#so he would never expect something as being spared or given mercy

[ph0enix-12]

Ichorverse- Chapter 2

~ Flaming perseverance ~

It’s Killer’s turn this time.

The amount of trouble this chapter gave me isn’t even funny anymore, I was stuck on it for a good 3 months and in those months I managed to write up to chapter 8.

So, everybody, THANK YOU @thevoidfairy . She helped me write a good chunk of this ch you will see a lot of author notes in this one, because I am still very salty.

CW cults, burning at the pire, burns

<- Chapter 1 . Chapter 3 ->

He was given quite the weird name. Afterall, not everyone names their kid “Killer”.

He didn't have parents, most children in the colony didn't and they may never know why that was.

He grew up like any kid in a cult, working to kill gods, of course. (note the author's sarcasm)It was a dumb and unrealistic expectation to give to a bunch of orphaned children, everyone knows that gods cannot be killed. And yet, the elders of Killer’s colony were certain one of the children would be able to with enough training and finally gain favor from the Titans, ancient creatures from the first generation of the world.

The child would only learn later in his adult life the truth about the treacherous Titans, truths the elders refused to see even when right in front of them. Their hatred for the six gods was blind. No matter how much good they did for the world, for the elders, they were only golden traitors that destroyed the old world.

All children with the “destiny” to dethrone the gods were kept away from the rest of the colony, hidden in tents close to the wooden wall so that others would not distract them.

Yet, they couldn't keep KIller’s curiosity at bay for long.

As soon as the mortal child could walk, he found ways to sneak away to the wall, built out of full and sturdy tree trunks that Killer could climb like an agile cat, he was small enough anyway. He would climb up the wall and let out a gasp every time he saw the far away capital and the giant palace on top of the sea, he was mesmerized by the white waves crashing gently against the rock and protecting that marvelous place.

Of course, seeing the outside was strictly forbidden, and yet he couldn't help showing the other children as well.

They were found one night as they climbed back down. They were terrified as they stood in front of the elders, knowing punishment would not be merciful even if they were children. Something happened to Killer that night, something burned inside him and for some reason- as his soul shaped on the outside of his chest- he stepped forward, taking the blame himself for the whole ordeal.

His soul burned bright in the shape of a target, making the elders gasp in shock.

This, somehow, spared him from the harsh flogging ahead, even if what would happen in the following years would be an unofficial and somehow worse punishment.

He was moved away from the other children and trained personally by the elders.

He was their answer, the one that will finally take down a god. And not just that. Killer was expected to find heretics and bring them to the pire

Killer loathed being alone, he couldn't take it for much longer. He would spend his days alone, watching the other members walk by, listening to everything they said. He wished he could talk with them, wished so desperately to have connection…but the most interaction he was allowed was to drag the heretics to the pire. (What joyful conversations)

He hated it, he hated with all of his fucked up soul the way his people screamed in the flames, the way the others looked at him, knowing anyone of them could be next if Killer decided so.

He felt himself start to break over the years, one death after another, making him wonder at night whether what he was doing was right. He began to wonder if killing the gods was worth it, or if it was a delusion made by man. He wasn’t sure…if he could take it anymore.

Only a year later, he hit the final straw. One of the children he had first looked over the wall with, had claimed the cult leader was crazy, that the gods can’t be killed. Killer shook, looking down at the ones he had called a sibling and they looked back, eyes filled with rage, they yelled at him, how he was a hypocrite for doing this, he had been the first of them to look over the wall.

He didn’t say anything back then, he knew they were right, he was the one who should be burning, not them. He couldn’t watch as they burned at the pire, knowing their eyes were boaring into him as they died.

That night, he didn’t sleep (not that he did most nights) but this night was different. He wasn’t laying in bed, he was outside looking up at the stars ...the ones the gods made, well, Nightmare made, the god who was first on the list, who he was to end. He...wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

When he looked at those little lights in the sky, he felt calm, happy even, something that was rare for Killer, actually, feeling much of anything was pretty darn rare for him. After everything he has done, he didn’t feel like he deserved to feel, but the stars...they whispered otherwise. Calling him to do something drastic, something that would change his life…to become one of the heretics he had helped burn.

Not like he had anything to lose anyway, the other members of the cult didn’t see him as a person, they saw him as a thing who would kill them or their children if they stepped out of line. The elders saw him as a thing, something for them to use to get what they wanted. None of these people cared about him, nobody loved him here.

All he was, was a thing.

That’s all he was, all he ever would be, he didn’t want to live like this anymore, so there really wasn’t a reason not to finally tell the elders what he thought. The morning after he saw the stars, Killer decided would be his last. He knew he was going to burn that night, but it didn’t stop him from screaming at the elders in front of everyone at meal time, telling them they were fucking crazy, how no one could killer the gods, not even one of them. Like his sibling had done.

He didn't even really have proof- but how can someone that made something as beautiful as the stars, ever be what they described?

Of course, they didn’t particularly like that, having to get some of the men to drag him off to the pire. But it was Killers last day, he had no intention of going out quietly, yelling about how everyone was delusional, scratching, biting and clawing even while he was being restrained. And like the many times he had seen before, he was hoisted up on the pire, people throwing logs under him quickly even as he kept clawing and screaming every profanity he had in his vocabulary. However, he wasn’t immediately burned, no, he was left on the pire until the evening.

During that time he was just...alone like always, no one looked at him, no one spoke to him, but he was used to that.

Just before evening, one of the elders approached him with a frown, glaring up at the pire he was tied to. Killer couldn’t stare at him in the eyes, knowing the look the elders were giving him. One of disappointment and hatred.

It was almost like a dream when people started to gather around, it was so unreal to not be in the crowd, not being the one looking up at the pire, but the one looking down at the people. It was all hazy for Killer after that, the fire was lit. It slowly crept up around him, nipping his legs, then arms. And then all he felt was hatred, pure and unbridled.

He didn’t hurt anymore, the smell of his burning bones no longer affecting him. Anger filled him, and it started to drip from his sockets, his eyelights disappeared within his hate, his morality disappearing in that moment.

Rage and pain flowed from his eyes and he tore his way out of the ropes, the fire still burning his clothes as he lunged at the elder who looked at him earlier, tearing him apart as the others ran. He tore into anyone who dared approach him, just like they had taught him to do.

And in that moment he was no longer just some toy, the flames bending to his will and spreading to burn everything, just as they burned him. The whole village turned to a inferno of flames and screams.

The things that the cult members had said about him were true now, he wasn’t a person, he was a force of nature, inevitable as their death. Well, they were the ones that asked for a murder machine. But you can’t live in the flames forever, at some point you shall burn as well, and Killer was no exception to that rule. He felt the pain again, and his screams joined the ones of his once family, who had cast him aside.

He ran blind into the night, under the stars that had encouraged this, he stumbled, leaving the fire behind, leaving himself behind. The boy who had bent to the will of others died in that fire and now a man walked out, one who would never let himself be taken advantage of again.

__________

Somehow, he wasn’t dead by the time he got to the local town, stumbling his way into the first building he saw and pretty much immediately everyone freaked out, (what else would you do when you see a half dead man walk into your favorite restaurant afterall?) They got him bandaged up the best they could and tried to heal him as well. But Killer was stubborn now, stubborn as a mule, and he left once his wounds were wrapped, not accepting anything from anyone.

He didn’t need charity.

Luck however, was sprinting away in the other direction of Killer as fast as possible, leaving him to fend for himself in a world where he didn’t know the rules. He had no idea what coins were, he didn’t know what any of this shit was. So he did the only thing he knew how to do, sneak around and take things.

Like in his village though, there were a lot of guards here, always looking and watching for people like him. Soon enough he figured why not get his hands on one of their weapons then, to defend himself (because he obviously wasn't JUST curious, of course) . Turns out, stealing from a royal guard isn’t a good idea at all (who would have guessed, Killer) a miscalculation on Killer's side, the guard quickly noticed and he was promptly cuffed and dragged away. He swore he could hear lady Luck snickering at him.

Now, in a cell and very much angry at everything once again, he tried to get out, wiggling the bars, hitting them, he even bit them at one point, but nothing worked- until he remembered he could use magic (what a genius, people). Deciding it was his best bet, he summoned a few flames and threw it at the bars, surprisingly, it worked and the bars melted because of the heat. He smiled smugly to himself, squeezing through the hole he made to make a run for it.

He wasn't sure what to do now as he looked around, cursing at his burns again, so he walked up the stairs he found in a hall he found himself in….and kept walking up the stairs….and more stairs…. Why were there so many fucking stairs.

He decided then, he didn’t like stairs. But as he walked, his angry mumbling was interrupted by their ending (about time). He smiled even more smugly, he had gotten out and no one had even noticed! He walked a bit more, getting distracted by how big the place was, wandering his way straight into- the king himself.

He looked at the king and the king looked at him, both slightly startled to see the other.

Killer backed up a little, almost falling down the stairs behind him. The king backed up as well, almost screaming out for help. Killer practically jumped, closing his mouth just in time, “no no no!” He pleaded, looking scared, “please don't yell!”

The king smacked his hand away, almost looking offended. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't “ he crossed his arms. Killer wanted to reply in a snarky way, since the king was giving him attitude, but he was petrified for a moment.

This was Nightmare. The king- no, the god he grew up learning about. He had to get this right the first time “I uh-” black tears ran down his cheeks as he thought up a totally clever excuse, “I am the cleaning lady-?”

The king looked at him unamused and completely stone faced. “Really? That is the best you had?”

Killer shrugged, “I gave it my best shot. You have to admit, it was pretty good for a desperate attempt.” The king still looked unamused, ready to call for the guards or Horror- but then his eye was caught by the burns on Killer’s arms..and his soul melted a little.

The god sighed defeated “...just come in”

~~~~~

I am very very salty still even if I got it done, Killer will probably be bullied often by me because of this stupid chapter.

Once again THANK YOU FLORA

(Killer doesn’t get an illustration cause he gave me problems and I’m salty)

[imagionationstation]

Hey again…I have more ideas for the 2012 Donnie raised by BM au thing, (If I’m being annoying w/ this tell me to stop and this’ll be my last ask about it.)

Hey again…I have more ideas for the 2012 Donnie raised by BM au thing, (If I’m being annoying w/ this tell me to stop and this’ll be my last ask about it.)

Rich, self-centered, spoiled brat who’s never been told no. Ever.

he’s rude, thinks (knows) he’s smarter than everyone else, doesn’t expect consequences for his actions, expects to be waited on hand and foot (probably cuz he has been by hotel staff), etc etc

the whole nine yards. He enjoys the battle nexus fights. He finds them a bit inhumane but…why should he care? They don’t impact him at all.

He does get better after meeting Leo and Splinter and stuff.

Idk, I think it’d be funny lol

— ♊️

(Sorry this took so long!)

Relates back to this Ask which has links to other Asks.

Rude? Yes. Stubborn? Yes. A bit narcissistic? Unfortunately.

Incapable of understanding that the world does not exist to serve his every whim? For a while, yes.

Well, he has been told no. But only by one person. Big Mama.

His entire life it was made very clear who controlled everything. His meals, his attire, his routine, his likes and dislikes, his studies and his hobbies- everything is a gift, and he’s eternally grateful.

Why shouldn’t he be? She’s given him everything.

He deserves as much as she’s willing to offer.

It makes him feel small, sometimes. Being so utterly dependent.

Donnie makes up for his insignificance by leaning on the one thing that she can’t control. His intelligence. His genius.

His ego is his wall against the insecurities that she’s programmed in. Something else that she intended, because very few people can tolerate him and his pride. And even less people can understand his interests and his rants. He is unintentionally isolating himself.

And that’s just fine with her.

See, now this is where our opinions separate.

I can’t imagine any kind of AU where a 2012Donnie is chill with a murder arena. I could be convinced that he’d kill because of loyalty or to protect his family, or even just because he sees it as the only way to survive. But this is senseless.

It’s a place where a great number of Yokai walk in while expecting most of them not to walk out. It’s a choice to walk into a situation where the rewards are a heavy payment and a champion title, and the price is their life. He doesn’t understand. There are so many other ways to get that kind of cash. Stealing, for instance. Fraud, with the right skills. Plain old scamming gets the goods.

He knows how smart he is, but he thinks this should be basic information. Even the most brainless of oafs know how to steal. So why would anyone in their right mind fight in the arena?

It confuses him. Him, Donatello, the genius. And he hates it.

He’d rather die than admit to anyone that he isn’t able to comprehend. So he simply pretends that he does when he’s working in the arena or brought to be shown off at Mother’s gatherings. He listens to what the others say and he repeats it as best he can.

He just doesn’t see why anyone needs to stoop to that level. It’s gory and disturbing and completely senseless. So much blood is spilled for a crowd of Yokai who cheer when faced with a life lost. It’s horrific, brutal violence that so many Yokai seem to crave.

It’s why he’s so interested in Raphael.

Yes, Raph fights and, yes, he kills- but not once has he needlessly splattered blood. Not once has he ripped a warrior apart or continued to harm after a life is lost. He doesn’t celebrate his victories or appreciate the roars of the crowd. He gives them just enough flair to keep them happy, and he does what he came to do.

It fascinates Donnie to no end. That he’s so much different than the other Yokai. That he doesn’t slaughter merely because he can, sparing his opponents lives even when the crowd calls for a bloodbath. Unless Big Mama gives the word, he is firm in mercy.

He only ever glares out at them, daring a single member to come make him take that life. Donnie secretly thinks that he hates the crowd more than his opponents.

When he fights, he’s holding back. It’s incredible to watch.

A small part of him itches to know what that’s like. To have that much power and skill and to be able to use it without bloodthirsty intent. Was it possible, to learn how to fight, but not become savage?

Of course, he never openly speaks to his Mother about any of this.

Eventually, Splinter and Leo do clear the air. Donnie finally gets to understand why he dislike the arena and why that was actually a good thing. He’s still struggling to understand that his Mother isn’t the saint that she appears, but the answer satisfies both his ego and consciousness. It helps him sleep at night.

At least, it does until he actually fights in the arena.

Then his nightmares take a different turn.

[ninapi]

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Atsumu Version ╝

Premise: Atsumu had never been interested in others, to his family and the village he was a good for nothing, a heartless fox possessed by an evil spirit that feeds on his compassion. But to you, he was just like everybody else. Having someone to listen to you and be by your side sometimes can make a big difference in who you become and what you accomplish in life, and so it was for Miya Atsumu.

Word Count: 3065

Note: you can read the first chapter here 😊

Chapter 2: Attachment

The morning sun was still hidden from everyone, still sleeping like the rest of the villagers, yet Atsumu was climbing a tree in the darkness, ready to visit your quarters.

You weren’t expecting any visitors this early, in fact, you were still very much asleep hidden behind the protective net placed over your bed to defend you from little night crawlers.

Atsumu took a moment to admire your sleeping face before showing himself, your lips slightly parted, warm puffs of air leaving them every other minute; the raise and fall of your chest, the peaceful look on your face, defenseless, at his mercy.

But there were no ill intentions within this man, all he wanted was to love and protect you, to take you away from the ones trying to steal you away, to keep you safe for all eternity.

Of course, Atsumu being Atsumu forgot all about how sick you really were. Days were always so much fun with you around, it was difficult to think you were at all sick. But the consequences of his actions would be brought up until later.

“(Y/N) love, wake up.” whispering quietly by your ear, he patted your leg in hopes of getting you ready for departure in no time.

“Tsumu? Why are you here this early?” hearing your sleepy voice made his heart flip, you were just too cute for him to manage sometimes. In all truth, all he wanted was to lay by your side, let you sleep some more, maybe share a sleepy kiss or two, but there would be time for that later, he needed to get you out of there fast before anyone noticed his presence.

“We are running away. I need you to get ready, tell me what to pack I’ll help you with that.” you grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down with you before he could get up completely. “Why are we running away? Did something happen?” your worried expression made him think on his choice of words, there was still time, he could spare a few minutes to cuddle your worries away. Laying by your side, he pulled you to his chest, his lips pressed to your ear as he murmured his plan only for you to hear.

“I can’t live without you, (Y/N)…the villagers…they all want you to marry either the leader or my brother…I can’t let them take you away from me…”

“And running away is the only option? Does my opinion not matter to them?” the resolution in your voice to choose him over the others took him by surprise, yes, he wanted you to choose him, but always had his doubts about who really held your heart.

“They won’t care, all they want is for you to bring pups to the clans…”

“Can’t we…uhm…do that though?” the bright red flush adorning your adorable cheeks made him soft to his core, his lips not wasting any time by pressing soft tantalizing kisses along your jaw line. “Of course we can baby, and we will…but the elders won’t want me as the father…not many like me around here….”

Understanding the situation fully, you untangled yourself from the warmth of his embrace, getting up from bed, “Then what are we waiting for?” a wild grin appeared on Atsumu’s face, following you with his large bag ready to store your belongings with his own.

“But I don’t own any of this Tsumu, everything was given to me by either the leader or Rin…all I have is my old, ragged kimono, the one you guys found me wearing when I arrived…”

“Then get changed into it, we’ll come around. I might not be as rich as them, but I can certainly get something for you. Let’s go, we need to hurry.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Running through the forest while it was still dark proved to be an issue. To Atsumu it was easy, he had night vision after all, but you just couldn’t see a thing, constantly tripping over rocks.

“Come here, I’ll carry you.” he gathered you in his arms with ease and ran through the trees, past the waterfall that marked the beginning of the land owned by the foxes. Territory beyond that area was unknown to him, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.

There was a rather dry cave by the waterfall, very well hidden from prying eyes, only a few knew of its existence, so he decided to let you rest for a while once you reached it, maybe even spend the night there. Some commodities were hidden there by his younger self, blankets and such available for you to get comfortable and recover from the bumpy trip.

“Are we going to live here, Tsumu?” you were patting the space beside you signalizing for him to sit with you, yet he was still pretty paranoid, looking around and making sure nobody followed you there.

“We can’t this is still within our lands, we should probably go north, I’m not sure where the bakeneko clan gathers, but we could ask around until we find my friend Aran, he will know what to do.” since he didn’t follow your command, you got up from your resting spot, coming behind him to wrap your arms around his waist, breathing in his musky scent combined with the fresh air coming from the waterfall.

“Too bad, this place is nice.” this made Atsumu chuckle, relaxing just a bit and turning around in your embrace to face you.

“You would trade a fancy castle for a dark, cold and empty cave?”

“If the cave comes with you in it, then yes, without a doubt.” An inexplicable feeling rushed through Miya Atsumu at that moment. He wasn’t sure what it all meant but the urge to pounce on you couldn’t be diminished.

To his surprise you were very much willing to see where that would take you two, just as eager as he was to get to know him in a deeper level, to get to understand not just his heart or thoughts completely, but also his body, his deepest desires.

A cave wasn’t the best place for this, mind you.

Thankfully you at least had a blanket to lay on the ground and protect your bare back from the rocks, but being honest, it didn’t matter one bit.

Just having Atsumu taking care of your every need, swallowing your little gasps and cries of pain, turning them into cries of love, was more than one being could take all at once.

Not only your bodies became one that day, but your hearts did too. Understanding beyond comprehension one another.

Your sickly tired body grew stronger the more he stayed within you, the more you shared with the other, the more connected you were, this was not at all related to carnal pleasures, this whole ordeal connected your hearts, mushed them into one, not even words were needed between the two, only gasps and whimpers could be heard echoing in the depths of the cave, a warmth like no other could be felt emanating from your core and had nothing to do with Atsumu’s ministrations…

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Meanwhile, the rest of the boys were going crazy trying to find leads that could help them find you.

Osamu was beyond heartbroken, not being at all useful at the moment.

Rin had gathered all his employees and were searching for you in the forest, while Kita sent his guards to every border of the village to make sure you wouldn’t be able to leave before anyone else noticed. If you placed as much as one foot outside of the village, you would break the elder’s rules and would have to be killed, didn’t Atsumu know about this? He’s usually not thinking about, well, anything, besides himself, of course he didn’t this time around either.

“Was he not thinking of her illness? He’s so stupidly annoying why couldn’t he just play fair like we are all doing?” Suna was fuming at this point, he was certain he’d made a good impression on you, you definitely did on him, he still misses having you around the inn, just like his entire family do as well. They were really hoping you’d be joining their family soon, this was a deep blow for the brunet.

“There are no limits for Atsumu, you know that…” and he was right, whenever he truly wants something, nobody would be able to stop him.

This time though, he had three fierce foxes hunting his tracks, not wiling to sacrifice their future in the slightest.

One of the guards came back looking for his leader, a piece of cloth was found on a dirt path. His words alerted Osamu, who immediately was able to recognize said cloth. “That’s (Y/N)’s hair tie…where did you find this?” he was on the young guard within seconds, sniffing the silky piece of cloth, it reeked of his brother and a sudden surge of violence manifested itself right away. He would pay for this, you better not be hurt otherwise, he would end up being an only child.

“Sir, it was by the dirt path heading north, up the vines.”

“The waterfall…” without further discussions, the three of them made their way through the forest, a new destination set for the pack.

They were all familiar with this place, specially Samu as they used to play around the area a lot during summer months when younger, but he didn’t think his brother would be this stupid and take you to a known place to all his contenders.

Thankfully for them, he was.

Going up the mountain took them a couple of hours, it was in the middle of nowhere and getting lost wasn’t difficult, but Samu could smell you and you were close, his nose took them straight into the entrance of the cave following the delicious scent that he grew to love over time.

What they didn’t expect though was to see you barely covered, floating inside said cave, a shimmery gold glow embracing your exposed skin.

“Damn you Atsumu, what did you do to her?? How is she even floating???” Rin was agitated, pulling on the blanket covering your naked body as to try to get you back to ground level, your lack of clothing now being noticed by the rest.

“Oh no, what did you two do…”

“Ehm…what couples that love each other often do? You know the talk ma’ gave us when we were little…?”

“I know what you did dumbass, I’m asking why??? Why would you do that? She isn’t yours to take like that.” this was the last drop of patience inside of Atsumu, he was still very anxious, even if you clearly chose him, even if you loved him and wanted him just as much as he did. Having to deal with them while being so vulnerable wasn’t ideal.

“She’s not yours either, I didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do herself!” both were now bumping onto each other in anger, steam coming out of both.

“Can you both shut up and help me getting her down??”

“Why is she floating to begin with?”

A valid question at last. “Without going into details…” Atsumu cleared his throat, “…once we were you know ‘done’, she said she was so happy that her chest hurt. At first, I thought she was just being cute as usual, but then she started glowing and seemed to be in some sort of pain, then you arrived…”

The disgusted face the three of them shared was almost comical, yet they were alerted by the dimming glow coming in from your direction, Atsumu receiving you in his arms gently as your body began its decent on its own. “Baby, are you ok? Does it still hurt?” to this you just gave him a tiny nod, resting your head on his shoulder, “I saw someone, a beautiful woman, she held my hand and welcomed me as her family, then she said everything would be ok now…”

“Inari….”

“What?”

“Time will come when the true heir of Inari is born to humans and will bring happiness and prosperity to the village in decline..

That’s the rest of the legend, she must be the one mentioned in it. The true heir.”

The shock was apparent to everyone, not only were you the most wonderful, the prettiest, the loveliest girl around, you were the savior they’ve been waiting for years to come. But not even after this revelation Atsumu could get his eyes away from you, clear confusion and awe painting his handsome face. “Baby, you’re a fox….”  

“What do you mean a fox?” your shaky hand reached the top of your head, caressing one of your newly acquired fuzzy ears.

“The blessing? You got the blessing, babe!!!” he swirled you around, glee making him forget how naked he was and the show he was giving the others by dancing like a dork.

“Wait what? You mean true love? Atsumu is your true love? Why would that be a thing?” Suna didn’t know about your daily rendezvous, didn’t know about how happy he made you, how desperate you both were to be accepted and to be able to live together without being judged by others, without the need of being validated by the elders or your relationship being approved by others.

This is what true love meant, at least to you and Atsumu.

Sacrifices, desperation, attachment.

None of you were confident of being able to live without the other, anything would be better than being apart, anything would be easier, anything would be less painful. Even if that meant leaving family, friends and a home behind. It meant approaching uncertainty with a new extent, finding solutions together, overcoming challenges and even if that called for you to run away, if that would guarantee you’d be together, then so be it. Anything is better than not being able to see each other every day.

The desperation kept growing the more time you spent with the other, lately seeing each other every day wasn’t quite enough, it was almost painful. You wanted him to stay and share your bed at night, just as much as he craved waking up in your arms every morning, he dreamed of having your homecooked meals daily, you dreamed of having him always by your side, to be able to hear his voice at any time you wanted, to have his warmth wrapped around you whenever it was cold.

Attachment was real, and none of you feared it any longer.

Both knew what you wanted for the rest of your lives, and that was to be together.

What did it entitle receiving such a blessing though?

Were you in some sort of contract now? Were you required to meet certain expectations?

“So he won, huh?”

“This wasn’t a game, Suna….Inari, our patron, bestowed upon them the blessing, that means he was accepted as a suitable match for the heir. It is said that she would bring prosperity to our village, and that’s what we all need. In which way or form will that be, I do not know.”

“To me it sounds like we are going to have a big family! Maybe it’s already cooking inside, if you know what I mean~” his annoying smug grin made everyone want to punch him in the gut, yet the loving smile you shared with him left them all speechless. It appears that you were indeed in love with Atsumu, you did want to have his pups, to be his family, it wasn’t just in his head, though, having received such blessing, it should be pretty clear for everyone by now.

“But love, what are we going to do now? Are we going to get some sort of punishment?”

Kita took this as opportunity to jump in the conversation, “Not really, you didn’t leave the village, there’s no need to request a council meeting for this, we’ll just say you went on a picnic. As for Atsumu’s behavior, it was wrong, and he will be punished for attempting to kidnap the princess.”

“He didn’t kidnap me! I came with him willingly and will do it again if I have to!” your angry outburst made Atsumu sigh contently, he knew he’d chosen correctly, this was the woman he fell in love with, someone strong, smart, someone who doesn’t let others step on her, so sexy…

“Whatever you say, (Y/N) but he did get into the castle at dawn and tried to take you out of the village, that could have gotten you killed…”

“But it didn’t. Now, will you stop arguing like I was some sort of price? I made my mind already, and I won’t allow anybody but Miya Atsumu to court me any longer. Now if you excuse us, I need to get dressed…and so do you, my love.” the crazy fit of giggles leaving your lips made Atsumu realized he was butt naked and everyone had seen his manliness fully in display, a weirdly satisfying thought.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You still didn’t know what receiving the blessing really entitled.

You also didn’t know what being the heir of Inari even meant.

There were still many things that needed to be properly addressed and studied carefully.

But what you did know was that the future was bright and full of love, with your man by your side and a belly full of the seed of love, a brand new family had come to the fox village, one that would bring prosperity to the declining population, one that would change the rules for good, one that wasn’t expected at all, yet quickly gained at spot in everyone’s heart.

You were the best part of Atsumu, or that’s what the masses said. But to you, Atsumu was the best part of you.

It didn’t matter at all what others said, true love comes from where you least expect it, and this time it came in strong, to stay.

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Previous Chapter Masterlist

[meefy]

1., 8., 12. and 15. for the oc ask 🔥💅

Doing all the AnS OCs as per your Discord request 🤣

1. When have they been unable to save someone or something no matter how much they tried?

Xyviera: Her parents. She was absolutely helpless as they were being killed and only escaped because the man who organized her parents' deaths wanted her spared. She was weak and has internalized that belief since her family died, so she has worked extremely hard to prevent such a situation from happening again...

Féanne: she wishes she could go back in time and bring her twin brother Feiran to Lyrias with her, rather than leaving him at the knights circle under their elder brother's command. She knows Feiran is miserable there, and had wanted him to choose to come along of his own accord.

Feiran: he wants desperately to stay in Aleyan’s good graces. His family's approval is so important to him, even if he himself is miserable.

Aleyan: wants very much for his younger siblings to stay on their family estate and serve as "good nobles" to inherit their family vineyard. He hates that he cannot control them beyond a certain point...his "love" for them is very twisted.

8. Do they feel glee at the sight of blood?

Xyviera: No, and the smell of it triggers flashbacks for her.

Féanne: she's not squeamish so she's usually rather indifferent, unless it's someone she cares about deeply...she will do a 180 and go into full protective mode for that.

Feiran: hates it and avoids it at all costs. It makes his stomach turn every time he has to wound someone in battle or even just in training. That includes his own blood.

Aleyan: Also indifferent but for the wrong reasons; he's a bit desensitized, unhealthily so, even if he won't admit it. He chooses to say it's part of his "strength" in battle and actively wants his men to share that trait, as unhealthy as it may be.

12. How easy is it for them to get lost in despair?

Xyviera: very. She doesn’t have high self esteem or self worth and it colours her view of the world very easily, especially after her parents' deaths. She has a tendency to overthink and let her thoughts for the future spiral.

Féanne: she is a realist, leaning towards pessimism because it's the environment she grew up in. That said she actively seeks out her happiness and wellbeing and tries not to lose herself to despair easily. She is probably the type to journal out her more negative thoughts and only talk them out later when she decides she'd ready.

Feiran: his coping mechanism is blocking out despair. His hurt over Féanne moving out, his anger at being treated as a pawn by Aleyan, the flicker of hope that he might one day get an education and become a researcher? All shoved away to the back of his mind. He's taught himself not to feel, except for the emotions he thinks are "okay" to feel.

Aleyan: his despair is turned to anger. He's the prime example of never being shown how to express his emotions in a healthy way, so they more or less all get channeled out as rage.

15. How do they kill? Do they try to minimize suffering?

Xyviera: has never killed, but if she had to - would be a clean slice with her knife to the neck. Even if it was someone she hated, she would make it as quick as possible for both herself and her opponent.

Féanne: Not really applicable as she was never trained in combat and doesn't want to (as a side note, she’s moreso frustrated that her brothers were expected to train with the knights circle, but she wasn't even given the choice...).

Feiran: Much like Xyviera, would minimize suffering no matter who it was. Probably says a prayer at his fallen adversary's body after the fact...he's very respectful when it comes to death.

Aleyan: has no mercy but won't toy with his opponents needlessly. In his mind it's all a matter of efficiency. That being said...he does get a certain satisfaction from seeing a particularly powerful opponent fall. This especially if, for example, it's someone he believes "deserves" their fate.

[quietwings-fics]

so don't forget it

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy Ship: Gen (Drax & Gamora, Gamora & Thanos) Additional Tags: Hair Brushing, Past Child Abuse, Trauma, Past Violence, Gamora Needs a Hug (Marvel), POV Gamora (Marvel), Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Pre-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Canon Compliant, Team as Family, Past Character Death, Song Lyrics Wordcount: 1950 Summary:

Murderess and Destroyer, plotting patricide over hair care.

Child of Thanos is a cruelly ironic moniker. Gamora has never been sure if that was the intention or if it was truly how he saw them. What could daughter mean when it came from the mouth of a man who’d starve her for a week for refusing to beat her sister’s brains in and praise her the next when she finally broke and kept hitting and hitting until she couldn’t see the green of her own skin under Nebula’s blood. Thanos said it was love, then, to allow Gamora to be led back to her room (cell) and given a hot meal and not made to stare at Nebula’s body. Gamora spent a long time thinking that she had finally killed Nebula. Some irrational part of her was jealous. There was more spite in her wishes for Nebula to live than sisterly love.

Nebula did not die. She came back with wires and metal holding together the bits of brain Gamora had broken open. For one brief second, all that anger at the idea that Nebula had gotten to escape, even in death, had vanished, and Gamora had just seen her sister.

Nebula had tried to put a knife in her throat. Thanos told Gamora to break her wrist. And she did.

Nebula had hair before. It was as dark as her eyes and long as Gamora’s own, something she was proud of. They must have shaved it when they welded her skull back together. It never grew back, never grew at all ever again. She got crueler about Gamora’s after that, always trying to rip her hair out from the scalp, yanking her head back nearly hard enough to snap her neck before Gamora always got the upper hand. She tore chunks of it out that Gamora had to grow back in uneven chunks. The only mercy she was ever spared was that Thanos never expected his children to be anything less than mangled. Some lost hair was nothing to another victory.

She knows, a very, very long time ago, that someone once brushed her hair and sang to her. (It’s possible she made that up. She wants to believe it’s true, and that’s what matters.) She knows someone gently untangled the knots with a comb and a kind promise that any pain would be over in a moment. She can’t remember if it was her mother or father, or some other relative she doesn’t even know she should remember, or a family friend whose face is long gone from everywhere in the universe. It certainly wasn’t Thanos. The only times he touched her are vivid in her head, the titan’s hand on her shoulder after every won fight, forcing her to look at what she’d done to her opponent while he droned on about survival, or his fist closing like cuffs around her wrist to drag her where he wanted her to go.

The last person she thinks may have touched her hair was Nebula, and Nebula wanted her dead. Not exactly a happy memory.

She’s used to being awake when no one else is. The Milano is small. Maybe that should make it feel cramped, and it does, some days, when Quill is on her last nerve, but mostly it feels alive in a way that every room she’s ever slept in before didn’t. Thanos’s ship was defined by its deferential silence. The Milano in the early hours is filled with snoring and Rocket’s sleep talking and occasionally, music that whoever was last at the helm forgot to turn off before going to sleep. She mouths the words unconsciously as she gets up, press your space face close to mine, love!

Drax is an early riser, too. He probably sleeps as well as she does, considering his whole... everything. So, they’re both running from nightmares, probably, and both pretending that’s not what they’re doing, that being awake at some ungodly hour is the mark of a disciplined warrior and not someone scared of their own memories. She’s walked in on him telling stories to a very interested Groot before. Sometimes, she sits and listens. She never believes a word of Quill or Rocket’s bragging, for her own sanity, but Drax? He could probably tell her he took on an entire army single handedly, and she would believe him.

The little tree is asleep today. Drax stares off into the expanse of space, still and soundless, an unreadable expression on his face. For all that they’re often the only ones who see each other this early, they don’t really talk. The ship fills their comfortable quiet with the low purr of the engine and the inescapable creak of metal that Gamora sometimes convinces herself means the ship is about to be torn apart by its own speed. That allows her to be pleasantly surprised every time when it is not. She drags her fingers through her hair and winces at the pull on her scalp when she snags a knot.

“Do you want assistance?” She tries not to jump at the sound of Drax’s voice, and when she fails, she tries to pretend that she didn’t instinctively reach for where she’d keep a dagger. (She’s stopped carrying any sort of sharp object on her while in the Milano. It cuts down on how many times a day she gets accused of trying to stab someone. Never mind that she hasn’t actually stabbed anyone, except for that one time Quill snuck up behind her and grabbed her shoulder, and besides that was just a tiny stab, and he shouldn’t have been such a baby about it.)

“I don’t need your help,” she says, automatic refrain.

“I know. You’re incredibly skilled.” Drax doesn’t really do compliments. Drax does statements of fact. He continues to look at her, waiting for an answer that isn’t a deflection because he’s not going to register it otherwise. She glances away, at the stars outside, at Groot sleeping in his pot, at a grenade that someone (Rocket) has left out on the table like an explosive breakfast muffin.

“Yes,” she answers, finally. It’s not like anyone else will see. Except maybe Groot, and she gets the feeling that he can be a reliable secret keeper when he wants to be. Drax stands up and goes rustling around in the cabinets for a bit. At this point, she’s not that surprised when he comes up with a comb. It turns out, search around in the Milano long enough, and you can find just about anything. Quill’s a part time space mercenary, part time hoarder. She sits down in front of Drax and realizes that she’s going to have to consciously turn her back to him for this to work.

She can do that. They’re teammates now.

(And there’s still a dozen ways she could kill him, even without turning to face him, she reassures herself.)

She braces herself. The Milano creaks again. Drax’s hand brushes her back as he gathers up the magenta tips of her hair. He starts at the bottom. She stays rigid, waiting for the inevitable yank, but there’s just an insistent sort of pull instead, until the knotted ends are straightened out. Slowly, he moves upwards, the strokes of the comb becoming longer and longer. The Milano creaks and creaks, but it flies steady and strong through the stars.

She can’t help relaxing after a little while. It’s the most pleasant thing she’s felt in years. Decades, really. It feels like patching each other up after bar fights (that Gamora has stopped pretending she’s above) and exchanging money for the bets they made beforehand on who could take on how many assholes. It feels like when one of them will start humming, and another will tap along to the rhythm, and eventually someone will break into the lyrics because there’s no way not to. It feels like that time Quill went and got himself shot, and they all decided separately that the best thing to do was to pile up around him to sleep.

She has no idea what to name this feeling, but she’s going to die if she ever loses it. And she’ll go to that death gratefully.

Drax brushes her hair, a soft scratching sound where her hair rubs against the teeth of the comb. It scrapes at her scalp sometimes, never aggressive, leaves a tingly warmth behind. She thinks she might be smiling. She stops that immediately. A minute later, her face does it again. “You’ve done this before,” she says, because maybe if her mouth is more focused on forming sentences, it will be less likely to make ridiculous expressions.

“For my daughter.” Gamora’s smile falls away. Well. That is what she wanted, isn’t it? “Kamaria used to claim that she would grow her hair long enough to reach her feet. Ovette and I both told her how impractical that would be. She still refused to cut it. She might have even achieved her goal.” The shadow of Ronan lurks accusingly behind his words, and behind him, a greater shadow and one Gamora is all too familiar with standing in.

“I’m sorry.” It’s what you’re supposed to say in these sorts of situations.

“You are not the one who murdered them.” Some part of her wants to point out that it didn’t matter before, that proximity to Ronan was enough for Drax to lay a death sentence on her head. Murderess, he named her. He wasn’t wrong, not really. “One day, when I’ve separated Thanos’s head from his neck, they will be at peace, and I will be at peace.” He sounds certain. He runs the comb through her hair again. The knots are all gone now. “And you will be at peace.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” Drax hmms thoughtfully.

“Would it help if I also let you remove parts of him before we kill him?” Gamora actually considers it. She thinks about Nebula’s blood on her hands. If she could cover that blood with Thanos’s instead, she still won’t be able to see her own skin, but at least she won’t be looking at her sister’s viscera whenever she closes her eyes.

“I’m not sure about ‘at peace’,” she says, “but yes. That might make me feel better.” Drax claps her on the shoulder. She stiffens, but his hand is already gone. The comb clatters when he puts it on the table.

“If killing Thanos doesn’t work, there are plenty of horrible people in the galaxy. We can always find more.” That sounds like a promise. She runs her fingers through her neatly combed hair. Murderess and Destroyer, plotting patricide over hair care while another Earth song hums through the air, I like to see you, but then again, that doesn't mean you mean that much to me.

Groot stretches in his pot and stares at the both of them sleepily. Gamora reaches out a finger for him to hug.

“Why not?” She agrees. “Someone should.” And if that someone is a bunch of assholes in a too small ship, well. Who’s going to stop them? Groot butts his head against her hand. It’s going to be chaotic, soon, when Quill and Rocket wake up and they all argue about where to go next and what to do and who, exactly, ate that last pack of cookies they picked up on Telmorra. And she will throw Drax under the bus for that, even if she was the last one anyone saw near the cookies.

So if I call you, don't make a fuss.

Don't tell your friends about the two of us.

The Milano sings, and Gamora listens, and Gamora understands.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[etruatcaelum]

Is your muse confident in their identity? Still questioning? Is there anything that ever makes them feel doubtful about themselves?

OZMA & SALEM.

(They go together.) Both were born and raised in Pastoria, which had a culture underpinned by very strict gender roles: man was regarded as the custodian of humanity’s destructive gift, given the blessing of choice by the Light so that he might be judicious and restrained in his use of destruction; woman in turn was the custodian of creation, cursed by the Darkness with knowledge so that fear would make her a devoted caretaker for the living. A man was expected to disdain violence but also enact it without flinching should it become necessary, and to never express fear for his own safety. For a woman, the expectation was that she would be well-read and skilled in at least one craft or art, and also that she would be gentle, merciful, and demure.

Needless to say, Salem and Ozma were both bad at this.

The notion that one’s gender might be different from one’s apparent form at birth was well-known and considered unremarkable, but in such cases one was expected to fulfill the correct role as soon as one identified the misalignment; Ozma, who never particularly felt like one or the other, spent their whole life feeling like both a failed man and a failed woman and never quite sure which they were supposed to be.

Lord Ithai, meanwhile, had wanted another boy and considered his second-born to be nothing more than her mother’s killer; he gave her a traditionally male variation of her mother’s name and regarded Salem less as his daughter than a defective son. The irregular and inconsistent medley of servants and tutors who raised her thus treated her sometimes like an effeminate boy, and sometimes like an unfeminine girl, without any rhyme or reason.

Of course, things are quite different in Remnant. By virtue of their immortality, both Salem and Ozma have had a profound influence on cultural conceptions of gender all over the world and throughout history; Salem isn’t feminine so much as many societal ideas of what femininity looks like take after her, and likewise a masculine-or-feminine ideal of humble, chaste, dutiful, self-sacrificing heroism tends to drift in Ozma’s wake as they careen indifferently between identifying themself as a man or a woman from one life to a next.

Neither of them understand it, really.

Ozma floats around in it with the vague sense of having done quite poorly on a test in a subject they don’t enjoy anyway; on good days saying that they’re “only a man (or woman), and not even a very good one” is less self-deprecation than it is a tongue-in-cheek remark on their gender identity. They’d be happier if they could ask people to they them, but it makes them profoundly uncomfortable to be referred to as “they” in a plural sense so they rarely, if ever, take the risk of such a request being misinterpreted.

Salem, if anyone ever bothered to ask, would say she’s grimm, with no elaboration. That is not an evasive or sardonic answer, although most would probably take it as such. In the Ruakhian language, the word for grimm was also the word for witch, and a witch was neither male nor female; Salem didn’t create witchhood so much as inspire its emergence as a discrete third gender, but once it was there she had it in a death grip and she is never, ever letting it go. She doesn’t strictly mind being perceived as a woman, but it isn’t correct and she doesn’t like to be called one.

CINDER.

Though she always felt that something wasn’t right, Cinder didn’t know how to name or even describe the feeling until after she found Salem. In Atlas, in the gilded opulence of the Glass Unicorn, surrounded by the rich and famous and never spared a second glance by the hotel’s patrons, with an electric collar around her neck, she didn’t even feel human; she felt more kinship with the glass statues of grimm watching over the hotel’s lobby than she did with her own kind.

Her favorite fairytale from a very young age was The Grimm Child: a girl and her brother trespass into the woods and bring home a rare but very dangerous kind of grimm called a chill, which infests its prey and devours them from within. In the story, the chill ravages the girl’s village and returns to her last, but she is changed rather than killed when it inhabits her.

For a very long while, this was Cinder’s ultimate power fantasy. The dehumanization she suffered as a slave in Atlas had the effect of masking her gender dysphoria—every discomfort drawn into the vortex of this intense feeling of not being human and wanting to shed her skin and become grimm like the girl in the story—and she probably wouldn’t have figured out the gender aspect for many more years had she not met Salem when she did.

As it was, the realization of wanting to be a girl even more than she wanted to be grimm dawned rather quickly after that.

She has no doubt at all about her identity, but Cinder is deeply insecure about her presentation. The Madame held her own daughters to an extremely strict standard of ladylike behavior, but used Cinder as their whipping boy when they failed to uphold it. This did little to curb the sisters’ mild transgressions, but it burned those standards into Cinder’s mind as the only correct way to be a woman; and while that wouldn’t be good for her in any circumstance, she has the particular misfortune of just not being much inclined toward femininity.

Wearing her hair long and loose makes her skin crawl. Cinder likes capes and trailing adornments, but she doesn’t enjoy wearing dresses and feels awkward in them if they either restrict the movement of her legs at all or expose too much skin. Of the outfits she’s worn in the the show, the only one she felt remotely comfortable in was what she wore in Atlas; her synthesis with her grimm arm shored up her confidence enough for her to take her first tentative step away from the narrow ideal of upper-class Atlesian femininity since she magpied Summer’s shorter hair.

[arjaandsimoni]

Scars

Roche Manor, Brittany France

No leader can rule forever. Even in a small group like a hunter family leadership could change fairly often. In House Roche the family was traditionally led by a pair, each of the ‘eyeless’ children groomed to take leadership from a young age. Thanks to this system the leadership tended to feel more ‘stable’ than many others, even when one would step down or pass on the other typically remained until the ‘next generation’ was able to take the position.

Of course, as Ryan was a testament to, this wasn’t always true. Sometimes fate can be cruel, or simply just randomly unfair, and the duty falls to whomever is eldest to take over.

For years Ryan did his best to guide House Roche as his ancestors did, to study and understand the supernatural world as much as they controlled it, and to oppose those who’d exploit or harm it needlessly. Some wounds never fully heal, though. Deep down he always felt the sorrow and guilt of his loss, and knew that it was eating away at how he could lead the family properly. It wasn’t until recent nights, though, that it really sunk in.

He spent days mulling over his daughter’s choice, not out of anger, or protectiveness, like usual, but because he feared the truth behind his confusion at it. In all honesty years ago he would have done the same at her age, he DID do the same many times.

He thought of those times alone in the darkness in his office. The werewolf youth he spared because they were just frightened of their first change rather than a true threat. The changeling whose powers were feeding off their erratic emotions and lashing out rather than maliciously attacking others. The young mage who tried a spell beyond their scope. None of them deserved death, even if other more conservative hunters would disagree.

Now, though? He wasn’t sure he’d do the same. He wasn’t sure he wouldn't either, but that doubt made him uncomfortable. Had his mercy been drained from him that badly in his time in charge? Had he seen too much cruelty and evil to feel that same empathy that once gave him strength? He could ignore it, he hadn’t DONE anything to justify the fear after all, but how long would that last? How long until he made a call based on that lack of empathy that meant some innocent being got murdered because of his spite? Could he live with himself at that point? No, it was best to step aside now, before his anger could grow into a full cancer within the family, even if it was unexpected.

It certainly was unexpected for Alice. Sure she expected to take over at some point, likely even before Francis was fully trained just due to the age gap, but so suddenly? Now? She was barely past her own training and now she was being given the reins of one of the most powerful hunting families in western Europe?

“Don’t worry.” Ryan chuckled lightly, putting a hand on her shoulder. He could tell his daughter was genuinely shocked considering the blind girl was ‘staring’ blankly forward even as he walked away from the window he stood at. “It’s not like I’m going to vanish off to some beach to retire. I’ll be here to help you, consider me your most loyal advisor, but it’s time for you to take the seat you’ve been chosen for.”

“It’s just...” Alice finally spoke, stumbling for her words a bit. “I had no idea you were even considering… Are you sick or something?”

“No no, nothing so dramatic.” Ryan smiled simply before taking a more serious tone. “My time is coming to an end, not out of any grand doom or destruction looming over my head, but simply because… I’m an old man, Alice. I’m old and in many ways I’m tired. Losing your aunt and uncle so young... this seat has never felt comfortable for me, it wasn’t meant for me. I like to think I’ve done well in it but I can’t be sure how long I’ll do well. Isn’t it better to go out while ahead and all?” He smiled, it was a slightly weak smile, though.

He was ashamed in some ways. He knew he was forcing a burden on his daughter unexpectedly, and he wasn’t proud that it was because he was no longer secure in his own morals, but she needed a strong and supportive father right now. “Alice.” he continued, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You are one of the best hunters I’ve seen in action, both in the field and in study. You and Francis both have risen to every task set for you, and I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t positive House Roche would be in the best hands.”

Alice did believe him, as shocking as it was she knew it wasn’t a choice her father would make randomly. He told her not to tell anyone just yet, he wanted to make the announcement more formally soon, but the thought was left rattling in her mind as she walked out of his, soon to be her,office.

Some years ago

The first time she thought about it was years ago, on her very first job for the family proper. It was a simple one, a perfect ‘get your feet wet’ thing for the young hunter and her nagual companion.

A changeling community reported on a problem with hobgoblins from the Hedge having ‘hunts’ in the area. Normally most hunters let these communities handle their own problems, but hobgoblins were chaotic beings, and tended to the sadistic side. It was likely their attempt to recapture changelings could spill into them trying to nab ‘fresh’ victims for their fae masters.

“You girls know the plan.” Harlow smiled. It was a bit of a funny sight to some, technically at seventeen he was indeed older than the pair but the already rather baby faced man hardly looked like ‘authority’ despite his uniform and weapon. Really, considering Nessa was in her suit and Alice was wearing a simple green sweater and khaki slacks, this looked like some VIP’s child on a family outing more than anything, though that was in some ways part of the cover.

The locals were on edge already, the small French town didn’t see much chaos to begin with so having the troubles of wild hedge dwellers made people nervous. It was best if, to most of them, this just seemed like some rich girl on a holiday outside of Paris than anything too noticeable.

“Recon says there’s a lot of them, but only one leader.” Harlow continued, handing Nessa the file. “Big guy, redcap, calls himself Gutbiter.”

“Charming, family name?” Nessa smirked, making Alice giggle lightly.

“Yea.” Harlow grinned back at her, showing those sharp fangs off as he did. “I hear he got it from his mom, wanna know how?”

“Point made.” Nessa chuckled, looking through the file. “Standard redcap bullshit though?”

“Yea, big, mean, sadistic bastard but not too tough in a one to one fight, at least not compared to you two. Don’t let him rattle you and for god’s sake don’t let him bite you. Recon says they watched him eat a car. Not ‘take a bite out’, straight up ate the car whole. Like a snake.”

“I kinda want to see what else he can eat...” Alice teased as Nessa chuckled again. “Think he could eat a whole train?”

“Well I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” Harlow winked, the car coming to a stop in the town square. “Reconvene at sundown if you haven’t found him, once you take Gutbiter down his minions will scatter so hopefully this goes nice and quick and you girls get your first W as proper Roche hunters.” He grinned, unlocking the door and nodding to Nessa. “You’re on point for security now, no backup.”

Nessa nodded, a more serious look on her face. “Don’t need any, we got this.”

“Yea.” Alice smirked as she climbed out. “What, think there’s something about me that makes me more in danger or something?” She winked behind her glasses as she dramatically extended her cane with a flick of her wrist.

“More like dad will kill me if I send his little angel into a situation unprepared.” Harlow teased before nodding. “Seriously though, sis, good luck. You got this.”

The town was a rather nice one, both girls could understand why the local changelings used it as a haven. The buildings were small, but cozy, nothing really over three stories, like something out of a picture book. Alice smiled as she felt the warm breeze on her skin, lightly scented by the wildflowers that grew freely around the town. “Well, let’s give these people their peaceful country lives back, hm?” She grinned as Nessa nodded.

“Reports say Gutbiter’s holed up down this way, he’s using an old barn as his base. No security, redcaps love a fight so I imagine he sees guards as ‘ruining the fun.’” Nessa chuckled as she tucked the file into her jacket.

“Awesome, we’ll be out by dinner then. I smell a bakery so you can buy me something nice as a treat.” Alice grinned, playfully poking her companion with the cane before making their way to the barn.

The recon was right, as usual. The Roche family long ago realized the value in a carefully scouted hunt, and Harlow’s currently short time as head of logistics led to an even increased focus on it. The young man, despite his personality, took his job deathly seriously, and under him nearly every hunt was accompanied by a detailed scouting report and a neatly compiled dossier sourced from the massive Roche archives on any possible threats.

Some more traditional sorts may say such recon was overkill, or even ‘unsporting’, but at the end of the day in a job such as hunting all that matters is results, and the aid of recon and other intel led to much better results.

For example, thanks to that research, Alice wasn’t caught off guard when Gutbiter’s jaw distended and he tried to swallow her arm in one bite. In a flash the redcap was screaming, falling back and holding his jaw as he nursed a still smoldering hole at the base of his lower jaw.

In the ancient days, when the age of gods and myth was still across the world, the gods of Olympus enslaved the mighty cyclops race to forge them and their champions weapons of conquest and victory. Though long freed from such indignity, the great giants still have yet to fully recover from such devastation and cruelty. Because of that long generational memory they made a sacred vow that never would they make weapons of destruction for anyone but themselves and their closest kin.

It was likely due to that vow that even their fellow warlike sorts have never seen a true cyclopian weapon in person, and why even one of the more cunning ones like Gutbiter would assume that the cane wielded by one lone hunter must be just a functional tool rather than anything for her work. It wasn’t until the cane propped his jaws open and began to burn through his flesh that he realized that this wasn’t just a blind woman’s tool.

The cane itself remained in Alice’s free hand, a sturdy, polished metallic sheath that remained weighted at the tip to serve as a functional cane for her needs, while also staying strong enough to work as an offhand weapon to harass her opponent with.

The real weapon was in her main hand, though, ripped free of Gutbiter’s mouth roaring with rage. Shiny, polished cold iron she flicked clean of the redcap’s blood.

Both edges of the blade were kept razor sharp, keeping its keen edge even in the most dire circumstances. One side was the same cold iron that tore through Gutbiter’s jaw, the other was a shimmering silvered edge for the creatures vulnerable to that metal. A combined blade of two near sacred metals to hunters, woven expertly in the forge of an ancient volcano by hands who once forged the bolts of Zeus and the spear of Ares themselves.

“You think you’re the first fae creature my clan has faced, Gutbiter?” Alice grinned as she lowered her stance, an iron edge aimed at the redcap. Outside Nessa’s green flames were holding his allies back, drawn to the sound of fighting and chaos, the woman cackling as she watched one of the hobgoblins seemingly made of an animated scarecrow catch alight and run through the field in a panic.

The Arcadian Blades, twin relics of the Roche clan. Thin, graceful, weapons made of woven iron and silver, both temperamental metals keeping their magical properties thanks to the expert smiths that made them.

They became the perfect symbols of the Roches, weapons that could only come from a true and genuine bond with the supernatural world, concealed in staves and canes to allow their blind wielders to pass through their hunting grounds as one of the many unseen sorts that society tries to ignore. It was no wonder they became the symbols of leadership to the Roche family, the weight of every user before them seemed to add strength to each new holder’s strikes.

Gutbiter was a powerful redcap, but he was no match for a trained Roche with a weapon literally designed to kill his kind. “Hoi, hobs!” Alice called from inside the barn before the head of Gutbiter came flying out, sailing through Nessa’s flames to land at the feet of the group. “I see any of you around this town again and you’ll be joining him!” she smirked, the choice in words obviously a joke, but their leader’s still smoldering neck made it clear the threat was real regardless.

As predicted they scattered, hedge gates opening as they frantically ran back to the relative safety of their domains, only to be replaced by grateful changelings coming out of their hiding spots, equally drawn to the site of the fight out of morbid curiosity if their torment would finally be over.

“Not a bad first job huh?” Alice grinned, her cane reassembled and resting lazily on her shoulder as she put her free arm around Nessa’s waist. “What do you know, we make a good team huh? Think you’ll want to do mo-...”

She was cut off with a soft squeak as a pair of arms wrapped around her, small, delicate, limbs that felt like cool polished wood. “Thank you!” called out a small feminine voice.

Hugging around Alice’s waist was a youthful looking girl who’s body seemed to be made of shiny white wood, carved with joints like an artist’s modeling doll. She looked up at the pair with bright, glassy, eyes wet with tears. “We thought we would all be caught again…” She continued before burying her face in Alice’s side, the hunter laughing a bit nervously as she patted the doll-like girl's soft hair.

“Shhh, it’s okay, he’s gone now, and his little friends are a bunch of cowards, None of them are gonna bother you now that they can’t hide beh-”

Again she was cut off, not by gratitude this time, but by a cry of rage from the roof of the barn.

“FOR GUTRIPPER!”

A harsh, hate filled, voice shouted before Alice felt a blade sink into her side just between her ribs! She let out a ragged breath, sputtering blood as the girl hugging her shrieked in horror!

She couldn’t tell what else was happening, her normally strong senses dulled by the rapid loss of blood…

She heard shouting, then a loud gunshot, and for a brief moment what sounded like Harlow’s voice shouting ‘get her out of here’ before everything went cold.

Much later...

Two weeks. Two weeks of fear, of uncertainty, of sleepless nights as Ryan and Nessa both refused to leave Alice’s bedside for different reasons that stemmed from the same level of love.

The changelings worked quickly to get Alice to their freehold, a small pocket dimension hidden between the gaps of the Hedge where they could draw on their fae powers without being at risk of being found by their former captors. It was the least they could do after she was wounded while protecting them, after all.

Harlow’s sniper rifle turned most of the one brave hobgoblin that stuck around into a faint mist and Nessa, screaming in rage as loud as the fae’s, burnt the rest of it to ash... but none of that could undo the damage.

A black blade, one forged of a fae’s hate and cruelty, a blade made of a poison deadlier than most any found on the mortal realm, that was what it drove into Alice’s back. If not for the fact that the fae opened their freehold to them, and Alice could be surrounded by their power directly, she’d surely have died before they could get her back to Paris.

“I don’t care what they’re saying about scheduled interviews, tell the stupid fashion rag that Miss Roche is busy with… I don’t know, charity work. She’s giving homes to sad puppies or something! Fucking figure it out before I come back there and carve an excuse on your back to send in!” Harlow growled into the phone, sitting down by Alice’s bed with an exhausted sigh.

“Come on kid, wake up...” he said in a much softer, sadder, voice as his hand touched Alice’s cold, still, hand. “Dad’s losing his shit, Nessa’s beside herself… I’m going screw loose too… You can’t go out on us after just one job… One job I set up…” He chuckled sadly, reaching under his glasses to rub his dampened eyes. “I’m sorry, I should have taken that thing out but… I was hoping you would. I didn’t know it’d be able to pull that trick with the knife… I should have though. I promise I won’t ever slip like that again, just get up.”

Nessa rested a gloved hand on his shoulder at that, the young woman no longer in her suit, having been given a bathrobe and simple pajamas to wear around the freehold for more comfort. Not that she slept much, Nessa spent most nights curled up next to Alice staring at her for any sign of awakening.

“Ryan says if she’s not dead yet that’s a good sign that the glamour here stopped the poison… but she should be awake by now too. I don’t know what’s going on, we’re surrounded by fairy bullshit right now… No offense.” she added, throwing a look to the small doll girl that looked just as worried as the rest of them. “Who knows what it’s doing to her…”

Somewhere...

Darkness.

It was a familiar sight for Alice. It was in fact all she saw, forever.

Since the day she was born, just as their fae patron promised before she even opened her eyes the first time she was blind. Born in darkness, the eyeless Roche, a child of the supernatural almost as much as the mundane. Now she was struck down by a fae blade, kept alive by fae magics, trapped in her own mind.

“Weak...” a voice seemed to echo around her, breaching the serene darkness that made up her life.

“Pathetic...” it continued.

“Your first job and you fail, stabbed in the back while you were gloating like an oaf. What do you think you are, an action movie star? A comic hero? You’re barely a woman, barely a hunter… barely a Roche!”

The voice was cruel, cold, a woman’s voice that sounded twisted by hate.

“I am a Roche.” Alice responded, her physical form impassive as before as her mind lashed out. “I’m a damn eyeless, I was born for this.”

“Born yes, deserving no.” The voice responded. “A spoiled, pampered, princess, born with a gift she wastes. You spend more time doing magazine interviews and parties than hunting.”

“We have to maintain both sides of the family!” Alice responded angrily. “I don’t ENJOY those events, but I’m supposed to play the young socialite heiress while father’s businesses grow. We need a strong profile to fight guys like Cheron in the mundane world just as much as we do in the supernatural.”

“Listen to you, you sound like a damn brat.” The voice responded without caring. “You need business deals, you need interviews, you need all this? You only need your senses and your blade! Don’t lie to me, girl. You love that garbage. You love being the center of attention even when your father is in the room… You know you should be in charge of things.”

“That’s a lie and you know it! Dad’s a great leader, he’s doing great things for the family!” Alice shot back defensively, a nerve hit.

“Oh I’m aware, he does great things in a chair he got by accident, making our family into a bunch of socialites and businessmen while spoiling our heir so she’s so untrained she got assassinated by a damn brownie…”

“He’s not why this happened! It’s my fault! It’s all me! I should have secured the area, I should have Nessa sweep the barn, I shouldn’t have gone out to brag before I made sure everything was done! Dad had nothing to do with my failures, they’re mine alone!”

It was quiet for a good while before a soft laugh followed. Not a spiteful one, one that sounded almost proud.

“Good girl...” the woman’s voice continued, calmer, quieter now, no longer dripping with venom. “That’s right, they are yours, and now your life is yours. Are you going to just lie here and rot away while your family, your little lover, watches?”

“No! I want to live, I want to fight again, I want to show them I can do better!”

“You want to go to another party?”

“I don’t give a shit about parties!” Alice shouted in her own mind. “If that’s what it takes to come back fine, screw it, I’ll never go out again, I’ll spend my life holed up in the garden training so I never fuck up like this again! I’ll be the best warrior the Roche clan ever made, just let me go back!”

The laugh came again, and for a moment the darkness wasn’t so dark. A light seemed to shimmer, soft and blue, only for a second. “Well, let’s not go crazy. You are right. As much as I may disagree at times, the Roche family is more than a hunter clan these days, we need to be strong on all fronts… and you do look nice as an ‘inspiring blind girl’ story I suppose.”

“Who are you?” Alice asked, more quiet than before.

“Yea, it can be hard to see, even in our own minds huh? We’re born in the dark after all, it’s more comfortable to us than the light, even within our own head.” The shimmer came again, for just a glimpse Alice could see a face, a young woman’s face, one that… looked a lot like hers in fact. “Surely you at least can recognize the woman who used that sword of yours before you, though?”

Alice did recognize her. She felt that face many times. She felt over every bust in the Roche family tomb, every fallen Roche memorialized in marble. She learned all their faces without even seeing them, drawing strength from the legacy of her ancestors as part of her training, learning all their names and how they fell.

“Aunt Josephine… killed by a vengeful spirit…” She whispered, the aunt she never knew, one of the two who fell and left her father in charge, and the last Roche to hold her blade.

“Tell him to stop beating himself up. We went down fighting, a fate every Roche should strive for. He’s doing well… and he made a damn fine heiress when she stops getting in her own way. Now get up, kid, our family’s waiting for you.”

Alice did wake up after that, gasping as if rising out of a deep pool as her body jerked up, nearly throwing Nessa off her vigil at the side of her bed.

Until then the concept of being ‘the heir’ was always an idea more than anything. She knew it was true, she knew the reality of it of course, but her father seemed like such an unstoppable figure when she grew up she never really thought of having to take over for him. Now she could feel the weight of it, she knew what was at stake if she got sloppy.

She did take her training more seriously after that, drilling with her sword and studying the archives more.

She still did her parties, though. She was expected at them, the young heiress to the Roche family expected to show up and put on the show expected of her.

Even in those fields, though, she took a different view, using them to find informants and sources of rumors. Volunteering at homeless shelters was good press, and listening to the stories about ‘monsters’ in the dark alleyways that most wrote off as crazy murmurs helped her point Harlow in the direction of where to investigate.

Children’s charities always made lovely photo-ops, and children are so much more perceptive of the other world than their adults. Even the animal shelters and such, with the occasional reports of ‘giant dogs’ or ‘strange noises in the sewers’ coming in to point to the more beastly threats.

Now, standing outside her father’s door, she couldn’t help but run a finger over the scar that remained on her side. The changelings offered to hide it but she didn’t let them.

She wanted the reminder, a tangible one she could feel. Every time she felt like she was slipping in her duty she could run her hand over that scar and remember what it almost cost her. She had a feeling she’d be touching that scar a lot these coming days.

Next Story

Previous Story

[godzexperiment]

some full concentrated ouchie (this one is very much fucked up/not light subjects warning)

Rage. Everybody described him with warmth, and his presence accordingly. Not subject to the way he was when alone. Or not really- but Nix wouldn't pretend to be much an factor in the matter. Supposedly everybody overlooked the whole darker aspects of their maker.

The one, who was right now- talking about extinguishing human souls. Yet never would be bothered to do so directly. No it was always what horrific methods carried out by your siblings will it be this time. Nix observed silently without moving- no desire to trip over any sharp edges. Yet couldn't help wrinkle his nose listening to all the ideas voiced. Mistake. Direction of attention at him. "And what are you thinking?" Always seemed an trick question- that was doomed in any response given or not given. "Couldn't you just... Leave them to their own means? See what happens instead of send somebody to intervene?" Today was an death wish day apparently. Which was entirely likely as the air was basically slicing into the angel from the whole thing. "Since you think you know so much-." Nix didn't even dare shift an inch as waited for the axe to fall. "What punishment, which of your siblings should do it?" Oh- oh that was better? Worst- so much worst than he'd expected. He didn't want any part in it. Yet he knew he was backed into that corner. Anything of what happened would be on him.

"Weed out the troublesome ones... Spare the others? And uh maybe not an archangel- you were saying wanted to limit their interaction with humanity for a little so- somebody else." Who? he didn't know because naming whoever would wield weapons and do the deed made him feel ill. ---------- Nix's hands clawed at the ground; whole body trembling as looked up at the being. Onto his back heaving from the agony. Death would be merciful. An little rest before getting pulled back as he always was. It wasn't that serious. Just an illness for the humans cranked up to an level that wasn't going to ever reach them. Suffer the test without speaking. Slide of his feet towards him; bend of his legs to try making it hurt less. Like he could stabilize of his own choosing. When this was one of those times he was useless. Hard to think, hard to exist- just the feeling of misery. Yet he pushed up to be sitting. Hands feeling like they couldn't grip, like his arms would snap from the choice. Or be snapped. Yet he managed to sit- almost could swear was an flicker of approval. Likely not. Ending up wrapping arms around his legs. Head down as wings wrapped around for warmth. When was it going to end? If ever. ---------- You're no archangel, not really classified as anything more than an obligated listener and test subject.

Went his thoughts as studied his bleeding wounds. The dizzy sight of the road map of injuries healed on surface; below but not erased from memory. Unpleasant but he'd put wounds that would typically knit themselves away or be willed away- over cranked up human experiences of emotions. Blood over something he couldn't physically do shit about about. Fingers traced along the fresh injuries- testing, pressure and feather light. Already healing the only traces to be would be etched in his memory. Looked just made fresh to him among all the other memory stored horrors. Yet focusing on how that spot actually was. The ebb of the blood flowing out; skin starting to be smoothed over. No scarring only the dried blood left over. Aside the still wet blood on his finger tips. Which would dry, then when the dry blood was gone all that would be left is the memory.

------------ He didn't even blink at the planning being spoke of; maybe it made him an monster to be so empty about it. Or maybe it was just that he'd done at least 7 rounds of paying the price for what was unclear- probably one of his siblings caring an little too much about some human or whatever. Death. Murder. An pretty, innocent human soul. Numbness.

He just walked out of the space; without permission or any fucks about if he'd get in trouble over it. Wandering towards that room full of plant life and shutting the door behind him. It wasn't his problem, it wasn't worth standing there and he was just so tired underneath it all. Fingers brushing along flower petals ever so gently. Perching near his favorite one. Letting his eyes close. Seemed the maker was too busy with his fit of rage. That was apathetic about the walk away or going into such an precious off limits space without permission. And that meant Nix was going to rest, recover from the lashing outs while he could. ----------- Again, do it again. Nix didn't need to be pushing his limits; would be wiser to rest. Yet he kept kicking up off the ground. Into the air- flying faster, twirling around and making himself stop before could hit any boundaries that existed. He could do better, could stop sooner... Fly faster. Eventually having to stop as his wings begged for rest. So he sighed and thought about how else to spend his time. Eventually deciding to just shift it into another useful, useless skill. As eyes spotted one of the discarded weapons. Often wondered why they ended up tossed aside. Why not just uncreate them? But then he supposed they wouldn't exist to be abandoned. Except when the angel couldn't help touch them.

Rummaging for an nicely balanced sword. There was no pretending of fighting back enemies- too violent and unrealistic. No it was just about the movements of his own body. Seeking to perfect handling the sharp object. Twirl around, push himself to do better at micro adjustments. Learn more about the way his body moved.

[sinnhelmingr]

flying by the seat of my pants westeros au:

- daughter of a free folk leader and a renegade brother of the nights watch. was born small and sickly, suffering from what would today be identified as a neurological/degenerative disease, but lived a relatively happy, stable existence with her family for her first years. was named hel once she survived enough winters.

- things got complicated once she fell victim to greyscale as a child. she survived the illness, though it wrecked half of her body with the tell-tale disfigurement. the culture clash inherent in her existence became far more pronounced. her mothers people demanded her death to wash out her ‘uncleanliness,’ to keep her from being the death of them all. her father argued for her survival, with blades if the need arose. the debate would be settled for all involved, however, in the worst way possible.

- it all came crashing down when the nights watch came for their wayward brother, encouraged by substantial donations by hel’s heretofore unknown uncle. so long as her father was on the wind, he was perceived as a threat to the ironborn lord. what ensued was a valiant, well-fought, and duly lost battle on the part of her mother’s clan. she, along with her more conventional-looking brothers, were thrown before the mercy of their noble uncle as a complication.

- the boys were made thralls, publicly denounced as foreign smallfolk captured by the ever-victorious hrafnagud. yet hel, small, wasting, accursed, and always the mirror of a loved and most matriarch of another generation, was spared the worst of her brothers trials. raised beneath the banner of her uncle odin’s ‘tree of wisdom’ writ on his every sigil, she was a lovely, gentle captive, given every opportunity with the expectation of gratitude.

- it is known that the hrafnagud lost his eldest trueborn son. some say it was the prodigal brother, come back from the wall. some say it was a second son, ever shrinking in the shadow of his golden twin. in her heart of hearts, hel calls it a worthy sacrifice for her own ransom. she returned to the westerosi mainland as a woman, never forgetting the unkindness that her uncle showed her from the moment she first heard his name.  she dreams of his blood washing over her like rain, but will settle for amassing enough power to see him not just broken by loss, but fallen from his seat of power.

- hrafnagud, pyke, snow, island’s bane, monster from beyond the wall, witch, wretched beast, it doesn’t matter what you call her. she calls herself hel ironborn -- the last daughter of a slaughtered people.

- despite her horrific, even cruel, reputation among most, she’s proven a proper lady, well-spoken, well-read, and an excellent player at the game of politics and alliances. this marks her as something of a novelty, civilized savage, a proper lady and twisted mockery of a woman’s flesh, a creature always on the borderline. it’s a duality she was born into, and plays with expert flair.

- generally a bit player no matter the era she is slotted into, abhorring war but relishing the chance to throw around her power, her ability to play others... and potentially rally allies against her uncle once and for all.

- perhaps unsurprisingly, particularly kind and supportive of smallfolk, bastards, her fellows in the disabled community, and all others who do not meet the noble facade of beauty and breeding. in hotd i can very easily see her as a tyr*on equivalent, cliche as it is, without falling wholesale into villainy as my fav does.

[tobebrutal]

this is a dance danced many a night before. he knows the steps. he knows the words and when to smile. a game , to whatever end. but not all games follow the same rules and despite knowing little of their language , there are still bits and pieces that slip through. impossible to understand their application without knowing the rest , but something to cling to when waters surge with theron's rise and a strong hand leaves him to hold his breath. it lands at his jaw , his chin , and spares his throat. not the typical mercy and zevran doesn't swallow for being given it. not yet. while the questions mount and honied eyes blink through an array of lewd responses that.. suddenly , seem unfit for the giving. not out of fear ; theron doesn't scare him and neither does death. it's the alternative he struggles with. what to do with an offer when he yet lives.

" ah.. you have caught me , " soft , a quiet confession is safe , here , with him. it's lack of caution makes clear there's no intent to fight whatever this is. a body pliant for hands or blades , his has always been. since a fledgling still donned in down and learning its wings. he knows how to sit upright. he knows how to raise his head that inch further , spare a glimpse of his jugular. both predator and prey , crows often are , but the absence of expected fangs make this interesting. as always. " do you often play with your food ? "

he did. he was.

zevran wonders , sat as he is , what this scene may strike from across the camp. how quickly one would come to their leader's aid despite how he is diminished , there , beneath him. eager , too , the lot of them , no doubt. it makes him shiver more than this confrontation with the ethereal. " and to compare me to demons no less ? you wound me so. " he was much more efficient than demons , he thought. even in loss , often , he found some form of triumph. he finds it now , a pursed frown slipped in favor of the grin most frequent to pass.

" to answer your question is not so simple. what do i seek ? is it not what all men seek ? to enjoy the pleasures of the world , untethered and inspired ? " a half - truth is still truth. it's no more poisonous than the crease across his nose. the lean forward that turns a delicate grip into one more summit crested. " perhaps it is to find a strong , alluring man to hold me as my mother never did. " the step too far is taken. he comes out the other side of this less serious. lacks the morose of what could have been , had he let theron press further into very , very fresh wounds. " did i mention i never knew her ? i'm so , so sad about it. "

Carved nostrils flared as drew his thick silken cloak tightly about his person, the metallic threads of its antiquated embroidery glimmering in the firelight. “ Ir ame tel'din sha'melenal alin, ” Theron muttered, shaking his head bitterly. He moved with with practiced fluidity 'twixt tongues, and there was something about each of his words that bore a silvery quality that could compel within a listener the desire to hear more. His enunciation reverberated like a song; an exquisite rhythm invoking memories from a bygone era with how each word played off his lips and against the other's pulse. It was a silent invitation, an invisible chair pulled out for Zevran to sit upon, should he choose to meet the occasion by discerning the rhythm and lending his voice to the song of the conversation, as it were.

“ Dirth ma, dahabana. Mar palasha ena mar din — at least, if you are not careful, for I have glimpsed your like in the Fade — or memories thereof, perhaps. It never ends well. ”

“ And you are not merely admiring me, ” he insisted. Though Theron moved not, his gaze was now fixed upon Zevran, and the shadows about the fire seemed to bleed toward him until it looked though the very shadow of Theron's hand lay upon Zevran's neck, poised to take him in its tenebrous grip. “ There is, despite what you pretend, nothing innocuous about what you do. You wish something from me, and though I know not what it is, you are endeavoring to goad me into surrendering it. ”

“ The act of gazing upon me does not require actively conversing with me, especially in a manner that bears uncanny semblance to dark hunters in the Fade who attempt to ensnare their quarry with many a fair word or visage. Know you this: you are not the first to come before me with designs of ensnaring me with flattery and so fair and golden a visage, and I doubt very much that you will be the last. There have been hundreds before you, and not all of them wore flesh. It did not avail them then, and it shall not avail you now, and you do not even have the excuse of the Veil. So tell me, wherefore do you wish to possess me ? In your estimation, am I higher, or lower and more base than those that have come before me ? To what end do these banal delights of yours extend ? ”

Theron rose from his seat suddenly, his movements jarring in their abruptness as he advanced upon Zevran. Pale fingers slid beneath the other's chin, tilting Zevran's face upward to meet his gaze, pensive and piercing. His hands seemed to tremble slightly, as though Zevran were something irreparably valuable and fragile.

He shook his head softly, expression softening as the erstwhile blend of contempt-laced attraction relented in the wake of great sorrow and pity. Dark lips trembled, and for a moment the tide of emotion threatened to sweep him away utterly, seeing his tone wane to but a choked whisper. “ Do you even know ? ”

[unwcvering]

the contrast with how cf manga uses arturia and gilgamesh (the two servants that tried to kill waver in the hgw) and how both are used to show how waver still fears them in his nightmares like... damn. he can’t even look at gray’s face because of it, and it makes me so sad for him. but it just solidifies how traumatic the hgw was for waver. it wasn’t just something that happened to him. it is something that still lives with him ten years after the war has passed. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Liar Liar

Yandere Final Girl x Slasher reader

Summary: After escaping an attack from the town serial killer, party girl Daina throws a get together to celebrate. Only, she made the whole thing up.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: blood/gore, violence, murder, slight emetophobia

“We’re here now with Ms. White, the alleged latest survivor in a series of recent murders by the serial killer known as Mercy Valentine, by locals. Any words you’d like to say to the press?”

“It was horrible... My… my boyfriend was killed when we were heading home after practice. I managed to get away after being attacked in the locker room, but he… he didn’t make it. I found him… bleeding there in the field. When I came back with police, he was gone.” 

“Are you aware of the rumors that it may be a copycat? There has never been any reports of a body being taken from the scene.”

“Believe me, I know who I saw that night…”

The video pauses; frozen on a frame of a young woman with tear stains running down her face. Said girl falls back on her bed; the worried praise of her friends falling at her side.

“You’re so brave, Daina.”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere after something like that.”

Daina-Grace White, or just Daina White depending on the crowd. Her parents thought their special little girl needed a special name, and that’s why she had been christened with a hyphenated first name. A star cheerleader in high school and track runner in her spare time. Everyone’s first pick for prom queen, and as the clip proclaimed; the most recent victim to the killer known as Mercy Valentine.

Mercy's preferred targets were those in pairs; one to take the blade, and the other to tell the tale. Couples were a frequent hit; earning them the latter part of their name – even if friend groups and families had fallen as well. The surviving party always had injuries such as scrapes and bruises, but the killer would turn and walk away before they became fatal. People speculated this was out of wanting to become some type of urban legend in the town, others some sort of guilt for their crimes. A few - believed it was on a level far deeper than that

Poor Diana and her boyfriend, Nathaniel, had been all alone on the night it happened. Scares out of their minds, one on the brink of death. It would have been a traumatic experience for the survivor and a terrible end for the one who died; had Nathaniel not gone missing the night prior. 

“Thanks, guys. Part of the reason I’m able to go on is because of the support of friends like you.”

It was rather easy to fake; especially with evidence practically placed on a silver platter for her. There had been talk around campus from his sister about him not returning home last night, and his car was found parked a couple streets away from her home. It was known to many that Nathaniel had the hots for Daina; even giving her his coat on a rainy day. With his phone conveniently placed in the passenger seat, and a slash to her arm; Daina was able to come up with a story that threw off most skeptics. 

Daina sits up, stretching away the worries of the day. “Let’s not focus on it for now. We have a party to get ready for!”

-

Most wouldn’t expect one to have a get together after the tragic death of their loved one, but Daina wasn’t like most people. She was a live in the moment type girl, and this moment was the prime of her youth. Plus, if anything were to happen, her father had given Daina her birthday present early. He really didn’t want to leave her alone after the ordeal, but duty calls. 

Snacks, sodas, and a punch bowl full of enough liquor to make someone forget the evening entirely sat on the kitchen counter. Living room lights were turned down low; and music played through speakers about the house. Every door and window had been left unlocked; just inviting the devil to play. She changes into something that’s easy to move around in, throwing her old top to a corner that lands on a mannequin she used to dress up when she was little.

“Sorry about that.” Daina giggles, tossing the clothing into its proper storage before heading back downstairs. 

-

8pm just minutes away, Daina hops on her couch and begins livestreaming to her social media of choice.

“Hey, everyone! Just getting the last couple things ready for tonight’s party. Times are tough, and we all need something to lighten the mood around this town.”

Comments pour in, only one catching her eye.

“Aren’t you worried about the danger?”

“Screw that! The killer supposedly never goes after the same victim twice, and even if they did come after me, I’ll just kick their ass like last time.”

She lifts up her arm, showing off her bandaged wrist while holding up her middle finger. Uncaring of the dangers of her actions; and whoever may come across the stream.

-

Eight o’clock finally hits, and the people begin to pour in. The party didn’t actually start until thirty minutes later, but there were always those who showed up early. Daina greets everyone with smiles and the occasional hug; pleasantries stopped when a certain individual walks through her door.

“Hey, Gracie… How you holding up?”

Mike was a quarterback for the school’s football team, and the best friend of the, supposedly, late, Nathaniel. He was the first to call Daina out on her claims; an allegation quickly shot down by their peers. In another life, the title of Mike's best friend belonged to her. A sweet girl, up until the beginning of high school, where her true colors began to come to light. The event that led to their falling out had been sweet under the rug due to only the two knowing of it; yet the scars were still there.

“Daina. What are you doing here, Mike?”

Mike stiffens, shuffling in his spot at the door. “I.. just want to bury the hatchet. We’re losing people left and right. For numerous reasons. It’s better to stick with each other than to hold grudges.”

Daina glares at him, but steps aside. “Alright, fine.” Mike starts to walk in, but she stops him again. “If you start anything, I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand?”

-

The party kicks up around nine. Young adults spilled across all floors of her house, and the backyard. A small group stands by the pool; two individuals holding the ankles of another hovering over a keg someone had bought. 

“27…28…”

Thomas taps the side of the container, the contents in his stomach slowly edging back to his throat. It relaxes as his friends put him down, but the way the world around him spins and the heaviest of his body tells him it won’t last long. He cheers along with the crowd; covering his hand over his mouth as he pushes through them all to head back inside. Passing the hostess, he weakly asks;

“Hey… where’s the bathroom?”

Daina points towards the stairs. “Second door on your left.”

With a brief thanks, he speeds up the stairs and to the bathroom. He barely makes it to the bowl before he begins to heave. The sound of his retching blocks out all other sounds; the cool night air on the back of his neck. Had he paid attention to the room for a second longer when he entered; he would have noticed that the window had been closed when he walked on.

Thomas flushes the toilet and stands on wobbly legs, walking over to the sink to wash out his mouth. He bends forward to splash water in his face. Through the waves, he spots something in the corner of the room. A shadow distinctive from the rest; its face a mix of white and pink.

“What the fu-"

Before he can continue, Thomas' face is slammed against the mirror; open eye pressed to the glass. He tries to flail around, but his actions are cut short by a blade to his neck. With a single slice, his throat is split; blood gurgling from the fresh wound and out the corners of his mouth. He slumps against the sink as the weight behind him vanishes; body twitching as it draws its last struggled breath.

-

“God damn it.”

Daina sighs in annoyance; shutting the lid of a pocket mirror her friend had leant her.

“What’s wrong, Daina?”

“My lipstick got smeared. I need to go put on some more.” Daina sets her cup on the nearby table; a ring of red lips around its ridge. She walks upstairs, pass the locked bathroom door, and heads into her room. She shuts an open drawer, and picks up a tube of lipstick to put it on – a scraping sound across the floor boards catching her ear.

“Hm?” She looks around, the only thing in her general field being that little mannequin she called a roommate. It rocked gently, wheels turned outward. Must’ve gotten hit when she entered the room. She smiles and places her arms over its shoulders.

“Hello, there. Were you trying to sneak up on me?”

The mannequin fails to reply; blank eyes staring back at her through the mask on its face. The arms of the coat draped over swaying as she turns around. Music thumping through the floorboards, she begins to dance with it as her partner. She places her head on its shoulder, swaying to the beat as she wraps her hands around its neck.

“I’m so glad that you’re with me…” She mutters.

Daina hums to herself; unaware of the crack in her closet door. The eyes that peer through. 

“Daina!”

She turns her head to the door; letting out a huff as he unlocks her arms from the doll and leaves the room in a hurry.

“Coming!”

As she leaves the closet’s doors handle rattles ever so gently; swinging outward as a figure creeps from the dark. Their eyes linger on the mannequin.. and the plastic that made up its face.

-

Downstairs; Daina is greeted by one of her friends – a worried look on their face. “Hey, Daina.. have you seen Thomas? I tried calling his phone, but he’s not answering, and his car is still outside.”

“I haven’t seen him all night. He’s probably wasted in my parents room or something….” Her eyes trail away as she spots something on the patio; the red bud of a cigarette and smoke clouds blown into the air.. “Hang on, I have to deal with this.” 

“But someone told me they saw you with…”

Daina pushes past them and storms outside. Mike stands outside; stare vacant and the nicotine stick between his lips. He doesn’t even look at her when she starts to go off.

“What the hell, Mike. I know it’s been years, but I told you not to smoke in here. If I find a single bud…”

“You’re still thinking about that day. Aren’t you?..”

He pulls a photo from his pocket. A photo from middle school graduation, or at least the remains of one. The page had been cut to show only a small group in the larger crowd. Daina hadn’t even noticed the picture was gone; too busy focusing on her appearance. She grinds her teeth. 

“You went in my room?” 

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“An invasion of my privacy is a pretty big deal, Mike.”

“She was my friend too, Daina.

“She isn’t the fucking point!”

A scream tears them both from the conversation. Both of them, along with various other members of the party rushed inside to see what was happening. A crowd had gathered around the walk in pantry in the kitchen; one person collapsed to the floor and staring in pure terror at what was inside. Pushing through the bodies; Daina manages to squeeze to the front and see what the problem was; her stomach dropping at the sight.

Propped against a shelf of canned goods; the corpse of another girl was sprawled on the floor. A knife wound pierced her eye as well as various spots of her chest; blood drying into her clothes. A single finger was painted red; words written onto the floor in her blood.

“LIAR.”

Calamity breaks out all at once. People screaming; shouting. Making breaks for the front door and any other exits. Daina crashes to the floor; Mike runs through the house and informs everyone else they need to flee. He picks up a poker near the fireplace as Daina regains her composer – wiping a grin from her face. 

“What are you going to do?” She asks.

“I’m going to kill that mother fucker. Call the police!”

Daina nods; heading upstairs where she had left her phone. Mike begins to sweep the house to find the intruder; kicking open doors and leaving no place unchecked. It's how he comes across the bodies of Thomas and a few other people. All in locations tucked away from sight. After a thorough investigation, there’s only one place left to look. The basement. 

Mike grips the handle; the shaking of his palms visible against its knob. He hesitantly opens it; a dim light all the way at the end of the steps. He begins to descend them; the light from the kitchen blocked by an object behind him.

-

Within the basement there is one final body. A young man with shaggy hair and wearing a sports jersey. He sits in a chair; the angle making it look as though he were merely asleep. The smells that come off his body are blocked by the mask over the approaching figure's face; their blade raised high over head. There is no scream as it falls; just the wet sound of metal entering flesh. His body loses balance as the knife is ripped through his neck; falling forward onto the ground below. Stab wounds litter his body; the puddles of blood around each hole having fully dried. His supposed assailant stands there confused; obvious to the running steps behind them. 

Mike brings the fire poker down on the masked individual’s skull. They crash to the floor; blood leaking through their scalp. They attempted to reach for their weapon; stopped by another blow to the head. They lie motionless, but he isn’t done. Not after everything this person has done. Not after the pain they’ve caused. He wants to demask them, but they need to suffer first. Their identity could be revealed through denial records. He reaches the poker like a club for another swing, but the only thing that falls is the object itself  - and drops of his own blood. 

The echo or a gunshot still rings; Mike looking down at the hole in his stomach in disbelief. It didn’t hurt at first; shock running through his veins. As he sticks a finger against the hole, the pain finally hits. He didn’t even have time to cry out as more shots ripple through his body. He falls down next to the slasher who remained still.. Footsteps descend the stairs; stopping by his writhing form. There’s a scrap of metal as they pick the fire poker off the floor. Mike turns to see the new figure. A mask akin to the one worn by the person beside him stares back at him; the highlights in her hair a sign of her identity. 

“D….daina?”

Her eye twitches. She cracks Mike beside the heat like a baseball player hitting a home run. She hits him again and again; screaming at the top of her lungs. She hits him until he stops moving. Until the flesh of his cheek is peeled away and the bones beneath break into dust. She only stops when there’s a groan from the person next to him.

“You’re alive… I was so worried..”

She kneels down; the other party flinching away even if barely conscious. They wore a hockey mask with a pink heart drawn over its left eye; something mirrored on her own. A mask worn by the mannequin in her room. She goes to lift theirs, but they weakly slap her hand away.

“It’s okay…” She coos. “I know it’s you, Y/n.”

She tears the mask from your face, shuddering from the sight of your gorgeous face, and the look of pure hatred you held. 

“There you are… We should take a picture to remember this moment. Hang on.”

Daina pulls off her own mask, running a hand through her hair. Remembering she forgot to put on more lipstick, she drips her fingers in the pool of Mike's blood and wipes it over her lips; placing a kiss on your cheek afterwards. She holds two fingers behind your head and sticks out her tongue. After taking the photo, she types away on her phone before tossing it aside.”

“All done! Now if you try to kill me, your face will be leaked online in an hour. Good luck trying to guess my password!”

Mercy Valentine… Y/n. Who would have guessed that a timid college student was behind all this suffering? Daina White. That’s who. For She knew that they were the one suffering the most. 

During the end of middle school, sweet, shy little Y/n had received a love note in their locker one day. At rope’s end and tired of life’s hardships, it became their lifeline. More and more came, their heart soaring with each word. It was at the end of the year that their childhood crush confessed that she had been the one to write them; a smile just a pinch to sweet on her face.

The two began dating; the lovesick teen unaware of what their love said behind their back – the plans she and her friends had towards the end of the summer. A letter had been placed at their doorstep to meet by the lake on the edge of town; note switched a second before they opened the door.

They arrived just in time to see her body floating in the lake, and her bewildered friends at the scene. They all fled; leaving the broken hearted soul to try and save her on their own. All, but one. Had they been a little wiser. They would have noticed that the penmanship between their love and the author of the letters didn’t match. That someone else was watching them from the sidelines at her friend's side. That the heart drawn on their dead lover’s mask had eerie similarities to the ones the popular girl in class wrote on her notebooks.

They tried to tell authorities of what happened. That there was no way it was an accident. The caving in of her skull was proof enough. Unfortunately, everyone brushed it off and left them in the dark.

You remain silent. She cups your cheeks with a smile.

“You’re angry aren’t you, baby? You want to see the world and see on fire, don’t you? That’s exactly how I felt when that bitch tried to take you away from me. Watching her laugh next to you. Hold you in her arms. It was all a damn lie, and now I’m gonna tell you the truth.” 

She leans in, placing a bloodied kiss to your lips. “She never loved you, Y/n. It was all me, my sweet Valentine.”

[obey-me-headquarters]

I bet the brothers, along with the datebales, get a lot of fan mail. They probably have a day, maybe like Valentines day, were it's custom to write to demons you admire. Since thus happens every year, RAD puts out boxes for high profile demons so people can drop their letters off.

Of course, not all demon brothers read/respond to every single letter. I think Mammon likes to read a lot of them, but gets bored after a dozen or so and tosses the rest into his room. Saying that he'll read them later (he never gets around to it). Most of the characters are similar, reading a couple for fun, but discarding the rest, since they get so so so many.

But since I'm an absolute agent of chaos, I would totally write out a letter for each and every character and put it in their box.

It's also custom to hand deliver your letter to a demon if you're close enough to them, or if your ballsy enough. So the rest of the characters were content to do just that. But when asked if you wrote anything for anyone, you cheerfully replied that you did! It's in the box!.....along with a few hundred others.

Also, instead of marking it as your own, you decide to place all letters inside the standard envelope. Here is all the characters reactions.

Lucifer: Thinks you're joking at first. It takes several reinsurances that yes Luci, you wrote something to him, yes you placed it in the box. Whats so hard to understand?? He states you possibly can't believe that he has the time to sort through each and every letter in search of yours. But you cry, "what about the other letters! I'm sure everyone else worked just as hard as I did to write you one!"

(Yes, but they're not *you*)

Lucifer brings his box into his office, eyes his pile of paperwork, looks at the box, sighs. And gets up and empties the box. You don't even have the mercy to mark your name at the top.

Mammon: Of course you wrote to the Great Mammon!!! That's a given! Now where did ya say it was? In his box? Why'd ya put it there human, you should have fan delivered it yourself to him! Are you shy or something? Gets very embarrassed when you ask if he was shy when he handed over your letter.

Doesn't think it's that big of a deal, until he empties out his box. He did not expect this many letters. Did he get this many last year?! W-well that's only to be expected! Who wouldn't want to write to the Great Mammon after all? He's surprised there isn't more!

Gets frustrated at the beginning and middle, but after awhile he completely forgets about your letter and just enjoys being written about. He definitely keeps a stack of letters that his favorite, and definitely brags about them to his family lol. Also keeps them near by whenever he's feeling shitty. Your letter is in that pile.

Levi: Thinks you're lying when you tell him that you placed your letter in his box. Thinks you're trying to spare his feelings after you realize you didn't write about him. Because really, who would write about *him*?

So you reach into his box, toss around some letters, and pick out yours. Showing the envelope to Levi. Levi is so shocked and touched he forgets how much of a bastard you are. He's quickly reminded when you throw your letter back into the box and rebury it.

Now he's forced to go through the whole thing. Great. And he was excited to game his new RPG too!

Like Mammon the letters are a big self-esteem raiser. He didn't think he would get that many but look, he just have gotten hundreds! Probably one of the top demons to get letters given to him, on account of him being Admiral.

Satan: He does not like this prank. Ok he likes it a little when he finds out that you pulled it on Lucifer too. Ha! Now he's going to be searching for it all night! That's hilarious.

Now all he has to do is cast a little spell and everything you touched will glow...... so turns out you mixed the letters after you put yours in. When asked why you cheerfully reply "for luck!"

Why must you do this to him.

Does his letters in the library as his room is too messy and he doesn't want to lose your letter in there. Alot of the letters include cat pics so that's nice at least.

Asmo: Honestly, he's the only demon who actually takes the time to sit down and read his letters. So he's not that bothered by it, finds it a little cute actually.

"Aw~ that's very sweet but don't you know our relationship runs deeper? You can hand deliver your letter to me next time!"

Although this time, he's a little more antsy to find your letter. Actually gets a little sick of hearing demons praising his good looks. "Yes yes, I'm amazing I know. Now where is Mc's letter?"

He hates the letters that imply that him and the writer is on the same "level", like saying that they totally deserve to be by his side because they're both shing jewels. Luckily the sender usually has the wits not to include their real name.

Beel: He honestly forgot about his box so he's thoroughly confused when you mention it. Like his brothers, he doesn't think it's going to be that bad.

Boi have you seen yourself playing Fangol? You have a whole fan club of thirsty fans.

Gets very surprised when he dumps the box and sees all the letters. You're sure all these letters are for him? That his brothers didn't get mixed in here as well?

Pouts, but quickly starts sorting through them. Since not even the universe can bare to see Beel upset, the third letter he grabs is yours. Is the first to find his and makes sure to take you for the kind words over dinner. This only spurs on the brothers whose asking (demanding) beel to tell them what you said. Only Beel is also a little shit and gets all bashful, saying that it's private, and they have their own letters to sort find.

Belphie: Well, surely you written up a back up copy? A rough draft? Something else to give him so he doesn't have to do actual work??

No?

Ah well, fuck.

Belphie can actually get pretty energized if given the right motivation, believe it or not. So he's pretty up and ready to get this over with. Doesn't even read the words on the pages, just skips to the end and sees if your name is signed.

You did sign your name right? Please tell him you signed your name. Luckily for him you did. Thank Diavolo.

Gets through a hundred before his eyes start to drop and he decides to take a break. Only remembers when another brother brags about finding your letter, then he's determined. Becomes a cycle of looking for letter, getting tired, taking a break, brother bragging, trying again. Because of this he's the last person who finds your letter. Nearly a week later. But that's also special in its own right, now there's no more letters to be found, he's the last one, and so he has more time to bring up the letter.

(Should I do the dateables?? I have ideas for em but idk if this prompt makes sense lol)

[forgottenciara]

Since the riots in the city the security upon the castle had been tightened and Ciara knew that if it had not been for her relationship with Percy, that she never would have been able to leave the grounds alone and unnoticed. He had smuggled her in and out using the servants' entrance and explained her presence as a new kitchen maid who had been brought in to help with the influx in kitchen duties that had arisen with the extra security. The guards at the gate hadn't given her a second look and none of them knew her when she was dressed in Cecily's simplest gown and her face half-shielded by a cloak.

Given the late hour, Ciara had felt safe enough that she should return, unnoticed. She certainly did not expect to see Eilionora. She, who likely knew the castle better than most, knew exactly where Ciara had just been and it was clear from her look that she had seen her, too.

Ciara supposed she might still feign that she had gotten lost returning from a walk, if pressed, but it seemed that Eilionora had something much more serious weighing upon her mind than how Ciara spent her evenings.

"I wish I could tell you, my lady," It was genuinely meant. She had tried pressing her father this afternoon for answers but he was weary with it all, and told her that she ought not to concern herself with the fate of some rebels. Given his reluctance to say anything further, she doubted that the emperor meant to simply let them go.

"But I ... " A pause. She hesitated saying more, wondering if there would be any good in it? A moment later, she thought better of it. Perhaps had it been anyone else, she would have thought to try to spare their feelings, but she had been a Queen and whether or not that was still recognized, it was clear that Eilionora still felt responsible for her people. She deserved to know the truth, whether or not it was pleasant.

" ... I would expect that their lives will not be spared," The reason being simply that Roderick Varmont seemed to have little tolerance for anyone who dared to oppose him. He was not known as a merciful ruler and she doubted this would make an exception.

"I'm so sorry." For them and for you.

She did not know exactly what the resistance was planning, but she knew that Ronan was not about to let them die if he could help it. Ciara promised to return to them with whatever information she could gather and, most importantly, when and where they were meant to be executed. It was very likely that they did not have much time.

But none of this could be told to their Queen and Ciara was not sure she had anything that she might offer her, in this moment, that might soothe her fears.

Cry Mercy | Eilionora & Ciara

Eilia had pleaded. She had begged. She had reasoned. Yet no amount of groveling moved the heart of the Emperor.

"You!" he had boomed. "You and your father's damned House are the cause of this and you dare ask that I think of the people now that they have dared this? I ought to raze them all to the ground! I ought to sow their precious earth with salt! Yet I hear no thanksgiving for my mercies -- only demands that I do more! This, this is why women ought never to rule. You ought to thank me for relieving you of that burden, as well, Lady Eilionora." And with that, he had stalked from the room.

All she had requested was medical aid sent to the bystanders. She had known he would have no pity upon those who had risen up against him. She knew he would not allow her to go out amongst any of them. But he could not see that this might even help him -- a goodwill gesture towards those who had had fallen in with their brethren against him. Still, she would not give up. And still she had more to ask -- though she knew that this next request could not come from herself, for she wished Roderick to spare those he had captured and Eilia knew well and good by now, that if she were to make this request, he'd grow suspicious, making him all the more likely to put them to death.

There was, however, a Varmont she knew who at times showed sympathy to her -- and who was, herself, of Astairan birth and, having lately made a request of Sebastian (which had helped stay the coming of the gods), she felt she ought not to ask too much in such quick succession of one person.

Eilia found Ciara quickly and, though she'd been on the quest of finding her, she stumbled upon her almost by accident. Intending to go to her quarters, she had instead met her as Eilia passed through the Great Hall, Ciara apparently having just returned from something.

"Good evening, my lady," began Eilia sweeping a quick curtsy, gaze drifting towards the door from which Ciara had emerged: not the great grand doors, but side portals used largely by the servants in order to come and go discreetly.

Eilia pressed her lips and quickly turned away, pretending not to have noticed from which door the other woman had emerged.

She knew that subtley was a likely ally, yet she could not keep its council, her heart pattering against her ribcage: a wardrum tattoo rattling in her temples.

"My lady, in truth, I was about to seek you out. While I cannot condone the violence so lately attempted against His Imperial Majesty the Emperor," -- she did mean that, but only from the perspective that her and her sisters' dispositions were not worth life and limb to her people, and that no violence ought to be attempted where there was no possibility in success -- "I nevertheless wished to speak to you upon the topic of what is to become of those taken prisoner following the...incident. As His Majesty's cousin, I thought it might perhaps be possible that you may have...heard something?"

[thedupshadove]

Alright, my previous post has inspired me to do something even darker with the property that was the obvious inspiration for it. 

When Lois Lane was growing up, her father was the toast of the Metropolis medical community, making incredible research breakthroughs that led to cures being found for countless ailments. His good reputation was so solid, and so genuinely well-earned, that one wonders if he would even have lost it if the general public had known how his daughter trembled at the sound of his footfalls, how it was necessary at school for her to cultivate a reputation for clumsiness given lie by her excellent one-meter dash times. How he did everything in his power to train her to shrink in on herself, to curl up and tuck under and send her mind somewhere else until the blows and shouting were over, for the time being. 

Well, despite his efforts, she found her own strength, and got out of that house, and went to college, and got herself a good newspaper job and her own apartment and swore to herself that she’d never be anyone’s pressure valve again. And then, He showed up. 

The man from the sky. Averter of catastrophe and dealer of justice. Metropolis’ own personal savior. And for whatever reason this titan, this force of nature walking among men, decides that he’s going to ask out this random reporter who he’s pulled out of a couple of scrapes. And she doesn’t want to. Oh God, she doesn’t want to place herself in the hands of this man who punches walls open and hears everything, but what is she supposed to do, look into those laser-shooting eyes and say no? And besides, if he decides to take his toys and go home over being turned down, is it on her hands the next time a child falls to their death and Superman isn’t there to catch them? If somebody has to play Andromeda, she’d rather it be her, who already has some scar tissue to insulate her. 

So she meets him when he asks her to, and goes to the places he offers to take her. It’s driving her crazy waiting for that friendly mask to slip, for the real reason he wants her to finally emerge. But in the mean time, she lets their time together pass in a daze, once again sending her mind to that somewhere else from her childhood, smiling and laughing and agreeing and mentally clawing the inside of her skull out, waiting for the latest “fun little outing” to finally be over. She comforts herself that she’s sparing some adoring young fan from whatever it is that turns out to lie behind his Good Deeds, and--thank Heaven for small mercies--at least his sexual patterns seem remarkably old-fashioned. 

And then there’s Clark. Dear, sweet Clark with his Kansas drawl and his shy little smile and the way he always seems to be there when she needs a hand. That man’s eyes could melt the coldest old spinster, and overhearing the way he talks to his mother on the phone is enough to make even Lois believe that there’s some good in the world. He congratulated her the first time she appeared in some tabloid next to The Living Storm, but that’s not his fault; he can’t be expected to know how she really feels, poor man. And she thinks she’d seen him look at her a couple of times, as if...

And she’d love that, honestly. She’d love to curl up against him and let the pure, gentle goodness of the man wash over her like cool rain. She’d love to be going out with him on the weekends instead of the alien god that has claimed her. But she’s no fool: if she gives any sign of interest in Clark, she’s putting his life in danger. So, just as she forces herself to smile at her terrifying lover, she forces herself to scowl and roll her eyes at the man she truly wants. 

She can live with it. She’s made the best of difficult situations before. And above all else, she must keep Clark away from Superman, or she’d never be able to cope with the consequences. 

[lunaastoir]

fluff/relationships w the mondstadt crew

characters included: diluc, kaeya, and jean

gn! reader as always <3

tw: fluff??? domesticity??? crack??? ideal relationships w people who will never be real??? also mentions of alcohol!

an: so i’m back w a sequel to my “fluff/relationships w the liyue crew” since you guys seemed to really like it <3 thank you my heart is literally melting 😩 this post was getting too long so i excluded some of the characters but expect a part. 2 (more like part 3 but part 2 to the mondstadt version)! 

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diluc

man. this MAN.

that’s it, that’s the headcanon. 

he would literally be the most doting lover in the softest ways

SUCH a soft romantic like you thought you knew love??? nah this man will show you what love is

will constantly leave you things around the winery to convey his silent thank you’s and appreciation for you putting up with him being busy for most of the day

it’s always the most thoughtful things ever too like-

you mentioned how nice it would be to have some fresh lemonade with the hotter weather outside but it was too late in the day to actually go to the market in search of fresh lemons 

the next day you walked downstairs only to be greeted with a pitcher of cool lemonade with a side of lemon bars

there was a note attached to the handle of the pitcher <3 

“i recall you mentioning how lemonade would be perfect for the warmer weather so i decided to make some for you this morning. i hope it’s still cool by the time you drink it. love, d” 

pls sir your hand in marriage

he secretly loves it when you usher him to bed after waking up in the dead of night to see him working by candlelight on reports 

soft hands on his cheeks gently whispering about how, it’s been far too long and come to bed, darling and there will be time for this in the morning

his protests are light given the dark purple hues under his crimson eyes but he’ll still make a little fuss 

don’t let this man fool you tho he’s so so touched that you care enough to check up on him and drag him to bed!!

sometimes on the days he has a bit more free time, the two of you will quickly grab your dinners and race to the highest spot in the winery to watch the setting sun

these moments are always filled with laughter, something you’ve found you’re easily able to pull out of diluc, simply because it’s you 

uncontrollable sobbing

he would let you paint his nails black like the angsty man he is 

frankly he would let you do anything to him if it makes you happy <3 

ok but wait diluc w bLACK NAILS?? AND RINGS??? i would die on the spot ⚰️

on the topic of makeup, this man is surprisingly really good w it 

i like to think he learned after practicing on kaeya when they were younger bc kaeya was really into makeup

you found out after babysitting klee one day and trying failing to draw eyeliner on the sweet girl after her “big brother ‘bedo!”

you hastily grabbed some wipes, gently wiping off the messed up design before attempting to dive back in 

diluc however, had some down time so he decided to check up on his favorite chaotic duo 

only to be met with a pile of dirtied makeup wipes, your frustrated expression, and klee’s growing jitteriness 

swiftly moving to your side, he quietly asked if you needed help 

you glanced up quizzically before handing him the eyeliner, already looking around to find more makeup wipes when this inevitably goes wrong 

to your utter surprise tho the eyeliner is perfect??? two perfect winged lines??? in less than a minute??? WHAT

you just stood there like 😦 before diluc got back up and handed you the eyeliner 

you were short-circuiting, klee was ecstatic, diluc was worried about you 

ok last thing abt diluc 

crack! warning but the both of you like lowkey pranking kaeya 

for diluc it’s revenge on his annoying brother; for you it’s good - natured sibling rivalry fun 

every time the two of you see kaeya, one of you always swipes something of his 

small things really, it could be a pen or a handkerchief

one time, diluc swiped kaeya’s spare eyepatch and from the looks of it, kaeya’s only spare black eyepatch bc he was frantically looking for it yk he’s desperate when he even asked diluc if he saw it

the two of you spent an hour nearly laughing your asses off 

all in all, life w him is so sweet 

kaeya

pretty boy? pretty boy. 

while i can’t guarantee stability, life would never be boring w this man that’s for sure

piggy back rides 🗣 piggy back rides 🗣 piggy back rides 

he LOVES it, the feel of you on his back while he’s walking around mondstadt most likely carrying you to your commission 

he finds it comforting especially since he can hear the rumble of your voice against him while you recount stories, or just babble on about everything under the sun 

he is SO dramatic so obviously when y’all reach the site of the commission he has to kill all the monsters even tho the both of you agreed to split it up evenly 

he makes quick work of his set before stealing some of yours much to your chagrin 

you scold him but can you really be mad at him when he looks drop dead gorgeous freezing the hilichurls the answer is no, no you cannot be

oh my god ok wait-

he does this thing where he tries to spook you in public 

so say you’re getting groceries at the mondstadt general store

you round the corner just minding your own business, looking around, taking in the sunshine 

and suddenly you just hear someone drop in behind you but before you can register anything you hear a soft “boo” and hands circle your waist 

you jump SIKE let’s be honest you shrieked 

meanwhile kaeya’s just laughing his ass off 

you can hear his rich peals of laughter while you attempt to regain your bearings 

he does this so often you SHOULD be used to it but you really aren’t bc mans is SNEAKY-

he cards his fingers in your hair whenever you’re speaking 

he doesn’t know why, it’s just a cute habit and he finds the feel of his fingers in your hair soothing

oH on the topic of comfort, kaeya really likes resting two fingers on the back of your neck???

ik he seems like the type to throw his arm around your shoulder which yes he totally is but during more serious conversations his hand automatically seeks out the warmth of your neck 

your neck feels amazing especially during the warmer months due to his chilly fingers contrasting with your warm skin  

he likes that he’s able to access such a vulnerable part of you and you would willingly let him 

HE GETS YOU MATCHING OUTFITS

no i will NOT take criticism on this i just kNOW he’s that type of guy

it would be those stupid “i’m his” and “they’re mine” sweatshirts like BYE 

it’s so cringy but for some reason it’s oddly adorable and you truly despise it but you can’t seem to say no whenever he asks 

you pretend to ignore the look of pity diluc throws your way whenever he sees you like this

kaeya really loves accessories so i think he would be the type to give you a promise ring or something similar to show that he truly does care for you 

he would brush it off, flirting a little like usual before handing you the ring 

with the way his cheeks softly darken though, you know he’s being genuine 

TICKLE FIGHTS ik i mentioned this for childe but shhhh

he has tickle fingers??? his hands just loOK like they’re itching to tickle someone so you’ll most likely be the unfortunate victim 

he will not show you mercy. at all. he’ll tickle you until there are tears streaming from your eyes, your face is hot, and your voice is hoarse from laughing so damn hard 

it gives him such a rush of serotonin its SO CUTE 

i feel like this goes without saying but he’s super into pda,,, anything and everything is on the table 

hand holding? duh. ass grabs? ofc. carrying you bridal style around mondstadt? why not 

ik he’s typically very playful but once the relationship reaches a certain stage, he’ll slowly start to let down the walls that surround his facade 

very very slowly show you the more realistic parts of him 

the real, damaged pieces of his soul 

he’ll be carefully monitoring your reaction though, any sign of fear or disgust will have him recoiling within himself again and you most likely will never see his true nature ever again 

SO BE CAREFUL 👹

once you’ve seen the parts of him he’s offered to you, the hushed whispers of his past, and the uncertain lines of his future, he will take off his eyepatch 

pretends like he’s not super nervous but he’s SWEATING- 

the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen though hands down 

you can understand why he covers it up but you would like it if he felt comfortable enough to take off the eyepatch occasionally when he’s with you 

also!!! sleeps with his eyepatch side facing you (in the event he wears it to bed) 

if this happens you KNOW he trusts you bc it’s his blindside <3 

anyways life w kaeya will never be boring but he is a very complicated man 

stay with him though, i promise it’ll be worth it 

jean

the key to jean’s heart is coffee and food 

GET HER COFFEE AND FOOD

i am begging you she deserves it 😭

the poor woman works so hard bc the knights are so mf understaffed, this is literally the best way you can ever show her your love and appreciation when she has work

she will MELT if you have a hot shower and dinner waiting for her when she inevitably returns later than she promised

will completely refuse at first with, “you did not have to do this, it’s too much” but shush her as you shOULD bc she deserves the entire world 

she’s the definition of “you do something for me, i’ll return the favor ten times grander”

you leave a flower on her desk bc it reminded you of her??? you’ll wake up to find a whole bouquet of the prettiest windwheel asters you’ve ever seen the next morning along with a thank you note

she’s so sweet BYE

she gets flustered extremely easily so you obviously use this as an opportunity to tease her 

when you’re in public rest your hand on her waist and inch it higher until your hand is underneath her shirt and in contact with her warm skin 

she’ll actually short-circuit its quite adorable 

sometimes y’all will be cuddling and you’ll hear whispers of her insecurities 

“am i a good grand master? will i ever be as valiant as vanessa?”

reassure her!!! tell her that she doesn’t need to be like vanessa, she’s already amazing as jean 

if you haven’t seen her in awhile, track her down and schedule a lunch date 

she never misses appointments and if it’s for you, she’ll gladly make time to see you even if she has to stay up even later than usual 

OH-

GIVE HER MASSAGES 

she has so much tension and the sorest muscles from hunching over papers and running around on errands 

if you sneak into her office and quietly stand behind her before gently pushing down on the sore tendons of her neck, she’ll genuinely fall over on her desk 

so make sure you steady her 😀

after you feel how tight her muscles are though, you drag her to barbara bc she needs a healer asap 😭

while most of your time is spent in her office - you helping out in the ways you can while jean is overseeing knight duties - you still have your fair share of life outside of the favonius headquarters

jean never likes to sit still so whenever you have free time, the both of you head off looking for monsters to clear

bouken da bouken???

adventuring w jean is seriously the funnest thing you could ever do 

it’s just non-stop you accidentally getting into trouble and her having to come help you 

even tho the both of you are dead tired after fighting, what? 20 hilichurl camps now??? the laughter and joy in your eyes shows how you both truly loved every minute of it

it’s both a stress reliever, good fun, and a work-out <3

you’re definitely prone to getting dragged to angel’s share w kaeya 

kaeya and jean sometimes hang out after work at the tavern so inevitably you’re dragged along too 

all three of you are drunk out of your minds which just makes everything a MILLION times funnier 

kaeya slurring over his words makes the two of you start cackling endlessly while diluc just shakes his head making sure to not give you more wine despite your pleas 

angel’s share ft. kaeya and bartender diluc are always the best times fr fr 

life with her literally feels like y’all are married 

so much domesticity it’s so NICE ALJDKSFH

your house is always so clean and the color scheme is impeccable bc jean has such a good eye 

you have a chore schedule 😎 but it almost never works out bc jean ends up doing everything without you knowing- 

you always confront her abt it and she’s like 😁 “i had some time so i did them! no worries tho” like i- time??? where bitc-

oH- she has amazing style so you can bet shopping w her is literally the best experience 

she takes you to all of the hidden gems some places lisa recommended and helps you pick out things 

will 100% get really blushy if you come out in something and ask her for her opinion tho she’s literally the cutest

basically jean is a sweet girl who deserves the entirety of teyvat that is all. 

thanks for reading! if you have any requests don’t hesitate to send them in <3