#recently caught up with barbarities here and

[allthefujoshiunite]

Lots of favorites on the bingo! Thank you for reading my reviews 🧡

These are my Top 24 Favorite BL (until now)....

Special thanks to @lmskitty. Thanks a lot, Lex, because of you I start reading "Fake" and love that series....

Also thanks to @impromptu-sketches, becaue of your wonderful BL recs and reviews, I know a lot of BL series, some of them became my favorite, like "Unintentional Love Story" and "Dark Heaven"....

Another special thanks to @allthefujoshiunite , becaue of your wonderful BL recs and reviews, I know a lot of BL series, some of them became my favorite, like "Love for Sale" and "Stigmata : Love Bites".....

[matan4il]

Ive long believed that this recent extremist hatred of “colonists” was more about the perceived value of the people being colonized than about the actual harm to human life that colonization causes. (And I do not think of Israelis as colonizers, btw) The past hours have proven this to me. It’s not about whether they think Israel is truly guilty of colonization; it’s that Israelis would dare go against a group they have decided has fundamentally different and more valuable level of humanity. The same exact people who claim they’d support indigenous Americans taking back the land hate Jews for doing exactly that. And my God, the amount of people who spend most of their time discussing sexism and violence against women now saying that the innocent women being killed and kidnapped en masse is “the price to pay” is making my blood boil. I feel like I’ve witnessed so many people just toss all decency and morality out the window just so they can pat themselves on the back for being “anti-colonialists”. Anti-semetism has so rotted peoples brains. I’m praying for you and for every life caught up in this atrocity.

Hi Nonnie! Thank you for the ask.

Let me just say you're of course right that Israeli Jews are not colonizers of the Jewish ancestral homeland. But I haven't been touching this point, because the truth is... even if they were, would it justify such barbarity? Or do we as human beings believe in the sanctity of life, and understand that violence, rape, torture, mutilation and cold blooded murder, let alone mass murder, should NEVER be accepted as the solution to any problem?

Did people take the Nazis, those who committed the worst crimes in human history, and tried to use them to justify the massacre of all Germans, or to de-legitimize the very existence of a German state?

I actually sadly don't think the world does value the lives of Palestinians. I'm friends with so many. Mainly, as a gay woman, I have gay Palestinian friends. I have friends whose families found out they're gay, threatened to kill them, they applied for refugee status in so many western countries, but none would take them. I'm aware that Palestinians are being discriminated against BY LAW in so many places (for example in Lebanon, where Palestinians are barred from no less than 39 professions). If this were about their well being, then pro-Palestinian activists and demonstrations would be speaking up about the mistreatment of Palestinians everywhere! But they don't. If they can't blame the Jewish state for a perceived wrong, they don't care what happens to Palestinians.

Not everyone, obviously. Many accept the info as handed to them and they think they're being pro-Palestinian, when really they're just being fed, and then end up passing on, anti-Israel propaganda.

So, sadly I think this is a new form of antisemitism, expressed by singling out the Jewish state. It isn't the push for human rights it pretends to be, or the movement would care about the human rights of Palestinians in places like Lebanon and Jordan, too.

I think a good way to sum up what's wrong with people justifying the massacre that we experienced here is found in this image:

Thank you, I really appreciate the care and the prayers! Sending you endless hugs and love! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[anhttydbookfan]

Extra Rest Stop au angst: the day before Thuggory kidnaps the wrong Hiccup, the Hiccups get into a fight.

When Little Hiccup is riding with them, they spot a small group of dragons flying through a flaming x-shaped hole in the sky, exactly like what Windwalker flew through to get them there. Dragons singing the chant of the Red Rage.

They find Little Hiccup and try to kill him, but are shocked when dragonfire is met with dragonfire.

Little Hiccup tells them the War doesn't exist here. That Humans and Dragons live in harmony.

They declare the dragons of this world to be "nothing but dumb beasts" and that such a harmony cannot exist on their side, and go after him again. And are stopped again by the Dreamworks Gang.

"They won't let you kill me while i'm here." Little Hiccup says in Dragonese. He still had to be careful what he said, Other-Hiccup and Ingerman were translating right over his shoulder. "I have a lot more allies here then i do over there. I mean, everybody's trying to kill me back in the Barbaric Archipelago. If you took me back there to kill me I'm not sure i'd get out alive! But over here..."

The ensuing fight almost manages to separate Little Hiccup from the Gang and herd him through the Which Way. Astrid yoinks him off of Windwalker right before they get through. Windwalker, of course, follows. The Which Way starts to close and the Red Rage dragons fly back through it before they too get stranded there.

Cue the Gang's relief and sounds of "i can't believe you didn't figure out they were herding us"

"Well i never really did well in my herding-sheep-on-dragonback lessons"

"they were herding us?"

"Yeah! It's classic pack-hunter behavior, separate the weakest-looking one from the rest of the group and then... No offense, Rider."

"None taken."

"But it's fascinating that dragons of different species learned to work together like that. Is that normal for the dragons where you're from?"

"It's a... recent development in their behavior."

"Well lucky for us Astrid caught you when she did, right?"

"Yeah... Lucky."

Then Astrid breaks her silence with "You flew straight for that x-shaped fire in the sky as soon as they made an opening. You... wanted to go back with them, didn't you?"

And, well, It's not like Hiccup can deny it.

The core of the issue is this: Little Hiccup needs to return to find his friend and stop the war. The Gang want him to stay there and not run the risk of dying while they find his friend and try to help stop the war. The phrase "We're Vikings, aren't we? Death's an occupational hazard!" Does nothing to deter them. Wodensfang's speech about Fate and Destiny was met with a resounding "Screw Fate" and "Destiny can shove its ugly face up Mildew's--" "...OKAY Tuffnut, I think we get it." And Little Hiccup's very reasonable statement that they don't know anything about what it's like over there was met with "then tell us so we're not going in blind."

They all go to bed that night slightly miffed at each other.

Then the Alvinsmen arrive, and leave with the wrong Hiccup.

[igot-the-juice]

Serenity - Chapter 8

Masterlist

Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.

"How long has it been?"

"Five hours, at least.”

"I'd say seven."

"I bet nine."

"Has she even eaten?"

"Hasn't left since the catcher brought her here."

"It's one thing to do your job. It's another when it's an obsession."

"You would know all about that, now, wouldn't you?" The group of women gasped and stepped away from the door they huddled in front of. Reuben made his way towards them with an irritated expression. "I wonder what his excellency would think if I were to tell him you all were harassing his new seamstress." Comically, the women all glanced at each other with fearful expressions before speeding off.

He smirked rather proudly and turned to the door, carefully opening in to prevent any disturbance. There Mary sat at a desk, hunched over a barely made dress she was working on. Eyebrows knit together as she focused, she hummed as she worked, not taking notice of the man just yet. It was quite obvious to him that she was in her true element. She was relaxed, comfortable. Dare he say at peace. It was a pleasant sight to him, especially after all she had been through in the recent weeks.

She stopped when she heard the door close lightly and turned towards it, eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Reuben!"

"So sorry, it appears you were being eavesdropped." He spoke in a slightly agitated tone as he made his way over to her.

"Eavesdropped? By whom?"

"The other seamstresses." He rolled his eyes. "No matter, I got rid of them."

"Oh..." Her eyes downcasted in realization. "Well, thank you." She offered a smile before returning to her work.

"I must say, you work rather quickly."

"It's amazing what one can accomplish when left undisturbed." Silence followed, and only then did she realize how what she said sounded and looked up at Reuben with wide eyes. "I - I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all."

"I know, dear." Mary sighed in relief and returned to what was in front of her. Then she felt her face warm at the new nickname. "Though, you do need rest every so often." He spoke as if he was talking down to a child, looking at her with a knowing expression.

"I'm fine, Reuben."

"You haven't eaten since you've been in here for who-knows-how-long, so I find that hard to believe." Mary avoided his gaze guiltily. "As far as I'm concerned, you haven't eaten since I brought you to the castle which, at this point, would be two days."

"I'm sorry..." Mary spoke softly. "I just got excited." Reuben sighed and removed what she held in her hands.

"Understandably so." He patted her shoulder to get her to stand up. "It's time I showed you the kitchen."

Mary's head spun with all the twists and turns it took to get to the said kitchen. The castle was large, yes, but walking through it felt like a maze more than anything. If all goes well, she wasn't sure how long it would take her to memorize what led to where.

The kitchen itself was large, naturally. Everything was pristine, clean as can be. Multiple stoves lined one side of the walls, the most she had seen in one spot probably. Men and women scrambled about, however in an organized manner. It seemed they had a routine that worked for the lot and it took her by surprise. Then she remembered where she was.

"Kochin!" Reuben raised over the chaos that was the kitchen. A short, plump man began speeding in their direction, exasperated.

"Yes, sir?" He asked hurriedly as he wiped a rag over his forehead, whipping it back over his shoulder.

"Bring a plate over for the lady." He leaned down closer. "A nice plate." The man, Kochin, then nodded hurriedly before scurrying off and yelling directions to the other cooks. "Caught them right as they were about to start cleaning up." He looked over at Mary with a quirked brow.

"Well, now I feel bad." She mumbled and wrung her hands.

"It's their job. They're used to it by now." Kochin returned quickly with a heaping plate of food, holding it out to Mary who stood with wide eyes. Reuben's eyes urged her to take it and she hesitantly did so.

Reuben nodded at the man and turned Mary towards the exit to walk them back to his room.

"I can't eat all of this!" She exclaimed as soon as they reached the bedroom. She sat down at a nearby desk and stared at the heaping pile of food.

"Then eat what you can. Meanwhile, I have to take care of a few matters. I shouldn't be long. Don't. Wander." He then shut the door behind him and she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.

The food smelt amazing, to say the least. It was the most extravagant meal she had received in her entire life. She felt awful knowing she surely wasn't going to finish it, but she would've felt even worse if she didn't eat anything from it at all. Choosing the latter she nibbled at her food piece by piece, taking her time to savor the rich flavors. But her assumptions were correct.

She was only about a quarter of the way finished by the time she was full. Either her stomach was shrinking or she hadn't realized how little she had really been eating in the village. Then the food coma hit.

She pushed the plate to the side to rest her chin in her hand, struggling to keep her eyes open. She hadn't the slightest perception of time, only following her body's instincts as her head finally came to rest on her arms to sleep. She must have been truly exhausted with how fast it hit her. Typically Mary would fight herself when it came to falling asleep, lying awake for half an hour at least before she succumbed to it.

Just minutes later Reuben walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw Mary passed out on his desk. His eyes softened at the sight of it, knowing it was one of the few times she was truly at peace. He sighed and silently shut the door, taking off his coat and hooking it onto a rack that already held his hat before making his way over to Mary. He brushed a loose piece of hair from her eyes, debating on whether or not he wanted to move her and risk waking her up.

After a few seconds of thought he left to pull the sheets of his bed back, then hooked his arms beneath Mary, carefully lifting her to lay her on the bed. Thankfully, she didn't even flinch or move in the slightest save for incoherent mumbling at the action. He wasn't sure if he should've been concerned or not, but nevertheless he slid her shoes off of her feet and pulled the blanket over.

He was about to turn and leave, but his feet wouldn't move. He was planted by the sight of Mary's resting features. He took his time examining them, and he had to admit she had a unique facial structure. That was surely saying something considering his own.

She was rather beautiful in an original sense, in her own sense. It was a different kind of beauty that he couldn't describe. Perhaps he was around the middle-aged women of the castle too often, but even when he traveled to the village he never saw anyone that caught his eye quite like Mary.

There was a small knock on his door and he flinched when he saw Mary move the slightest bit, then he made his away over to it to see who it was.

"Apologies, sir," The maid spoke with a downcast gaze. "I was just coming to see if you needed anything else before you retired for the night?" She watched as Reuben disappeared for a moment, then returned with the unfinished plate of food and handed it to her with a sigh. 

"She will need another dress for tomorrow, as well." He spoke in a hushed tone. Emilia nodded. "That will be all." Reuben confirmed dismissively, practically shutting the door in her face.

He huffed and began unbuttoning his vest, loosening the cravat around his neck as he glanced over at Mary over and over. He shook his head and folded the clothing over the back of his vanity chair.

Everything was frozen. Or rather seemed so. It all seemed so much darker than she had remembered. It was a different darkness. A darkness that lurked in the daylight where it shouldn't have been.

Mary turned in the center of the plaza, looking around at the villagers staring back at her with unreadable expressions. One stepped closer. Followed by another. Then it all happened like a domino effect, a mob crawling in her direction leaving her without an escape.

Her body betrayed her, feet frozen where she stood. Her breathing quickened, throat constricting in on itself. She clawed at her neck as her legs gave out, her knees taking the impact against the cold stone. She wheezed as they all enclosed themselves around her until they were all she saw -

Mary's eyes opened to the sunlight peeking through the curtains. She breathed in, slow and thorough. Her cheeks were cold. Wet. She sat up slowly, body drained even after her sleep. She wiped her cheeks tiredly as she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side.

She wasn't sure how long it had been before she finally stood, looking back over at the bed to see a dress laid out for her. Mary pondered for a moment on whether or not she should wait on Emilia, then decided against it and ran a bath for herself.

As much as she fancied the dresses, the tightness of them drove her up the wall. She cursed whoever thought up the idea of it as she began to tighten what she could, being sure to keep it looser for her own comfort. However, she huffed when the door opened. What she expected to be the maid turned out to be Reuben with a plate of breakfast and the huff became a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

She was taken aback at his appearance. Mary had been so used to seeing him clad in black that his undershirt on display was a sight she unexpectedly welcomed. His vest was still buttoned, encased around his more lean form accompanied by his cravat. The more dressed-down appearance seemed out of character for the man.

The catcher quirked a brow in amusement, catching her more wandering gaze. 

"I feared you were the maid." Mary chuckled in an exasperated fashion.

"And why would that be?" He set down the plate and made his way over to her. "May I?" He motioned to her dress and she nodded in approval. He took the laces from her, bare fingertips grazing against her soft skin enough to set it ablaze.

"I know these dresses are supposed to be more form-fitting, but I'm certain she's trying to suffocate me." Reuben chuckled. It was light, different from the darker tone she was used to hearing while he was on the job.

He was far more gentle with his movements than Emilia was and Mary welcomed it gratefully. She couldn't explain what she felt whenever his hands brushed against her, but she was sure she was growing more and more drunk on it. Then it stopped. She stopped herself from pouting and turned to face him with a gentle smile.

"Thank you." Mary then turned to his vanity and grabbed a hair tie, quickly pulling her hair into a bun. "You didn't have to, you know." The woman sighed as she made her way over to her breakfast. She took her first bite, then looked up at him with a doe-eyed look. "Did you eat already?" The catcher nodded and leaned back against the desk beside her. She could feel his eyes on her, making her somewhat self-conscious as she ate. It was awkward for her and she began to drown in it.

She swallowed her current bite and gradually looked up at him. Reuben quickly averted his gaze elsewhere and she noticed a pink hue begin to dust his cheeks. Her chest fluttered and she took another bite in an attempt to hide her growing smile.

Later on, Mary found herself back in the sewing room after Reuben walked her, having to leave in that direction anyways. After closing the door he made his way to the throne room to the swarm of aristocrats and nobles that surrounded the barons.

"Ah, Catcher!" The Baron exclaimed, the group of sycophants parting themselves as he made his way over to Reuben who bowed deeply to the cheerful man as he approached.

"You called for me, your excellency?"

"I did, I did. Where is that lovely seamstress of yours?" Reuben faltered.

"Working on your lady's dress at this moment, sir."

"It's coming along well, I hope?" The Baron began leading the two of them away from the crowd.

"I have no doubts, your majesty."

"Good, good. Now," He stopped and faced Reuben. "I want you to bring your lady tonight to join us for dinner. You've built her quite the reputation, catcher, and I'd like to know more about this woman should she be our new seamstress."

"With respect, your excellency, she's not my lady." The Baron's eyes widened, then squinted as he drawled out a chuckle with a wink.

"Of course she isn't." It took all of Reuben's will not to roll his eyes. He was devoted, sure, but even the ever loyal catcher had his moments of irritation with the barons. Bomburst pat him on the shoulder before heading back over to his throne to mingle once more. Reuben huffed, straightened his coat with a snap and made his way back upstairs to Mary.

"Dinner?!" Panic set in Mary's eyes, putting an abrupt stop to her work. "I - I only just got here two days ago - and why would they want to have dinner with a seamstress?"  Reuben, sensing her anxiety, tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rested a hand on her back.

"Being chosen to be the barons' seamstress is nothing short of a rarity. They simply wish to get to know you better to see if you're a good fit." Mary chuckled despite her current crisis.

"Was that on purpose?"

"Not in the slightest." Mary stood up and began to pace.

"What if I slip up and say something I'm not supposed to? Or do something I'm not supposed to?" She whipped around to face Reuben. "They won't put me to death, will they?" He sighed and stepped in front of her, lifting his hands to rest on the sides of her arms. Even with his glove, she could feel the heat of it burning through, enough to soothe her almost instantly.

"You have no reason to worry." He watched as Mary's gaze remained downcast, eyes glazing over yet not a single tear falling. Timidly she reached up to hold onto one of his forearms, refusing to meet his eyes.

Then cool leather met her chin, gently coaxing her to face him. As her head turned her eyes continued to stray, and only when she sensed the smallest bit of confidence in the midst of whatever she was feeling did she meet the hazel of his eyes. It wasn't until then that she realized the little distance between them.

Everything was still in that moment. Seconds felt like minutes, where minutes felt like hours. It was all a haze, the smell of him intoxicating her, making her lightheaded. When she felt his lips on her own she froze for the smallest second, then began melding them as she reciprocated. The softness of his lips caught her off guard, but it was dearly cherished. The kiss was gentle, fervorous. Short.

They pulled back ever so slightly, eyeing the other for any sign of hesitancy or doubt, and when they found none they went in once more without a second thought.

It was more potent, held more passion. Gradually their breathing grew heavier. His fingertips ghosted over her jaw, reaching further back to cup it and draw her closer. Her hands found their way to the lapels of his coat, balling the fabric beneath.

It was awkward for him at first with his damned nose, but a few seconds in and he was almost perfect. In fact, Mary relished in the feeling of it brushing against her cheek. It brought her a sense of tranquility, and reminded her of who she was with.

When they broke away it was a slow movement, regretful. He stared at her with an intensity that left her weak, that would leave anyone weak. It made her feel as if she was all that mattered in that moment. Mary wrapped her arms around his torso, Reuben holding her close to him, head resting atop her own that nestled in the crook of his neck.

Mary wasn't sure what to think. She felt lost. Confused. Of everything that had happened over the course of the past two months, it was all blurring together and made her head spin. She tightened her grip around him in fear and puzzlement.

Mary focused on the feeling of him. The way it felt to have their bodies so close to one another, sharing the new moment of intimacy. Her lips still felt warm, tingly. Something bloomed in her chest, something she was unfamiliar with. It was indescribable to her yet it filled her with such an elation.

When they pulled away a single drop traveled down her cheek as Mary smiled at the man in front of her. He ogled with a sense of adoration, using his thumb to brush the tear away. Then a breathless chuckle escaped his lips.

"The Baron thought you were my lady when I spoke with him earlier." Mary held a curious mien.

"Oh?" Reuben's lips twitched in amusement.

"I told him you weren't, and yet here we are." It was Mary's turn to chuckle. A light giggle that made his heart flutter uncharacteristically.

"Am I, then?" Mary murmured, her expression thoughtful. Her next words were but a whisper. "Am I your lady?"

"I'm afraid so. I fear the day you soften me, and I'm even more fearful that it's already started."

[dailyadventureprompts]

I really enjoyed your takes on Baphomet and Orcus as demon lords that might have plausible cults in the mortal world. I’ve gone through and attached similar reasonable-albeit-extreme spheres of influence for most of the other major demon lords I plan to incorporate, but the one I’m getting stuck on is Jubliex. What sort of portfolio or sphere could a giant thinking slime embody that a reasonable, very desperate mortal would choose to worship it? I’m hoping to keep it in a shape that would preserve its 5e statblock, but everything else is fair game.

Footnotes on Foes: Juiblex, Godsmidden

Juiblex touches on many of the same factors I mentioned in my recent revamp of Zuggtmoy: A "Fill in the Blank Baddie" that is 100% all slime all the time. This doesn't make them a really great villain, which wouldn't be a problem except Juiblex is up there with other demon princes as a pantheon of badguys you can base your late game campaign on. " Slime" isn't really that rich a thematic well to draw from compared to blood oaths, cruelty, or lies, now is it?

So here's my proposed revision: One part tar pit, one part garbage heap, Juiblex is a grotesque amalgamation of all that is unwanted by the gods, a cosmic dumping ground that has spontaneously developed a will of its own. Slithering through the lowest caverns of the underdark, the shadowfell, and the dead realms, bridging them together like a network of interdimensional sewer tunnels.

The actual "being" of Juiblex is dispersed across this septic sea, byproduct of the decay of dead gods, alchemical runoff, cursed artifacts, and innumerable corpses all being broken down and blending with one another into a primordial soup. Bereft of an actual "self", Juiblex experiences flashes of identity and cognition as its internal currents dredge up errant personality traits, with the remains of particularly resistant entities influencing its outlook and personality for decades or even centuries. Lacking anything resembling a cult, Juiblex’s regurgitated personality influences those who’s water it taints, with such blighted individuals feeling the will of the formless lord fermenting in the places between their own thoughts. This alien aliment sometimes progresses into full on possession, with the most dangerous cases retching up the component for a portal and opening up a new interdimensional wellspring for the princeps of ooze.

Hooks

While normally contained to the lower reaches of the multiverse, Juiblex's influence sometimes pours through in unexpected places, exuding half-digested horrors upon the face of the world like flotsam left on a beach after a tide. This might be a reason why so many sewers in great and ancient cities seem to spontaneously develop infestations of aberrations and oozes, as well as how relics from forgotten times might end up unleashed on the present. Those tho traverse these dank and fetid chambers might unwittingly seek to dredge Juiblex for more treasures, drawing a little more of the demon-ooze's influence into the world in the process.

Millennia after his defeat, a slain and mostly dissolved war god of has clawed his way to the top of the midden and has begun to direct the princeps of ooze with his desperate desire to get back at the gods that cast him down. Sowing a bit of sickness into the water supply of a military garrison, a cohort of fevered, delirious soldiers now marches through the countryside desecrating temples and raiding villages for supplies. Even if the party is able to route these foes, unless they discover the true nature of the affliction it’s very likely they’ll be fighting a mob of the common people that’ve caught the contagious dissent.

Seeking to avoid the barbarities of lesser folk, a conclave of elves established a city high atop a mountain, retreating into hedonistic indulgence and introspective study while their magic provided for every need. Something went wrong, the city’s water became tainted, and the conclave slowly succumbed to poison while the world below passed them by. Centuries after they were forgotten, the glacier that built up around their abandoned home is starting to melt, releasing their poisonous contents into the local watertable. Flooded mines, sickened townsfolk, and ravening monsters are sure to follow, all under the sway of a local manifestation of Juiblex that thinks it’s a clique of clever, highborn elvan socialites of a forgotten era, their egos and eccentricities all melded into one.

Art

[plutowrites]

hie hun, im in love w your blog recently :) idk if your taking in requests but ill put out my idea here!! no pressure tho <33

so ive injured my left hand pretty bad lol ( im a lefty) and im having a pretty hard time doing normal shit 🙂 and i was just having these ideas about Levi helping out the reader to bath n wash their hair when they injured their hand like akrmxkakdk😩 ( i had to do it alone😭) and him being like mad about how clumsy they are ahskds-

tyyyy take care and have a nice day/night👸✨

Hi luvvv <3 first off i want to say i hope your hand has gotten better since the time you sent this ask! I sprained my dominant wrist pretty badly a couple of months ago and there were so many things I had trouble doing so this hit close to home LOL. I really enjoyed writing this one, ugh you know how much i adore writing for thee levi ackerman.

i hope you find some comfort out of this and again, pls feel better and take care of yourself x

By Heart. Levi Ackerman x Reader

contains: slight profanity (you can thank Levi for that), fluff, Levi taking care of reader and being adorable

wc: 1.4k

note: sigh. levi ackerman. that’s all i wanted to add.

When you hear the door quietly creak open in typical (stealthy) Levi fashion, you quickly jam your left hand in your pocket, foolishly. The pain you’ve been successfully managing returns with a vengeance, shooting all the way from the tips of your fingertips to your wrist which is a feeling that’s new for you. Great.

You’ve been waiting the past thirty minutes for Levi to return so he wouldn’t catch you with the poorly wrapped bandage around your hand and wrist. Your plan was to hide your injury as best you could by means of keeping it in whatever pocket you could stick it into.

And, most importantly, without looking suspicious in the process.

“Welcome home.” You beam at him as he enters through the door. Levi loosens his tie with one hand and places his briefcase down with the other. Afterwards, he raises his eyebrows at you, noting the way you didn’t immediately come to hug him and plant the scheduled barbaric, sloppy kiss on his cheek he claims to despise so much but actually loves and looks forward to.

“How was your day?” He eventually asks casually, walking over to you slowly as if to give you time to drop the act and run straight into his arms like you usually do.

You're awkwardly leaning on the edge of the dining table, both hands in the pockets of your sweater. You know you look super shady but you don’t know how to not look shady given the very shady circumstances.

While you’re thinking of what to say and do next, Levi is drinking you in the entire time; his blue-grey eyes slowly moving from one square inch of you to the next.

“Good,” You exhale, nervously, certain that he already knows what’s up. “Missed you.” You smile at him and he returns a smaller, tired one right back.

“If you missed me then show me, hm.” Levi tugs on the hem of your sweater and the force pulls you closer towards him. You keep your hurt hand where it is but take the other one out to wrap around his neck. You breathe in his scent. “Oi, what’s up with you?” He mutters in your ear in that low voice of his.

You stay in his arms. “Nothing. Why?”

“Where does it hurt?” He tries to pull away to investigate but you don’t let him leave your embrace. You want to stay like this just a little longer, though you know very well that you can’t continue your little facade, you’ve been caught and it’s time to come clean.  

“Mm, my left hand is acting weird. It’s fine I think, I probably need to rest it.” And definitely see a doctor but you don’t add that part.

“Y/n,” Levi begins but you interrupt him, sighing loudly.

“Ugh. How’d you know something was up?”

He clicks his tongue, disappointed in the fact that you even dared tried to hide this from him. “Because I know you. I know what you’re like when you’re in pain,” He says, holding out his hand for you to place yours into. “Show me now, please.” You reluctantly pull your limp hand for him to inspect and inspect is exactly what he does. Levi is sure to be extra gentle when pulling off the bandage but when you wince from a sudden jolt of searing, white-hot pain, he inhales through gritted teeth. “This happened today, I’m assuming.”

“Yes.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“Bathed?”

You hesitate. You did take a shower earlier but you weren’t able to wash your hair, not properly at least. You whooped and hollered trying to get the shampoo out of the bottle and when you finally got a decent amount of product out after a tedious go at it, you couldn’t bend your fingers hard enough to lather your hair and really get into the roots. You gave up the battle shortly after, making a note to do it another time when you weren’t in intense and excruciating pain. “I wasn’t able to wash my hair.” You admit cautiously.

Levi makes a noise. “And you couldn’t wait for me to come home?”

“I knew you’d be tired and I didn’t want to bother you ab-”

He lets out a disapproving grunt, cutting you off. “Meet me in the bathroom after I get changed out of these clothes.”

———

You’re on your knees, bent over the edge of the bathtub with your hair dangling over the side of it. Levi had already gently placed a clean towel around your neck to keep the rest of you from getting wet. You can feel the heat radiating off his body as he leans over you to detach the removable shower head, he turns it on but you don’t immediately feel the rush of water gush over your hair. “You changed your mind, Levi?” You tease.

“Making sure the water isn’t too cold but if you keep talking I won’t be so considerate.” He teases back. His free hand snakes around your neck to make sure you don’t move around and splash the both of you.

The bathroom falls silent as the only sounds in the room come from the running water. The feeling of it hitting your head mixed with the pressure of Levi’s fingers massaging your scalp makes you hum in pleasure. “You’re good at this.”

“Don’t act so surprised.” You can hear the tiny smile in his voice. A cold dollop of shampoo hits the top of your head and the yummy strawberry smell wafts into your nose. His fingers start to work and lather the shampoo into your scalp which sends shivers down your spine. You’re so relaxed you feel your eyes begin to slowly flutter shut when Levi's voice jolts you back awake.

“Hey you.”

You know what that tone means. You know what’s coming. “Babe, I know. I was clumsy.”

“You were more than just clumsy. How can I trust you to not get yourself hurt when I’m not with you?” Concern laces his usually calm and collected voice. “And to f—cking hide it from me too. Unbelievable,” His words cut harsh but his hands remain gentle on you. He rinses out the shampoo in your hair with great attention to detail, making sure to get every spot. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You sigh loudly, “I didn’t want you to worry more about me than you already do. You worry so much as it is and I hate it. I’m okay— my hand will heal and I’ll be okay. You should—”

“Don’t.” He cuts you off impatiently, turning off the stream of water. “Don’t make it seem like caring about you is a chore. It’s f—cking not.” Levi lifts your chin up slowly and wraps a new towel around your head, draping it around you so your face isn’t covered by it. “I know I don’t say it as often as I should and that’s on me but I love you, okay? So wanting to take care of you isn’t a stretch by any means. It comes naturally to me, actually.”

All you could do is nod your head in response—an overwhelming feeling of pure love for the dark haired man bent over you, washing your hair in the tiny bathroom you two share, completely drowns you. He could figure out all your secrets in the dark; he knows you by heart.

With Levi, you would always have a constant, unwavering love in your life and for that you couldn’t be more grateful.

———

After some time and your hair now semi-dry with Levi’s help, you finally find your voice and say, “It’s hard letting someone take care of me. I dunno why, it just is,” You shrug.

Levi’s eyes soften in your direction, he nods his head once to show you he understands. He knows out of everyone what that feels like, probably the most even. He carefully leans over to press a tender kiss to your exposed forehead, sneaking his hand to caress your cheek in the process. “Let’s get you into bed, hm?” His fingers linger where they are. “Let that shitty hand of yours rest.”

“Carry me.”

Levi lets out a snort before responding, “Something wrong with your legs too? You’re f—cking bold.” But in one swift motion, he sweeps you off the bathroom floor and carries you with ease, in his arms, bridal style. You let out a yelp from the suddenness before erupting into a fit of giggles against his chest. Once reaching the bedroom, Levi gently places you on your side of the bed.

Kneeling down so that his face was a mere few inches away from yours, he pulls you in even closer with his warm hand on your neck. You feel his minty breath on your lips. You can tell he wants to say something but nothing comes out; he closes his eyes forcefully shut out of frustration.

“You love me, I know,” You press your forehead against his and whisper, “You don’t have to say it.”

And with that, he kisses you.

taglist: @bunny-xoxo @carmillous @blondeboyfriend @tetsunormous

© 2021 plutowrites

[crystalcow]

𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒//𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑏𝑢𝑟 𝑆𝑜𝑜𝑡

Masterlist

Wilbur Soot x reader !c

Pronouns used: none

Warnings: angst, fighting, Lmanburg

—————————————

What was the first sign when your realized the one you loved was slowly drifting away, loosing themself? How the beautiful touches of simple hugs or kisses now became a well of darkness and death.

“Dance with me will you?” I said as the soothing jazz played out in the back coming from the dusty radio. Small crackles every couple minutes like static, history lying within the soft tracks.

“Sorry love, I’m a little busy at the moment. Would you mind turning the music lower?” I pursed my lips together hesitantly turning down the volume. A little ping in my heart looking out the musty window of the van.

“It’s a wonderful day outside, it’s possible it’ll rain later so it won’t last long.” Small flowers of different colors blossomed after many months of cold winds. The fluffy clouds covering a part of the sun, still leaving enough room for light to shine through.

“Yes I know, the weather is quite nice this time of year. Yet again I have to finish these papers and plans. I’ve put so much time to this and I need to get it done.”

I soothed over the little printed out photo on the wooden table, the careless nights and excitement of the new adventure. The old spew of the fire, a couple logs set around it, we all sat and ate marshmallows and heart melting chocolate mixed together.

My arms found their way wrapped around my boyfriends, peering over his shoulder. Weapons scouted out on paper, drawings of empires and plans of battle. The once enlightening spark in his eyes now dull and forced within battle.

“Wil, you understand that I am by your side through everything of course? Staking away from the smp land and starting an country with your little brother.”

He hummed in agreement while continuing to sketch down in the book, the ink scratching down into the delicate paper. Elegant handwriting with the small bits of cursive here and there around.

“Would you think it would be a good idea to take a break? Leave this place for just a couple days maybe even a night!”

That had caught his attention, looking up at me as if I were crazy. Eyes darkened with a scowl etched onto his face. He stood up grabbing the torn up blue coat, laying it upon his arms.

“What would give you that barbaric idea? We can’t leave now,” Wilbur stepped out in front of me, grabbing my shoulders trying to ‘shake some sense into me.”

“Barbaric you say’ hell have you seen your bloody men?!” I exasperated shooing him back. “You dragged two sixteen year olds into a war, Fundy’s exhausted we lost Eret.”

He paced back rubbing his temples to ignore the migraines which had been forming more often recently. The idea of leaving Lmanburg, having peace not being good enough for him?

“I built this nation for them, For you!” He shouted as I put my hands on my head slightly pulling my hair.

“Your not even listenting to me! You cant be the same man you were when we started this whole shenanigan, I just want your attention at times. But no, your all focused on war rather then giving a damn.”

Soft splatters upon the window, a dark shadow casting over the land. A simple sign of the dampening mood, shouts from Tommy outside.

The door to the white caravan slammed open as the young blonde stormed inside, dragging in a trail of water.

“Dream- he’s ready outside, tnt.” Is all Tommy said putting his hands on his knees trying to steady his breaths.

“We’ll continue this conversation later.” Wilbur said turning towards me putting his hat on, looking like a true general.

“No I don’t think we will.”

—————————————��—

No one asked for this but I wrote it anyways? Aha if you want to be added on a tag list or request anything please ask.

[handwrittenhello]

put your loving hand out 2/?

Relationships: Jaskier/Yennefer, eventual Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer Rating: E Summary: When a pregnant Jaskier is abandoned by Geralt atop the mountain, Yennefer knows that taking him in is only the decent thing to do, really. Who would leave a vulnerable omega to fend for themselves? But her instincts want more than she's willing to take, and soon she must fight not to catch feelings for him, even though he's funny and sweet and so good with the baby and—Oh fuck. And when Geralt reenters the picture, full of remorse over his rash dismissal of Jaskier—well, two alphas, an omega, and a baby? Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Or the beginning of something wonderful.

first | next read chapter 2 here on ao3 or below:

“Halt! State your business,” cries the guard standing atop the city wall. The gates are closed; travelers linger around them.

“What is this? The city shouldn’t be closed,” Yennefer yells back.

“We’ve had a rash of omega-related incidents in recent months, and King Foltest has decreed that all unmated omegas are to remain outside the city for their own safety.”

“Incidents?” Jaskier mouths. Yennefer has a suspicion on what sort of incidents the guard might mean, and none of it sends warm fuzzy feelings through her.

“I don’t know,” she mutters back. Then, to the guard, “My mate and I are here to see a healer. He’s expecting.” The guard nods and disappears from view, presumably to descend and inspect them himself.

“Yen, I don’t smell like your mate—” Jaskier whispers, afraid at being caught in the lie.

“Just play along. You smell like baby more than anything,” she hisses back.

The guard exits a tower abutting the gate, approaching them with a hand held casually on the sword at his hip. Anxiety starts to creep into Jaskier’s scent.

“Name and gender?” the guard says by rote, looking at Yennefer first.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, alpha,” she begins, “and my omega, the bard Jaskier.”

The guard steps closer to Jaskier, giving an obvious sniff. Yennefer waits, ready at any moment to bespell him, though she’d rather not if she doesn’t have to. The guard’s mouth twists in a frown, and Jaskier clutches for her hand.

“May we pass now? My mate is in a delicate state. It’s paramount that he see the healer as soon as possible.” She puts a subtle threat in her voice, not quite an alpha growl, but even just the suggestion of a displeased alpha with a pregnant mate to protect is enough to have the guard bowing out of their way.

“What a thoroughly unpleasant man,” Jaskier says as soon as the gates shut behind them, scrubbing at his skin like that’ll remove the feeling of the guard’s oily voice. “Ugh. And what the hell did he mean by incidents? What has the world come to, that a free omega can’t walk about town of his own volition? I thought that sort of thing only happened in far-off barbaric lands,” Jaskier says, distaste heavy in his voice.

“It’s more common than you would think,” Yennefer says sourly, remembering her mother’s old fear that Yennefer would grow up to be an omega like her. A crippled quarter-elf omega would have had no chance at happiness in her time, let alone now. “But I wouldn’t have thought Triss would let something like this happen.”

“Triss?”

“The court sorceress. Old friend of mine. I’ll have to stop by and find out why it’s gotten so bad that they’d rather close the city gates than try to deal with the problem properly,” Yennefer says acidly.

“Sounds like pleasant business.” Jaskier grimaces. “Which way to this healer, then?”

“This way.” Yennefer directs him down winding streets, skirting the bad part of town and leading him through the market square before they arrive at a small shop tucked in between a rowdy tavern and an apothecary smelling strongly of hallucinogenic herbs.

A small bell rings above the door as they enter, summoning a kindly-looking beta woman from the back of the shop, wiping her hands on a rag. She relaxes when neither Jaskier nor Yennefer appear to be actively dying. “Ah! Hello there, I’m Griselda. How can I help you?”

“Jaskier here would like an examination. Prenatal.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Griselda coos. “How far along?” she asks as she waves them into her back room and shoos Jaskier onto a reclining couch.

Jaskier shoots Yennefer a panicked look. “Um. Seven weeks, maybe?”

“Lovely. May I?” Griselda asks, hands hovering over Jaskier’s stomach. He nods jerkily and removes his doublet, balling it up and holding it close to his chest. Yennefer hovers awkwardly by the door, wanting to provide him some comfort but not wanting to invade on his privacy.

Griselda makes the decision for her. “Would you like your mate to stay for the exam?” she asks Jaskier, and he stutters in response. “Oh, she’s—we’re not—it’s—”

“Oh! My apologies. In that case I must insist you give my patient some privacy,” the healer says, not unkindly, ushering Yennefer out the door. “We’ll be done in about an hour.”

Yennefer instinctively bares her teeth. Griselda doesn’t flinch in the face of an alpha’s fury. With some difficulty, Yennefer wrestles down her alpha instincts. “Jaskier?” she calls over Griselda’s shoulder. “Will you be alright?”

“It’ll be fine,” he replies, smiling tightly. “Go catch up with Triss.”

Though she’s still uneasy, Yennefer allows herself to be led out, and finds herself standing in the middle of the street feeling quite lost for a moment. With nobody to direct her protectiveness at, she’s at a loss for what to do, but settles on heading towards the castle looming high over the rest of the city.

“Yennefer!” Triss is surprised to see her, but welcomes her into the castle immediately, waving off the guards that bristle at her approach. “What are you doing in Vizima? And why haven’t I heard from you in three decades?”

“I’m sorry for not sending word,” Yennefer says. “Aedirn… wasn’t to my taste. I went elsewhere.”

Triss gives her an unimpressed look, then relents. “Well, you’re here now, at least.”

“What’s with the welcoming committee at the city gates?” Yennefer asks bluntly.

Triss sighs, then waves for Yennefer to follow her into a small parlor off the hall. “Got caught up in it, did you? I’ve been trying to stop them, but Foltest won’t hear it.” She rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her, but not before a guard peels off from the rest and settles in the corner of the room silently, looming like a suit of armor upon a rack. “He’s convinced that it’ll fix itself if Vizima just rids itself of omegas entirely.”

That sounds like exactly the sort of bullshit that usually comes from self-absorbed alpha rulers concerned only with their self-image. “What does he want to hide so badly?”

Triss grimaces. “Trafficking. It started with a few going missing—prostitutes and drifters, mostly, nobody that was missed. Now you’d be lucky to find any unmated omegas in the city at all—if they haven’t been grabbed already or fled, they’ve been removed from the city. I’ve done all I can, but with the king as he is, it’s not much.”

Omega trafficking. Yennefer feels her stomach drop to her boots. “I’m going to fix this,” she promises Triss as she stands. She has to get back to Jaskier now.

“You know where to find me if you need anything,” Triss replies, escorting her out. “Thank you, Yenna.”

Yennefer makes immediately for Griselda’s. There’s an urgency buzzing beneath her skin, driving her on until she can make it back to the omega under her care that she left alone in a strange city. He can handle himself, but not against organized traffickers.

The location of Griselda’s shop makes sense as soon as Yennefer nears. Between the noise of the tavern and the scent of the apothecary, any signs of abduction would be easily missed. But even through the stink of herbs and spilled ale, she can still catch the faintest whiff on the air of omega fear—Jaskier’s fear. Her mind fills with wordless rage.

“Where is he?” she roars as she flings open the door, lightning springing to her fingertips. There’s no sign of either Jaskier or Griselda in the front room nor the back—both of them have vanished, though not without a fight, it seems. A small amount of blood dots the floor near the examination table, freshly fallen.

By the gods, she’s the worst alpha ever, unable to protect even one measly bard. It had taken scarcely ten minutes to lose him. But thoughts of her failure won’t help get him back—only action will. She needs to be smart about this, no matter how much her alpha side wants heads to roll.

She’s no witcher, but with Jaskier’s scent burnt into her nostrils, it’s almost easy to track him. She follows his trail through the city like a bloodhound until it brings her to a stop just outside the entrance to the sewers. So that’s how they’ve been moving their chattel about undetected.

She hikes up her skirts and plunges in, wading through the mire and the muck with a single-minded focus. The scent trail is completely overpowered by the stench of shit and rot, but there’s only one way forward, so she pushes onward.

The sewers dump her out somewhere near the nicer part of the city—the buildings are taller, sturdier, the streets paved with stones and lined with shrubbery. There’s one house at the end of the square, imposing, dark, all of its shutters tightly closed and one that the people on the street seem to unconsciously skirt around. It must be the place.

She can’t simply burn the entire building down like she wants to so very badly. She’ll have to be more subtle. She spares a quick moment and a burst of Chaos to clean herself of the sewer gunk and dust of the road, and settles into a haughty, expensive mindset.

She strides up to the front door and gives an imperious knock, one two three. There’s nothing for a moment, no sound nor hint of movement inside, before a peephole shunts open and a pair of dark brown eyes squints out at her.

“Yes?” the man on the other side of the door grunts.

“I’m here to buy,” she says coldly, putting on a mask of cruelty. “I was told this was the best place to come.”

“Market day is on Sunday. Wait until then,” he grunts.

“I'm afraid I won’t be in town that long. Surely you wouldn’t want to lose a customer willing to pay handsomely for what she wants?”

The man hesitates, but finally the peephole shuts and the door opens. He ushers her in quickly, locking it solidly behind her. She looks him up and down—he does the same to her. He’s of middling height, with a beer gut even bigger than Jaskier’s growing stomach. He smells of sickening alpha sweat, but even beneath the stench she can catch faint notes of honey and milk. Jaskier.

“You’ll be wanting an omega, then? Male or female?” he asks, correctly sizing her up as an alpha—and most likely as one not to be trifled with.

“I’m not particular. Let me browse all your wares,” she commands.

He nods his head towards the stairs leading down a flight. “Down there. Take your fill, but sampling the merchandise beforehand costs extra.”

Yennefer’s answering smile is more of a sneer, but he doesn’t comment on it. She’s itching to kill him here and now, but she worries that it would put the omegas in danger to start a fight with the other traffickers she’s sure are lurking about the house.

The basement stairs creak horribly as she descends, and a chorus of whimpers rises from below.

The first door she throws open reveals a tiny, windowless room with only a bed and a bucket in the corner. A young omega woman lies curled up on her side, her hands covering her face, though Yennefer can see the bruises that peek out. She doesn’t react except for the scent of dread slowly rising.

Yennefer backs out and closes the door, fully intending to let her out later. For now she’s consumed with finding Jaskier—all else can wait.

The second and third doors reveal much the same, and Yennefer’s heart breaks for how much misery is baked into this place. These poor people.

It’s in the room across the hall that she finally finds him. A fresh terror emanates from this room, as opposed to the resigned dread of the others. He’s wide-eyed and trembling when she throws open the door, sitting up against the corner with his legs and arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. “Yen—” he gasps, scrambling off the bed and throwing himself at her. She envelopes him in a hug, her nose immediately overwhelmed by the scents of fear and pain, though they’re quickly giving way to relief.

“Jaskier, you’re alright,” Yennefer breathes, gripping him tightly.

“You found me, oh, I was so scared,” Jaskier hiccups. “That bitch Griselda—”

“I know. It’s alright, I found you,” Yennefer soothes. “Are you hurt?”

“A few bruises, nothing serious. They did give me something though—I tried not to take it, but I couldn’t help it, I’m sorry.”

It’s then that Yennefer notices how fast his heart is beating, how he’s shaking and sweating. She’d thought at first they were the result of adrenaline, but now she’s not so sure. “Fuck,” she curses. “It might have been a heat-inducing potion. We need to get you out of here.”

“Heat? But that’s impossible. Omegas can’t go into heat while pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, alchemy doesn’t care,” Yennefer mutters darkly. “Stay here. I have to go deal with the fuckers upstairs. Go let the others out of their rooms, keep them calm for me, can you do that?” she asks.

He nods determinedly. “I’m on it. Go give them hell for me, yeah?”

Lightning flares to life between her hands. “Oh, I plan on it.”

The man who greets her at the top of the stairs doesn’t even have time to look surprised before he’s melting from the inside out. She makes quick work of the rest of the traffickers who come storming in from other rooms—not too quick, though. She wants to see them suffer for their despicable crimes.

When the last trafficker is convulsing on the ground, his life slowly being consumed, Yennefer calls the omegas up from the basement. Jaskier is leading them, a bedpost clutched tightly in his hands, though he throws it to the ground when he sees that there’s no threat anymore.

“Did you kill them all?” pipes a small omega, hardly more than a girl, from the back of the group.

“Yes. They won’t ever hurt you again,” Yennefer promises. “You’re free now. If you’re in need of help while you get back on your feet, go to the palace and ask for Triss Merigold. I’ll make sure she knows to watch for you.”

What follows is a tear-filled bout of profuse thanks and praise. Yennefer just nods, ushering them quickly on their way, before turning to Jaskier. He looks worse, his face visibly flushed and his pupils dilated. Shit.

“Come on,” she says shortly, grabbing his hand and leading him out of that den of horrific crimes. He shields his eyes from the sunlight when they stumble outside, whining unhappily. She needs to get him somewhere safe—now.

Before his heat arrives.

--

first | next

[pitch-pearl-void]

The Consort’s Circlet

Danny set the heel of his palms beneath the circlet and pushed upward at the same time he lowered his head. He made a low hissing noise when, instead of sliding cleanly off his head, the circlet glowed, burned, and squeezed his head all the tighter. The jewel nestled in the center of his forehead burned hotter than it had previously, becoming less like a warmed washcloth and more like a sun heated rock. He gasped in pain.

Princess Dorethea grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. "Stop this, my lord!"

"You stop it," Danny snapped back, tearing his wrists free. He backed away from the ghost until his back crashed against a wall. His hand went to his hip, reaching for a blaster that wasn't there. Instead his hand grasped uselessly at the rope they had tied around his waist to pull his new tunic against his sides. He gritted his teeth, feeling his face flush. "And give me back my clothes. Guys don't wear tights anymore, you can't just dress me up whatever way you please."

Dorathea sniffed and smoothed her hands down her dress. "I assure you, in this kingdom men do wear 'tights,' as you put it. Are they uncomfortable, my lord?"

Mulishly, Danny muttered, "No..."

"Then stop whining!"

Danny stuck his tongue out. Dorathea bristled, teeth bared, and Danny quickly dropped into a fighting stance he had practiced and used against ghosts for a little over two years, legs bent at the knee, feet flat on the floor, his arms raised in front of his chest. Annoyingly, the tights were as easy to move in as the jumpsuit his parents had made him. He almost welcomed the incoming fight, but unfortunately, Dorathea calmed herself, once more smoothing her hands down her dress.

"This is getting us nowhere," she said, her eyes closed. "You are to shortly become my brother's consort--"

"As if!" Danny shouted, not for the first time. "I'm not marrying a ghost, damn it! Just because you spooks have some sort of ghost hunter fetish--"

"You do not have a choice in the matter!" For a moment, it looked as if Dorathea's eyes were changing, but the moment passed as she once again began petting her dress. "My brother has chosen you as his consort. It is an honor and you should treat it as such." Danny snorted and she glared at him. "This...barbaric behavior is most unbecoming, my lord."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't know what you expected after kidnapping someone. Especially someone who fights ghosts every day. I'm not in the habit of rolling over."

Dorathea sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, brushing against her own circlet. A smaller one, Danny noted, and one without a garish, creepy eye-like stone in the center. Danny moved cautiously away from her, toward a window in the stonework.

"I told him this was a bad idea," she moaned, sounding as though she was speaking more to herself, "I told him humans had moved beyond our rules and would not obey simply because he commanded it. I especially warned him about you and your kin. Foolish. Humans who can fight ghosts are the most dangerous of them all, but the moment my brother saw you defeat the warriors he had sent to distract your town's defender, he would not be swayed. I have lost count of the number of times he has demanded to watch the recording I took of you in battle."

Danny shuddered, his skin crawling. "I had help. It wasn't just me. Phantom was there too." He rubbed at the circlet, wincing as the stone burned. "We work together most of the time. Why isn't he here? Why me?"

Not that Danny wanted Phantom trapped in this predicament in his stead--

He hissed in pain and pushed at the circlet to no avail. "Phantom defeated the Ghost King almost single-handedly. He's powerful, brave, funny--" Tears sprang to his eyes as it felt like the stone was trying to burn its way to his brain. "--Damn it! Look, I just do what my parents taught me! If you ghosts are really infatuated with power over beauty, why is Prince Asshole trying to force this crap on me instead of marrying, like, Ember or something?"

"You have defeated Miss Ember in the past," Dorathea pointed out. "Numerous times."

"Yeah, with help! Phantom's!"

"Yes, and you regularly compete with Phantom in what you apparently regard as..." She raised an eyebrow. "Sparring?"

Danny felt his cheeks warming and hoped it was in response to the circlet's burning touch and not the fluttering sensation in his stomach. "It's practice," he muttered. "He's helping me get better."

"It is flirting, my lord," Dorathea corrected, "borderline foreplay. If strength is such a huge factor in how we ghosts find each other attractive, then what do you suppose it means when Phantom challenges you in mock battle so that you might test his strength while he witnesses yours?"

Danny's face was definitely flushing now. He spluttered and saw Dorathea's expression soften into something more girlish and, dare he think it, affectionate, before Danny had to slap his hands over his face in a weak attempt to hide. "Don't tell me that," he whined. "Oh my god, he's been flirting?"

"For some years it would seem," Dorathea agreed, amused. She sighed. "Not that it matters, now, of course. He waited too long, and now my brother has snatched you from beneath his nose."

Danny pushed his hands upward, tugged at the burning circlet once more before he moved his hands into his hair, pushing his bangs off his sweating forehead. It felt like his scalp was on fire. "Just because you guys caught me," he growled, irritated as pain traveled down his neck and along his spine, "doesn't mean you can keep me. Just wait. I'll get out of here yet."

Dorathea looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid it is not that simple. Your circlet...it is..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. More specifically, at his now visible forehead. "My lord, is your circlet burning?"

"Uh, yeah?" Danny taped a finger against the graceful, silver wires twining in a circle around his head, winced, and jerked his hand away. "It started a little while ago. I figured it was a 'ghost and human can't mix' thing."

Dorathea's eyes widened. "No," she said. "The circlet was made with a human in mind, it is perfectly safe, but it should not be activating. Not so soon."

"Oh wow." Danny braced his back against the wall again. He was almost to the window--Dorathea didn't seem concerned about that for whatever reason--but the fire was spreading from his spine to his limbs and the cool stones offered some small relief. "You guys are trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"Not kill," Dorathea huffed, sounding disgusted by the idea. "What use is claiming a human bride only to kill him? No, my lord, it is meant to bring you closer to my brother."

Danny squinted at her, suspicious. "Closer?"

"Emotionally. Like a true consort."

"That's never going to happen," Danny growled. Actually growled. He blinked and touched his throat where the rumbling noise was still coming from.

Danny's skin crawled with revulsion. He had met Aragon, briefly. When he had spoken to Danny it was as if he thought Danny was already his possession, a mute servant who would obey his command. He had sounded so smug. If Danny hadn't been so dazed and on the edge of unconsciousness from whatever warping portal they had used to transport him deep into the Ghost Zone, he would have decked the so-called prince just on principle. 

Dorathea smiled sadly. "And yet it is working already if the circlet is activating."

Danny swore violently. He tried to push the circlet off again, but it was hot. He barely felt it on his forehead anymore, but it burned his hands. He hissed, frustrated, and the noise sounded as beastial as the growl.

"It is strange, though," Dorathea said thoughtfully.

"What is?" Danny spat, his voice like gravel. 

"You only recently met my brother. In theory, the circlet should keep you bound to the castle until you learn to love him, at which point the circlet would activate and allow you to assume our second form yourself. It's responding far too soon."

Danny squinted an eye open to glare at her. "Your circlet thing must be broken then because the only thing I feel toward him is the desire to rip his damn throat out!" He shouted the last part, the words barely discernible over the growl shaking his chest. 

A roar.

Dorathea's eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Danny was pleased to finally see her take his anger seriously, even if he was losing his humanity to do it. 

However, before he could feel too smug, Dora's lips curled into a smug smile of her own. "Would you now..." she whispered.

Alarm bells began clanging in the towers above them. Human and ghost rushed to the window, but Danny was closer and reached the sill before Dorathea. He searched the odd, cloud-filled skies for whatever had spooked the sentries until Dorathea slid beneath his arm and shoved her shoulder against his ribs, forcing him to retreat to the left side of the windowsill. 

"Not very lady-like," he grunted.

She sniffed. "As if you have grounds to criticize me."

A black shape shot past their window, cutting their bickering short. It flew farther up and then away from their tower. Danny sucked in a breath. A dragon. A gigantic black dragon. It roared, spewing bright blue flames, and Danny mentally amended, A gigantic black ghost dragon that breathes fire.

It didn't bother flapping its wings but it soared upward all the same, flashing a purple belly and a spiked tail at those below. Was it attacking the kingdom? It was flying the wrong way if it was.

"What kind of kingdom keeps a dragon as a pet?" Danny asked, incredulous.

Dorathea choked beside him.

"You dare challenge ME?" Aragon's voice boomed from above them. From the dragon's throat, specifically.

"Oh..." Danny said weakly. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Aragon is the--He turns into a dragon?!"

"There is a reason he has ruled our realm for so long," Dorathea agreed sadly. "In this form, his second form, he is much too powerful for anyone to challenge. Even me." She touched her necklace. "Though I too have a dragon form..."

Danny eyed her warily. He inched closer to the wall, allowing Dorathea more space at the window. "Makes sense," he said archly. "You being a dragon..."

She favored him with a cool glance. 

If she meant to reply--and Danny really hoped she did because he had a snarky quip lined up--the door to Danny's new room banged open. Two voices yelled out in sync, and Danny spun around, recognition already splitting his face into a grin. Sam and Tucker burst into the room. Sam, dressed as a knight, pointed her drawn sword at Dorathea while Tucker pulled back on a bow, an arrow primed and aimed at the princess as well. 

"Unhand our friend, you fiend!" Sam ordered. "And stop looking so cute while you're at it!"

"Yeah!" Tucker chorused. Then, "Wait..."

"Sam! Tucker!" Danny took a step toward them, but Dorathea suddenly grabbed his wrist. It was the first time she had touched him, and he gawked at her a couple seconds before trying to yank his arm away. "What are you doing, let--ow, ow, ow! Gees!"

For such a dainty-looking girl, her grip was hard enough to bruise.

Or break, Danny thought, wincing one eye shut. 

"Let him go!" Sam charged at them, sword raised.

Dorathea jerked on Danny's wrist, and he stumbled to the side, inbetween her and Sam. Dorathea's arm latched around his shoulders, pinning him to her chest. She raised a hand to his throat and five pinpricks dug into the skin around his windpipe. Danny swallowed. He couldn't see it, but he had a bad feeling Dorathea's hand had just grown some talons. 

Sam lowered her sword and held up her free hand. 

"Oh shit," Tucker said. 

Beside Danny's ear, Dorathea leaned in to whisper, "If those two are here then who do you think my brother is chasing outside?"

A cold sense of dread pooled in Danny's stomach. "What are you--"

"Think, my lord. These two humans couldn't have arrived here, in the Ghost Zone, without assistance. Not when my brother posted sentries at the gate, not when our kingdom is so well hidden. So who did Aragon change into a dragon to chase into the skies?"

Danny's eyes widened. He barely managed to breathe, "Phantom..." before the circlet began sending fire down his spine again. He cried out and tried to reach for his head, but Dorathea's arm obstructed his own and the hand at his throat warned him against struggling. 

"What are you doing to him?!" Tucker yelled. 

Dorathea ignored him and brought her lips to the cartilage of Danny's ear. "Phantom has come to rescue you, my lord. He is using himself as bait while these two free you from the castle."

"No," Danny groaned, the word more a guttural growl than spoken.

"Yes. See for yourself." 

Dorathea released Danny's neck and grabbed his chin instead, her claws digging into the sensitive skin of his face. She forced his head to turn toward the window, and Danny pried his eyes open despite the pain urging him to shut the world out. It was difficult to focus at first, but a bright green beam caught his eyes and stole every one of his thoughts. Small as Phantom was from this distance, his brilliant glow, the brightness of his white hair, stood out starkly against the angry gray-green clouds.

The sight of him made Danny's breath catch, his skin burn.

"My brother will destroy him," Dorathea continued, her tone cold, merciless. "He will burn his body to ash."

"No!"

"There is nothing you can do, locked in this tower." Dorathea taped a claw to his chin. "As so many before, your only duty now is to watch two men fight over you. Galling, isn't it? To feel so helpless while the one you love is slaughtered before your eyes."

"Sam!" Tucker cried. "His eyes--"

"I can see it, Tucker!" Sam snapped. 

Danny struggled in Dorathea's iron grip, but as before her strength kept him from breaking free. "Let go of me!" he snarled. His gaze never left the two ghosts battling in the sky above. Phantom was quicker, more agile, but a lucky strike from Aragon knocked him to the ground, and Danny growled, teeth clenched. 

"Phantom is no match for my brother," Dorathea continued. "He has defeated many enemies this way. Now that he has him on the ground, he will crush him, burn him. He will--"

Aragon pinned Phantom to the ground and reared back his head.

Phantom could feel his form condensing beneath Aragon's limb--never a good sign. Ghost bodies were incredibly adaptable, but Aragon had Phantom's core trapped beneath his oversized paw, and the bastard knew it. Phantom could see it in the way Aragon had pulled back his lips in a parody of a human smile.

"No!" Danny roared.

----------------

He means to kill me, Phantom thought somewhat frantically. 

It was such an extreme reaction to a little bit of trespassing, especially from a ruler of a kingdom. Those sorts usually encouraged trespassing so they could steal the unwary into their realm and never let them leave. Even Phantom's attack--such as it was--should have been more of a nuisance than something Aragon took personally. 

But Aragon was crushing Phantom beneath his foot. He was rearing back his head. Flames were gathering around his maw.

What had Phantom done? 

Phantom was the one who should be angry enough to kill, not Aragon. Aragon had stolen his friend, dang it. 

Phantom struggled uselessly beneath the dragon's paw. He couldn't even make a sarcastic comment with his chest crushed. He couldn't yell for help from Sam or Tucker either, of course, but priorities were priorities, and he wanted to go out having wounded Aragon's pride badly enough that the bastard would feel it for years.

At least Sam and Tucker made it into the castle...

Something crashed into Aragon. The prince, fully as big as Fenton Works, stumbled to the side, each step he took sending tremors through the ground, but none so much as the shake that shook the ground as a second set of clawed paws landed on either side of Phantom. 

Phantom turned onto his side and curled inward, pulling his knees to his chest as ribs and organs reformed into the familiar shape Phantom had learned via the portal accident. It wasn't agony, he didn't register any pain, but it was...discomforting. As soon as his lungs finished reshaping, Phantom gasped in a breath, expanding his chest in a sudden burst. His lungs inflated and shoved the other still forming organs and bones to slot into their proper alignment. 

He hated that feeling...

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragon shouted, outraged. "Why would you--"

The second dragon--Phantom was fairly sure it was a dragon--roared at Aragon, interrupting the prince in a rude manner Phantom would have highly approved of had he not screamed and clamped his hands over his suddenly ringing ears. He rolled onto his back and stared up--up--up--at the dragon above him. 

Like Aragon, its scales were predominately black, but unlike the prince the underbelly was a bright blue, and the black-scaled arms on either side of Phantom shone an iridescent blue, highlighted by Phantom's glow. It had poised its front arms, its chest, directly over Phantom, making it nearly impossible for Aragon to reach Phantom without crossing those bared teeth first. Phantom assumed it simply a coincidence of the way the dragon had landed after shoving Aragon aside, but then he saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head. A tail, tipped with black hair--fur?--wavered up and down, ready to strike a blow on their left side if Aragon tried to strike from the flank.

Even that could have been a coincidence had Phantom not seen the tip of a wing, its underside colored a bright blue, dip down before rising again, proving that the dragon's wings were outstretched, mantled over them like a bird protecting its kill.

Phantom tilted his head further back, scraping the crown of his skull along the dirt until he could see the dragon's head on the end of a long, sinuous neck as it swayed left to right, fangs bared at Aragon.

The new dragon growled, and a voice Phantom never expected to come from the dragon's throat yelled, "I won't let you hurt him!"

Phantom's jaw dropped. "Danny?" he croaked. He rolled onto his stomach, wincing only slightly, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Danny, you can't just turn into a dragon--it took me weeks just to get this form right! Do you realize how long it will take me to match a dragon?"

Humans were just so insistent on their shapes matching. Danny was never going to consider Phantom mate material if he couldn't become a dragon. Personally, Phantom didn't have a problem with it. If Danny wanted to be a dragon, so be it. Phantom would love him no matter what shape or size.

But would Danny accept Phantom? It was already hard enough convincing him to look past the ghost/human thing, how was Phantom going to convince a gorgeous, overly large and powerful dragon to give him a fair chance?

Maybe...if Phantom could get the shape right...it would take some time...and he couldn't attain the correct size immediately, but Phantom could replicate Danny's shape again--with his own coloring, of course--so that he became a dragon the size of a human. Then, if he could convince Danny to stay in the Ghost Zone, he could steadily grow until he matched Danny in size again. It would take a while...but if Danny wanted a dragon as a mate then, hell, Phantom would become a dragon.

... Oh.

Phantom floated onto his feet and glared at the prince who had stolen Danny from him. Aragon was already a dragon. He could be a humanoid ghost or a dragon at will, but there had to be a trick to it. After all, Danny had only become a dragon after being taken by Aragon. And now Aragon was a dragon, Danny was a dragon, and Phantom, who had spent two amazing years as Danny's friend with little hope of becoming more due to the whole "enemies" thing, was the one on the outside.

Phantom willed ecto-energy to his hands. "That is so not on." He floated up to Danny's draconic head and whispered, "You attack, I'll defend?" It was a strategy they had used before on difficult opponents, guarding one another's backs. Phantom was especially good at it. 

Aragon hadn't taken Danny to spite Phantom or to convince Danny to become his knight. He had taken Danny in order to make Danny his, uncaring about Danny's feelings on the matter. 

Danny growled. 

"I hope that means you agree," Phantom said. "I'm not sure how much control a human has over a ghost form like this. Can you even understand me...?"

Danny's large head swung over to Phantom and nudged against him. At first Phantom squawked, swaying, but then he braced himself against Danny's pushing and realized Danny was rubbing his cheek against him. Nuzzling? 

Phantom cancelled the ecto-energy in his hands and laid a hesitant palm against Danny's scaled hide. Even through the gloves of the jumpsuit Phantom had copied and inverted from Danny's hunter suit, he could feel the pebbled scales, the heat radiating from Danny, so much stronger and hotter than Danny's normal body heat. Phantom scratched his fingers over the scales and looked up at Danny's eye. 

There was a faint white-blue glow that hadn't been there before, an oval pupil expanding into a more familiar circle as Danny stared back at him, but it looked like Danny's eye--felt like Danny's eye. The same dusty blue iris, the same responding burn in Phantom's chest whenever he met that gaze. 

The eye half closed and Danny nudged Phantom a little harder. The growl softened into a soft rumble. Phantom grinned. He still wasn't sure if Danny understood him or not, but he seemed to recognize him at least. 

"No," Aragon hissed. Phantom and Danny swung their attention back to their enemy. Danny's growl sharpened, matched by a responding growl in Aragon. The dragon prince roared, "I will not be bested by him."

Phantom willed energy into his hands again. "Gee, Danny, what did you do to him?"

Aragon's burning red eyes shifted to him, ferocity and hatred clear in that gaze. 

"What did I do to him?" Phantom corrected, uncertain. 

Instead of answering, Danny lunged at Aragon. It was a foolish, bullheaded, very Danny-like thing of him to do, charge in without a thought like that, but Phantom sighed and flew after him. Phantom would fight as he always had, at Danny's side, following his lead. 

But hopefully this fight would end with Danny returning to his true human form. Dragon Danny was awe-inspiring to look at, but Phantom had gotten more than a little attached to the one that smiled...

[momsopposed2theoccult]

Not Alone

So I wrote a thing. It’s Tokka-ish but could be interpreted as romantic or platonic. I’m currently waiting on an Ao3 invite so I’ll probably post it on there as well once I receive my invite, but for now I figured I would post it on here because I’m excited to share it with you all! Oh and here’s a friendly reminder that Post Plus is bullshit and you will never, ever have to pay to read my writing. Writing is something I do for fun, and I post it on Tumblr because I want other people who love these characters as much as I do to be able to share that experience with me. Not to mention that I’m not looking to get sued by Nickelodeon.

The first time that Sokka noticed there was something wrong with Toph, she had been six months pregnant. 

The two of them were lounging around her living room, Sokka stretched out across the couch with his left arm dangling off the side and Toph relaxing in an oversized armchair, her swollen feet perched on the ottoman in front of her and one hand resting on her rounded stomach. It was an unusually hot summer’s day, and the two old friends had happily retreated into the sweet relief of Toph’s newly installed air conditioning.

“Sokka, do you think I’ll be an okay mother?”

Sokka was taken aback by his friend’s blunt question. 

“Well, just as long as you pay better attention to the kid than you did to Appa, I think you’ll be golden,” he joked, reflecting back briefly on the memory from their war days. 

The then-tiny girl had tried with all her might to prevent Wan Shi Tong’s library from collapsing under the weight of Sokka’s own impulsive curiosity, all while trying to rescue their beloved sky bison from his captors. He would never forget the look on her face after it happened, nor would he forget the months she spent perfecting her sandbending afterwards, determined that she would never make such a mistake again.

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say.

Toph’s eyebrows scrunched together in a look of concern as she rubbed absentminded circles on the curve of her stomach with a flat palm.

“Sokka, I’m serious. Do you think I’ll be an okay mother?,” she repeated, some anxiety creeping into her voice. 

“Well, yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t you be?,” Sokka replied, although he couldn’t ignore the uncertainty in his own voice as he attempted to soothe his best friend’s anxieties surrounding the tiny life growing inside of her. 

Toph exhibited many admirable qualities, but she wasn’t exactly nurturing. He couldn’t help but recall all the plants she had failed to keep alive over the years, or the way Katara was constantly scolding her for swearing in front of Bumi and Kya, or the way she tensed up around babies, as if she were afraid she might break them. 

Toph sighed, blowing her sweaty bangs out of her face.

“I don’t know, I’m just… not great with babies. I never know what to do with them, y’know? They’re just so tiny, I always feel like I’m gonna break them in half or something equally barbaric.” 

“No, no, I’m sure you won’t-,” Sokka began to reply, but Toph had not yet finished lamenting.

“And most kids get to have their dad there, but, y’know, any hope this kid has of ever meeting that lousy excuse for a man is long gone,” she huffed angrily. 

“Daddy’s an asshole, isn’t he! Just a big ‘ole deadbeat loser!,” she said in a mocking babyish tone, giving her swollen belly a little pat.

Sokka rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics, but he couldn’t help agreeing. 

The guy’s name was Kanto. He had been a bartender at one of Sokka and Toph’s mutual favourite dives, and an okay enough guy depending on who you asked, but as far as Sokka was concerned, he was the scum of Toph’s beloved earth. 

The two of them had been getting a drink together like they always did on Friday nights, when Toph had caught the bartender’s eye. And honestly, Sokka couldn’t blame him. He certainly couldn’t deny that she was no longer the grubby twelve year old he had met all those years ago. He wasn’t going to pretend like he didn’t notice the curve of her hips or the way her tank top rode up her waist exposing a sliver of stomach. And he couldn’t ignore the way that other men checked her out nor how weird he felt about it when they did. Kanto had been one of those men. After a round of free drinks and a disgusting amount of quite frankly obnoxious eyebrow waggling, Kanto had somehow convinced Toph to come home with him, much to Sokka’s disdain. The rest was history. 

The two of them had been an item for a couple of months. Toph claimed that she was happy with him, but Sokka didn’t need his friend’s talents as a human polygraph machine to figure out that she was lying. 

He wasn’t all bad, he really wasn’t. He never laid a hand on her or anything like that. But Sokka couldn’t help noticing the subtle comments he made about her weight or her outfit or how she spoke just a little louder than he thought a woman should, nor could he miss all the changes she made to her beautiful, wonderful, perfect self just to fit his mold. 

Sokka hated that Toph’s signature confidence could crumble so easily under the will of a man like that. It made his blood boil. 

Toph began to fall apart when he finally left. Then when she found out that she was pregnant, she broke, and Sokka had been there to help pick up the pieces. 

So yeah, not exactly Sokka’s favourite guy. 

“You know you don’t need him, right?” He assured her.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she replied, brushing him off with a faint smile that she didn’t quite put her heart into. 

Picking up on his friend’s feeble attempt to mask her obvious worry, Sokka got up from the couch and walked over to where Toph was sitting. He placed one hand firmly in hers and the other gingerly on her stomach.

“Toph, you’re the strongest person I know. Believe me when I say that if anybody can do this on their own, you can. But you won’t have to do it alone, because I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. Do you understand me?” He assured her. 

She nodded in reply. 

“Yeah, I understand. And thank you.”

But he could tell she didn’t really believe it. 

____________

The second time that Sokka noticed something was wrong with Toph had been two weeks after Lin’s birth. Four old friends had gathered on Air Temple Island for a belated celebration of the new mother and child. Aang had cooked noodles, one of Toph’s favourites, but Sokka couldn’t help noticing that the latter had hardly touched hers.

“What’s wrong, Toph? Normally you gobble this stuff up in under five minutes,” Aang asked, voicing Sokka’s thoughts exactly.

The earthbender continued to absentmindedly twirl a piece of noodle around her chopstick, never bringing it to her mouth. 

“I’m fine. Just not that hungry,” she assured them. 

Sokka caught Aang’s eye and they shared a skeptical look. Katara looked at Toph with concern and a vague familiarity, as if something had suddenly dawned on her.

“You know, if something’s bothering you, you can always talk to us about it, right? I know that this is a new experience for you, and I understand if you’re feeling a little lost-,” Katara started, but was cut off by her friend’s inevitable defensive reaction. 

“Oh, so you think this has to do with Lin? You think there’s something wrong with me? You think I’m not fit to be a mother? Well guess what? Lin and I are doing just fine on our own!,” Toph yelled in response to her friend’s gentle attempt to help her. 

“Toph, I don’t think that’s what she meant. What she was trying to say is that being a new parent is stressful enough as it is, and I can’t imagine having to do it alone. We’re here for you if you need our help or advice,” Aang tried to reason with his angry friend, but to no avail. 

“You know what, Aang? You can take your ‘advice’ and shove it up your ass. I don’t need your help, I don’t need anybody’s help. I’m a great mother!,” she shot back in response. 

Sokka sighed. There was no reasoning with Toph when she got like this. Her fits of defensiveness and anger usually masked deeper fears and insecurities that could be difficult, nearing impossible to coax out of her at first. It was usually best to give her time to herself to blow off some steam, and only then could she be convinced to admit the truth about what was bothering her. 

“I’m gonna go take a nap. That is, unless Sokka here has some unsolicited advice for me too,” she voiced in a warning tone implying that if Sokka did happen to have any comments to make, he better keep his mouth shut about them. 

Sokka threw up his hands defensively. 

“No, no, by all means, go take a nap.”

“Great, at least one of my friends doesn’t fancy himself a shrink.”

Toph stormed off in a huff to the guest bedroom, and although her fit of anger concerned him, Sokka was glad to see her getting some much-needed rest. The dark circles under her clouded eyes implying sleepless nights as of late hadn’t escaped him. 

“What was that all about?,” Aang wondered aloud. “I’ve never seen her get that angry over nothing. We were just asking if she was okay.”

“I dunno. She hasn’t really been herself recently, has she?,” Sokka replied. 

“I mean, she called me Aang. Just Aang. She only does that when she’s really upset.”

“Well, it is your name,” Sokka reminded him, although he too couldn’t help noting with concern that Toph had neglected to make use of her favourite choice nickname for their airbending friend. 

“You know, right after I had Bumi I didn’t feel like myself either,” Katara shared. “It was like, before that moment, all I had to take care of was me. But then all of a sudden there was this tiny little human being who relied on me to survive, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I felt like my heart was walking around outside my body, and if I made even the slightest mistake I would destroy it forever. I doubted myself a lot. Everything was just so new and overwhelming, and some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed.” 

“So you’re saying that you’re pretty sure that’s how Toph feels about Lin?,” Sokka asked tentatively as realization dawned on him. 

Katara nodded. 

“I do. Sokka, I think you should be the one to talk to her. She always listens to you. I’m not sure how you do it,” Katara remarked. 

Sokka couldn’t deny the truth of the statement. In their twenty years of friendship, he and Toph had sought comfort in each other’s presence countless times. They had a mutual understanding that the other members of their group had often tried to imitate but could never quite replicate. Sokka went to Toph, and Toph went to Sokka. It was an unspoken agreement. 

“Don’t worry, I will. I just think we should give her a little time to cool down first.”

“Good idea. You don’t want her to bite your head off,” Aang chimed in with a laugh. 

____________

About an hour later, Sokka made the journey down the hallway to the guest bedroom to check on Toph and hopefully coax her out of her mood. He opened up the door to find the room dark and Toph laying on her side on the bed. She was trying to feign sleep, but Sokka could tell she was wide awake. Baby Lin was in her crib whimpering, supposedly for her mother. Sokka picked her up in his arms and rocked her back and forth, cooing softly. 

“Here we go, Linny. It’s okay, Uncle Sokka is here.”

The child began to cry. She didn’t want her uncle, she wanted her mom. 

“No, no Linny, don’t cry. Shhhh, Mama’s right here, see?”

Sokka carried Lin over to the bed where Toph was lying and tried to shake her awake, but was met with Toph’s hand slapping him away and an irritated growl.

“Go away, Sokka.”

“Toph, I just wanna talk,” he tried.

“Don’t you understand the meaning of ‘go away,’ dumbass?” She snarked.

“You’re really going to swear in front of the baby?”

“Great. Now you think I’m a terrible mother too. It’s fine, join the party,” she said in a sarcastic, vaguely accusatory tone, followed by her best attempt at rolling her sightless eyes. 

“Toph, nobody is calling you a bad mother. We know you’re perfectly capable of raising Lin on your own. All we’re asking is that you let us help you. You’re not invincible, Toph, despite what you may have led yourself to believe.”

Toph paused, letting Sokka’s comment sink in. 

“I- I’m sorry,” she began. “I know I was being kind of a bitc- a jerk back there. And I know you don’t actually believe I’m a bad mother but, but I’m not sure if I believe it. I’m so scared, Sokka. I don’t think I can actually do this alone. I- I know I said I could, but- but I think I was just lying to you, and to myself,” she choked out as tears began to cascade down her face. 

Sokka raised his eyebrows in alarm at his toughest friend’s unexpected breakdown. He pulled her close to his chest and began to rub her back.

“No, no, Toph, don’t think that. You can do it, you can. But you don’t have to, because we’re going to be here for you every step of the way. I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. You don’t have to do this alone, you hear me?”

“Yeah- yeah I do. I do hear you,” she replied with newfound confidence, wiping her tears on his shirt. “And- and you know I’m blind, right? Not deaf. Of course I hear you,” she joked with a familiar smirk.

Sokka chuckled, glad to see that he finally had his best friend back. He pulled her closer to his chest and just sat there for a minute, planting a kiss on the top of her head and burying his face in her hair. Their moment of peaceful rest was broken by Lin’s frantic crying.

“It’s alright baby girl, it’s alright. Mama’s here,” Toph assured Lin as she picked her up and cradled her in her arms. As she carried her sleepy child back to her crib for some much-needed rest, whispering to her in soothing tones the entire time, Sokka couldn’t help noticing how at home she looked all of a sudden. How safe and comfortable she was with her baby in her arms.

She was going to be just fine. 

[writer-and-artist27]

Knowing What to Say

Note: Written to process my own feelings with finishing Lostbelt 4 and my own position of being a Vietnamese-American, having been born to two Vietnamese immigrants who dealt with colonization firsthand when coming to America.

Inspired by @partialdignity and @lunarimpact. I hope you two don’t mind the tags, but I couldn’t help it considering you finished LB4 way before me and shared your own thoughts on it a while back. And well, much like you two, I don’t entirely agree with Mash’s decision in Lostbelt 4, Section 20-2, but at the same time, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the sentiment behind it.

Even if Mash has been around a bit too much for others’ liking, considering she’s fighting old comrades of hers while still supporting us, the Lostbelts are challenging her as they are to us as people.

This is just Vy’s take on the final moments of a world that probably didn’t deserve what it received.

CW for implied emotional abuse and Lostbelt 4 spoilers. Theme for this little piece is Residual Ice from Fate/Grand Order’s own soundtrack. Please enjoy.

-------------------------------------

“Is it alright… if we could stop by one last place before we go install Captain’s last part into the Shadow Border? There’s someone I wanted to visit, Da Vinci.”

Vy felt her heart ache when hearing Mash say those words, but in spite of the sympathy starting to flood her veins, she still gave Mash a look past her foggy glasses. “You want to see Asha, Mash?”

Robin and Ereshkigal didn’t say anything from over Vy’s shoulder — if they wanted to, they didn’t seem up for voicing it. The consecutive battles with that other version of Arjuna and the Tree of Emptiness were already enough to make Vy want to sleep for years. Who knows how the Servants felt, having to shoulder all the fighting with only one Command Spell to back them up. Still, Vy could feel their concern bleed through their shared bond, warming the back of her neck and the inside of her chest, and Vy clenched her fingers for a moment as she looked towards Mash.

Mash Kyrielight. Beloved kouhai, wonderful friend, strong Demi-Servant — and a teenager who shouldn’t have had to fight as much as she did. Vy didn’t regret bringing Mash with her through everything — Mash was a little sister in all but name now. After everything they had experienced in that crumbling Command Room, with all the flames, there was no way Vy could regret knowing Mash and growing to love her. It was hard to imagine going on any Chaldea-related mission without her. But if Vy had the right idea about what Mash wanted to do—

“I-I think we need to, Senpai,” Mash said softly, her hand clutching the handles of her Ortinax shield all the more tighter with the words being out in the open. “With Arjuna gone now, and… and with this Lostbelt fading soon, the least we can do is tell her what happened to Ajai. Asha deserves that much.”

Vy took a breath, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she considered her answer. “…Because we’re the ones who ended her world?” Because we’re the ones who, unintentionally or not, made it impossible for Ajai to ever come back to his daughter again? Because we’re the ones who can’t tell Dr. Roman everything anymore?

Da Vinci’s hologram took on a sad look as Holmes fell silent. Vy didn’t have to turn to know Ereshkigal had tears in her eyes and Robin was close enough to her to feel his hand start to brush hers.

Mash merely nodded and Vy studied her for a moment. Mash’s arms, although muscular and covered in the Ortinax’s armor, were shaking. Her purple eyes, even when shaded by the goggles from the Ortinax armor sitting atop her head, appeared sad, hesitant, and yet determined all at once.

She really feels…

Vy took another breath before striding over to Mash’s side (only after gently reaching back to squeeze Robin’s hand for one extra second of composure), gently brushing some dust off of Mash’s right shoulder. “What do you intend to say when we’re seeing her, Mash? Can I at least ask that before we go?”

“I—” Mash faltered, her gaze flickering back and forth between Vy’s face and her shield. “I wanted to tell her that the reincarnation cycles that she went through were wrong. That it was wrong for her to forget her father, that she didn’t deserve what happened. That…” Mash bit her lip, hanging her head, “that it’s all over now.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, kouhai, I really do,” Vy said softly, retracting her hand, “but can I say something to that?”

Mash slowly raised her head to meet Vy’s eyes past her glasses, blinking owlishly. “Wh-What is it, Senpai?”

“Thank you for letting me speak,” Vy said kindly first, a weak smile forming on her lips before it dropped in favor of the silence that surrounded them and the former ocean of milk where the Tree of Emptiness once stood. “And, as much as I understand why you want to tell Asha those things, Mash, I think we shouldn’t say everything. Just leave it at, ‘We have to go, and we’ll miss you.’”

“Wha—” Mash’s eyes widened enough to resemble dinner plates, her shoulders tensing in her armor. “What do you mean, Senpai? Are we just—” Her voice rose to an emotional high, her eyebrows furrowing on her forehead past her bangs as she said, “Are we just not letting Asha know what happened to one of her last living relatives?!”

“I didn’t say all that, Mash.” Something was starting to ache in Vy’s chest, but she pushed it aside. “But kouhai, Asha’s lived with these yuga cycles for who knows how long,” Vy continued in a softer voice, shaking her head. “The last thing we want to do is shatter her own mental world with the knowledge we have before we go, just because we feel guilty about what we’ve done. Who knows how much that’ll weigh on her before this Lostbelt disappears, knowing that she had a father that she can’t remember? How could we predict her reaction to knowing that all her prayers and her life was an utter lie that didn’t deserve to happen? What could we do about that?”

Mash lurched back at that, her breath coming out in a shaky exhale. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t, Mash,” Vy said quietly, the same small smile from before forming on her lips. “And I know taking down these Lostbelts is just as hard on you as it is for everyone else.” I can feel it, right here, right now. “But I don’t think you or me have the right to tell Asha what is right to believe when only a few days ago, losing people in the yugas was normal. When it was her daily life.”

Mash opened her mouth, then closed it. Then, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Did you go through the same thing at one point, Senpai?”

Did someone break you?

Vy closed her eyes and took another breath, slowly opening them to look at Mash again. She couldn’t think about the metal device still resting in her pocket, about the last phone call she had on said device before everything turned white. “Ignorance is bliss sometimes, kouhai,” Vy said, finally raising a hand to gently rest it atop Mash’s head, patting her hair softly. “Even if we don’t agree with it, we are still outsiders to this Lostbelt. And I’ve heard enough from my own family about how outsiders meddled with our home in Vietnam, telling us our beliefs were meaningless and that our lifestyles were barbaric and wrong. I don’t want you to be associated with that kind of sentiment.”

Even if I can understand where you’re coming from and feel the same way. But…

Mash stared at Vy past the hand she was using to still pat her head, a small hint of tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. “Senpai…”

Vy smiled at Mash one last time, leaning over to press a weak yet sisterly kiss to the top of Mash’s hair. “I’m not telling you to stop with whatever you’re thinking. I understand where you’re coming from, Mash, I really do. I’m just saying we’re going to have to rephrase it, just so that Asha can live peacefully for as long as she can. Alright?” So that she won’t turn out like me, scarred, anxious, and wondering if she even deserves anything after being ignorant for so long.

“Senpai…” Mash whispered. “I…” A small pause, then Mash eventually choked out, “You…”

She’s hesitating. I guess…

“…I was told I wasn’t worthy of life once,” Vy whispered into Mash’s hair as she looked towards Robin and Ereshkigal still waiting back at the Shadow Border. It took only a second to pull back and turn away from Mash’s gaze. “When I was little, long before I came to Chaldea. I haven’t forgotten it.”

Vy could faintly hear Mash gasp.

“‘Stop making yourself out like a mouse to be protected,’ he said,” Vy recalled, shrugging her shoulders as she walked towards the Shadow Border. “‘Stop looking at fairy tales and start looking at reality, else you’re not worthy to be in my reality.’ It was all said and done when I was about 11 years old, by someone I thought I could trust. My world was shattered by someone I thought I could love, kouhai. And my family didn’t know. I didn’t know until just recently.” With a small sigh, Vy reached Robin’s side first, and the May King gave her a look past the fringe of his hair. “If not for a certain rogue in green, I still don’t know if I would even be here at all.”

Robin stilled, his fingers twitching before he offered one arm, and Ereshkigal immediately took Vy’s hand in hers. Without hesitation, Vy put her other hand into Robin’s outstretched one, squeezing both Servants’ fingers tightly.

If not for everyone here…

Vy glanced over her shoulder to look at her beloved kouhai and smiled, holding back the tears in her voice. “It hurt enough when I didn’t know what to believe in, Mash,” Vy said softly. “All I’m trying to say is…” A lump surfaced in Vy’s throat, her nose starting to itch as her vision blurred a little, but she still squeezed Eresh and Robin’s hands before finishing with, “let’s just try not to break the beliefs of another little girl when we go, okay?”

Vy chanced one second to glance behind her. All she caught was a single tear that proceeded to slide down Mash’s cheek before she nodded, taking the former shield of Galahad up into her arms. “O-Okay.”

[tessiete]

You know why I'm here. Spotify prompt. #69. Obitine. Need I say more? 😎

SO! As you know, my #69 Spotify song was “I Wonder What’s Inside Your Butthole” because I’m 16 years old. But still, I really wanted a chance to take this prompt, and see if I couldn’t do something unexpected with it. Hopefully, this surprises you, but also, you know...isn’t terrible.

ANYWAY...you da best.

I ALWAYS WANT TO KNOW

“Already?” he asks, as she turns out the lights. 

“It’s getting late,” she replies, and he sets his holopad aside, and nestles deeply into the embrace of her bed. The shimmersilk sheets are cool against his toes, the fabric sliding over the bared veins and tendons like that first chill of autumn on Mandalore’s moon. She slips in beside him, and he reaches for her, pressing his palm flat against the middle of her back and pulling her close. 

Their noses brush, and they share a multitude of breaths, his coming more quickly as time goes by. She moves closer still, until her forehead touches his. She strokes his cheek, and hums a song. She can feel his body soften against hers, and his thoughts slow.

“Did you know, on Tatooine there exists a creature called a sarlacc,” he murmurs. He reaches up between them, his fingers, calloused and clever, toying with a veda pearl clasp left undone at the collar of her nightdress. 

“Is there?” she asks. “And what sort of creature is the sarlacc?”

“It is a beast,” he replies. “It devours anything so unfortunate to cross its path, and once consumed, there is no relief. It is indiscriminate, and inescapable. In the sarlacc, there is a special kind of cruelty, for it eats its prey while they live, and it eats them slowly.”

She brushes back his hair, and traces the lines that only recently have begun to deepen, the rivers of joy carving their path across his face with learned permanence. Still, he frowns now, and that line, too, is deep.

“Then I pity the creatures it may consume,” she whispers.

But he sighs, and carries on. “It is no small beast,” he says. “It consumes whole bantha, as large as any aircar - or larger, still. It eats rats, and dewbacks, and poor old dragons who are unlucky enough to stumble near. And men and women, too. The Hutts use it as a means of execution.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“And that is where the real brutality of its nature appears,” he says. “For the sarlaac hates dead things. It will not touch carrion. And so, it keeps its victims alive, even beyond the pain and agony of a natural death. It feeds its prisoners, even as it feeds on them, and so, one in the grips of the sarlacc pit may actually remain alive longer than they might have if they’d remained free. A man may be consumed for a hundred years. A bantha for a thousand. No one knows how long a krayt may live.”

She kisses his forehead, and takes his hand in hers. 

“You do far too much reading,” she says.

He laughs. “I learned all that from Anakin.”

“Ah,” she says, laughing with him, and rolling to her back. He drapes his arm across her stomach. “I should have known. No academic article would be quite so romantic about it all.”

“Do you think it romantic?”

“I think you want it to be,” she says, turning to him in the moonlight. The first rises quickly over Sundari, the second slower, taking its time, indulging in looking over its people with a bright, and benevolent eye. Even so, it has already crept over the apex of its arc, and is falling slowly to the horizon again. He kisses the tips of her fingers, and she thinks of all his funny notions, and gentle whims. 

“And why would I wish romance on what amounts to an oversized anal sphincter?”

Every so often, he comes out with the most extraordinary sentence, and every so often she is caught off guard. Laughter breaks from her in the darkness, and falls over them in a bright, and sparkling downpour of light. It echoes down the hall, and the claricrystalline chandelier in the hall shines a little more brightly, the facets of its pellucid prisms turning towards the sound. She laughs until he joins her, and then they laugh until they cry, and draw close, arms wrapped around waists, and held fast, and falling silent once again.

“You’re right,” he concludes. “I’m only being silly.”

“You have much better places to endow with romance,” she replies.

He stills, and looks at her, eyes serious and dark. “I do,” he says. “And I am running out of time.”

“You are not,” she insists. “You will be back. And you will miss nothing.”

“But I will,” he says, his voice turning urgent. “And I have. It’s all gone by so fast. I leave, and I come back and your prime minister is different, and you’ve renovated a room, and your hair is longer, and our son - our son...has it been so many years? He is almost grown, and I swear, I only looked away for a single moment.”

“And so you wish to be consumed by a sarlacc, where time cannot devour you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but smiles instead, and she laughs to see that same old mischief, those same bright eyes she first loved on Draboon. They huddle together in their joy, like they had before, and they kiss as openly, and boldly as they learned in the ripe blossom of their youth.

“Admittedly,” he rumbles, her ear pressed to his chest. “It seemed a much better idea in the wild abstract than framed so pragmatically as that.”

“Oh, Ben,” she says. “I think there is a lesson to be learned from the sarlacc, after all.”

“And what is that?” he asks. 

“That immortality is not something to be sought, but something to inspire pity.”

He looks at her, crooking his neck, and pulling back to find her eyes.

“You sound like Master Qui-Gon,” he says. “Where did you learn such wisdom?”

“From him, of course,” she grins. “Just as you have also, though sometimes you forget. What was it that he always told you?”

“To live in the present,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “To trust the Force, and focus on the now. The future does not exist, and neither does the past. We only have this moment. And that’s where we should stay.”

She is warm against him, and he grows drowsy in her embrace. The moons are nearly set, and soon he will have to rise to catch an early transport back to Coruscant. But tonight, they are together. And now, they may laugh, and smile, and breath, and touch, and dream until tomorrow.

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 4: Lust 1/3

I AM SO MAD ABOUT THIS PROMPT!!! IT GOT RIDICULOUSLY LONG!!! LIKE, AN UNREASONABLE LENGTH OF FIC WAS ACHIEVED THROUGH THIS PROMPT THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EASIEST ONE!!! WHY IS MY BRAIN LIKE THIS!!!

Special shoutout to all of the wonderful, lovely, ridiculously patient people on discord who weathered me complaining about my stupid hellbrain lolol

Only part 1 tonight since I literally spent all day writing nearly 10k words, and there’s no way I can edit it and also sleep before my shift LOL

Read it on AO3.

Part 2

It would have been kinder, perhaps, to simply announce his arrival, but Hanzo had grown so fond of being amused in recent years and he could not resist the urge to indulge.

Gathering a handful of small stones, Hanzo climbed the nearest building and darted across the sun-baked clay of the rooftops, careful to remain unseen as he trailed his target.

A smile curled his lips beneath his mask. He waited until he was sure he was completely concealed, then let loose one of the pebbles in his grasp—a direct hit to the back of Kuai Liang's head.

The sight of Kuai Liang's flinch, as well as the sharp snap of attention and his dark expression of annoyance and suspicion through the crowded, dusty streets of the road, stretched Hanzo's smile into a grin. He bled into the shadows, knowing he would have to be swift if he wanted to stay ahead of Kuai Liang's attention.

He only managed one more stone's throw before Kuai Liang wisened up and scaled the nearest building. He was no fool, and tracing the stone's trajectory was a simple thing. Hanzo was forced to duck behind any cover he could find to avoid the Lin Kuei Grandmaster's thorough, careful scrutiny of his surroundings.

His next throw would be his last, he knew. He would have to make it count if he did not wish to be caught.

Hanzo crouched low and waited for his moment. The instant Kuai Liang turned, still scanning his surroundings for any movement, he sent his last stone flying.

He saw the beginning motion of Kuai Liang's whip-fast reaction, hand darting up in a flash to catch the stone, but Hanzo was already gone, swallowed in hellfire, and before Kuai Liang's fist fully closed around the rock, Hanzo appeared directly behind him.

Hanzo didn't hesitate. He tackled Kuai Liang to the roof, perched atop his chest before he could react.

Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Kuai Liang's scowl of deadly promise melted away into shock.

"Hanzo?"

Hanzo smirked. "Is this the standard of Lin Kuei assassins?" Hanzo shook his head. "Perhaps I should reconsider allying myself with a clan that is so soft."

Kuai Liang's eyes narrowed in a glare, but it was lessened by the reluctant smile that tugged on his lips, as if against his better judgment.

"I think I am the one who should be reconsidering my allies, if they are so eager to attack me on the streets," Kuai Liang pointed out, and Hanzo chuckled, finally stood and offered his arm.

Kuai Liang took the offered hand and absently brushed himself as he stood. His dark eyes, pleased and curious in equal measure, peered at Hanzo with confusion.

"What brings you to Outworld, Hanzo? And to me, specifically?"

Hanzo crossed his arms, gazing across the sand-dusted streets and modest abodes of the city, half of it hollowed out from the bright red clay of a mountain.

"I had received word that you accepted a mission from the Thunder God." Hanzo's face darkened with a grimace. "I would be neglecting the conditions of our alliance if I did not aide you."

"My mission is one of reconnaissance, Hanzo," Kuai Liang said, brow furrowed. "My life is hardly in danger."

"No mission from Raiden is as simple as he makes it seem," Hanzo said darkly. The loss of his clan—again—still burned. "If my presence is an insult, I beg your forgiveness," Hanzo continued, and he bowed. When he rose, he met Kuai Liang's eyes dead-on, determined and stubborn. "Allow me to accompany you, if only to set my mind at ease."

Kuai Liang had appeared taken aback at first, but understanding quickly bled onto his expression, and no little guilt. His own memories of the Kamidogu, and the manipulation he'd suffered, did not appear to have been forgotten either.

"...I accept your offer, Hanzo. Thank you." Kuai Liang said, and he returned the bow. "Shall we?"

The Thunder God's power had sent Kuai Liang to an Outworld city, but Kuai Liang's true destination laid deeper in the forest. An ancient temple, Kuai Liang informed him, long abandoned, had been rumored to have worshippers once more. Raiden merely wanted confirmation of such a thing, to decide his next move. The worship once practiced there had been forbidden, one steeped in ritual sacrifice and practices so brutal and cruel that even Outlanders shunned it, and if some sort of revival was in the making, Raiden suspected it would only be a matter of time before the cult spilled into Earthrealm and claimed the inhabitants there for their depraved rituals.

A simple mission, but one that did nothing to abate the uneasy feeling that had overcome Hanzo from the moment he'd learned of Kuai Liang's undertaking. He had not lied to Kuai Liang for his reasons for being here, but he had neglected the full truth: that, more than anything, he worried for his friend and what might happen to him when caught up in another machination of a God.

Once Kuai Liang had debriefed him, they fell into silence, traveling the forest with their ears peeled for the slightest sound that stuck out: voices, a footstep, anything that would confirm Raiden's suspicions. But caution and vigilance would only help them so much if Raiden had sent them into some sort of trap.

Hanzo pushed the worry from his mind. Nothing will happen to him. I will ensure it, he vowed.

The temple emerged from the trees when they were nearly on top of it. If it had been recently re-occupied, it did not show on the outside. The forest had been allowed to encroach upon it, nearly to the doors, and lichen and vines covered the side of the crumbling stone building as nature reclaimed it.

Hanzo and Kuai Liang knelt side by side as they observed the building, but it truly seemed abandoned.

"Shall we take a closer look?" Kuai Liang asked once it was plain they were quite alone outside.

Hanzo repressed a grimace; telling Kuai Liang he had a 'bad feeling' was out of the question, unless he wanted to make Kuai Liang think he indulged silly superstition and thus, lose his respect forever.

Hanzo nodded. They took a closer look.

Their steps were slow and cautious as they climbed the sun-bleached steps. Cracks and fissures stretched across nearly every surface, and while the stains were very faint, Hanzo still recognized the dried blood dotted across the stone.

It only took a few minutes to carefully sweep the temple for signs of life, and they met in the dusty temple's center once they were done.

"It appears abandoned," Kuai Liang observed, dark eyes lingering in a dark corner for one last check before he finally looked at Hanzo.

"I agree," Hanzo said, crossing his arms. "I hope the Thunder God has promised you something worthwhile for this waste of time."

A small smile tugged on Kuai Liang's lips; Hanzo pretended he did not find the sight incredibly gratifying.

"The terms of a contract are confidential, Hanzo."

"So, nothing," Hanzo surmised with a nod. "Unsurprising."

Kuai Liang's smile grew, amused. "Your time was wasted as well," he pointed out. "Will you demand compensation from Raiden?"

"Do not tempt me," Hanzo warned. He could do so without shame or remorse. After what the Thunder God had put them both through, it was the least he deserved.

Kuai Liang opened his mouth, eyes dancing with mirth—

But then his eyes shifted, just slightly, and he tensed, all over.

Hanzo barely had time to react before Kuai Liang was shoving him with a rough shout of, "Get down!"

His balance was upset but Hanzo recovered, quickly rolled to his feet in a crouch, one arm braced on the floor, the other already unsheathing his dagger.

"Jussst asss my hunger growsss, what ssshould I find but fresssh blood in the unlikeliessst of placesss?"

Skarlet ascended the last steps of the temple, an expression of satisfaction and interest on her features. She held a single hand aloft where an orb of thick, viscous blood twirled idly.

She came to a stop some distance away and widened her stance. Her fingers curled into claws and she stretched the blood like a scarf between her palms. Her eyes flashed between the two of them.

"My lucky day," she rasped slowly.

Hanzo frowned heavily, though it was almost a relief to finally face the inevitable complication he had been expecting this entire time. He darted a quick glance at Kuai Liang.

Kuai Liang was much in the same position and appeared unscathed as he leveled Skarlet with a heavy frown. A smear of blood shards streaked across the space they once stood.

"What are you doing here, Skarlet?" Pure, icy contempt dripped from his tone.

"I am the one who ssshould be asssking the questions, Sub-Zero." Skarlet arched a single thin eyebrow. "Asss the Outworlder, I am not the one who doesss not belong here..."

Hanzo rose and Skarlet's gaze cut to him, wary and deadly. He unsheathed his second dagger and gave them a spin.

"You are outmatched, Skarlet." He pointed at her with a blade. "You would be wise to leave."

Her mouth was hidden behind a crimson mask, but her smile was only too obvious in her tone.

"I am trembling with fear," Skarlet said mockingly, and barely before she'd finished drawing breath, she moved her hands in a quick sweeping motion that sent a wide arch of blood, suddenly crystallized, straight for them.

Kuai Liang had his ice to defend himself with, so Hanzo did not waste a moment summoning a ring of fire, nose wrinkling as the blood met his flames and burst on impact. A power based on draining the life from another—it was barbaric.

Hanzo's words had not been an idle boast—together, he and Kuai Liang were formidable, and years of fighting at one another's side had only fostered a deadly alliance, one of devastating power and precise, efficient strategy.

Barely minutes into the fight, Skarlet was showing signs of unease. She was smart to keep her back to a wall at all times, to better prevent them from flanking her, but the ceaseless assault of ice and fire was clearly wearing on her.

When Kuai Liang froze her leg, just long enough so that she caught a fireball to the chest, she staggered, fell to one knee as her harsh breaths echoed through the ancient temple.

Tales of her cunning and deadliness had not escaped them, however, and neither man allowed their guard down, approaching slowly, fists raised.

"Thisss," Skarlet panted, glaring at the two of them, "Isss hardly fair, isss it?"

"You chose this fight, Skarlet," Kuai Liang said pitilessly.

The way her eyes narrowed at Kuai Liang—that earlier feeling of unease rose within Hanzo once more.

"I did," she agreed. "And it isss time I evened the oddsss..."

Skarlet thrust the hand—that before had been clutching her side—at Kuai Liang, and a small disk of blood, no doubt razor-sharp, shot towards him at an incredible speed.

Too fast to deflect it properly, Kuai Liang raised his arm, and Hanzo only caught a glimpse of how it burst moments before impact, hovered in the air in dozens of pinpricks of needle-thin blades, before crashing again. As Kuai Liang dropped to a knee and ducked, shielding his face from the worst of it, Hanzo was already backing away as Skarlet flew at him in a sudden burst of deadly fury.

"I can already tassste your blood," Skarlet said with relish. The blade of her blood dagger locked with Hanzo's and their faces hovered close. Her eyes shined with wicked triumph. "I will enjoy gorging myssself in the daysss to come."

Hanzo only glared back, disgusted. Between them, a sudden light grew and Skarlet glanced down with wide eyes to see her dagger glowing-white hot to match where it met Hanzo's as his arms caught fire.

An instant later, the blade, warped, shifted, and burst. Skarlet cried out, backing away as the blood singed her and the hands she shook out were bright red from the blistering heat.

"You will only taste defeat," Hanzo swore, summoning his kunai.

The low thump of a body hitting the ground drew his attention away, however, and it was with dread that Hanzo clapped eyes on Kuai Liang—teeth gritted in a grimace of pain, hands clawed against the stone as if he might crumble the stone at their feet.

He raised glassy, straining eyes to meet his.

"H-Hanzo," Kuai Liang managed, and then he shuddered, hunched over, and a low grunt of pain escaped him.

The sight and sound of him chilled Hanzo to his very core. Kuai Liang had been trained, practically since infancy, to withstand incredible amounts of pain. Anything that made him cry out like that—

Hanzo looked to Skarlet and he had no problem recognizing the sheer relish and satisfaction of her expression.

The hellfire, always kept carefully maintained, overflowed into instant, black fury.

Faster than she could ever predict, Hanzo flew across the room, seized Skarlet by her neck and did not stop until he slammed her against the opposite wall. Her strangled choke—brutally cut off by his hands, pressing deep—only incensed him further because this one cry of pain was not enough.

"What have you done to him?"

Skarlet strained against his grip, but she could not touch him, not when he burned so hot. She quickly realized she could not escape, but she only laughed, a reedy, raspy thing that made Hanzo see red.

"It—It isss a new concoction," she hissed, throat working harshly beneath his fingers. He barely loosened his grip so that she could speak, despising every moment he was not killing her. "One I-I have been..." She swallowed. Her heels scraped against the stone wall for purchase. "Very eager to try out."

Hanzo tightened his grip once more and Skarlet's eyes grew larger, panicked and desperate.

"WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE."

With each word, flames licked Hanzo's tongue, eager to escape. The temptation to release the flames on Skarlet's wretched head, to burn away her smirk until only bone remained, was nearly overwhelming.

But Kuai Liang's life hung in the balance. He could not give in to anger.

He allowed Skarlet breath, and she finally spoke, "That blood wasss poisoned," Skarlet hissed and Hanzo tensed.

"Where is the antidote," he demanded, and Skarlet laughed again.

"It isss not that sort of poissson," she said. "Thisss one was made for...ssspecial occasssionsss..."

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

Skarlet looked into his eyes and victory shined in her dark, mad eyes.

"It isss a powerful aphrodisssiac," she purred, and Hanzo tensed. "If he is not sssatiated, his blood will boil."

Alarmed, Hanzo glanced at Kaui Liang. It looked as if he was already feeling the effects, if the way he clutched his abdomen meant anything. He ground his forehead against the filthy stone floor and even a short distance away, Hanzo could see the red welts rising from his skin, as if he were burning from the inside out.

"It would be bessst," Skarlet continued, able to speak more in Hanzo's moment of distraction, "If you left usss here." Her eyes darkened with desire and twisted eagerness. "I am more than up to the tasssk of helping him, and I am sssure he will find me very sssastisfying."

Kuai Liang would rather die, Hanzo knew.

Slowly, every line of his body a taut line of repressed violence, Hanzo allowed Skarlet to slide back down the wall so that her feet touched the floor.

Her eyes brightened with victory—and then Hanzo yanked her close, so that they instead widened with surprise and a quick flash of fear—for he had not released her yet.

"No," he simply said, and then he shoved Skarlet back.

Her skull cracked against the stone and she went limp.

Hanzo let her drop carelessly, turned his back on her, and quickly made his way to Kuai Liang's side. She would not die, he was sure of it, and though he dearly wanted to make her pay for poisoning Kuai Liang, there was still a chance she would be needed in the future, should her words prove false and some sort of antidote could only be procured through her repulsive blood magic.

Hanzo fell to his knees at Kuai Liang's head, hands hovering or unsure.

"Kuai Liang..."

Shakily, Kuai Liang raised his head. Hanzo didn't hesitate to clasp his hand when it was raised and his eyes widened to feel the heat of him, hot enough to rival his own skin.

"Hanzo..." Through his fierce grimace, Hanzo saw the flicker of uncertainty, the worry and anxiety brought on by this sudden vulnerability.

"I have you," Hanzo assured him and he squeezed his hand tightly. "We will fix this, I promise you."

Kuai Liang stared into his eyes for a moment, panting, face beginning to bead with sweat.

He sagged with a nod, weary and pained.

Hanzo swallowed them both in hellfire, and only the scorched stone and Skarlet's crumpled form marked their ever being in Outworld.

[ambassadorquark]

here’s a long post about a bunch of webcomics i love and recommend. i’ve certainly read & liked other ones and have just lost track of them somehow but these are like, mostly classics that basically anyone who reads newer webcomics will recommend to you and a couple i’ve found more recently that i loved. tried to limit it to FAVES that update pretty regularly or are already completed so you can get quality stories out of it but it still ended up mammoth so uh, it’s goin’ under a readmore

namesake - super long-running comic with beautiful art, consistent and frighteningly frequent updates, made by Webcomics Pros. it’s about people who have the ability to enter the worlds of essentially any fairy tales in which the protagonists happen to share their name, and the lore only gets more intricate from there. this one is a very engaging archive binge as it’s been running for about a million years

gunnerkrigg court - honestly if you’re not already reading gunnerkrigg court i'd be very surprised since this is another one that’s been going easily since the invention of webcomics (not really, but THAT ARCHIVE!). i don’t know how to summarize it beyond saying it STARTS as a story about a girl attending a quirky boarding school and is now kind of a sweeping epic about the intersection of technology, nature, and divinity. there’s time travel or something in there now?! you will love renardine. i love renardine

paranatural - another one i’m sure you’re already reading and if not, WHY? it’s a fun li’l action-comedy about middle schoolers fighting ghosts with the help of other ghosts. has been running for a good while and gone through some weird changes but is also probably one of the funniest serial comics i’ve ever read

he is a good boy - a super weird, cerebral, since-finished comic by online comics vet KC Green, about a little acorn finally leaving the tree he grew on after it dies. this one has more “adult” content than any of the previous ones, but if you can handle some cartoony gore and obscenity it’s really funny, strange, and worth checking out

anything by evan dahm tbh - these come recommended by absolutely anyone with taste because evan dahm makes beautiful fantasy comics. rice boy and order of tales are both completed and have a bizarre, super-unique setting and bittersweet approach to these delicate, human stories (despite having no actual human characters). vattu is still currently running and is a slightly more grounded fantasy comic about a little girl from a nomadic hunter-gatherer culture getting caught up in the machinery of the empire that’s moving in on the land where she was born. cannot recommend these enough TBH

also anything on johnny wander - this site contains a bunch of comics by a couple of married comics pros; a big backlog of their really funny, charming autobio comics, the entirety of their graphic novel lucky penny, a whole bunch of shorter comics you might have seen around, and also their new, longer-form webcomic barbarous, which is about a wizard school dropout who’s appointed as a super at an apartment building full of weird magical folks. recommended because there’s a lot of quality stuff in there for you

the sword interval - on webtoon, completed. legit my favorite thing i’ve read in a hot minute. modern fantasy about a young woman who tracks down a legendary, but retired monster hunter for help on her quest to find and kill the lich-like being who killed her parents. gorgeous art, super awesome monster designs, twists on twists, characters you will never want anything bad to happen to ever. reggie the golem.

widdershins - a pretty well established comic i only just read recently. a series of connected stories following different characters from a big ensemble cast and their various adventures in a magical town in victorian west yorkshire. full of fun old-timey shit and wizards. i read it obsessively in like a day. super funny, super long archive. extremely endearing characters who you also will never want anything bad to happen to.

the last halloween - abby howard is a godly horror artist who’s been doing this comic since her style and sense of humor were almost completely different, but the story really does grow as it goes and is both very spooky and very funny. book one is about a little girl facing the potential extinction of humanity after the spontaneous appearance of billions of monsters. it’s currently in book 2, which is a direct sequel about different characters that actually updates sporadically at the moment because the artist is making other cool stuff. definitely still worth it though. gets intense as hell

string theory - this one got back into regular updates pretty recently! i’m linking the about page, not the homepage, because this one is about nasty people doing nasty things and there’s a few CWs that the author mentions right in the summary. it’s an alternate history sci-fi set in a near future where the USA was devastated by nuclear weapons after the cuban missile crisis but is mostly a character driven story about a jerkhole scientist having a terrible couple years. i can’t explain this one at all. if you like terrible men as much as i do you’ll probably enjoy it

tiger, tiger - a beautifully drawn maritime fantasy about a young noblewoman who impersonates her sea captain brother in order to launch an expedition to study sea sponges. there is a sexy nonbinary sea monster character if that sweetens the pot for you any. awesome, subtly integrated worldbuilding. super funny and charming. i love this one a whole bunch

bybloemen - i’m not just recommending this because i’m vague internet acquaintances with the author, it’s ALSO an extremely one-of-a-kind comic about the dutch tulip mania, and also demons. the art is gorgeous and the character designs are some of my favorites out there in newer webcomics. just kind of an extremely good concept that i think everyone should check out. and it’s funny, duh

mare internum - completed. an extremely affecting sci-fi set on Mars. you really just have to read this one, honestly. i’m also linking to the about page on this one because it contains CWs to keep in mind; it’s an incredibly well-constructed character study of some flawed, complicated people and also awesome if you like space aliens.

ozzie the vampire - another supernatural action-comedy because i know what i like, about a recently turned vampire girl and her best friend defending their small new jersey town from demons. super funny, super exciting, and really grounded and realistic for a story that’s about a vampire punching demons. the artist is also a superhuman wizard who draws a whole other comic, a shounen inspired action story called station square that you should check out if you end up liking ozzie.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Train Day - Rowe and Mason

[I TRIED SO HARD TO COME UP WITH WHUMP ON A CHOO CHOO BUT  

I 

COULD 

NOT

so here’s some “training Whump” but with a Twist! Mason and Rowe (who belongs to @whumpzone (and Tomas) The Training is from this prompt, and this interaction :)

hehehehe sorry Rowe Also I kinda want to write more Training!Rowe but who knows]

CW: Conditioning, past abuse discussed, cursing, dubcon touch (non sexual), misunderstanding (look Tomas is TRYING), implied electrocution, Pet Whump, conditioned mindset, dehumanization

[Rowe’s Masterlist] [Mason’s Tag] 

Mason sat, scribbling notes with the office phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

“Just a general kind of refresher?”

Tomas nodded before remembering he was on the phone. “Yeah – nothing harsh, though. He’s been acting out lately and I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“Acting out how?”

Tomas bit his lip for a second before he sighed. Strangely enough, he felt almost like a teacher phoning home about a disruptive student. He would never hurt Rowe, but he needed some correction.

“Uh, marking up things around the house” – destroying my favorite shoes- “messing with things he knows better than to mess with” – playing around with the collar I should have thrown away – “I mean, he cut his own hair for goodness sake.”

Mason wrote down attention seeking and hummed understandably. “Has anything changed recently? Did you get a new job or move or something to that effect?”

A pause.

“Well, Luca’s been coming around more...”

Mason leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin creeping along his face. By the blush in the man’s voice, he could tell Luca was more than just a random friend. He chuckled silently and shook his head. That explains it.

“Alright. Has he ever been through a formal training before?”

“I, I don’t think so. I got him, uh, he came to me through some, not, great circumstances, if you know what I mean. Pretty rough shape. So, uh - no. I’m going to go with no. Or at least, not like, kind training.”

Mason nodded subconsciously as he took more notes. Alright, a little handholding necessary with this one. Fair enough.

“Sorry to hear about that. Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything other changes?”

Another pause, longer this time. Mason just waited, understanding that some people who were embarrassed about needing a trainer for their pet. Really, there was nothing to be ashamed for, but there was still that expectation. Sadly, that mindset is what messed up the pet in the first place.

“He has nightmares,” Tomas blurts, feeling like this might be the only opportunity for Rowe to get some professional help. “Almost every night – all from before. Not me, all before.”

“Oh,” Mason said, dropped from that professional voice to one a little more casual. Clients liked that, made them feel like friends or something. Personal anecdotes. “Yeah, one of my boys got those too after a little scare with a SUV that was speeding through our neighborhood. It’s fixable.”

“Thank goodness,” Tomas muttered, head in hands. “He’s still scared of that guy. I just, I just wish he wasn’t so scared of everything. I want him to be calm, and comfortable, and feel safe with me. I, I care about him.”

Companion, Mason noted. “Sounds like you’re trying all the right things. I’ll see what I can do to help you and-” he checked the form again “Rowe.”

A sigh of relief from Tomas. It had been a while since there was someone who could help him with Rowe. After, after the whole Kasia debacle that blew up in his face.

It was nice to have someone on his side again. Someone who wanted to help Rowe like he did.

A few more pleasantries, and they said their goodbyes. Mason hung up the phone, glancing over to the pet that had been kneeling in his office. It had been trembling the entire time, not daring to look up. Mason stretched as he stood and made his way over to it. He crouched down, taking the pet by the chin to examin its face.

Big, scared brown eyes couldn’t decide where to look; flickering from the floor to his face, but never quite reaching his eyes. Poor thing flinched when he brought up his other hand to inspect the sloppily shorn hair. He could already tell that the pet was layered in scars, trying to breathe silently but given away by a slightest rasp. It tried to studder something out, but the words got caught.

Mason tutted, using his thumb to rub the boy’s temple in comforting circles. Barbaric. That’s the only way to describe the treatment of the pet’s previous owner. How could people do shit like this? Pet were just that - pets, not just living punching bags. Disciple needed to be humane, needed to help get the lesson across instead of useless violence.

The comforting touch seemed to confuse it even more, the pet staying stalk still. He tried a different spot, and the pet quickly relaxed, neck going slack. Mason smiled a little, faintly remembering another pet that came through a while ago. Loved touch, that one did.

He wondered how it was doing now.

~

Rowe couldn’t stop shaking. He was trying, oh he was trying his best but he just couldn’t seem to stop. The man was big, biceps as big as Rowe’s head. He was shorter than Master Tomas, but he scared Rowe more.

And that made him feel so guilty.

He should respect his Master the most; should be the most concerned about what Master Tomas thought or wanted. He shouldn’t care so much about what happened to him, or about what this man would do. He just needed to be good, and obey. But he was scared. This man was going to fix him, teach him to be better, and with Rowe’s old Master that always meant pain. Pain and darkness and hunger that hollowed him out. Burns and cuts and lashes and begging that made everything worse.

When the man lifted his other hand, Rowe flinched away from it. He wasn’t ready to be hit again. Master Tomas had been too easy on him! Too pitying, too nice. He had gone soft, spending all this time doing house chores and sleeping on a bed and reading. Now he needed to learn his place again and it scared him so much.

“P-p-please Sir, please. I-I-I-I, I, hng-“ Rowe’s voice cracked, and he could feel heat rush to his face. The man made a little clicking noise, and Rowe froze. A thumb was rubbing little circles into his temple and he didn’t know what to do. He found himself looking into the man’s face, utterly confused. Was, wait – did Rowe do something right? What was happening? It, it didn’t hurt. It felt kind of nice. What was he supposed to do? He stayed still, chest rising and falling quickly.

The man made an expression, but it was gone so quickly Rowe couldn’t tell what it meant. Hands reached for his neck, and Rowe whimpered. But they just laid across his skin, not squeezing or putting any pressure. Even so, Rowe still felt faint. Oh, oh oh he must have been so so so bad.

But there was no pain. The man’s fingertips pressed into the back of his neck, right where his spine met his skull. Little circles again, digging into the muscle. Rowe’s head moved a little with the motion for a second - before he felt the tension in his neck just melt away.

It felt so good, his eyes fluttered closed. It was hard to keep his head up straight, gravity pulling it back to rest on the man’s hands. Rowe was still incredibly confused, but he didn’t want it to stop. Didn’t want to mess up somehow and lose this reward that he certainly hadn’t earned. He almost didn’t hear it when the man started talking.

“Feeling a little ignored, eh? Had a bitch of an owner before, didn’t you. Fucked you up real good.”

Rowe’s brain snapped to attention hearing mention of his old owner. He tried to shake his head a little. No, no his old owner was fair. Rowe was the one who kept messing up and needing correcting. He was just a pet, that was how he was supposed to be treated. He knew better. He knew it.

“Hey hey hey,” Mason said, suddenly stopping the motion and firmly holding Rowe’s neck straight. The brown eyes flew open, wrenched from his blissful state. “No, you don’t correct your Trainer. Your old owner was wrong. Now, let’s get you all fixed up for your Master. No more acting out, no more breaking your rules, no more attention seeking.”

Rowe cringed in on himself as he was reprimanded. Yes, yes that’s what he had been doing. Trying to take up Master’s time like an ungrateful thing. He could be good. He could show the man he was well trained.

“I-I’m, I’m sorry. Please, p-please p-punish me, I-“

Mason scoffed lightly, releasing Rowe and stand. “Yes, but that’s only part of the reason you’re here.”

He paused. “Talkative. Does your Master like you to talk with him?”

Rowe’s jaw snapped shut, eyes wide as he realized what had happened. He covered his mouth with his hands instinctively but nodded to answer his Trainer’s question.

“Alright. What does he do for punishments?”

Rowe shivered, starting to tremble again – wait when did he stop – remembering his old punishments. But Master Tomas never did that. He was so kind to Rowe.

“He, he, he h-has me remove spider-rs? Sometimes? Or, um, or he, um.”

Mason sighed and rolled his eyes. Of course, one of those loosey-goosy owners that never punished anything. Probably too afraid to seem like “the bad guy” or like the pet’s old Master. Two extreme pet owners; too much punishment and not enough.

Rowe stopped talking immedicably, unsure of what to do. The Trainer gestured for him to stand as well, and Rowe obeyed. Mason took a step behind him, pinning one of the pet’s wrists to the small of its back while the other hand firmly gripped the back of its neck. The lack of collar made sense now.

“Come on. Let’s get you to the training floor and get started.”

~

Tomas was pacing in the waiting room. The door opened, and Tomas wheeled around.

“Master Tomas!”

Rowe came up to him excitedly, not falling to his knees, but standing sheepishly in front of him. Tomas looked him up and down, a little shocked.

“Rowe? Oh-h, you seem, well.”

Rowe nodded, eyes locked on Tomas’ face. “I, I am! Thank, thank you.”

Tomas glanced over and saw Mason leaning in the doorframe, looking rather smug with himself. Tomas smiled at him half-heartedly. He filled out the paperwork quickly, anything he had to do to take Rowe home.

Every day Rowe was gone made Tomas doubt his decision more. He was so glad they were going home, and that all of this was behind them. He already felt awful for sending Rowe away for the week or so he’d been gone. He’d thoroughly missed having Rowe around the house.

The moment they left, Tomas took Rowe’s hand.

“Are you really okay? Rowe, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that to you. Did he hurt you? What did he do?”

“I’m fine, M-Master,” Rowe said, smiling. There was a pause in the conversation for him to add more, to answer the other questions, but he didn’t. Tomas swallowed, not really believing him.

~

Rowe curled his toes and twitched his shoulders as he spoke. (If you have to move, if you have to flinch or feel scared, move somewhere your Owner can’t see. No one wants a pet that flinches away) Master Tomas seemed concerned. And sorry? Sorry for what? Rowe was his pet and Master Tomas could send him wherever he wanted.

His trainer had been fair, helping Rowe be the best he could. But, but he didn’t want to go back to the Trainer. Under his arms still stung, the little electrodes removed only that morning. There were so many things he had to remember, so many secret rules that he needed to follow to keep Master Tomas happy. To make sure Master Tomas knew his pet was calm, and comfortable, and felt safe with him. It was a lot to remember, but his Trainer has explained that this was how Rowe showed how thankful he was.

You don’t need attention; you need to make sure your Master is happy.

He, he kind of liked his Trainer, but he was also so scary. He got loud sometimes, able to make Rowe nearly fall apart with just his words. And he was downright terrifying when he made Rowe tell him about his nightmares. All the little details and everything that happened. Making Rowe say it over and over again; but with a different ending. Saying that Master Tomas had come and saved him. Taken him away from his old Master.

His Trainer said it would help. Help stop the nightmares. That, and the stretches that didn’t hurt so much after hours of practice. Master Tomas had saved him, and he was forever grateful to him. So thankful to be his pet.

Pets smiled. Pets did what they were told. Good pets followed the secret rules, the ones that kept them good pets. His Trainer had explained those, too. Explained why Master Tomas acted how he did. Why he acted kind.

Why he told Rowe he was a person.

He wasn’t, Rowe knew and his Trainer made sure he knew, but it made Master Tomas feel better to say. So, it was a good thing. Anything that made Master happy was a good thing. Rowe just had to play along. It wouldn’t be hard, as long as he reminded himself the truth when he was alone.

He was a pet.

He was there to be a companion to Master Tomas.

He wasn’t a person.

He belonged to Master Tomas.

He did what Master Tomas wanted.

Master Tomas saved him so he could do whatever he wanted to Rowe (even play this pretend game with him)

He was a pet.

Rowe just had to follow his secret rules.

Just because Master Tomas hadn’t given him rules didn’t mean there weren’t any.

[mothernerd]

blood 10 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 9 - part 11

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

10 - a trick

Peter had Sam and Clint notify the guard. Natalia and James secured the Queen and Princess Morgan, and before anyone had time to breathe, Peter stormed Obadiah’s bedchamber.

The king woke with a start, opening his mouth to protest the interruption and stopping immediately when the tip of a sword went to his throat. 

“Is this supposed to be a coup?” he mocked while Peter marched him out of the bedroom toward the throne room. “You’re in over your head, boy.”

Peter didn’t reply, keeping his sword up until they were securely in the throne room where Wong, Steve, and Thor waited with crossed arms. 

“King Rumlow will not stand for this,” Obadiah’s confident tone faded once Peter shoved him forward. “Whatever you’re planning, you’re outnumbered.”

“Per the law, if the council feels the king is unfit, he may be removed in favor of the next in line,” Wong recited. 

“He’s not of age!” Obadiah spat but Steve looked between the men. 

“A few months?” he asked the group. “I saw the records say his birth was yesterday, 22 years to the day.” 

“It’ll be noted,” Wong hummed, the quartet watching the king for his next move. 

“Traitors-,” Obadiah threw a finger between the men accusingly. “Where’s Strange? Not man enough to face me himself?”

“Uncle, if you step down peacefully, you can live out your days unbothered at the border,” Peter offered tersely, watching the manic man for any sudden movements. “Please.”

“Ha!” Obadiah threw his head back, taking a few steps away from the group. “Do you honestly think I believe that? You’ll send that bitch assassin or the cripple missing an arm after me.”

Peter saw Steve tense at the insults, but maintained a firm tone with the disgraced king. 

“Please uncle,” he tried to reason. “There are many who wish to see you punished for your transgressions-.”

“Transgressions?” Obadiah spun on to him. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve tried to bring peace to the kingdom. I’ve broken no law.”

“You ordered the death of my father,” Peter stated, unflinchingly. He stated the older, larger man down. “The punishment for treason is death and I am giving you the option of survival.” 

Shouting was beginning to rise from the courtyard outside the throne room. Flickers of torches and the whinnying of horses soon meshed into the sounds. 

“The men who wish to see you dead far outnumber anyone loyal to you,” Steve warned, eyeing the lights through the stained glass. “You have nothing to offer Rumlow, there’s no guarantee he’ll be willing to waste the men on a lost cause.”

There was a there was a crash from the hall outside the locked throne room door. Swords clanged against once another and the shouting grew louder. 

Turning to the men, Obadiah smirked when someone began slamming against the door. 

“Are you certain of that, Peter?” he asked, his grin growing wider. “Don’t think I was blind to your schemes. I know all that goes on in this castle.” 

He rounded on Peter, a finger prodding the prince’s chest. 

“I heard all about the tavern meetings with the Asgardians and this pathetic attempt on my throne,” he glowered down at him. “I knew exactly why the Asgardians were here, a betrothal, don’t be stupid! I knew about that little slut too. Now she’s with her weak father... probably lamenting how I outsmarted them. You’re a fool, Peter, and you’ll hang for this.”

There was a stunned silence, all eyes falling on Peter, who’d backed away with Obadiah towering over him. Shouts and banging could still be heard from the halls, a group now trying to break down the door. 

All at once, Peter let out a furious yell. He grabbed the front of Obadiah’s sleeping gown with one hand, the other going for a dagger at his side. 

“Do you see this knife?” he snarled, pricking the tip against Obadiah’s neck to draw a single droplet of blood. “My sister used it to defend against that beast you’ve brought into my home. Do you know who gave it to her? One of the most dangerous criminals in the next two kingdoms, pray tell me, uncle- what do you think they will do to do if I don’t kill you now? The assassin who so trusted my beloved sister, he gave her a weapon to defend from you?”

“You’re going to lose.”

“What will they do, Obadiah-,” Peter dug the blade a little deeper into the kings skin, making the man squirm. “When the truth of her death comes out? When the truth of my fathers death? The longest reign of peace and economic prosperity in generations. What will the farmers, whose crops Rumlow burned under your orders, do to you?”

“Peter!” the door burst open and Wong grabbed Peter, teleporting him, Thor, and Steve away before Amora could blast the group. 

She rushed toward the king, hands glowing, while she skimmed him over for injury. 

“The queen and princess are gone,” she reported. “My king rallied his troops the moment he caught wise of what the prince was planning. Sir, he still commits his men to you, per your agreement.”

“No marriage?” Obadiah practically stammered out. 

“My grace, the specifics can be dealt with, should we survive this treacherous siege, now hold on,” she grabbed his wrist and teleported with a cloud of green smoke. 

(—)

“The princess was moved to the crypt,” Loki reported once he met Stephen in the courtyard, his troops readying to support the guard within the castle. “One of the priests heard wind of the siege and gave her a quick blessing before fleeing.” 

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Stephen had done his best to ensure you would have been removed from the stone coffin before you could risk suffocating. With an active battle, there was no guarantee when he could rescue you.

“I have to move her now,” he realized at Loki’s urgent implication. 

“Better now than when the castle is burning,” the prince replied snarkily. His attention was caught by a large flame in one of the guard towers. Obadiah had resisted.

It was time. 

“Go, before I go myself to avoid this barbaric carnage,” Loki pulled on his battle helmet and began to rally his men. 

Stephen didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly drew up a portal to the Stark family crypt below the castle. He raced to the newest section of the tomb, where your grandfather and your father’s empty coffin sat under a carving of your great-grandfather.

He ignited the torches with a wave of his hand, immediately spotting the recently disturbed stone tomb. Raising his palm, he blasted the lid of the entrapment, pushing the stone aside and summoning a light to better see inside. 

To his relief, you were there, arms folded over your chest, body tucked in a hastily wrapped funeral shroud. He ripped the cloth back, pulling your unconscious body out of the stone chamber and draping you over his lap on the ground. 

A quick check of his spell, and it was still holding. Your seidr was still concealed and you were still alive, just in a deep, charmed, sleep. 

He scooped you up, throwing open a portal to the chambers he’d prepared at his home, and quickly draped you onto the bed. 

Sensing his magic, Wanda stepped through her own portal, glancing up at her friend in concern. 

“It’s early,” she noted with a tilt of her head. 

“Obadiah didn’t surrender or attempt to negotiate. Brock joined the attack,” he explained. “The king needs to rally the troops here and notify our allies.”

Wanda gave a curt nod, disappearing as quickly as she’d appeared. 

He returned his attention to you, lightly touching the seidr seal on your wrist and ensuring the spell would hold while he was out of sight.

“I will return my love,” he vowed, tucking a strand of hair out of your face and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He double checked the wards around the bedroom a final time before opening a portal to Tony’s encampment within his estate grounds. 

(—)

“Peter, what’s happening?” Pepper demanded when the trio sudden appeared in her chambers. James and Natalia were both in their feet, awaiting further instructions. 

“Where’s Morgan?” he demanded, moving through the room until he located his baby sister in the old nursery attached to the suite. “We have to get the two of you to safety.”

“She wanted to sleep, James and Natalia told us to stay ready, but-,” Pepper hurried after him. “Peter, what is going on?”

“I’m removing Obadiah from the throne,” he stated matter of factly, scooping up Morgan and grabbing a cook off a nearby hook. “Brock is trying to help him, but our men far outnumber theirs. You and Morgan are being moved to Kamar-Taj for the night, then into the Asgardian keep.” 

“And the lords and ladies?” she stammered out, overwhelmed by his calm demeanor despite the screams and fires outside. She absently took her daughter when Peter passed her off, watching James and Natalia assemble a few more essentials into a small silk bag before passing it off to Peter. 

“Long evacuated, the men who wished to fight still remain,” Steve supplied. “Wong and myself will be accompanying you to Asgard. Queen Frigga will provide passage to Asgard once Brock’s troops are recalled from the border and Amora’s mystic boundary is broken.”

“Kamar-Taj has a prepared trunk for you,” Natalia explained softly. “I put it together with Peter a few weeks ago. It should have what you need until you reach Asgard.”

“What about the rest of you?” Pepper’s gaze feel on Peter. “What will you do?”

“I’m going to kill Brock and Obadiah,” he promised confidently. “Overcome and conquer.”

Pepper paused, reaching for his face and cradling his jaw with her palm. 

“Your father would be so proud,” she whispered, the brief spell broken when an explosion sounded in the courtyard. 

“Magic,” Wong confirmed. “Amora probably summoned her apprentices. We need to move to ensure we are not followed.”

“Be safe, my sweet son,” Pepper kissed his cheek and followed after Wong and Steve, Morgan tucked tightly in her arms. “I love you.”

“Goodbye mother,” he replied, watching the spot in the room until the portal snapped shut and he was left with Thor and the assassins. 

“What now?” James asked, peeking through the queens window nervously. 

“There’s a passage down the hall that should lead you to the armory. Through there, you should be able to reach Loki and our combined men. Mordo and Stephen have called for reinforcements from Kamar-Taj, and they should be able to fend off magic users while we handle the rest.”

“Asgardian forces will be here by dawn,” Thor promised. “With another wave due before nightfall.” 

“Obadiah won’t be missing for long,” Peter continued. “He’s a pig, but not a coward. He will want to oversee things in person, likely with Brock. That’s when we hit them and end this.”

“And Amora?” Natalia quirked a brow. 

“Leave that to Loki,” Thor muttered grimly. “He has a score to settle with the Enchantress.”

(—)

You jolted up with a gasp. 

The room was dark, but something unfamiliar about it sent the seidr in your veins prickling through the goosebumps on your skin. 

Reaching around, you swallowed anxiously. The bed was all wrong. The fabrics not the silks and cotton you’d grown up with. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you realized you weren’t in your bed chambers at all. 

A yell and response outside the window had you scrambling to your feet, spying a number of fires burning in the dark sea of land outside whenever you now found yourself. 

Your groggy brain ran through its last memories. The assault. The conversation with Stephen. 

The sleeping draught. 

How powerful had it been?

You looked down at your hands, a faint glow of violet emitting from your hands and up your arms. You’d barely had time to examine it when the door to the room burst open. 

“You’re not supposed to be awake-,” Wanda stated, swooping on you and catching sight of the seidr. Eyes wide, she tried subduing the small bit of magic, but the moment the crimson tendrils tried touching the violet, the seidr grew brighter and spread more thoroughly over your body. 

“What is going on-?” You reached for your skirts and realized your dressing gown had been changed to a deep crimson formal gown. “Where is Stephen? Where is my home?”

“Princess,” Wanda reached for your hand, but the seidr snapped back at her and she pulled away. “I don’t know what’s happened. Stephen is... I can better explain...” 

She looked overwhelmed, her eyes constantly dropping to watch the raw power radiating off of you. 

“You’ve been asleep for two days, almost three nights,” she stated briskly, and you shook your head, frowning. 

“That’s impossible,” you whispered. 

“The sleeping potion Stephen gave you... it was to mimic the effects of death,” she continued softly. “We’re at the main keep for his family. Princess, the kingdom is at war.”

“Wanda, you were supposed to seal it, what’s taking so-,” Loki stopped in the doorway of the room. “Princess.”

He looked as bewildered as Wanda to see you standing and alert. And twice as concerned with the seidr energy coming from you. 

“That’s not good,” he stated bluntly. “Amora is going to see you like a beacon in the night.”

“Brock’s men have secured the castle already, if he knows she’s alive-,” Wanda agreed, speaking quickly and tersely with the prince. 

“Alive? Of course I’m-,” you paused. Mimic the effects of death. Eyes growing wide with realization as to what Stephen had done, you huffed a sigh. “Brock is still aligned with Obadiah?”

“It’s tentative,” Wanda replied. “But if his Stark bride is alive and well...”

“He’s already calling troops through the Kree empire, and the sea artillery is moving toward Asgardian waters,” Loki frowned, reaching forward and trying to calm your magic with his own. When it spat back at him like Wanda’s, his lips formed a thin line of concern. “Strange’s seal was so powerful I couldn’t sense it, so he isn’t holding right now because of the princess. There’s something else keeping him by Obadiah’s side. This will just soldifiy whatever deal they’ve struck. We need to figure out how to seal the seidr.”

“Could she just learn to control it?” Wanda offered. “I don’t think external means are going to suppress it much longer.”

“Wanda, how long did it take for you to learn to hide your own essence from enemies?” Loki pressed. “We need to locate Stephen.”

Eyes glowing, Wanda nodded and disappeared, presumably to retrieve the sorcerer in question.

“Loki, is my family-?” you started and he nodded. 

“Your mother and sister are in Asgard,” he replied. “Peter is...”

“He’s on the battlefield,” you finished with a knowing sigh. “Do we stand a chance?” 

“The Wakandans have mobilized and will be sending reinforcements soon,” he explained, gesturing for you to hold out the hand with the seal on your wrist. “Incredible. Your power... destroyed the rune. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The Wakandans have no loyalty to Peter,” you voiced, furrowing your brows. Are they aligned with Asgard?” 

“Well, no-,” he started. “They stand behind House Stark but, there is an important thing you should know now that you’re awake.”

He drew a portal, knowing her couldn’t teleport with your present state, and led you to what looked like a massive dining hall within the same building.

Hundreds of men were resting, some singing ballads and others sharing large bowls of stew and bread. 

You looked to Loki for explanation. 

Was Stephen hurt? Had your brother perished? 

He stood stoically, his gaze falling on the back of a man tending to an infantryman’s dressings. When he turned his head, you gasped and rushed over. 

“Father..?” you hesitated, his face was covered in mud, and he’d grown a large beard, but as soon as you saw his eyes, you knew. 

“Look who had risen from the grave,” he teased. “Welcome to the afterlife. It’s not quite what the priests suggested-.”

You cut him off, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“You’re alive,” you stammered in awe. “I... how? They say a pike went through your chest.”

“Oh, about that...” he touched the from of his chest. “Loki is a very skilled healer, and Wanda foresaw that particular complication... it’s a long story, best served for better conditions.”

“The seidr broke the potion’s effects,” Loki stated, looking down at the soldier and waving a hand over his bloodied wound. The wound was immediately cleaned and the soldier’s eyes drifted shut, his chest soon rising and falling in a peaceful sleep. “We’re trying to locate Stephen. Wanda and myself couldn’t interact with her.”

“I see,” Tony looked to you, eyes following the new elements of magic dancing lazily over your upper body. “Certainly the wards around the keep should continue to mask it?”

“For now,” Loki reported. “If Amora approaches too close, it could mean exposure.”

“You knew about all of this as well?” you looked to your father, still struggling to keep up with everything being said and plotted. She turned to Loki. “And you knew he was alive”

“And Wanda,” Loki added. “Natalia, and more recently, Stephen.”

“What?” you blinked in surprise. That wasn’t right. Stephen certainly would have told you. 

“We couldn’t risk Amora catching on,” your father quickly sensed your shift in emotion. “She was watching you because of your seidr, trying to tamper with your thoughts. You had to be left in the dark until we knew you were a safe distance from her.”

“Amora is a very powerful magic user who betrayed the trust of my mother and yours,” Loki informed you, his hand tensing at his side. “We couldn’t risk her getting ahead of our plans.”

“That’s going to go to waste if we can’t continue the charade you’re dead,” Tony clarified. “Brock is only barely allied with Obadiah. We have the numbers right now, but if he becomes serious about taking our kingdom, he and the Northern Kree far exceed our men, the Asgardians, the Wakandans, and the Southern Kree.”

“Your grace,” a blonde woman in knights armor approached and bowed her head. You noticed that the blood from the cuts on her cheeks was teal- a Kree. “King Odin is riding for us. He will be here within the hour, ready to provide more men.”

“Thank you Lady Carol,” Tony nodded while the female knight bowed and exited the room. Your eyes trailed after her in a dazed stupor. You’d never seen a female knight before. You’d read that the Kree society was more favorable to the female gender, but you never would have imagined the Kree would let a woman directly report to a king. 

“We need Frigga,” Tony sighed.

“We would have to ride to Asgard ourselves. The mystic boundary Amora out on the borders of too powerful, no one has been able to teleport or portal through it,” Loki grumbled. 

Tony cursed under his breath and stood, a hand on your back, guiding you through the mess of cots and soldiers. Some were injured, most were just worn from battle and resting until they were called upon again. 

Leading you and Loki out of the hall, Tony stopped once he was certain you were alone. 

“Only the sorcerers and myself are aware of your situation,” he murmured. “Peter and the queen are none the wiser. We need to keep you within the walls of this keep until Stephen is located and we have our next steps.”

“Can I help at all?” you asked, feeling more like a prized hen than someone who was useful. “I know some healing salves and wound mending?” 

“We can’t risk it,” Loki looked to Tony who was considering the suggestion. “One incident with the uncontrolled seidr and that could be the end of us.”

“My sweet, I’m sorry,” Tony pulled your head in and kissed the top of your hair. “It won’t be long until Stephen arrives and we can make a clearer decision.”

As if on cue, Wanda appeared, blood coating her hands and the dark robes she wore. 

“Stephen was injured in battle,” she explaine, Loki quickly teleporting with her without another word. 

“I bet he’s in the master suite,” your dad mused, a wink in your direction. “He has all of his potions and trinkets in there for emergency.”

You paused, hesitating between leaving your newly alive father, and being by your love’s side. 

“I’m needed in a war council,” he answered the dilemma. “We can catch up when the world isn’t burning around us.”

He gave your hand a final, reassuring, squeeze before giving you a quick layout of the keep. You thanked him, promised to keep him updated, and dashed down the halls. 

As you hurried, you felt your dress restricting your movements, and briefly considered trousers to be a more apt clothing option for the moment. 

It was when you felt the restriction around your legs disappear when you looked down and saw your clothes had shifted. Your crimson gown now crimson trousers, your corset a more reasonable bustier, and a cloth shirt tucked under a matching jacket with the Stark sigil subtly embroidered on the chest. 

Stopping in shock at the change, it occurred to you that the seidr had merely been responding to your mental requests.

That, you could get used to. No wonder Stephen and Loki were always ready for balls and events faster than you. 

You picked up your pace, rushing through the halls until you found the master suite exactly where your father had told you. 

A maid was shuffling out as you approached and you quietly slipped in, doing your best to ignore the blood saturated towels tucked under the maids arms. 

“It was a toxic arrow,” Wanda was explained to Loki. “It isn’t allowing the blood to coagulate properly. He’s going to bleed out.”

“I imagine Amora had something to do with this,” Loki murmured, glowing emerald hands hovering just over the gushing wound. “Strange. Stay with us. Stay awake.”

You were discarding your jacket and rolling up your sleeves, moving toward the makeshift apothecary stand while Stephen kept his eyes squeezed in pain.

“If she enchanted the poison or venom before applying it, we should be able to pull the toxins magically, right?” you recalled from a text you’d read during one of the long nights in the observatory. 

“I’m trying to, but I can’t detect any traces of magic in the wound,” Loki replied tensely.

“I tried isolating a few drops of his blood to detect any foreign components, but the poison is too powerful. It’s using the body’s defenses in its favor,” Wanda looked rattled, a far cry from her usual, composed, demeanor. “If we had more time, I know I could find the proper antidote, but he’s going to bleed out before then.”

Your fingers hovered over the herbs and elixirs, eyes shut while you considered their words and tried to recall the specifics of what you’d learned under his tutelage. 

“Is it actively poisoning his body, or just preventing the wound from clotting?” you asked, your finger twitched toward an herb used to create fiberous seals on wounds from cuts.

“Preventing the cut from sealing,” Wanda reported back, watching Loki try and fall to seal the wound magically. All the rags and bandages he piled ontop of the injury just continued to saturate through. “Bandages are not working. He’s bleeding through everything.”

“We need ice on the wound,” you called out, throwing the proper herbs and liquid into a mortar and pestle. “Shrink the blood vessels and slow the bleeding temporarily.”

Loki’s hand turned to ice and he pressed it on the skin around the injury. 

“It’s working,” Wanda called back.

“Clean the area,” you instructed, the paste now smooth and plentiful. You turned and searched the room for extra bandages, finding some by a pile of Stephen’s ripped and bloodied robes. 

You passed the remedy and bandages to the sorcerers at his bedside, knowing your seidr would prevent you from making close contact with him. The thought in itself breaking your heart. You wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead, press a kiss to his hand and promise all would be well.

“Put the paste on the bandages and cover the wound. Keep applying the ice until we can get the bleeding to slow,” you watched Wanda move swiftly in tandem with Loki, pressing the seal to the injury and letting the prince take over applying pressure and ice. 

“Princess?” Stephen’s voice called, almost delirious.

“I’m here,” you moved within his eyesight, a smile thrown on your features to conceal your deep worry for him. “What did I tell you about getting shot with arrows, my love?”

“You never mentioned arrows,” he grunted, eyes opening briefly to take you in and closing when he winced in pain. “Next time be more- hngh- specific.”

“Next time don’t get shot,” you countered playfully, eyes falling to the white bandage at his abdomen. Ideally, only a little blood would be able to get through. It’d buy enough time for Loki and Wanda to find a better remedy without letting him bleed out. 

“It’s working,” Wanda announced, jumping and moving to the large library of books scattered around the room. Her hands began to glow, her fingers pulling texts off the shelves and discarding them almost as fast.

“Strange, were you injured anywhere else?” Loki asked tersely, eyeing a cut by the sorcerer’s eye. “We need seal all of your cuts, just in case.”

“Face,” Stephen replied after a pause. “Hands.” 

Loki got to work, smothering the bandages with the salve and covering the cuts. 

“Got it,” Wanda held up a book victoriously. “Antidote will take a few hours to prepare. Loki, you’re going to need to move to the front line. Let Peter and Thor know what is happening. I’ll make sure there’s enough for everyone afflicted.”

“I hadn’t heard any reports of similar circumstance,” Loki murmured, looking back down at the bandage to ensure it was still holding. “This seems personal.”

“To our favor then,” Wanda hummed, summoning her ingredients and moving quickly through the steps. “I will report this to King Anthony. Go.”

Loki disappeared with a flash of light, leaving only traces of smoke where he stood.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” Stephen realized after you’d seated ourself next to him. 

“The seidr had other plans,” you noted softly. “Do not worry, we will address each problem as it’s necessary. You need to rest.”

“Wasn’t I just tell you that?” 

“Then listen to your own words, you do often boast of how good your own advice is,” you teased. 

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away, frowning apologetically at him. 

“The seidr is… it doesn’t like magic-users at the moment,” you explained quickly.

“That’s… unfortunate,” he mumbled, lolling his hand forward and staring up at the ceiling. “Ever the more reason not to die, I suppose.”

(—)

11- a battle cry 

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