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daycourtofficial · 3 months ago

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Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 14.7k | warnings: depictions of violence, gore, blood, bodily harm

Summary: your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Author’s note: happy Gingerfucker Week to all who celebrate!! My first post has to be the most anticipated gingerfucker fic ever - otherwise I’m sure yall would kill me lmao

“Eris, we’ll be fine. Feyre wouldn’t let anything happen to us. But if it would make you feel better, you may winnow us there.”

The babe in your arms slept softly, the smallest crop of red hair peeking out from his swaddled head. Atlas was so tiny, yet had grown so much in his one month of living. The last babe you remember spending prolonged time with was your younger sister, and even though a baby’s basic needs were the same, caring for a wingless babe felt different, almost unnatural.

Being a young female in Illyria meant spending many hours and nights helping the other females with their young. Atlas was likely the first babe without wings you had ever seen. It still surprised you to rub your hand across his empty back or that you didn’t have to stretch his wings multiple times a day.

Only a quick winnow trip separated you from your nephew, leading your impatience to grow with each moment Eris spent rifling through trunks. You were dying to see the toddler, having missed several months of his life due to your brother’s refusal to see you. Things were still rough between the two of you (not from your lack of trying), but they seemed to be improving. It felt right to spend a few days there - to let your family see Atlas, hold him, spend some time with the three of you. It might be foolish, but a tiny babe is enough to have at least some of the pressure off of your mate.

Your words did little to slow him as he flitted about the room, a cloud of anxiety following him as he searched for something you weren’t entirely sure existed. He moved about the room, opening trunks and moving their contents around before closing the lid in a huff. If you weren’t getting annoyed at the delay, you would be amused by his antics.

“Er, if it’ll really make you this upset, I can wait until tomorrow when you’re able to stay with us.” The possibility that Eris was purposely stalling wasn’t lost on you. He was less than thrilled about this visit, however he was unlikely to ever stop his mate from getting what she wanted.

“No, no, you were adamant about arriving tonight so you could see Nesta on her birthday and- aha!”

From one of the seemingly thousands of chests around your room, all full of gifts from every High Lord, advisor, and courtier the two of you had ever come into contact it seemed, Eris procured a tiny yellow blanket, one end of it full of stuffing to give the illusion of the head of a duck. He raised it quite proudly as if it were a trophy, gallivanting over to the two of you as if he were a prized mare.

“What is that?”

“It’s Atlas’ favorite blanket.”

You squinted your eyes at him, clutching the babe tighter to your chest. The blanket looked brand new, unmarred by the constant stream of dribble Atlas left everywhere he went. Eris ignored you in favor of situating the blanket into the crook of your elbow, situated next to his son. “He’s three months old, he doesn’t have a favorite blanket.”

“Surely pregnancy has not completely rotted your brain. This is his favorite blanket.” He ignored the glare you sent his way, furthering your annoyance. You gripped Atlas tight in one arm, using your free hand to smack Eris’s bicep. An incredulous look overcame his pale face as he turned back to you. “You’ll wake the babe - set him down before trying to get physical with me.”

“I’ll get real nice and physical when I throttle you.” Your threat was not received as you had intended. Instead of coiling in fear and cowardice, your mate moved about, putting everything back into all of the various chests. “Then you’d be late for dinner and breaking Madja’s rules, and I never took you for a tardy rulebreaker.”

“I can throttle you without breaking Madja’s rules.”

“My love do not pretend if you were to kill me you wouldn’t be riding my cock as you did it.” You gasped, moving to press Atlas further into your chest and covering his other ear with your hand. You hissed his name, sending a barbed spike down the bond in frustration. Eris’s hands met his hips, amusement quickly turning into exasperation. “He’s asleep.”

“He can hear you!”

“He is in a deep sleep from spending nearly an hour on your tit. He’s going to be out for the next hour or two.” Eris felt your frustration through the bond, placing his hands on your shoulders, causing you to look up at him. “Come now, I’ll escort you both to Night, see that you are safely in Feyre and Rhysand’s care, then I’ll come back here until tomorrow.”

Eris moved past you, grabbing the bags you had packed before putting them across his shoulders. He reached an arm out, taking Atlas from your hands and securing him to his chest. You reached out, already missing the warmth of your babe, a hand pressed to his back to feel his slow breathing. Eris moved his free hand up to your face, fingers soft caressed your cheek.

The world changed around the three of you, Atlas shifting slightly beneath your hand as the orange curtains you recently had hung up on the brown paneled walls were exchanged for the light blues of the foyer of the River House. Atlas didn’t stir, but the sudden change in the world made you slightly dizzy. It had been months since you had last winnowed, a fact more pronounced by the stagger in your stance.

Eris had been writing to Rhysand, requesting special permission for him to winnow directly into their home. In true Rhysand fashion, he turned it into a much bigger spectacle than it was by placing special limitations on it, telling him he’d change the wards when everyone departed at the end of the week. His letter contained an additional note at the end, stating, “I will, however, allow Atlas in through the wards permanently in case he were to be a savant and learn to winnow and his first action be to leave you.” You had sent Rhys a responding scathing letter using words Eris was not entirely certain were real.

Feyre and Rhysand were waiting in the foyer, Feyre quickly standing off of Rhys’s lap to embrace you. Feyre always treated you differently than the others did, perhaps because she knew how awful it could feel to be as no more than an extension of Rhysand. Or perhaps because she knew what it was like to go to the ends of the earth for your mate.

You melted in her embrace, her lilac and pear scent a bit flowery but welcome. Her hug was gentle, careful not to squeeze too hard, something the High Lady had to work at perfecting after being turned high fae. It had taken years for her to master her grip strength. That time was not missed, however, the crushed door handles were always a source of amusement.

“Eris,” Feyre smiled, reaching her hands out after untangling herself, shifting to look at the High Lord, “hand over the baby and no one gets hurt.”

You giggled, pushing Eris toward her outstretched arms. She cooed at the bundle as it was put into her arms, her fingers moving the blanket so she could see his face. She made little faces, the Cursebreaker nowhere in sight as the babe reached out for her, gently grabbing her loose hair.

“He looks just like you, Eris.”

“How unfortunate.” Rhys ignored the pointed look he received from Feyre, picking lint from his jacket as he strolled forward. You stayed silent as he wrapped his arms around your body, and you couldn’t help but melt a little in his embrace. He was an asshole, gods was he an asshole, but he was still your brother and you loved him so dearly. You could feel the tension slough off of Rhys’s shoulders in your embrace, hoping this weekend could be a step forward for all of you.

Eris leaned down, kissing Atlas on the forehead before softly rubbing his head. He gurgled in response, causing Feyre to chuckle.

“I just want to eat his little cheeks! Nyx doesn’t have his chubby cheeks anymore, it’s a real shame.” Her hand gently smoothed over Atlas’s cheeks as she spoke, her heart breaking over realizing just how much her little boy had grown.

“He’s not on the menu tonight, Feyre.”

“I know, but I just want to eat him! He’s truly adorable.” Feyre continued making faces, certain she could get a tiny giggle from them. She puffed her cheeks and moved her lips a bit, deflating at the indifference Atlas showed her.

“I trust that your wards are secure enough for the two of them.” Eris cut into the discussion, having noticed the sun moving through the windows. Stacks of papers sat on his desk waiting for his eyes to peruse them in preparation for the next day’s council.

Rhys rolled his eyes, nearly scoffing at the male’s tone. “If they weren’t sufficient, would I allow my mate and son to live in them?”

“Rhysand, I am not in the business of trying to make sense of every decision you make.” Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Feyre’s voice cut through the growing tension, extinguishing the sparks the two High Lords were sending each other. “That’s enough, thank you Eris for winnowing them here. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

His amber gaze was glued to the tiny bundle before dropping the bags he was holding. The Autumn High Lord did not want to leave his son. He was still so small and so vulnerable. He remembered all of his brothers at such a size and it never ceased to amaze him how much newborns truly depend upon their parents. He looked back up to his mate, one last confirmation needed. A slight nod was all it took before he cupped her jaw, swiftly kissing her forehead.

“I will see you all tomorrow, then.”

Feyre had left quickly after Eris’s departure, returning Atlas to your arms before checking on Nyx. Truthfully your sister in law looked exhausted, and you were sure she was taking any opportunity that Nyx slept to take a nap of her own. She had written to you just last week that Nyx was in a sleep regression and she and Rhys were not having a great time. You had offered to reschedule your visit, but Feyre insisted you come and outright demanded to see the babe. She had said Nyx had lost his baby smell ages ago and she was convinced smelling it on Atlas could get her through this sleep regression.

You sat in Rhys’s study, Atlas sleeping on your chest after having just fed and changed him. Before running off, Feyre had given you one of Nyx’s old onesies, the pale babe in your arms looked so out of place in the black fabric. It felt so strange to be back in Rhys’s study - it must have been at least two years since you had last been in this room. It looked exactly the same - the massive portrait of Feyre looming over the two of you. So much had changed the past few years, and yet nothing had. Rhys looked exactly the same sitting across from you. If you placed Atlas down, it would be as if you had never left.

“Watch out for Cassian.”

Rhys’s words confused you. You waited for further explanation, looking up to find Rhys’s gaze on Atlas. Deciding he likely won’t tell you, you asked, “why?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning from the shift in weight. “He followed Feyre around for months, asking to try some of her milk.” He laughed at your grimace but continued. “Someone told him the health benefits of breastmilk and he’s more than determined to get his grubby hands on some.”

“Eris will be thrilled to hear that.”

You could hear his retort clear as a bell in your mind. “A bastard so desperate for a mother’s love he’d suck random teets to get it.” You decided it was best kept to yourself.

You ignored Rhys’s scowl at the mention of your mate. “Do you think he’s trying to convince Nesta to have a babe so he can take the milk for himself?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it. Nesta kicked him out of the house for a few days because he wouldn’t stop trying to make everything into a deal to impregnate her.” Rhys was smiling at the memory of a downtrodden Cassian slipping into the River House one night, Feyre passing him as he grumbled about her sister. You laughed softly at Cassian’s antics.

It felt strange to be back here - in the Night Court, in the River House. As if you hadn’t left, your family continued on. Their lives continued with or without you. Your heart felt a slight twinge at the realization. You would choose Eris again and again, but you did miss the everyday antics of your family.

“Have I told you that Eris’s hounds detest Lucien? He visited a week prior and two of them worked together, one in front and one in back, to table top him into some mud- what is that face for?” Rhysand tried to recover the earlier smile, his mouth slowly forming into a grimace. It was impossible not to notice - he looked as if he smelled something terrible.

“Nothing. Just remembering something I have to do.” A lie. Your blood was heating beneath your skin. It annoyed you to no end whenever Rhys lied to you, something you hadn’t been able to shake since childhood. It made you irrationally upset, hormones raging through you.

“No, it’s because I was talking to you about Autumn, wasn’t it? Can’t you at least pretend to care about my life?”

“I do care.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to give off an air of nonchalance, but his eyes remained sharp.

You stood slowly, ensuring your feet were steady as you rose with Atlas. “I won’t sit here and listen to you lie to me, Rhys. I thought we were past this, I thought things were different now.”

“They are different.” His curt responses caused your nostrils to flare, your jaw tightening with every word.

“Because I made them different?”

“Your words, not mine.” You groaned, feeling like a little girl before him. He looked like he were dealing with a petulant child, his gaze only adding more fuel to your anger.

“You are so..” you trailed off, not knowing where to start. Pigheaded, brainless, annoying, condescending.

Rhys’s mouth turned into a snarl. “Think any harder, why don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re such an asshole!” You cradled Atlas’s head closer to your chest, placing a hand over his ears. “You’re such a dick, Rhysand. You can’t stand that I have a life away from you and this court.”

“I tolerate it.”

Your jaw dropped as his words tried to take shape in your mind. “You tolerate it? What the fuck does that mean? I’m trying to open up to you about my life, Rhys. About my home. I’m trying to fix things.”

“Fix the things you broke? Why don’t you just go back to your new home, then, if Night is so inferior you have to cross courts for cock.”

You stilled, slowly turning towards your brother, head cocked. The tension had reached its boiling point but you weren’t shying away from it. “Is that all you think of me then? Someone who gave up her title, her name for love. That I did it all for a quick fuck?”

“Don’t act as if you gave it all up for him.”

“You forced me to!”

“I have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to.” He rose to his feet, his hands slapping on his desk accenting his words. The air went cold at his words, the insinuation lingering.

“That’s rich, Rhysand. You spout off about choices, but really it’s always ‘option A: what Rhys wants’ or ‘option B: perilous death and despair’.”

“Maybe it’s because if I don’t guide you, you make stupid decisions.” His eyes flickered to Atlas, and your blood boiled beneath your skin. You took a step forward, jaw clenched as you snapped at him.

“Are you insinuating that Atlas was a stupid decision?”

“I’d never insinuate what I can convey with words.”

Tears stung in your eyes, one landing on the tiny head in your arms. The room was too stifling, too suffocating. You had to go anywhere but here.

“Well, if insinuations are out the window, listen to me loud and clear: fuck. you. Fuck you, Rhys. Sorry I don’t fall into line with the path you planned out for me. Sorry for making my own choices. Sorry that the Mother made plans for me and didn’t ask for your input. And I am terribly sorry for Feyre because you are an asshole!”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You winnowed into the void. If you heard Rhysand’s voice for one second longer, you’d say something horrible. Irredeemable. Anger simmered at his words, claws desperate to come out and stoop to his level. He never understood your choices, never tried. No matter how many times he had promised to listen, Rhys had never tried to fix the walls he had put up between the two of you.

The world shifted as you thought about your home in Autumn, the brilliant leaves of the forests, the warm spices of the kitchen, your mate’s touch. A blur of colors passed and your throat tightened as shame washed over you. Eris was right - you shouldn’t have come. You needed more time. Rhys needed more time. You clutched Atlas tighter, taking comfort that you had him, at least.

Mind hazy, you moved through the courts, the world flashing with sunshine, the rush of an ocean, and the patter of rain until your magic unraveled, and the two of you fell from the air onto your back into a wooded area. At the impact, Atlas sniffed and then whined as he rubbed his face against your shoulder.

You took in your surroundings, opening your eyes to the bright afternoon sun peeking through the trees. Your eyes darted the area, looking for any signs of life as you laid still. Atlas moved in your arms as you maneuvered the two of you, trying to sit up to lean against a tree for better sight. Once you were certain no one else was around, you pulled Atlas away from you, unwrapping him from his swaddle to assess him for any injuries. His wailing was piercing through the woods, a sure cry to any creatures that were here.

You shushed him as you checked him, content that his worst injury was being woken from a nap. His cries were lacerations on your heart, each tiny inhale causing so much distress. It nearly cracked you in half, deep breaths a half hearted attempt at self-soothing.

The land was unfamiliar, nothing about it gave you any information about where you could be. The two of you were surrounded by trees, none any species which were familiar. The green leaves blocked out most of the sun, occasional streaks of light passing through. This didn’t feel like any of the solar courts - did you winnow past the mountain? If you had, you would have landed in Winter, or if you veered off course in Summer. Maybe you overshot and ended up in Spring?

The two of you moved about the area, your feet crunching on dry leaves as you went. You hadn’t made it very far before stumbling over a large root, some how hidden beneath your skirts. You barely caught yourself, the jerking motion causing another round of screams to come from Atlas. His little face was so red from crying. You looked back to the spot you had landed, hoping to sit back against that tree once more, but the land behind you wasn’t what it had been. In its place was a swampy scape, several inches of water that would have made your trek impossible. You clutched Atlas tighter to your chest, tucking his head beneath your neck.

You swiveled your head around, breathing labored as you realized you were somewhere you haven’t been in centuries. Where the land was nonsensical and ever changing, where horror stories began and ended. The land above the mountain where atrocities occurred in the caverns and tunnels beneath it.

The two of you were somewhere in The Middle. A land no court wanted for themselves, the tireless mazes too much for any fae to justify living in.

A land no one wanted to be lost in.

Pumpkin wandered into Eris’ room, the small pup clearly lost without Atlas to follow around. Eris ignored the whimpering from the hound, the beast having grown incredibly close to his son in a short span of time. It was sweet the way the hound trailed behind him when he was carrying Atlas, shushing and singing him to sleep. Eris was especially happy to see Pumpkin and Clover standing on high alert whenever Atlas was being fed. It soothed some part of him to know even in moments he had to step away from, his family was well guarded, even if just from his brothers.

Eris reviewed his notes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin at the distance between him and his family. He’d never deny you anything, but if you had had any doubts about spending a night without him, he wouldn’t complain about your presence in Autumn for one more night.

Pumpkin whined once more, Eris’s pen dropping at the sound. His chest felt hot with anger, something he’s unsurprised by. Any visit with Rhys often left the two of you fighting, your anger flaring through his veins as you fought. Your own feelings were compounding his own, utter annoyance at the meeting that kept him away from his mate.

Eris felt a sharp tug in his chest, nearly pulling him from his seat. Everything inside of him was pinging, his chest felt heavy with fear and uncertainty. What was happening over there? He waited a moment, trying to parse out each emotion. The anger in his chest subsided, every instinct inside of him urging him to go. He abandoned his notes, watching the brown hues of his study swirl and churn into black and blues.

Feyre looked about the office, confusion crossing her blue gray eyes as she didn’t find who she was looking for. “Rhys, where’s your sister?” Feyre’s voice echoed across the room as Rhysand took another sip from his glass of whiskey, slumped in his chair.

“Autumn.”

Feyre looked around, as if he were lying, covering up her hiding somewhere in the room to surprise her. “What do you mean she’s in Autumn? She was supposed to stay here for a week so we could spend time with her and Atlas.” Rhys shrugged, his eyes unable to meet Feyre’s, “she left.”

Feyre’s eyes were skeptical, certain that her mate was leaving pieces out. Things had been tense, but surely it didn’t take her mate three hours to scare off his sister?

“Did Eris take her back? Change his mind about his mate being here?”

Rhys gritted his teeth at his brother in law’s name, sinking into his chair slightly, “no.”

Feyre ticked her jaw, determination flooding her to understand her mate’s standoffishness. “Was she upset by our accommodations?”

“No.”

“Did Cassian annoy her into leaving?”

“No.” It came out as a growl, causing Feyre’s eyebrows to raise. “Just cut to the chase, Feyre. Ask what you really want to know.”

“What did you do?”

He sucked in a breath, as if the question were shocking. “Words were exchanged.”

That was all Rhys was able to get out before the doors to the room burst open, the wood hitting the walls as all of the heat was sucked out of the room, everything going cold as the High Lord of the Autumn Court stormed in, his rage palpable. Cassian trailed behind him, trying and failing to hold him back, unable to stop his path.

The redhead looked around the room before he stalked over to Rhys, grabbing the collar of his tunic before his hand connected directly with his eye, spitting out, “where is my mate?”

Rhys wrapped his hands around Eris’ wrists, trying to get him to stop. Cassian’s hands wrapped around Eris’ biceps before quickly pulling them away, his hands smoldering.

“Stay back, pigeon, if I find out you had a hand in this I’ll burn more than just your hands.”

Eris was a blazing storm inside of the house - his flames were erupting over the surface, turning the room red with heat. Dark tendrils of shadow coated the flames, attempting to extinguish them. The flames burned a bright blue in response, whirling around the tendrils, burning them up.

“Did my sister come to her senses and leave you? Ran off with one of your more capable brothers?” Rhysand’s smirk dropped as Eris hauled him from the chair, pressing his back to the wall. Eris’ long fingers dug into the lapel of Rhys’ dark coat, the fabric singing as the redhead pressed him into the wall.

“Watch your tongue, Rhysand. It would be a remarkable mount on my wall.”

The two males snarled at each other, Rhys moving his leg out to get Eris off balance. He faltered just enough for Rhys to get momentum, swinging his fist into Eris’s face.

Feyre and Cassian were scrambling as the two continued their brawl, both High Lords successfully bruising the other.

“Where is she, Rhys? Have you locked her away in a tower, thinking I wouldn’t notice?”

Rhys pushed Eris off of him, hands moving to straighten his jacket to find his lapels singed off.

“Perhaps you need to hone your abilities at hide and seek before Atlas is older.” Rhysand’s nonchalance caused Eris’s anger to burn brighter, certain the day was going to end with the Night Court in ashes.

“Why can’t I find my fucking mate but I can feel her desperation and fear in my chest?” Eris’s words clanged through the room, everyone stopping to take in his words. Feyre moved closer to him, her voice soft. “What do you mean, Eris?”

“I mean,” he snarled in Rhys’s direction, “something's very wrong. She has never felt like this in my chest before. Not even during labor. She’s panicking, I have never- never felt this from her before.”

Feyre turned to Rhys, her eyes wild with concern. Eris was quick to interject, his voice echoing through the room. “No, don’t do this. Don’t be communicating where I can’t hear it. This is about my mate, I deserve to hear it.”

“You don’t deserve-” Feyre’s arm on Rhys’s bicep stops him. “Rhys, where is she? Where’s Atlas?”

The High Lord of the Night Court’s chest was heaving with each breath, certain a rib or two was broken. “They went back to Autumn.”

“They haven’t arrived in Autumn.”

Rhys went pale, concern taking over his features. “They must be. They winnowed away ages ago - did she go straight to bed?”

The words fueled his rage once more, his voice on the edge of despair. “She is nowhere in Autumn.”

Trudging through the forest, you weren’t certain which way you were headed. You tried to feel for that bond with Eris in your chest, trying to pull it taut to receive some direction but whatever cord it created merely tugged you in over a dozen directions, the strength of each pull ebbing and flowing with your breath. You felt Eris’ concern grow as you stood, looking in all directions.

The trees were too tall for you to see the sun - it would give you some indication of which direction to head. Autumn laid in the southeast of The Middle, but navigating through its woods would still be impossible even with the sun’s guidance.

You cursed your hothead, annoyed you couldn’t just run out of Rhys’s study and go hide in your room until Eris came back. Surely you could have tried to mend things with Rhys, not just going on the defensive?

You spun in a circle, nearly tripping over more roots before deciding to just pick a direction and go. Atlas remained calm in your arms, what little power you have going to soothe him. Your breaths were slow and deliberate, trying to keep yourself calm. It was working enough to soothe Atlas and to keep a level head, and that was all that mattered.

You would need a source of water soon. It felt like you were moving on a downward slope, keeping your eyes peeled for any creeks or streams nearby. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck, sticking to the hair that covered it. It was oppressively muggy, the air feeling heavy with humidity.

Time was hard to track in the Middle, every moment stretching endlessly as you continued to walk a path that seemed to never change. Each tree looked the same as the last, no distinguishing characteristics to help you track any sort of progress.

Perhaps you were stuck in an endless loop, circling the same bit of land over and over until you collapsed from exhaustion.

“Running from something?”

A high pitched voice caused you to stop mid stride. A sinister tilt to the question that caused you to secure Atlas to your chest before your feet went flying without turning to look at the source.

Eris paced across their floor, a thin layer of fire coating his skin and clothes, a small trail of flames followed his path on the floor.

“I would prefer if you didn’t leave scorch marks on my floor.” Rhysand’s voice was buzzing in Eris’s ears, much like the annoying pests of Summer.

“And I would prefer my mate to have a better family, preferably one who doesn’t allow her to leave unattended so soon after giving birth.”

Eris was itching to unleash his anger, desperate for some fight to break out to let out a fraction of the rage that had nestled in his gut.

“My sister’s been strong-willed since she was born, anything she gets her mind on she does.” Rhys strode closer to Eris, looking down at the new High Lord. It hadn’t even been two full years since the magic had chosen him. The newfound power that thrummed within him was an adjustment, but he had quickly taken the reins of it. Now he felt like nothing more than a vessel for the well of magic inside him, set to erupt any moment.

“And yet, she’s not foolish enough to believe she could winnow across Prythian unless she felt she had no other option.”

“What are you insinuating, Eris?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Rhysand. I’m speaking directly. I apologize if my language is too complex for your pigeon brain to understand.” Something in Eris snapped before he pushed Rhysand up against the wall, his head thumping against the wall as flames licked around Rhys’s skin, not burning, but restricting. “My mate felt so unsafe she took our babe and her chances of going anywhere but here.”

Every other word was enunciated with Eris shoving him into the wall, “and now you better pray to the Mother we find them both unharmed or your mate will rule this court alone.”

Rhys snarled at the threat, a rebuttal dying on his tongue as someone pulled Eris off of him, shoving him into a chair. Eris’ snarl died as he met the eyes of the eldest Archeron, the only person in this court he truly tolerated.

“Killing Rhysand can wait. Unfortunately, he may be helpful in finding her.” Nesta’s voice was a pleasant surprise for Rhys, probably for the first and last time. He took in a deep breath, the flames gone from his neck, before he straightened his jacket, moving toward the maps Azriel and Cassian had been looking over. The two Illyrians had been having a discussion of their own while Eris and Rhys fought, both too caught up in plotting to pay mind to the High Lords. Cassian’s thick fingers trailed a path from Velaris to where they knew the Forest House was located.

“Eris would know the second she stepped foot in Autumn, Rhys would know if she were in Night.”

Azriel stood rigid, his wings tucked in tight behind him. A formidable strategist determining the right course of action. “She could be anywhere in Day, Dawn, or Winter.”

“Or in The Middle.” Just the name gave Nesta chills, the phantom feel of the Kelpie around her. She swallowed harshly, the action feeling more restricting than it should.

“Lucien’s in Day, I could fill him and Helion in there while Azriel goes to talk to Thesan. Mor can go to Winter. Rhys, Cassian, Nesta, and Eris can look around the Middle. Elain, you stay here, take care of Nyx. If she comes back, let the twins know and they’ll contact us.” Feyre looked around, wanting to see how everyone felt about the plan. Everyone was on edge, this relief team more likely to implode on itself than succeed.

This was a tragedy and everyone had a finger they wanted to use to pinpoint the source.

Trees were a blur, hitting the ground in swift footfalls, every breath not big enough. There was no cleared path to take, the brush and bramble catching on ankles. Blood dropped from the nicks and cuts of thorns, but the urgency to run never stopped.

Atlas continued crying, soft wails coming from him as you pulled him closer to your chest, trying to quiet his pain.

There was no way to know where you were going, paths changing as you moved down them, but you continued forward, deciding it was your best option. You knew whoever found you was still following you, their breathing so loud it felt like they were right behind you.

Sudden sharp, shooting pain caused you to fall, your ankle caught on something as you fell forward. Quick thinking had you turn on your side, taking the brunt of the fall, except some thorny vines sliced through the swaddle, cutting Atlas’s arm.

Brows cinched together, the pain from your foot almost unbearable. Eyes were pinched closed, not wanting to see what had caught your foot. Whatever it was was still there - and was crushing your leg too. It took everything not to wail out in pain, matching Atlas’s cries. You breathed in through your nose, lifting up your skirt enough to see the metal bear trap that had clamped shut around your left leg, blood rushing out in spurts.

The sight caused bile to catch in your throat, quickly moving your head to the side to expel it.

Trying to sit up and assess the situation was no longer an option when the hunter appeared, her strong hands wrapping around the trap and tugging your body toward her. A scream ripped from your throat as blood gushed out of the wound, hot pain causing your vision to darken with each tug of the chain. Atlas was wailing, the protective arms of his mother insecure for the first time. His grip loosened on the duck blanket he carried, the yellow fabric turning brown with mud.

The Inner Circle and Eris were divided into teams, each taking on their own travels. Once everything was agreed upon, Eris was the first to winnow away, grabbing Nesta by the arm to take with him. She struggled in his grip as the world blurred around them, the smell of the unforgiving forest burning Nesta’s nose. Eris held tight against her as the familiar smell of burnt umber filled his nose, the two reappearing in his study.

Nesta searched the room, never having set foot in the Autumn Court, much less the Forest House Eris resided in. She looked at the papers scattered across Eris’s desk, eyes quickly scanning for anything of interest. A quick, high whistle startled her, bristling in his grip before a large hound came barreling through the door. A second, longer whistle came before the beautiful, sleek hound stopped before Eris.

He wrapped his hand around the hound’s collar before winnowing the three of them once more. Nesta’s head spun as the ground slipped from beneath her feet once more, the back to back winnowing causing her to stagger once they landed in a forested outcrop.

Eris quickly let go of her, his ears and nose twitching for anything he could pick out. Satisfied the area was secure enough, he gave the command to Clover, telling her to fan out. He was certain she knew Atlas and his mate by name, but nonetheless he provided a discarded shirt to her. She took large inhales, memorizing the scent before she ran off, her nose to the ground. She weaved between trees, dodging above ground roots with practiced ease.

Eris didn’t wait before taking off in a brisk pace after Clover, boots stomping through the muddied ground, his boot prints replacing paw prints in the soil. Nesta tried to keep up, her form trailing behind Eris as they moved through the landscape.

The Middle was unlike anywhere else in Prythian. It was what Nesta expected faelands to be when she was a mortal girl. Roots snarled over barely forged paths, an attempt to trip up any travelers. The landscape was hazy, almost dreamlike. There was an idea of what you were looking at, but the longer you looked, the more confusing it became. Hairs stood on end, a perpetual feeling of being watched followed travelers as they moved across paths.

Paths were nonsensical - rivers flowed up the mountain, ending wherever they wished rather than venturing out to the sea. Nesta’s limited experience here before was enough to know she did not care for the creatures that lurked here.

Nesta’s eyes were sharp, looking in every direction, desperate to pinpoint and remove the feeling of being watched. Eris trudged ahead, uncaring of Nesta’s plight behind him. He made no attempt at stealth - whatever they would find out here, Eris wanted the beast to know he was on the move. A bark up ahead quickened Eris’s pace, a catch in his throat at what his furry companion may have found.

The barking continued until Eris reached a break in the trees, finding Clover sat on her haunches. Tears sprang at his eyes at Clover’s discovery, crouching down to investigate further. He knew what it was, even covered in dirt and mud. He had handled the thing just hours prior.

Nesta caught up to the pair, pressing her hand to a tree, trying to catch her breath. Eris was hunched over something while Clover whined softly next to him, sitting perfectly still. His arm reached out, pulling something from the mud. He motioned Nesta over, pulling her water skein from her before pouring some out onto the muddied thing. The clear water ran brown, the dirt clinging to the object before running off it. Eris’s fingers rubbed at the spherical shape to reveal yellow fabric. He poured more water, draining the entire skein, to find a tiny yellow blanket with the face of a duck sewn onto it.

Darkness swam at the edge of your vision, everything feeling so bright as you were dragged through the dirt. Your fingers pressed hard into Atlas’s blanket, a firm grip desperate to keep him as close as possible. His cries were causing pain to swell in your breasts, your body not knowing the difference between his hunger and his concern.

Your body ached, the pain ricocheting through every crevice. You grit your teeth, not wanting to give the female any satisfaction.

There were rumors of fae who roamed The Middle. They were an interesting subspecies of fae - their movements were said to be jerky and strange, their bodies having adapted to the constant change of their homelands.

There was no known record of how many there were or anything about them. They were urban legend during Amarantha’s reign, thought to lurk the woods to drag anyone who fled her captivity back to the Evil Queen herself.

Rumor turned into a nightmare as she grabbed you by the bear trap, your cry of pain echoing through the trees, certain the blades were going to cut through the bone. A gutteral scream left you as she pulled you up by the ankle, shoving you into what seemed to be the back of the wagon. Somehow you still managed a tight grip on Atlas, his wails blocking out all sound. The wretched creature pushed the two of you up, your ankle catching on something too dark to see as she pushed you further in. It smelled awful, the stench of urine and vomit coating your nostrils.

Her rough, barklike hand let go, the pain subsiding enough to look around. You felt woozy from the blood loss, certain you were going mad when you heard barking somewhere in the distance. There wasn’t much in the back of the wagon - a wooden floor covered in various dark, unidentifiable stains.

Your thoughts whirled with self-deprecation, this whole situation being preventable if you had just stopped and waited.

Patience was a virtue you certainly had not acquired.

It was getting harder to stay awake, the pain overbearing. Sweat made your clothes cling to you, nearly chafing from the dryness. The last thing you thought of before drifting off was that the barking sounded like home. It sounded like warm pumpkin bread and cold nights spent by the fire.

The wet blanket squished between his fingers, water evaporating off the surface as he boiled with anger. The air around him seemed to silence, waiting to know what the High Lord would do next.

“Clover, find.” His command was razor sharp, the smokehound racing off, her muzzle to the ground. Eris ended many of his days with Clover, the hound loose, the need to hunt satiated as she found whatever it was she had been looking for. The thrill of not knowing what the two would find.

It was the worst hunt of his life. The uncertainty of how it would end. Most hunts saw him thirst for blood, content at culling the populations of the prey animals around Autumn.

This hunt was nothing like that.

He waited for his trusted companion to return, not wanting his own scent to interfere. Clover was the most clever dog he had bred, but he wouldn’t leave anything up to chance now.

“Nesta!” The voice shouting for the Valkyrie wasn’t too far away, his deep, loud voice not causing Eris to look away from where Clover had descended to.

Nesta wasn’t surprised Cassian had found the pair - her mate had spent the entirety of her time in the Middle tugging and pulling at the cord connecting them. She could feel his concern through it, the concern deepening each time a sound spooked her. But Nesta kept him at an arm’s length. She knew that cold rage that still lingered inside her at Feyre’s near death.

She knew exactly how Eris felt both now and about Rhysand in general. They both were members of the ‘resignedly having Rhysand as a brother in law’ club.

Nesta responded by pulling the bond, tugging Cassian in their direction. She could hear branches breaking and curses shouted before the two Illyrians made their way through the trees. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, the dried mud nearly up to their necks. Nesta couldn’t help the small smirk that formed at seeing Rhysand’s appearance so unpolished.

“Nes-” she quickly cut Cassian off, holding a finger up to him before turning back to Eris. He stood still, lingering on the path his hound had taken away from them. Rhysand observed him too, and Nesta was certain some barb laid on his tongue. Before he could, she brought the two up to speed about the blanket in a hushed tone. As she was finishing, a high pitched bark echoed through the wood. Eris took off in a sprint, the three quickly chasing off after him. They ran several miles, barely keeping up with Eris’s pursuit.

Eris met Clover’s barking, the hound circling a wagon, keeping the owner from getting into the front. The hair on the hound’s spine was raised, her teeth bared as she snarled and snapped at the fae. The horses attached to the wagon were startled by the hound, causing their own commotion. The pauses after their whinnying should have been silent, the space between brays a reprieve. Instead it was filled with the sound of a wailing baby.

Clover’s teeth clacked at the stocky female, sinking into the fabric of her pants and letting go before she was swatted. The hound had repeated this over and over again, not having received a command to go in for the kill. This hadn’t kept the hound from drawing blood as she nipped, her own territorial act over his master’s family. Blood was dripping from the female’s leg, thick, green liquid falling in puddles on the ground.

The other three fae weren’t far behind Eris, quickly approaching the scene not a moment after him. Cassian moved toward the wagon while the others approached the female Clover was on the verge of mauling.

Rhysand flicked his wrist, the reins restraining the horses disappearing, the pair running off. Their hoofbeats got quieter as the fae were surrounded on all sides. She looked between the four sets of eyes, certain the dog was her best bet. The most unlikely of allies banded together as a pack offering no escape.

Cassian climbed into the wagon, his weight shaking the cart. The bounty hunter flicked her forked tongue out, her hand reaching for something on her belt. A shadow lashed out, wrapping around her forearm, causing her to let go of her belt. She shrieked in pain as the shadow twisted her arm behind her back.

The clearing was dark, the only sound came from the bounty hunter’s mouth, cries of pain swallowed them as arm cracked and bent in every direction. The wind caught beneath the bounty hunter’s legs, forcing her to her knees.

“Cassian?” It was perhaps the only time Eris had referred to the general by name. His tone was stern, a voice he had used for centuries as a general himself. But something desperate creeped at the edge of his voice, a reality he didn’t want to consider.

The one where he was too late. That this was the wrong wagon. That his mate was somewhere else and this was a waste of time.

Cassian’s silence forced Eris to move, his feet jumping off the ground without him telling them to. He lunged forward, catching the fae offguard as he landed on her.

Eris laid on top of the bounty hunter, her long sharp nails scratching at him. One of her arms was still behind her, but she was determined. He didn’t register the fabric she ripped through, uncaring at the scratches on his arms.

“Cassian, are they alive?” His question was accented with the sharp thud her head made as it hit the ground. She was snarling up at him, her lifeless eyes dark as she peered up at the High Lord.

“Have enough coin for the pair?”

Eris’ fangs grew longer, the High Lord’s second form desperate to come out. His fingers quickly changed to talons, the nails biting through the fae’s skin, causing her to cry out. She began thrashing once more, Eris’ weight pinning her down. He was snarling, practically spitting as he couldn’t contain the rage boiling inside of him. He heard shuffling behind him, Nesta or Rhysand moving to help Cassian.

“They’re breathing!” He wasn’t sure who yelled it, the sounds blurring together. It sounded like Cassian, but all his mind could make out was they were alive. Alive, alive, alive. It was enough to tide him over for now.

“Take them to the Forest House, my healers are on standby.” He didn’t know if they responded, if they even looked his way, if they tried to argue. That thrumming need inside of him to protect his mate felt satiated enough knowing Nesta or Cassian was with her, that they were en route to Autumn. He wanted to be there, wanted to hold the loves of his life as they went back home. He was desperate to know how they were, to listen to the beating of their hearts.

His gaze narrowed back on the creature beneath him, her brown skin turning red beneath him. His heart was miles away, but it would eat him alive to see a fae with such audacity not receive their comeuppance.

“And what was the price on her head? How much was she worth to you?” His tone was ice, his question not a rhetorical one. He wanted to know how much this lowlife wanted for the two most precious things in his life. His wonderful mate, his equal in every way. Atlas, his darling boy. To consider them nothing more than traded goods made his stomach churn.

The bounty hunter couldn’t answer, her throat drying and desperate for water with every breath. The air was unbearable hot, but she managed to whisper out, “five thousand gold marks.” Once the words escaped her lips, the hard metal of coins pelted her face. She winced from the pain. Eris ignored the resounding crack in the air, metal meeting bone.

“Here, take it all.”

He poured more coins onto her, winnowing them from somewhere. He could barely think straight, every fiber of his being thrumming with revenge and anger.

A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

But really, what is the life of a trafficker?

Every breath was difficult, her lungs ached with heat. Fire caught around the pair, the flames staying low to the ground. Eris still sat atop her, unmoved by the flames circling their bodies, slowly making their way closer to the tree like fae.

“Take them back.” Eris’s command was directed to the group behind him, if they were still even there. He had no idea - his world had become so small. It was just him and this fae now. “Take them back to Autumn. Now.”

Her tongue dissolved to ash in her mouth, unable to speak. The High Lord grabbed more coins, shoving them into her mouth. The gold coins began losing form in her mouth, a river of melted gold pouring down her throat. It burned as it moved through her body, all of her organs alight with heat and fire.

Eris watched as her eyes dried out, as she tried to scream but was unable to. He watched as she thrashed beneath him, begging for mercy as if he were a kind and just god. Eris didn’t believe in the old gods, but if he did, he knew they would approve. He watched for several moments before her body slowly began turning to ash, carried away in the wind.

He didn’t linger long after the remnants of her floated away, not even looking back before winnowing back to Autumn, rematerializing to find the Forest House in chaos. Servants moved quickly through the halls, hurried footsteps as they carried linens and rags toward the team of healers he could hear yelling down the hallway.

“Call off your guards.” The first words to greet him were from his brother in law. It was a voice he could never get used to, the smoothness grating.

Eris’s mate and Rhysand looked strikingly similar - same violet eyes, same feline-like face. But Rhysand didn’t look right in the Forest House. He didn’t carry with him the warmth that made his mate look so at home here, as if the entire court had been made in preparation for her.

Rhysand seemed so out of place in his sister’s home. The once close siblings’ stark differences could not be ignored.

Eris waved his hand noncommittally, the guards lowering their swords from Cassian’s and Rhysand’s necks.

“They let me bring her in before threatening me, at least.” Cassian’s joke doesn’t land, the silence bouncing through the hall before Eris moved forward, his path straight to his bedchambers. It was a guess - the correct one - as to where they’d put you to look over you. He stormed into the room, a fierce blaze on the wind as he moved inside. You had been placed on the bed, the healers circling you tending to every inch of you.

The bond shook with anger, that golden string practically vibrating with urgency at the mangled mess that had been your ankle.

Nesta was standing off to the side, holding Atlas as he cried.

“I didn’t want to leave her alone. I haven’t taken my eyes off her this whole time.”

It felt like the cord around his heart had divided into two - one path to the bed, his bloodied mate, the other to Nesta and the tiny bundle that laid in her arms.

He knew which you’d prefer for him to go to. You had an army of healers around you as you laid unconscious, but all Atlas had was Nesta.

“Give him to me.” The tone of the High Lord. Nesta slipped the small babe into Eris’s arms, “they looked him over. He has a scratch on his arm, but otherwise fine.”

The worst feeling his son had experienced up until now had been the harshness of birth. The sensory overload of the world - how loud and bright it was after being evicted from his dark and cozy home. He had not known physical pain, had never been exposed to it. Every fae held him with such tenderness, it was impossible for Eris to rectify that his son, barely a month old, knew the atrocities of fae.

“Someone will check my son every half hour, ensuring he is in good health.” None of the healers answered, but Eris had known them long enough to know they heard him. He took a breath, holding the bundle tight to his chest. Atlas’s cries slowed, softening as he felt the familiar comforts of home.

Amidst all the chaos of the room, it seemed almost like they were alone. Eris’s ears twitched, listening intently to his son’s breathing.

A commotion was heard through the door, but Eris ignored it, opting to let himself feel the comfort of his son.

Shouting could now be heard, breaking the stillness he had artificially created.

Eris wretched open the door, searching for the source of the yelling, only to find Cassian and Rhysand fighting with the guards at the door.

His jaw tightened, his mate’s family a permanent fixture beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Everyone stilled at his words, the hall clearing of commotion.

“Never mind. I do not care. You have done enough. Her family,” Eris nodded towards Nesta and Cassian, “are allowed to stay. You,” he pokes a finger into Rhys’s chest, the tip singeing his shirt, making the black shirt slowly turn ashen, “are not welcome here until she says so.”

The two males continued staring each other down. Eris didn’t blink as he addressed the crowd, “if any of your thoughts align with your High Lord’s words from earlier, I suggest you leave now before I have to disgrace myself with the sight of you once more. Otherwise we have accommodations you may stay in.”

The redhead went back inside to his mate, shutting the door on Rhysand. Eris slumped back in the chair he had pulled up next to the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. Small flames erupted from the hand not holding Atlas as he flexed his fingers, trying and failing to burn off some of his anger. It was all consuming - the death of the fae responsible doing little to quench the adrenaline pumping through him.

Eris couldn’t stop the biting words coming from him, couldn’t stop the waves of anger coming off of him as the healers worked around him. Your hand stayed still in his, his grip firm as he let loose words he didn’t truly mean.

“Why are you out here?”

“I want to be in there, but that Night Court healer kicked me out.” The anger had lessened the longer Eris had sat in the hallway, his mind clear of the chaos anger brings to the forefront.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, “you take commands from old bitties now?”

“I do when they tell me to come back when I won’t set the curtains on fire.” Lucien looked down at his eldest brother. A fixture in his life, someone so tall in his memories, now looking so inconceivably small as he sat on the floor. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but at this moment he was nothing more than a concerned mate. “And now I feel no better than a kicked hound.”

“You’ve never been one to let being kicked keep you down.”

“I wasn’t the one who got kicked.” Eris’s words were cracked as they came out, finally verbalizing the guilt that had been gnawing at him for hours by this point. It wasn’t very freeing, but it felt surprisingly good to share the feeling with Lucien.

“I wasn’t there-” Lucien was quick to cut him off. The love of your life in danger indirectly because of you was one few understood. “And if you were, this would never have happened.”

Eris stayed quiet, a sight so unfamiliar to Lucien. He looked to the door, surprised at Eris’s lack of desire to have the last word.

“Where is Atlas?”

“The Archerons are watching over him. Your mate arrived just before I was removed from my own bedchambers.” Lucien was certain it wouldn’t take much to procur that story from Elain. His smile was hard to contain imagining the healers tossing him out.

“Do you trust them?”

“They are three rooms down in a windowless, winnowless room.”

“So you trust the viper?” The fact Eris allowed them to take Atlas away from him was proof enough for Eris’s feelings about the pair. He didn’t want to mention how he wasn’t even trusted alone with Atlas yet.

“I suppose I do.”

A pregnant pause settled between the two, their gazes coming together to look at the door. They sat in silence for a while, neither looking from the door, their minds stuck on the possibilities that laid behind it. Eris tugged at the bond in his chest, desperate to feel his mate on the other side of it. He kept his face neutral at the silence that followed.

“It will likely be a while before she wakes.” A hard truth even harder to verbalize.

“I did not come here for her.”

Lucien’s voice came out strained and soft, so unlike his usual confidence. It betrayed his worries - his concern for not only his friend and new sister, but for the brother next to him. Eris was cruel, playing the part Beron had wanted for so long it was difficult for him to untangle every memory for the truth behind it.

Lucien knew Jesminda wasn’t his mate, but the grief that nearly consumed him whole was real. He hated Eris for playing the part of dutiful son, but he had played the part of rebellious son. Were the roles they played assigned or did they have some choice in them? The rebellious son returned home to the legacy the prodigal son had dismantled.

“I mean, I did come for her. I want her to be alright.” Lucien leaned against the wall before sliding down it, sitting next to Eris, facing the door his brother’s mate lay behind.

His unsaid words hung in the air and, shocking both of them, Eris reached out a hand, desperate for some familiar touch. Lucien took it with little hesitation, squeezing softly. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he just sat in his brother’s company like this or the last time he had touched Eris.

Despite the circumstances, it felt easy.

The two sat in silence for a while, the air heavy and stifling with uncertainty.

“Lucien, I..”

Eris trailed off, not sure if the language existed to convey how much fear lingered in his chest. He felt your pain bouncing inside of him like a dull ache, but he couldn’t feel you any longer. He couldn’t take a moment to linger in the part of his chest that was normally bursting with everything you. He didn’t hear any music, the silence almost deafening. Lucien squeezed his hand again, “I know.”

“No you don’t.”

Lucien shrugged, his long hair swishing with the movement. “I don’t know.” He brushed some of his hair off his shoulder, “but I know you look like shit.”

Eris didn’t need to look down at himself to know that his brother was right - he hadn’t bathed since they all went off looking for you, certain there was debris and blood all over his clothes and hair. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his chest, his skin itchy from the contact. The larger of the two made a big show of sniffing the air, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Smell like it, too. But that’s nothing new.”

Eris growled, unable to ignore his brother’s taunts. “At least I am not a smartass.”

“Ah,” Lucien tutted, a smug look on his face, “now we both know that is a lie. Autumn’s High Lord, starting your new tenure off on mistruths. What a look.”

Lucien’s feline smirk lessened a bit as he looked at his brother with something bordering on fondness. “I will take up the hallway guard if you go bathe. Really, you want your mate to smell you like this? If she doesn’t leave after that, I will be certain you’ve poisoned her mind somehow.”

“I am certain that would be the worst of my crimes.”

“I would believe so, forcing the mother of my babe to believe she was in love with you.”

Eris hissed in response, his knees popping as he stood up. Lucien ignored his brother, his barbs continuing.

“To think the mother of my child could be in love with an old, decrepit thing like you. Witchcraft, I say.”

“You’re not going to be speaking for long if you keep this up.”

“He does look rather like me, don’t you think?” Lucien grinned, something big and wolfish. The look only a little brother could have at getting beneath his brother’s skin.

“And why is your son so pale?”

Lucien shrugged, unbothered by Eris’s irritation. “Ran out of pigment. Who am I to question the Mother?”

“Ran out of my pigment my ass,” Eris muttered, finally moving down the hall to some bathing chambers.

“Do all High Lords speak with such vulgarity or just you?”

Eris responded by slamming the door, blocking out Lucien’s laughter. He didn’t linger long in the bath, the extra two hundred feet of distance felt like too much space between him and his family. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien was right - having the grime removed from his skin made him feel more capable of handling things. Fresh clothes made him feel more like himself.

His brother was still in the hallway when he returned, his head shaking slightly when he saw Eris walking in his direction. The healer must still be tending to you. He stopped at the door next to yours, turning the knob before walking in. The two older Archerons were in the room, his brother’s mate carrying Atlas in her arms. Eris’s son appeared to be in good health - so far each check proved the same, and despite the physician's groaning, he continued them. Elain seemed happy to carry Atlas around, her soft voice explaining to him the recent travels she and Lucien had gone on.

“Tulips of every color covered the fields. I’m sure one day Lucien and I can take you to see them.” Her vivid descriptions of the continent wasted on the babe’s ears. Nesta’s gray eyes looked toward the door, watching as Eris entered.

“Elain, the High Lord’s going to have you killed for speaking of kidnapping his son.” He couldn’t help the slight tilt to his mouth, some deep part of him appreciating Nesta’s attempt at normalcy.

“Nonsense, Nesta. If I had Elain killed, Lucien would mope about the house for the rest of his life.” His hands reached out, gently taking Atlas from Elain’s hold. “You keep him entertained for me. I owe you a great debt for it.”

The middle Archeron never knew how to respond to Eris, having only truly interacted with him a handful of times up to this point. She swallowed, thinking of all the stories Lucien had told her about his eldest brother and how language was his preferred method of battle.

“Perhaps you could entertain him with the dog toys?”

Eris tilted his head, his thumb stroking down his son’s back as he bit back a laugh. He knew any Cauldron fated mate of Lucien’s and sister to Nesta was surely somebody of interest to him, but Elain had yet to show anything Eris found to be interesting - until now.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Yes.”

Eris nodded, wondering if he had underestimated his brother’s mate. The weight of the day had exhausted him, his bones begging for respite. Now that Atlas was in his arms once more, the tiny bundle so warm, his mind drifted to his bed where his mate currently laid. Your fate was still questionable - the healers were certain a full recovery was the most likely outcome, but when had the most likely outcome ever happened with Eris? Had he forged a life for himself only for it to be ripped away from him - the mother wanting him to know what happiness could be so he could feel its absence?

The air held a hint of awkwardness as they all stared at each other, Eris doing nothing to improve the warmth of the room. The two sisters filed out quickly, their voices directed toward Lucien as they left. The click of the door behind them was a beautiful symphony to Eris’s ears. To be alone with his son at last. It had only been twelve hours, but it was more like weeks had passed since he had seen Atlas’s small face, kissing his forehead goodbye. Nothing had felt off - no sense of anxiety overcame him, no fear for his family. Just annoyance and sadness at being away from them.

Eris gently cradled Atlas’s head as he made his way up the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard, back cushioned by pillows. His son had been restless in his arms when he took him from Elain, his little arms and legs trying to disturb the perfectly swaddled blanket around him.

The room had no windows and technically connected to his private chambers. When he was a boy, he had a full time nursemaid stay in here. Once he outgrew her, the space became his own private sanctuary. Many nights were spent hidden in this room, no concept of the passage of time as he poured over books, back curved in desperation to stay awake so he could finish it.

The shelves still lined the walls, but he had some of the furniture removed should his mate eventually want her own chambers.

His muscles ached less the longer he stayed still, and he softly piled up pillows on each side of him. Atlas was stirring in his arms, tiny coos that were endearingly pathetic. He broached a long finger close to Atlas, tiny hands wrapping around it as he settled back down. If he could, he’d strip his shirt to allow his son to rest on his skin, but thought better of it. The jostling would wake him for good, and he’d be doubly upset to know he was on someone’s chest who wasn’t his mother.

The sound of deep breaths was all that could be heard in the room as Eris used his magic to put out the lit candles littering every surface. The darkness of the shadows made his eyes heavier, but he fought to stay awake, not wanting to let his guard down.

“My beautiful son.” Hushed words filled the room, the warmth of his voice almost visible in the darkness. Atlas didn’t acknowledge the words, content in his slumber and being with his father. His body felt warm in Eris’s arms, Vanserra babies always running hot.

“I will always find you.” Outside the moon rose high in the air, the cold bringing a slight frost to Autumn. The midnight hour was one Eris made most of his best kept promises, all relating to the mate from the Night Court he found centuries ago. A tradition he unknowingly passed on to doing with his son. He was so pale, cheeks flaming pink.

Atlas didn’t know his father was High Lord or general of Autumn’s armies for centuries. He had yet to experience the parts of himself that Eris wanted to keep hidden. Eris’s eyes closed slowly, lulled by his son’s breathing, content to know that for now, his son only knew him as a father.

Eris startled awake, something prodding at his arm. A groan escaped his lips, his brother’s scent filling his nose enough to rouse him from slumber. He must have slept off the adrenaline, his heart rate a more regular rhythm.

“She’s asking for you.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eris scolded before he shot up, nearly jumping off the bed.

Lucien rolled his eyes, Eris’s annoyance growing further at the action. “You had been awake for days, Eris. You needed the rest. Don’t they say to sleep when the baby sleeps?”

Eris ignored his brother as he remembered his last moments before he fell asleep.

“Where’s Atlas?”

“Cassian has him.” Eris shot his brother a glare.

“That’s not funny.” Lucien’s hand went up in defense. “Atlas is asleep on Cassian, and Elain and Feyre are with him if he wants any help.”

“When did you move him?”

Lucien shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe? You didn’t want to let go of him.”

Lucien’s words were nonchalant, an air of not knowing to them. Why would Eris ever let his son out of his arms again? He had already been exposed to the horrors that lay outside his father’s arms - he wouldn’t let it happen again. He left Lucien in the room, the hallway much quieter now. So much had happened in the past few days, and yet the halls of the Forest House were unchanged.

Eris stood outside the door, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. Heat danced at his fingertips, a small attempt at having any control over the situation.

Big, violet eyes looked back at him as he opened the door, something settling in his soul. His mate had a plethora of pillows behind her, each one working to prop her up to be sitting. Long black hair flowed around her, lacking its usual shine. The dark hair highlighted just how pale she looked, but life was slowly returning to her face. A blanket covered her lower half - for the best, perhaps. The tight lid he was holding on his rage was sure to give if he were to see her injuries.

“Hi, Er.” Your voice cracked with trepidation.

“How is the pain?” You looked down at your bandaged ankle, not moving it to check if the pain was still there. The wound only stopped pulsing with pain recently. Though you had been mostly unconscious, flashes of light and intense pain lingered in your memory.

He continued standing in front of the closed door, keeping his back to it. His eyes were focused on your face, watching every slight movement.

“It’s not so bad with the tonics Madja provided. She said the trap got to the bone of my ankle, so I should limit putting weight on it for a week.”

Eris nodded, the healer telling him much of the same. He had been trying to work through solutions to keeping his stubborn wife bedbound, not quite above shackling her to prevent further injury. A bassinette already sat next to their bed - maybe he could have it moved to his side so he could pick Atlas up and bring him to her.

Eris nodded, staying uncharacteristically quiet. His feelings were dulled in your chest, muffled by a blanket of privacy neither of you used before.

“Say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He continued staying by the door, his tone growing slightly sharper. He was being petty and spiteful and you were having none of it.

“Tell me how you feel. You have never hidden your anger from me.”

“That is because I have never felt such anger at you.” The room was cloaked with Eris’ words, not quite stifling the roar of the fire. “I cannot lose you. Either of you.”

His words were soft, nearly a whisper, but the crackle of the fireplace gave hint to how deep the anger ran.

“I know.”

He kept speaking, not acknowledging your words.“You are far too precious to me. Please, don’t ever risk yourself to escape Rhysand.” His words surprised you, a new wave of guilt overcoming you. Your actions had been done out of anger, winnowing when you knew well enough you shouldn’t.

Everything could have ended so differently. And for what? To get back at your brother?

“Look at me.”

Eris had moved closer to the bed, as if his confession were a bridge that led him to you. His fingers moved slowly, gripping your chin. “There were a hundred better options, including asking the other bats to fly you home. Do not be so foolish with your life. With Atlas.”

Home. How that word had changed over the centuries. It was the cabin in Illyria, your mother and brother and sister inside, occasionally housing Cassian and Azriel. It was being four years old and scraping your knee and Rhys doing everything to dry your tears and make you laugh. It was flying with Cassian, determined to finally beat him in a race, chastisement over how knotted and wind whipped your hair had become.

And then it was Eris. Late night rendezvous turning into a permanent fixture. It was eating meals at the large, expansive table with two chairs right next to each other. Hounds lazing about the house, one practically laid out in every room in the massive dog beds you had insisted on. Warm colors making everything so vibrant.

And now it was Atlas. Two chairs soon becoming three. Two toothbrushes that would become three. A bassinet beside the bed. Teaching him everything he needed to know, his own neck unable to support the weight of his head.

Tears clouded your eyes at wholly dependent upon you he was and how you wholly failed him today.

“I was a fool. I- I could have gotten Atlas killed or taken. I am- I will never allow my anger to cloud my judgment when it comes to Atlas.”

“Or you.” It felt like a gentle caress through your chest, so many unspoken words in those two.

“Or myself.”

The words felt like a truce, like you had both arrived to some understanding. To further prove it, you gently patted the bed next to you, eager to feel more of your mate’s warmth. He climbed on the bed, sliding in next to you.

It was his preferred side to sleep - the left side, facing the door. It allowed him to come and go more easily without waking you, to keep himself between what laid in the world outside the confines of your marital bed.

Anger bubbled back up in your gut, remembering the bounty hunter’s wretched face, the immense delight she had found in your agony.

“Is she?”

“Dead? Yes.”

The confirmation did little to ease the panic inside. She had been so close to hurting Atlas, so close to selling him away. It was an anger you were certain you would carry until you died.

“My only regret is I didn’t do it myself.”

“Rest assured, my mate. I took care of it.”

You leaned into his side, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He laid above the blankets, his feet crossed at the ankle. He looked so prim and proper, it delighted you a bit.

“And Atlas?” His arm wrapped around you, his hand stroking your cheek lazily.

“He is safe with Lucien as we speak.”

“I don’t think anything’s safe with Lucien.”

His grip on your head was soft but firm, keeping you close to him. His thumb started moving on its own, his body so content to be next to yours once more.

“I thought-“

“I know.” And you had known. His panic was all you had felt before being rescued. It would have been easy to drown in it if it weren’t for the instinct to protect Atlas.

“But we are okay.”

But for how long?

“There’s a note on the side table.”

Eris had to change the subject, unwilling and unwanting to face his emotions head on. Your eyes moved to find Rhysand’s delicate penmanship on the fold of the paper, the letters of your name in grand, swooping movements of the pen.

“Can I see it?”

You could feasibly reach it, but your arms felt so heavy. Your body was still so tired, movement a burden to worn out muscles. He reached over you, careful not to lay his weight on you, keeping the paper folded as he handed it to you.

“You’re not going to peek at it?”

“It is your correspondence.”

You rubbed the paper through your fingers, not certain if you were ready to know its contents. You wanted to read this alone, not have Eris coloring your feelings.

“Can you bring Atlas in here? Madja said I can hold him.”

Eris nodded, slowly untangling himself before leaving. The click of the door prompted you to open the note, some small part of you wanting this to be between siblings. Hope had bloomed at the sight of the note - a ceasefire, maybe. Or maybe it would contain the tenderness Rhysand had so adamantly kept locked away the past few years.

Eris had been adamant his relationship with Lucien was his to navigate. He wanted Lucien to feel Eris deserved his company, not coming around because Lucien likes Eris’s mate.

And so this letter was yours. Rhysand was your brother. Any tenderness or ire or passive aggression from him is yours to decide what to do with.

The letter sat next to you, your mind lost in thought when Eris returned with the small bundle in his arms. Your chest lightened at the sight, the tight grip of anxiety around your heart lessening with every step Eris moved forward until your son was tucked back into your arms.

“And he’s okay?”

“Yes, he’s been looked over at least a dozen times by now. His worst injury is a scrape on his arm that has already healed.”

You gazed down at the impossibly tiny thing in your arms, taking in the features of his smooth, pale face. He was beautiful and he was yours.

“I am sure the extent of his injuries is in no small part due to your quick thinking.”

“Eris-“

“You are littered in cuts and scrapes, bruises everywhere. Do not think I can’t be both angry and proud of you at once.”

You preened a bit at the compliment, your mate’s pride in you always making your heart swell. “And if I did risk injury to myself for him?”

“Then you’d be the female the Mother mated me to, the one I had sworn myself to so long ago.”

It was quiet, two pairs of eyes looking down at the young boy between them. He was so small, so unaware of the danger that had surrounded him for several hours. To him the afternoon was different and scary in a new way: utter exhaustion had left her unable to stop her emotions from spreading and he felt his mother’s fear bubble in his belly.

“I haven’t seen such injuries on you in so long.” Centuries ago, the blonde male had dropped off the Night Court princess in Autumn, her beautiful wings haphazardly cut off. The outpour of blood seemed endless, Eris not knowing how you still had any left. He could still smell the blood and vomit, the scent had stuck to his walls for years to come.

“It would be the greatest disservice for Atlas to not know his mother.” Eris couldn’t say more, couldn’t verbalize the fear that was easing off his chest. It would gut him to not have anyone to share Atlas growing up with. He would go on without you for Atlas, but he wouldn’t be the same. How much pain can one bare before it consumes you whole?

The room was silent, the small family huddled together, enjoying their reunion. Warmth radiated around the room as two sets of eyes watched Atlas smile.

A soft knock at the door woke you from the sleep you had dozed off into. You were alone - Eris’s scent still lingered, likely having left not even ten minutes ago. You took a deep breath, feeling around in your chest for him. All that was found at the rope that tethered you to him was a sense of calm and pride. He was definitely with Atlas, hopefully eating a meal as he cradled his son to his chest.

“Come in.”

The door opened, your brother’s head popping in through the door. Rhysand looked so out of place here in Autumn. His violet eyes screamed ‘wrong’ as he stood out from the background. You had the same eyes as him, but they seemed wrong here.

He kept his head low as he walked in, varying degrees of guilt and shame pouring off of him. The magic inside of you was slow to return, but Rhysand’s emotions wouldn’t be a mystery without them.

“Hello.”

“How cordial of you.”

“Well, when in Autumn.” He shifted on his feet, taking your silence for confusion. “Historically Autumn is a much more proper court than Night.”

An awkward tang filled your mouth with each word. “I am aware.”

The two of you looked at each other, the silence in the room settling over the siblings. So far from their younger selves, so many atrocities laid between them. An observer would think they were strangers from the odd tension in the room.

Speaking was the hardest either had done.

“I am sorry.” His words were slow and deliberate, emphasizing each syllable to truly show he meant it. His shoulders hunched slightly, Cassian’s words from an earlier conversation swirling through his head.

We’d expect that kind of treatment from your father.

“When was the last time you said that to me?” Rhys was never good at apologies - every one had been followed up with “but-“. It would have been more sincere for him to apologize for his actions hurting your feelings.

“Far too long.”

Silence. You waited, wanting more from him. You were tired of fighting with him, a constant battle for choices already made, each party wanting to be the victor. It was exhausting and with a new babe, something had to give.

“Rhys, this is my life, whether you like it or not. I can’t- I’m not playing games with you anymore. I don’t care if you like Eris or not, but you have to believe I can make my own decisions. You have to trust me.” Your earlier words seemed to finally get through to your brother, his shoulders slumping in some form of concession. “I can’t keep doing this merry go round of things seeming to be better just to blow up again.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” The question flew from your mouth without thinking. “I kept this a secret for a century, Rhys, because you reacted exactly how I expected you to. You don’t - you used to trust me, let me make my own choices, but since that night you haven’t.”

You were growing wearisome from this argument, the fight draining you of what little energy was left. You pointed to the water cup on the nightstand, Rhys picking it up and giving it to you. He hovered next to you, staying at your bedside.

“I am sorry that I made you feel like I don’t trust you.” The water helped ease the slight headache that was building, and gave you something to do while you took a moment to think on Rhysand’s words.

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.” His voice broke as he spoke, a desperation lacing his words. “But how can I trust anyone else to care for you? How could I live with myself if I let you be with him only for him to hurt you?”

“He’s a good male, Rhys.”

“I want you safe. I want what’s best for you.”

“And he is. If I told you Feyre was no good for you, what would you do?” He quickly looked away, proving you right. His hand tugged at his hair, an action he hardly ever did.

“I was scared. When Eris came in and you were missing, I was scared. Cassian had to talk me down from blowing up the entirety of the Middle.”

The truth finally came from him. Every discussion, every argument, all Rhys would talk about was his anger, the betrayal. He kept his emotions so tight to his chest, they were suffocating him. You kept quiet, letting him continue.

“I was scared that it finally was happening. That another court was finally going to finish what Spring had started. I thought Eris had done this somehow, wanting us to discover his deeds. Wanting to basque in the glory of getting the upper hand over me.” He breathed in deeply through his nose, his hands shaking as he brought them to his face. Unshed tears lined his violet eyes, the depths of sadness keeping your gaze. “But it was me who led you to danger. It was me who couldn't keep you safe.”

A sob tore through him, the sound of the last wall between the two of you collapsing. You moved over on the bed, allowing space for Rhys before patting the bed. He stood before sitting on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes, and laying next to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he draped his arms around you, clinging tight.

He clung to you as he sobbed into your shoulder, your own tears falling on top of his head. How had things become so twisted? How had your relationship crumpled this much?

The High Lord’s embrace allowed the emotions of the day to crash into you, clutching his shirt tight in your fingers. The soft silk was such a contrast to the pain in your chest.

Rhysand was your brother, the only person alive who loved you before you were born. He didn’t have to know you to love you.

Rhys had always told you he loved you before you were born, something you had never grasped until Atlas. Seeing something so small and tiny and knowing you would go to the ends of the planet to help them.

“You didn’t get to meet Atlas.”

He stayed in your arms, a less than dignified sniffle coming from him. When was the last time you had seen Rhysand cry? Those nights he would find you in Feyre’s absence when she was in Spring, letting you soothe him to sleep? Or was it when Nyx was born and Feyre nearly died?

“Do I even deserve to at this point?”

The two of you were the sole survivors of a noble family. An entire family gone in one night. You leaned further into him, nose pressed against his bicep. He was warm, the citrusy scent coming off him made so many memories flash through your mind: learning to fly, lounging in his study as he worked, intense chess matches that left everyone mad. Centuries of baggage laid in the space between the two of you.

The second part of his scent was the soft undertone of sea salt that always reminded you of home. Your mother smelled like sea salt and caramel, a scent that always made your mouth water for sweets and feel safe. She was gone, had been for so long your memories of her were blurry from use, but so much of her lay in the male next to you.

There was no way back to her or the rest of your family, gone for centuries now, memories so replayed they were memories of memories by now. But you still thought of them often. You were thinking of your mother when you spoke once more, thinking of the excitement Rhys had to finally have a little sister.

“Yes, you do.”

Author’s note: AHHHHHHH wasn’t that great ❤️

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Gingerfucker taglist: @bookwormysblog

Thanks for reading ❣️

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x y/n

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softfem-dom · 10 days ago

Text

look at me, I'm sandra dee the outsiders headcanons

synopsis :

what would happen if Ponyboy Curtis had a twin sister? with her curling iron, checkered dresses, baking recipes and nail polish.. how would the gang deal with a sandy olson bloke?

or headcanons for being the only Curtis' sister.

worcount : 1,4k — masterlist 𝜗𝜚 navigation post

tags/warnings : third person pov, cuss words, canon-violence, typical sexist female steryotipes, 60's view in feminity, the gang (*cough**cough* Dallas and Steve *cough**cough*) bullying her in a friendly manner, the reader is kinda like sandy from grease.

The whole gang was sitting on the couch of the Curtis' living room, the TV playing Mickey Mouse. It was silent except for the sound of Darry cooking in the kitchen. Or that was until.. "DALLAS WINSTON!!!" your voice boomed across the whole house, just as all the greasers in the living room snapped their heads in the direction of your room Dallas came running through the hall while laughing his ass off. He was holding your curling iron in one of his hands, the cable pretty much flying behind him with how quick he was running. "I don't know no Dallas Winston, princess!" was his yelled out reply before he disappeared into the kitchen. It wasn't even two seconds before they saw you running hot on his trail, half of your hair neatly done and the other still without styling. "hey!" that was Darry's voice. "what the hell are you two gooses doing?!?"

⮞ to say you're shielded would be an understatement.

⮞ ever since you were born, as the only babygirl in the household, both your brothers and your parents have taken care of you.

⮞ yeah, you fought with Ponyboy a lot in your toddler years —especially about your toys, but you all cared for each other.

⮞ and now that you're in the gang, it's like the protectiveness has multiplied enormously.

⮞ as the only girl in the group, you're the designated babysitter for Two-Bit's little sister if he ever has to bring her along. ^you'll both be in your room, doing her hair or painting her nails. ^she adores you.

⮞ the gang bullies you in a friendly way, and I mean that Dallas likes to make fun of your girly things (nail polish, curlers, plushies, etc)

⮞ Darry does all the cooking in the house, but you do the baking.

⮞ Steve loves you.

⮞ like he loves you a lot.

⮞ whenever the gang comes by to hang out at the house, you've baked or are baking something sweet for all of them to eat and he devours your chocolate cake like a fucking animal.

⮞ they all smoke like two packs of cancer sticks a day, but god forbid you ever touch one of those Darry'll cut your hand off.

⮞ you're not allowed to smoke or drink. ^Dallas has sneaked you a few cans of beer sometimes.

⮞ one time Dallas made fun of you for the faces you pulled while putting on mascara and the next second he had Steve and Soda holding him down forcefully as you put mascara on him. ^he was full on kicking and squirming around like the girl in the exorcist and screaming as if you were burning him 💀

⮞ since then he keeps his traps shut about you and your make-up.

⮞ you're actually Johnny's favourite out of the whole gang btw.

⮞ you're calm, and giggly and spend your time doing harmful but enjoyable things that he'd take over fighting anyday.

⮞ he likes to sit on your bed, reading one of your books, while you curl your hair or put on make-up.

⮞ Ponyboy is your forced and reluctant fashion man that will tell you "yeah, it looks good, like the one before" when you show him an outfit.

⮞ Soda's your biggest hypeman though, he'll actually tell you some pretty good advice on what looks better on you.

⮞ Darry won't admit it, but when you dress in something frilly or pink it gives him nostalgia of when you were a 6 year-old toddler running around on your glittery pink princess dresses.

⮞ We all know Soda is the middle man between Darry and Pony all the time. You, on the other hand, are never taken into account in their discussions.

⮞ Sad but true, they don't really hold your opinions as that important because you "don't know how the world works"

⮞ Steve and Dallas are always teasing you like those annoying gossip aunts in the Christmas dinner asking about a boyfriend.

⮞ they don't know you're staying clear of boys for your eldest brother's sake. Darry really doesn't need the additional stress of you being with some boy he doesn't know that well.

⮞ Anytime Tim comes to the house for whatever he'll give you clothes from his sister or stuff that she's grown out like a specific colour of nail polish or whatever.

⮞ you're not allowed to go to the rumbles, firstly because Ponyboy isn't either due to age and because you're a girl.

⮞ greasers don't pick fights with society girls, but society boys do pick fights with greaser girls.

⮞ you've got a curfew, and Darry will get even more worried than when he did with Pony if you ever get late.

⮞ you've got princess treatment from Soda and Steve whenever you drop by at the gas station to keep them company.

⮞ they tell you to just 'sit there and be pretty' (referring to the counter) whenever one of them has to go attend a customer.

⮞ you've actually, embarassingly so, when you were

younger had a huge crush on Dallas.

⮞ you were 10 and he was the handsome bad boy that tugged on your ponytails, what were you supposed to do?

⮞ he found out three years later, once you no longer where crushing on him, because Two-Bit ran his mouth too much and now he mocks you on it and calls you all kinds of nicknames just for funsies.

⮞ god forbid any of the boys hurts you with an insensitive comment because Darry will knock their teeth out of their mouths without hesitation.

⮞ one time Two-Bit said that your dress looked dumb while he was drunk and Darry grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and forced him to apologise to you and tell you that your dress was really pretty.

⮞ talking about dresses and Darry, he always measures that your skirt goes at least two fingers over your knee before letting you go out lol.

⮞ overall they just act like a bunch of overprotective —and idiotic— older brothers.

softfem-dom© do not repost!!

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redheadspark · 8 months ago

Text

Here (Part Two)

Summary - Azriel stays by his mate's side, not knowing his family is rallying behind him to find out who attempting to kill his mate

Warnings - Mostly Angst

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. I posted this as a sequel of Part One, which got insanely reactions! I am so glad you guys liked Part One and I hope you like Part Two!

Part Three Found Here

"What's the plan, Rhys?"

"I'm focusing more on my cousin's health and her life in the balance than dealing with her attacker."

"That's not where my head is,"

"Enlighten me then, Cassian,"

Cassian rolled his shoulders and eyed his High Lord as Rhysand was perched at his desk in his office, the sun setting over the rolling hills outside the River House, and the cooler air was blown onto the office with ease. Cassian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his head reeling with questions and scenarios that he wanted to figure out immediately. But Rhysand was remaining calm, too calm for the Illyrian Army Commander's liking. He considered the wounded Illryian who was asleep upstairs, his friend's mate, his family. Someone tried to hurt his family and take away his family, and Cassian was fuming from the inside out.

But he was also a changed Illyrian, just as Rhysand and Azriel were. They were all fathers now: Rhysand with Nyx, Azriel with Alec, and Cassian with his daughter Rose. His daughter, sweet and yet fiery Rose was a splitting image of her mother but had his infectious and playful heart. They all had offspring to protect and think about, no more rash decisions and acting out on a limb. The children had to come first, and Cassian was not willing to do anything that would bring his family harm. Azriel never did that himself, yet that led to Alec almost being killed as a toddler and Azriel's mate now in a bed upstairs hanging between life and death. Nesta would never let Cassian do anything like that, not just for Rose but for Nesta too.

Cassian was the one who found you first, sprawled on the forest floor bleeding from your wing and the arrow still hanging out of your wing. You both were out in the outline border of Velaris, Cassian getting a hunch that there were rogue beings there making their way across the border into Velaris territory. You on the other hand were meeting with some of the farmers and shopkeepers that lived in the cottages there to check on them and talk business in contributing to the Community Center.

Maybe it was fate that he was there and come enough to hear your scream out, but he knew your scream far too well from knowing you since you both were younglings. He flew towards the wail you let out, his heart hitting against his chest far too hard and thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Everything slowed down for him as he gathered you in his arms, you were out cold and the poison already working in your blood. He had to act quickly, time was of the essence, and your time was about to be snuffed out if he didn't get you help in time.

"The marks on the arrow," Cassian stated, reflecting on the arrow that was piercing your wing and sicking out so harshly that it sickened him to rethink it again, "We need to know where they came from so we get a hunch as to who did this,"

"I already have a big hunch, and I got in contact with the very High Lord that I'm thinking," Rhysand hummed, his cooldemeanor was hiding the anger he had. Cassian raised a brow at him as Rhysand rang his thumb over his fingers back and forth, a tactic he would use when he was thinking deeply, "High Lord Beron has been notified and is coming tonight,"

"What?" Cassian asked in shock, standing up stiffly and no longer leaning against the wall.

"He knows the utmost importance of this since it does involve my cousin…my fucking family," Rhysand said the last part in a low tone, not a growl but close enough, "We are going to meet at the Townhouse since I know both yourself and Nesta would rather not have the High Lord of Autumn Court in your home,"

Cassian snorted, then gave him a questioning look, "Does Elaine and Lucien know what happened?"

"Feyre reached out and told them to stay at their home here in Velaris for the time being. In fact, I don't want any of the Inner Circle going anywhere outside of Velaris until this is resolved once and for all. We either stay in our homes or at The House of Wind until I say so," Rhysand explained as his violet eyes looked out the window to see the last images of the sun still in the sky before it hid into the horizon.

"Is that an order?" Cassian asked, Rhysand’s eyes shot back to his Commander. Cassian, though tamer than he used to be when he was younger, was still reckless at heart at times. Something inside of him wanted him to find whoever did this and bring them pain. You were family to him, meeting him through Rhysand when he was a boy and considered him a brother of yours. His rational side was teetering to be pushed aside, and he was fine with it.

"I don't want another member of my family hurt, Cass. I consider you family, long before you became my brother-in-law. You need to think of your wife and daughter and that they need you," Rhysand explained to Cassian, seeing Cassian's eyes soften from the mention of Nesta and Rose, "We need to be smart about this, not reckless. I want you with me when we meet with High Lord Beron,"

Cassian hummed, knowing that Rhysand was right when it came to being reckless. He then gestured his head over to the doors that lead out of the office, "What about Azriel?"

"I don't want him anywhere else but with his wife, she's his priority now. And besides, I would rather not leave Azriel alone in the room with High Lord Beron. That's if Beron, or Autumn Court for that matter, did have something to do with this. He is not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere else,"

Cassian knew he was right about that too. The rage Azriel must be feeling at this moment, not knowing who in factharmed and attempted to kill his mate, must have been explosive. Cassian himself has been Azriel in such a way before, the anger that would fester deep down and be unlashed by either his shadows or his Truth Tellers. Cassian and strength behind him, but Azriel had something deeper.

Something more menacing.

"Alec is also staying here until his mother is well again, though he still doesn't know what precisely happened," Rhysand explained as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand near Cassian with his arms folded in front of him, "I don't want Alec anywhere else but here, he's my nephew and he needs to be protected now more than ever. We all do, but epically him: someone is hunting his mother and father, and I won't let him become an orphan under my roof,"

"None of us want that, Rhys," Cassian reasoned with Rhysand, "He's secure and protected here with you and Feyre, and he's safe with his father, the safest he’ll ever be,”

"Which is why we need to be smart. For now, let's just focus on this meeting with Beron and making sure my cousin is comfortable and safe while she heals and come back to full health," Rhysand stated, then pausing as he gave Cassian a more cornered look, "How is Alec and Azriel now?"

"Alec's okay, he just misses his mother. As for Azriel…it's hard for him," Cassian confessed. Rhysand hummed and rubbed his eyes, already thinking of the next steps that were to come. The meeting tonight would be far too important, life-changing, and yet his cousin was still in the back of his mind and her health was his main concern.

All he could do now was hold onto his Inner Circle, his family, so close in hopes they wouldn't slip away.

"Alright, buddy. Time for bed, okay?"

"Ok, daddy,"

Azriel softly smiled as he watched his son hop into the massive bed he was going to sleep in, the guest room that wasacross from where you were still sleeping and still healing. He left the door slightly open, being able to see you from where he was in Alec's guest room as Alec was settling into his bed.

Alec was only told that his mother was sick, severely sick, and he was not able to see her. Of course, it confused him at first, not understanding that he wasn't able to see his own mother since he had seen her sick before, but he knew better than to question his father. Seeing Azriel looking worn down and defeated made Alec worry all the more.

But Feyre was a step ahead, making sure he was well fed at dinnertime and kept him busy with his cousin Nyx until it was time for him to go to bed. Still, his mother was in the back of his mind, wondering what was it that made his mother so sick. He missed his mother, hugging her and hearing her voice telling him goodnight. Azriel tried his best to be present with Alec, but his son caught onto something that was hidden from him.

Perhaps a trait he inherited from his father.

"Alec, I know this is different from what we're used to," Azriel explained to Alec, who was watching his father with his wide blue eyes as he was snuggled under the soft sheets of the bed, "But you are being such a trooper for going with the flow of it all. I promise you that things are going to go back to normal soon, okay? As soon as momma is all better, we'll go back to our house and things will be back to the way they were,"

"Is it going to be forever?" Alec asked tentatively as he searched his father's tired eyes. Azriel felt a twinge of pain that his son was still kept in the dark, so speak, when it came to what truly happened to his mother. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was to lie to his son like this, to have that trust broken at any moment.

"No, not forever, baby," He reassured Alec as he pushed the inky black hair out of his son's blue eyes, "This is not forever, I swear to you. You believe me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alec replied, Azriel smiled at his son and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He was about to leave his son to sleep, and as Azriel eased himself up from the bed, Alec spoke up again in a gentler tone. So gentle, that it sounded like the curtains were swaying in his room from the night breeze.

"Daddy, is momma gonna be okay?"

Azriel could have cried then, seeing his son watch him for an answer. Azriel never wanted this for his family, the fear of losing someone he loved and another person he loved was filled with fear and worry. Alec was only four years old, far too young for something like this to happen in his life. Nothing could prepare him for this: consoling his son and hoping that his wife would pull through.

Alec needed his mother, Azriel knew that deep down. There was no greater bond than Alec's bond with his mother, it was thick and filled with so much happiness and love. Inwardly, Azriel wanted that himself with his mother, and he did have that in the blink of a moment when he was young. To see his mate give that same love to his son was beyond rewarding.

Now his son, looking at his father with worry in his young eyes, was asking about his mother.

"Yeah…yeah she's gonna be okay," he reassured Alec. He had to give Alec hope, the hope that his mother would be herself again. Although he had very little hope, he would at least give some of that hope to his son. He leaned down and kissed his son one more time, "Get some sleep, okay? I'm gonna check on momma and come back to you, I love you,"

"I love you too, Daddy," Alec replied, then curled into the bed under the sheets as Azriel moved away. He felt like he needed to be in two places at once: with Alec and with you. Although you were sleeping and till healing, Alec needed you and needed your warmth. Azriel wished he could change it all, make you all better so you can hold your son. Yet as he watched Alec fall asleep, facing the window with a look of peace on his face, Azriel could breathe a bit easier.

He kept the door into the guest room open slightly, mostly in case Alec needed him as he walked silently across the hall into the room where you were in. Still asleep, facing the empty chair where Azriel was perched for the past few hours, the moon shining into your room to cast a bluish light along your still wounded wings. Azriel could even see the moonlight shine through the thin membrane of your wings, showing the veins and the damage from the Ash Arrow.

But the way you were snuggled against the body pillow, head against the soft pillow, and your long hair draped over your shoulder, you looked more peaceful than you did earlier when Azriel found you. Azriel sat down on the chair, taking in a long breath as he held his hands together in his lap and watched you. Your deep breathing, the softness that was now slowly coming back along your skin and your cheeks thanks to the medicine from Madja.

"I might be talking to myself here, but I hope you can hear me," Azriel said aloud in the room, his voice sounding a bit raw as he watched you in earnest, "But I need you to pull through and get better. I….I don't think I can do this without you. I won't have the strength to, no matter how hard I'll have to try. I need you, our son needs you. He needs his momma, and I…I don't wanna do this alone and without you."

He might have sounded silly since he was talking alone in the room, but then again he needed to get it off his chest. Bottling up all his fear that he's had for the past few hours, would have suffocated him. The only person he was ever safe to unload his feelings, to be open and exposed therapeutically, was the one who was asleep in front of him and unable to be fully present with him.

"I'm sorry I failed you and couldn't protect you," Azriel admitted, sinking a bit in his chair as he was fiddling with his fingers, Clutching them together tightly and refusing to let them go, "I promised you when we were mated that I would protect you, keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. I broke that promise, and I know I can never repair that,"

He thought that if you were awake, you would reprimand him for being hard on himself. Azriel could even hear it clearly in his mind, your kind voice scolding him for being immensely harsh towards himself. You've always helped him out of his moods and insecurities, including what he does and how he takes care of others around him. Azriel thought back to a talk that he had with you when Alec was still a young infant, he was voicing his worry about taking care of his family and if he was doing enough.

He needed you to bring him back to the light, and not have him hide in the darkness.

Azriel reached out and took your hands in his own, feeling the coolness of your skin and yet how soft they were. Healways loved your soft hands, a soothing balm against his calloused and scarred skin. He leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, his lips along your skin had you shift in your sleep and hum.

"Sleep and come back to me, come back to us. Your son and I need you more than anything, so I need you to get your strength and open those eyes for me when you're ready. I'm here when you wake up, I promise. I love you more than life itself, more than my own life, and if I could trade mine for yours then I would in a heartbeat. Just gather your strength, we'll be here waiting for you," Azriel proclaimed to you and your sleeping form. He did speak the truth: he would trade his life for yours since at times he felt you had more good for the world than he ever did.

Azriel cannot picture a world without you, without any of your beautiful traits or your tender heart.

Azriel heard it, almost like a whisper, as he was dead asleep with Alec cradled in his arms in the spare guest room. His arms were tucked around his son, who was snuggled against his father and snoring softly. It was so soft, like a breeze, which didn't disturb the Spymaster at first.

But it was also distinct, not the sound of the curtains fluttering next to the bed or the very soft ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle. This was a shutter of a whisper, and it was calling his name.

Azriel…..Azriel….

His shadows hummed, licking along Azriel's arms as he stirred a bit in his sleep. Alec was thankfully a deep sleeper and stayed in slumber, even though his father was feeling the sensation not just with his shadows but in his mind. It was a familiar voice, so familiar that maybe it was a trick of the mind as Azriel took in a long breath. But he heard it again, a pinch louder and his name being called out as if the source was so far away. Fighting through a fog that was thick and almost recognizable.

Azriel…Azriel…

Azriel was still asleep, but it was becoming more alert as the voice was getting a bit louder now in his mind. It was no longer a dream, it was something else, something familiar to him. So familiar like coming through the front door of the small little cottage where he lived, or flying amongst the cloud with his wings stretched. Even the familiar touch of your lips against his own made him feel safe.

But he finally heard it, and his eyes shot open on high alert.

Azriel….I'm here…

It was you, your voice, speaking through the bond.

You were awake.

To Be Continued….

A/N - Part three?!?! Let me know if you want a part three!

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup @sizzlingstarlightsky @iluvyewman-blog @masbt1218 @a-courtof-azriel @homeslices @zanzie @topaz125

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glitter-stained · 2 months ago

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Let's talk about Jason's TBI(s) in Lost Days!!!

The first thing I'll say is, as I've stated before, Jason's outwards symptoms (which I've stated remind me of a particularly severe dissociative episode) make it almost impossible to determine the extent of his actual cognitive disability- though they do allow us to rule some things out. This is a rather baseless exercise in pondering what his cognitive issues would have been, aka what brain damage did the pit heal aside from jostling him out of the dissociative state. But hey, it's fun!

Simple physics

Now, I don't like physics. Physics math always tells you to approximate numbers and gives me the creeps, don't worry, we're talking toddler physics here (literally). We're doing a thought experiment. Also, er, tw for animal abuse (here and for the rest of this post) because of the questionnable thought experiment. Sorry. I promise no actual animals were harmed in the making of this post.)

First, take a box (must be solid, that's very important). Second, take a scoop of easily bruising organic matter (usually these physics thought experiments use a cat, which would be appropriate but is also really fucking cruel to picture.). It must be both soft and fragile (like me). This scoop of organic matter has several zones, including a zone on one side, which we'll call frontal loge, and a zone on the opposite side, which we'll call occipital lobe. Still with me? Now, what you're gonna do is, you're gonna put the scoop of organic matter in the box so that your body is facing the frontal lobe side, you're gonna seal the box shut, and then you're gonna kick the box as violently as you can.

Now let's open the box. Where will we find bruising? The first thing that happened when you kicked the box is you hit the frontal lobe, which was right behind the box wall: it has a very big bruise. The second thing that happened, is that, because the box is not a perfect plastic glove sealed tightly around the scoop, the soop of organic matter went flying in the box, and the occipital lobe hit the other side of the box: it also has one big bruise. And the third thing that happened, is that the movement of the organic scoop, when it went flying, jostled and damaged some of the fibers inside the scoop (shearing damage, much harder to evaluate than the first two kinds of damage.)

Hold on a second. Fibers? Why would there be fibers inside the organic scoop? Alas, I fear we must take one second to talk about...

#jason todd #dc #red hood #dc comics #red hood lost days #the jason todd psychology analysis meta #tw animal abuse #tw gore #i guess

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dumblittleboy19 · 4 months ago

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STORY TIME:

So I’ve never gotten personal on here much. You can call me Addie! If you’ve been on the abdl side of tumbler for 10+ years, I was the male half of ThatOddCouple. We obviously went our separate ways but still keep in touch!

I’ve been into ABDL well before I knew there was even a term for it. If I had to put a number to it, I was probably 10 or 11 when I started to notice I was …..interested in wearing diapers. But there’s a little more to it.

I grew up in a cul du sac with my older sister by 4 years and a bunch of kids slightly older than me. Only thing was that up until I was 10, I was the only boy among the group. And the youngest. And I was “forced” to be walked up and down and all over the cul du sac in their little strollers that their mom would let them use to play “house”. It happened a lot. And it got to the point that I would get jealous when they used the other girl close to my age to be the “baby”. I loved the attention.

At the same time, my mom had a childhood best friend that lived a neighborhood away from us with a son and daughter that were me and my sisters age. I’d sleep over there basically once a week minimum and they would sleep at my house. From toddlers up until middle school I did this. Apparently the son was a chronic bedwetter at night and to make him feel comfortable, she would make us both wear diapers. And she would put each of us in them herself before we got comfy to watch a movie or play video games. I remember sitting in the backseat of the car on the way home the next day and hearing my parents argue about how it was “weird” she did this to her son and me for so long. I LONGED for those sleepovers.

I know both of those stories sound like bullshit. They are real. The other side of this, the side people don’t talk about much, is the negative aspects of their kink. When my parents found out what I was looking at online and how active I was on the DailyDiapers forums (real ones know what’s up) that started an almost decades long cycle of being shoved into different therapists offices to be “fixed”. And whenever a therapist told them I was perfectly fine and not harming anyone, I was accused of lying to my therapists to get on their good side and sent to a new one. It was like this until the day I moved out at 26. To the point where I had to make up a reason WHY I was going to therapy to my vanilla friends and girlfriends.

I spent a lot of my life trying to separate the “vanilla me” and this side of me and in the past 5 or 6 years I’ve just embraced it more. I still keep things separate for the most part, but my closest friends know. I’ve had long term relationships with Mommies and I LOVE a FLR 😍

Always dreamed of having my own place to be little whenever I want and throw abdl parties and sleepovers and have a whole bunch of IRL abdl friends. I’d daydream about having that freedom constantly.

And now I’m doing just that. I host a month abdl banger in south jersey once a month. I’ve made so many friends in the New Jersey/Philly area and they are all such talented and amazing people. We’ve worked really hard this past year and the community we have built is SO amazing. I have become the safe house for people to come and feel like they can be themselves and be little (or be a mommy/daddy. Whatever you fancy). I’ve had people say to me that my house was the first time anybody else has even seen them in their full ABDL gear, let alone compliment them and call them cute and make them feel small.

I love this community and I wanna see it grow more and more. And if you are in the area and you think you’re alone, you’re not. Reach out and let’s be friends.

Well that’s my super long winded post! Thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far lmao.

That last pic I salvaged from the old ThatOddCouple tumblr page! I can’t believe I found it. If anybody has any other pictures from that page PLEASE share them with me.

#diaperboy #ab/dl diaper #diaper regression #diaper bulge #adult diaper lover #diaper training #ab dl lifestyle #abdlbabyboy

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pooks · 6 months ago

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You know what would be really funny? If Ichiji and Sanji are bickering over something silly and Ichiji takes a step towards Sanji with his hands raised a bit and Sanji flinches So Hard that he falls down and curls up on himself to protect his hands. Even better if it's after WCI, all Sanji can see is the bright red hair and the hands that used to hurt him so much when they were younger, and suddenly he's a toddler again, and his big brother is trying to break him.

Ichiji sees the way Sanji reacts to him, and he just breaks down. He's a monster again, and then he's 8 and hurting his little brother again, punching him, dragging him, breaking his precious hands that were made to create.

Sanji's reaction to being in stressful situations is to either cook a weeks worth of food or, if it's worse, he just dissociates, almost catatonic, for a few hours or the whole day. The strawhats had never seen the second state, but it happens often after WCI. And they never know what triggers it

Ichiji just cries for a bit, and then his face does this thing where you can't see any emotions at all, and spends the next few days in the library, working like there's no tomorrow. That also happens a lot more after WCI

That would he funny

(I have an hc that the poison Sora took did two things: worsen the modifications in the other three, making them basically emotionless, and also made Sanji experience every emotions but times a 100 in intensity. Ichiji gets better, but not quite, more like Reiju, but he gets Really protective of Sanji when he realizes how much Sanji feels)

Ooof, straight into the angst, I see? Thank you for the ask and here's my take;

(CWs for past child abuse, self-harm, suicidal ideation)

Sanji deals with this by stress-cooking & baking, it's his "happy place" so to say and it calms him down, allowing him to reflect on what just happened and think in a more rational way.

Ichiji doesn't have that luxury, he's mediocre at cooking/baking and he has servere self-worth issues. Post-WCI, he has unresolved suicidal ideation. Seeing his little brother react like that made him more convinced that he was a still irredeemable monster.

He locks himself in the library for days, he tries to use his writing as an outlet but it doesn't work out. Ichiji decides that he needs a physical outlet and he had vowed to never lay a finger on Sanji since they ran away from Germa first time. He gets the dangerous idea to take it out on the person he hates the most; himself. Once he gets that idea, it's stuck in his head.

Remember when Nami stabbed her arm when she was betrayed by Arlong in East Blue Saga? Ichiji is worse. Suddenly, he isn't at the Sunny anymore and he's back at Germa, strapped to a medical chair and is "experimented" on (read: tortured). Ichiji is back in his old mindset that he deserves the pain.

(This being post-WCI means that Ichiji's mental wellbeing is at its' lowest. And it got worse after seeing "Vinsmoke Ichiji" on his updated wanted poster.)

He eventually runs out of space on his arms (littered by fresh and half-healed scars). He leaves nothing on his hands because even in the depths of his self-harm breakdown, he can't bear to hurt his hands because of what Zeff taught him.

Running out of "self-harm space" means that Ichiji wakes up from his daze and realizes what he has done. He knows that he'll get an infection if leaves this untreated and sneaks into the infirmary. Well, he makes a lousy spy in this current state and Chopper freaks out when he sees what Ichiji has done to himself.

When asked what happened, Ichiji only responds "nothing happened". Chopper notices that Ichiji looks at himself and seems to be disgusted by himself and understands that Ichiji had a breakdown. He treats his open wounds properly and bandages them.

What happens then is that Chopper doesn't leave Ichiji unsupervised and ask the others to not let him out of their sight either. It's sorta an open secret amont the straw hats that Ichiji dehumanizes himself and believes everyone's better off without him.

Sanji eventually finds out what Ichiji did to himself and he wants to reach his older brother, but he doesn't know how to approach something like this. Out of options that won't make Ichiji probably worse or try to run away, Sanji decides to call Zeff on the den-den mushi.

They kinda bicker at each other for a long while until Sanji tells about WCI. He's shocked that Zeff already knew about Vinsmoke and what Judge did (since Ichiji told him many years ago and kept this away from Sanji). Zeff asks Sanji firmly to get Ichiji on the line, so they can talk.

Sanji doesn't know what Ichiji and Zeff talks about, but Ichiji cries a lot. He also catches on that Ichiji, even in his self-harm daze, never harmed his hands. It's very heartwarming that Ichiji took Zeff's lessons to heart.

Zeff acts like a mediator between them (read; tired dad who's sick of his stupid sons bickering). He also tells them to talk about their problems with grown men instead of acting like stupid brats. And the usual "don't make me go to the Grand Line to kick some sense in you!" and they know that he can, peg leg or not.

After the call ended, Sanji makes pan-fried seafood risotto (it's their comfort food). Ichiji tells Sanji that he wasn't going to hit him and he'd rather die than to do that again. Sanji quietly asks him if that was what he was trying to do.

Ichiji tells him the truth; he doesn't know why he did that to his arms, all he knew was that he was no longer on the Sunny (mentally) and finds the courage to tell what he endured for six months. What Judge did to him, as part of their "deal". It's a pretty heartwrenching discussion, both of them cries and hugs each other.

(At some point, Zoro walks in to get booze, sees them crying and hugging each other...and promptly walks out again. He felt this was something too personal for him to get involved with. Such an awkward marimo.)

For the next couple of days, Ichiji and Sanji are hardly far away from each other. Ichiji has moved his "writing session" to on deck, sitting by a small table with his typewriter (he uses a rock on his papers, to avoid them flying off to the seas). Sanji is doing laundry nearby and he likes the sound of Ichiji's clattering typewriter.

Also I like your headcanon, but also have my own; Ichiji always had emotions from the start, he was just manipulated and gaslighted that he didn't have any. In many ways, he was similiar to Reiju but add to the fact that he didn't know what emotions was and all he knew was that having emotions was strictly forbidden in Germa.

Also if you look closely in the flashbacks, Ichiji is somehow always standing next to Sanji (which breaks how they're supposed to be lined up in chronological order). Whenever they are lined up, sitting next to him in classroom, etc. And his eyebrows are the same as Reiju (and not like Njii or Yonji), but it isn't very noticable because of his hair covering one eye.

Anyways, thank you for the ask. :3

#answered asks #ask pookily #one piece #one piece ichiji #one piece sanji #vinsmoke ichiji #black leg sanji #whole cake island #straw hat ichiji au #one piece au #ichiji runs away with sanji au #whole cake spoilers #whole cake arc

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ropebuny · 24 days ago

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have you even ever been raped before? it's just disgusting, because being raped is one of the most awful things in the entire world. i wish i could remove my pain and give it to someone who "wants" it.

I have been raped and sexually assaulted / abused multiple times throughout my childhood, both as a toddler and as well as a young teen, by strangers as well as friends (who I thought were my close friends at the time, who I could trust) & by my high school boyfriend at the time, as well as by a family member. I am fully aware how disgusting it is and what a horrible experience it is, and I have been diagnosed with ptsd because of how these experiences have negatively impacted me going forward in my life. I have panic attacks when walking anywhere alone, I literally cannot be left alone with an older stranger or I will have a panic attack, I have constant flashbacks and nightmares and intrusive thoughts bringing me back to my assaults every single day, my main reason for self harm have always been these experiences, and I never received any justice for what had happened and I had also never received any support from my parents or friends at the time. I could never talk about these experiences with anyone because it was too taboo to bring up, no one wants to hear that and people would get visibly uncomfortable when I tried to speak on it. I completely understand what a sick act rape and sexual assault are, and how badly it can fuck you up because my experiences have definitely completely rewired my brain to the point that I never feel truly safe when left alone with someone, close friend or not. I have also been sexually assaulted multiple times since turning 18 and becoming legally an adult, though the cnc fantasy is mostly based around my childhood trauma. it’s where my fantasy to be taken against my will stems from mostly. I want to be able to turn these past experiences into enjoyable ones with my lover, and I want to feel safe knowing that it’s not real. feeling the security in knowing that I can say a safeword whenever and they will immediately stop. that makes me feel like I am now the one in charge. that I am the one who has the ability to choose whether it continues or not, because when I was being assaulted in real life, I always froze. I always froze and did nothing to help myself or stand up for myself, I just let it happen out of freezing terror that overcame me. when playing around with a partner, I have that security that it’s not real, that I’m not actually in danger. that I am the one in charge finally.

I feel really fucked about having these desires too, and me and my psychiatrist have been trying to work out what might be beneficial for me and he seems to be accepting of me exploring cnc with someone I trust and reshaping my traumatic experiences into something new, into feeling desired on an unhealthy level by my partner. I’m not too sure how to explain it. I apologise for any discomfort my posts have caused you and I am sorry for what you went through. my posts were never meant as me wishing genuine and non-consensual trauma upon myself, it was all meant to be understood as consensual play between me and a trusted, loving partner. my posts were never meant to be condoning these acts in the real world, outside of consensual play between adults who love each other. I know that I am safe when indulging in this play with my trusted partner, and it turns that previously negative experience into a now positive one that brings me closer to my partner due to the intense trust that we have been able to form in order for me to even want to engage in such play. it’s not something I engage in with random people, I need to know and trust the person who is roleplaying as an abuser. but that’s just how I personally experience cnc, I know others don’t mind engaging in this kind of play with strangers as well.

I understand your concerns, and I really hope you are healing from your experiences, but I also don’t feel too good having to write out my defense on here on why I should be ‘allowed’ to have certain fantasies. I don’t like talking about the real rape / sexual abuse that were forced on me throughout my childhood, many people on here get off on actual trauma stories and I never felt comfortable bringing up my real experiences because of that very reason. that’s why I never went into detail regarding what trauma I personally have and have not experienced on this blog because I wanted to keep it strictly sexual and consensual on my page, and I never felt that me bringing up my real experiences, especially the ones from my childhood, would benefit me in any way at all - and might actually, and very likely, put me in uncomfortable situations with weird people (who are into getting off on real trauma stories) then engaging with me.

I remember seeing a girl on here being asked by an anon if she’s ever been raped and she replied with something like “nooo, I wish I was >_<“ and I remember how horrible it made me feel regarding my experiences as well. so I entirely understand where you’re coming from and I am truly sorry for the trauma that you have experienced and I apologise that my blog has affected you in a negative way, it was never my intention. although people who have been abused throughout their life, like you and I, are very likely to develop sexual desires and kinks that explore their trauma. but sometimes, people who have no experience with that whatsoever, like that girl I mentioned a few sentences ago, will also develop them. and they aren’t necessarily automatically bad people for it either. it all depends on how you act outside of kink. although within kink respect of course still always matters, e.g. if you ignore a safeword you are a bad person, end of. I meant it more like the goodness of your heart is shown more when it comes to real situations, outside of kink; like the respect you have towards victims and towards your traumatised partner with whom you are indulging in this sensitive fantasy play with, how you treat these people outside of the kink world, in the real world where it’s different & it’s not just strictly fantasy and pretend. and that you are able to differentiate the two worlds, and are able to understand how certain kinks should not align with your real, genuine values or morals (e.g. being into cnc as a kink shouldn’t mean that you support or condone real rape and sexual assault, being into ageplay shouldn’t mean that you support or condone child exploitation, being into superiority & inferiority powerplay shouldn’t mean that you support or condone the patriarchy, being into petplay and enjoying seeing your partner act animalistic or wear animal ears & tails shouldn’t mean that you support or condone people having sex with real animals, etc). it’s all a play pretend fantasy, and the way people act within the kink world can drastically differ from how they act in the real world. your real life values & morals, and the way how you treat real people in real everyday situations, matters. and what you do consensually with a trusted and loved partner (and what is considered solely fantasy and play) consensual and appropriate environment, shouldn’t influence how you see the real world, the world outside of kink.

EDIT: I literally proved my point about how bad people on here will immediately jump at the opportunity to message you as soon as they find out that you have real genuine trauma, by receiving this dm not even 20 minutes after posting this ask answer:

#my asks

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toomanythoughts2 · 6 months ago

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Dethklok Agere HCs: Murderface Edition

🗡️🎸🖕🤬🪖👨‍🚒🍺🤮💩💢🏌️‍♂️🐯🌭🍨📱⚔️🛡️🏹⛓️🩸🚽🚬

After Toki, I wanted to do my second favorite member of Dethklok: Murderface! I see so much of myself in him and it's hard to not notice the signs. He means a lot to me, especially as someone who also grew up with their grandparents. I hope to do the rest of the band soon. So, this is my boy Murderface 🗡️!

Everything is below the Keep Reading tab.

(Murderface, you are so unwell and I just want to take care of you and show you that you are worthy of love and acceptance.)

🗡️ Ok, so, I think Murderface's regression range is higher than Toki's toddler head-space but not as old as Pickles, who I think is an older/pre-teen regressor. I would say he's around 5 to 8. He's old enough to be by himself and play but small enough to still need help occasionally.

🗡️ As I said before on Toki's post, I don't think Murderface's regression is easily as recognizable as regression. A lot of times, the band thinks he's just being his attention-seeking self. Murderface doesn't even recognize that he's regressing until he's done regressing and feeling weird about it.

🗡️ Murderface, I believe, has voluntary age regression, or Age Dreaming. However, I think his body recognizes that he needs to regress to decompress, so he'll naturally go do those things or behave that way to help regulate those emotions. It gets worse the angrier or more depressed he gets. It's like his body is consciously making him regress without Murderface having the word to know what he's doing. He can stop "regressing" when he wants to, and has the ability to not do it in the first place, but it's been his coping mechanism for so long, he doesn't know what else to do. Mind this, Murderface's regression isn't about just being a baby, I do believe his regression is tightly connected with his self-harm and child-hood trauma. For instance, his inability to care for his personal hygiene is a type of passive self-harm but his regression (tied to his childhood) makes it hard for him to change that habit. Where Toki uses his regression to protect himself, Murderface's regression keeps him trap in his childhood. It won't be until Murderface recognizes he is regressing and working on his mental health will he be able to use his regression to help himself. (I hope this makes sense.)

🗡️ I think he started regressing a lot earlier than people think but they were just unable to identify it at first. I think he began regressing as young as a middle schooler, but the regressing was so minute and so insignificant that no one ever caught it. Additionally, I think middle school is where Murderface first develops the majority of his mental health issues like depression and an eating disorder.

🗡️ It's not until Murderface is taking care of Toki when he regresses that he starts noticing the signs of his own regression. The band all have group mandatory meetings with Dr. Twinkletits about how to best care for Toki and how to spot the signs of his regression to minimize dangerous situations. Murderface is very quiet during those meetings after the realization.

🗡️ While Pickles or Nathan are usually the more knowledge in the topic now, as they are Toki's main CGs, it's Skwisgaar that notices Murderface showing signs of regression first while watching Toki play with Murderface in the living room. He's talks to the rest of the band before they decide to talk to Murderface about it.

🗡️ Of course he heavily denies the claim and refuses to hear anymore about it. But now that the band is aware, they all keep an eye on him just in case.

🗡️ This is a HC of mine that has been stuck forever, but I believe the first time Murderface fully lets himself regress in front of the others is at the beach. The idea is that Toki and Murderface run off together while the other three stay on the beach. Toki regresses and Murderface is stuck taking care of him but the longer he's with him, the calmer he gets. He wants to be like Toki too and just enjoy himself. So they spend the afternoon having fun and going in shops and walking the boardwalk. They come back and Toki collapses on Skwisgaar for a much needed nap. The band fully expects Murderface to sit in his own chair and do the same but he ends up just standing next to Pickles. Pickles has no idea what he's doing but he longer he stands there, the clearer the image appears. It isn't until Murderface asks if he can nap with Pickles do they all realize what is happening. It's a very delicate situation and no one is trying to mess with it, so Pickles says yes and lets Murderface nap with him on his chair. Nathan is busy texting Charles while Pickle holds Murderface. Toki is fast asleep and Skwisgaar is feeling proud of himself for being so observant.

🗡️ Once Murderface was identified as a regressor, a lot of past incidents began to make sense, including the disturbing ones.

🗡️ Murderface self-harms but that doesn't stop in his regression. If Murderface is feeling too little to SH "properly" (like cutting), he will hurt himself in ways that he can like banging his head against walls and hitting himself. He will bite himself and scratch at his skin. Nathan has taken to holding him against his chest to get him to stop.

🗡️ I like to think that Murderface's eating disorder, which I HC as binge eating, is also related to his childhood trauma thus connected to his regression. The combination of self-hatred, depression, and regression make it hard for Murderface to regulate his feelings about food, so he does what knows can "fix" that problem, which is eating. And the more upset he gets, the messier he gets. He uses his hands instead of silverware, he switches between plates before finishing one off, he lets the food and drink spill and stain him. I HC that Murderface grew up in poverty, so there was never enough food inside the house, so he was always hungry. He's confusing his depression with hunger, thinking that if he just eats, he'll feel better because he was always hungry when he was sad. But the older he got, the less this became true but the habit already formed. Regression happens while he's in the process of binge eating. He's slipping into a mindset where this has to make sense, even if it hurts him.

🗡️ Ok, enough of the sad, backstory HCS. Murderface has a hot wheels car track that he sets up in his room or the living room where he races his hot wheels. The others join in as well and it's a good time (as long as Murderface wins a majority of the time).

🗡️ Murderface's regression is not as "baby" as Toki's. A lot of it is very typical young boy interests like cars, trucks, war, and guns. He likes video games and stupid, crude humor like South Park.

🗡️ I don't see him using a lot of traditional regression supplies like bottles or clothes. He likes to remain as he his and doing what he's doing while regressed. Though, he does like to be in comfier clothes when he regresses, so he will change into sweats or worn shirts.

🗡️ Because Murderface is able to identify that he is choosing to regress in moments of stress, he's been able to make great work with Dr. Twinkletits about his mental health.

🗡️ The band is very supportive of him, much to his surprise. He didn't think they would be anything but begrudgingly helpful. But they are genuinely understanding.

🗡️ While I do not think Murderface needs or wants a caregiver like Toki, he does spend a lot of time near Nathan when he feels particularly small. He looks up to Nathan a lot, and wants to be around him.

🗡️ If Pickles notices that Murderface is feeling smaller than normal, he'll quietly switch a few things around to help him drop. He's gotten very good at body language (hand on the back, raking fingers through his hair) and communication (chosen phrases or names that solidify his regression, words of encouragement)

🗡️ Murderface has a lot of crying spells and tantrums that no one can make a lot of sense of, including Murderface. His tantrums aren't like Toki's, which resemble an actual toddlers tantrum. His tantrums look like his normal behavior, except they're followed by tears or a high level of nonsense. His biggest tell is if what he's yelling about isn't even close to the situation he's in. When he's small, he overthinks every little movement or word and worry's about what they mean. These thoughts happen so fast that it's hard for him to track just how he got to his tantrum in the first place.

🗡️ Murderface won't take bubble baths like Toki, but he is much more willing to bathe now that he understands his regression and his depression. He'll put on music while he showers and watch youtube videos on how to take care of his hair. He's still scared that if the band sees him trying they'll make fun of him, but he has to remind himself that this is for himself, not the others.

🗡️ Skwisgaar will often offer to brush through Murderface's hair before bed if he knows he's had a long day. Something about being taken cared of just relaxes Murderface and makes him feel small.

🗡️ Surprisingly, no one in the band is Murderface's favorite. It's actually Knubbler. (He's alive, shut up.)

🗡️ He's an IPad kid (Obviously) but its obnoxiously worse when he's regressed. Pickles as gotten really good at parent locking his IPad to certain hours so he won't use it while they're eating dinner or lunch. Murderface despises it but he also knows if it wasn't there, he would be playing car revving videos at 100% volume while eating.

🗡️ Skwisgaar is very attentive when he wants to be, so he's constantly gently doing things that make Murderface drop without necessarily meaning to, but Murderface never forces himself to stop the feeling. Toki needs a lot of support in his regression, so Skwisgaar naturally does those "Caregiver" things already. Like, cleaning dirty fingers after eating, moving hair out of his face while he's busy doing something, fixing blankets around shoulders, gently moving them int he right direction if he begins drifting away. Murderface doesn't encourage them but he never denies them.

🗡️ Toki adores it whenever any of the other band members are regressed because he feels like he can finally give back after having them all take care of him. He loves playing with Murderface with his cars or playing pretend. Problems happen when Toki accidently regresses in the middle of it.

🗡️ Murderface loves playing pretend war. He has his wake guns with the nerf bullets and the plastic hat. He hides under tables and behind doors and shoots whoever walks by. He's only ever gotten in serious trouble when he got Charles in the butt in his office when he was on a phone call.

🗡️ Speaking of trouble, Murderface does get into some trouble when he's small. The band does not discipline him like they would discipline Toki with a time out, but Nathan does scold him. He's the only one that gets to him when he's small and knows that he's serious.

🗡️ He wants a dog so bad but he's scared the guys won't let him. Skwisgaar and Toki will take him to the local animal shelter to play volunteer. It lets him get all his energy out with the dogs and play fight with the bigger dogs.

🗡️ He will NOT sit a chair correctly. Upside down or on his side ONLY! (Projection as I laid in arm chairs sideways during this age.)

🗡️ He loves He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, He-Man and She-Ra: The Secret of the Sword, TMNT, G.I.Joe, M.A.S.H., Ghost Buster The Animated Show, Thundercats, and Transformers. He's got good taste for older cartoons and shows. It's his biggest tell that he's small or trying to get small is if he's watching one of these shows. However, if he's watching Gilligan's Island or Walker: Texas Ranger, he's trying to get small and be sad. I HC that these are the shows his grandma and grandad would watch when he was a kid.

🗡️ As a child raising by her grandparents, I think Murderface's regression triggers are related to a lot of things that his grandparents did in the house. This could mean the good, the bad, and mundane things. The snapping of a belt, or an expired discontinued perfume, or the sound of an old TV clicker. But also, certain music.

🗡️ So, Murderface is canonically partially Native American (Thunderbolt) but I also adore him being part Hispanic/Latino (Stella being an Americanized version of Estella) Top that off with him being some southern, rural part of America, his music exposure is all over the place. Three types of music help him regress the most: Bluegrass, Hispanic (Salsa + Cumbia + Bachata), and Thrash. I HC that his grandfather played bluegrass before having his stroke and he played some type of string instrument such as lap steel guitar or a mandolin. The sound of it reminds him of sitting in church or his grandfather playing in his spare time around the house. Hispanic, specifically those genres, remind him of his grandmother's radio in the kitchen. She always had something playing while she cooked or cleaned or played dominos with the other older women of the town. On very rare moments, she would dance with Thunderbolt while smiling. It's some of the only calm times in the house. Thrash reminds him of being young and finding music that felt like him. It would remind him of car rides with uncles and staying over at old childhood friends houses and older male cousins that never let him in their rooms. Music helps him regress a lot, whether he wants it or not. (This is all projection btw. Grandfather played bluegrass with a guitar and my father listened to Thrash in the car with me.)

🗡️ He has a very hard time with food when he's small. He eats too much because of part of him is worried about the next time he'll ever get to eat again. Pickles has to constantly remind him that the food isn't going anywhere and if he's full, he can stop eating.

🗡️ Nathan humors Murderface more when he knows he's small. He'll listen more closely to him about song suggestions or his interests.

🗡️ Very rarely will he ask for help when he's small but it does happen. Things like needing help tying shoes or buttoning shirts he will need help in. He also needs help cutting food.

🗡️ He loves swimming. He probably had a lake, river, or pond near him growing up that he swam in. When he's small and it's hot, he wants to play in the pool. He wants to play sharks and minnows, Marco Polo, scavenger, races, and dunking games. He plays with Toki the most but can occasionally get them all involved. Charles usually watches over them all when they do all get in.

🗡️ Hates sunscreen and will run and hide before getting any on his skin.

🗡️ He info dumps big time. To a point where no one has any idea what he could possibly be talking about. He's a big history nerd, so it's a lot of war facts, early American facts, and other miscellaneous facts about cars and guns.

🗡️ Being regressed exposes a lot of his old childhood beliefs, but the biggest ones are the Appalachian superstitions he grew up believing. Charles had an upside down horseshoe places above every outside door for good luck. The klokateers can't wash clothes on Sundays. He refuses to leave a room out a different door than the door he came through. Some of them are funny though like an itchy ear meaning someone is talking about you. He once told that to Toki who immediately went to Skwisgaar to confront him for talking about him. (Skwisgaar was actually talk about him to Nathan but he won't admit it.)

🗡️ Strong physical contact is his best friend for calming down. Just like how adult Murderface likes Pickle's back rubs, regressed Murderface likes head rubs. Something about the pressure feels good and calms him. They use this to prevent any tantrums.

🗡️🎸🖕🤬🪖👨‍🚒🍺🤮💩💢🏌️‍♂️🐯🌭🍨📱⚔️🛡️🏹⛓️🩸🚽🚬

That's all I got for my boy! He is a bit of a challenge, but once I got into his boyish mind, I could really channel him better. I love him so much. Obvi, if you have any HCs of your own, tell me about them! OK, love you, bye! 👋

#william murderface #metalocalypse #dethklok #Murderface agere #metalocalypse age regression #dethklok agere #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #charles offdensen

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junespriince · 7 months ago

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Last post for now I have attacks to finish up and start, winged heart au, Slade bullying because if that man has no haters I died.

Wally, kidnapped: once again, I am regretting leaving Central at this point. At least Dr. Zoom just wanted to rip my heart out.

Slade: shut up, god he really like the talkative ones.

Wally: excuse you, some people just have better taste. And that's talkative doctor to you, Didn't waste my time getting my doctrine for Dr. Not to be used, god damnit.

Slade: ain't you scared? You are kidnapped, by me,,, I can kill you, you know. I'm going to use you to get Nightwing to join me, have something!

Wally: you think you're the only person who kidnapped me before? To harm that feral bird of a man? Been there, done that, got the scars and T-shirts.

Slade: well, I'm much —

Wally: more cruel, and will make you regret this calm attitude, blah, blah, blah. I've seen more scarier toddler in the pediatric office during vaccine time than this.

Slade: I'm much more threatening than a toddler!

Wally: says the deadbeat dad who never seen his toddlers, really something there.

Slade: I don't need this!

Wally: a moment of silence for the one intelligent thing he said today, because there's not gonna be a repeat.

Slade: ugh one more word and I'll forget the plan and gut you now.

Wally, stubborn, glare: make my day, sunshine.

A few hours, Nightwing came in and saw Slade weeping in the corner and Wally untying himself.

Dick: are you hurt!?

Wally: rope burns but that's it, he'll probably need therapy for the tongue lashing I gave him.

Slade, sobbing: just take him! Get him away from me! I'm not stupid, you are!

Wally: if your wits were as sharp as you said you'd be welding a butter knife.

Slade, crying: stop it!!

Wally, poke Dick in the chest: you owe me a dinner, I'm starving, do what you need to do though first I'll be waiting outside. *Left*

Dick, jaw drop: I'm going to marry him so hard!

Slade: no! Don't! He's a monster!

Dick: shut up, you grown ass man.

#dick grayson #wally west #slade wilson #birdflash #winged heart au #i really hate this man with a passion #i will bully him forever #if i die my last words will be : slade a bitch ass pussy of a character *dies in serving cunt*#if i have children they will be tasked to bully this man #i love him but i hate him if it makes sense #Anywhoozie back to drawing! after i eat lol woopsie #i wask talking to Nebby about another idea okay #she's asleep tho

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kityana · 1 year ago

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#i was actually surprised at how quickly they dropped their weird version of blackhands #like for over a year now they've been writing blackhands as this abusive relationship with ed as an uncontrollably violent toddler #which. you know. incredibly racist on its own #but then they claim they actually got it in canon and it's too much so they drop the brown guy and ship the white guys exclusively? #very very weird

^^its not actually weird at all!! it’s very simple: the brand of blackhands these shippers loved is when they could portray the relationship as constantly imbalanced in izzy’s favor bc ed needed to do so much work to Atone and izzy was a poor helpless victim to ed’s violence. and when i say they wanted that relationship constantly imbalanced i mean CONSTANTLY constantly, like they needed ed groveling they needed izzy being doted on they needed the entire dynamic of their relationship to be centered around how izzy is finally getting the love he “deserves” for putting up with ed and being ed’s victim for so long.

and now they got the first half of the dynamic they wanted which is ed being a domestic abuser and izzy being the target of ed’s abuse (i mean, they didn’t actually get it, but they THINK they did) but they had a part two to the dynamic that they didn’t end up getting which is “ed is permanently put in the doghouse” and to them, ed saying “sorry bout your leg” was not NEARLY enough groveling.

and!! ed even got to be happy in the season despite not fixing his relationship w izzy!! bc these fans only think abt any aspect in the show when they’re thinking abt “how can i make this about izzy” so like to them the most important part of any narrative analysis of ed revolves around his relationship with izzy (this is why ed leaving in 1x07 is abt missing izzy and not abt him being unsure of his relationship w stede, why they’ve written metas abt how the chain and run from me are edizzy songs, why there were headcanons that thankfully got squashed pretty quickly they DID exist for a minute abt how ed grew out his hair bc izzy had long hair when they were younger and ed thought it was cool) and they expected the show to write ed this way, too.

and then the worst part (and also the part i've seen izzy stans analyze the LEAST which is in no way a coincidence) is that in izzy's dying words he admits to Fueling Ed's Darkness for his own personal gain. he apologizes for being cruel to ed. and outside of their buzzword phrases about how this was a portrayal of "an abuse victim apologizing to their abuser" i haven't seen anyone from the izzy stan crowd dig into what it actually MEANS and what kind of harm izzy caused by feeding ed's darkness and pushing ed to be blackbeard, like they're acting as if izzy’s literal actual last words have no narrative significance whatsoever. but you’ll notice there are MANY posts from izzy stans abt how horrific the violence ed did to izzy was and how tragic it all is for poor izzy :(

so yeah. the three-hit combo of 1. not enough focus on ed atoning for harming izzy, 2. ed being allowed happiness despite not having properly atoned for harming izzy, and 3. the finale directly saying “izzy did bad things in this relationship, too” are why they fully fucking hate ed now and have abandoned ship to start writing stizzy now. like, we have a few stede and izzy interactions in s2, but for the most part their relationship is a blank enough slate that they can create a whole fully-fleshed out (and, lbr, probably very generic and overused) fanon dynamic out of scraps. but ed was given too much attention from the story outside of just being a vehicle to project izzy’s desires onto and also the source of izzy’s trauma and they can’t reconcile their version of edizzy with what happens in canon. thinking abt edizzy means thinking abt how canon didn’t punish ed enough and how ed got a happy ending when izzy didn’t, even tho in their minds ed is the reason for the majority of izzy’s misery.

sorry lol “it’s actually very simple” i say before depositing five hefty paragraphs into ur inbox

(this is in reference to my tags on this post)

yeah that is a pretty good summation of everything.

tho thinking about it, i do think there's a secret 4th component as to why they're now dropping ed completely and shipping stizzy, which is how stede became more masc this season. i think the show makes it pretty clear the reason for it is that stede thinks he has to become more masculine and violent to get ed back and keep him, but that doesn't really matter to them. the fact remains that stede is now dressing in muted colors and leather, and pulls out his sword on a dime. so now they're more comfortable enjoying him.

#Our Flag Means Death #Stede Bonnet #The Gentleman Pirate #Edward Teach #Blackbeard #Izzy Hands #fanfiction

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anamericangirl · 1 year ago

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Hey there, I discovered your blog a few days ago and have been reading all your posts since, and I must say I like them very much. I do have one question though, on the topic of abortion. I wouldn't say I am pro abortion, because to me, all life is valuable. But what would you say if an underage girl was r@ped? Cases like this have occurred, there was even a girl that got pregnant at four years old, and had the child at five, which was a result of her uncle r@ping her.

In cases like that, would you say that abortion may be an option, maybe even a good one? She herself was only a toddler, and carrying out a pregnancy at such a young age is a great threat to both the mother and the child, and could mean the death of both. Also, in this specific case, it was %ncest, which could have fatal consequences for the child later on.

I'd just like to hear your opinion on this.

Hi! Thanks so much!

When a child, or anyone, is raped that is a horrific circumstance that absolutely needs to be addressed. And if that rape resulted in a pregnancy, that creates an even more delicate situation and it needs to be addressed in a way that causes the least harm and doesn't bring about even more violence.

The foundation of my pro-life position is that the preborn baby is a living human being from the moment of conception and their life is just as valuable as the girl carrying them, regardless of how they were conceived. Because of this, I can't support abortion even in cases of rape.

If a minor is raped and becomes pregnant, the thing is now we don't just have one person we have to consider and care for. We have two. Two children. Both innocent. We can't kill one innocent child for the sake of another.

This is also because I care about the child who was raped. Even though I can completely understand the fear and sympathize with the victim, the fact is, as I've discussed a lot on my blog, abortion isn't safe. And it remains not safe even if the person undergoing it is a child. A child should never be pregnant or have to go through childbirth, but nor should they ever have to have an abortion.

Even though a pregnant child is never a good thing, biologically speaking, if a female, regardless of age, is capable of getting pregnant, then her body is capable of undergoing the birth process. What the child needs is thorough medical care and monitoring because the best and safest thing is to go through the natural process instead of an invasive procedure that forces her body to birth a dead baby long before it's ready.

Abortion doesn't erase the baby. It kills them. And then it makes the mother deliver her dead baby and dispose of them. It's a horrific thing to happen.

The girl and the baby are innocent and we can help the girl heal from her traumatic experience without killing a different child whose only crime is existing. They can both live. Even if it's incest, the baby doesn't deserve to be killed. They deserve to be given a chance at life.

The fact is, once a girl or woman is pregnant, the baby has to be delivered somehow. There's no getting around that. Abortion doesn't erase this fact or erase the trauma of the rape. In fact, many rape victims have said getting an abortion did not help their healing. Everyone thinks giving birth once pregnant is the ultimate form of torture and trauma but it's not. And only people who don't know anything about childbirth and are just trying to villainize pro-lifers would call childbirth a trauma inducing experience. No, a child should never have to endure it but abortion would be no less of a traumatizing experiencing for a child. I think it would be horrific to give birth to a corpse. I don't think there is ever a time where killing an innocent child is a good option.

Abortion in cases of rape is just continuing the cycle of violence by killing a person who didn't do anything wrong and doesn't deserve it. It's not safer for a child to go through an abortion procedure than it is to give birth and as someone who cares about the baby and the rape victim I can't ever endorse abortion. There are always other, better options.

#anon #answered

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spotsupstuff · 5 months ago

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can i have a summary of your AU? it seems like something different and ORIGINAL for once, focusing on the benefactors and not demonizing them to hell and back like everybody else does

Philosophy Sessions gets its name from an idea for a comic of Moon (while Survivor is still visiting) addressing her relationship with the Anemons (the "Ancients"' species name here) and her own faults like tolerating harm for too long. By herself, she comes to the conclusion that though the relationship/s she had with them were once good, they eventually became rotten and bad for her. She has a session philosophising about it all.

The AU's happenings keep the theme.

The main things happen in a different Iterator group (The Children of Eo/group Epsilon) from the one in-game (Wish for Tomorrow/group Tau, though sometimes it'll be nice for them to pop up and I'm not against making something for them from time to time either), during the time the Anemons still lived. Through characters, I aim to explore the spiritual/religious, philosophical, psychological and sociological aspects of their world.

It's meant to be more of a think-piece than a story, tool for exploration the complexities of anger, sex, attachment, relationship with being alive at all and coping with being terribly hurt.

Currently I mainly work on the worldbuilding through info posts so I have a solid ground to put these softer things on, along with some goofing off with the characters since knowing them is vital for these themes.

If served in a story format, I divide it into four "books": • The Polar War • Biography of a Sparrow • The Ending Chime • Transfiguration

The Polar War is about a war confict between group Epsilon and a group north from them, Rho/Frost's Promise.

It revolves around a "society" vs "society", the reason for the conflict is unclear, the main questions are ,,Why and how can a society preaching these spiritual values get into a war? How far are they willing to go?" with secondary questions of ,,How would the Iterators do in a large violent situation? How would a war conflict work for this world where death is... not really a thing?"

Biography of a Sparrow is about a low karma Anemon in the golden age, from the low castes, Three Sparrows on a Wire. This is the oldest part conceptualized, most developed, with Sparrows being my first Anemon character.

She lands herself a spot in a school for Iterator mechanics, an incredibly demanding job that ends up misplacing her into the high caste. She's also very bad at the spiritual things, the job puts a strain on her relationships with family and her priorities, her Iterator charge falls in love with her complicating things tremendously and her past lives are rather dark, loud in her dreams.

The goal is exploration of the Anemons' social structures and the spiritual concepts as she eventually begins confronting her faults and learning better.

The Ending Chime has a 16 year old high karma Anemon boy, real name secret for now and nicknamed Preacher, for protagonist.

The story takes place during the last months of the Anemons' existence. Preacher is faithful to the spirituality, but despises the religion that has gone corrupt. He was sold to the religious command of the community as a toddler in exchange for his parents being pardoned for having sex with a resulting accidental child. The caretakers, with an actual preacher as a sort of leader, have mistreated him and other given up children. The broken tooth and lip scar he has are from a bad slap from the preacher for questioning the religion when he was 10. That kind of stuff.

During one night of doubt and resentment on the kid's part, Théta, the highest yet forgotten god, contacts him and supports his decision to run away to join a rebelion against all of this. During his journeys we get to know how the society has changed since Sparrows, we get to see spiritual creatures, old corrupt gods and echoes of the past, while also getting to meet more Iterators and getting some lessons from them.

We all already know that Preacher won't get to win, though.

Transfiguration is about Théta stepping down into physical existence as the Saint to free the Iterators from their suffering, specifically about those in group Epsilon. Here, he is joined by the Iterator Biting Notos who lives more as an overseer at this point than the whole bio-computer thing.

They travel together, discussing the ages past, Notos' regrets and conflictions about helping the Saint do its quest and listening to the dying Iterators' last thoughts, last philosophy sessions.

#Spot says stuff #rw #philosophy sessions au #it's long but there is a lot of potential to cover and all of it I am interested in #the first ''book'' is currently least anchored in what i want from it

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senjutsunade · 7 months ago

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|| We all know that Tsunade was completely left to her lonesome once her brother, grandmother and Dan passed. Unable to count on the support of her friends and teammates, she was forced to leave the village with Shizune in tow. Writing prompt on Tsuna-chan's support system when she returned to the village and how she deals with the difficulties of being the Godaime and reworking the leaf's flimsy medical structure. ^^

Note: You and CI just love giving me the hard tasks, don't you? This will make my arms hurt AGAIN! Be glad I adore you both as much as I do - on days you don't deserve it. u-u'' I'll incorporate a bunch of my headcanons we discussed in this too. I will do this in two parts though. I will work on the second part - reworking the medical structure as a separate post.

Godaime's Support System Head Canons

Returning to Konoha, Tsunade felt a profound sense of displacement. The village she had once known, the streets she had walked, were now a blend of familiarity and alienation. The buildings had changed, the faces were different, and the few that she did recognize were either children she had once known, now adults, or people who had aged so much they were barely recognizable. Twenty-five years away from Konoha had left a significant gap, one that was starkly apparent as she took on the mantle of Hokage.

Being the Godaime Hokage was a struggle. She is suddenly in the role of Hokage in a village where generations are used to seeing Sarutobi Hiruzen as the Hokage - apart from the short sparkly Namikaze interlude (then stupid flake went and died and probably cursed Tsunade with his dying breath to become the godaime). She was an enigma to the villagers—a line in the history books, known but not known. They had no choice but to accept her leadership, but trust was a different matter. The first few months were challenging. She felt unfit, an impostor in the role she had chosen. She had chosen to stop running, even though it is in her very nature to do so. But that was where her loyalty to Konoha really shone - though her instinct screamed at her to leave and never look back, she stays. All her loss and pain still has done little to stifle the love for her home.

Support comes to her in the form of Shizune - ever loyal and the caretaker. Their relationship, though, was fraught with underlying tension. Shizune had always been the responsible one, the caretaker, despite being younger. She had seen Tsunade's brokenness, even when Tsunade tried to hide it. This created a deep sense of guilt in Tsunade. Though their love for each other was deep, their relationship never became one of true confidants. Tsunade, lost in her own head, believed she was protecting Shizune from her darkness, not realizing she was doing more harm than good. Shizune wanted to help Tsunade get back on her feet, but Tsunade, due to her pain and guilt remained blind to Shizune's strength, and kept her at a distance, unconsciously denying Shizune the chance to get closer. This strained their relationship, creating a painful distance despite their closeness. It was Tsunade's biggest failure. Despite all these underlaying issues between their relationship, on their return to Konoha, Shizune became a constant source of support and helped streamline Tsuande's administration in a manner that had the system up and running smoothly in a matter of days.

Jiraiya, the fool, could read Tsunade like an open book. He saw her struggles and stayed in the village during those first few weeks, lending his silent strength. She would never admit it—her ego wouldn't allow it—but she deeply appreciated his presence. The Sannin had always been a team, against the world, and having one of her teammates by her side was a comfort as she navigated this new chapter of her life.

Next to join the circle was Kakashi. Seeing Kakashi was jarring for Tsunade. Adult Kakashi looked so much like Sakumo that it was almost painful, yet hard to connect with the sullen, glaring toddler she remembered. The toddler she had spent a number of afternoons with after Sakumo's passing and the one whose memory had haunted her many a time over the years once she left Konoha - his being the last face she saw before she left (how many loved ones had she disappointed by now?). Over time, they struck the oddest friendship (*), loss and bitter experiences acting as the bridge between the two separate generations; kindred spirits who came to rely on each other. Kakashi started filling in the gaps the absence of Jiraiya and Orochimaru had left. This friendship was an integral part of Konoha starting to feel like home again. Kakashi quickly became her right-hand man, his reputation in ANBU and among the jonin turning the tide in her favor. His loyalty was unfaltering, making him a central figure in her support circle.

Inoichi Yamanaka(**) was another key figure in her support network. As her third-cousin(**), their relationship had roots in their shared past and their mutual connection to Minato(**). When she returned, they picked up their relationship easily. Inoichi, along with Shikaku and Choza, formed a bond with Tsunade during a mission when their sensei was injured(***). Shikaku, with his respect for Tsunade's skills and beliefs, was the natural choice for Jonin Commander, a position he held with distinction.

With Kakashi as her right hand, Shikaku as her left, and Shizune managing both administration and the hospital, Tsunade's inner circle was complete. Kakashi and Shikaku's advice equipped her to handle the village's disastrous state, while Shizune's unwavering support helped her stay grounded.

An unexpected addition to this dynamic was Shikamaru. From their first meeting, there was a sense of understanding between them. Shikamaru's brilliance and strategic mind made him a valuable consultant. His involvement allowed Tsunade to influence the younger generation, reinforcing her belief in the Will of Fire.

Note: This is her inner most circle. In time she develops strong relationships with other jonin and chunin, like Anko (who she had known before leaving Koniha so it was was another shock - which became a migraine once she learned exactly how unhinged and at times annoyingly clingy the kunoichi is), Izumo, Kotetsu, Genma, Iruka, and Asuma.

____________________________________________

* Headcanon shared with @konohagakurekakashi.

** Headcanon: Tsunade is cousins with Inoichi and Minato, with Tsunade having a Yamanaka mother and Minato having a Yamanaka grandmother. Due to their age and similar ideas, Minato and Inoichi are rather close growing up. The two genin often end up bugging Tsunade because Minato has developed a fascination with fuinjutsu. This is a headcanon I share with @minaa-munch.

*** Headcanon: During a mission, the Ino-Shika-Cho trio's sensei was injured and needed a few months to recover. During those months, the trio was placed under Tsunade's temporary supervision. Her devil-may-care attitude and wit (the looks certainly helped—as obvious by his words when he declares her the world's most beautiful woman on her return to Konoha) led to Shikaku developing a crush on her, much to Inoichi and Minato's horror ("She's our cousin!!!").

Inspired by: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6698337/1/Regrets

#Senju Tsunade #Hatake Kakashi #Kato Shizune #Yanamaka Inoichi #Nara Shikaku #Nara Shikamaru #Akimichi Choza #Namikaze Minato #Mitarashi Anko #Konoha #Godaime #Head Canons #HC #Headcanons #headcanons #Typo Queen #FS #konohagakurekakashi #minaa-munch

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xxavengingangelxx · 1 year ago

Text

As the Rush Comes 1/1

Ya'll! I posted this fic a while ago. It was the post that took my Tumblr virginity. However, I was dumb back then and I'm still dumb now, honestly and I thought Tumblr had a low word limit so I removed some scenes like a director in a movie that's too long and I think that really took away from the quality of the story.

With Graves coming back, I figured now was as good a time as any to repost this. Although this time, I'm posting the whole thing. It came to me after a reading a fic by halfmothhalfman on AO3. Beginning is kinda boring but it sets things up for some good smut ;)

Summary: A female mercenary and Graves meet in a bar. @bellgraves because you asked for it ;)

Tags: Porn with plot, gun kink, hair pulling, borderline hate fucking, friends to enemies, blood and injury, shooting, top!Phillip Graves.

Tagline: You had 74 hits under your belt. A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

TRIGGERS: Alleged/referenced child abuse, referenced suicide/self-harm, triggers for domestic violence, possible character death. MDNI, 18+ only.

I hate you.

That was the first sentence you said when you were 3 years old. You screamed it, shrieked it, to this towering man standing right in front of you. While you don’t remember exactly what had transpired, you know that you both were standing over your parents’ dead bodies and that your pajamas were sprayed red. The man in front of you did not know how to respond. It was almost as if he had never been around children so young.

You were perceptive like that even when you were 3 years old.

Sirens in the background seemed to pull the large man out of his reverie. You saw panic in his green eyes despite the fact that the rest of his face was covered in a black mask.

Then he took you.

***

And the rest is history. You learned from him later that he grabbed you because the police were on the way, you were clearly verbal, and you might make a good witness. He admitted later that he had not been around any children much less raised one. My childhood was a shithole, he would tell you.

He told you eventually that the initial plan was to avoid doing the ‘hit’ when you, a toddler, were in the home but that the timing had not given him any other alternative. He mentioned his boss told him that if the child, you, were in the home, to avoid doing it in front of you. But if shit hit the fan, then, hell, he said he had been given the green light to get rid of you, too.

He told you many times, sometimes when he was drunk, that there was no way he could kill any child, much less one that’s not even school age. So he did the only thing that came to him. He eliminated the witness without killing you. He couldn’t just throw you into foster care or abandon you because then you could be a witness. Plus he mentioned to you a lot that foster care was fucking awful. You learned that when you spent almost 6 months in foster care after he was accused of abuse. He’d burned your fingerprints off when you were 10 and the teachers were shocked when they tried to do a science project that involved fingerprints. You denied abuse, saying you were a disturbed child (you really were disturbed so it was half truth) who’d done it to herself. You were happy to be home with him however dysfunctional the home was.

He raised you. He raised you the only way he knew how. He actually never really abused you. Sure he’d beat the shit out of you if you acted up. You tried running away once and he almost put you in the hospital with the beatdown he gave you. He smacked you across the face if you got smart mouthed with him. You saw your first murder/hit when you were 10. But you didn’t consider that abuse. You considered it being put back in line. He raised you and taught you the only thing he knew.

Murder for hire.

He’d given you the name Raquel, after one of the avenging angels of heaven. You never knew your real name and to be honest you didn’t really give a fuck. You were apparently born in California and he hauled you all the way to the miserable, lonely town of International Falls, Minnesota to grow up. No one would bother looking in the nation’s ice box.

Businesswise, all you knew is that he was paid by someone else. He was hired by different people to do different hits. His own boss, your boss’s boss, ran a PMC on the side or so you heard. That was your goal: to be a PMC contractor. You’d been all over the world with your job with countless identities. But PMCs got to go to the really fun places. You’d sniped once or twice but wanted to do it more often.

So now you did what he did. Kinda. You’d have to work your way up the ranks. You’d been killing since you were 18. He was ‘nice’ enough to not make you kill before you were 18. Besides, you’d be fuckin’ sloppy anyway. At least when you both thought you were about 18. You did not know your actual birthday and neither did he. Neither of you gave a fuck. You had 74 hits under your belt, all done in the last 15 years. About 5 kills a year and the rest off to do whatever the hell you wanted whether that be party and get drunk (no drugs allowed or you risked getting a target put on your back) or whether it was nothing in a hotel room. You needed 100 hits to be considered for PMC.

A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

You never asked the why. You never asked if they worked for him before and they had gone rogue. He made it a goal to not let his soldiers know about each other in case he had to order a hit on one of his own. The why was simply not important.

So, Phillip Graves. Someone above your boss had ordered the hit.

You were told to be careful, that he was the CEO of his own PMC. He was dangerous, you were told. You’d have to be on your toes.

I want to make your 75th special, he had told you. Try not to die. We could use a woman in the PMC. Ya’ll get to do stuff men can’t. And definitely do not let him recruit you. It’d be treason to me. Pays $50,000.

The hit was not ‘immediate’ which meant you needed to gather some basic information from him. When the final order came down for the hit to be carried out to “full term” you were to kill him. But not until then.

***

You initially met Phillip Graves in a bar.

You wore something revealing. A hot, tight black dress with thigh boots. Your hair curled over your shoulders and you had your fuck me makeup on. One of the ways you would attract your mark’s attention was to wear a black silicone wedding ring. And it worked this time, too.

“Your husband know you’re here?” A man with a Southern drawl called from behind you. Before you faced him your smirked to yourself.

“I’m not married,” you snapped, turning to face him.

“Coulda fooled me,” he shrugged and nodded towards the ring on your finger.

“Maybe I wear it to stop creeps like you from talking to me,”

“Ain’t gonna stop me, sweetheart,” he moved to sit on the stool next to you, removing dark aviator sunglasses. His blue eyes shone even in the low light of the bar. “Are you?” His cologne smelled intoxicating in a way. There was a slight smell of…gunpowder.

Hot motherfucker, ain’t he?

“Nope,” you replied.

“Name’s Phillip,”

“Ariel,” you lied.

“I’m just gonna ask, ma’am,” he started eyeing your body up and down without shame. “Are you for sale?”

You scoffed. In a way, you thought.

“What makes you think that?”

He huffed a laugh.

“Pardon my language but you’ve got fuck me written all over you.” His eyes focused on yours, looking for a reaction. “Hell several men in here are actively eye fucking you.”

“You mean that disgusting fuck in the corner?” you signaled to an overweight 50 year old eyeing you like you were prey. “Ugh,”

“He seems like the rapey type,” Graves added. “You can either hook up with him or me,”

“Or neither,” you rolled your eyes. “And no I’m not for sale, sir.”

“Sounds good to me because I don’t pay. If I see someone I like I get ‘em.” He paused. “Even if that means using force.”

You scoffed. The only reason you took him half seriously if because this is Phillip fucking Graves. “You come off a deployment or somethin’, man? You seem desperate.”

His blue eyes flashed anger and you could swear he was resisting the urge to smack you across the face. He seemed like the type that didn’t have a problem hitting women. Or killing them.

“It’s been longer than I’d like,” he admitted.

“Whatever,”

“Playin’ hard to get?” his blue eyes were dilated now. He liked the thrill of the chase.

“Start over,” you snapped.

You saw when he gritted his teeth. This man was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted to.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he smirked.

***

You led him back to your motel room.

You didn’t have to wait or ask for him to get things started.

He shoved you against the door, one of his hands tangling in your soft hair and the other gripping your ass in an almost bruising grip. He detangled his hands from your hair and your ass and then used them to tear your short dress from the bottom up.

“Asshole,” you breathed. “This was expensive, dick,”

He ignored you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiking you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands went back to your hair, gripping it tight and pulling hard, causing sharp pain and making you hiss.

His teeth grazed your throat. If wanted to he could’ve ripped your throat out with his teeth. You had a fleeting thought, wondering if he’d ever done that to someone. If he had ever ripped a man’s throat out. His mouth moved to your pulse point. You felt him grin when he felt your accelerating heartrate. He bit and sucked. You were sure he’d leave bruises.

“No marks,” you retorted. “I don’t belong to you,”

“No, you do tonight,” he breathed.

He continued biting, sucking. Your boss would call you a fucking whore with a smile on his face when he saw.

You had never been afraid to sleep with the men your killed. It was weird in a fucked up kind of way. Your boss, also known as your caregiver when you were growing up, had never laid a hand on you that way but he’d mentioned many a time that women can use their looks to bait when men usually could not. It was one of the reasons he wanted to accelerate you to your 100 kills…to get you into that PMC. You’d feel a rush when you finished off men as they slept off their tirade. You’d call it a rush coming and it released only when they were dead.

Graves wouldn’t die tonight, though. But he would eventually.

Flirt, fuck, repeat until the order came in to drop him.

You were tossed on the bed roughly, bringing your mind back to the present. He finished ripping your dress open, saying something you didn’t quite get because no sooner than he tossed you on the bed he had unclasped your bra and started biting and sucking your breasts, again leaving hickies and bruises. He got lower…lower…

And lower. He made quick work of your underwear, his hot breath hitting your sex and making you sigh.

“I said, you’re sure moaning like a whore,”

And with that you wanted to hear him beg.

You shoved him, shedded the rest of your clothing and walked towards him. You then knelt in front of him and he was clearly confused by the way you went from shortly dominating the situation to submission. You knew Graves…at least enough about him…to know he got off on being in control. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun.

Your trembling fingers unbuckled his military-style belt and that was when you noticed his sidearm. You were tempted to grab it and just fucking kill him then but not yet. You didn’t have the orders. You easily worked the belt off but he grabbed his sidearm out of your reach.

You got on your haunches, appearing even smaller before him. You look at him through your bangs, through your lashes (real lashes not that fake shit), and you feel your mascara and eyeliner running, initiated by your sweat and the rain outside. You parted your lips slightly and he sighed, his blue eyes barely visible because his pupils were so dilated.

“I don’t trust you, sweetheart,” he grabs his sidearm and yanks it from the holster. Shit…you might have to kill him tonight.

You pouted, attempting to manipulate him.

“You seem like you’re into dark shit,” he grumbled as he freed his cock, the tip of it leaking precum and standing inches from your lips.

“What’s that mean?” you whispered as you licked your lips.

He aimed the sidearm at your head. “You sure as hell know what to do,” he hissed, his other hand stroking himself. “Get to it. Now.”

“Sick fuck,” you mumbled. You took him into your mouth quickly, knowing no man would willingly shoot a woman giving him head in the head or anywhere else. Teeth could be deadly to a man in more ways than one.

“No sicker n’ you,” he moaned. He kept one hand on his sidearm against your head and one hand then tangled in your hair.

You felt as he got harder and harder in your mouth. You moaned around him and he hissed, the vibration apparently rubbing him the right way. It was fucking hot. Here you were sucking cock with a gun to your head. You didn’t mind. Phillip Graves was attractive unlike most of the men you’d handled.

His hand started loosening on his sidearm and you took that as you doing your damn job right. His hips were thrusting into your face and you felt him hitting the back of your throat. Tears escaped the sides of your eyes as you almost, almost gagged.

It was at that point that he tossed the sidearm on the bed to grasp your hair with both hands. He effectively started facefucking you. But that was where you drew the line. He still had his uniform pants halfway on and you gripped the thick fabric, preventing him from bruising your throat. You stopped it all…you stopped using your tongue, stopped using your tongue piercing to get him even harder.

“Beg,” you said after you pulled away from him. His cock was angry…red.

“Bitch, you don’t get to tell me—” he grasped your hair and threw you onto the bed again. “You dress like a whore, you get treated like one.” He climbed over you. You found it hot he was still in uniform and you were totally naked. Well except for your knee boots. Hell, he still had the vest under his shirt on. “I don’t treat a lady like this, but you…”

He settled between your legs, his hot cock rubbing your entrance. You moaned like a porn star because you’d started getting wet the moment you saw him. He was hot. And the fact that you were going to end his life not long from now got you hotter. So easy to manipulate men…

He didn’t even bother preparing you. He slammed in to the hilt, making you cry out.

“Whatever, slut,” he snapped. “Take it.”

He reached for your wrists holding you down as he rammed into you. His eyes looked down on you, focusing mostly on the way your breasts bounced as he fucked you…hard.

He was hitting that special spot inside of you. One few men knew to hit. He ground against you, rubbing your clit in between you both. You had never understood women who couldn’t cum from vaginal sex. How could you not?

You wanted to break your hands free from his iron grip. You were sure he’d leave bruises on your wrists, something else for boss to tease you about. You’re fucked up, he’d likely say. But he never complained because you always got the job done.

You felt that heat building up deep inside of you as he continued his relentless thrusts. He was thrusting faster, deeper, harder. When he leaned forward and bit your lip with his teeth (and drew blood) that pushed you over the edge.

You cried out in his mouth. You finally got your hands loose, tangling them in his short hair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, as you rode out your orgasm. You moved your hands to scratch his back but you felt only unform and Kevlar, no blood like you would have liked.

He broke loose from the kiss, moving to leave another mark just under your jaw.

He followed with his own climax shortly after. You felt him throbbing inside of you and it was at that moment that you realized ya’ll hadn’t even considered safe sex. Not that you cared. Hot men got a pass on that. Ugly ass men had to wear condoms.

His breath came in hurried gasps as he rode out his own orgasm, pulsing inside of you all the while.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. He stilled his hips and hovered over you, his dirty blonde hair ticking your breasts.

You were both hot, both sweaty, and you had several marks all over you. Proof of his dominance. It was almost like he wanted to mark you so no one else would touch you. He wanted you all to himself.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed as he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. “I said no marks.” You observed marks on your breasts and that the bony part of your wrist already had a light blue tint, promising a bruise.

He scoffed, rolling off the bed. All he had to do was pull his pants up and secure his belt. He secured his sidearm next.

“What’re you doing about…” he trailed off.

“About what?” You sat up, your body aching in protest. You felt his essence sliding out of you and onto the cheap motel bed.

He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly appearing shy. “You know what.”

“Pregnancy?”

“I’m actually looking to settle down and have a kid,”

His eyes widened and you saw panic in his blue eyes. His blue eyes had lost the indigo color they had when he had been fucking you. You wondered if that would be the same look in his eyes when you killed him. You weren’t sure yet if you’d use a gun or a knife but the orders said the mark has to be within arm’s reach so that meant no sniping.

“Kidding,” you laughed. “I don’t want no fucking kids.” You sighed before adding, “I’ll get Plan B but I have an IUD.”

He sighed in obvious relief.

“Leaving already?” you asked as he started for the door.

“You know what kinda relationship this is gonna be,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around. He opened the door. “See you next week?”

“Count on it,” you smirked.

***

It had been exactly 30 days since you met Phillip Graves when the ‘full-term’ order came through. You’d learned the basics about him. Some of his habits, that he was ex-military, that he owned his own company although he refused to tell you where he worked.

So you met him at another that Friday night. The Friday night. You met in different places, sometimes hundreds of miles apart. But all were close to a base. The bar was usually filled with uniformed men looking to have a good time and relax. It was colder then and so you wore tight jeans with knee boots. A beanie covered your normally cascading hair. It was sleeting outside. And it was about to turn into snow.

“Hey there,” he drawled.

“Graves,” you smirked.

”It’s gonna be hard to peel you out of those jeans,” he eyed you up and down. Little did he know you did not intend to take your clothes off for him this time.

You followed the typical schedule. Some drinks and then you both left to go to the nearby motel. It’s not like you had a home to take him back to. You’d lived in hotels and motels and extended stay inns since you were 18.

It had started to snow and you watched some of the small furry white snowflakes landed in your loose curls of hair.

“After you, ma’am,” he smirked, holding the motel room door open.

“Such a gentleman,” you purred.

“Not for long,” he sneered.

You had set an alarm on your phone. You’d timed it to go off right before he dragged you to the bed like he always did at least once a week.

“Ugh, my fucking boss,” you pretended to be annoyed.

“What’d you do?”

“None of your business,” you responded to his question about what you did for a living.

“Whore out apparently,” he laughed.

You glared.

“Let me text this asshole and then we’ll get down to business,” you smiled.

“I’m gonna take a piss then,” Graves said nonchalantly as he walked to the bathroom.

Perfect.

You heard as he took care of business, flushed and then went to wash his hands. His back was to you. Foolish move.

So you grabbed a 9mm you kept in your large purse. A 9mm had more recoil than you liked but it definitely got the job done. Especially at close range. You wanted to look in his eyes when you killed him. You didn’t know why he was on a hit list but he had apparently pissed someone off badly enough to want him killed at close range. You’d have to aim for the head because he had his heavy duty tactical vest on today. The one with the wires for communication, the antenna folded several times over. It had an American flag and a patch that read B-23. You suddenly regretted you hadn’t had him use zip ties with you in your month together.

He looked in the mirror and…the cat was out of the bag.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he laughed. “You were too good to be true.” He turned and walked towards you.

You raised the 9mm.

“Don’t do that. Don’t. Do that,” he warned. He had a different look in his eyes this time. His hand brushed his own sidearm, almost as if he didn’t take your threat seriously, like he knew he’d kill you before you ever got the chance to even try to kill him.

You scoffed. He was a military man. He knew orders were orders.

“You work with a PMC? Or are you a hired slut with a gun?”

“None of your fucking business,” you said through gritted teeth.

“No one needs to get hurt here.”

“You know one of us has to get hurt.” You paused before you added, “mortally so.”

“Let’s not do this,” he said calmly. He knew that his heavy duty vest would catch almost any bullet you fired at his chest.

You shook your head.

“Why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation?” He demanded. “It’s not.”

“You’re right it’s not,” you stood strong. “I can’t fail. I’ve never failed. He always told me I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I fail. He just said I’d wish I was dead.”

“Leave,” he snapped. “I like you but I will hurt you if you so much as try.”

You scoffed internally because none of the men you’d killed had put a fight.

You clicked the safety off and before your finger could go from straight to curled over the trigger, he lunged.

Suddenly you found yourself flat on your back with the back of your head hitting the thin, cheap, disgusting carpet with a thud. You saw black spots in your vision. You immediately came back to lucidity. Passing out would be certain death. Or Graves escaping.

“Get off me, you asshole!” you screamed. All the extra gear he had on made him heavier than he already was and some of the gear was digging into your ribs.

He didn’t respond. Instead Graves easily straddled you and pinned you down the same way he’d held your wrists down when he’d fucked you. He leaned forward, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead. He easily peeled your fingers off the gun and tossed it out of reach.

You shouted, “Ugh, bastard!” before you wrapped your right leg around his waist, feeling bruises forming from his gear. It was usually a lot easier for you to wrap your legs around him but not tonight. Luckily your heels gave you extra height. You dropped your heel on the small of his back, where it was not covered by the vest.

Momentarily startled, he eased his grip on your wrists. You eased your right hand out of his grasp and punched him right in the face. He full on growled with fury as he fell sideways a bit and you shook your hand from the pain, knowing you’d broken something. He stumbled again so you put your right leg in between the two of you and kicked, pushing him off you.

He stumbled, falling sideways once more. “Bitch,” he growled lowly. This was a tone you had not heard from him before. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I’ll watch the light leave your eyes.”

You reached for a knife you kept in your boot and taking advantage of the fact that you were both still on your knees, you lunged and sliced.

Graves almost yelped. He pressed his gloved hand to the open cut on his face. On his right cheek. It was sure to scar. Not that it would matter since you’d be killing him tonight. You’d go to his funeral. You were actually going to miss him. If only you’d sliced lower than his right cheek you would have sliced his throat.

“Motherfucking bitch,” he snarled when his fingers came back with his own blood. “Walk away!” he roared. “Last fucking chance before I rip you to shreds.”

“I told you I cant,” You replied simply. “One of doesn’t get any older than tonight.” You reached for a small pink Beretta you kept in your leather jacket pocket. It was your go-to if things got too hot. And things were HOT right now. Not sexually so but dangerously so.

He got in front of you so fast you barely registered.

How did a man that large move so quickly?!

You felt him full on punch you with a closed fist across your face and you heard a sickening, nauseating crack as blood gushed from your nose. A choked sob escaped you despite your attempts to hide it because holy shit he hit you hard. Like he would hit a man. You were losing and losing badly. You stumbled but he then gripped your right arm in a hold.

Another second and he had broken your arm…easily.

You screamed because fuck it hurt and it forced you to drop the gun.

Your boss and caregiver had forced you to be ambidextrous with all your weapons and you silently thanked him for that now.

You reached for your second to last weapon. Another knife. You got it in your left hand and sliced towards him, almost catching his throat when he again attacked you, assaulted you, almost ripped you apart (like he said he would) again. It was so close you yelled out in anger, frustration. You’ve been close two fucking times now.

Two loud bangs and flashes threw you off.

Things blacked out for a second or to and…

You were back on the floor again, on your back, your head hitting it a second time. You immediately spat and coughed blood when you tried to take a breath. You felt a red mist fall on your face and chest. Your ears were ringing, painfully so and you vision had black edges.

What the hell had happened?! Your mind went into panic, something you’d never really experienced before. Your brain switched to a more primal state of survival.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he repeated a line he’d said earlier. “You there?” he drawled as your hearing went in and out, all while painfully ringing. “That was a big mistake. It did not have to be like this.”

You barely heard him over the ringing in your ears. And…were your ears bleeding?

“Sunovabitch,” he muttered. He said you’d made a grave mistake and some dark part of your mind laughed insanely, because his last name is Graves.

“I don’t usually kill or punch women but you’re an exception to that,” he said cooly. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

You saw him blurrily but you still saw him as he picked up both your firearms and your knives. He then walked up to you. He was getting hurried in his movements. While this was a shady ass motel with gunshots all the time, he knew he couldn’t be found anywhere near there when the police eventually came.

He then grabbed your jacket and dragged you closer to the motel door. You left red streaks as he crudely hauled you. He tossed you into a corner. Probably so when he walked out you wouldn’t have a clear view on him.

“Sorry, soldier,” he commented. “Should’ve kept an eye on the 9 I made you drop earlier.” He laughed. The sadistic bastard laughed cruelly and he added, “Shot with your own sidearm.”

“Kinda a shame,” he continued, his eyes glinting as they caught the bright neon streetlight just outside your room. The blood on his face was now running down his neck, to his shoulder, staining his uniform and vest. It look bright red in places and dark red in others. “I mighta hired ya for some of my less challenging jobs.”

It was probably the first time in your adult life you started crying. You likely had a pleading look on your face. You felt tears of frustration, of pain, or red-hot anger fall from your eyes and slide down the sides of your face. They landed in your hair and they were tinged red from the coughed up blood on your face.

He slipped your Beretta into a pocket, saying, “souvenir,” as he grinned callously. You expected him to hold it to your head and finish you off. You were going to make him look at you when he killed you.

But he turned away.

“You’d better kill me,” you gasped. The effort sent you into a gasping and coughing fit and you were again covered in your own blood. You swore on your fucking life this man would die if you survived this.

He turned back towards you and easily grabbed your cellphone from your jacket pocket, kneeling beside you. He rested one of his knees on your ribs, making you really start crying. You couldn’t stop it…it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

“Unlock it,” he demanded of your phone. He held it just out of your reach, almost as if he wanted to see you suffer. “You put up a good fight but fight’s over.”

Cruel, merciless bastard.

You were dying tonight so what the hell. You used your left index finger to unlock the phone.

He creepily knew right where to go. His rust-red fingers danced over your screen, his blue eyes shining bright with the screen’s light. Your screen would likely be caked with your blood and his blood. At least you’d made the great Phillip Graves bleed.

That scar on his face would make sure he never forgot you. But then again if your survived, the scars that would litter your body (the gunshot wounds, the plates probably required to repair your arm) would make sure you didn’t forget him either.

He showed you the screen.

He had gone into your text messages and somehow found your boss’s number.

He had typed: Come get your girl’s body. -Graves

And he hit send.

“You’re very likely as good as dead,” he said before he clicked his tongue. “But if they get to you in time, stay the hell away from me.” He reached down, grasping your hair with a ferocity he had not before. He raised you off the floor and you were pretty sure you lost consciousness for more than a few seconds. But he waited for you to open your eyes again before he asked, “We clear?”

You nodded despite yourself. Hell no you intended to make him suffer if you survived.

“Good,” he drawled. “If you don’t die tonight, I’ll fucking slaughter you if I see you again.” It sounded like a promise. “I’ll have one last fuck and then I’ll paint the fucking walls with your brains.”

He got up and tossed you your cell phone on your chest. You’d seen that curiously enough, weirdly enough he had dialed 911. He stood back up. The movement of air as he stood resulted in scents of blood, sweat, cologne, and gunpowder being sent your way. Usually it was hot. Tonight it almost made you gag.

You tried to roll into the recovery position on your side and you screamed as it felt like your inside were on fire. The phone slid off your chest onto the floor.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You ignored it. You looked for something, anything that could kill this son of a bitch. Like an attack dog you’d been conditioned since you were a child: Either finish the job or die trying. He had your Beretta and your 9mm and both knives. There was no way you could reach your last resort weapon. He was taking no chances and giving you nothing to strike back at him with. He knew you better than you gave him credit for.

Besides, he was gone.

The 911 operator kept trying to get in touch with you.

You tried to say you’d been shot but could only gasp for air, choking on your own blood. Being in the recovery position helped you not choke and gag as much but you were sure you had bad internal bleeding. You vomited the alcohol you’d recently drank, the liquid burning your inside wounds like lava. Something primal in your brain fought for survival and wanted you to reply to that 911 operator.

You set your head down on your left arm, cradling your broken right. You sniffled because fuck…fuck…FUCK. Phillip Graves had mopped the floor with you. He had beaten you within an inch of unconsciousness and then shot you. All in the span of less than 5 minutes. You’d been cocky, so sure you could manipulate him with sex and seduction. It had worked for all the other men.

But not Phillip Graves. Speak of the devil because you heard him start his pickup truck parked just outside the motel room window.

You opened your eyes again, not knowing how much time had passed. You then noticed something…your 9mm. You thought you were hallucinating so you tentatively reached out for it, choking back a sob of pain and misery. You’d been crying at this point so you gave up on trying to hold back tears. You gripped it with trembling, bloody, sticky fingers. So he hadn’t taken it. When did he drop it or set it down? You had no idea.

“I’m sending police and ambulance to your location,” the 911 operator’s voice echoed in your head and it seemed to reverberate forever.

You ignored her. You grasped the gun and pointed it to the left side of your head on your temple. You angled the gun downwards because you knew that made it more likely for the bullet to take out the basic part of your brain that controlled breathing and heartrate and blood pressure. You squeezed your eyes and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. You then saw that the son of a bitch had ejected the clip and the bullet from the chamber.

“Motherfucker,” you whimpered in a whisper.

Your phone dinged. A text message.

You better fucking explain yourself, Raq. What the hell kinda message was that? You lazily read the text message from your boss. Graves better be KIA. Another text bubble. Just because you grew up with me doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass and put you back in line if you failed me. You couldn’t reply and didn’t want to. A phone call from your boss. Another text message as you wavered in and out of consciousness. You blinked through tears and saw him text again. Answer your fucking phone. Yet another text bubble. You’re pissing me off, Raq. Answer me. I need a sit rep.

Oh well. You were likely going to bleed out anyway.

A fucked up end to a fucked up life. If by some miracle you survived, you might have to go rogue. Missing in action because there would be a hit on you for the failed job. Phillip fuckin Graves would die if you survived. That much you promised yourself.

But you were dying. Fast.

At least it was looking like you wouldn’t find out what happened if you failed.

***

I honestly don't know if she's alive or dead ;)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141

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