#sent out to the battlefield over and over again. people's lives held over their heads as collateral.

[beliscary]

jill & dion besties agenda

[daylite-writes]

A Healer’s Blunt Teeth - Yan!Capitano x Healer!Reader

(Pt 2 here)

In your homeland, the nation of war, healers are highly valued, highly sought after. This, however, does not grant them autonomy. Traded, won, and bought. That has been your life thus far. Now though, you’ve fallen into the possession of a man you know will never lose a battle.

cw: societal-typical captivity, Yandere-esc behavior, background death, non consensual touching/kissing, sharing a bed (romantic, but not sexual), consensual relationship, brief use of the word ‘master’ until Capitano shuts that down, time skip.

2.8k words

~~~

The sun was relentless, on the battlefield. Glaring down from the horizon, it was blindingly bright. It’s heat was so palpable it warped the rocky terrain around you. Your face, back, legs, all were drenched in sweat. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst part was the smell of the fallen bandits cooking under it.

You choked back a sob as another waft of the scent passed you. Rotting, seared. The battle was over, but didn’t dare to move from the spot behind a jagged rock you’d taken. Quietly, you cursed to yourself, “stupid, fucking—stupid. Gods, archons, fucking, idiotic—”

Idiotic team leader, idiotic fucking team. The scouts were supposed to make sure backup wasn’t within range, the talkers were supposed to intimidate them into to fork over their supplies, and the front liners were supposed to not fucking die should a altercation begin.

Apparently none of them did their job, because the moment swords were drawn, one of them sent a signal to a larger group of Fatui a ways back—the moment their backup arrived marked the start of the bloodshed.

They cut through your group with far too much ease. Trained. You didn’t dare peek out from your hiding place, but you listened to the ‘shirk, shirk, shirk’ as each bandit was double-tapped.

You bit your bottom lip hard, hard enough to draw blood, as footstepped creeped closer.

As a healer, you’d never been afraid of defeat. Even ones that had the entirety of the group you were with dead. But those defeats came at the hands of other Natlan people. Those were people who would spare the healer, finding better uses for you than death. The Fatui? No such promise. Surely they had their own, and in turn, you held no use.

The air was tense, silent, except for your stifled breathing and the click of the rifle as you struggled to load it. You swore internally, fumbling with the damned thing, before you heard a click.

You froze. The click was not from your gun.

“Drop it.” The Fatuus barked. You did so, weapon clattering on the ground, raising your hands in surrender, you kept your head dipped low. Unsteady breaths spilled from your lips.

“Please.” You begged, you weren’t a threat, you prayed they knew that.

One grabbed you, roughly, forcing you to stumble along as you were dragged into the blood smeared slaughter grounds. The sun, glaring in your eyes, made it hard to see. Eventually, the Fatuus shoved you, making you fall to yours knees—which sunk a little into the blood soaked mud under me.

The Fatuus said something, which you didn’t hear between your heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears. It wasn’t for you—too formal and professional. You lifted your head—

The largest man you’d ever seen. Well, probably a man. Towering, with a helmet that looked like a shark’s metal maw shrouding his face in darkness. The blood pounding in your ears intensified. He was looking at you—he was looking at you—

You dropped your head down immediately, terrified of the man you’d been tossed before. Their leader, undoubtedly. It was a short lived reprice from his fearsome figure, as he soon grabbed your chin, dragging you to your feet and forcing your eyes to meet his void—

“You aren’t a bandit. You’re too scrawny, not toned, and you can’t load a rifle. You are for some sort of utility.” He tilted his head to look down over your body, before his eyes locked onto yours again. “Am I correct?”

“Y-yes—yes sir.” Your chest shook with every heavy breath. “I-I’m their healer.”

“Hm.” He said simply. The hand clasped around your throat and jaw twisted slightly, moving your head and body as he pleased. You let slip a sharp whimper, but didn’t dare say a word. He looked over you, appraising you like one would a horse or a fine good. Trying to determine your value.

“In the Natlan wilds, healers are usually bought, traded around between groups.” He lifted your head a little higher exposing your neck. What was he looking for? “Or taken, when a group died to another. Just one thing from which a victor is entitled to take. Hm. I wonder where you’ve been, healer.”

Too many places. From the moment you showed an innate ability for healing. Traded, won, bought off, defected to. Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you as you met his eyes.

His mask hid all but the slightest trace of blue eyes and a sharp, but you swore you could see the glint of sharp teeth as he dropped out, letting you collapse onto your knees in the dirt.

He turned to his soldiers, with a booming voice yelled; “Kill any left alive, take all supplies of theirs you find.”

Then, he turned back to you, voice quieter, but pleased. You hadn’t moved an inch from where he dropped you.

“What do you think of the cold?”

~~~

Capitano was your new boss. Not the Fatui—Capitano specifically.

You stayed in his tent during the day, and slept in the corner at night. It wasn’t like you were told to sit there, but you’d rather not risk punishment for asking for a bed. You weren’t sure how cruel the Fatui were, how cruel he was.

Besides, it was familiar. Sleeping at the foot of your latest warlord. A decoration when you were not working. Like a fancy vase, or an exotic fur blanket.

He came back to the tent one night, the troops reeling from a small battle. You didn’t know what against, only that he took a seat on the side of his bed, undoing his armor, and turning to you, silently beckoning. You approached, sitting beside him on the bed, beginning to heal his wounds.

You wondered how many had seen under the armor. He was strong, toned, and monstrous. Scars etched out of his back held veiny black scars that had to be from the void, his teeth, at times, seemed shinier than his blades and twice as sharp. His eyes…

Oh his eyes.

There was nothing wrong with them. Not visually, but…

You shuddered as you felt them on you again, your muscles threatening to lock up. Heal, right, you needed to heal him. Don’t disobey, don’t refuse, don’t show fear.

“Calm down.” He commanded, and you suddenly realized how your limbs were shaking.

“Apologies, master.” You took a small breath, forcing your hands to move steadier across his ribs. A gash, probably from some rifthounds. They’d been hunting the abyss deeper into the mountains.

“Hm.” He said simply.

He never showed any pain as you fixed him, despite healing—against most people’s assumptions—being no pleasurable experience. You wondered if he even staggered when the beast cut through flesh. You wondered how many he killed before one landed the lucky shot.

Scars faded, having curled up into themselves until they dissapeared, you pulled your hands back. You were on his bed, on your knees as he sat on the edge, legs planted on the floor. You were practically under his arm, in order to gain access to his ribs, but you didn’t move away, and wouldn’t. Not until he dissmissed you.

“Done?” He asked, voice even. Gods, did he even feel any of it?

“Yes, master.”

“Good.” He inclined his head slightly. A thanks. You, nervously, lips parted slightly, looked up to him, taking a second to glance at his maskless face. Was… was he going to dismiss you, or?

He met your gaze, and this time you could not stop your limbs from locking up. You felt like a rabbit, with the eyes of a wolf locked onto you.

He lifted a hand, his fingertips abyssal, dipped in black ink. Gently, he cupped your cheek. The little gasp you gave was one of fear, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Once again, he considered you, tilting and moving your head as he liked. “You’ve done well.”

If you could speak, you’d thank him. Call him master as the others you’ve served prefer, maybe bow your head. But no. Something in you, needed desperately, to remain very, very, still.

“You’ve served me well, for weeks, now. Not a whisper of what I look like among my men, not a peep of disobeyal from you. You haven’t so much as asked for a bed. I must wonder what has happened for you to be so… tamed.”

You said nothing.

“I think I could take you to the most beautiful place in Teyvat, and you wouldn’t dare ask to step outside my tent, instead awaiting my own permission. Hm.”

He tilted you head to the side, exposing your neck. This time, you began to shake. You’ve seen his teeth at times, they could tear your head free from your body—

“Captain?” You pleaded.

“Shhh. I’m not hurting you.” He whispered, you felt it more than you heard it, his hot breath across your skin. “Remain good and you can sleep in my bed tonight.”

He… kissed you. Your brain almost short circuited when his lips dipped down to your neck. It was gentle, even when sharp canines nicked your skin.

Slowly, your body relaxed, and he pulled you closer, he kissed your neck, like a lover. A reverent one. Before you knew it, you were sitting on his thigh, whimpering as he placed a hickey high on your neck, one not able to be hidden. Between your beating heart and his… affection, he stopped for mere moments, not to breath or take respite, but instead to murmur soft nothings, “good,” “thank you,” “my healer,”, before he planted another kiss somewhere new.

His attention continued on for far too long, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself, or where this was going.

“Master…” you said, panting, it took everything in you to not bury your head in his shoulder and bite your lip. You felt deeply embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time a member of the people you’d been claimed by paid… special attention to you. But it was

“Captain. You will call me captain.”

“Captain.” You forced out, softly. “Can…”

He waited, not kissing your skin as you figured out how to work your tongue. It would better, right? To be with him than against. A healer alone is doomed. You thought for a moment, before quietly speaking.

“Can I kiss you too?”

“Yes.” He growled out, far too fast. A little aggressive, but, okay—you lowered your head, planting your own kiss on his neck, as gently as you could.

He groaned a bit, the vibrations of it tangible against your lips. “Bite down.”

For a moment, your brain short circuited. What?

“Bite.”

Well then. Slowly, nervously, you sank your teeth into his skin.

His hand cupped the back of your head—archons you swore there were claws on them—and pressed your head a bit further down, forcing you to bite down harder.

The sound that forced its way from his throat was guttural, not quite a growl, but deeply animalistic and satisfied.

“Good… healer. Good.” He huffed out. The hand left the back of your head, and you took that as permission to release the crux of his neck from your teeth.

You couldn’t help but be shocked at the sight you left. A perfect set of teeth marks against his neck, little beads of blood dotting it. If you hadn’t seen it yourself a few times, you wouldn’t be sure he could bleed. At least, bleed red. He held himself like a god among men, and his soldiers seemed to put him on a similar pedistool.

Your mind circled back to his previous praise. Good. You did well, he was happy with you. You wondered if you would be allowed to sleep in his bed tonight. You wondered if he’d let you refuse.

Realizing he’d been silent for a time, you glanced at him, cold, icy eyes glittering behind lax eyelids. He was watching you.

Your chest was heaving despite the little effort it took, but his breathing was strangely calm, rhythmic.

You felt a hand run through your hair, you closed your eyes and bit your lip.

“It’s late. Sleep in my bed, should you like.” He said simply, and you opened your eyes. His hand was still in your hair, and you’d never felt so calm in his presence.

“Alright.” You spoke, the sound barely a breath.

You slept in his bed that night, his arm around your midsection. You felt like the woman in a painting with a name you forgot. She lounged within a lion's den, resting her head against one’s chest, sleeping beside an apex predator.

~~~

Capitano’s time in Natlan was coming to a close. And in turn, yours was as well.

You laid lazily on the strategy table, your head and chest slumped forward into your arms. Under you, a map of Teyvat, with various pins and marks. The path home. Capitano had been pouring over it even after his generals left, marking it every once in a while, or muttering to himself. You’d been waiting for him to finish for hours now.

For all his animalisticicity, his libido was strangely low. Even after months of his physical attention—kisses, bites, sharing a bed—it took you initiating for him to grant you anything. You were happy for this, you supposed. But it did make him difficult to manipulate, unlike many other men who’d oblige after you puffed out your cleavage and bit your lip.

So, you had to resort to other methods.

“Captain… I’m tired.”

“Sleep then. I’ll carry you back when I finish.” He didn’t look at you.

“At the table? Darling…”

“You were the one that wanted to come to this meeting.”

“Yes, the meeting. Not the… what is this? Were the plans your generals made not sufficient?”

“I’m merely going over them again.”

“Alright.” You weren’t getting what you wanted. Not yet. “Perhaps I should walk back to the tent.”

His body shifted slightly, an action that on him, was like the moving of glaciers, heavy and lumbering. “You stay by me.”

It was a reminder, a weighty one. You did not have to be his lover, but you were his healer, taken by right of combat. The only right that mattered in Natlan. He held dominion over you either way.

You did not have to be his lover, but god was life easier that way.

“Sorry.” You sunk back into your arms, feigning just enough sadness and remorse to make him uncomfortable, even if he was visibly still as a mountain.

“You know you are not allowed to move through the camp alone.”

“I do. I just forgot, the last few chieftains I served didn’t bother overseeing my location or sleeping arrangements.” You lied. They did. Very closely in fact. You were a goddamn healer by blood, very expensive in the country of war. You slept at their feet or in their beds, sometimes in chains. But such facts did not serve you in that moment. “This… supervision is new to me.”

He sighed, setting down his quill. “I suppose this is done. We can return to the tent.” He moved around the table, coming up behind your chair before sweeping you into his arms. Hook. Line. Sinker.

“My legs function, Capitano. I assure you.”

“They did not seem to this morning.”

“I’m a healer, I can deal with some strained muscles.” You bantered back.

“Oh, so me bringing you breakfast was simply a ploy of yours?”

“Of course it was, surely you realized.” You grinned into his shoulder, taunting. “And healing takes time, imagine what the soldiers would say seeing me struggle to walk, coming out from your tent?”

“Hm.”

“Anyways, I said I could walk.”

“I wonder, do you ever accept the fact you may not get what you want? Or must you claw at me until I indulge you?”

“With walking?” You grinned, finding a stance you could sink your teeth into. “Are you afraid I may run?”

“Do you think you could escape?” Capitano met your question with one of his own.

You hummed, eyes closed with a soft smile, not bothering to indulge him until he answered you first.

Your eyes shot open as the warm metal of his gauntlet tilted your head up by the chin. He looked over your neck, scarred with the symbols of his love, and gave a content, “Hm. No.”

You rolled your eyes, a little insulted. “I could escape if I liked.”

“Of course, my healer.”

You pouted as he let go of you, your face falling down into his shoulder again.

“Fear not though, my healer.” His voice had a rasping, growling edge to it, making your body shiver in the Natlan heat. “There will never be anything to run from.”

~~~~~

Just a little thing! Hope y’all liked it <3

[happyhauntt]

and i am coming home to you — nikolai lantsov.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: there are some things that cannot be saved. nikolai swears she won't be one of them.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: serious angst, pre-established relationship, descriptions of injuries, blood and torture, oc was held as a prisoner of war, allusions to ravka's war with shu han, suicidal thoughts if you squint. trauma. fluff & romance but in an angsty way. nikolai is so in love and so am i.

─── word count: 2.5k.

     There’s a soft, dusky twilight bleeding in through the window. The last few seconds before the sun goes down, and the shadows stretch like yearning fingers out of all the cracks and crevices.

     Anya used to love the sunset. Used to lay in her bedroll beneath the trees and wait for the world to go quiet. All the colour would bleed away until the blue and black and stars were the only witnesses left.

     She loved the sunset until one day, the darkness came and never left. It settled over her like a second skin, and that once-familiar comfort became something she feared she’d never shake off. She feared she would die there, in the dark.

     Once or twice, she even wished for it.

      The dark comes calling again, now. It no longer feels like an old friend. The light fades from the window, cloaking the cabin in a strange half-dark. The waves crashing against the sides of the ship are a dull roar in the back of her mind. An unwelcome accompaniment to the rest of her terrible thoughts. Her head aches. Her skin burns.

     He saved her, but what was left of her to save? What is left of her now but a ghost, a corpse, a pile of skin and bones and blood that can do nothing else but scream and scream and scream?

     That's what it feels like. Her body. Her heart. Little more than a carcass left to rot, picked over by crows.

     She would love him if she could. A fierceness rests between her lungs, the single spark of life left within her after they stripped her of the rest. This, she'd cradled close, clutched between gnarled, bloody fingers. This is his. This, they couldn't tear from her if they tried.

     And they had tried.

     The bed rocks beneath her. After so long trapped in a dingy cell, the mattress should feel like the height of luxury, stuffed with goose feathers and lined with linen, but it all feels like stone. She tastes blood in her mouth, and she doesn’t know if it’s her own. The silk sheets ghost over her flesh, feeling sharp as razor blades.

     Anya never learned to love her cage, but she doesn’t trust freedom, either. Not yet.

     It's not that he's the reason she lived. He isn't her reason to keep breathing. Anya Kamenev is her father's daughter, and has endured untold horrors, and if there is one certainty in the world, it is that she is not weak. She survived for herself, for her parents, for her country. She wanted to be home again. The trees blossoming in the summertime, fresh ripe fruit on her tongue, winter air that smells like snow.

     She wouldn't die like this. Not at their hands. Anya would go quietly in her bed at a ripe old age, surrounded by people who loved her. Or she'd go to her knees on a battlefield, still screaming as the bullets rip her wide open, and with her last breath, she'd take them down too.

     Not like this. Not in a dark laboratory, or a torture chamber. Not at their hands. Anya is stubborn. She'd bleed green if someone told her she was wrong. She'd make it true.

     But he loves her. He loves her, and that is everything. He’d appeared before her like a vision sent by the Saints, like something holy in a place she knows no god would ever touch. Like a miracle. On the bad days, his love is blossom trees and fresh fruit and winter air combined. He has held her hand through darkness, guided her through battle, and even when he left for his apprenticeship, he'd kissed her like it was a promise.

     They'd taken everything else. Broken her bones and slashed her skin. Wrought her apart to scratch at her soul. She'll bear the scars for the rest of her life, long after the wounds are healed. Her body will never be the same. Her mind may never recover.

     But this wasn't hers to give up. This is his. Loving him had been a candle in the darkness. A reminder that she was human still. A reminder that even in the blackest night, dawn will come again.

     But now, lying alone in his bed in a dim cabin, Anya grows restless. The mind is a strange thing, and something about this safety feels foreign to her. There are voices in the walls. The shadows have eyes. The ship lurches in the waves and she swears there is a hand right there, reaching out—

     She's on her feet before she realises what she's doing. She never was a girl built to run — her instinct has always been to stay, to fight — but this is different, and blood doesn’t always feel like blood when you touch it.

     Her knee buckles beneath her the moment she puts weight on it. A strangled shriek escapes her lips as pain streaks through her like lightning. The cabin door slams open, and Nikolai appears. His tailored-red hair glows in the candlelight, a halo of bronze. His face is still different, crooked nose and freckles and green eyes, but he will never be unfamiliar to her.

     He crosses the room in two strides and falls to his knees beside Anya. His teal overcoat has been abandoned, and what remains is a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, still speckled with her blood. Her stomach twists at the sight of it as his hands find her shoulders. Something solid, finally; her guiding light once more.

     The chill that had stolen over her body vanishes where he touches her, and Anya leans into him heavily, her face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder. An agonising moan rises up within her, but she holds her breath. She bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

     "You shouldn't be up, love." His voice is still the same soothing cadence in her ear. One hand brushes through ragged, tangled girls. It seems someone tried to brush her hair while she was unconscious; bathed the worst of the blood away, changed her into fresh clothes, but the scent of iron still lingers on her skin. His fingers catch in a knot, but the sharp spike of pain on her scalp goes unnoticed. The rest of her is screaming too loudly.

     "I cannot be in that bed any longer." Anya shakes her head, once, and breathes in the salt-and-cedar scent of him. Hands outstretched, clawing blindly, she grasps him tightly and swears she'll never let go again. "I cannot be here."

     How long had the Shu held her? How many days have passed since they killed the last member of her unit, since his cries grew too quiet and she'd been left alone with her worst nightmares? Had anyone notified her parents? What will they say, when they learn the truth? When they discover their worst fear has come to pass, and their darling daughter was tortured for being Grisha?

     "You cannot be anywhere else, Nastya," says Nikolai. He sounds like aching. His lips brush against her temple as he speaks, voice soft as silk. His hands are gentle, too, as he scoops her up from the floor and settles her back onto the bed. She holds herself stiffly, choking back another scream as her knee jostles and jerks.

     He winces as if every choked-off cry is a blade through his heart. He murmurs sweet apologies as he readjusts the pillows and perches on the bed beside her, close enough to touch, wary of disturbing her leg any further. His hands linger on hers. The tips of his fingers trace light patterns over the inside of her wrist.

     For a moment, nothing has changed.

     "Do you need anything, Captain?" The voice in the doorway is a little startling, and for a second Anya is back in that cell. She stiffens as the woman watches them both, a soft frown toying at her mouth. Golden eyes shine with pity.

     Nikolai rolls his lips together for a moment. "Perhaps some water, please, Tamar." The woman nods, and tugs the door closed behind her as she departs, leaving the pair wrapped in stony silence.

     Nikolai's eyes trail over Anya, searching, inspecting her injuries as if committing every scar to memory. He cannot count how many times he has done this since he found her. Sitting on the bed just like this, close enough to feel the warmth of her, counting each breath as if they might be her last. His eyes harden at the bruises on her throat, the gash across her cheek. Sweeping lower, his gaze settles on her knee again. He swallows roughly. Darkness sweeps over him like a burial shroud.

     The skin of Anya's leg is mottled, black and yellow and purple, a medley of half-healed bruises intermingled with fresh ones. They hurt her. They broke her. And for the first time since he left Ravka, anticipating a bright and shining future filled with adventure, Nikolai is drowning in regret.

     "Tolya did his best, but he's not a healer." His throat feels tight, like there's smoke in his lungs. Her skin is littered with newly-pink scars and stitched-up wounds. Her leg is the worst of it. Nikolai doesn't recall seeing injuries like this, even in the army. "We'll get you healers when we dock. The best healers. They'll be able to help with the rest of it. They'll be able to—"

     "Fix me?" Anya sounds hollow. His eyes snap to hers, and he finds someone staring back at him, but it isn't Anya. It isn't the girl he fell in love with. Somewhere within, she might be hiding, but here and now, he's faced with a ghost. "I lost count of how many times they broke it. Sometimes they'd drag a healer in to mend the bone, and then... snap. Other times they'd just leave it. There are some things that can't be fixed if you break them enough."

     A rough shake of his head. His heart sits like lead in his chest. "We'll fix it. You'll be good as new in no time, Nastya, I promise you."

Silence falls over them for a moment, filled with nothing but crashing waves and crackling candles. His fingers keep drawing circles over her wrist, and her pulse flutters gently beneath his touch. Her hands remain in her lap, pale and thin.

     "How long was I gone?"

     He doesn't need to ask what she means by that. His heart squeezes. "Six weeks, we think. They reported you missing-in-action when your unit didn't reach the checkpoint."

     Nausea rises like a tidal wave in Anya’s throat. Six weeks? Every horrible moment had felt like an eternity, and yet she never believed, never could have guessed it had been that long.

     "Sturmhond came to find me. Why?"

     An old fury lashes through him, one that had only settled when he laid eyes on her, half-dead in that dingy cell. Fingers curl into trembling fists as that anger rises again, unbidden, but not at her. Never at her. His jaw ticks at the memory. "Command thought attempting a rescue would be too... risky." He spits the word through gritted teeth. The Saints only know what he’ll do the moment he gets his hands on the First Army General responsible for that decision. "They couldn't prove you were in Shu Han, and crossing the border to rescue you would have risked an international incident."

     A necessary sacrifice. Collateral damage. A most unfortunate loss. That's what the bulletin had read, when he finally received it. Sturmhond kept up-to-date on Ravka, its military engagements, its economy. When he'd docked in Os Kervo eleven days ago and sent the twins out for supplies and information, the last thing he expected to hear was that a scouting group had gone missing near the Shu Han border.

     His last correspondence with Anya had mentioned that she was being deployed there, that she'd been tasked with leading a reconnaissance mission with the aim of finding new ways around the Fold. It had only taken a little digging to discover the names of the personnel who'd gone missing.

     He sees Lieutenant Colonel Anya Kamenev: MISSING IN ACTION every time he closes his eyes. It might be seared onto his brain forever.

     Anya’s eyes fall closed. Her jaw is tight. With pain or anger, he cannot tell. It was a sound tactical decision, she thinks. She cannot blame them for that. She might even have made the same call.

     But her leg screams at her. Nikolai's hand squeezes her own. Your country abandoned you. The words ring through her mind like a death knell.

     "You disagreed with their decision?"

     That familiar crooked grin slips over his face. He almost looks like a boy again, and not the man who loves her, made world-weary by the things he’s seen. They could be home again. It almost makes her cry. "Ravka was concerned about tensions with Shu Han. Nikolai Lantsov was unable to risk an international incident. Sturmhond had no such concerns."

     A ghost of a smile. His heart twinges at the sight of it. "Your letters never mentioned why you chose the name Sturmhond."

     "I'll tell you some other time, darling. It's quite the tale." He leans and kisses her forehead, lingering a few long moments just to breathe her in, feel the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.

     She'd been so pale when he found her. So cold. He thought he'd been too late. Every moment of the past eleven days had been agony as they docked in Shu Han and scouted out any scrap of intel they could find about Ravkan prisoners of war.

     "We'll dock soon. I sent word ahead to the generals, to let them know you've been liberated. I'll take you home."

     Home. A long journey around the Fold, most likely through Fjerdan territory, and then a trek up to Balakirev, and yet— A whimper escapes, almost too quiet to hear. Home. She thought she'd never see it again.

     "They'll want to question me, though." The thought of interviews, of recounting every detail of her torture, of having to admit that she's Grisha, that they killed the rest of her unit but spared her for experimentation, it all makes her sick.

     Nikolai shakes his head. His eyes are steel. "If they want to try, they'll have to go through me. Now sleep, love. Rest. I'll be right here."

     When sleep comes for her, finally, it does not come with those long, yearning fingers. Anya fears she will never love a sunset again, nor wish for the blissful peace of the night. But Nikolai lies down beside her, wraps her up in warm, solid arms, his chest beneath her head. She hears him breathing in her ear, a slow and steady rhythm, though she knows he isn’t sleeping.

     He’ll stay awake the whole night, to keep her demons at bay.

[snorlax-zz]

THE QUEEN OF HIDING - Ryomen Sukuna

➼ PROLOGUE

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

Summary : With his boundaries crossed and rules defied, Ryomen Sukuna, the king of Noroi Land declares war against the Akumakyo Land, determined to show them their places.

But when a single warrior scratches the pride and authority he has held for over thousand years. He is left with more questions that only one could answer.

Content Warnings : Violence, gore, sexual themes, fluff, angst, ooc, Female reader, canon divergence, morally gray reader, cannibalisim, heavy smut and dark themes.

Note : Might contain grammatical mistakes or typos. I will usually write long fics and may contain multiple chapters.

Minors do not interact.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

In the world where sorcery existed, the world was slowly consumed by the curses causing the world to fester, fall into deep dark void. Among the blood that was shed, walked three legendary people who were bestowed with three different gifts to restore the world to it's former glory.

The three went through immense trouble, sacrifices and pain to eradicate the source of curse. Upon the slow restoration, the three decided to bask in their glory, divide the land among themselves and continue with whatever was left.

That was until they realise, one of them had darkness creep deep inside his heart, the darkness slowly manifesting itself into his blood, the energy strangling his mind with thorns until only mushed brains and bloodlust was left.

But one of them couldn't stand the sight of her beloved losing his mind. In the process of restoring her love, many things went wrong which ended with her beloved becoming a curse.

Heartbroken at her failure, she cursed herself along him, singing the vows that only she would remember, one that would tie her soul to his so that he can live long and not perish away in void.

"Your Grace, the duke seeks your assistance in the court" A short timid voice brought you out of your dream, you sighed a little, closing the book shut and keeping it back inside the little bag you always carried, tied around your waist belt.

"Tell Your Majesty that I will be arriving shortly" The guard nodded, bowing down to you before retreating with fast pace to what you assume is to inform the king.

You looked at the pond in front of you, your reflection wavering due to constant movements from fishes inside. It was that time of year where the curses were going to go rogue, your assistance only meant one thing, that you were going to be sent on battlefield.. alone.

You swallowed the bitterness of your thoughts against your own kingdom, shaking your head at such trivial thoughts. You were the their best sorcerer if it came down to things like this, but this time something was making you uneasy.

Something was off, you definitely knew that.

Looking at the orange bleeding through the sky,the sun was about to go down, a sudden swoosh of air made the hair on your body stand up. You shuddered a little at the cold, pulling the hood of your pitch black cloak over your head.

You headed towards the entrance of the court, your steps thudding dully against the carpet, your back straightening with a serious dead look in your eyes.

"I can't wait to sleep"

---

"My King, the curses are beginning to rise again, we are unable to hold them down"

"Release them!"

"B-But-" Before he could even continue, the neck was slashed from it's body, blood splattering everywhere on the ground, gurgling pathetically out of the wound. The body twitched, playing out it's muscle memory after it fell down with a thud on the ground. The blood seeping down into the ground, gracing the king.

“What a waste of food” He muttered under his breath with disappointment, shaking his head in disapproval when Uramae looked at him if he was supposed to take him to kitchen.

"Still standing all while defying my order? Disrespect" He growled loudly, lifting his one finger up and then down and everyone (the other soldiers) instantly got on their knees, their foreheads touching the bloodied surface of the court.

Sukuna hummed in satisfaction, widening his grin. He rested his elbow on the hand rest, his cheek pressed against his fist while he looked down with a hard gaze, his red eyes glaring through the souls.

"Get ready my sinners, we will be devouring the duke of Akumakyo and it's citizens as a feast to my curses" He smirked, a throaty chuckle leaving his lips when he saw his followers cowering in fear.

Oh, how much he loved the feeling of instilling his fear in them.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

A/N: I am sorry I am kinda new to this. I don’t know own any characters aside from the OC’s. Half of the characters are from jujutsu kisen manga - gege akutami.

I love a strong headed female MC

[robininthelabyrinth]

For a prompt, what if Wen Xu arrives to burn down the Cloud Recesses while everyone is studying there

Home Alone - ao3

“All right,” Wei Wuxian said, when Lan Qiren announced that the Cloud Recesses would be imminently under attack by Wen Xu and the Wen sect armies, the calm in his monotone voice belied by the wrinkle of concern in his forehead. “We’re going to make that bastard wish he’d never been born, right?”

He was speaking lightly, as he always did, trying to make those around him feel more comfortable, braver, less afraid – his was the language of confidence and arrogance, of never backing down, and he didn’t know how else to speak.

He didn’t mean anything in particular by it, or at least not more than he usually did.

He wasn’t expecting Lan Qiren to look at him and say, “If you have any ideas, now is the time to contribute them.”

-

“So what exactly do you do again?” Wei Wuxian asked, following the older Lan sect disciple around – at least, the man was dressed like a Lan sect disciple, and with a forehead ribbon suggesting that he shared blood with the main clan, too, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t so sure he really was one.

“I blow stuff up, usually,” Lan Yueheng said cheerfully.

That was why Wei Wuxian had doubts.

The man was practically skipping. There was no way he was a Lan.

“Shishu is an alchemist,” Lan Wangji said. His hands were folded behind his back, as always, and he looked tense as might be expected, what with an imminent attack on his home by a colossal army intent on ravaging and destroying everything in its path – but the way he looked at Lan Yueheng was unaccountably fond, as if he were someone he was close to. Wei Wuxian hadn’t known there was anyone other than Lan Qiren or Lan Xichen that Lan Wangji was close to. He was oddly jealous. “Not always successfully.”

“Hey, at blowing things up, I am the most successful!” Lan Yueheng grinned. A moment later, though, the grin faded, and he looked anxious. “Wangji, are you sure you won’t go with your brother?”

“Brother will protect the sect books,” Lan Wangji said solemnly. “I will stay here to defend the sect and the guest disciples.”

Wei Wuxian appreciated that, being one of said guest disciples.

Anyway, it made sense. Lan Qiren had seriously considered trying to send them away with Lan Xichen, saying that their lives were more important than some extra books – other Lan elders hadn’t necessarily agreed, judging by their expressions – but regretfully concluded that adding more people to Lan Xichen’s escape route would do nothing but reveal its existence, dooming all of them.

So they’d split up: Lan Xichen, heading out virtually alone with the most precious Lan sect books, and all the rest of them here to try to resist as much as they could – even Lan Wangji.

Lan Yueheng didn’t try to argue with Lan Wangji, only sighed, sounding as though he’d expected nothing less from him and had only felt the need to make a token protest before accepting it as inevitable. It seemed he really was close to Lan Wangji.

Yeah, Wei Wuxian was definitely jealous.

“All right, then,” Lan Yueheng said, shaking his head and resuming his cheer. “Blowing things up in self-defense plan it is! You’re both talented in music, right?”

“What does music have to do with explosions?” Wei Wuxian asked.

-

The answer, apparently, was a lot – at least when you were an experimental alchemist in a musically inclined sect and you’d developed a way to trigger explosions via certain combinations of musical notes.

-

“So, did you know that Teacher Lan was scary?” Wei Wuxian asked Jiang Cheng, who’d finally returned from helping get all the elderly and children and civilians to evacuate – and refusing to join them, of course, even though he was entitled to go in order to preserve his life, being the heir of a sect and all that, completely typical Jiang Cheng – and was now pacing around, eager for a fight.

“Just because he punished you a few times doesn’t make him scary,” Jiang Cheng said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “You know what does make him scary? Playing music that makes his opponents try to cut their own necks.”

“…what?”

“Apparently he gets really upset when you mess with his students,” Wei Wuxian said wisely.

Unlike Jiang Cheng, he’d had time to adjust to the concept of Lan Qiren being terrifying: they were on the fifth wave of scouts, and this set wasn’t doing any better than the first four, not even when they’d realized it would be better if they stopped their ears with wax before approaching.

That’d only made Lan Qiren shift tactics – and songs.

Some of which had an even wider area of impact.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said, looking at him suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“I convinced Teacher Lan that guerrilla warfare that destroyed as much of the enemy as possible would be more effective than just trying to defend the sect’s territory, since that was clearly a lost cause,” Wei Wuxian said promptly. “He agreed, but said that he could only do so much since he wasn’t a very good sword fighter. And then I asked him if he knew anything else that could be used as an attack and he said ‘no’ and then he said ‘well, I suppose’ and then he listed off a few things that – according to him – aren’t meant to be used in warfare but, and this is a direct quote, ‘could be put to a destructive use if one so wished it’.”

“And we now ‘so wish it’?”

“Yup. Oh, and watch out for anything that has a Lan sect cloud with a three-looped circle carved into the side of it, and I do mean anything– those explode.”

“Of course they do.”

“Hey! For once it has nothing to do with me!”

-

“I thought you said he said he was bad at swordfighting,” Jiang Cheng said suspiciously.

Wei Wuxian held out his hands helplessly in a ‘don’t look at me’ gesture, trying to defend himself from a sharp and pointy elbow to the side while also not pulling his eyes away from the ongoing battlefield for even a single moment.

“Shufu considers himself to be of average skill at the sword,” Lan Wangji said in the peaceable tone of someone who had been taught the basics of swordfighting by the person in question. The basics of really awesome swordfighting. “His real strength is in music, as you’ve seen.”

“I get that, really, I do, his music is terrifying,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it completely. Between the two, he’d rather go up against Lan Qiren with a sword, where he’d at least be able to make a decent showing of himself before getting chopped to bits by the man’s fluid and almost seemingly delicate style that was nevertheless highly effective at skewering Wen sect disciples left and right; it would be better than with music, where he might as well just cut his own throat or strangle himself with guqin strings now to save Lan Qiren’s fingers the trouble. “But Jiang Cheng’s still right, okay – why in the world does he consider that to be ‘average’? Who is he comparing himself to?”

Lan Wangji considered the question for a long moment, then finally said: “A statistical outlier.”

-

“I wish we had aerial attacks we could use against the Wen sect’s swords,” Wei Wuxian said wistfully, and next to him Jiang Cheng nodded with a sight of longing – it was so frustrating seeing more and more Wen sect soldiers arriving in groups, like flocks of birds that started to fill the skies because they couldn’t be so easily shot down. “But if we try anything, they’ll just shield against us.”

“Teacher Lan said we can’t use spiritual energy against them, since we’d lose,” Jiang Cheng said, and as much as they all regretted it, Lan Qiren was probably right: they might be better trained than the Wen sect soldiers, might be better cultivators and stronger in spiritual energy individually, but they were young and immature, and at a serious numerical disadvantage.

It would be far too easy for the flying cultivators to stop their flying just long enough to set up a defensive array, block whatever spiritual attack they sent out, and then keep going to find and stab them before they’d even recovered from the energy expenditure.

“I didn’t mean spiritual energy,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “I just meant, you know, like the explosives we’ve laid in all over the ground – something like that. If we could attach those to something…”

“I don’t think we have anything that flies anyway,” Lan Yueheng said regretfully.

“You have lanterns, don’t you?” Nie Huaisang said, and everyone turned to look at him. “Fill them with something that explodes when disturbed and send them floating into the air. Better yet, write ‘peace’ on the side of them to make it look like you’re making some sort of meaningful gesture designed to shame them. The Wen sect won’t be able to resist kicking them aside as an insult, and that’ll trigger them.”

They all stared at him.

He shrugged.

“We have a lot of defenses set up against invasion, at home,” he said. “And not always the budget to pay for anything fancy, so we’ve come up with some slightly more unorthodox ideas, too.”

“It’s a really good idea,” Wei Wuxian said, suddenly focused on the hitherto ignored Nie Huaisang. Clearly he’d made a tactical error, thinking of himself as the only person who knew how to get up to tricks. “Do you have any other ideas like that?”

Nie Huaisang smiled.

-

“Teacher Lan, I have an idea,” Wei Wuxian said, inserting himself briefly into the clearing near the Lan sect gate where Lan Qiren was sitting to rest in preparation for the Wen sect’s next attack. “But you’re going to hate it.”

“You may proceed,” Lan Qiren said, not looking up.

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian said, blinking. “Really? You’re not even going to ask what it is? Or why you’d hate it so much?”

“There is no time for that,” Lan Qiren said, and finally spared him a glance. He looked tired. “Things will get worse very soon.”

“But we’re winning!”

“No,” Lan Qiren said, shaking out his fingers – even despite occasionally alternating to using the sword when necessary, he’d played his guqin to the point of drawing blood and breaking nails, and was continuing despite everyone pleading with him to stop and swap out for someone else for a while. He’d said that there was no one else on his level, and he was probably right, but still, surely, just for a little… “We are surviving. Do not mistake the two.”

-

“Okay, so,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his hands together. “Resentful energy –”

“No,” Lan Wangji said.

-

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian said to Jin Zixuan, who’d probably just saved his life by stabbing a Wen sect cultivator in the back right before the man had been able to stop Wei Wuxian from activating another series of explosions. “I guess I owe you one?”

“Don’t mention it,” Jin Zixuan said. “How else can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, scratching his head and thinking about Nie Huaisang as precedent. There wasn’t time for schoolyard rivalries right now. “Do you have anything really unexpected that could be used to hurt people? Be creative – they’re guarded against all the usual defenses, so the weirder the better, anything goes. I won’t judge.”

Jin Zixuan thought about it. “I’m pretty sure I have a drug that puts people to sleep?”

“…why do you have something like that?”

Jin Zixuna grimaced. “My father gave it to me along with another one that he said not to use in excess, though I don’t actually know what that one does because that was about when my mom ran in and started throwing things at him. I can’t throw it away because it was a gift from my father, but I put it as deep into my bags as I could so that I’d never have to see or touch it. Ever.”

Wei Wuxian’s nose wrinkled. He’d never before felt pity for Jin Zixuan, but having to put up with Jin Guangshan on a regular basis was pretty bad – much less owing him filial piety.

No wonder Jin Zixuan was so twitchy all the time.

“Okay, so one sleep drug and one…uh…”

“Enhancement. Presumably. Can we throw it at the other side? Maybe turn it into incense and make smoke-bombs or something?”

“You know what,” Wei Wuxian said. “Why not? If nothing else, it’d be distracting, right?”

-

“This doesn’t feel honorable,” Jiang Cheng said, watching the fun. They’d raided the Lan sect’s medicine cabinets and kitchens for other noxious and irritating substances that might make for good smoke-bombs – Jiang Cheng himself had even located a whole patch of something not unlike poison ivy that had been quickly repurposed for the cause. “Strictly speaking.”

“Honor’s overrated,” Wei Wuxian said. “Making the Wen bastards pay for attacking Lan Zhan’s home is what’s important.”

Lan Wangji didn’t smile, exactly, but Wei Wuxian took his expression as a win regardless.

-

It turned out that music could also make plants grow really fast.

According to Lan Qiren, the spell ruined the plants’ nutritional value and made them basically useless.

Well.

Useless if your goal was eating them, anyway.

(First they could grow under their enemies’ feet and attack them, roots and vines twining around them to strangle them, and then they could be used up in the smoke-bombs – two for the price of one!)

-

“Are you sure about not doing the whole resentful energy thing?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said. “No.”

-

“Hey, Wei-xiong, do you have or can you create any more papermen?” Jin Zixuan asked.

“Yes, sure, plenty,” Wei Wuxian said. He’d like to say that he’d known he’d one day need such a skill, and that that was why he’d learned the trick so thoroughly, but that was a complete lie. “Why?”

“Nie-xiong, Jiang-xiong and I are going to use them to make a shadow-play to lure a bunch of Wen sect cultivators into another plant-and-explosives trap.”

“…that’s amazing, Jin-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said, marveling. “How do you even think of that?”

“Even I get into trouble sometimes,” Jin Zixuan said, and was startled into an unexpected smile when Jiang Cheng punched his shoulder approvingly.

-

Wei Wuxian was actually having a pretty good time with it all right up until the main force of the Wen sect decided to ignore all their traps and charge straight towards the classroom they’d fallen back to using as a headquarters, and then suddenly he wasn’t having a good time at all.

“Run,” Lan Qiren said, and put down his guqin, drawing his sword once more.

“But we can fight!” Jiang Cheng argued.

“Run.”

“Shufu –”

“Run.”

They ran.

-

“If you don’t come out, I’m going to make him pay,” Wen Xu called.

His fingers were knotted in Lan Qiren’s hair, pulling their teacher’s head back to show how his face was covered in blood, how it was seeping out through his mouth and nose, how one of his eyes was badly bruised and swollen from having been beaten down by sheer force of numbers.

Lan Qiren had made them pay dearly for their efforts to bring him down –

But there were just so many of them.

“How dare he,” Jiang Cheng hissed. “He was once one of Teacher Lan’s students, too!”

Wei Wuxian was holding Lan Wangji back, but only barely; his fingers were starting to go numb from the sheer effort of it. If Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng weren’t there to help him hold him down, Lan Wangji would have already given away their position, rushing out to make some futile gesture in his overwhelming rage. Wei Wuxian was focusing with all his being on how much he had to stop Lan Wangji from doing something like that, because if he wasn’t, if he let himself think about anything else for even a single moment, he’d have also run out there, sword drawn, without so much as a care – he hadn’t realized he’d be so angry over it, so furious, so betrayed and horrified by Wen Xu’s cruelty.

Prior to today, he wouldn’t have said he even liked Lan Qiren!

“My students are not so foolish as to fall for so obvious a scheme as that,” Lan Qiren said, his tone as monotonous as it ever was during his lectures – for the briefest moment, Wei Wuxian felt that he was dreaming, that he had merely dreamt everything that had happened: surely it was still yesterday, with Lan Qiren standing tall, safe and healthy, at the front of the classroom, lecturing about one of the Lan sect rules…which one had it been? Shoulder the weight of morality? Have a strong will and anything can be achieved? Be mighty, and others will die for you?

Do not break faith?

Somehow, despite everything that had happened, Lan Qiren’s eyes curved ever so slightly.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

Wen Xu threw him down to the ground, mouth twisting and teeth gnashing with offended anger.

“Beat him,” he ordered his men. “Make it hurt. I want him screaming – let’s see how his precious students like that. Or maybe it’s just that they don’t care?”

-

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, eyes red with unshed tears and barely swallowed rage. “Tell me your idea about resentful energy.”

-

“Perhaps,” Lan Qiren said, then paused briefly to cough up some blood. His voice, when he resumed speaking, was hoarse. “Perhaps I should have reviewed your idea more closely when you first proposed it.”

“Possibly,” Wei Wuxian said, offering up some cloth to help wipe away the blood. Lan Wangji was busy bandaging his uncle’s injuries up, while Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan, and Nie Huaisang hovered by the door, only barely pretending to be keeping a lookout the way they were supposed to. “In my defense, I didn’t quite expect…that.”

Everyone politely did not ask him to elaborate.

The effects had been…well, it turned out using resentful energy the way Wei Wuxian had thought was possible, to say the least, and also that they’d taken down an awful lot of Wen sect soldiers in their defensive efforts.

“You will all have been affected by the resentful energy you used to summon the corpses,” Lan Qiren said. “Although the method you devised appears to avoid the most immediate consequences, which – let me remind you – include qi deviation and death in some instances, there is always the possibility that it has left traces of resentful energy within your meridians. If it is allowed to build up, it will escalate into a backlash that would rip your body and soul to pieces. There are spells and songs that can help clear your spirits and ease the effects.”

“Nie Huaisang has been playing some of them for us, since he can’t fight,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie sect ones – they’re…uh, not especially calming, more of a cleanse-by-force thing, but they seem to be working.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “We’ll listen to any others that you’d like, Teacher Lan,” he said, anxious, and the rest of them nodded. “Just say which ones. If there’s any array or anything – or if you want us to write an essay about why using resentful energy is dangerous and wrong –”

Even Wei Wuxian nodded at that – even Nie Huaisang nodded, and he hated essays more than anything.

Lan Qiren huffed lightly. “Now you’re all so obedient.”

They all bowed their heads.

“…you did a good job,” Lan Qiren finally said, and they all looked up to stare at him. “You rescued me and repelled the Wen sect, however temporarily. Even though you used demonic cultivation, which is forbidden, you did not purposefully disturb graves, and you can make recompense to the spirits later. It was well done, and I thank you for it.”

He noticed that they were gaping and frowned at them.

“What have I taught you?” he scolded, and he sounded enough like he normally did that Wei Wuxian had the sudden urge to burst into totally inexplicable tears. “The preservation of human life is the priority, always. Why is this a surprise?”

“Shufu is right,” Lan Wangji said, and there was something of peace and calm in his eyes, the foundation of his world steady and unfaltering – he was almost glowing with it, satisfied and happy, and he was so utterly beautiful in Wei Wuxian’s eyes that it was almost blinding. “We acknowledge Teacher’s words.”

“We acknowledge Teacher’s words,” everyone else quickly agreed.

Lan Qiren shook his head, nodding in appreciation. “What is your next step now?” he asked. “The Wen sect was only repulsed, not defeated. They will not be gone long – they are already regrouping outside our gate, and this time they will be prepared for the effects of your demonic cultivation. In the end, they still have the advantage of numbers.”

“I don’t think we got as far as that in our plan,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing the back of his head.

His thinking had mostly stopped at get Teacher Lan back and make them pay. He was pretty sure the same was true for Lan Wangji, and probably all the rest of the, too.

“Maybe you didn’t,” Nie Huaisang said with a sniff, and damnit, Wei Wuxian really needed to stop underestimating him just because he was a bad cultivator and a bit empty-headed. “I, on the other hand, sent a message back to my da-ge way back when this first started, and he should be here very soon with an army of his own.”

-

There were those in the Jiang sect that liked to mock the Nie sect as being unduly paranoid, always preparing for war and speaking grimly of its inevitability, always training their disciples and soldiers as if each one of them would need to fight five or ten of the enemy at once.

If Wei Wuxian ever met any of those people ever again, he was going to punch them in the face.

“Just be sure to get your sect ready when you get back,” Nie Mingjue advised them all grimly when it was all done and Wen Xu’s head was stuck on a pike at the entrance to the Cloud Recesses as a warning. The Nie sect’s forces were smaller than the Wen sect’s invasion force, but their people were better trained; even after flying all the way from Qinghe, they’d come down on the remaining invasion force like a hammer. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot.”

“We understand. There is still war to come.”

“Not just war, but uneven and unbalanced war, and not in our favor,” Nie Mingjue said heavily. “Understand that even with this loss, the forces of all the cultivation world put together can’t match up to the armies under Wen Ruohan’s command.”

“Actually,” Lan Qiren said, and gave all of his students a pointed look, probably on account of the fact that they all still owed him the essay they'd promised to write, “I think you’ll find that there’s something more that we can add…”

[griffintail]

I’m surprised people think techno’s grief extends to pure violence. When it’s clear the news of his S/O death leaves him trembling on the floor, and letting out pained wails his first night alone. Leaving him delirious in denial as Philza has to keep watch to make sure he doesn’t kill himself trying to bring them back. And as the grief seeps in he is left to sleep through dreamless nights and live through thoughtless days. And at the end, acceptance isn’t voluntary, he’s too tired to do anything else. (Please write smth for this I can’t sleep this idea’s been eating at me for days)

I went a bit off script- I hope you still enjoy. :)

The Bolt

In-Game

Pairings: Technoblade x GN! Reader

Warnings: Death, Blood, Angst

Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Techno blocked the axe coming for his face with his shield as he chugged his last regeneration potion.

        The last battle of L’Manberg was over and he needed to find (Y/N) and get home to safety. He gave a whistle that echoed across the battlefield before pushing Sapnap away from him. Booking it away, he went towards the meet-up spot Phil and (Y/N) had agreed with him.

        “Phil, I want you to have the totem.” Techno held it out to his friend.

        He saw Phil running from the wreckage the withers were causing as he could see the (H/C) head of hair weaving through the chaos. Techno lost his concentration as he stared at (Y/N), everything a dull roar as he smiled softly at their figure. Creating the scene of anarchy and chaos.

        “Wait, I’m your damn fiancé, why don’t I get it?” (Y/N) gave a dramatic huff as they put a hand on their chest.

        It was true, they both only had one life but…

        “Because, you and I, we never die blood goddess,” Techno smirked.

        “TECHNO!” They screamed.

        He had missed seeing the crossbow aiming at him because he had been looking at (Y/N)…

        He went to get his shield but he would be too slow…

        Then there was a cracking as an ender pearl shattered in front of him and in a cloud of purple sparks appeared (Y/N), who gasped as they caught the crossbow bolt in the stomach.

        “You’re such an idiot.” (Y/N) laughed. “Now! Let’s celebrate our freedom from the child by blowing up a nation!”

        Techno laughed as he enjoyed the sparkle in their eyes at the thought of the anarchy.

        “No, no, no!” Techno caught them as they fell, Jack quickly loading his crossbow again.

        He needed to go.

        Scooping them up, he bolted for where Phil was watching in wide-eyed shock. Phil managed to snap out of it though and covered Techno’s retreat as he tried to reassure (Y/N).

        “It’s ok, we’re going to get you home, alright? Come on, you’re going to need to keep your eyes open for me beautiful.”

        But (Y/N) winced before crying out as the crossbow bolt brought them pain. The voices were screaming in panic with them and Techno.

        WE NEED TO GO FASTER! WE’RE OUT OF HEALTH POTIONS! WHY DID THEY TAKE THE BOLT! PHIL, HELP TECHNO! GO GO GO GO!

        “I’m here mate!” Phil ran beside him now, taking off his jacket. “We got to keep pressure on it till we get to the potions. I sent a crow ahead to get one faster hopefully.”

        Phil kept pace as pressed the jacket around the bleeding wound, (Y/N) letting out another scream. Techno wanted to scream himself as he ground his teeth together to keep himself together.

        They had to cross the nether to get home!

        They had so far to go!

        That crow needed to get here yesterday!

        “T-Techno.” (Y/N) sputtered.

        “Quiet, keep your strength,” Techno demanded.

        “I-I-I…” They muttered before their eyes blinked closed.

        “We got to stop.” Phil panicked.

        “We don’t have any potions!” Techno also panicked.

        “We have to slow down the bleeding now!”

        The pair stopped as Techno put (Y/N) down as Phil tried to work as fast as he could being the experienced healer. He tried to stem the bleeding as best he could, he couldn’t take the bolt out though and it had to have hit something important because there was too much damn blood!

        Then a few minutes later…

        (Y/N)’s chest stopping moving…

        “No. No, no, no. Breath damn it!” Techno commanded, putting a hand on their shoulder.

        “Techno…” Phil said quietly, tears in his eyes.

        “Where’s your crow!?” Techno shouted. “We need a potion now!”

        “…It’s not going to help Techno.”

        “It has to! We—They’re not gone! They…they…”

        Techno put his forehead on theirs as tears gathered in his eyes.

        “Please…don’t leave me. I love you; I need you…”

        But (Y/N) had fallen and lost their last life…

        …

        Techno had carried (Y/N) all the way home to the tundra and he held them for a while before he finally let himself bury them. Then…

        He just sat there for hours, shaking.

        In the freezing cold.

        Next to the mound of dirt.

        “Techno, mate. You got to come in.” Phil muttered as he came out as night was starting to fall.

        “I don’t want to leave them,” Techno mumbled.

        The voices were quiet whispers as they talked about all the things they loved about (Y/N) and Techno just sat listening to them, ignoring as Phil protested.

        “They wouldn’t want you to die with them mate.” Phil finally broke through the voices.

        Techno huffed, tears falling behind his mask. “And they didn’t want to die either.”

        Phil sighed before just sitting next to his old friend.

        “What are you doing?” Techno looked at him.

        “You got to pass out eventually. Doubt all the adrenaline from the fight is helping.”

        It really wasn’t. Techno felt bone tired and his body wanted nothing more than for him to sleep but he wanted nothing more to sit here with…(Y/N). He was covered in the blood of his lover and those he harmed today. Maybe it was all karma everything he had done…

        It took another hour but finally, Techno’s body took control and he was out. Phil let out a long sigh before dragging the man into his own home. It was going to be a hard time for a while…

        …

        Phil thought Techno would be the same as the first night, that the other man would become unresponsive. His assumptions had been false though. In fact, it was worse.

        Techno didn’t eat or sleep properly, which Phil had expected, but what he didn’t expect was for Techno to practically go insane as he poured over hundreds of lore books, trying to figure out how to bring (Y/N) back.

        “Techno, mate, you need to take a break from this.”

        “No, I will get them back. If I can just figure this out…I can do it.”

        “You can’t do it if you die too!”

        Phil went around these circles for hours, Techno sometimes striking low saying if he can figure it out, he could bring Wilbur back as well. Techno went full force into his work, the voices only encouraging his behavior as they threw out ideas to research. He had never listened to his voices more than now.

        Techno had been so invested in his work, he didn’t notice when Phil gave Ranboo to build on the land, mostly because Phil gave him one rule, leave Techno be. Phil knew Techno the best and was trying his damn best to knock Techno back.

        The blood god was pouring over notes for a hopeful experiment when Phil came in, food in hand as always.

        “It’s late Techno, eat and go to bed,” Phil told him.

        “After I’m done,” Techno muttered.

        “Techno.”

        “After. I’m done. Phil.” Techno gave him a dark glare before going back to his notes.

        Phil sighed, putting the food down on the table. “Tommy locked Dream in prison.”

        Techno frowned. That made him glance at Phil.

        “Why?”

        “Something about his discs as usual.” Phil crossed his arms, shrugging. “We got a notice on the radios that Dream lost two lives to Tommy.”

        “Huh,” Techno mumbled, looking at his work again. “Kid should have finished him…”

        Techno scribbled out a sentence. That wouldn’t make sense.

        “Probably, I don’t know why he didn’t. Ranboo might know though.” Phil smirked to himself, his tactic working a bit well in his favor.

        Techno’s interest was at least separating a bit from his research.

        “Who?” Techno pulled over one of his sheets.

        “The kid living outside the house.”

        “Heh?” Techno looked up fully at that.

        “He’s been here for weeks Techno; you’ve just been so caught up you haven’t noticed.” Phil pointed out now. “You need a break mate. You’re going…you’re going to kill yourself doing this.”

        Techno looked at the papers in his hand.

        “Techno, you need to fight another day. Come on.” (Y/N) tried to coax him away from preparing potions. “I’m tired.”

        He clenched the papers as the voices were scattered, none of them focused on one thing right now.

        “…Fine. I’ll at least talk to the kid.” Techno grumbled, getting up.

        “Take the food.” Phil grinned.

        Techno rolled his eyes, taking the bread but nothing else. He ate it as he left the house, his eyes not daring to travel to the beautiful flowers around the mound of dirt. Indeed, on his land, was a little house in the side of the hill. Huffing, he went over as the voices were skeptical, remembering one boy named Ranboo from L’Manberg and visiting Tommy.

        “I can’t believe the little brat!” (Y/N) screamed as they paced around the house. “We gave him shelter! I should him love! AND HE BETRAYS US!”

        Techno closed his eyes, his body shaking before trying to distract himself by knocking on the door.

        “Phil?” A voice called from the other side before they opened the door.

        The tall boy shrank seeing Technoblade at his door.

        “Uhhhhh…hi,” Ranboo muttered, looking anywhere but the pig masked man.

        Techno didn’t care really for pleasantries right now, so might as well get straight to the point.

        “Hi, heard you might know why they locked Dream away rather than just kill him,” Techno grunted.

        He hated the fact that Dream also had a favor over him. Would have been nicer for him if they had killed the smiley masked man.

        “Oh yeah…I was there…hang on,” Ranboo muttered, taking a book off his belt and flipping through. “He uh…Dream said he had a book that could bring back the dead.”

        Every. Single. Voice. Went silent.

        As Techno stared at the tall hybrid, who shifted nervously at the stare.

        “He did now?” Techno muttered.

        “Y-Yeah. He said he could bring Wilbur back for Tommy.”

        Techno didn’t care about the rest as his cape fluttered behind him as he took a determined march to the house to grab his things. If Dream wanted to cash in that favor, he owed him one more thing…

[yandere--stuck]

Grim - Yandere!Grimdark!John x Reader

[Warnings: Suggestive, graphic body horror, mentions of blood and gore]

---

John had watched you die. Not long after he had died himself. 

He had seen the dead body of his father, lying on the floor beside Rose's mother. The scent of wine mixed with the stench of blood and death, making the Heir wrinkle his nose in disgust.

He didn't know why he didn't cry. He didn't cry at a lot of things. He didn't know why. Maybe he never learned how.

Or, maybe, it was the comfort of your presence at his side. The feel of your arm brushing against his, the sound of your voice hitching in shock. Even if he no longer had his father…. At least, he had you.

Maybe Dave had been right, the game had been bad news. They probably shouldn't have played it. Really, it had only brought ruin into their lives - into the lives of all it touched. 

But it's not like they were the only harbingers of the apocalypse. And if you all hadn't played it… He could have lost you. It's not like he wanted to die, or that he didn't care about his dad or his friends, but you were the most important thing in the world to him.

Really, the main reason he had wanted to play was to finally see you, one on one. Rose was his best friend, but he felt disappointed that you weren't his server player, and jealousy at Jade being your client player. But, finally, to close the loop, he was your server player.

His excitement in seeing you, taking in everything about you, made him lose himself, and he ended up smashing his face against the screen of his laptop. The exhilaration and euphoria of seeing you and serving you almost overpowered the terror at the prospect of you dying, of you not making it to your planet in time.

But, you did eventually make it. The relief made John's heart burst with joy, hugging his laptop to his chest, trying to imagine the warmth of the machine was your own body heat. He made goo-goo eyes at you through the screen, resisting the urge to kiss the pixels that made up your form.

He had to continue making progress, but he was terrified of you getting hurt - so, he alchemized his glasses to include a screen that displayed your status in the game. This way, he could check up on you and carry you with him, outside of pesterchum, at least.

Vriska kept pestering him, eventually convincing him to fall asleep on his quest bed, saying something about "god tiers", apparently it was something even higher than the usual tiers on one's echeladder. 

The next thing he remembered was awaking on some sort of chess board-esque battlefield with some little chess guys on it. Luckily, he was able to borrow his dad's car in the meantime (good thing his dad had gotten on his ass about *finally* getting his driver's license… Though, did he really need one if he was controlling it with his new windy powers?) And he had even managed to reunite with dear, sweet, precious Liv Tyler! Though… She was a lot more robot-y than before.

The thought of sharing her with you made him absolutely giddy! And the idea of you being a co-parent to Casey… God, it made him smile so hard his face hurt!

And! He had even gotten a cool hammer! You'd certainly be impressed by his strength and his cool moves. John would prove himself to be a great, protective boyfriend for sure!

A looming darkness caught his attention, and he felt himself pulled toward it. It seemed to come from a large castle shrouded in darkness. It didn't seem to be natural, like from a thunderstorm. It didn't seem to be from a fire either, the darkness neither smoky nor smelt of burning. 

His eyes widened as he focused on something in the midst of the darkness - and he let out a gasp when he realized it was you!

He kicked into gear, rushing to meet you. You were dressed in your dream planet pajamas - and you looked so cute in them! As you turned, hearing him approach, he had to fight the urge to not fling himself at you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he spun you around in his arms.

He shook himself out of his daydream as you spoke to him, explaining that you had seen the darkness, as well, and wanted to investigate. It seemed to be coming from within the castle. Of course, John offered to accompany you inside. If anything went south, he'd be there for back-up!

He had to hide his grin and blush as the two of you ventured in, you sliding up beside him for reassurance. 

Walking through the cavernous halls of the castle, you were horrified to find the bodies of so many innocent people strewn about, blood and viscera covering the walls and floors. The bodies, as alien as they may have been, were clearly. This was a massacre.

But, beside you, John felt… Nothing. It was sad, sure, but… You were still alive. And that was all that mattered, really!

You jumped when you stumbled upon a living person, John moving in front of you protectively. You held your breath as the figure turned, revealing… 

Rose?

Though, she looked much different than what little you had seen of her. Her skin had turned a ghoulish gray, her eyes as black as night, and her eyes seemed to glow, illuminating her face. And a darkness seemed to surround her. It emanated off of her, stretching above her like tendrils.

Could… Could Rose have done this?

John seemed completely unfazed, greeting Rose with a wave, saying something about her "finally going grimdark."

Rose let out a noise that sounds something like a giggle, her lips quirking upwards. She tried to speak, but the words that came out… They weren't even words, you think. It sounded fuzzy, but also incredibly, painfully loud. It didn't sound like any noise a human could make, like TV static blaring in your ears, or switching through radio stations with no signals. It was suffocating and loud and- everywhere. It felt as though Rose's voice was everywhere, all around you, inside of you.

You were sure you let out a scream, but you only heard Rose's voice - even as you screwed your eyes shut and clamped your hands over your head, all you could hear was the noise…! It felt as though your ears were starting to bleed.

John's hands clamped down on your shoulders, bringing you back to the moment. You breathed heavily, chest rising and falling heavily as you tried to ground yourself.

Rose's eyes were full of guilt and concern, a pained expression on her face as she turned away.

As you tried to ground yourself and recover, you barely noticed John caressing your shoulder with a thumb. Nor did you see the deadly glare he sent to the back of Rose's head.

It's not like he didn't love Rose, but he loved you far, far more. If she ever hurt you again… He couldn't be held responsible for what he'd do.

The both of you followed Rose through the castle, the girl not able to bare turning around to face either of you. Still shaken up, you kept your head down, not wanting to look at the bodies or gore. John held you close to him, stroking your arms up and down to comfort you.

He had to fight not to smile, the feeling of your skin on his was electric.

Eventually, Rose guided the both of you out to a balcony of sorts - and you stopped dead, gasping in horror.

John's father and Rose's mother… Both dead on the ground. Murdered.

You couldn't help it, you turned to face John. The man's face was one of shock, his breathing shallow as he processed the scene in front of him.

His dad… He couldn't believe it. He had just seen him. He was right there… He felt his heart break.

Oh, and what was worse… You had to see something this awful! Oh, you poor thing! He had to get you away from here…!

But, everything happened so fast. All at once, a figure appeared - a man with the face of a dog and the body of one of the many, murdered chess people, armed with a sword. Instinctively, you stumbled back - and John turned, reaching out for you, terrified of losing you.

Before he could even call out for you, his words got choked up in his throat, replaced with nothing but blood. Pain exploded from his abdomen and his back, ocean eyes widening as they focused on the sword going straight through him. 

The figure pulled the sword free, the Heir grunting in pain as his organs were ripped apart, blood gushing from his open wounds. As John fell to his knees, trying desperately to hold himself up, he spat out blood onto the white, marble floor. Slowly, he sank to the floor, eyes growing dim as, in his last moments, he tried to find you.

---

Coming back to life, John found, was a lot like waking up - the slow awareness of consciousness, the disorientation. A sudden burst of energy hit the man as he felt himself be rejuvenated, colors exploding across his vision. He blinked as he regained his sight, the world fading in from white. He swiveled his head, trying to find you.

In the distance, he could see Rose and the dog-man battling over the battlefield, blasting off magical attacks at one another. His heart pounded in his chest. 

If she was there, then where were you?

Looking down, he surveyed the balcony. The body of his father, Rose's mother, and-

Oh. Oh, God. God, no, please!

The Heir felt tears strain at his eyes, his mouth pulled into a pained, horrifying grimace. He fell hard to his knees, kneeling above your body.

"No, no, please!" He choked out a sob. "Please, please, wake up!"

John clutched at your body, fisting the fabric of your pajamas in his hands as he shook you, desperately trying to get you to regain consciousness. He could feel his eyes and cheeks begin to sting with tears. His breathing was shallow and fast, having to use his powers to try to even it out.

He sobbed, all words incomprehensible by now. He let out sobbing screams as he clutched your body close to him, already feeling the warmth leaving you. He pressed, desperate, messy kisses to your lips and face - but, it was no use. Your real body and dreamself had both died.

He doesn't think he had ever cried before now. Only you made him feel so strongly. He loved you. He only loved you. He needed you. He couldn't lose you.

He couldn't.

Without you, life was meaningless. You were his only reason for playing this game. His only reason for doing anything - for living, for breathing. You were perfect. You were everything.

But, without you, there was no point. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

Grief and rage filled him to the brim. He grit his teeth and he screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows knitting together.

The air tasted of electricity, and without his knowing, the dark clouds that swirled from above dripped down and encircled him like an inky blaze.

And John let out a scream.

Or, at least, he had tried to. His cry had been cut off by inky, black tendrils forcing their way inside of his open mouth. The tentacles came from everywhere, from the gloomy clouds from above the darkness that surrounded the man.

The eldritch beings that had given the Lalonde her current state had felt power within John's rage and sorrow, as well. The outburst had drawn their attentions - feeding off the darkness within him. They would remake him in their image, as well…

John gagged as the tendrils snaked their way down his mouth and down his throat, his neck bulging from the amount of vines forcing their way down his throat. John could barely breathe, writhing in desperation to get air into his lungs. He tried to use his powers, trying to suck in air through his nose in an attempt to somehow get oxygen through the vines' air-tight hold in his throat - only to let out a strangled, muffled scream as tendrils slipped up into his nose, reaching up into his brain. 

If he could have, John would have gurgled or spit up around the tendrils, but he didn't even have the ability to do even that. The Heir's limbs spasmed as he tried to reach up to yank the tendrils out, only for more to snap the man's arms against his torso. Even more came to wrap around John's legs, restraining his legs and tying them together. 

More tears bubbled up from his eyes as he felt the tentacles curled around his legs, thighs, stomach and chest - almost caressing him, as if gently teasing him. The tender touches only served to contrast the agony of the tentacles spreading further into his body, ripping through his throat and into his stomach and intestines. 

The pain was so unbearable that if he could have, he would have puked, but the tentacles blocking his throat and mouth would have never allowed him to do so.

John swore he could feel himself bleeding internally, but in truth it was the feel of the darkness spreading all throughout his body, taking hold of him, corrupting him. He could the darkness clog his arteries, wrap around his bones, fill him up to the very brim with itself - somehow, despite the unknowable agony he was in, John had managed to stay aware, but only barely.

Until, the tentacles that had filled up his nose plunged deep into his brain. The man's body jerked wildly, twitching and spasming as the darkness overtook and corrupted his mind. Dark grey overtook and crawled up his skin. His dark hair slowly turned from his natural hair to a stark white. His eyes, forced to say open, lost their irises and pupils as they were lost in an impossibly bright, growing white.

As the tendrils finally burrowed completely into John's body, deep inside him - a horrible scream erupted from his body, making the ground below him shake and crumble, inky darkness flowing like smoke from his open, shrieking maw, now filled with fangs.

---

You awoke with a start, taking deep gasping breaths. God, your head hurt, and your back wasn't exactly feeling any better. Felt like you slept on stone… Rubbing your head, you looked down, confirming that you had, in fact, slept on stone. It had a distinct symbol on it, and looking at the front of your new outfit, it seemed to share the exact color and symbol.

You stilled suddenly, blinking, realization washing over you. An ominous presence seemed to loom over you, making a shiver crawl up your spine. You turned, and jumped in place.

It was… John. Or, what looked like John. He grinned, looking upon with an eyeless stare. It reminded you of how Rose looked before. Had… Had whatever happened to her, happened to him, too?"

"John… What's going on?" You asked, eyes flitting around in confusion. Somehow, John had taken you all the way to your planet after you…

You…

You died, hadn't you?

"John…?" You settled your focus back on him, letting out a gasp as he pulled into an embrace.

A rumble seemed to emit from within his chest… Was… Was he purring?

You settled into his hold, trying to hide your nervousness. "What happened back there? What happened to you?"

John's expression flickered to one of nervousness, before opening his mouth to speak.

You let out a yell of pain, the sound all too familiar to you. It suffocated you, overpowering even your own yelling, incomprehensible, ear-bleeding static that seemed to drill straight into your eardrums, into your mind, and your very being.

You had only realized John had stopped attempting to speak when he clasped his hands over yours, easing them from your head and holding them in his own. Whimpers bubbled up from his throat as he leaned forward, nuzzling you.

You laughed nervously, detangling your hands from John's to pet at his now-white hair. "It- it's okay, John. We… We just need to find out how to get you back to normal, okay? And then, we can get back to Rose and the others and-"

You were cut off, letting out a soft grunt as John pushed you back down onto your quest bed. A powerful purr rumbled from within him, leaning down to kiss and lick at your neck.

You were stock still for a moment, before letting out a shocked laugh, not knowing how to react. Your hands wormed your way to his shoulders. You chuckled, trying to push him off of you. "John, I- now's really not the time-"

In one swift movement, the grimdark Heir was able to pin your wrists by your head, letting out a playful growl as he straddled you.

"John…" You could whimper, voice dying out.

John only responded by diving in, kissing and licking hungrily at your neck and shoulders, occasionally pressing hungry kisses to your face and lips, swallowing your whimpers and moans.

John's purrs seemed to surround you on all sides as he dug his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own.

[fernthefanciful]

A princess is a creature of grace, poise, decorum. They are soft, gentle, patient. I, however, was none of those things, much to my parents’ despair.

 They only brought that upon themselves, of course. A firstborn daughter, a royal invitation to greet the new monarch not sent, and therefore an insult perceived by a powerful magical being. You know how the story goes. I was cursed and, in my story, there were no blessings to gentle it. No other wishes for my future, or what little she left of it. Just a creature of shadow and talon which appeared, damned the bright vision my parents had of my life, and vanished.

  My childhood was a moderately happy one, even with the dark cloud of the curse hanging forever in my periphery. My parents loved me. My sisters, when they were born, did the same. And I of course love them with all that I am. My parents hired tutors, made sure I learned what it meant to be a monarch, made sure I was prepared for a future of rule. They simply made sure my sister learned as well.

  “Just in case.” My father would say, his gaze flitting across the empty hallways as if something unseen was always listening, always watching.

  And when I got too restless, when the green of the forest and the blue of the lake called to me and I couldn’t help but give in to the need to run, to chase, they took me riding. We’d make trips, have picnics, run around on the heather-filled fields and watch the sky change her colour with the setting sun. For the longest time, we were as happy as we could be.

  My eighteenth birthday was a beautiful and clear full moon night. The air rife with the scents of fresh bread and roasted meats of the feast held in honour of my coming of age. Gentle and joyful music filled the ballroom as people danced and laughed all night.

In an empty hallway, as far away from people as I could get, I screamed and cried as my body tore itself apart. As the wildness that had always lived inside of me wanted out. The howl that tore from my newly changed throat was loud enough to wake the entire city.

  I should have been terrified. I should be lamenting the turn my life had taken, all the things I now no longer could do. I should have felt all of those things. But when I made my way out of the castle and into the forest, the ground soft underneath my paws, the silver moonlight a gentle caress on my fur, I couldn’t help but think that his curse tasted a lot like freedom.

  The wildness that had always lived inside of me, the parts that longed to shed the tight clothing and even tighter responsibilities of nobility, were torn from the inner shadow where I had hidden them and shoved into the light. The parts of me that wished to run, to hunt, to feast, finally had a chance to be free.

  Things changed after that.

  Now, people are wary, afraid. My parents try, they really do. To teach me to act normal, ladylike, human. It’s of no use. The wolf lurks under my skin, peering out of my eyes.

People whisper about how much of a waste it is, such a shame, that a curse has changed me so. They don’t see, they don’t understand. The wolf, the wildness, the hunger, has always been there. It is me, the deepest parts of my soul given physical form.

  Life goes on. My sister, perfect, composed, kind, steps into the limelight. Or is pushed, I should say. To placate those who question my place at Court. Meanwhile I am forced into the background. An animal in the shadows meant to be forgotten.

  My wolf balks at the idea of corsets, of rules, of restriction. Doesn’t understand the need for playing nice with nobles it doesn’t like. She’s a creature of instinct, simplicity, and therefore, so am I.

  I spend my days roaming the grounds, protecting what is mine. The people of the city avert their eyes as I go past. Whisper about curses and how they spread, about what it means for the Kingdom that their princess is now a different creature altogether.

My wolf claims the entirety kingdom as her territory and as I get older, I travel further. Checking in daily with the people on the far edges of the lands. The misfits and the outcasts. The ones with wisdom and magic who have been pushed towards the edges of the kingdom long before I was born. Hatred and fear pushed us all here, to the lands where the briar grows three men tall. Where the trees and the shadows move on their own and where the water of the lake is always smooth, no matter how fierce the storm.

I help where I can, chasing off the foxes for the farmers, climbing trees to hang fetches and talismans for protection, bringing food to those who need it most. Most time is spent drinking tea and discussing life with the old lady whom everyone calls ‘witch’. She teaches me all she knows. Things the tutors at the castle never knew to teach me. About the plants and trees that grow, the animals that roam deep within the forest. About life here, on the outskirts of society, and all the peoples and creatures that are part of it. Here, the people look me in the eye. They bow their heads in respect but never in fear. The bravest of the children ask to card their hands through my fur. The old woman laughingly gifts me a crown of twigs and burrs and rowanberries the colour of blood. Every time I’m in my human skin I wear that crown with pride.

  One day, deep within the forest at the edge of my territory, I meet her. The being who has brought all that was hidden within me to the front and then illuminated it. I shift back to human, standing before her, naked and open, but never vulnerable, thanks to her. I thank her for the gifts she has given me. For the freedom and power and strength. The look on her face when I name her fairy godmother is priceless.

  She smiles at me then, a flash of razor-sharp teeth. I bare my own fangs back at her. She asks me then, if I understand. How they are being treated. Those who do not fit in, those who are made of wildness and shadow and blood. How they are shunned because of what they are.

  She tells me this will change, once I am queen. When I tell her that I never will be, that my parents will never find a match for me, she simply laughs and tells me not to worry. After all, I have a fairy godmother now.

  She keeps close after that. Always watching, always near, but never interfering. Not unless I ask her to. So when war, inevitably, finds itself at our borders, I ask for her aid. I stand in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, staring at the incoming forces. The wolf in me is itching underneath my skin. She wishes to hunt, to kill, to feel flesh rip underneath her claws, blood filling her mouth as she tears them apart. So I call out to my fairy godmother, asking if she would join me for a hunt, before I shed my skin along with my humanity and charge forward.

  The battle is brutal and short. The enemy army is better trained, but not against the army of outcasts led by myself and my fairy godmother. Their swords and shields quickly fall against our teeth, claws and magic.

Afterwards, I greet my father on the battlefield. Bare and covered in blood. There is fear in his eyes, yes, but also respect. And, for the first time, trust.

  Things change once again. I am brought back into the castle, but nothing is the same. I spend most of my time in the forests, still, but I also find myself fighting. Training with weapons other than tooth and claw. Weathered old men, tutors, hired by my father to teach me all they know. I learn how much I don’t know, how much there is still to learn. I earn my scars, even if they never stay for long. I earn their respect, even if it is hard won. I am no longer alone, some of my people from the outskirts join me and never leave their princess’ side.

  It doesn’t take long before suitors come from all over the world, wishing to marry one of my sisters. Singing praises about the small kingdom that could so quickly put an end to war. That could tame monsters and wild things. Silly men, none of us were tamed, we simply chose to fight.

  My parents and sisters work hard to get the most advantageous matches. To make sure that both the kingdom and my sisters will continue to grow and prosper. Bargains are struck, feasts are had. One by one my sisters move away, happy with their chosen husbands. All of them are visited by a giant wolf at least once. They know to treat my sisters well, or one night feel the sharp tips of my fangs against their throat.

  Years later I am gifted another crown. It is a beautiful thing. Delicate golden flowers and bright shining gems. It feels uncomfortable to me the way all pretty things do. “It might not suit you,” my father tells me, “but you have earned it.”

“As you have earned your rest.” I tell him.

“You will be wonderful, my Queen.”

  Rumors start spreading, about the Wolfqueen, the Wild One, sitting upon a blood-red throne. About the Kingdom of monsters where beasts, fae and man live free. About the Queen with the Iron Heart, who turns away all who wish to court her, and kills all who dare more.

  It’s not that I do not want someone at my side. I do. I wish for the love that my parents share. That my sisters eventually found with their husbands. But all those who come for my hand, those who finally dare when I have no more free sisters left, come for just that. My hand but not my heart. They are all poised and polished. Perfect little princes who look towards the wealth of the castle but away from the wildness within me. They are afraid to meet my wolf’s cold, assessing gaze.

  Some even try to change me, to find the human underneath the wolf. They only try once.

  For years, I rule alone. Through another war, through a plague born of magic, through prosperity and abundance. My people always by my side but no one to claim my heart.

  But then, a commotion. A man, dressed in furs. No scars on his body, but plenty on his soul. His eyes glowing the same gold as mine in the gentle torchlight. A wildness in them that my wolf recognizes. A challenge that my wolf is eager to take, to rise up to.

  “Your Oracle told me to come here.” He tells me, “I asked for guidance, to find what my heart truly desires, and she sent me to you.”

  My fairy godmother steps up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I can’t see her, but I know she is smiling a smile of sharp pointed teeth. No doubt the oracle he speaks of.

  “My Queen,” he continues, bowing deep, his eyes never leaving mine, “I came looking for connection, for freedom. I believe I will find it with your time and your company. Will you grant me it?”

  “And what, my prince,” for if my fairy godmother sent him, he can only be that, “will you grant me in return?” I lean forward, eager, hungry.

  “Loyalty,” he steps forward, onto the dais, “companionship and understanding.” He leans over me for a single, challenging moment, before kneeling before me, baring his throat. “Perhaps in time even love. But for now, the thrill of a hunt. Of a chase.” He grins, baring sharp fangs. A breath, and a beautiful black-furred wolf sits in front of me.

Oh – the hunt is on. A thrill goes through me as I shift, ready to run, to chase him down and claim him for my own. For if one thing is certain, it is that I am a wild thing, a Queen, a hunter, but never, ever, prey.

(First posted on my website)

[jomamaofficial]

You should have said something: Finale (Bakugou x fem!Reader)

A/N: HELLO BESTIES, IT'S YOUR *lmao I just realised I wrote sentimental here instead of CRUSTY here* CRUSTY TOE HERE. Now please, for the love of whoever's up there, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not going to dawdle along because this was the finale you all were waiting for, so enjoy. Social Media & LinkTree & Discord Server TW: Very gruesome descriptions of: Death, Burning, Heavy cursing, Blood, Abuse. Masterlist Taglist: @spicy-therapist-mom @speedmetalqueen @silentw-lkr @loki-an-idiot @clickbait-official @captainchrisstan @kamalymaly @idk-sam @runrabbitrun3 @power-house-fan12 @mrslawliet @memeingcheetah27 @lonleyweeb77 @midnight-storm Word Count: 1743

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Sirens flooded the scene, police cars blinding passerbys. Ambulances rushed to the location, paramedics pushing their way through the crowd of people, the heat travelling the smell of iron across the streets of Musutafu. Firefighters reached the estate, dragging people away from the hazard, eyes gawking at the uproar of fire. The house was engulfed in flames, crying voices piercing through the ears of those who looked on. Ashes here and ashes there, belongings erupting into soot and red embers.

A body was heaved onto the stretcher, blood staining the white cotton.

“The heart rate is lowering, I repeat the heart rate is lowering.”

The static noise from the walkie talkie was merely another addition to the tumultuous screams and orders.

Wind ran through his hair, panic stricken over the nurse's face who ran as fast as her environment could let her, the heavy but precious, bleeding body straining her arms and staining her hands.

The door was held open, commands being barked at her.

The reporters bombarded her, obstructing the nurse’s view. She shoved past them; her heart hammered in her chest inspecting the monitor, her movements speeding up as she reached her destination. The body was rushed into the ambulance, attached to pipes and machines.

It was the last thing the public saw before the door was shut and the sirens fled away.

Trending headlines and hashtags spread like wildfire.

Masaru switched on the TV, his wife finishing up her dinner in the other room.

“I am now live at the Bakugou-L/N estate. Word from our information team has come out and the fire has been going on for twenty minutes, however these twenty minutes were enough for Prohero Ground Zero to be sent to the emergency room after a local found him covered in burn marks and injuries inside his already smoking house. Prohero Y/HN is nowhere to be found and all forms of contacts have been shut off. I am now handing over to Tanaka-san who is live at the-”

Switched off. Masaru sat there glued to his seat with his fingers pressing on the power button.

-

Hope came crashing down and you could only stare at the broken screen of your phone, tiny glass particles spewed on the floor.

Your skin was boiling up but your blood ran cold. Your throat dried up but your tears were wet. You couldn’t feel anything but his nails, digging in through the layers of clothing you comforted yourself in.

If you could go back in time, you would have. If you could stop yourself from dialing Izuku’s number, you would have. Anything, anything would have been better than this.

Silence. And you still had the urge to cover your ears. There was nothing to look at apart from your only form of communication. Everything else was black. And the traitorous phone that gave you away was dissipating as well. It faded away from your sight, leaving you a wide smile on your face. Too wide. Stretching from one cheek to the other, your lips were quivering, forcing it to stop. But it didn’t stop. It was getting wider and wider and it was hurting but could you stop it? No.

You couldn’t stop anything. Not this marriage, not this moment, not your own body.

He pulled on your hair and you couldn’t even stop the pain. He crushed your face between his hands, searing pressure building up in your skull and you still couldn’t stop him. He shouted and he screamed and it was slowly seeping into your skull how loud he really was. Nothing would stop. You couldn’t stop it.

You were useless. Your shrieks were useless because he drowned them out with his own voice.

His words were barely comprehensible. You could either focus on the warm blood trickling down your hairline, or him.

But that took energy. And right now, trying to stay alive was sucking all of the energy out of you.

“YOU FUCKING BROKE RULE NUMBER THREE, YOU FUCKING WHORE.”

Rule number three spiked your interest. Not because you remembered what it was. It only drew your attention to him amidst all the repeated curses and the names and the agony, ‘rule number three’ was something new.

Why would you understand rule number three though, you couldn’t even understand why you were smiling, giggling underneath your breath.

“And out of all the people you could have gone to”, he sucked in a breath, squeezing your cheeks. He could feel your clenched teeth fighting against the strength of his hold.

“You fucking went to that useless cunt Deku”, Bakugou spat out, a crazed glint in his eyes as he felt your face shake and crumble under his grip.

“Where is he now huh?” he scoffed, a breathy laugh escaping from the depths of his body.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT PATHETIC BITCH NOW?” Screaming once again, he activated his quirk, missing you by a hair. The flames mocked you, free to move, free to grow.

“Is he gonna come and get you now? See your precious ‘Izu-kun’ anywhere?” he derided, smiling at the blackened area his palms left on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’M SORRY.”

Your tears said it enough, tears that were mixed in with the sweat and blood that dripped from your forehead. All you wanted was someone, someone who would hold you and stroke your head and clean you up. Someone who would take him away from you and let you live in a fantasy where you weren’t wrong anymore.

You apologized in the false anticipation that he would stop, and caress your face and pepper it in small kisses. You apologized in the false anticipation of thinking that’s what he needed all along. Just an apology.

So when he pushed you off of the sofa, your knees igniting in irritantance and bruises, you could only look at him. And when he crouched down in front of you, tilting your chin upwards, your heart almost fluttered at the thought that he would pull you into a kiss. A warm kiss where you would feel at home and feel loved.

The sad part was that you knew that you would forgive him if he kissed you once.

But the worst part was that you knew this would never happen. And it didn’t. But you were happy to live in your delusion. Because your delusion masked the sheer force at which he defiled your body.

The lethal blaze mirrored the lethal blaze that ignited his eyes. And this was the last time you’d ever see such hate, and animosity in them.

With your hands shielding you too late, all you saw was a blinding light shining through you, filling every crevice in your body with a scorching glow. But then it was extinguished by the darkness.

Alarms were going off in your head, telling you to breathe quickly and panic and scream and reach out and find something to see. And you did. And it entertained him.

So small and so vulnerable, scrambling around beneath him to try and escape. But he had you under his grip. And he wasn’t going to let you go until you remained lifeless under him.

Smoke infiltrated your lungs, forcing you to flail and writhe on all fours. You were heaving, trying oh so very hard to breathe in the oxygen that limitlessly surrounded you.

But you were useless. And you couldn’t breathe to save your life.

Coughing and slobbering, kneeling in front of him, you begged.

“Please, forgive me.”

“Please, I’m sorry.”

“Please, I didn’t mean to.”

“PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP. PLEASE JUST MAKE IT STOP.”

The fumes were stabbing at your throat, filling your head with fog.

And your world was running slowly. The noise was slowed, darker and deeper, slurred beyond understanding. The agony was slow; equally as painful, but slow. It gave you little breaks in between to piece everything together, bit by bit.

Growing up, your world was black and white: heroes were benevolent, there to serve the society and protect them whereas villains were malevolent, there to wreck the balance of society and harm them as they pleased.

Growing up, the first people you relied on were heroes. Even as the Number 3 Hero, Y/HN, you relied on your colleagues who worked day and night to ensure the safety of the country you served.

Maybe that was your downfall. Blindly trusting heroes as if they were some sort of untouchable deities who could never harm. Because here you were, taking the last few breaths with your world spinning around you and being snatched away from you.

And it wasn’t at the hands of a villain that you were dying. It was at the hands of your so-called superior, the Number 2 Hero: Ground Zero.

Ground Zero; the hero who everyone respected but feared. His snarl, his anger, his drive. The very hero who was found in every treacherous battlefield. He was the same hero who took on anything he found that threatened the life of the citizens he made his duty to protect from harm's way.

But who would take him on when he caused harm to you?

No one.

It wasn’t the smoke, or the burns, or the bleeding that caused you to take your last breath. It was the realization that no one would save you.

-

The pulse under Katsuki’s fingers diminished until it was nothing. And he cried. Veins standing out in livid ridges, his eyes seared in rage as they watered and dripped down his face, cooling his body in the circle of fire he put himself in.

If he wasn’t trained to suck his guilt up every time his hands were responsible for someone’s downfall, he would have been consumed in his own self loath…

But what was the point of feeling guilty when you deserved it?

It was because of you Eijiro broke up with him. And he internally promised himself he would always stand by this.

Blinking away his tears, he channeled all the remaining energy he had, letting his anger flow through out of his body.

His wrists were giving in but he swore it was the final time. Just one more blow. One more big blow.

Silencing his cries underneath the deafening roar of his explosions, he clenched his jaw, pressuring his body on and on.

No one would find you now. No one would know.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

cw: wizarding war, and the violence it ensues.

The year bled.

It bled great gouts of wizards, beacons of hope shining bright red at the tip of their wands. Led them to their deaths, in the battlefront that had taken their friends and family, yet remained unsatisfied.

The year took his Hagrid, took his Ron, the year flung a sword into Harry’s survival instincts and turned them inside out — backwards, all wrong. He lived and breathed for his days on the front, inhabited the outermost trench for longer than anyone was allowed, his wand glowing green more often than red.

Voldemort’s tooth — sharp, a snake’s poisonous incisive — hung on a thread, rested against Harry’s throat, had for the better part of the season. Yet the war raged on.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

“Will you be resting this fortnight?” Hermione had asked him when she’d served, a few days earlier. She was at a safe-house, now, replenishing her core, drawing energy from the underground streams that pulsed with golden magic so she would be ready to return to the fight. It was was everyone did, every couple of weeks, what their warlord had ordered.

Harry’d not been to a safe-house in three months. He’d not known anything but carnage in all those days, was beginning to suspect that the inexhaustible nature of his core didn’t extend to his body, definitely didn’t extend to his mind.

“Where are they getting this strength? These numbers?” Ron had asked, the night before a Death Eater had torn his head right off his neck.

They still did not know the answer. It happened everyday, at the strike of dawn: dozens of Death Eaters arrived at the front, and it didn’t matter that Harry sliced right through their ranks like a sword, there were dozens more the next morning. And they still did not know the answer.

It was not simple. Nothing was simple.

“They must have found a way to clone their soldiers. It can be done — they have Voldemort’s knowledge on soul-splitting.” Kingsley had written, in the letter Harry had received two days earlier. “Soon enough they will press at their advantage. I trust you will know what to do. Do not fail me.”

There was no “soon enough”. The advantage was already being pressed, every waking second, on multiple fronts. Harry spent his days blocking them with his magic, with his body, and his nights fighting against their secret weapon, they one they seemed to reserve for him only — the mind games.

“They impersonate us?” Arthur had asked, when he’d brought health potions the previous week.

“They show up as you, or Molly, Gin, R-Ron. I’m not sure what they want, they seem to be trying to extract information, but not on our lines, not on our manpower. I don’t know what I have that they want.”

“Don’t trust anyone.”

The days cut him, and the nights suffocated him. He got approached by group after group of imposters, wearing a different face every night. People Harry loved and hadn't seen in months. Those ones didn't hurt as much. Not like it hurt when it was people he had loved and lost.

Arthur had told him not to trust anyone. Some nights, he didn’t even trust himself.

He was going mad, sending away whoever it was that wore Cedric’s body, that showed up in his mother’s face, that slipped into Sirius’ limbs like they would into a coat. People he trusted, people he loved, and whose memory would forever be tainted by this, in his mind.

The night Draco Malfoy showed up, Harry thought it was another mind trick. Then, he realized that it broke the pattern. He’d never trusted, never loved, never even tolerated Draco Malfoy.

But there he was. He showed up, nose bleeding, broken arm cradled against his chest, miserable, everything Harry raged against. His tears shone bright silver over his cheekbones, down his jaw, carrying magical energy, draining him.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I don’t know where else to go.”

Harry didn’t trust him, he shouldn’t help him. But he did. He mended the fractured bones, cut his own palm with a knife and gave him some of his magical energy, poured it right into his gaping mouth. Saved his life.

Malfoy stayed.

Something like guilt, if he was still capable of that, draped itself across Harry’s shoulders as he fed him their food, let him drink from their goblets, gave him their healing potions.

He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust himself.

Malfoy talked, at least, which was useful.

“Portraits.” He coughed, shivery from the core-loss. “They all have hundreds of them, their magical energy split. Not their souls, that’s not sustainable, it’s their magical energy. And they take them out, give them life. There’s an energy source, and an ancient spell, a rune ... I wasn’t told, but I saw, she performed it in front of me. Please, I’ll tell you. I ran. I need your help.”

Harry didn’t need to ask who she was.

“I can fight. I can help. Please. Please, they killed my mother.”

And there were the tears again, but crystal clear, no longer carrying Malfoy’s power. Harry had successfully stopped the drainage.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please. Write to your general, I’ll say anything, I hate her.”

There had been a time in which Malfoy’s desperation would have made him feel at an advantage, would have made him laugh, prod at the wound. But that time was long gone, desperation was the only thing he knew now, as well, and there was no winning. It was a winless fight. Malfoy was too human, too scared, not an instrument of war.

“No. We don’t know he’s telling the truth, I forbid you from sheltering him.” Kingsley’s letter said.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

But the war raged, the weeks blended into each other, and the pain, renewed as it was every single day, numbed him.

Harry was human. Harry was scared. Harry was an instrument of war.

He sheltered him anyway.

“One wrong move, and you’re out. You have one chance.”

Malfoy nodded, weeping right there in the trench, in his blood-stained clothes. Harry couldn’t afford to distrust him, was too busy staying alive.

And Malfoy did not fail him. In the morning light, dozens of Death Eaters Harry had killed a million times marched into the battlefield, and Malfoy fought next to him. Harry’d not had anyone watch his back in months, and it made for a nice change.

At night, they fended off the imposters, and Harry fed him his own magical energy, watched him grow stronger with it. His core was inexhaustible, he knew. He didn’t have to send Malfoy away to regain strength, he gave it to him, every single night.

It was forbidden, but it was also the only thing that seemed right in the vortex of destruction he’d been living in.

“She keeps an artifact at the Manor. It looks like a prophecy, is kept under lock and key inside her chambers. I saw it, she made me clean it once. I think it’s the source of all this. I think if you destroy it, this will be over.” Malfoy said, three weeks after they’d been fighting side by side. He looked stronger, energized, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could feel his own magic inside Draco’s corestream, like an extension of himself.

“How?”

He felt Draco prodding back, felt him extending his energy so it circled back to Harry, so it flowed freely between them.

“There’s no time to look. Burn down the manor.”

The discovery that they could access each other’s magic should have been monumental, yet felt like nothing at all. They’d known, they’d experienced it every night for weeks. An intimacy unlike any other, between enemies, between allies.

“I thought I forbid you from taking him in.” Kingsley’s letter said, when Harry proposed the idea. It didn’t feel like a reprimand. It felt like a father, telling a child off for keeping a stray kitten. “I have sent reinforcements to the front, come to headquarters. Both of you. We’re burning the house this week.”

The plan was to march off to Malfoy Manor the morning after they arrived at headquarters. Instead, they slept for three days straight.

They were in different rooms, but Harry only had to close his eyes to trace his energy back to Draco, and it soothed him.

They’d been enemies. They were human, they were scared. Now, they were allies. Now, they were one, more than they were two.

“I think we can read each other’s minds.” Malfoy said when they woke up, except he wasn’t anywhere in the room. The voice had come from Harry’s head.

“So it seems.”

They found each other in the kitchen, had breakfast, made vague conversation, not a single word spoken out loud.

“Is the war ending?”

“Once they stop multiplying like crazy, we can beat them, and stop fighting. Live our lives, maybe. But I don’t think the war will ever end, Draco.”

He wanted to explain that he felt like he would carry it forever, but he didn’t have to. In the space between thinking it and wanting to communicate it, he already had.

“I know.”

For the first time in months, when Harry searched inside himself, he didn’t feel empty. There was energy, magic, there was someone else with him, in the space that had existed between his anger and his grief.

“Also, I can do wandless now," Draco added.

“Yeah, that’s on me.”

“Do you think this means we are …?”

“Yeah.”

They showered.

After, they apparated to Malfoy Manor, didn’t even have to touch to do it together, the crack of the spell going off in unison, turning heads once they arrived. The entire Order was there, and, in front of them, the house aflame.

The Manor bled. It bled tendrils of black magic that dissipated into thin air, screamed, called to the tooth hanging at Harry’s neck. He wrapped his fingers around it and held it tight — his trophy, his burden.

All that was left of the enemy army were twenty wizards that scuttled out of the blazing house like fleeing rats. She wasn’t amongst them. Somehow, Harry knew she’d died trying to protect her energy source. He knew that he would have, and soldiers weren't so different.

He and Draco took care of the survivors, both their powers pulled into a single explosion of green.

“Wow.” Hermione said, standing next to Harry.

“We think it’s over.”

“You two are …”

“Yeah.”

“Permanently.”

“Yeah.”

“You know that’s forbidden.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The year had bled, had been an open wound. Then it had been cleaned and stitched, messily, but closed. It ached. It bore the name of the friend Harry had loved the most, his other half. It would never go away, it would scar.

But it was healing.

Harry reached out with his magic, and felt Draco meet him halfway.

-

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt "forbidden"

[sinner-as-saint]

‘Till We Bleed Out - 3.

Vampire!bucky x reader AU

Part 3 of this series. 

Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real. 

Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst 

“Calm down, sweetheart.” 

He must’ve noticed you were on the verge of losing your mind. How could you not? You had so many questions. So many things you couldn’t wrap your brain around. What was the meaning of all this? 

“What is this?” you pointed at the painting; scared, nervous and baffled. 

Bucky walked further in, careful as to not make any sudden movement which would make you even more of a nervous wreck than you already were. “I’ll tell you everything, doll. Just calm down, alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m right here with you.” 

You looked up at him in surprise. “Nothing to be scared of? There’s a painting of me and you dating back to 1872. That was almost a hundred and fifty years ago. But I met you just two days ago. None of this makes sense, none of it adds up. And that doesn’t bother you?” you sounded more sad and confused than scared. This isn’t normal. None of this is. “Who are you?” 

Despite knowing that someone else in your shoes would be screaming bloody murder and running for their lives by now, you stayed put. Despite the confusion, you felt protected. Something inside you knew no harm would come to you while Bucky’s around. But the rational side of you couldn’t afford listening to that side of you right now. Right now your brain needed concrete answers, not reassurance. 

“No. It doesn’t bother me.” He walked over and held you gently by the shoulders. “And if you let me explain, it won’t bother you either.” One look into his eyes and you felt yourself calming down already. 

“Make this make sense.” 

After he got you to sit down, in that very room, he began explaining. 

“I’m not exactly human, Y/N.” His first few words earned him a nod from you. 

“I figured that out a few minutes ago.” 

He continued. “And neither were you, in your previous lifetime.” That sentence shocked you. You didn’t know what was more surprising, learning that there was indeed a lifetime before this one or the fact that in the previous one, you and Bucky knew each other. “We were both vampires.” 

“Oh my God…” 

He paused for a while, trying to be as slow and as careful as he could be with his words. “We were married, you and I. And we were happy.” He said so and waited for your reaction. 

Your eyes watered and he noticed. “I’m… I was your wife?” you asked and he nodded. You thought back on all the things he told you about his wife; those were all about you. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two. “And I died.” he nodded again. “How did I die?” 

He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to the dark carpet beneath his feet, that memory was always the hardest to revisit. “Our families were not exactly… friendly. Yours hated mine, and vice versa so our marriage was not something they could bear.” He let out a dry chuckle. He continued, a strange fire in his eyes; burning hot hatred. “They kept trying to break us apart,” he smiled, sadly, “but we were strong. Together.” He looked back up at you. “Until one day…” 

He stopped talking. He ran his fingers through his hair, he was hurting. You felt the intense need to just get up from the couch you were sat on, and walk over to where he sat and just comfort him. Maybe hug him and tell him it’s all okay now. But you remained seated, you couldn’t move. 

“Bucky… I need to know.” You figured it was a delicate subject but you needed to piece it all together. You were a mess at the moment. 

“We were returning home and we were attacked. By hunters.” 

You sat up straighter. “Hunters?” 

“Vampire hunters. Two different parties. Each anonymously hired and sent by our own families, ordered to have each of us killed. But you know, back then hunters had rivalry against each other as well. And ironically, the groups of hunters our family hired were not exactly seeing eye to eye with each other.” He let out another dry chuckle. “Upon reaching our home, they all forgot their initial purpose for a moment and began butchering one another instead, in the name of looming enmity. And you and I got caught in the crossfire. ” 

He paused. If it were physically possible he would’ve shivered at the memory; so tragically vivid in his mind. You waited for him to continue. “But some of them also remembered that they had been ordered to kill us both, so our front yard quickly became a battlefield.” He sounded bitter, angry. “We fought them off for a while but we were terribly outnumbered. I was wounded, so were you, and I tried to reach you but…” he trailed off, took a deep breath and continued, “they got to you first.” 

You tried to find the right thing to say but got nothing. Bucky spoke up again. “I was helpless. I couldn’t move. I had to watch as they… took you away from me.” He finally looked up at you and you were in shock. “Those sent by your family, what was left of them after the massacre at least, fled. Those sent by mine finished their job.” The look of hurt on his face was unbearable. “And I begged them. I begged them to kill me too but they just left me there.” 

You felt a weight on your chest. That was brutal. 

“You died at our doorstep.” He still remembered the last few moments he held you before you left… 

-

He somehow managed to get up and stumbled on his way to you, bullets and sharp stakes pierced all over his body as well as yours. You weren’t gonna make it, and he knew but he still begged you to stay. 

“You can’t leave me. You promised.” He cried, cradling your head on his lap. “Don’t leave me.” 

He watched how you used the little bit of energy left to choke out a few words. “I’ll find you again. Someday. I promise…” your body was getting heavier and heavier. Bucky felt like he was dying too. “I love you, Buck.” 

And with that, you closed your eyes forever. He sat there, your lifeless body in his arms and he screamed and yelled and cursed the universe. He was wounded, he would be healed by dawn. But you wouldn’t. He survived the attack that day, but part of him died along with you too. 

-

You cleared your throat. “How do you… how did you know it’s me? How can you be sure? What if I just look like her?” you looked up at the painting and he did too. 

He gave you a soft smile. “Chamomile and lavender tea is your favorite. You like red roses. You have a fear of deep water but you love the beach. You have this weird obsession with snakes. You love red wine. You could practically live in a library. Thunderstorms comfort you. You get a lot of déjà-vu, more than anyone you know. Also, you surely have a birthmark on your back, below your left shoulder. It perhaps hurts sometimes and you don’t know why, because regular birthmarks don’t hurt.” 

Your eyes widened more and more as he spoke, but you gasped when he mentioned the birthmark. “How do you know that?” Very few people knew of your rather strange birthmark which tingled, burned and hurt sometimes. 

“You were staked through the heart from the back. It left a mark on you.” He answered. “Forever.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to soak all this new information in. This was a lot to take in. 

You cleared your throat again. “I was a vampire.” You stated. Bucky nodded. “I married you.” He nodded again. “I can’t- how do I-,” 

“Hey, it’s a lot to take in. Take your time. Go to bed if you wish to.” His voice sounded so soft. 

Oh you couldn’t sleep, not with all this. You shook your head no, you had questions. “How long were we married for?” 

“Almost a century.” His answer made your jaw drop. 

“How old are you?” 

He chuckled. “250. Give or take a few years.” 

“Oh my God,” you sighed, genuinely surprised. You thought back on all that he said earlier, about your families, and asked, “You said our families were against our relationship.” He nodded. “Well, where are they now?” 

“Gone.” 

“What do you mean, gone?” 

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “After you left, I was unhinged. My memories of the couple of decades after your death is a little blurry. Apparently I went seeking revenge. But our friends found me and brought me back to sanity before I was gone completely and they told me that I had destroyed each and every last member of both our families.” 

“You killed them.” It wasn’t a question. 

“They deserved it. They took you away from me.” He sounded so broken, and hurt that you could feel your heart burn inside your ribcage. 

“When you say ‘our friends’ you mean…” you trailed off not knowing how to put it. 

He nodded. “Other vampires, yes. Most of them at least.” 

“This is so crazy.” You mumbled, looking down at your lap. This was too much to handle all at once. Bucky got up from his seat and walked cautiously over to you. 

He sat down on the edge of the wooden coffee table right in front of you and held his hand out. You placed your hand in his without a second thought. “You always had faith in the universe you know. You used to tell me that one single lifetime isn’t going to be enough for all the love that you and I have for each other. You used to always tell me that you’ll find me in the next one as well. And you did. You kept your promise. You’re home now, to me.” 

You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Those words sounded so familiar. Bucky reached out and wiped the tear away. “I… I don’t remember. I mean, I’ve lived a whole life not knowing you were until just a few days ago and now… all this?” 

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. “It’s almost dawn. You haven’t slept well. Get some rest, we’ll figure it out. We always did.” 

You couldn’t argue. You needed to not think for a while, so you just nodded and got up. He didn’t follow you as you made your way to the bedroom and threw yourself down on the bed. You closed your eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep. 

The next day, you spent most of your morning in the room; unable to leave the bed. Each time you thought back on all that was revealed to you last night, your head hurt. Wanda was kind enough to come in and leave you your meals. She didn’t say a word, just polite smiles. Bucky came by as well, each hour or so to check up on you. You weren’t ready to talk yet. He understood. 

You spent the rest of the day looking out of the window, into the vast backyard. The weather was still gloomy, much like your mood. 

After dinner, Bucky came by again. With tea this time. You gladly accepted the cup, remembering how it helped you sleep better the other night. Bucky was about to walk out but you stopped him. 

“Stay. Please.” You said, your voice a little strained because you had cried earlier, unable to understand the wave of emotion which washed over you. He rushed to sit next to you, on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been having dreams.” you confessed. 

“What kind of dreams?” 

“About you. About us, together. About ballrooms I’ve never been in, about people I haven’t met. And this house, ever since I got here it feels like I’ve... “ you trailed off, unable to find the right words. Or maybe the words were too crazy for you to utter them out loud. 

He finished your sentence. “Like you’ve lived here before?” 

“Yes.” You nodded. 

He smiled. “It’s because you have. This is your home, our home. Those aren’t dreams, they’re your memories.” 

Another tear fell down your cheek. Well, that made sense now. That would explain why your ‘dreams’ were so detailed. 

Bucky stayed and talked to you until you felt sleepy. He kissed you on the forehead, whispering a ‘goodnight’ once you got under the covers and was about to walk out of the room but you stopped him, yet again. 

“There’s something else.” you said. 

He stopped right at the door and turned around to face you, “Yes?” 

“The day I got here, when you opened the door, I…” you reminded yourself that he deserves to know, “I felt this pressing need to tell you that I finally found you. I didn’t understand what that meant then.” 

For the first time in a long time, Bucky genuinely smiled. And it was breathtaking. His smile was gorgeous, contagious. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left. 

You fell asleep rather quickly. And dreamt, again...

Kisses under a grand chandelier. Blue eyes, laughter and wine. Pure bliss. 

“We should get going, sweetheart. It’s late.” Bucky whispered, holding you close. “And I can’t share you any longer. I need you all to myself now.” He kissed along your jaw, making you giggle. 

Home. At last. Only just as you got down from the carriage, you realized something was wrong. Pain, pain everywhere. 

Bullets, stakes, sticks, stones - everything hurt. You heard someone screaming as you were being dragged away from Bucky. It was you. You begged for mercy, but you didn’t receive any. Then suddenly, a spot on your back burned. It hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. You realized you were being staked through the heart, and it was too late. You couldn’t fight back. 

The pain, although excruciating, was replaced by fear. Fear of having to leave Bucky behind. Bucky… where was he? 

Your vision got blurry, you fell to the ground. You tried to call out for him but no sound came out of your mouth. You were fading away. But then you saw a pair of dark eyes which slowly turned blue and teary. 

“Don’t leave me…” 

“I’ll find you, I promise.” All the years you spent with him flashed in front of your eyes. Your wedding, and the decades of pure happiness which followed. “I’ll find you…” 

You woke up gasping again, covered in goosebumps. You had a terrible headache as it all came to you at once; memories of a forgotten lifetime. You struggled to breathe; it felt like being hit by a violent wave and being pushed deeper beneath the surface. Your birthmark burned hot. And your lungs felt like they were on fire. 

You sat there in bed, breathing hard and fast as you remembered everything. You realized you had tears streaming down your face. It was all too much, but you kept searching for more. And the more you looked the more you found. You felt like you were about to pass out. 

1802, when you first met Bucky. Married in 1808. You died about 90 years after that. You remembered. You remembered it all now. Your cruel family, and his. The bloodshed of that night. And how you died at the doorstep of this mansion. This mansion… your home. You knew this place like the back of your hand. This is your home. 

You’re home. 

You called out, not too loud, knowing he would hear you still. “Bucky!” you held back sob. How did you survive all these years? Without him? 

“Bucky!” you called out again, crying out loud this time. You heard his footsteps running down the hall. And your heart raced. 

You had been so close to your home this whole time, so close to Bucky, in the same town. You just didn’t know.

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

[keoghanscherry]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒚𝒕𝒉

have a little sneakpeak of the story that I introduced a while ago! The feedback on the small plot was amazing and here’s a little sneakpeak of that’s about to come in between all of it! I t’s Druig x Female Eternals Reader! ✨

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍 - 𝟏𝟓𝟐𝟏 𝐀𝐃

Leaning her hands on the stone table in front of her, Ajak's parted lips let out a deep breath. A conversation she prevented to have with them for the past decades. After Druig's outburst of emotions, leaving the team of immortals behind to save a group of humans from themselves, the leader knew it was time to explain the reasons behind their long mission on earth.

" The myth you all read about at the Domo in various books. An Eternal Being, a woman, stronger than one of us can imagine. Soul filled with Independence, the attributes of a true leader, dangerous mixture between Thinker and Fighter. The First of us to discover the universe, protecting a planet from Deviants. "

" Are you telling us a good night story? " Sprite joked, shaking her head at the odd behaviour of the healer. Ajak's gaze travelled to the old soul trapped in the body of a child, her lips curving in a gentle smile.

" I'm older than you might imagine. More years than any of you could count. She was my leader once before you were born. " Ajak‘s eyes drifted over the surprised faces of the people that surrounded her.

„We were sent to a plant far away from this one to save the popularity from their ongoing wars against eachother. She was a mastermind in tactical plans but those beings didn’t accept our help.“ Turning her back to them, Ajak walked closer to the stairs that led towards the empty battlegrounds. People disappeared in a large group, following Druig out of the city. A sigh left her dry mouth at the memories of the day, she lost a good friend.

„They started to fight against us but it wasn’t in our nature to hurt beings that were vulnerable to the power sleeping inside every single one of you. Arishem wasn’t pleased with the outcome of our mission, commanding us to leave the planet to die. None of us would have ever spoken against him except for her. She didn’t give up hope even if it all was lost before we arrived. There was no other solution than to leave her with the people she believed in. The population started to die and Arishem informed us about the loss of our dearest friend. Pierced through the chest by her own swords, she killed herself.“ Crossing her arms over her chest, Ajak tilted her head to look over her shoulder. Devastated and confused looks covered their faces, a story they never read or heard about. Secrets of a past that the healer carried with her for decades, locked away in the back of her mind. How the planet exploded with all citizens, ending the lives of innocent beings to assure the birth of a new Celestial. A devastating event that would happen to Earth as well.

„But what does this story have to do with us?“ Kingo‘s voice echoed through the temple, confusion laced with his words.

„ Earth needed protection from the Deviants. Creatures that evolved faster than Arishem knew, taking innocent lives. But before he sent us, those monster started to shrink in sizes, destroyed by an amount of cosmic energy, he had never felt in an Eternal before. Power that could only be carried in one body, hers. She didn’t die on the battlefield, he lost sight of her as she slowly crawled her way out of the Celestials vision. Living thousands of years on this planet, gathering the energy inside of her. The Deviants are one reason, she is the second. We need to find her and bring her powers under control before she destroys the planet.“

„What‘s her speciality? Maybe one of us is a strong counter part and can“ Ikaris went through thousands of strategies in his head, before Ajak held a flat hand in front of his chest. An understand look covered her facial features as she stepped closer to the stone table in the middle of the room again.

„She takes small amounts of cosmic energy from other Eternals and recreates their abilities. Forging swords like Thena, shooting energy balls with her hands like Kingo.“ She pointed to two Eternals she referred too. With narrowed eyebrows, Ikaris crossed his arms over his blue and golden gear. „Mind Control like Druig.“ The healer muttered, knowing she advanced it in the past thousands of years and no one was able to make a rough assessment about what she was capable of.

„How shall we defeat her?“ Kingo asked, voice shaking.

„We have to kill her. That’s what Arishem would want.“ Ikaris suggested, his voice serious like he tried to give orders to the team. Ajak shook her head at the change in behaviour, extending her arm to place her flat hand on the soldier‘s chest.

„I didn’t ask for your advice. Don’t you forget your place.“ The Prime Eternal warned her best fighter, one eyebrow raised at him. With a subtle nod, he stepped back into the shadows, leaning his muscular body against the stone wall. Hands placed on the stone table in front of Thena‘s seated figure, Ajak overlooked the possibilities they had to find peace for this planet.

„We won‘t be able to kill her.“ She whispered, knowing that decades ago, she wasn’t easy to defeat but now, the long lost Eternal might have advanced into a being, indescribable the power that ran through her ways and saved her from travelling through the galaxies.

„You might all go now. This is the time where we part our ways to find our own purpose on this planet.“ Within the chaos and the future Arishem had prepared for earth, Ajak wanted her beloved ones to seek their own path of happiness. „One day, we will meet again and I promise I will introduce you to her but right now, there are no tasks for us.“ With a subtle nod to each of them, the Prime Eternal left the small conference room in middle of one of the huge buildings in Tenochtitlan.

„Is she crazy? With that woman on the run, none of us are safe alone!“ Sprite shouted at the other Eternals, pointing after Ajak with her stretched out arm. None wanted to believe the words of their leader, the woman that happened to be the motherly figure for advice to any of them. But this time, her words brought confusion to their mind - splitting from their family for the very first time.

[rivalry-trope-enjoyer]

Kaeya x GN! reader: Fake Dating AU

*Started a new series of the Genshin Impact boys as different romance tropes in one-shot form, starting with Kaeya! The list will go on soon and I plan for Diluc to be next. Disclaimer: May be a little bit OOC since this is my first time writing Kaeya. 

The Kaeya as far as you had known has always been a sweet talker that wooed all the people of Mondstadt with a mysterious and alluring charm. You, too, had fallen victim to his hand. 

Unfortunately, being a traveler with no permanent place to stay in all of Teyvat, it was customary to take someone like Kaeya with you on such adventures. You didn’t hate his company; he always loved to crack jokes even if it came with a flirtatious anecdote at the end. He had even already established sweet nicknames for you and even went as far as playfully calling you “sweetheart” or “dove” from time to time. 

Spending time with him casually already seemed like a nightmare for your poor heart, and commissions and tasks were the exact same story. 

This time around you were sent on an errand to take care of some Fatui agents with Kaeya around Mondstadt, the two most capable, arguably, of sneaking around when it came to the Knights of Favonius. 

Around this time relations with diplomats have soured from the incidents that had happened in Liyue, and a lot of secretive moves are needed to take care of the root of the Fatui in Mondstadt. 

The both of you have decided to embark on your journey, in which Kaeya had the faintest of ideas that he had under his sleeves on how to get through with the Fatui. 

Upon arrival you both decide to approach them, careful with how you act and greeted them politely. 

“What is your business with the Fatui?” they grab a blade under their coats as their masked faces pointed to you both.

Kaeya casually approached them and snaked his arm around your waist, pulling your closer causing you to blush instantaneously. 

“I apologize for the intrusion, but my significant other had run a shop in Mondstadt, we sell sunsettias and apples that we farm in springvale and we have gone bankrupt from the unfair trade system of this entire nation!” Kaeya had played his part well, a little too well to make you realize how much he had been acting around you. 

He had shocked you initially with his actions, and you had thought of it to be selfish to hold onto him like this a little longer and to just pretend. 

You slowly embraced him back, which caused Kaeya to flinch initially, but tightened the grip he had on you like a warm embrace. 

“He’s right,” you stated in a sullen tone. “My husband and I, we cannot make an honest living from this, and we had heard around that your code involved economics, so we hope that we can trust you to, even out the scales a bit,” you instantly lowered your head at them with respect and tugged at Kaeya to do the same.

Waiting for a response your heart tensed up ever so slightly, but when you heard a gruff “Fine” coming from the Fatui, your heart soared in excitement. 

“We will avenge your little fruit stand at dawn tomorrow. Mondstadt’s knights will know terror,” she muttered before walking away and signaled for the rest of the Fatui to do the same. 

Kaeya had immediately let go of you and the strong winds of Mondstadt had struck you ice cold. He gave you a flirtatious smile as he held your chin with his index finger and thumb close to your lip.

“You did a great job playing my significant other there, sweetheart,” he continued to call you these playful names that made your heart twinge in confusion and embarrassment.

Realizing his skills when it came to acting, you wondered if the affection that he gave you from time to time as well as this very moment was all a ruse. 

Giving him a sullen face you slowly pulled his hand away from your chin, backing away from him and walking back to the headquarters.

“Hm? What seems to be the matter? Nothing Captain Kaeya can’t fix,” he ran to stand next to you, but you looked away from him, terrified of what he could do next to you. 

“It’s nothing, Kaeya,” you wave him off. “Nothing you can do about it, anyways...,” you mutter the last line to yourself that he had barely heard with his own ears. 

It was difficult for Kaeya to help you in such a depressed state that he had, and thought going about it by giving you space. After what had happened in the past, he preferred for you to have your moments before he’d butt in himself. 

He distracted the thoughts by letting the Knights of Favonius know about the incident and prepare for a raid at dawn. However, when leaving Jean and Lisa had noticed something drastically different about Kaeya’s behavior; a worried look on his face. 

Dismissing it as part of the Fatui’s attack, he had never really felt total fear towards them and knew how easily he could take a couple of their members head on. However, he found himself checking up on you and did not dare step in the bar he loved, knowing that because of his actions he would be the last thing that you would want to see. 

In the mean time you spent a lot of time at the tavern, letting the bard’s music and lively atmosphere drown out your overthinking thoughts, as you waited till the next morning until you had to face the mysterious Kaeya yet again. 

With a sword ready in hand and the other guards at the front of the headquarters, you watched the Fatui approach and soon became no match for the Knights of Favonius, countering the surprise raid with ease.

At first your swordsmanship kept you protected, but upon seeing Kaeya in a distance, you fumbled consistently. Forcing yourself to get back up in battle, he looked back at you, too. Worrying for your safety, a feeling that you would have last expected from him. 

As you took on more of the Fatui agents than you can handle, one had crept up behind you, and aimed a blade towards your throat. 

Fortunately, Kaeya was quick enough to act and knocked down the Fatui with a couple of blows, aiming a sword at their neck. 

“Y/N! Quit slacking off you could have died there,” his normal cunning attitude and mocking remarks seemed to have lessened tenfold.

“What, are you acting about caring about my wellbeing now?” you were fueld with anger as you let it out on the enemy attacking, knocking them out in a similar fashion with swords clashing the blades of the Fatui. 

“Well-” Kaeya parried the shots being thrown at him. “-If you consider me hiding what I’ve felt for so long acting, then I must be the most talented actor in-” he was cut off by quick attacks from the enemy. “-all of Teyvat!”

You were shocked at your statement, and in the heart of battle, yours filled with adrenaline from Kaeya’s words. “Wait-” you continued to battle those in front of you, swiftly putting them out of their misery with quick blows to free room to talk to Kaeya. “-Wait, why now?” you panted out with tire. 

He let out a cocky laugh as he took on more of the agents. “Doesn’t matter when. Doesn’t matter if you thought I was faking it before. What matters is-” he grunted out of pain when he was forcefully hit at his side. “-That I got the message across, right?”

After hours of relentless battle he finally doubled down and the Fatui had retreated, leaving you with minor injuries but Kaeya taking on more than needed. 

Sitting at his side on the battlefield, you grabbed medicine that was strapped to your waist. “Lift up your shirt,” you disregarded what he had said earlier in fear for his wellbeing. 

“Are you sure you don’t need that medicine yourself, Y/N? You’re face is awfully red,” he outstretched a shaky hand to cup your face with a wry smile, his eye shimmering as he stared at you.

Your heart thumped rapidly when combining his previous words of confession and his present actions now. You froze in time to Kaeya’s cold touch and let him be in your company this time around.

“Shut it, Captain Kaeya,” you took out the medicine and poured it over his toned chest, hands shaking from the flustered feeling you had throughout.

“Ouch, who knew that someone without a cryo vision could be so cold to a person with one?” he winced at the stinging medicine covering his wound, and in return you held his hand cupping your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. “It’ll only hurt a for a little bit longer before it heals, if it actually hurts at all,” you stubbornly let out. 

He let out another weak laugh. “I wish I was faking it this pain this time around, Y/N, but everything I’ve said on this battlefield is the truth.”

You were silent at this point, working diligently to bandage his wound.

“Holding you had felt like I cradled the world in my arms, even if it was a temporary moment, dear,” his fingers tapped gently on your cheek. “Even if the idea of us being wed was fake, the feeling that significant others would have for each other felt real to me.”

You smiled at his notion, staring into his glimmering eye with the weak smile and face caked in scars and dirt. 

Holding him close to you, you could not help but smile back.

“And you promise that you aren’t faking it this time?” you asked.

He laughed again, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles gently. “I promise what I feel is real, Y/N, and I’d love to show you for whatever days in Teyvat we have left.” 

And in that moment, that fog of mystery unveiled Kaeya’s true nature and colors in front of you in a moment of vulnerability, one you wanted to cherish every moment and label as real. 

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

[smallraindrops-blog]

To Have And To Hold

Hypnos x female!reader

Word count: 2k

Part One

Warning:War, dead people and children, Ares ( let be real, that guy is a warning all on his own) kissing and sexual themes, no beta

The shade that came in the library was polite but clearly overwhelmed from their work. They handed over the letter quickly and gave a bow before hurrying out.

You pushed aside your own paperwork, "Lady Athena?" You asked out loud to no one but yourself. You typically only get letters from your sisters or parents.

You carefully opened it, a sense of dread unfolded in your chest.

'Dear Y/N.

I wish I was writing to you in better times. Unfortunately, I must keep this letter short. I'm in need of your help, desperately.

I can explain more when I see you. When you reach the surface, call for me.

Athena'

You ran out the library, uncaring about leaving scrolls on the tables.

You made it to the East wing and you glanced to Achilles, only to see empty space. You paused for a second then you heard it, crying and countless voices together begging and yelling.

What in the world...

"Silent!" Hades boomed and a harsh bark followed. The house quieted down, only soft sobs remained.

You walked in slowly and couldn't stop the gasp. You had never seen so many shades all in one place and you even saw some standing in the Styx.

You saw Achilles in front of Hades' desk, facing the crowd. His normally kind face was cold and his grip on the spear was tight.

Hades stood up, "Silent." He repeated. Queen Persephone and Zagreus stood next to Hades, both their faces unable to hide the worries they felt.

"Thanatos, please continue."

"Lord Ares has gone mad with war lust. Hermes nor I can keep up with the amount of dead. And as I speak, Ares and Eris are tearing through another city." Thanatos' tone was hard and flat.

You swallowed, unable to believe what you were hearing.

"What has Zeus done to step in?" Hades asked warily.

"He has yet to do so, lord Hades." Thanatos replied.

Hades opened his mouth but a shade broke past the group. "Please, you have to help us! They will follow us even in death, it won't ever stop!"

"Didn't I tell you to be silent!? And Ares can't come here, no matter how hard he tries."

The shade shook their head, "No, not him-" the other shades joined, all begging and more crying started.

"Be quiet, all of you!"

Zagreus spoke up, "Wait, we should hear them out, Father."

"No. We have bigger problems." Hades rubbed his forehead."Thanatos, give this letter to Hermes. The sooner we can put Ares and his friend down the better."

There was a moment of silence after Thanatos vanished.

You took a shaky breath, and looked around to find Hypnos. You heard him speak in his cheerful voice before you saw him, "Well, alrighty. That sure was something, huh? Line up! Come on everyone, and mind the little ones."

He wasn't in his usual spot but a little past Hades' desk along with Dusa and several workers shades. You walked over, "Hypnos."

He looked up at your voice, his eyes widened in alarm. He dropped the quill and paper he was holding. "How much of that did you see?" He whispered.

"Enough." You whispered back. "I got a letter from Athena, they need my help."

"What?" He asked in a strangled whisper. You showed him the letter. He read the letter once, his face blank.

You waited for a response, frowning at his unreadable face.

Then he folded up the letter calmly as he met your gaze, "No. Absolutely not. I will not allow you to go." He said softly.

"Hypnos!" You replied, no longer staying quiet. "You have no right to tell me what to do." You reached for the letter but he held it out of reach.

"Blood and Darkness." Hades cursed. "We do not need your marital disputes in the great hall especially now. Leave."

You flushed, realizing you could feel eyes on you. Hypnos grabbed your arm gently, "Oh of course, Lord Hades. Don't worry, I will be back shortly after I handle this." Hypnos said pleasantly, " What was the saying? Happy wife, happy life? But hey why am I telling you? You know all about that."

Hades glared down at the both of you and you desperately wished for a hole to swallow you whole.

Before you could apologize for Hypnos' lack of tact, he vanished you along with him.

You looked around, trying to push away the nausea. Thankfully he had chosen to reappear just outside of your bedchambers.

You turned on him, "For blood's sake what was that about Hypnos?"

"Can we talk in your chambers? Or the library, whichever one you want." He asked, sounding guilty.

Good, you thought viciously.

"Oh so I do get a say in something then? Or will you be 'handling' that too?" You snapped at him. You pushed out your door, not bothering to invite Hypnos in. You stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed.

Hypnos closed the door behind him quietly. "I'm sorry but Lady Athena will have to do without your help if it means you have to go to the surface. I cannot let you go up there."

"That is my decision, not yours." You shook your head. "I have to go."

"Didn't you hear how Ares has gone mad? That guy is crazy on a good day, let alone whatever is happening now." Even with the guilty look on his face, Hypnos shook his head. "You have never even seen a war, have you? It's not a pretty sight."

"We don't even know what she needs help with, I doubt I will be anywhere near a battlefield. She knows I'm not a warrior."

"The fact you have to even be on the surface is too much." Hypnos floated over to you but didn't touch you, his hands spread out. "War isn't predictable. One person's decision can cost other people's their lives, well beyond the battlefields. And it never ever ends up the way leaders plan for it to."

You stayed quiet, looking down at the ground. You couldn't get your mind off the letter even with Hypnos’ reasoning. Athena wouldn't ask for anything unless she truly needed it.

"Y/N, please look at me." Hypnos lifted your chin up, your eyes flicked toward his before you made yourself look away.

"I would give you anything if it made you happy, you know that." Hypnos spoke carefully. "You can help Lady Athena, I'm not saying you can't but you need to do it from here. There is no point in risking your safety."

Hypnos waited for you to respond only to sigh when you shook your head, too upset to speak.

"Send a letter to Athena, and I will help out too, love. Okay?" Hypnos' eyes studied your face.

"Can't you just come with me?" You asked, hating how your voice cracked at the end. "If you're so worried."

"No, I am needed here and I'm doubtful I would be a welcomed face." Hypnos gave a slight grin, "Besides, I already won the last war when I got you as my wife."

he looked at you so softly, it made you blush. You pulled away, you will not let Hypnos sweet talk you. “Oh, yes. Just remind me of another time I was mad at you. That will work out for you.”

“I-i just-“ Hypnos chuckled but he was clearly unamused. “Obviously I have a case of foot in mouth. Y/N, I just want you to be safe. Am I wrong to want my wife to be safe?”

You glared at him, “Well obviously not, Hypnos. Don’t play that game with me.”

Hypnos glared back, both of you silently glaring at each other. Hypnos broke first and rubbed his eyes with a frustrated sigh. You resisted the urge to walk over and smooth away the weight you could see on him.

When Hypnos looked back at you, you didn’t expect the serious look in his face, “Just promise me something.”

“What?” You watched him warily, not used to this reaction from him.

“You won’t try to leave without me. If- and that is a very big if by the way, we have to go up to help whoever, you won’t go where I can’t keep an eye on you.” Hypnos said, his golden eyes stayed on your face.

“I’m not a child, Hypnos.” You muttered.

“I know that. But you have never been in a war and I have and I know how ugly it gets. I hope I am overreacting, really I am.” Hypnos came closer again, “Just promise me. Please.”

“I-i but.. Fine. Okay, I promise.” You said. You glanced at Hypnos and upon seeing the relief on his face, you turned away, guilt

“Just… give me some alone time, okay?” You said, unable to hide how upset you were.

He was quiet for a few minutes. “Alright. I will have tonight’s dinner sent for you. I will check in on you later, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, staring at the wall. "Thank you."

Hypnos looked at you a moment, a hand reached up for a second before falling back down, before he left.

You pushed down the guilt you felt, Hypnos was the one in the wrong for not helping you.

You paced around the room, biting your lip nervously as you tried to think.

You couldn't take the path Zagreus does, and you weren't sure if he would or could help you. You didn't have a boat and from the looks of it Charon wouldn't have space anyway.

And Cerberus was…

You groaned and covered your face.

You were efficiently trapped, the realization caused the fading anger at Hypnos to come roaring back.

You sat down on the bed when a knock came. "Y/N? C-can I come in?" Dusa's voice was normally a welcomed thing but right now you don't think you can stomach being around others.

But it wasn't Dusa' fault you told yourself.

You opened the door and she floated in. "Are you okay? I kinda saw what happened in the hall."

You shook your head and explained everything. You reached for the letter only to remember that Hypnos still had it. "Blood and darkness Hypnos." you muttered. You couldn't believe he was treating you like a child.

Dusa was quiet for a few moments. "Well actually, I might know a way. It is the same way Queen Persephone took to return here. She doesn't have to travel the same way everyone else does."

Hope lifted in your chest. "Do you know if Cerberus would be there?"

"Far as I know, he wouldn't be near there since Queen Persephone is here." Dusa frowned with worry, "But you know how dangerous it is, right? Meg told me stories about the last war and the kind of people she had to punish for their acts during it."

"I have to go. My family could be at risk. Can you cover for me? Just a little bit."

Dusa stared at you. "Just promise me you will be careful okay? And if anyone asks, even Hypnos, I won't lie okay?"

You hugged her. "Thank you!"

"Just please be careful." Dusa muttered.

~~

The snow was still there, unmarked and soft. You took a breath, the sharp, freezing air hurt your lungs but it felt amazing.

You weren’t sure if the hallway Queen Persephone took would work for you but thankfully it had just been an unusually long and winding hallway.

When you got back, you were planning on telling Zegreus about it. Let's see Hades do anything about that.

You watched the snowfall, gentle and pure, with a sigh. You tugged your travel cloak tighter, the last time you wore this was during your wedding.

It wasn't the same place you and Hypnos had gotten married. But seeing the snow brought memories. Of the fear, of how you almost stumbled over your vows, how Hypnos' hand holding yours was the only warm thing you could feel. Of the nervous yet serious look on his face when you both said the final vow…

You shook your head, finding your resolve. You glanced back at the opening, guilt rising in you.

And hurt.

You thought Hypnos would understand, it was your family. He was normally so big on family, bending over backward for his own family. You thought he would support you. You swallow and with one last look back, you step out into the snow.

It took you a moment but with the deepest breath you could take, you called for Athena.

Almost immediately, a warm golden light filled the field.

Athena was just tall and golden as you remembered. She didn't smile but she took your hands in her own, "Thank you. I must admit I was worried you wouldn't come."

You decided not to mention your disagreement with Hypnos as you tried to give a comforting smile.

"Of course, I am more than happy to help. But I am a bit lost on what I could offer for you." You watched her sighed and moved away.

"What I am about to ask of you is no small favor. If you wish to have no part of this, I will understand." Athena said gravely.

You nodded. "Let me decide."

After she studied your face for a moment, Athena spoke.

[teawaffles]

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 8 / End

“Hey, Helena. In the middle of the game, you suddenly went along with that guy and disappeared — where on earth did you go?”

“Hmm…… Explaining it would be a real pain. Just imagine what you like.”

The girl groaned in annoyance. “……Can’t you just tell me? Meanie.”

After the game had ended with the blue team’s victory, as he observed Helena and her former friend’s conversation from a distance, Bond spoke to William.

“Those two sure have gotten closer, haven’t they?”

William answered with a smile.

“Perhaps it’s like how after rain, comes fair weather.” [1]

“Though for the two of them, it must’ve been like a bolt from the blue, huh.”

After that modest exchange of proverbs, Bond wondered aloud.

“Moran-kun and I haven’t heard the details, but for now, can we consider the case closed without incident?”

“Yep; the perpetrator has been caught, and the threat to Helena and her family has been effectively eliminated.”

This time, the plan had been set up after William and the others leveraged their intelligence network to identify the criminal, and then shared the information they’d obtained with Helena. From his profile of Andy, William had read the man’s every move, then intentionally left him at large in order to catch him in the act — that was the entire flow of it. Hence, apart from the key players involved, the others had been told nothing more than that they would be “using the game to capture the criminal”.

William had put an end to it all. After hearing his report, Bond seemed satisfied.

“That’s great. To be honest, ever since I got caught up in the game, I’ve been thinking a little — that maybe, I haven’t actually done anything useful today.”

“Far from it; on the contrary, it’s because you took the game so seriously, that Andy dropped his guard and carried out his plan to frame Mr Kevin.”

“——So you’re saying the match between me and the old geezer was well and truly a serious one.”

Placing a hand on William’s shoulder, Moran joined the conversation. Behind him stood Jack and Albert.

Jack sighed in consternation.

“You’re quite persistent, you know. It was just one hit.”

Yet Moran was undeterred.

“Still, it’s a fact that I scored that hit. If it was a real bullet, you would’ve been a goner.”

“Wasn’t it because it wasn’t live that it managed to hit me……?”

Jack smiled wryly, and Albert spoke up in a cool voice.

“Furthermores, it’s an undeniable fact that you got hit right after. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”

“Ugh.”

Albert had been spot on, and the corners of Moran’s mouth twitched as he fell silent.

Having watched their exchange with amusement, William thanked them once again.

“I’m truly grateful to all of you for lending a hand today. Truthfully, it pained me to have involved everyone in catching just one criminal.”

Hearing that, Moran clapped him on the shoulder.

“As I said, we had fun, so it’s alright. In fact, it’s been a long time since we’ve fought one another all out, so I’m grateful for that.”

“Indeed: we’re also pleased to have had a showdown with Colonel Moran.”

“Now hold on just a minute. Don’t think you’ve won just because you caught me off guard once.”

Even now, Moran was still snapping at Albert. Seeing that, Jack spoke up in a grave tone.

“On the battlefield, even the slightest carelessness will cost you your life, Moran.”

“I’m well aware of the basics! Don’t give me those useless platitudes!”

Just like that, William and the others were engaged in an amicable conversation, when the parent and child who’d been the central figures of this case called out to them.

“Everyone: thank you very much for today.”

Having wrapped up her conversation with her friend, Helena thanked them in a light-hearted tone that was distinctively hers. Continuing from where she’d left off, Kevin stood beside his daughter as he gave the entire Moriarty household a deep bow.

“How can I ever thank you enough for this……?”

On behalf of all of them, Albert spoke.

“We have simply acted according to our sense of justice. In particular, Mr Kevin, I would like to apologise for not informing you of our plans.”

Kevin hastily shook his head.

“No no no; Lord Albert, you have nothing to feel guilty about: you all saved Helena’s and my lives.”

“That’s right — we’re really grateful for that. We’ll probably never forget this kindness.”

Upon hearing that inappropriate cockiness, Kevin admonished her at once.

“What’s this pomposity towards the people who’ve helped you? Also, you should be saying ‘definitely’ rather than ‘probably’……. Apologies; to have such an unpleasant exchange at this time…”

He bowed repeatedly as he said that. But suddenly, as he remained in a bow, Kevin looked up and asked a question.

“……Come to think of it, what happened to that man? It seems the other participants haven’t noticed anything at all.”

He was concerned about Andy Krueger’s fate. He had punched the living daylights out of the man, so much so he’d been knocked unconscious — that much Kevin himself knew, but as William and the others had taken care of the aftermath, he hadn’t heard the details of what happened after that.

“He’s now on one of our carriages, with Louis and Fred keeping an eye on him,” replied William. “We felt there was no need to blindly call in the police and spoil the fun.”

“I see……. Then, will he be taken to the police after this?”

Handing a criminal over to the police. That was what common sense dictated, but William deliberately tilted his head with a troubled expression.

“As much as we would like to, ……the nobility of this country wield an outsize influence, hence there is a concern that even judicial rulings will be twisted in their favour. If that were to happen, both of you may end up in harm’s way again. As such, we shall engage in careful negotiations, with the aim of preventing such things from ever happening again.”

A calm smile rose to William’s face, and unconsciously, Kevin gulped.

Normally, negotiating with a criminal outside the authority of the state would be out of the question. But William’s smile held a power that seemed almost divine, erasing all such doubts.

How would they deal with Andy after this? It was probably wiser not to probe into that. Anyway, it was true that they had saved both their lives. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The unfathomable nature of these young men made Kevin’s blood run cold. Then, William changed the topic.

“So, what are your plans from here on?”

Kevin lowered his gaze a little, and met his daughter’s eyes as she stood beside him.

“Just like before, I’m going to spend time with my children. As for the plans for the new store…… To be honest, I’m worried about going it alone, but I intend to do my best anyway.”

“Hmm — I have no idea how to manage a store, but my brother and I will be supporting Mr Kevin together. Even though I don’t look like it, I’m good with housework and stuff, you know.”

“……Is that so?”

At their words, William nodded, and a strange silence settled between the two parties.

Kevin and Helena were trying to appear relieved at having overcome great danger, but even so, it must’ve been an immense shock to learn that a person important to both of them had been murdered. That emotional wound had yet to heal, and now that fact revealed itself in the form of silence.

“U-Um……”

In a hurry, Helena tried to find the words to dispel the unpleasant atmosphere. Right then, Kevin raised his voice a little as he made an announcement.

“In any case, we’ll be alright. Somehow, I believe we’ll overcome this tragedy and move forward.”

Helena nodded along with his words, and William broke into a gentle smile.

“Indeed. I shall be praying for your family’s bright future.”

After those modest words of encouragement, William held out a clenched fist towards Kevin.

“Also, that punch was very satisfying.”

“Definitely. You socked him with all you had — I’ve seen you in a new light.”

Helena did a swift one-two as she shadow-boxed, and Kevin ruffled his hair in embarrassment.

“It was unbecoming of me. Though, I don’t regret it one bit.”

“Since you had the courage to pull that off, I’m sure you’ll do just fine from here on.”

“I’m honoured to hear that. Well then, I hope we meet again someplace else.”

As Kevin bid them farewell, Helena stood up straight and looked at William and the others in turn.

“To everyone in the Moriarty household: today, we are truly in your debt. We’ll never forget this kindness, definitely not.”

With an uncharacteristically polite tone, Helena expressed their gratitude once again, and both father and daughter left the scene with peaceful expressions.

As he sent them off, the eldest brother asked his younger sibling a question.

“——Well now, is this truly the end of it, William?”

A hint of the Lord of Crime — who was striking terror across the country — revealed itself in William’s expression as he spoke.

“Of course not: we still have the finishing touches left.”

At those words, the entire Moriarty household smiled in unison.

T/N: Helena’s story isn’t over just yet — there’s one final piece of the puzzle, and it’s a big one! Stay tuned x)

Footnotes:

[1] This is the literal translation of the proverb 雨降って地固まる — essentially, it means that good things do come out of bad things.

Translator’s notes

The Moriarty household

I’ve translated the phrase モリアーティ家 as “the Moriarty household” when it is used to address everyone in the Moriarty organisation, since “the Moriarty family” suggests that only the three brothers are being referred to.