rumble from his belly. Taoka hummed to himself and licked his plump, painted lips, but soon shook his head, stance dipping as he glanced about carefully. Despite his egotistical words, he wasn’t TOTALLY comfortable here. After all…he wasn’t the apex predator in THIS dorm. It was a risk he felt willing to take, however. He’d only just recently escaped the time under house arrest that his dorm leader, Vil, had put him under, following the “Triple-S Debacle.” Now that he was free to go places, Taoka had decided it was time to take action in following his dreams and figuring out his personal desires and ambitions. In short…he needed a place to practice his music. Preferably, a place with an audience, where he could sing and/or play…and perhaps even make a little money on the side. Hey, money spoke to him…especially coins…shiny, beautiful, sparkling coins… Taoka had frozen in place at the thought, his eyes shimmering at the mere thought…then he smacked his cheek and blushed slightly, embarrassed with himself. “Keep it together, babe,” he muttered to himself. “Ya don’t wanna blow this audition. Wasn’t easy for the Housewarden to get it for ya…”

Indeed, it had been Vil who had - with surprising generosity - arranged the interview Taoka was heading to: the on-campus restaurant, the Mostro Lounge, had announced that it was going to be seeking performers for a live house band. Before this, all music at the Lounge simply came from the radio playing over the loudspeakers. Now, for at least some part of the day, there would be live musical accompaniment for diners to enjoy. Taoka had all but leapt at the chance…but had hesitated when he realized where the Lounge was. Surprisingly, Taoka had never come to Octavinelle before, let alone the Mostro Lounge. He didn’t know much about the place, except that it was supposed to be a very ritzy sort of joint. He had no idea who ran the restaurant…although he DID know who ran Octavinelle. For his fellow Pomefiore students, the shudder of fear that went through him at the thought of THEM was a total mystery…but anyone with knowledge of marine biology would probably guess the reason. “It’s alright,” Taoka said to himself, taking a deep breath as he came nearer and nearer to the famous place. “Just keep calm an’ show ‘em yer stuff. Long as THEY aren’t around, ya got nothin’ to fear. Heh…in fact, they oughta be afraid of YOU. That’s right, babe! You go in an’ show ‘em yer stuff…an’ if they don’t like it? Maybe ya got other ways of makin’ sure you see eye to eye…” Snickering with wicked anticipation, Taoka picked up his pace, adjusting the guitar case strap. It was only moments later that he finally found himself at the Lounge. Unlike the halls, the fine restaurant was packed full of chattering customers, all laughing and gabbing between bites of food and sips of fruity drinks. Chandeliers with lights shaped like jellyfish provided an almost ethereal illumination to the place, accompanied by the bioluminescent algae beyond the huge pane of glass on one of the walls, like a giant aquarium. Taoka whistled, impressed by the expertly-made, expensive-looking furnishings and rich decor. “Whew! This place is even fancier than I figured,” he chuckled. He sniffed at the air…and then let out what could only be described as a sort of wincing sigh as he picked up the scent of seafood and other savory things. His empty belly whined needily, and he gave it a pat, rubbing at it through his vest and shirt. “Easy there, stomach,” he almost pouted. “Yer gonna get plenty to play with soon enough. Business first.” Nodding to himself, Taoka stepped further into the Lounge, and looked around. It wasn’t long till he saw an employee - dressed in the almost mafia-esque costume of an Octavinelle Dorm Uniform - standing at the reception desk. However, they seemed to be a bit more concerned with the cellphone in their hands than with any new arrivals. Taoka smirked and approached the desk, knocking on it with his gloved hand. “Hey,” he grunted. “Eyes up here, babe.”

The receptionist yelped, fumbling with their phone and jolting slightly. Taoka’s smirk widened as his eyes narrowed; a quick look up and down the student’s form showed him the familiar sight of a seagull’s feathered tail, sprouting from the small of their back. The gull demi had a round face and a plump body, with eyes of a warm, rich, yellow-amber color; the sweet hue of honey. “Oh! Uh…h-hello there, sir,” the gull-demi chirped out, quickly trying to compose himself. “Welcome to the Mostro Lounge. Do you have a reservation?” Taoka hummed in the back of his throat as he leaned forward on the reception desk. The gull took a step back, tail twitching nervously. Taoka’s smirk became a full-on grin, as he noticed the way the little bird boy - about the same age as himself, but noticeably smaller in height - gazed at him with flustered apprehension. His belly rumbled yet again, this time in a lower, almost ominous fashion: while humans could not always recognize it, beast-people of all sorts seemed programmed to recognize their natural predators no matter what form they took. Sometimes it was a scent thing, other times a case of close observation, and still other times it just seemed to be an innate instinct. Either way…crabs like him and little, adorable gulls didn’t exactly get along. And the anxiety in the receptionist’s eyes indicated which side each occupied on the food web. “More of an appointment, really,” Taoka practically purred, his voice smooth and slippery. “Got a Taoka Latronis written down somewhere…” Taoka quickly glanced at the name tag the desk worker wore. “...Larin?” The gull boy - Larin - timidly moved to pick up a clipboard, and scanned through the papers it held. He looked up at Taoka a few times, worriedly; Taoka just smiled patiently. “It’s okay, babe,” he cooed at one point. “If there’s any vacancies…I could just stay for some lunch. I’m gettin’ REAL hungry…” He licked his teeth and cackled as Larin shuddered, the feathers of his tail shaking. Finally, the pudgy little gull found what he was looking for. “Ah! H-Here you are…you, um…y-you have a meeting with the boss, right?” “That’s about the size of it,” Taoka answered with a nod, and jabbed a thumb towards the guitar case on his back. “Lookin’ to become part of the house band I heard he’s making.” “W-Well…I’m sure you’ll do well,” chuckled Larin, with a nervous smile…then all but tip-toed out from behind the desk. Taoka watched every single move the little gull made as he came into full view, never once blinking, his smile remaining sly, seductive, and more than a little predatory. “If you’ll, um…j-just follow me, please.” “Mmmm…lead the way, babe,” rumbled Taoka, in his most sultry voice. He chortled darkly at the quiver that went through the demi-bird, and followed him as Larin led the crab-in-human’s-clothing through the dining area of the Lounge.

The restaurant was large, as well as presently busy; it was not a short trip from the main part of the place to the “backstage” spaces. Taoka twined his way between waiters and customers alike…a couple times, when he saw a particularly cute face, he would give them a light, playful bump with his hip. “Sorry, babe!” he would teasingly chirp, and grin as the human or lesser beastman in question would blush and grumble. Other times, he’d catch some giving him a blushing expression, or even a somewhat frightened look. Awink and a lick of the lips made them hastily avert their eyes, for one reason or another. When he wasn’t teasing the guests and waiting staff, Taoka was smirking at Larin, who kept glancing back over his shoulder, trembling slightly, his feathered tail twitching with every other step. He inhaled and rumbled at the scent of fear that came from the young seagull-man. As they left the crowded dining space, moving past the bar into the quieter, more sparsely-populated backrooms and hall, Taoka moved to stand beside Larin rather than directly behind him. He gave a smug sort of smile to the seagull, who glanced up at him nervously…just in time to see Taoka rubbing his belly, as it let out another greedy gurgle. “Do you all serve chicken here?” he asked, innocently. “I could really go for some poultry right about now…” Larin just whimpered and didn’t answer as he looked away. Taoka sniggered and smiled toothily. He didn’t ACTUALLY plan on eating Larin…at least not today…but, oh, how DELIGHTFUL it was watching him squirm… It wasn’t too long thereafter that they finally reached the entrance to the manager’s office. It was closed off by a large and rather fancy-looking door…par the course, at this point, Taoka supposed. “I’ll go in and announce you,” Larin said, trying to keep up a businesslike tone and demeanor. Taoka nodded, and patiently leaned back against the opposite wall. As Larin entered, he couldn’t help but allow a wicked thought to enter his mind; if the employees and guests of this place were sooo easy to ruffle the feathers of (pun only partially intended), he wondered if their leader would be equally easy to scare and subdue. Oh, he’d play nice, but if they showed any sign of turning him away…well…he WAS genuinely hungry. And humans were such, SUCH good little morsels… Taoka smacked his lips at that thought, but it left almost as soon as it came…at least partially due to Larin’s reappearance as he crept back into the hall from the door. “The boss will see you now,” he said. “Thanks, babe,” Taoka replied. Larin nodded back…then stiffened, his face turning a shade of strawberry as Latronis’ one good hand swept out and cupped his cheek and part of his jawline. The taller boy leaned in close, with a smile like a sea serpent. “Y’know, you’re pretty cute,” he crooned. “Maybe sometime you an’ I can…get some lunch together?” Larin looked utterly mortified…but he was also blushing more than ever. Unable to speak, he just sputtered. Taoka laughed lightly and playfully patted him on the head. “Think about it, chicken,” he teased with a wink, and left Larin to his own devices as he stepped through the doorway and closed it behind him.

Up to now, dearest reader, Taoka had felt confident, and very pleased with himself. He had little fear as he entered the office of the master of the Mostro Lounge. But there are many sayings about those who feel perhaps too much pride, and perhaps abuse their presumed position a bit too much. A lot of them could apply here. For within a matter of about…three seconds, give or take, after entering the office…EVERYTHING changed for Taoka Latronis. Instantly, his confidence seemed to drop into his feet, as a chill fell over his spine. His swaggering peacock posture slackened, and his vainglorious smile seemed to be slapped off his face by an invisible hand. All this was in response to the tall, willowy pair of figures he saw standing ahead of him, one on either side of the large, expensive-looking desk at the other end of the VIP Room. Each was dressed in a dorm uniform, and looked almost identical, from their mismatched eyes of gold and olive, to their teal-toned hairdos, each of which bore a single long, black lock. “You two?” murmured Taoka, voice becoming somewhat shaky. The Leech Twins smiled wider in response to Taoka’s near-whispered words; Jade’s was its usual practiced, patient, cool-and-collected self. Floyd’s grin, meanwhile, showed perhaps a few too many sharp, jagged, dagger-like teeth…teeth that, if they so chose, could easily crush and stab through a crab’s shell, shattering it like fragile glass. Taoka felt nervous in an instant. Perhaps more than anyone else at all of Night Raven, he had good reason to fear the Leech Brothers. Eels, after all, were one of the most prominent natural enemies many crabs had to face. They were part of why he avoided Octavinelle, and why he’d asked Vil to kindly handle arranging the interview…but if he’d known the Twins were working at the Lounge, he wouldn’t have even gone that far. Already, the musician felt his rung on the food chain ladder get lower…he was pondering if he really wanted to stay in the room, when the manager had such fearsome help… …But before he could question this too deeply, a voice finally spoke up. It was smooth and luxurious, but with a certain bold quality that was hard to define. It came from the figure who sat with his back to Taoka, in a large, plush-looking swivel armchair that was presently turned away from the young half-decapod. Over the top of the chair’s back - which, itself, was covered by what looked like a huge gray trenchcoat - Latronis could catch a glimpse of silvery hair. “Never mind them,” the voice from the chair said. “Come in…come in, Mr. Latronis! No need to be shy. After all, we mustn’t lurk in doorways. It’s rude. One can’t make business arrangements like this…” A slender hand, clad in what looked like a white kid glove, stretched out from behind the chair, dropping what appeared to be a manilla folder onto the desk behind the figure. It sat beside a dark-colored fedora. Then, the chair turned around, revealing the bespectacled figure - garbed in a black three-piece suit - who occupied the seat. Eyes the color of the deep blue sea itself zeroed in on Taoka, as a devious, duplicitous smile slid across soft, plump-looking lips, which quirked over a tiny birthmark near the chin. “...Without seeing each other face to face.”

Every drop of color seemed to drain from Taoka Latronis’ face as he immediately recognized the lithe, somewhat curvy person whom he now realized ran the Mostro Lounge. His heart seemed to jump up a few beats as his breath hitched. Every ounce of confidence he still held after seeing the Leech Twins vanished in a split second as terror gripped his very soul. “A-Azul…Ashengrotto?” he exclaimed, his voice unusually high-pitched as it cracked and squeaked. Azul merely smiled wider, folding his hands before him on his desk as he raised one eyebrow. “Yes, that would be me,” he replied. “And I’m glad to see my reputation precedes me.” “Ha Ha Ha! Little Crab Cake makes such silly sooouuunds!” sang out Floyd, grinning and giggling at the squeaky tone of Taoka’s voice. “He usually sounds all cool, but now he’s making noises like a scared flounder! It’s almost cuuuute!” “Now, now, Floyd,” tutted Jade, his own smile and posture completely unchanged. “We mustn’t tease a client. Especially not under such circumstances. I imagine he’s quite nervous enough, considering he’s in a room with three of his kind’s most dangerous and feared natural predators. We must make him feel comfortable. Isn’t that right, Azul?” “Of course,” purred Azul in reply, as he and Jade shared a rather sneaky look with each other. “Just like any client.” He then looked back at Taoka, who was still standing, with knees almost knocking together, near the doorway. “And you ARE a client, aren’t you, Mr. Latronis?” he crooned. Taoka had to repress the urge to let out a moaning, groaning sound of pure, ever-rising dread. Eels were bad enough company for a crab like him…but octopi? They were another story. Above all others in Night Raven College, the mere THOUGHT of the Octopus - of Azul - made Taoka Latronis whimper. In the wild, while crabs had several predators, few were as purely nightmarish as cephalopods: it wasn’t just that they ate crabs that made them frightening. It was the manners and the “morals” (one must note the quotation marks) that octopi had, when feasting on crustaceans, which made them so particularly horrible. Cecaelia like Azul were not much better…in fact, as they had humanoid intelligence, and not just animal hunting instincts, they were arguably even worse. “Helloooo?” Floyd’s voice cut through Taoka’s grim musings. He tilted his head, his smile disappearing as he blinked owlishly. “Ehhhh? What’s the matter, Crab Cake? Catfish got your tongue?” “Perhaps he’s simply speechless at being given the opportunity,” suggested Jade, oh-so-sweetly. Taoka just gulped nervously. “Y-Yeah, well…um…I…” His words failed him. They felt foreign and faint in his own mouth. Floyd’s smile returned and he heard Jade chuckle under his breath. Azul shook his head with apparent amusement, adjusting his glasses in his usual tic. “Come now, Mr. Latronis,” he soothed. “Compose yourself. You came here to audition, didn’t you?” “I…I did, yeah…just…j-just…” “Just what?” Taoka bit his lip before, in an unusually soft voice, admitting: “I didn’t…think I’d be…au-auditioning f-f-for…you.”

Azul blinked just once, cocking his head ever so slightly to the right. “I am the dorm leader of Octavinelle,” he reminded Taoka, in a calm, patient way. “Did you really think anybody else would be in charge of this place? Vil said you wanted to interview with the manager. I am the manager. And the owner. And the Housewarden. In short…no one else COULD be in charge.” Taoka blinked twice…then felt his cheeks heat up as he looked down almost guiltily at his shoes, and kicked at an invisible rock. “Y’know, in hindsight, that’s a good point,” he mumbled under his breath. All three of the Octavinelle trio laughed softly. Azul stretched out a hand, gesturing towards the large, well-cushioned sofas in the center of the room as he rose from his desk. "“Sit down,” he invited. Taoka paused only a moment longer, and then began to take a few steps forward…but on the third step, he saw Azul’s smile widen, and a flicker of what he swore could only be the look of someone who had successfully lured their prey into a trap flashed in those deep blue eyes. Something about that simple gesture IMMEDIATELY killed any amount of courage the crab had. “On second thought, I-I think I’m a little too early!” he suddenly blurted out, and spun around on his heel before briskly marching towards the door. “I’ll just c-come back later, I’m sure you’re very busy-YEEP!” Taoka froze and cowered as - seemingly out of nowhere - Floyd and Jade moved to block the door and bar his way. Each of the twins wore matching fanged smiles that made Taoka’s blood run cold…he felt goosebumps prickle his skin and began to tremble anew as he heard Jade’s stomach bubble, and saw Floyd’s tongue trace the tips of his pointed teeth… …Then the crab boy stiffened and flinched as a long, lean-but-well-toned arm draped itself across his shoulders. With obvious foreboding on his face, Taoka looked to see who the arm belonged to…and thought he might faint as he found Azul Ashengrotto’s smiling face only inches away from his own. “Nonsense, nonsense!” sang Azul, waving his other hand around in a flippant gesture. “I’m never too busy to discuss a potential new employee. And from what your Housewarden tells me, you could be a great…asset to me.” Taoka peeped as he felt Azul’s hip bump against him on those words. He’d teased enough “preythings” to know what that combo of words and gestures meant. “But…but…I’m not so sure that-” “Come,” Azul interrupted, in a firm voice, and Taoka felt the hand on his shoulder grip more tightly, hinting at the octopus’ harnessed strength…something very few at Night Raven ever suspected, given his aversion to great physical exertion. “Have a seat.” Azul thus led Taoka to the twin couches in the center of the office. The whole time, his smile never faded, and he never blinked, smiling at Taoka with a sort of thinly-veiled anticipation. Taoka gave a very, VERY nervous smile in return; already he could imagine that collected smirk transforming into a gaping set of jaws, ready to consume him, or a set of tentacles forming from where the octo-man’s legs were, ready to ensnare him…but such nightmarish imagery did not come to pass. Still, Taoka found it hard to relax, even as he sat on the (admittedly VERY nice and well-cushioned) sofa. Azul sat directly across from him, prim and proper. Taoka considered rising and trying to make another break for it…but he felt the presence of the Leech Twins behind him before he could act on it.

“Now then,” Azul began, crossing his arms over his chest and slinging one leg over the other as he leaned back in his own seat. “Is there anything you want to say before we start?” The question sounded a bit too much like Azul was asking him if he had any last words for Taoka’s personal comfort. Nevertheless, Taoka realized that there was no turning back now: he removed his guitar case and placed it on the seat beside him on the sofa. He was here for an audition, it was time to get serious. Still scared, the crabby youth tried to compose himself, straightening his posture and opening his mouth to speak…only to be interrupted when his stomach let out a VERY loud and greasy gurgle. Azul’s smile fell in an instant, his eyes widening. Now worried the sound would ruin the interview, Taoka’s nerves rang alarm bells…but before he could apologize, Floyd’s face suddenly lurched into view, as the gangly eel-man dropped his head onto the back of the couch, chin in his folded arms as he looked directly into the seated decapod’s purple eyes. “Awww…is Crab Cake hungryyyyy?” crooned Floyd. Breath that stank too much OF crab cakes puffed into Taoka’s face, making the musician cough briefly. Nervously, he nodded. Azul tutted and shook his head. “Oh, dear…I hate conducting business when my client has an empty stomach,” he declared, and smiled indulgently. “Would you care for a bite?” Taoka was very, VERY afraid of answering that question, with so many crab-munching creatures surrounding and smiling at him…but he finally managed to nod, tugging on his collar afterwards. Had it gotten warmer in this room…? “Ah…ha ha…i-if by that ya mean a totally normal, not-involving-my-shell kind of snack, then…I guess I wouldn’t mind,” he said. He tried to sound like he was joking, but somehow he knew he had failed. Azul let out a sort of scoffing laugh. “Of course,” he replied. He seemd almost offended. “Really, I’m not like those fuzzy mongrels in Savanaclaw. You don’t think I’d seriously consider taking a bite out of a possible employee, do you?” “Yeah! We just swallow them whole!” teased Floyd. “Floyd, don’t fib,” Jade scolded, but his own smile never disappeared once. “You know the rules: we don’t eat them till AFTER they fail an interview.” Taoka felt like his lungs were seizing up at those words. Azul just sighed and rolled his eyes, looking almost mournful. “Ignore them,” he advised, seriously. “They do this sort of thing ALL the time.” Taoka said nothing. He silently wondered if “interviewees” made it out of this office alive all the time, too.

“Jade, if you’re quite done terrorizing our guest and client, could you perhaps see about having some of the special served in here, along with an appropriate drink of choice.” “Will sparkling lemonade suffice?” Jade asked, politely. “Yes, that should do nicely,” Azul nodded, and smiled back at Taoka. “No objections?” “N-Nope! None here, um…boss. Uh, c-can I call you boss?” Azul narrowed his eyes and adjusted his glasses. It was hard to tell what he was thinking about that question. “I think, for now, you can simply call me Azul,” he replied, and then smiled. “After all, upperclassman or not, possible employer or not, we ARE both students of Night Raven College.” The fact Azul had not mentioned the fact he was a superior predator, as well, helped put Taoka a little more at ease. But only a little. Jade bowed to Azul respectfully, then turned to his brother. “Come on, Floyd. I’ll carry the food, you can carry the drinks.” “Ehhhh? Can’t you do it yourself?” pouted Floyd. “Yes, if necessary, but it’s much easier when there’s two,” Jade replied, as if he were speaking to a small child. “But I wanna stay and play with Crab Cake!” whined Floyd, and grinned at Taoka right afterwards. “Maybe I could give him a nice friendly squeeze, huuuuh? See if he’s easier to break in human form than in crab form? I bet he’d be all…CRUNCHY…” If Floyd’s words didn’t scare the Hades out of Taoka, the smile on his face certainly did…but it seemed Jade was in no mood for his brother’s nonsense as, without warning, he stretched out a hand and grabbed Floyd by the ear. “AH! H-HEY! HEY, LEMME GO!” squealed Floyd, scrabbling to break free. Jade just shook his head in amusement, and smiled a calm, tranquil smile as he bowed his head to Taoka, as if this was all totally casual and completely everyday. “Apologies for his forwardness,” he replied. “I’ll be back shortly with some vittles, as requested.” Taoka just blinked. “Uh…r-right, that’s…that’s good, thanks.” Jade smiled a tiny bit wider, then turned and dragged the still yelping and complaining Floyd out of the room, shutting the door to the VIP office behind them both.

Now, the crab was alone with the octopus. For a few moments there was an awkward silence between them. Azul smiled. Just smiled. Taoka noticed the way the restauranteur’s blue eyes seemed to scan up and down his own body. “Ah…m-may I ask you a question?” stammered Taoka, hoping to break the uncomfortable quiet. “If you feel you must,” replied Azul, somewhat cryptically. “How come you agreed to hear me out?” Taoka asked. “I mean…do you just trust Vil’s judgment that much?” “Well, yes, for one thing, I do,” Azul replied, frankly, folding his hands in his lap. “Not only do I consider him to be a particularly dependable and intelligent Housewarden, but I believe he is the single most discerning judge of talent, particularly where the arts are concerned, on the entire campus. The only other person who might rival him there is Professor Crewel. So if he takes the time to recommend someone, even obliquely, I listen.” Taoka nodded in understanding. He supposed all that sounded logical enough. “Besides,” Azul went on, quite casually, but with a smile that was perhaps just slightly too broad, “Based on his description, I could hardly let someone with such good taste go without a chance.” The crab-man quivered till his golden necklace rattled. He really didn’t like the way Azul emphasized three of those words. “Well…wh-what is that chance going to involve?” he asked at length. Azul paused, as if pondering how to answer…but before he could, the door opened up again. Jade and Floyd re-entered the office, one carrying a silver platter, and the other a pair of drinks.

“For your dining pleasure, gentlemen,” purred Jade, as he placed the platter in the center of the glass-topped table, and opened the lid, revealing a steaming dish of freshly-made shrimp scampi. “Yeah, yeah, here ya go,” grumbled Floyd, apparently still grouchy over his earlier treatment as he handed both Taoka and Azul their glasses of sparkling lemonade. He then plucked a couple pairs of chopsticks out of his pocket and gave them to each. Azul placed his chopsticks on the table…then removed one of his gloves, revealing his long, sturdy, yet elegant fingers. Taoka watched as Azul plucked one piece of shrimp up off the plate between his forefinger and thumb, and lifted it up to his face. He paused, smiling as he inspected the piece of seafood…before opening his mouth and tossing the entire shrimp inside. Taoka could hear the sound of Azul’s teeth mulching the cooked meat before a soft swallow sent the masticated stuff down his throat. “Excellent,” he judged, and wiped his fingers on a napkin before replacing the glove on his hand as he looked at the Leech Brothers. “Tell the cooks they’ve done a fine job, when we’re done here.” Jade bowed and murmured that it would be done. Floyd just snorted, placing his hands behind his head and rolling his eyes. “Go ahead,” Ashengrotto urged Latronis, who had watched all of this with rapt attention. He picked up his glass of lemonade as he spoke, tilting it towards Taoka as if in toast. “Try some. You can eat while I explain how this is going to work.” Taoka hesitated for just a moment; the food smelled delicious, but something about the showy way Azul had eaten his first bite had bothered him. Of course, if any of the three had wanted to poison him, it seemed unlikely they’d do so this way. So, he lifted his chopsticks and plucked a piece of shrimp from the scampi. He popped it into his mouth…and immediately felt some his tension ease up as he chewed and swallowed it. The savory, spicy, buttery seasoning filled his mouth with a wonderful flavor, and the shrimp itself was cooked to perfection, with an excellent texture. “Well?” asked Azul, as he took a sip of lemonade. “It’s…it’s REALLY good,” smiled Taoka, trying to hold back just how delicious he thought it all was. “I know,” smiled Azul, but he still seemed pleased to hear it. “Perhaps sometime we can give you a nice sampler; plenty of food to go with one of those.” “I doubt that would be such a good idea,” Jade spoke up. “The sampler does include crab meat.” “Ewww, that’d be like one of us eating smoked eel,” sneered Floyd. “And we all know eel tastes so much better raw,” grinned Jade, diabolically. “Huh?” Floyd blinked in confusion. “Nothing,” said Jade, innocently.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be toooooo bad, either way,” shrugged Floyd, and grinned toothily. “I mean, crabs DO eat other crabs, yeeeaaah?” “Boys, as amusing as it is to hear you both go on like that, I think our guest is going to be ill if you keep that up,” drawled Azul. “Apologies,” said Jade. Floyd just yawned, boredly. Taoka swallowed his mouthful of shrimp and chased it down with some lemonade. The flavor of the citrus drink helped chase away his anxiety. “So…again, I have to ask, how is this going to work?” he inquired after a few bites of food, the emptiness in his belly replaced with a warm and filling feeling. Azul took another sip of his own drink before finally answering: “This audition will proceed more or less like a typical audition, I suppose: you will play and sing a song of your choice. I will listen, along with my friends here.” He indicated Floyd and Jade. “Once you have finished, I shall give you a brief critique of what I heard, and declare if you’re suitable for a role in the house band I want to put together,” Azul went on, lightly stirring his drink with a twist of his wrist. “If I decide that you are, then I’ll take you on here at the Lounge for three unpaid weeks. Got that? Three. Weeks. A ‘trial run,’ so to speak. And if, after those three weeks, I determine your skills are sufficient and the audiences like you, I’ll keep you on - paid work, this time - for the remainder of the semester and into the next term. After that, you would need to re-apply.” Taoka mumbled something through a full mouth and stuffed cheeks…then, when he saw the frowns on the trio’s faces, he realized he was talking with his mouth full and couldn’t be understood. He hastily swallowed, stifling a belch in one fist. “Ahem…that, uh…th-that sounds reasonable,” he said. He paused, then thought to ask, “What if I fail, at any point? Today or later on?” Azul shrugged, once again waving a hand about airily. “Oh, I just…throw a little salt on you, and then gobble you up! HA HA HA HA HA HA!” The head of Octavinelle exploded into cackling laughter…then stopped abruptly when he saw the look of absolute horror on Taoka’s face. His smile vanished and was replaced with an almost bored look. “I’m jesting, merely jesting.” “O-Oh. Right.” “It’s an audition. If you fail, you simply go back to your dorm room and have to find another avenue, like any other case such as this. As for the end of those three weeks, if you get them…” Azul smirked. “Well…we’ll worry about that if it even becomes a problem.”

“I see,” Taoka replied, and nodded in agreement. “Alright. I…I think all that sounds fair.” “Excellent,” Azul said, and put down his drink before snapping his fingers. A moment later, Jade and Floyd were suddenly sitting on either side of him on the couch; one sat straight and proper, while the other threw his heels up onto the table…at least until Azul coughed and ordered him to get them off. Floyd then rolled his eyes and obeyed. “As soon as you are ready,” Azul said, steepling his hands as he leaned back. “We’re all ears.” Taoka paused…then sighed through his nose. He had rather hoped he’d have more time to eat…but he guessed it was time to get down to business. His heart was still beating very quickly as he pulled his guitar out of its case and positioned it. He glanced repeatedly at the trio as he adjusted the strings. He had not felt this much pressure since his time onstage at the Triple-S…indeed, he wasn’t sure he had EVER felt this much pressure. Despite Azul’s words, the presence of the three higher predators made it harder for him to feel totally relaxed…and besides, just because AZUL claimed he wouldn’t do anything, that didn’t say anything about the Leech Twins. Whether he was playing for his life, or playing for a chance at a job, this was going to be perhaps the most important audition he’d ever tried. Nevertheless, as he got his guitar ready, Taoka plucked up his courage, and screwed it to the sticking place. He smiled his most daring smile at the trio, earning an arched eyebrow from each in the process. “Okay, gents,” he smirked, trying to sound his most confident, a cocksure twinkle returning to his eye as he let his mind sink into the world of his music. “Lemme lay somethin’ good on ya…” And without another word, Taoka strummed the guitar and began to play. The melody he played was strange and almost otherworldly; like something that came from the realm of the fae, or perhaps from the very depths of the ocean’s most mysterious fathoms…the music building up as he let it play on for a bit, eyes closed before he took a breath, and allowed the first lyrical notes to whisper forth, like a voice from beyond…

“It’s only forever…not long at all…lost and lonely…” Then, the music jumped into a higher gear; still mysterious, still strange, but with a certain adventurous pep, as the lyrics jumped to attention. Taoka’s voice was filled with a strange, contradictory tone: sympathetic, yet somehow mocking; not cruel, but playful… “No one can blame you, for walking away: with too much rejection, no love injection. Life can’t be easy; it’s not always swell.” His voice dropped an octave, with pain painting the words. “Don’t tell me ‘truth hurts,’ little girl…” He opened his eyes, looking down at his gloved hand. “...Because it hurts like Hell.” Then, a sly, slippery smile came to his face and he chuckled, closing his eyes once more. He shook his head to the beat as the song became slithery and inviting, almost hypnotic. “But down in the Underground, you’ll find someone true. Down in the Underground: a land serene, a crystal moon!” The smile became a grin as the music kicked up another notch, almost triumphant in nature. “Ah-ha! It’s only forever!” he almost laughed through the song. “That’s not long at all! Lost and lonely…that’s Underground! UNDERGROUND!” The final note echoed through the office…and finally, the song ended with a few last, haunting strums of the guitar. Taoka sighed…then looked towards his listeners expectantly. “Well?” he checked. “What didja think of that?”

Floyd and Jade’s eyes were very wide. They looked at each other…then back at Taoka…then grinned and applauded. “YAAAAY!” cheered Floyd. “That was short, but I was reeeeaaaaally feeling it, Crab Cake! More! I wanna hear more, c’moooon!” “An excellent display of your talent,” agreed Jade, quite serenely. “I think perhaps you could do well for the purpose of a house band. What do you think, Azul?” The player and the eel’s looked towards Azul. Taoka felt his smile falter. The octopus’ blue eyes were hidden by the glare of his glasses, making it hard to tell what he was thinking. A shadow seemed to have passed over him, which made Taoka’s anxiety kick up a notch. Finally, Azul inhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring…and applauded politely. “Very nicely sung,” he said, crisply. “I must admit, however, your guitar playing needs some work. ” “So I’ve been told,” mumbled Taoka, sourly, to himself. “Now, now, I don’t mean to say it’s bad,” smiled Azul, and his blue eyes were now visible as he leaned forward again. “But it sounded…a trifle forced, so to speak. Over-rehearsed. So much of the emotion that came from what you just gave me was gleamed from your vocals. Therefore, I think perhaps an instrumental role in the band is not for you.” Taoka felt his heart begin to sink…but that was before Azul continued speaking. “No. What I want from you is…your voice,” he almost hissed, seeming excited by the thought. “There is a dusky, smoky, yet absolutely golden quality to your singing that I think would suit the atmosphere of my Lounge just right. Especially if we give you the proper accompaniment and the best possible pieces. How would a position as the lead singer suit you?” Taoka’s heart leapt up again. His eyes widened…and an extremely wide smile stretched across his face. “The…the LEAD singer?” he checked…then, hearing his own voice break again, he immediately coughed and tried to cool down, lounging back easily in his seat and smirking it what he hoped was a nonchalant, barely-interested way. “Uh, I mean…yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a nice gig, babe. If ya think you can handle me in that role, heh heh…” Azul’s smile faded. “I think I can. But there is one condition.” “What’s that?” “Do NOT call me ‘babe.’” “Oh. Sorry. Uh…boss?” “Hmmm…boss will do,” smiled Azul, and stretched out a hand across the table. “Your trial run will begin a week from today. I’ll send you further information later, including the identities of your fellow band-mates. I imagine you’ll want to get in touch with them.” “That’d be helpful. Thanks, ba-er, boss.”

“Not at all,” Azul purred, and gave Taoka’s hand a firm squeeze before leaning in close. “Just be sure your voice remains as…appetizing to the ears as it is now, and I think there should be little trouble.” Taoka’s smile became more nervous and he nodded. He tried to pull his hand away…but Azul held it fast. The cephalo-man’s smile had become hard and sharp as a knife. “The time will be lunch hour,” he said. “I’d advise you to be punctual. Otherwise…perhaps I’ll make it into a lunch break.” Taoka gulped as Azul finally released his hand. He quickly stood up and gathered his guitar, putting it back in its case. “R-Right!” he said, and let out a somewhat hysterical little chuckle. “We-Well, uh…nice doin’ business with you all! And thanks so much!” “No thanks are necessary,” Azul said, and sipped his drink before adding, “It’s just what I do. It’s what I LIVE for: helping my fellow students, and especially underclassmen in need. As the guardian of the Sea Witch’s benevolent spirit, this is simply my way of bringing that spirit to life.” Taoka scratched the back of his head. “Right…well, uh…I guess that’s pretty nice of you.” “Yes, it is,” agreed Azul, then looked at the eels. “Now, boys? Please show him out.” Floyd and Jade got up from their seats and moved towards Taoka. Floyd gripped the demi-crab in disguise by the shoulders, and Taoka stiffened as he was then guided towards the door, which Jade opened in a courtly manner. “It was a pleasure to eat-I mean, meet you,” Jade said with a not-so-subtly teasing smile. “Make sure ya sing something super duper cool like that next time, Crab Cake!” Floyd grinned. “Don’t make me squeeze your shell off!” Before Taoka could respond to the teases, he was all but hurled out the door, stumbling as the office was shut and locked behind him. He blinked at the door…then took a deep breath, and sighed heavily, shaking his head as he hurriedly hustled back down the hall towards the main areas of the Mostro Lounge. “Never again,” he shuddered to himself, remembering those hungry stares and frightening words…but it wasn’t long till the fear left him, and a grin of purest, most delighted joy colored his face. He’d gotten the job. He’d gotten a position even better than he’d expected, in fact! He was going to be the LEAD SINGER. All the spotlight, all the attention, all the love…squarely on him and his shoulders. “I guess sometimes it’s worth taking risks,” he chuckled, and all but danced his way out of the Lounge, absolutely elated.

Even as Taoka left, however…back at the Lounge, Floyd and Jade were laughing. “AHHHH-HA-HA HA HA HA HA!” howled Floyd, clutching his chest with one hand and slapping his knee with the other. “D-Did you see his face? Did you see how SCARED he was! Awww, the poor wittle Krabby Patty, I just wanted to SQUISH him soooo much!”

“Perhaps we were a little TOO mischievous,” Jade suggested…but he clearly didn’t agree with his own sentiment, as he was stifling mad giggles between almost every word. “After all, we weren’t REALLY going to eat him.” Azul, who was still seated on the sofa, plucked a single piece of shrimp off the platter with his chopsticks. “No,” he murmured, as he inspected the piece of shrimp quietly. “No, you weren’t, were you?”

He popped the shrimp into his mouth and ate it up. As he did so, the Twins immediately stopped laughing and looked towards him. Neither had missed the word choices, nor the emphases Azul had. “Eh?” Floyd frowned, crinkling his nose. “What’re you saying it that creepy way for, huuuh?” “Creepy?” puffed Azul, indignantly. “Creepy? Me? Oh, please, I’m no worse than either of you.” “Whatever THAT means,” pouted Floyd, crossing his arms and sitting down on the opposite couch in a huff, like a sulking child. “I must admit, I’m a little surprised, Azul,” Jade said as he stood beside the same couch. “Surprised?” repeated Ashengrotto, as he took a drink of lemonade. “Well, you had said that you wanted to avoid choosing anyone without them showing proper experience onstage, before a crowd, or having any formal references,” Jade said. “Heeeey, that’s right!” Floyd realized. “In fact, I don’t think you even seemed interested until Betta Fishy toldja he was a crab!” “Well, after all,” said Azul, with a mask-like smile, “We undersea types have to stick together, regardless of dormitory boundaries.” The Twins looked skeptical. “Azul,” Jade finally asked, slowly. “Did you…agree to see him…BECAUSE he was a crab?” “I think that’s what I just implied, yes,” Azul replied, taking another sip of his drink. “That’s not what I mean,” said Jade. “I meant to ask, did you agree because he was a crab specifically, not merely a fellow ‘undersea type’?” Azul just gave a devious smile and adjusted his glasses, before lifting another piece of shrimp up. “Is that a yes? ‘Cause I don’t get it. What makes bein’ a crab so special?” Floyd frowned. “I mean, they’re just food for us, back in the ocean, aren’t they?” Azul once again said nothing. He simply popped the shrimp into his mouth and ate it. It took about ten seconds for realization to flow over the Leech Twins’ faces. “You weren’t just teasing, like we were,” Jade recognized. “He has three weeks to prove he’s worth being on my payroll,” Azul said, as if this were an obvious answer. “The way I see it, this is a win-win situation. For his part, he gets the experience and the spotlight he seems to crave. For my part, if he impresses me and our customers enough in that time, I get a good headliner for my house band. I also get a new connection to Pomefiore, and to Vil: something that could lead to some special reward. And of course, I get the credit for assisting an underclassmen in another dorm, who needed a helping tentacle.” He licked his lips subtly. “Otherwise, if he fails…well. Then I’ve earned three whole weeks of at least halfway-tolerable entertainment for my customers, all without needing to pay the lead singer a thing. And I think we all know he wouldn’t be the first student to go ‘mysteriously absent,’ the Headmage’s ‘special rules’ or not. After the disaster I heard happened at the Triple-S competition, it wouldn’t be hard to give an explanation for that absence, either, would it?” “Wow. You are…really despicable, when you wanna be, aren’tcha?” blinked Floyd. “That’s why you both stay around me,” Azul reminded him, and looked into his reflection in his glass of lemonade, a greedy glint in his eye. “Anyway, it’s time to get back to business. I want you both to start advertising the new entertainment more vigorously, and bring me people you think would serve his voice well with their talents. After all, we’re going to need more than a snack-I mean, singer, to provide a proper band.”

The End…?

[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.

[cyandelightz]

the nightmare you know (is better than the nightmare of the unknown)

-- Author's note: Oh my god, be careful with this one, guys. It is horror content, check the content warnings, please let me know if I missed any... Content warnings for abuse, implied CSA, implied incestuous abuse, suicide, death, graphic descriptions of gore, moderate depictions of decay in a corpse, and whatever the hell mental illness it is Buzzo has here to make him react like this. Dear lord. -- ------------------------------------ In their dreamspace, just for the two of them (well, just for Buzzo himself - Lisa isn't really there, she's been dead for almost two decades), the garden remains, beautiful and pristine, warm and lovely in sight and scent. The sky seems to shift for a moment - but he ignores it. He could easily be seeing things, and it's not important to him in this hour of celebration of his loved one.

What is important to him is her. His beloved, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. The reason for everything that he is and will ever be. (You know your life ended when hers did.) Something in his mind itches, something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise - not an unwelcome feeling, it is in fact familiar, and it's something Lisa inspired in him - part of what he loves her for. The fear. The discomfort. Her mean streak… He could never be upset at her for it. He knew the causes of it, all too well. And so the fear, the stomach churning, the hair raising, it feels like home - like he's finally home.

He looks up at her. She was rounded out before, like her brother and father. But she is gaunt now, bony, her grin a toothy snarl. He smiles back up at her, adoring, worshiping. Of course he got that part wrong. She could never be like Brad or Martin, regardless of whatever genetics said. Lisa would always be Lisa. And he knew Lisa as being rail-thin and gratefully, ravenously wolfing down whatever food he could bring her, be it bought with his allowance and spare change from the couch or outright shoplifted for her sake. As if she hadn't eaten in days - and he knew she hadn't, because Marty is a goddamn worthless waste of oxygen.

Her smile is even more familiar than the one he had dreamed up before. He considers it an upgrade, even if others would currently be screaming for him to run.

"Berny…" Not… Buzzo? Her voice sounds too high, too. Like a child's. "I need you to do something very important for me, okay?"

Oh. His stomach sinks, and sweat beads on his forehead. He remembers this. This was… right before she asked him to - to cut her. To make her 'ugly'. So Marty wouldn't want her any more.

He was hoping this version of her wouldn't ask for this, or wouldn't feel the need to revisit it. But it's okay. It's okay! He'll do anything for her. Anything. Even if it's cruel and unusual and…

He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Anything for you."

He manages to trudge back home (how long has it been since he's been in his father's garage?). It's as he remembers it, really. The atmosphere as oppressive as classic Americana can be - even as an adult, six foot three, he feels the need to step as softly as possible so as not to gain his father's ire or the nosiness of his brothers. He's in and out as fast as he can be, back by her side.

Except she's not there. But her old house is, strewn in garbage, down in the valley below - he remembers this sight, biking down the way, checking on her.

No, God. Please, no. Don't let this be him losing her again. His heart sticks in his chest, pounding, stomach sick as he runs toward the old house, the old garbage-covered lawn - climbing up the tree in the Armstrong's backyard as he remembers doing when he was just an adolescent, his current adult form being irrelevant to how helpless and small he feels against the force of Lisa's will to escape, to not exist if she couldn't get the abuse to stop.

There she is. Just like last time. Her feet aren't touching the ground.

A sob wracks through his frame as he's clinging to the tree branch, which miraculously supports his adult form as if he were still a spry child, tears welling in his eyes. He doesn't like to raise his voice - it's a cheap, shitty way of scaring people, like calling yourself a comedian just because you're tickling people… but this isn't to cause fear. This is unbidden, something he can't control, a body-wracking screaming, pleading to capital-G God, please don't let her be gone -

His breath catches and he gasps for breath. He saw motion in the window, and he looks up to double-check, not wanting to hope because having that hope crushed would potentially literally kill him. He saw right. She's - she's climbing down. She's coming up to the window, she's

Her face is gone. He's the one who did that to her. By her request, cutting her up with his dad's circular saw. One of her eyes has been gouged out by his clumsy hand. Gore hangs in strands off her inner musculature, her lips gone, her face trapped in a grin.

Her remaining eye is decayed, as if she'd been dead for a day or so already, covered in a milkiness. Lividity has started to appear on her pale, sun-starved skin. Even despite this, though, she opens the window, and she makes to climb out toward him. He cries further, and holds his arms out to hold her, to guide her out - he doesn't care if she's some kind of zombie so long as she's still here, Goddammit!

She's cold in his arms, and she retains that horrible, yellowed grin. He hurries to help her down from the tree. As long as she can still move and talk and think he'll worry about whatever condition, whatever near-death she's in, later - he needs to get her out of here, away from her father. He already knows what would make her put herself in the noose, and if her not having a fucking face wouldn't stop the man, nothing will.

He's on the grass, facing away from her, about to speak - about to reassure her that he'll get her out of here, he'll take care of her, they'll be through this soon, it's all gonna be okay, Lisa, I love you, please hang on -

He hears the saw starting up. He remembers he had dropped it in his rush to climb the tree.

He turns back to her. She's got it in her hands, and she's approaching him with that horrible yellowed grin, the awful fate of her face being skinned - what he inflicted on her, what he thought she wanted, what she insisted on - still, so, everpresent, the dried blood staining her whole upper body, that white silk poncho completely ruined in a nasty brown scab stuck to her frame.

"Lisa?" He questions her, backing up somewhat. But - he can't… he can't bring himself to harm her, not again, never again. "It's your turn now," she coos, softly, in that voice of hers that makes his heart flutter. He can't help but relax a little upon hearing it. "I, I don't -" "It hurts so much. I need this, Buzzo." "I…" He takes a deep breath, slowing down as he questions whether to fight this at all.

"Would it… make you happy?" "Very." "I… I…"

Tears are welling up in his eyes again, his chest wracked by ragged sobs. "I don't know what to do without you," weakly escapes his lips, a confession unbidden, something he's needed to say for years. "I got your revenge, I made your brother suffer, and now that's done, and I don't know what to do with myself any more. I'm so tired of having to make my own choices without you, I…"

She gets closer and closer, holding the saw with one hand - she reaches to cradle his face with one cold, pale hand. Staring into his eye with her one remaining, half of the other dangling out of the socket.

"I just want to know you're happy," he says, pleading to her, pleading for her forgiveness, pleading to feel worthy of anything resembling affection.

The saw cuts through the flesh of his cheek and cleaves through his nose, his brows, in an instant - an instant in which he immediately screams with all the strength his lungs can give him. He can't see any more - he's pretty sure he just lost both eyes, possibly a bit of the front of his skull - but suddenly, with an inhuman amount of strength, he's shoved to the ground. He hits the grass with the back of his head and all of the wind leaves his lungs at once.

He can feel her standing over him and he can hear the saw start up again, and that is the last thing he remembers hearing before he felt the sawblade rip his chest cavity open.

It is the last thing he can remember before he wakes up again, in his bed.

He has to peel himself off of it to want to move at all. His chest aches with a horrible pain as if it's been cut open.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, to get started in his day, to use the mirror… reveals a horrendous scar over the middle of his upper body, going on a diagonal from right to left. Right where he felt the saw cut through his ribcage. Exactly that, exactly there.

Was it really just a dream? He doesn't know any more. He drags his feet down the stairs- he doesn't want to be awake…

And he sees Lisa outside the window. Hands folded behind her back. Smiling her yellowed smile.

Even, despite, (because of?) what happened, he can't help but rush again to her side.

"Buzzo," she says, in her soft, sing-song voice. "I'm so happy to see you again!"

And she pulls the saw out from behind her back.

He would gladly die for her entertainment. Over and over and over again. He could know no better bliss than to have a purpose in life that functions for her amusement, for her love. At least then he has a purpose. Outside of her, with Brad mutated and suffering, he has nothing left to cling to, to define himself by, other than pure, meager hope that she's just happy. Somewhere, wherever she is, please, God, just let her be happy.

If breaking him over and over with the same saw he used on her is what makes her happy - so be it.

[the-broken-truth]

Hello! What if Atreus has a dream in which he gets his siblings back and everything is flowers until his dream turns into a nightmare where Magni, Modi and Baldur take Björn and Revna away from him.

When he wakes up he gets depressed that his siblings won’t ever come back to him and that he won’t ever see them again. How do you think he comforts himself about this?

Broken Truth (Reading the ask): Paradise turned into a hell of that Jotunn? Sounds like fun to me. Now, let the wards weave together.

He had just returned from a hunt - a deer corpse dragging behind him as he closed in on the sights of his cabin before him, still in time just like the frozen snow around it and the dead trees that had lost all their leaves. The cabin door opened once he got close enough and 2 smiling faces greeted him before they ran out of the door and gathered around him with hugs.

"Elder Brother! About time you returned, we were getting worried about you!" Björn said as he looked up at Atreus with a smile that the bear cub was known for when he was younger.

"I am sorry, Björn & Revna. I was hunting but look at the bright side, I brought us a deer for dinner tonight. Is father and mother in the cabin?" Atreus asked but Revna was the one that answered him this time.

"Yes, Brother! Mother and Father were waiting on you to return! We stayed inside the chain, just like you said so can we go inside and eat some deer meat now?" Revna asked with a smile, and Atreus nodded as the 3 of them started walking to the cabin door. Still, suddenly, the sounds of rolling thunder were heard in the distance, and Björn and Revna stopped in their tracks and their heads were hanging low, the bangs of their hair covering their eyes.

Atreus turned and looked at his siblings who stood there like statues, he opened his mouth to speak but it closed when he noticed the thick fog creeping up behind the Bear and Raven, consuming everything in the background before stopping just behind Björn & Revna. Atreus dropped the rope that connected the deer and pulled out the bow and one of his arrows and looked in the fog as 3 figures walked from it and stood behind the twins, when their features became clear, Atreus' eyes widened and the air in his throat was caught.

Magni.

Modi.

Baldur.

The Sons of Thor and the Son of Freya were standing behind Björn and Revna as Magni and Modi placed a hand on each of Björn's shoulders while Baldur placed a hand on revna's Shoulder. All 3 of them had smirks on their faces.

"Get your hands off my siblings!" Atreus asked as he pointed his arrow at Magni and Modi but the chilling voices of Björn and Revna spoke to Atreus as their heads lifted and their eyes were glaring at him with hatred in their eyes - a familiar hatred.

"Keep your hands away from our brothers!" Björn yelled as he lifted his right hand - an electrical current radiated throughout his hand and shot out, hitting the bow and arrow out of Atreus' hand, and hitting him in the chest, sending him crashing into the door that didn't open, he slumped to the ground and looked at Björn as he lowered his hand.

"You took them from us before - we won't let you take them from us again," Revna said as Magni and Modi pulled Björn away from the site, the 3 of them walked into the fog and disappeared while Baldur did the same to her; leaving the Jotunn alone to reach out to the fog, crying for the siblings that left hime alone.

[Upon Awakening]

Light blue eyes opened and looked at the ceiling of the room where his bed lay - the snoring of his father was the only thing he heard besides the blizzard happening outside. Atreus lifted his upper half into a sitting position and looked around before his eyes fell on the door to Björn's Room and the realization of the dream came back to his mind. His brother was gone. His sister that was born from his body was gone. he was alone and there was nothing he could to about it.

'Björn... Revna... I need you to come home. I need you both with me. I need us to be a family again.' Atreus thought as he hugged his legs close to his chest.

"You miss them, don't you, Lad?" The voice of the wisest man called out from his position on the table nearby. Atreus looked over to Mimir, whose golden Bifrost eyes were glowing in the darkness of the cabin.

"I do miss them, Mimir; I need to have them back," Atreus said to the head who hummed before giving his council.

"Lad, The Bear and the Raven don't want anything to do with this family - with their own bloodline - that's why they shared their blood with a line that accepted them for who they are. Maybe it's best that you gave up on them until they decide they want to talk to you." Mimir's words made Atreus look at him with betrayal in his eyes.

"You want me to give up on my siblings?! What kind of talk is that?!" Atreus demanded to know.

"All I'm saying is this, Lad - Björn ran away because he was tired of the way he was being treated and Revna has his memories and doesn't trust you or your father. The Aesir have treated them kindly and given them what they need; what's more important: Where they are or how they feel?" Mimir asked causing Atreus to look at the ground.

That's a question he never asked himself nor did he know how to answer it.

[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.